who occupied his fantasies in the shower every morning.
Negotiation . The introductory BDSM class Oasis had required him to take for the past six weeks—part of the fantasy-fulfillment process—had emphasized negotiation as the solution for every problem. Want a quickie in the morning? Negotiate terms for when that would be acceptable. Want her to not wear underwear to bed? Negotiate terms for when that would happen. Want her to stop pretending like nothing was wrong with their relationship? Negotiate terms for conversation.
They never talked about anything. Even when he’d told her he had a conference to attend this weekend, she hadn’t shown much of a reaction. She hadn’t even pressed her lips together in an attempt to hide annoyance.
Sometimes, learning to dominate and discipline seemed like marriage counseling. Talk it out, talk it out, talk it out. In a scene, he had to know what she did and didn’t want. He had to be in tune with her desires without asking to make sure.
That was where his confidence wavered. Sometimes Trish seemed like a stranger in his bed, a woman who mothered his children and made dinner. He often left before she woke up and came home after she had already been there for hours, an incidental character in their family dynamic.
Ten years ago, he knew how to touch her. He knew how to look at her to make her blush. He could get away with fingering her in the movie theater, her soft moans disguised by the loud cacophony from the action flick he’d chosen for just that reason.
Now, he wasn’t certain he would be allowed to hold her hand in the theater. He didn’t even know if she liked action movies anymore, much less if she liked to get action at the movies.
She frowned and turned her attention to the kids, a sure sign of displeasure. Perhaps she thought he hadn’t listened to her question.
“I don’t have to leave until ten. I wanted to let you sleep late. You won’t be able to tomorrow.” He didn’t mention that she wouldn’t be sleeping late because he would be waking her up for sex. That definitely wouldn’t go over well. Hopefully, this weekend would change both their attitudes.
She turned away, but not before he saw the guilt in her eyes. He doubted she would get in the car with him later. Her fantasy began with being blindfolded and kidnapped by a stranger she didn’t get to see. Not the safest way to start a scene, but he didn’t care to argue that point, either. He would be the one kidnapping her, so she would be safe.
“My parents are taking the kids for the weekend.” Her attempt to fling that as a challenge didn’t quite make it over her shoulder. He heard the subtext. A good husband would clear his schedule and spend some quality time with his wife.
Just wait.
After breakfast, he headed to the bedroom to double-check his bag. She wouldn’t follow him. That would open her to the possibility of an intimate moment, and she had long ago stopped taking emotional chances with him. If he wasn’t so absent, she would feel closer to him. If he felt closer to her, he wouldn’t be absent so much. One problem fed the other, and it was ruining their marriage.
He sipped his coffee and made sure his overnight bag had all the things Oasis had told him to bring. They would provide many items, but he wanted to make sure he had the flogger he’d used in practice all these weeks.
Training on the leather-covered mannequins with sensors that provided digital feedback hadn’t been nearly as nerve-racking as practicing on a real person. Men and women, attending the Oasis class so they could fulfill their fantasies and the fantasies of whomever they were matched with, had offered their bodies as fodder to help the doms in the class hone their skills.
Of course, he’d spent some time under the lash himself. It made him seriously question whether or not Trish knew what she had been asking for when she filled out those detailed questionnaires describing what she wanted in a dom
Negotiation . The introductory BDSM class Oasis had required him to take for the past six weeks—part of the fantasy-fulfillment process—had emphasized negotiation as the solution for every problem. Want a quickie in the morning? Negotiate terms for when that would be acceptable. Want her to not wear underwear to bed? Negotiate terms for when that would happen. Want her to stop pretending like nothing was wrong with their relationship? Negotiate terms for conversation.
They never talked about anything. Even when he’d told her he had a conference to attend this weekend, she hadn’t shown much of a reaction. She hadn’t even pressed her lips together in an attempt to hide annoyance.
Sometimes, learning to dominate and discipline seemed like marriage counseling. Talk it out, talk it out, talk it out. In a scene, he had to know what she did and didn’t want. He had to be in tune with her desires without asking to make sure.
That was where his confidence wavered. Sometimes Trish seemed like a stranger in his bed, a woman who mothered his children and made dinner. He often left before she woke up and came home after she had already been there for hours, an incidental character in their family dynamic.
Ten years ago, he knew how to touch her. He knew how to look at her to make her blush. He could get away with fingering her in the movie theater, her soft moans disguised by the loud cacophony from the action flick he’d chosen for just that reason.
Now, he wasn’t certain he would be allowed to hold her hand in the theater. He didn’t even know if she liked action movies anymore, much less if she liked to get action at the movies.
She frowned and turned her attention to the kids, a sure sign of displeasure. Perhaps she thought he hadn’t listened to her question.
“I don’t have to leave until ten. I wanted to let you sleep late. You won’t be able to tomorrow.” He didn’t mention that she wouldn’t be sleeping late because he would be waking her up for sex. That definitely wouldn’t go over well. Hopefully, this weekend would change both their attitudes.
She turned away, but not before he saw the guilt in her eyes. He doubted she would get in the car with him later. Her fantasy began with being blindfolded and kidnapped by a stranger she didn’t get to see. Not the safest way to start a scene, but he didn’t care to argue that point, either. He would be the one kidnapping her, so she would be safe.
“My parents are taking the kids for the weekend.” Her attempt to fling that as a challenge didn’t quite make it over her shoulder. He heard the subtext. A good husband would clear his schedule and spend some quality time with his wife.
Just wait.
After breakfast, he headed to the bedroom to double-check his bag. She wouldn’t follow him. That would open her to the possibility of an intimate moment, and she had long ago stopped taking emotional chances with him. If he wasn’t so absent, she would feel closer to him. If he felt closer to her, he wouldn’t be absent so much. One problem fed the other, and it was ruining their marriage.
He sipped his coffee and made sure his overnight bag had all the things Oasis had told him to bring. They would provide many items, but he wanted to make sure he had the flogger he’d used in practice all these weeks.
Training on the leather-covered mannequins with sensors that provided digital feedback hadn’t been nearly as nerve-racking as practicing on a real person. Men and women, attending the Oasis class so they could fulfill their fantasies and the fantasies of whomever they were matched with, had offered their bodies as fodder to help the doms in the class hone their skills.
Of course, he’d spent some time under the lash himself. It made him seriously question whether or not Trish knew what she had been asking for when she filled out those detailed questionnaires describing what she wanted in a dom
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