Tymber Dalton - Domme By Default

I took it upon myself to start preparing her coffee and bringing it to her every morning. I made sure her laptop was always turned on when I got up.

Somehow, it helped satisfy some of my need. I craved to do things for her and wished I could afford to quit work and stay home and spend all day being with her, taking care of her.

Serving her.

When I'd sit at work and listen to co-workers bitch about their wives and girlfriends, complaining that they had their free time scheduled, my dick would harden. I wished my wife would do that for me, tightly schedule every second.

Owning me.

After a week or so I came home and she'd set up an online task list for me, with a spreadsheet for me to check off every day, acknowledging I'd read it and for me to note any questions or concerns or requests.

I nearly drooled.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

But she loved me. She did this for me.

My Mistress.

The first couple of days, I nearly raced home to see if she'd added anything. It started out very basic, mostly things I was already doing.

Biting back my disappointment, I diligently filled out my daily log as I was instructed. I wanted more.

Needed more.

Craved it.

The third day, a new line. You will always take proper care of your toys and know exactly where they are so you can get them immediately if Mistress wishes to use them on you.

Ah! Yes! Wait. Toys? What toys? I didn't have any toys.

Yet.

Then the next line. You are not allowed to come without Mistress unless she tells you it's okay.

Licking my lips, I fought the urge to fist my cock right then. Reading the words had given me a hard, throbbing woody. This is what I wanted.

It wasn't enough but I knew it wasn't fair to push her harder than I already had.

Besides that, she was my Mistress. It was her call.

I knew she was worried about taking me too far too fast, worried it might be a passing phase and hesitant to do anything that might hurt me.

I wanted to beg her to jump in with both feet.

But I loved her for her caution, for her level-headed approach to this. She was right, and I had to trust her.

I had to trust my Mistress.

She called to me from the living room. "Go wait for me in bed."

As if a switch flipped inside me, without question I immediately jumped up from my chair and ran for the bedroom. When she walked in a few minutes later, she found me kneeling on the bed, my ass in the air.

Her hand caressed my ass, sliding between my legs, nails gently raking across my sac.

Ahhh...

"I'm going shopping," she said.

Toys!

I didn't know if I was supposed to say anything, so I knelt there, fighting the urge to grind my ass against her hand.

Her voice faltered. "You're sure you want to do this?"

I nodded, my eyes closed, wishing she'd do more than just rest her cool hand on my ass. "Yes, Mistress. Please." I knew it had to sound like begging.

I was beyond caring.

She gently patted me on the ass. "You can have some free time until I return." She paused. "Did you read your list today?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Any questions?"

"No, Mistress."

She hesitated, like she was going to say something, then I heard her step away from the bed. "I'll be back soon. Enjoy your free time."

Before I could look, she was gone. I heard the front door open and shut a moment later. Something about her voice sounded off.

There was no way I could grab something to cover myself in time and go after her. Something about her tone gnawed at me. I hadn't heard that tone in ... years.

Like maybe she was trying not to cry.

I had to back up a few steps. I was in virgin territory—

forgive the pun—and had no clue how to proceed. I wouldn't beat my husband. I would look like a nightmare in latex, not that I wanted to wear it in the first place.

I didn't want to be one of "those" people you could download off the torrent sites and watch writhing in agony and ecstasy.

Oh, gods, please don't let him want to be wrapped in a diaper or dressed like a girl!

There were limits to what I could do for him. Limits that even if I tried to cross I knew would send me over the edge. I desperately wanted to give this man any and everything he asked of me. That was the depths of my love for him. There were some things, however, I knew I could not do.

Not if I wanted to hold onto my sanity and self-respect.

I remembered that one of the writers I knew was a Dom. A real life, wield a whip Dom.

The next evening, I saw Tony on IM. I sent him a message.

I have a question.

Shoot.

I knew he'd keep his mouth shut, but it was still hard to type the words.

My dh wants to be my sub.

A moment of panic as his reply was delayed.

What do you want?

I'd always joked that in our house, I was queen of all she surveyed. The Alpha bitch. The final voice.

Joked.

Yes, in many things that was true, but I tried when I could to get my husband to make the call.

I want to make him happy.

That was a cop-out answer and I knew it. Tony either gave me a pass or missed it entirely.

So what do you want to know?

He wants to try anal.

So get him a butt plug...

And so the conversation went. That's how I found myself standing outside the adult toy store, alone, fighting my tears, trying to suck it up and be a Domme.

Domme by default.

The opportunist in me mentally filed away details for future use in a story. Hah! I admit it, everything's fair game in my life. It's how I make my living.

I never realized anal toys came in such a wide variety of sizes, shapes, and colors. They ranged from why bother? to is it in yet? to holy fucking shit there's no way in hell that'll fit .

I stared at the display and the chipper sales girl helped me make a decision. I picked two that didn't scare the living daylights out of me. The girl suggested a bottle of silicone lubricant to go with them, offered me some surreally helpful advice for my husband for his first time using them, and twenty minutes later I was back in my car with my purchase.

That was a long drive home, even though it only lasted twenty minutes.

I'd had no idea what to do. I'd worried I'd hurt my husband, had no clue how to introduce these to him and had admitted this to Tony.

I recalled Tony's advice. Give him the butt plugs and the lube and tell him to go play for a set amount of time. He'll come out blushing and grinning.

Well, I had to start somewhere.

I'd done a little research ahead of time, before leaving on my unusual shopping trip. My husband was sitting at his desk, naked, reading email on his laptop.

His eyes lit up when I handed him the bag. He started to stand and I said, "Wait." I reached over him and typed in a website, navigated to the page I had already scoped out, and pointed. "Reading assignment. After you read, you can go into the bedroom and play for thirty minutes."

He eagerly nodded, apparently no longer capable of coherent speech.

I took a deep breath. "Remember, you're not allowed to come."

He smiled, nodding.

"Don't open the bag until after you're in the bedroom."

He nodded again. As I moved out of the way he saw the page was a user-friendly instructional guide for newbies to anal plugs and how to properly use them.

Yes, there are such pages.

I know, surprised the crap out of me, too. I guess you really can find anything on the internet.

I returned to the living room and tried to write. I wasn't sitting in a direct line of sight of our bedroom, but I heard him get up a few minutes later and walk into our bedroom and close the door.