Sarah's Way

This story is a continuation of "Silent Submission," but under a new title because I found there is already another series under the original title. It would be helpful to read my Silent Submission story first, but not necessary, as its story line is summarized early on here. I appreciate feedback. Let me know if you like these stories, or what didn't work for you.

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I awoke late the next morning, about 8, unheard of for me, even on a sleep-in Sunday morning. Sarah was already up, absent from the bed. My backside was still very sensitive. Even friction from the soft cotton sheets hurt.

With consciousness came the need to process all that had happened on Saturday. My lovely wife had caned me quite severely, and I let her do it; even made the cane for her. I still didn't know why, or why I submitted to it.

Yet somehow as the day ended I felt closer to my wife of five years than I ever had before. We had some comforting times after the torture, and some hot sex.

But what happened had to be addressed. I knew this, even though I also knew that one of the reasons I went through with it was to avoid having a conversation about our relationship and why she wanted to do that to me. It could have been her sexual fantasy, or mine, brought to life. It could have been punishment for wrongs real or perceived. Or both. Or whatever.

But no marriage can survive with partners wondering what such an unusual event was all about. I wasn't ready to give up on my marriage.

As apprehensive as I was about it, we had to talk. But I was hungry, so food was my first priority. With all the kinky sex I hadn't had supper on Saturday. I could faintly smell bacon frying. That was unusual. I was the main cook. Sarah almost never fixed breakfast, or any other meal that took actual cooking skills.

I arose, put on my robe, and made for the dining room.

"Good morning!" my wife beamed, with a morning attitude at bright as her long red hair. "You're just in time! I was about to come get you. I made you breakfast," she said.

I looked down at the table and saw a setting with bacon, biscuits, peach preserves, coffee and orange juice -- the comfort foods of my grandmother's house.

As I was looking, Sarah stepped toward me, planted a light kiss on my lips, and at the same time placed her hands at the opening of my robe, pulled it apart and slipped it off my shoulders. She smiled slightly as she folded the robe and draped it across the back of the chair at the head of the table, leaving me standing there nude.

Sarah had kept me nude since my caning, at 5 p.m. the day before. I took her immediately stripping me as an obvious sign she intended to continue her dominance. I needed to talk about it before we moved on, as much as I hated those relationship talks. But I had just walked into the room and wasn't ready to talk, especially when there was a hot breakfast for me at the table and I was a hungry man.

I sat down and began to eat.

"Thank you for doing this," I said. "I'm really hungry."

Sarah looked stunning that morning, her demeanor brighter than usual, with her beautiful, pale, freckled face seeming to beam, with a slight, enigmatic smile. Her long red hair was flowing about her shoulders, with a couple of stray strands across her face. She sat down and turned her chair sideways, stretching her feet out in front of her and crossing her legs at the ankles.

My gaze ran the length of her pink robe-clad body, remembering how her big breasts swayed over my face the night before as she held down my arms and rode me.

My eyes settled on her bare feet and I noticed for the first time that she must have taken time for a pedicure when she was out of the house before my caning Saturday. Sarah didn't know it, but I had something of a small foot fetish. When I see an attractive woman in sandals I always check out how she cares for her feet.

Sarah's had obviously been moisturized, with any calluses sanded away. They were even lighter than the rest of her fair skin, the nails neatly trimmed and sporting a soft and inviting peach-colored polish, not the red or black one might anticipate from a woman who showed signs of being a dominatrix some hours earlier.

"I figured you would be hungry" Sarah said, rubbing one foot slowly over the other as if she noticed that I checked out her pedicure.

Her bright and cheerful and even nurturing attitude was in stark contrast to the woman who had paddled and caned me so severely the day before.

"Did you rest well? How's your butt?" she asked.

"It hurts to sit down, but I did sleep like a log," I said.

"You had quite a day yesterday," she said. "By the way, I didn't get a chance to tell you. . ."

Sarah rambled on about the friends she went to see and the one who just got out of the hospital, whom I knew, too, but under the circumstances I barely listened. We just had the most significant day together since our marriage. I needed to know what was next.

