Domestic Discipline Addict Prologue

One of the nice things about being the boss is nobody checks on what you’re doing.

Monday morning I got to the office early, as I always do, made coffee, and then settled in for our weekly staff meeting. It takes an hour, I never let a meeting go more than an hour, to get updates on all ongoing projects and confirm who I would be meeting that week.

Then it was into my office, logging into google and opening an “incognito” window, and getting busy.

I was amazed.

In under an hour, I had discovered a whole new vocabulary, complete with a set of acronyms that accompanied it. I learned terms such as DD for “domestic discipline,” HoH for “Head of Household,” and most commonly, BDSM for “Bondage, Discipline, Sadism, and Masochism.”

I was amazed at the amount of formal, academic study that had been devoted to the topic, complete with interviews and footnotes.

I learned a lot about myself and, I think, even more about Arlene.

By Tuesday I knew what I wanted, but I also understood that she had to agree. The word “consensual” was central to virtually all of the reading I had done and I agreed that it would be necessary between Arlene and me.

For that week I accomplished little at work beyond learning more and more about what I was becoming more and more convinced was my, well, our, new life.

I became persuaded by an academic study I read. The theory runs something like this –

1. The early mammals had been evolving alongside the dinosaurs but were mostly small mouse-like creatures until the comet strike and the dinosaur extinction about 65,000,000 years ago.

2. Over the next 10,000,000 years, mammals and other species evolved without competition from the giant lizards and by 55,000,000 years ago the first primates were seen.

3. While primates were evolving over the next 30,000,000 years or so living in trees, the large herbivores and their complementary predators were evolving on the ground.

4. By 14,000,000 years ago the first apes, our direct ancestors, were evolving, but still in trees.

5. Somewhere around 5,000,000 years ago a couple of things happened that set the stage for male dominance. The first of the proto hominids, the monkeys that would eventually evolve into us, arrived. Second, and as important, the climate changed, oxygen levels went up, and the continent-spanning forests that were home to our great 10,000 times removed grandparents began to disappear.

6. As the forests disappeared, our tree-dwelling distant ancestors were forced to the ground where the fully evolved great predators were waiting. Or, as one paper put it, those unlucky enough to not be near a large body of water became leopard lunch.

7. Our progenitors were basically hunted to extinction except for a very small population who fled to the water and for the next couple of million years, they were basically semi-aquatic creatures. Which explains a lot of our physical characteristics by the way. The hair on the head gives infants something to hang on to. Breasts high on the body to allow nursing while still almost chest-deep in the water. A nose with the nostrils pointing down, all the better to swim without drowning. Things like that.

8. As we gradually, very gradually, worked our way out of this semi-aquatic state the proto-humans quickly realized that there is little in the world more helpless than a pregnant female hominid or, for that matter, a new mother with an infant to be carried, nursed, and tended to for years. Evolution quickly took care of any females who thought they did not need a strong male to take care of them. They became more leopard lunch.

9. The females that were left were naturally submissive to the males.

I found those papers very persuasive and believe that theory is accurate today.

What I was surprised by was how what I came to recognize as DD (domestic discipline) was finding its way into some Christian groups. Normally I find Christianity, along with other religions to be, basically, large cult groups focused on superstition. I find no difference between Christianity, Buddhism, Islam, or B’rasha the shaman worshipping a large banyan tree. But in some Christian sects, DD was accepted.

The point being, I was finally convinced I wasn’t some sort of demented pervert for enjoying spanking my wife.

I called her on Wednesday and told her, not asked but told, that Friday night was going to be date night.

Friday I took off early and headed home. Arlene was, as I had expected, looking pretty. She had obviously been to the beauty shop. She’s a natural honey blonde, but I suspect, although I never bothered to check, that Miss Clairol has something to do with her lack of any grey.

I grinned and kissed her hair, not wanting to mess up the work the beautician had done.

“Let me shower quickly,” I said, “and I’ll get dressed and then pick out something for you to wear.”

I had been selecting her outfits for when we went out pretty much since Justin had left for college so this wasn’t anything new.

I showered and shaved, wanting to look good for what I thought would be a very special night.

