I immediately did as Steven requested. I’d been his slave since I was 19; it wasn’t in my nature to question him, especially in the bedroom. “Put your arms behind your back and bend your knees.” He was brusque tonight, almost uncaring. I could tell that something was bothering him. I’d spent these seven years learning his moods and discovering the best ways to bring him out of a dark one. I moaned passionately, as if nothing would bring me more pleasure than to be hog-tied on our bed. I’d long ago discovered that my enjoyment – real or otherwise – was the fastest way to make Steven climax and end our “love making” faster. “Shut up,” he commanded me coldly, “Tonight you’re not going to make a noise. You’re just going to take whatever I want to give you and stay quiet.” I wasn’t afraid. Steven had been like this before. Any imagined error could bring on his wrath. Dinner a few minutes late to the table, pants instead of a dress, even a hair out of place could incite him to anger.