"I'm really proud of you," Sarah said as I finished eating. "We had some nice times last night, despite the fact that I caned you pretty good."

She was probing my reaction, and I knew it.

"I just don't know why you did it. Or why I put up with it," I said. "Both are equal mysteries to me."

"Mmmm," Sarah mused. "I think I can help you with that, Mark. I know you need answers.

"Stand up," she said, standing herself.

I slowly rose, still naked.

"Trust me, Mark," she said pleasantly, but seriously. She lightly took my arms. "Keep your arms down at your sides. Don't touch yourself. Just do exactly as I say. Don't worry; I'm not going to hurt you."

She guided me directly in front of her chair and sat back down, her bare feet crossed closer to her now.

"Now, I need you to do this, Mark; don't just stand there and pretend, really do what I say and think about what I say. Now close your eyes."

She took a deep breath and paused.

"I want you to think about yesterday and all that happened," she began. "Think about how I met you in the living room and told you to appear there naked for a caning, and to bring me a paddle and a cane. . .

"Think about how you took the time and trouble to make that wonderfully nice cane for me to use on you. . .

"Think about bending over that stool and waiting for what was about to happen. . ." she paused after each line, giving me time to reflect.

"Think about how unendurable it was, but how you managed to endure it. . .

"Think about how I took care of you afterwards, soothed you, let you rest. . .

"Think about how we snuggled and were close later, and how the passion built up. . .

My cock began to stir as she went over it all. She paused for a longer time.

I felt her lightly touch the side of my left leg with her toe, beginning a slow caress.

"Now think about belonging to me," she went on with a sultry, sexy voice, again with a long pause as her toe continued to caress my leg.

"Think about being naked when I want you naked. . .

"Think about bending over when I want you to bend over. . .

"Think about those moments of anticipation when you know what's going to happen to you, but you don't know why. . .

"Think about having the courage to endure it, for my sake. . .

The gentle caress of her lovely foot had worked its way up higher to the outside of my left thigh.

"Think about being loved and cared for by me, who would value you as her most treasured possession."

I opened my eyes and watched that beautiful foot tracing against my leg. I saw my cock pointing straight out at her. I looked at her face, but she did not catch my eye. She was staring directly at my horizontal cock. With that caressing foot she lightly touch the tip of my cock with her toe, then raised her eyes to meet mine.

"It looks like your friend knows why you bent over for me yesterday," she said. "They say men listen to their cocks more than they listen to their wives. Think about what yours is telling you now."

She kept the tip of that toe on the tip of my cock and smiled a knowing smile. Her robe had fallen open a bit from lifting her leg high. She did not move to cover herself, as the old Sarah I knew would have. My eyes ran from that beautiful toe down the length of her leg to the triangle of red hair now visible between her legs, and up to those knowing green eyes.

"Run to the bathroom and get that little bottle of cucumber fragrance lotion that came in that gift pack you got me at Valentine's Day, and a hand towel," she said.

I was thankful for the break to think about what she said and my body's reaction to it. I felt that knot in my stomach again and realized I had not done very well at processing all this so far. I had become putty in her hands, and sensed she knew it and was gently pressing her advantage.

I returned quickly, my cock still bobbing in the air, sticking straight out. Sarah had opened her robe more, and now her breasts were exposed, allowing me to see the entire length of her body, something she used to deny me out of what I thought was annoying bashfulness.

She sat up a bit and pulled her legs closer to herself, crossing her ankles under her chair.

"Sit down on the floor in front of me," she said. I tried to hand her the lotion as I moved to sit down.

"No, no," she said. It's for my feet. Put some on your hands and massage my feet."

I sat down with my legs folded in front of me, but she had me stretch out my legs on either side of her chair, leaving me sitting on the floor with my legs spread wide. She stretched out her legs and presented her feet, which held down my throbbing cock.

I started to massage her feet with the lotion, taking one at a time, then moving back and forth to be thorough with each.

"You know, I've noticed how when we go out someplace and some pretty woman walks by with sandals or barefoot, you always look down at her feet. And if she has really nice feet, you keep watching as much as you can until she goes by. Now, I would say you might have a foot fetish. That's great if you do. I love having my feet rubbed. I had them done up nice so you would feel better about worshiping them," she said.