When I was dry I went into the closet and put on fresh underwear, slacks, and a shirt. Then I selected what she would wear.

Since this would be a special night I thought it appropriate that I displayed her to her best advantage.

I rummaged through her “special” drawer and found the red corset I like on her, a matching garter belt, and very sheer lightly patterned red nylons. From her closet, I selected a red satin blouse, sleeveless and clingy on her plus size figure but not too tight, and my favorite skirt, a red satin piece that was only about two inches below her ass but had fringe that fell to just below her knee giving an impression of modesty. I found her red sleeves and laid them out too. Finally, I selected red pumps. Arlene is a big girl and true stilettos with their five and six-inch heels are hard on her but the pumps with the modest three-inch heels still do nice things for her legs and ass and gave her that wonderful high-heeled walk that such shoes were originally designed to give.

She came in when I called, wearing only her casual jeans and blouse outfit, and I liked the grin when she saw what I had laid out. My Arlene enjoys being put on display, and I like displaying her.

She started to unbutton her blouse but I caught her hand and said, “let me.”

She smiled at that. She likes it when I undress her.

I took my time, kissing the skin I revealed.

She had on a new perfume that got to me.

“You smell good,” I said and she giggled and said, “I’d better, this stuff is like $200 a bottle but Race (that’s her beautician, a man so gay you expect him to burst into fire at any moment since he flames so much) assured me that the pheromones in it were worth it.”

I chuckled and said, “he was right.”

When I got the blouse off of her I just looked for a moment, making her giggle and say, “God, I never get tired of you looking at me like that.”

Her bras, well, her daytime bras anyway, are heavy material with six hooks in the back, a support system appropriate to those FF size breasts. This one was so white you almost need sunglasses to look directly at it.

I found it erotic, the way the material squeezed, forcing her soft skin to bulge. When I undid the hooks, reaching around her and nuzzling her neck as I did but not messing up her makeup, and let the bra drop to the floor I liked the red lines that showed clearly where it had been.

A quick kiss to each areola, right where the pale skin of her breast met the slightly darker line of the areola, and I got quickly to my knees to do her shoes and jeans.

She put her hands on my shoulders for balance as I took first her right and then her left foot into my lap to untie and remove her tennis shoes and socks. Then I worked on her belt, the button of her jeans, and her zipper. Even unbelted and unzipped the jeans were tight enough that it took physical work to get them past her ass and then off. Last, of course, were her panties, the opaque silk granny panties she favored (“why would I wear a thong?” she had asked me once, “when I spent so much of my life trying to keep panties from riding into the crack of my big ass?”).

I smiled up at her and kissed softly where she was recently waxed.

Arlene is one of those blondes who are very well endowed with pubic hair. On her, it is a pale brown color, thick and soft and curly.

Well, it was anyway. Now there was about an inch wide strip, trimmed short but not so short as to be scratchy stubble, with the finest line of hair remaining on the soft round peak of her labia but the sides of her labia smooth and pink.

I kissed the strip and grinned up at her.

She giggled and actually blushed and said, “you like?”

I kissed her again and stood and said, “lovely, now let’s get you dressed.”

The corset, as always, was first. I put it on her, the laces undone except for the top, and then she turned and leaned against the wall while I pulled the laces through each successive pair of eyelets and pulled it tight. I LOVE lacing her into her corsets and then the way her figure, always buxom, is a classic hourglass with the corset taking her usual 44-38-46 to 44-30-46, an even better ratio, if you think about it, than Marilyn Monroe’s famous 36-24-36. But the corset has the extra allure of those sexy rolls forced out above and below the satin and whalebone material.

Once I had her laced in I sat on the bed to watch her dress.

She looked at the things I had laid out and then up at me.

“Hmmmmmm,” she said with a little smile, “no brassiere tonight?”

I just grinned and nodded.

She giggled again and put on the blouse, sleeveless and high necked, red and clingy and opaque, and slowly buttoned it up, giggling a little with each button, making it kind of a reverse striptease.

Next came the garter belt, red and lacy with eight suspender straps and hooks, and plenty of squirming as she worked it up and adjusted it, more of the reverse striptease.

