SWITCH

It had started as a joke.

My husband and I were out shopping when we passed a dom shop, and I teased him about going inside.

“Please… it’ll be fun.”

Forever unable to say no to me, he let me tug him in. Soon, we were both giggling like kids over the ridiculous toys lining the shelves.

After a while, I noticed he had fallen behind. I turned and found him standing in front of a mannequin dressed in full femdom attire.

I retraced my steps and slipped my hand around his bicep. A giggle started to rise again, but I stopped when he didn’t join me.

I glanced from the mannequin back to him and caught a heat in his eyes I’d never seen before.

A chill ran down my spine at the thought. My husband--the one who always tells me what to do, who taught me to please him, who plays my body like an instrument--aroused by a domme outfit?

For a moment, I studied the mannequin too, eyes trailing over the leather, the chains, the sharp, bossy lines of it. Then I caught the sound of his deeper breathing, his tell, and knew exactly what it meant.

I squeezed his arm playfully. His eyes snapped to me.

“Let’s go,” I whispered.

Seeing him that heated had done something to me. I needed it addressed immediately.

The following day, I waited until he left for work, then drove back to the shop.

After moping around for nearly an hour with no idea what I was looking for, I finally swallowed my pride and dragged the emo cashier over. In hurried whispers, I explained my situation.

She listened, nibbling her lip piercing. Then, without a word, she stripped the mannequin of its outfit, dumped it into my arms, and began circling the store like a witch doctor gathering herbs--selecting, testing, then tossing toys onto my growing pile.

At home, I dumped the haul onto our bed and prayed my courage wouldn’t fail.

I’d never done anything like this before. The boldest I’d ever been was shyly climbing onto him while he murmured encouragement, lifting and dropping me onto his eager, waiting hardness.

One by one, I picked up the pieces and posed in the mirror, reading lines from femdom comics I’d dug up online, mimicking their haughty stances. I looked so ridiculous, I doubled over laughing.

Eventually, I left the pile on the bed and forced myself to focus on chores, watching the clock tick down. Later, I returned, carefully chose what I’d use for tonight, and stashed the rest in the closet. I locked the door, leaned my forehead against it, and whispered to myself:

This will take more than rehearsal. I need courage.

I dressed in the outfit, covered it with a wrap dress, and went to make dinner.

The door opened just as I set the table, making me jump.

He frowned, then pulled me into a kiss.
“Jumping already, huh? What did you do?” Another kiss. Another.

I giggled, catching his lips in a deeper kiss.
“That’s for me to know, and you to find out.”

He arched a brow and squeezed my ass. Heat curled low in my belly. I forced it down. Not now. I had to keep control--or I’d be flat on my back, begging before the night even started.

I took his bag.
“Come eat, and then freshen up.”

“Eat first? You know I like to shower first.”

“Not tonight.” I steadied my voice. “Once you go into that bedroom, you’re not coming back out.”

He froze mid-step, brows rising.
“Is that an order?”

“Yes.”

For a second, surprise flickered... its intensity making me want to look away. But then it shifted... slowly and intentionally... into something darker. His gaze locked on me, heat storming behind it. The weight of it pressed into my skin, a silent dare.

He didn’t speak. Just sat down, picked up a fork with a pointed look, and began to eat.

I set down his bag and slid into my seat. The food tasted like cardboard; my nerves kept my bites small and forced.

When he glanced at my barely touched plate, a small smirk tugged at his mouth. He wiped his lips with a napkin, his gaze cutting back to me.
“Should I do the dishes?” he asked casually, voice deceptively light.

“Oh no, don’t worry ab--” I caught myself, cleared my throat. “I mean… no. Go have a bath.”

His smile folded inward. He stood and walked into the bedroom without another word.

I quickly dumped the dishes into the sink, then hurried after him, stripping off my wrap dress and stepping into seven-inch boots. The leather hugged my legs, grounding me. Red lipstick. Hair fixed. Whip in hand. When he came out of the bathroom, I was ready.

His towel hung low, droplets sliding down his chest. I held my pose, even as every nerve screamed to lick him clean.

His eyes swept me--corset, skirt, suspenders, boots--and recognition lit, then darkened. His towel tented.

He let it fall.

My throat went dry. It took everything in me to drag my eyes away from the thick, veiny magnet pointing in my direction.

I cracked the whip.
“I didn’t ask you to take it off. Pick it up. Put it back on.”

Thank God for the wine, it kept my voice steady, even as my heart thundered.

Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined ordering this 6’4 wall of muscle around.

He exhaled sharply. His dick twitched. Still holding my gaze, he bent, picked up the towel, and tied it back on.

“Good boy,” I purred. His eyes narrowed.

“Come here."

He stalked forward, every bit a predator, and it took every shred of will not to flinch. I lifted my chin, practicing the haughty look I’d rehearsed a dozen times in the mirror.

“Kneel.”

