by Unknown
to remain his receptionist for another fifteen years until she could take
early retirement and move to Florida.
"Tell him I'm not done fucking my wife."
"What was that?" a panicky voice asked behind the closed door.
"Business is my life! Tell him I'll be right with him."
Trudy giggled, kissing her man one last time before getting dressed.
As she slipped into her skirt and pulled the cashmere over her head,
she realized a button was missing.
"Darn, I lost a pearl. And of course the gap is right where my bra
shows."
Edmund promised to look for it later; he had to prepare for his
client.
"See you at the house, love."
Trudy grabbed her purse and was about to leave when Edmund
touched her shoulder.
"Hey," he said, softly. "I'm glad I married you."
"I'm glad you married me, too."
She left and walked toward the elevator, forgetting to clutch her
sweater. Edna's steely gray eyes reproached the sated blond for her
current state of dishabille.
That woman and I will never be friends, Trudy mused as she
pushed the 'Down' button.
It was a shame because Trudy would like to have more female
friends. Having a sexy husband was a bit of a dilemma that way.
46
On the way home, she stopped at the grocery to pick up some items
for the perfect meal. Being a sub wasn't just about great blow jobs
and pretty lingerie. It was about anticipating what your man wanted
for dinner and making sure his favorite snacks were stored in the
cupboard.
Not complaining if he asked you to pick up his dry cleaning. In
fact: no whining allowed, period. Speaking to him in mellifluous
tones was important, too. Nothing kills romance in a relationship
faster than sarcasm.
Be nice to his friends, even the ones you consider bad influences.
Edmund had a buddy named Mason who liked to frequent cigar bars.
Trudy couldn't stand the sot, but she was polite and convivial,
knowing Edmund appreciated it.
Trudy placed the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and set the
table for two. She uncorked a bottle of red wine, hoping it was one
her husband would be in the mood for.
The smell of roast chicken filled the dining room and her mouth
began to water. She was famished but of course she would wait until
her sweetheart came home before assuaging her empty stomach.
She went to the bedroom to find something to wear. Not finding
anything appropriate for greeting the perfect husband, she decided to
answer the door naked.
As she brushed out her long, blond hair she asked herself why a
woman in the twenty-first century would find a submissive lifestyle
appealing. Was there something wrong with her?
The phone rang and she jumped. Please let it be Edmund, she
thought.
"Hi, sweetheart. Just want to let you know I'll be a few minutes
late. Have to pick up something to go with dinner."
"Oh. I bought the wine."
"This is something else. See you soon."
Ten minutes later, she opened the door to a fragrant bouquet of
flowers.
"Maybe we can use some petals to cover your breasts, like pasties,"
Edmund chuckled.
47
"Sorry, darling. I'll put something on; tell me what to wear."
Edmund stroked his chin thoughtfully. "That satin kimono I bought
you on our last vacation to San Francisco would be a nice start."
"Done."
When she bent down to one of her lower dresser drawers to find the
robe, a ghost of sensation boomeranged from her bum to her crotch,
leftover feedback from the paddling she received hours earlier. Trudy
didn't mind: the sensation was a pleasant reminder of her afternoon
tryst.
48