The red nylons were another show as she slowly and carefully worked them up her legs and then did that thing only a woman seems able to do, twisting to look over her shoulder as she carefully straightened the seams. She smiled at me as she did the hooks and then turned, giving me a wonderful view of her ass, a round bubble butt beautifully framed by the red belt, the red straps, and the darker red tops of the nylons.

“Are my seams straight,” she asked with an impish smile.

“Perfect,” I said.

She stepped into the panties, not her granny panties but a high leg, french cut pair, so sheer you could read a newspaper through them except for the small triangle at the crotch. Plenty of wiggling as she adjusted them, with that smile from time to time.

The skirt required more wiggling as she got it on, adjusted, and zipped.

Finally, she worked the sleeves up her arms. The sleeves are basically long gloves without fingers but simply a thumb loop that covers her forearms to just above the elbow. I love the look they give her, the red color emphasizing the paleness of her skin and the tightness as she worked them slightly above her elbows showing off that soft pad of sexy fat on the back of her upper arms.

Dressed, she did a slow turn, and asked, “approve?” when she had completed the turn and faced me.

“Hmmmmmmmmm,” I said, “something is missing.”

She frowned at that and asked, “what?”

I grinned and stood and showed her what I had bought earlier at a high-end pet store.

Her eyes got big and she asked, “you’re going to collar me?”

I grinned back and said, “yep,” closing the space between us and circling her neck with the delicate collar. It is a very soft leather dyed red, with a line of rhinestones. I put the tongue of the collar through the silver buckle and tightened it until it barely dented her skin, not choking but tight enough to be a reminder. It looked kind of like a cheap, tawdry choker necklace except for the little steel loop where a leash would hook.

I adjusted it so the leash hook was in the front and led her to the mirror.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“Oh God,” she sort of moaned, “I think I’ve been, God David, I don’t know,” and she paused, those little frown lines of thought forming.

“Okay,” she started again, “this is a collar and I’ve been claimed, I’m now owned, is that about the size of it.”

I grinned and said, simply, “yep.”

She giggled and said, “I love it!”

I reached up and gently turned the collar so the leash loop was in the back, hidden under her hair, and turned her back to the mirror.

“And now?” I asked.

She giggled.

“Now I look like some redneck with no taste,” she said.

I turned her to look at me and held her eyes.

“Your choice Arlene,” I said, “how do you want to wear it?”

She thought for a moment and then turned it around.

“Did you get a leash to go with it?” she asked.

I grinned and reached into my pocket again and pulled out the leash I had bought along with the collar.

Not a heavy leather thing, it was a very delicate chrome chain, probably, if we’re being honest here, designed for a poodle or something, about four feet long and ending in a leather loop.

I hooked it into the collar loop and then let it fall and turned her to face the mirror again.

There was absolutely no question that she was collared and leashed.

Her breath caught and she whispered, “Jesus David, my knees just got weak.”

I nuzzled her hair and whispered softly, “do you want to leave it on?”

“Yesssssssssssss,” she hissed.

“Okay,” I said, grinning, “front or,” and I gently turned the collar so the leash hung down her back and then turned her so she could see her back over her shoulder, “back,” I finished.

She giggled and said, “oh, back of course. After all, you’re going to walk me.”

“Done,” I said and pulled out my cell phone to call an uber.

While we waited she walked back and forth up the hall a few times, modeling for me.

Jesus, she looked so damn good.

The blouse was opaque but there was absolutely no question that she did not have a bra on.

The sleeves showed off her arms and accented her pale skin.

The fringe on the skirt swung as she walked giving glimpses of her hose including the darker tops, and the top of the skirt showed off her wonderful ass.

The heels did good things for her legs and, of course, for her walk.

The uber arrived and I gave him the address of the Hyatt Regency downtown since I had reservations at Peak’s Lounge.

Denver is a convention city and the Hyatt is associated with the convention center. You can always count on a lot of pedestrian traffic and I wanted to show Arlene off.

I enjoyed the looks she drew as we walked across the courtyard and then when we got off of the elevator on the 27th floor and walked into the restaurant, the leather loop of her leash around my wrist.

