I looked at the time on the microwave as Kyle tidied up the kitchen, putting the remainder of the lasagna back into the fridge. He put our plates and silverware in washer and started it. It was a few minutes before 8:00 as he turned to me. He took the end of the leash and silently pointed to the floor.
“Sit, stay,” he said, still pointing at the floor, as if directing a dog. He walked away and I heard him ascending the stairs. Of course, I wanted to run, take out the anal plug, pull my shorts up, run to my car and drive home. Of course, we both knew why I couldn’t, why I wouldn’t. He wasn’t gone long. He had an overnight bag with him, his other hand his keys. He looked at me for a second and chuckled.
“Teacher is pet,” he said as he gently pulled the leash upward, a sign I was to stand. It wasn’t the first time he said that. In fact, he would usually mention it at least once during our times together.
“Pull up your shorts and let’s go.” I bent over and pulled them up my legs and winced as the fabric pressed against the plug still in my anus. He took the leash and placed his hand at the small of my back. To anyone looking out their window they would see a man being a gentleman. Kyle certainly was going to be anything but gentle. I led Kyle to where I had parked my car, at the edge of the old church parking lot, in the last stall away from surveillance cameras and neighbours. He fished out my keys and opened my door for me. For the second time, the perfect gentleman. As I sat in the driver’s seat, he grabbed my left arm and, using a ziptie affixed my left wrist to the armrest on the door. He circled to the passenger’s side and produced chain linked handcuffs and shackled my wrist to the steering wheel. The plug was forced even higher up my anus and the discomfort became pain.
“Where am I going, sir?” swallowing my revulsion at calling a student of mine, ‘sir’.
“Your house,” he said softly, then reaching up to run his finger along my collar, “my little puppy.” It wasn’t a total surprise. He had fucked me on the bed where my husband and I made love, more times than I could count. Sometimes we would be at a fancy hotel or a shitty motel. He was going to fuck me, he was going to be rough and hard, wherever we were. My own house, my own bed, was just another way to humiliate me. A reminder that he, not I, controlled my life. I wised, for maybe the millionth time my husband was home from deployment. I wished Kyle’s parents didn’t spend their winters in warm and sunny Florida. I wish I hadn’t had that one night stand just before I got married. But none of those things were true and I drove home with my blackmailer next to me. I could almost drive home from Kyle’s, for memory, I had done it so often. I had the thought more than once that I could just barrel into the trees over into the rive, but given the church’s view on suicide, I always pushed those thoughts aside. It wasn’t that long after, we pulled into my driveway. He hit the garage door opener and only slowing down slightly, I brought the car to a gentle stop as the door began to close behind us. I put the car in park, turned off the ignition and placed the keys in Kyle’s left hand and patiently waited for him to free me. He waited for me in front of the door that led into the house. He reached out and grasped the end of the leash he had me on., and, unlocking the door, led me into my own house on a leash. Even before the door was closed, I was already on my knees. I begin to crawl toward the stairs. I felt a sharp pull on the collar.
“Where do you think you’re going, Annie?”
“To the bedroom, sir?”
“Did I tell you to go to the bedroom?”
“No sir but…”
“That’s right. I didn’t. Bad puppy.” I could hear the smile in his voice, and I hung my head. “Bad puppy” usually meant some kind of “discipline” which could be physical, or more likely, sexual. He made me crawl to the living room.
“Stand up, puppy.” I followed the order. He pulled down the shorts. “You don’t need these anymore.” I stepped out of them, and Kyle kicked them across my living room. He roughly shoved me forward, forcing me to bend over the arm of my sofa. Placing my hands behind my back, as I had been trained to do, I closed my eyes and began to breath deeply. His left hand was on my ass and he took a moment to squeeze and paw at my ass cheek. Then with a hard pull, the anal plug was finally removed. As I sagged in relief, I felt a hard swat on my ass. Then another…and another…and another. I whimpered in pain. As I waited for another, I heard his belt unbuckle, and his pants drop to the floor. He reached over to the bookshelf and removed the picture of my husband and placed it in front of me on the sofa. He then, lined up behind me, his left hand on my hip and I felt his cock touch my rear opening and scrunched up my eyes.
“Ready Annie? If you’re not, too fucking bad.” He thrust forward and I moaned. He chuckled. “That’s right Annie, moan like a whore while you’re lookin’ at your husband.”
