There Has To Be A Loser Ch. 01

Our anniversary was in one week. Two years of marital bliss. We are a pretty normal couple. Good sex. Loving, fulfilling relationship. I think the reason we get along so well is because of our shared kink: bondage play.

We've never taken our play too far, just the basic stuff: tying each other up, spankings, wax. Every time we played we would switch roles, one night I was Master, the next she was Mistress. Like I said, though, nothing serious. But believe me. It sure did keep things hot in the bedroom.

Three days before our anniversary while I lying in bed, my wife, her name is Diana by the way, came in from the bathroom. She looked good even when she was about to go to bed. I couldn't help but roll on top of her and start kissing her neck after she crawled in with me, but she stopped me as I was making my way to her lips to ask me a question.

"Carl, how would you say our love life is?"

"Incredible," I said, as I made my way back to her neck before she stopped me again.

"Come on, Carl. Really? How is our love life?"

"It's incredible, dear. I couldn't be happy. You're as beautiful as the day I met you. Why are you asking? Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no! Believe me. I think it's great, too. Best sex I've ever had," she said with a wink. "It's just that," she paused to think. "There's something missing."

"What?" I asked.

"It's just… I LOVE our little play sessions. Tying each other up, the hot wax, the spankings, all of it. It's just… it's just not enough for me."

"What do you mean?" I asked, puzzled by her statement.

"I mean, I want to take our game to a higher level."

"How?" I asked, still pretty much in the dark by what she was talking about.

"Well, that's where it gets good. I've made up a little game for us to play. Now, here is the important part. Whoever wins the game gets control. No more switching. And I don't mean just control in the scene. I mean control in all aspects of our life. In other words, the loser is the winner's bitch for good," she said with a smile.

"Wow," was all I could get out at first. "I'm speechless. Well… what's the game?"

"I'll tell you, but you have to agree first that you will play and you have to agree that you will follow the rules of the game. Even if you lose."

"Well, of course I agree, sweetums," I said as I kissed her forehead.

"No, really, Carl. You have to be serious about this," she said, a little anger in her voice.

I looked at her. "Of course I agree. As long as the game is fair."

"Oh, its fair. The better man… or woman, will win. So, you're willing to go along with this?" she asked one last time.

"Yes, dear."

"Yay!" she giggled like a little, school girl. She must be excited about this game. "Ok, here are the rules. We are both going to go to a nightclub tomorrow night for 3 hours. Within that time we each have to get as many phone numbers as we can. Whoever has more numbers at the end of the night wins."

"Hmm…" I thought about it. "Sounds fair enough."

"Good to hear, baby," my wife said as she started kissing my face. "How about we fuck?"

That's all I needed to hear.

The next evening I spent about 2 hours getting ready for our big game. I wanted to make sure I looked as appealing as possible. I sure didn't mind subbing occasionally, but I wasn't sure about full time submission to my wife.

"I stepped out of the bathroom ready to go. My hair was gelled, Ralph Lauren cologn on. I was looking good. I was wearing a new tight fitting button up shirt, leaving enough buttons undone to reveal my chest. I had on a pair of black slacks, and my favorite black loafers. Yep, I was ready to go.

Then I saw my wife. She had never looked so good. Her strawberry hair was newly cut to her shoulders. Her tight fitting blouse barely held in her 36C cup tits. She had a fuck me latex skirt cut about 3 inches above her knees that I had never seen before. She was wearing a pair of 6-inch stelleto shoes and her nails were freshly done. I was getting hard just looking at her.

"Wow. You look amazing," I said as I walked up to her and put her arms around me. I tried to kiss her but to no avail. She pushed me away, probably not wanting to mess up perfection.

"Not now, dear. It took me all day to get ready for tonight. You look good yourself, by the way. Too bad it will all go to waste when you lose," she said with a smile as she walked towards the door. "Let's go."

We arrived at the club around 8 o'clock. I was feeling pretty confident, down right cocky even, about my chances. I normally had a good number of women approach me during the day. It shouldn't be too hard to lock this up.

"Ok, dear. You know the rules. Three hours," she said as she kissed my cheek one last time. "Geez it's hot out," she said as she popped one more botton on her blouse loose. Her tits almost popped out with it.

When I got in the club I started flirting. Every woman I saw was a target. I figured if I averaged about 10 numbers an hour that would be plenty enough to defeat my wife at her own game. It didn't work out that way though.

After about 45 minutes I had talked to what seemed like every woman in the club and had a grand total of 4 numbers. I knew I had to pick it up, but they just weren't biting tonight. Damn, I thought to myself. I wondered how my wife was doing.

By the end of the night I was able to pick it up, but I still only had 16 numbers. About half as many as I wanted. I walked out of the club and sat on the curb waiting for my wife. I could only hope she had tougher luck than me.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and I turned around to see my wife, hair a little messier than before we left, but still the most gorgeous woman I had ever met. My focus shot straight down to her hand. She had a small stack. Couldn't have been more than 4 or 5.