As I seated her at our table with that spectacular view of the Front Range she casually, almost as if she had practiced it, moved the leash to the front so it wouldn’t dig into her back.

I sat across from her and said, “I always enjoy being seen with the prettiest girl in the room.”

She looked around and it was easy to spot several high-priced call girls.

She smiled and said, “flatterer, but thank you.”

I laughed and said, “you know that most of the people in here probably think you’re for rent, don’t you.”

She blushed prettily.

Drinks came, wine for her, and a beer for me (“whatever’s on tap”), and I laid out what I had learned about our new life, starting with the dinosaurs and moving forward. I did most of the talking although she did ask questions from time to time.

The conversation continued through dinner, lobster for her, steak for me, and by dessert, I had pretty much wound down.

“Well,” she said, wiping her lips and smiling over the rim of her glass, “Man of the House, that’s all pretty persuasive.”

“Arlene,” I said, reaching across the table and lightly touching her hand, “here’s the thing. It absolutely has to be consensual. If at any time you want it to end simply say the phrase ‘I withdraw my consent’ and that will be it.”

She started to respond but I held up my hand to stop her.

“Honey,” I said, still touching her hand, “you will either trust me and accept or you won’t. We don’t need any safe words or any such nonsense because simply having such a thing implies a lack of trust. I expect, given your reaction last Saturday, that we will test your limits. One thing about this,” and here I stopped to think, to make sure I used the right language.

“About this lifestyle,” I went on after a moment, “is that it can be addictive and like addicts for anything, it is likely that we will want more. So I’m telling your right now that if you ever want out, just say so.”

She smiled and moved slightly so that her hand was now covering mine.

“I understand David,” she said, very serious now, holding my gaze, “and I give you my consent. I love you. I trust you. And I am, well, as excited about our new, as you put it, lifestyle, as you are.”

I smiled and lifted my glass.

“To our natural lifestyle,” I said.

She smiled and replied, “to our natural lifestyle,” clinked my glass and drank her wine down.

We lingered over a final drink, not awkward, rather in companionable silence as we both digested.

I paid and said, “and now, Lady of the House, I’m taking you dancing.”

A club we knew that featured live music and a dance floor was within walking distance so we walked, holding hands like two teenagers.

It was crowded but we did find a table and even with a young clientele, the music was at reasonable levels and conversation was possible.

I ordered a pitcher of beer and when the frontman for the four-piece band went into a reasonably good version of Bobby Vinton’s “Blue Velvet” we stepped onto the floor.

We danced well together. For all that she’s a big girl, she’s light on her feet. And I started dancing with my mom (a whole other story there) when I was 13, getting ready for my first junior high school dance.

Without a break the band went into, of all things, Jerry Lee’s “Great Balls of Fire” and we stepped off into a passable jive dance.

A couple of more dances and we went back to the table, both a bit short of breath.

Before she sat I leaned close and said into her ear, “you know what would be nice?”

“No,” she said, looking at me out of the corner of her eye, knowing one of my little kinky requests was coming.

“If you were to go to the bathroom and when you come back to give me your panties,” I said, grinning.

She looked at me for a second then blew me a kiss and walked toward the bathroom.

When she returned she stood at the table and handed me her panties. She didn’t make a production of it, but she didn’t hide it either.

I smiled and put them in my pocket.

We danced a few more times and I won’t deny that I loved the way the fringe of her skirt flared when I spun her, which I did more often than I probably needed to, showing a peek of her wonderful ass when she did.

And yes, I liked the looks she drew.

When the pitcher was empty I looked at her and she sort of shrugged.

“Call it a night?” I asked and she smiled in affirmation.

I called an uber and we went out to stand on the sidewalk. The driver said it would only be a few minutes and they didn’t like non-drinkers using up scarce table space.

While we were standing there, a well-traveled street in Denver’s LoDo (that’s lower downtown to those of you who don’t know Denver), a car pulled to the curb, and the window rolled down. I chuckled as I walked to the curb.

“How much for your girl,” the guy asked and, without hesitation, I said “$5,000 a night and well worth it.”

He looked at her and back up at me and shook his head.