For a beat, he didn’t move. Then he lowered himself onto one knee, never breaking eye contact.

I pressed the sole of my boot to his shoulder, light but deliberate.
“Both,” I breathed.

He glanced at my foot -- and for a split second, I thought he’d kiss it. Instead, he sank down onto both knees, dragging his eyes back to me.

And what I saw there almost broke me. He looked… lost. Hungry. Worshipful.

My mind went blank. The next line I’d practiced slipped away.

He saw it in my face...the wide-eyed panic. His lips parted as if to encourage me, but instead, a rumbling laugh spilled out of him, warm and uncontrollable.

I gasped, cheeks burning, and pulled my leg away. He tugged me down onto his lap, still laughing softly, kissing my temple, my hair, my cheek.



“Shh,” he murmured between kisses, his arms strong and solid around me. “You did perfect.”





It had been a week since the fiasco.

My husband had told me that I did well, that I was a natural. But the way I stiffened when I caught his expression had me shoving everything I bought from that store into the back of the closet.

And yet now, he looked so good.

A simple long-sleeved sweater, tiny house shorts clinging high on his hips, his thick thighs sprawled wide as he typed.

Something innate and feral in me wanted to crawl to him on my knees, lick those thighs until he was gripping my hair and feeding me his thick, long, veiny meat in reward.

That was me. That was how I was wired: to give and serve and never ask in return. And I was lucky, so lucky, to have married someone kind enough never to use that against me.

If anything, he gave more than he took. Maybe too much.

I remembered his face at the store. Later, in our bedroom, when he had looked up at me from his knees. Perhaps he gave so much, never asking for what he needed.

I inhaled steadily and dropped my phone.

He was working, laptop balanced precariously on one thigh. He glanced up at my approach, lips curving in a distracted smile before turning back to the keys.

I bent low and snapped the laptop shut.

His breath caught audibly.

I lifted it from his lap. His hands fell away instantly, boneless, limp. When I set it on the table, far from reach, and turned back, he was already watching me. Wide-eyed. Hopeful.

Puppy eyes.

A puddle formed in my chest, but I steeled my spine.

Fingers hooking beneath my house dress, I peeled my panties down my hips, making a show of it, never breaking his gaze.

He swallowed hard.

When they dangled from my fingers, I lifted one leg and planted my bare foot in his lap, right over the heavy length stirring under his shorts.

The sound that tore from him was raw-- half-groan, half-plea-- dragged from somewhere deep inside him.

It washed through me like heat, power, and arousal entwining in my veins.

I pressed harder.

His hips jerked under my foot. His hands, big and warm, circled my knee reflexively before I snapped,

“Off.”

The command cracked like a whip.

He dropped them instantly, knuckles whitening as he gripped the cushions instead, eyes locked on me like a man possessed.

I leaned in, careful not to press too hard. I wanted to play, not crush him.

“You don’t touch me until I say. Understand?”

He nodded quickly.

“Use your words, sweetheart.” My tone dripped with mock-patience.

“Yes, ma’am.” He whispered hoarsely, reverent words from a man completely under my spell.

“Good boy.” I rewarded him with a soft purr, rubbing my foot against his hardness in lazy circles, tapping him twice in silent commendation.

Then I lifted my foot.

He let out a small, strangled mewl before clamping his lips shut.

I hid a smile at that, my “shh” floating like a soothing rhyme.

The headrest beside his face dipped under my foot as I raised my dress. My southern lips glistened in the light. “Now give mama a kiss.”

He lunged, mouth hot, tongue frantic, feasting like a man starved, fists clawing into the cushions.

My head fell back, a gasp tearing from me, eyes fluttering white. For a moment, a dangerous moment, I nearly gave in. Nearly surrendered the game and let him finish this for both of us.

But that image of him on his knees that night flashed again.

I shoved him back, chest heaving.

“I told you to kiss it. Not do whatever that was.”

His lips were wet, beard glistening. His eyes begged.

“You’re a bad boy,” I said, low and cruel despite the tremor in my thighs. “And bad boys deserve punishment. Bedroom. Strip. Now.”

He rose, shorts wrinkled, tented, a dark wet spot clinging to the tip.

My tongue darted over my lips before I could stop it, saliva flooding my mouth.

He saw, and for a heartbeat, he hesitated. That same dark urge to take hovered between us, the energy crackling as we held each other's gaze.

Then he left, walking stiffly, shaft bobbing heavily under the fabric.

I downed a shot of liquid courage in the kitchen before following.

He was already naked when I entered, head low, arms behind his back. Trying to be small. Failing.

Adorable.

My pulse spiked as I opened the closet and dragged out the bag of abandoned gear.

My gaze lingered on the outfit I had once hoped to wear. Not tonight.

I pushed it aside and reached for the toys.

When I laid them out in front of him, his eyes darkened, shoulders rising, breath hitching, as I picked up each one, weighing it in my palm, watching him watch me.