I laughed. "That's it?" pointing to her hand.

"Yeah," she shrugged. "In the first 10 minutes." She reached into her blouse and pulled out a stack with what had to have been 40 or 50 numbers. My jaw dropped.

"How many is that?"

"48 total. Plus these 4," she lifted up her hand. "A total of 52." She grinned ear to ear. "And how to you do?"

I lifted up my hand in defeat. "16."

Her grin grew to the point I thought it was about to rip through her face. "Looks like I win. You're mine, bitch," she said with a devilish laugh.

We didn't talk during the entire thirty minute drive home. I was speechless. What had I gotten myself into? At least she wasn't rubbing it in. When we got home, we retired to bed fairly quickly. I didn't even try to force sex. I was devastated. I probably didn't say more than two words that night.

When I woke up my wife was in the living room reading Cosmopolitan. Usually I love Saturdays. For the past two years, we've spent every Saturday fucking each other sore. I wasn't sure what to expect today.

"You were a heavy sleeper last night, weren't you?" my wife said with a grin. Probably the same grin from last night.

"I was tired. I had a lot on my mind."

"I'm sure you did. Look, you did well last night. Don't be ashamed. I just got lucky is all."

"Sure you did," I said still defeated.

"Well, don't be too gloomy. It's a beautiful day. You have a beautiful wife. What more could you want?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Well, I know what I want. Two eggs, over easy, bacon, toast, and orange juice."

"Naw, I'm really not in the mood for cooking," I said as I turned my back to her. Bad idea.

"Excuse me," she shot up from her chair. "I'm sorry. Somewhere along the line you assumed I was asking you. I wasn't. I was telling you. Remember the rules, dear," she said as she walked towards me. "I won. You lost. End of story. You are my bitch. My slut. My maid. Mine. If I say jump, you jump THEN ask if it was high enough. Now get in that kitchen and cook me breakfast."

"Yes," was all I muttered.

"Yes, dear," she corrected me.

"Yes, dear."

"And you can expect a punishment for your bad behavior this morning. If I let you slip you'll never learn," there was a grin back on her face.

After she finished eating, I had to do the dishes. And the laundry. And clean every room in the house. I had worked 6 hours straight, on a Saturday. I was ready to go to bed and it was only 5 o'clock.

"Honey," I approached my wife. "I'm done with my chores. Can I go lay down for awhile?"

"First of all, it's not honey anymore. Nor is it dear, sweetie, or anything else. It's Ma'am. Before and after every sentence. Understood?"

"Ma'am, yes, Ma'am. Ma'am, may I go to bed, Ma'am?"

"No you may not. It's time for your punishment."

I bit my tounge. I dare not piss her off anymore. "Ma'am, yes, Ma'am."

"Go in the bedroom and strip. Kneel in the middle of the room. I'll be there in a minute."

"Ma'am, yes, Ma'am," I said and walked away.

I kneeled naked in my bedroom for about a half of an hour before my wife came in.

"I am sorry I have to do this, but if I don't punish you, you will never learn. Do you understand why I am doing this?"

"Ma'am, yes, Ma'am."

"Good. Now go and get me that chair."

I pulled over a seldom-used chair to the middle of the room. My wife sat down and instructed me to get her wooden hairbrush, then lay across her knees.

"You're going to get 25. I want you to count off each one after you receive it and thank me for it. Understood?"

"Ma'am, yes, Ma'am." That seems to be all I say anymore.

Before I knew it WHAP! She started with a hard stroke from the hairbrush on my left cheek. I yellped out it pain, completely forgetting to thank her for my punishment. Another mistake. She yanked my head, painfully, close to her face by my hair.

"Slut, I recall saying you are to thank me after each spanking. Or am I mistaken?"

"Ma'am, no Ma'am, you weren't mistaken. Ma'am, I forgot, Ma'am. Ma'am, thank you, Ma'am."

"Well, to remind you to ALWAYS thank me for the gifts I give you, that first one doesn't count. And if you forget again, we start all over from 1. Understand?"

"Ma'am, yes, Ma'am."

WHAP! Another hard hit, this time to my right cheek.

"Ma'am, thank you, Ma'am."

This went on for about 45 minutes. We had to restart over again after we got to 17, because my ass was burning so bad, my mouth wouldn't say those four simple words. So, in the end I actually took 41 hits from Mistress's hairbrush for a punishment that called for 25. By the time we were finished, my ass was cherry red, my eyes were dried out from all of the crying and my voice had gone horse. I layed in bed that night, eyes still watery from the pain, realizing that this isn't a game. She is serious. I really am her bitch. And I'd better get my act together soon or I would be in a world of hurt.