“Husband,” her liquid, throaty voice commanded, “Read this to me again.” She leaned over and her electric, full-bosomed assertive beauty dazzled his adoring senses as he read his own hand-written words:
“I, Malcolm Masoque-Laverge (once Malcolm Masoque) this day unconditionally and devotedly yield myself to the complete authority of Madame Cressada Laverge, my wife and absolute Mistress. I vow that: I am to accept her decisions in all matters as final. I am to comply with her every wish, to obey her every command and to always be faithful in heart and deferential in manner to my beloved Mistress. I am to submit my body, mind and soul to her strictest discipline, and expect severe punishment for the slightest disregard of her authority. Said punishment will be administered to me in whatever form my Mistress feels best befits her mood and the occasion.
(Signed) Malcolm Masoque-Laverge
His voice weakened towards the end, and he was conscious of the arch-browed, haughty face over him, her finely carved aristocratic nostrils flaring delicately as a superior smile and sneer touched her moist red lips. Having deferred to this superbly regal Venus from the first, he had written the submission contract in a love-mist of enthralled enchantment, thinking it meant no more than continued courtesy on his part.
“Well read, husband,” the sensuous lips murmured. “Memorize it word for word, so that you can recite it whenever I wish.”
“Yes, Sada, I will,” he answered humbly, not needing the sharp pinch on his ear, or the sparkling, tingling sting on his cheek from the slap of her palm to prove her power over him. He watched her move sinuously to the couch, especially attracted to her glittery black six-inch stiletto heels, and then resumed unpacking as her icy stare met his abject eyes.
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Contracts like this always make me laugh. I know it’s fiction, but the all-or-nothing view of bdsm is nothing more than masturbation fodder.