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Standing up, I turn my back to him.

“Unfasten, please,” I ask, my back to him, waiting for him to unfasten the buttons. I feel him unfastening the buttons. I let the dress drop to the floor, slowly turning to face him.

Here I am, wearing a white Basque, suspenders and stockings, not something he has seen me in. I am always naked at the start or not clothed for the bedroom.

I watch as he looks me up and down, over and over, taking the image of me in.

“Fuck!” is all that he can say as he grabs me, pulling me onto the bed with him. The night is amazing. We are equal, no restraints, no blindfolds, both equally in control. I’m shocked as I take his shirt off and the bruises all over his body. I try to act like I don’t notice them, fighting not to mention them. I want tonight to be perfect.

Waking up, I walk downstairs, cooking breakfast for him for the first time, and it not burning. Just as I am finishing, he walks down.

“That smells like food that is not burnt,” he chuckles, looking a
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