"I don't know if I would call it a fetish. But I do appreciate a nice pair of feet on a woman and take notice," I admitted. "Your feet are really lovely this morning."

"Why, thank you," Sarah said. "You usually don't complement me like that."

After concentrating on her ankles, which she always loved whenever I gave her a foot massage, I spread more lotion on the bottoms of her feet, which were smooth and soft after her pedicure. I worked my thumbs back and forth.

"That feels very nice," she said. "Thank you."

I reached lower and pressed my cock up against the soles of her feet.

"Go ahead, put some lotion on your cock and massage the bottom of my feet with it," Sarah invited.

It felt fantastic. I appreciated pretty feet, but never thought about making love to them; I couldn't imagine how it was done. But the feel of the lotion, the skin of her soles and the sight of her lovely feet was getting me more and more turned on. I sensed she knew all along that it would.

Soon, she pushed my hands away with her feet, then cupped my cock between her arches.

"Squirt a little lotion in there," she said.

I did, then leaned back, bracing myself with my now idle arms behind me, then watched as she started to stroke my member with her insteps.

She held my cock between her toes, pressed it against the top of one foot with the toes of the other, held it back against my belly with one foot, then slowly stroked its underside with the toes of the other.

I was getting my first foot job, and was in absolute heaven watching and feeling it.

Soon, she started paying attention to my balls, lightly massaging them with her toes.

"To be honest, I've always had a bit of a fetish about men's balls," she said. "I'm fascinated with those sensitive little glands hanging outside your body where anyone can get at them. I think I'm going to have some fun playing with yours."

I wasn't sure I liked the sound of that, but at that moment I was concentrating on the sensuality of a foot job. I didn't know my wife could be so sensual -- or so cruel, as I considered the contrast between this and the caning on Saturday.

She became more aggressive with my nuts, kneading them with the balls of her feet. It didn't hurt yet, but made me fidgety, even as the massaging of my cock brought me closer to eruption.

"Hold still," she whispered.

She pushed my cock back against my belly with her right foot, stroking it up and down, still lubricated by the generous amount of lotion.

Her left foot pressed my balls against the floor. She rolled them back and forth and seemed to try to feel each one independently with her toes. It started to hurt, and I groaned. She became more forceful, at the same time she quickened the pace on my cock.

I looked at those feet that turned me on so much, even when I first saw them that morning, looked up her smooth, fair legs to her red bush; her midsection that carried those few extra pounds that I actually liked; up to her big, inviting breasts, and to the emerald eyes focused on what she was doing to me.

I realized that at that moment I desired, more than I ever had before, this beautiful woman who had caned me so severely just a day ago.

Meanwhile, her left foot pressed ever harder onto my balls as her right foot masturbated me. My manhood was beneath the soles of her feet, giving me both pain and pleasure.

"Ahhhhh!" I screamed/shouted/moaned, not knowing if it was a cry of ecstasy or agony. She sensed my orgasm was starting to build, so she stopped the kneading of my hurting balls and just gently put pressure on them.

That intensified the eruption that shot my semen clear to the underside of my chin, after I threw my head back and cried out.

"Ahhhh! Ahhhh! Ahhhh!"

After catching my breath, I picked up the hand towel and cleaned her feet first, then my entire belly and chest and chin, and the drops that clung to my cock, which was starting to deflate.

She lifted it with the tip of her toe.

"He's shown you how he feels about belonging to me," she said. "Will you show me how you feel?"

She raised her right foot up and presented it to me.

I took her foot and kissed it, looking up at her eyes. She looked down on me and smiled.

Unbidden, I picked up her left foot and kissed it, too. Her smile broadened, even more as I flicked my tongue along her toes.

"Go jump in the shower, while I clean up from breakfast," she said.

I stood up and was about to walk off and do as I was told, but I turned and looked at her. Putting my arms around her, I pulled her close and kissed her tenderly on the lips. I wasn't sure that she would allow it, under the circumstances, but it was important to me. She accepted my kiss.

