Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
The laptop sat open on the kitchen table, and I pulled up the Selecta Solutions portal. The preferences form was surprisingly to-the-point.
As a husband, you have complete control over your wife’s training at Selecta Solutions. We do have several recommendations that may strike you at first as unexpected and unusual, and we emphasize that our training programs are based on decades of meticulously collected and carefully analyzed data from the submissive women Selecta and the Institute have helped find happiness.
Submissive. The word sent a jolt through me—one that went straight to my cock, reminding me of how hard I had gotten while spanking Heather. Could I have gotten this so wrong for so long? Surely Heather didn’t have any interest in such things, let alone need them—her angry reaction to the training underwear, when I’d tried to put my foot down the day before, proved that. Didn’t it?
I realized, with a flash of anger at myself, that I’d made a foolish decision that had led me here. I’d chosen to basically ignore all the stuff about traditional gender roles in the New Modesty program I’d joined for the sake of the generous subsidy for young couples. I knew I wasn’t alone, at least; plenty of the other guys I’d met as I’d started the courting process had been laughing at what we called that bullshit right along with me. It didn’t fit with what we saw in the media, anyway.
We’d all been wrong. I didn’t like feeling grateful to Selecta for helping me figure out my mistake and take charge of my wife the way I should have from the start. I couldn’t deny, though, that I owed them one. A very big one.
My eyes traveled down to the first of three questions.
Do you give permission for a Selecta trainer to discipline your wife in the nude, using a strap, a paddle, or a cane as the trainer decides is appropriate?
I swallowed hard. It seemed like a lot—but then I looked a little further down.
Do you give permission for a Selecta trainer to discipline your wife around toileting, including forbidding your wife to use the toilet and/or commanding her to urinate in front of others?
What the hell? I couldn’t stop now; I read the third question.
Do you give permission for a Selecta trainer, or trainers, to have oral, vaginal, and/or anal intercourse with your wife?
I closed my eyes, remembering the data Mrs. Chen had shown me from the house monitoring system, and the recordings she’d played for me. The surveillance from our bathroom wasn’t video—thank God—but the audio had been damning enough. Heather’s desperate moans, the way she’d whispered words I’d never heard her use. Words that had made my cock hard even as they’d struck at my heart.
Fuck me harder. Please, I need it rough. Make me take it.
I took a deep breath, and started to answer the questions.
Heather
Mrs. Chen climbed into the van’s passenger seat, turning to face me with that same professional smile that made my skin crawl. “The drive to our facility will take a little while,” she said, consulting her tablet. “I’d like to use that time to help you understand what to expect.”
I stared out the tinted window as we pulled away from my neighborhood, watching the familiar houses blur past. “I don’t want to understand anything,” I said. “I want to go home.”
“I know this feels overwhelming,” Mrs. Chen replied, her voice maddeningly calm. “But I think you’ll find that our program addresses needs you may not even realize you have. Tell me, Heather, when was the last time you felt truly satisfied in your marriage?”
The question hit like a slap. I turned to glare at her, but she was watching me with genuine curiosity, not judgment. “My marriage is fine,” I said. “Or it was, until Ryan decided to have me kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped is a strong word. Your husband has legal authority—”
“I don’t care about legal authority!” The words came out louder than I’d intended, echoing in the van’s confined space. “He’s my husband, not my owner.”
Mrs. Chen made a note on her tablet. “Interesting. And yet the monitoring data suggests you fantasize quite regularly about being owned. Being controlled. Being used.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “That’s not—those are just fantasies. They don’t mean anything.”
“Don’t they?” She leaned forward slightly. “Heather, in my experience, the things we think about when we’re most vulnerable, most unguarded, reveal our deepest truths. What did you think about this morning in the shower?”
I pressed my lips together, staring fixedly out the window. The suburbs were giving way to industrial areas now, warehouses and office parks that looked increasingly anonymous.
“Was it Ryan?” Mrs. Chen continued. “Was it your husband taking you the way you really wanted to be taken?”
My breath caught. How could she know?
“Or was it someone else? Someone from your past, perhaps?”