She was just about at the end of her rope. The day had gone horridly, and he hadn't been there to hear her complaints about it - not that he ever let her do much of that anyway, but it was the principle of the thing. She slammed the door in from the garage, and then slammed the refrigerator door when a quick, scowling glance yielded no cold bottle of Diet Coke. He restricted her intake of soda pretty severely and she was only allowed about two cans of it a week. But if ever any night deserved a chemically enhanced beverage, it was tonight. She turned, ready to paw through the pantry to see if there she could dig one up there, and suddenly he was in front of her, holding her leather collar, which she would normally have donned in their bedroom while she shed her business clothes and became what she truly was. Eyebrows already raised at her snitty behavior, he buckled the soft leather collar in the back, then quickly and efficiently removed every stitch of clothing she'd worn that day - folding it neatly and putting it on the counter for her to retrieve and put away later - and led her through the house towards his den, paying absolutely no attention whatsoever to all of the wide open windows and curtains.