"I love you," I said.

"I know," she replied. "I love you, too. Now do as I said."

"What have I done?" I thought to myself as I stood under the hot cascading water. I had assented, by gesture rather than words, that I would belong to Sarah -- be owned be her. Submit to her way, and at that point I had little information about what Sarah's way would be like. So far, it had been filled with both intense pain and intense pleasure. Perhaps that was enough for me.

I bent over for my caning on Saturday because I wanted to, she had shown me. That thought scared me. There was no sense denying that I had kissed her feet in assent for the same reason. But what did that mean?

I bore the caning, but had read enough BDSM stories to know I might have agreed to something I really didn't want. I couldn't be a 24-7 lifestyle submissive like the fictional ones in stories I had read. I couldn't accept a relationship in which I was hung by my arms for hours at a time with nipple clamps tormenting me while a party of strangers laughed at me and took turns flogging me.

But I trusted that that's not what Sarah had in mind. We really did have a nice night together after I submitted to her caning. And this morning had been fantastic, from a sensual standpoint.

But what would be her rules? Did I really want a wife who set all the rules?

As if to keep me from thinking about it too much (was that really her strategy?), Sarah suddenly entered the bathroom, pulled off her robe, and opened the shower door. She was gloriously naked. For five years now I had wished she would open up and lose her inhibitions. Now she seemed to have lost them, as long as she was in charge.

"I'm going to join you!" she said cheerfully.

She stepped into the shower with me just as I had finished washing myself.

"This is my soap," she said, picking up from her soap tray the scented bar she bought at some fancy boutique. She handed it to me.

"Don't do my hair or my face; I need to take care of that myself, but do a good job of washing the rest of me," she said. I took it as an order, even though it was said in a friendly tone that did not come across as an order.

I had never stopped loving her, even during those recent months when resentment and disappointment ruled our relationship. I had never stopped loving her body, which she used to fear wasn't worthy of my worship. But now here was my beautiful wife naked for me, inviting me to run my hands all over her.

She was a master -- a mistress -- at giving me what I so longed for, after I paid with my obedience and submission to her wants.

I rubbed the bar first between her breasts, then circled them both, ran the bar over them several times, then across her belly before putting it down. I started to rub the soap into her skin, lifting her breasts and working the soap underneath, feeling her erect nipples rub against my palms. . .

"I want you to wash me, not fondle me," she admonished.

I reached around her back with the soap, down to her butt cheeks, then back around in front.

"My legs first," she said before I touched her pussy.

I thoroughly washed one at a time as she lifted them up for me, concentrating on cleaning those perfect feet.

Then I covered my hands in soap and cupped her sex. She taught me how to wash her there, then turned around and bent over.

"Now the other side," she said.

I ran the bar of soap between her butt cheeks.

"You'll want to wash me really, really good there," she said, spreading her cheeks on her own.

I ran my hand deep between her crack and soaped up her butt hole. She asked me to do it again, and when I mistook her urging for permission to go on sexually, she stopped me.

"No, I don't want your finger up my ass. You're bathing me, not fingering me."

After I made sure her entire body was well rinsed, she pushed down on the tops of my shoulders to have me kneel, turned off the water and raised her left leg to the edge of the tub.

Her hand pulled my head forward, but I knew what she wanted, and began to lick her honey pot, still sweet with her moisture, showing that she had been aroused by the foot job experience, too.

"That's OK, just a little," she soon stopped me, then turned around and bent over.

"Now the other side," she said.

Surely, she didn't. . .

"I've always wondered what it would be like to have a man lick me there," she said, spreading her cheeks for me. "You get to be the first."

I complied.

I ran my tongue the length of her butt crack, replaced her hands with mine in keeping her spread, then went deeper.

Tentatively, I touched the tip of my tongue to her asshole.

"Ohhhhhhh!"she exclaimed on first feeling the sensation.

I couldn't bear yet to aggressively lick her there, as I could do to her pussy, so I continued to touch and brush the very tip of my tongue around the puckered opening.

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed. "That feels fantastic! I can't believe it! What an odd and totally hot sensation!"