Vanilla Silk By Faeth Lyon-Wall "Don't underestimate her," Madame Bettina's instant message flickered onscreen late Monday afternoon. We were finalising arrangements for my first corrective therapy session. "Sarah's vanilla all the way," I typed back from my university office. "Doesn't mean she's stupid." "Sure." "She hasn't figured?" "Nope." On Tuesday a plain manila envelope arrived in the mail. I opened the contract unwittingly at the kitchen table, in front of my wife. My stomach clutched. Terms of our agreement"ound, gagged, caned ... restraint shall not be removed ... further correction required ... The safe word "Vanilla silk" will indicate... Sarah stared at the envelope I held in trembling fingers. I whisked it away, stammering a feeble lie. "How pale you look," she said, stroking me with cool hands. I caught a whiff of Happy, the sweet perfume she wore. I'd given her Dior's Poison, but she refused to wear it. “Too dark,"she'd said. Thursday's package contained a leather blindfold and six-inch heels. I blushed at the ivory lace thong, cream stockings and 12-clip suspender belt. My legs bounced in uncontrollable agitation, my erection throbbed. Undressing to meet my Mistress, I yearned momentarily to flee, to return to the safety of Sarah's toasted cheese sandwiches, our safe, seemingly happy home. Once I slid my foot into the hose and adjusted the seams, I could not. A floral motif on the ankle matched the lace tops where the garters attached. I felt nauseous with anxiety, demented with desire. My dick swelled against the lace as I slipped the blindfold on and waited as instructed. My back to the door, arms behind me, I dared not turn towards her footsteps. I surrendered to the click of handcuffs. As I opened my mouth to accept the rubber gag, an ominous whiff of Poison filled the room. "How pale you look." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright c 2004 by Faeth Lyon-Wall. All rights reserved He wants more than his gvanillah wife will give him, so he sets up an appointment with a dominatrix. Simple and cliche, right? Wrong! There are so many subtle elements to this story, but I donft know where to begin and I donft want to give anything away. Ifll just say that even suburbia isnft without its dark side. The build up is so subtle that when I read the end, I sat back and said, gHoly cow!h And then I read it again.