I trailed a finger over the first toy--a leather paddle, its surface soft and worn from disuse. His eyes tracked the movement like prey cornered by a predator.

“Hands,” I said simply.

He presented them immediately, wrists together, palms up. No hesitation.

Good.

I chose the cuffs instead, sliding the cool leather around one wrist and buckling it. I trailed my hands over his biceps, loving the way they flexed under my palm.

I moved behind him, holding the first hand.

“The second hand,” I ordered.

He obeyed, muscles in his chest tightening as his arms shifted.

I cuffed each wrist and buckled them with loving care. I didn't want bruises on him. He was my baby after all.

He exhaled roughly at each click of metal. Stepping back, I took a moment to admire the sight of him--broad shoulders, strong arms folded helplessly behind him, beads of precum dripping from his girth.

The paddle was light in my hand, balanced. I tapped it gently against my palm before moving behind him.

“Count,” I murmured.

The first strike landed sharply against his ass, a satisfying crack that echoed in the room. He grunted, back arching, but held his stance.

“One,” he rasped.

The second fell lower, just at the curve of his thigh. He hissed.

“Two.”

By the fifth, his voice had gone husky, body trembling with the effort of holding still.

I leaned forward, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You like this, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His voice broke, coming out in a needy whisper.

“Good boy.” My hand stroked his reddened skin, soothing briefly before striking again. The mix of pain and comfort drew a choked moan from him.

I circled to face him, dragging a single finger down his chest, over his stomach, stopping just above his cock. It twitched violently.

“You’ve been good,” I said thoughtfully. “Do you think you deserve a reward?”

“Yes,” he breathed, eyes shining.

“Hmm.” My finger traced lower, brushing his tip, and his hips jerked involuntarily. I pulled back instantly.

“No touching,” I scolded, and he whimpered, soft and pleading.

I tilted my head, considering. “On your knees.”

He sank instantly, knees hitting the floor with a dull thud.

I stepped closer, lifting my dress again. “Keep your hands behind your back, eyes on me. You get one chance to prove you can behave. One. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.”

I guided his mouth to my heat, fingers threading through his curls--not to push, but to hold. His tongue darted out, reverent this time, tasting me carefully, waiting for my approval.

“Better,” I murmured, hips rocking lightly against his mouth. “Much better.”

His moan vibrated through me, sending sparks up my spine. I allowed him a few more obedient licks before tugging him back by the hair.

He licked his lips, catching every drop of me, then swallowed. I leaned down, swiping my tongue across his, tasting myself on his mouth. His breath came hot against my face.

Turning toward the full-length mirror, I glanced over my shoulder and beckoned.

“Come here.”

He moved to stand.

“On your knees.”

The command punched the air from his lungs. He exhaled sharply, then obeyed, hands clasped behind his back as he crawled to me. For a moment, I almost regretted not using the leash.

Almost.

A giggle escaped me. I was enjoying this far more than I’d expected.

When he stopped at my feet, I stooped to kiss his nose. “Good boy.”

I circled behind him, fingers gliding through his curls before yanking his head back. Lowering my mouth, I traced the shell of his ear with my tongue. He shivered violently beneath me.

“Look at you,” I purred. “So big. So beautiful. You like being on your knees, don’t you?”

He nodded, a tiny sob breaking free.

I kissed his jaw, then slid down behind him, my hand coming around him to encircle his twitching shaft.

He trembled, muscles locked as I stroked him, telling him how much I was enjoying this.

In the mirror, our eyes met. I tugged and pulled at him with both hands, teasing his nipples between bites of his shoulder. His head tipped back against me, hips beginning to thrust despite himself.

I allowed him a few desperate movements....then tore my hands away and shoved him forward.

He stumbled, tears streaking down his face as apologies spilled from his mouth.

“I told you not to move.”

“P-please… I’m sorry.”

A cruel smile curved my lips. His answering whine was broken, the tendons in his neck taut with frustration.

I strolled to the toy box and plucked out a vibrating cock ring. My teeth caught my lip as I returned, eyes alight with wicked delight.

Without a word, I slipped it onto him and switched it on.

His groan ripped through the air, and pleasure pooled low in my belly. I rubbed my clit, my own wet sounds mingling with his helpless noises as the vibration tore through him.

When his whimpers began to crack, I reached down and turned it off.

Leaning against him, my damp thighs trembling, I whispered hoarsely in his ear, “Do you want to fuck me?”

He nodded, tears sliding down his cheeks.

“Will you be gentle?”

He shook his head.

A soft laugh burst from me, ending in a dark chuckle. “Good.”

The moment I unfastened the cuffs, the air shifted.

I sank back, watching him rub at his wrists slowly, the muscles in his jaw clenching.

When he finally lifted his eyes to mine, I knew.

I wouldn’t be walking for a week.

He barely gave me a moment before he threw me over his shoulder, stalking toward the bed.

It was his turn.




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