Chapter 5

FIVE

ASHLEY

I glanced at the hall cupboard from my spot at the breakfast bar. The urge to get in and rip open the cardboard box which awaited me was overwhelming.

Jerry scratched at his two-day-old stubble while shovelling frosted flakes into his mouth. Orange crumbs clung to his lips, a dribble of milk escaping down his chin. The courier had arrived right in the middle of dinner the previous night, and I was itching to open my package. But doing so in front of Jerry and his mother wasn't an option. So I'd stashed it quickly in the cupboard, in one of the shoe boxes near the back, thanking the stars that there had been another package at the same time to take the heat off my leather goodies.

Now to get Jerry to work so I could indulge in my dirty little pretties.

‘Will you be home for lunch today?' I asked, hoping the answer would be no.

‘Yeah, I'm going to be visiting the East side office this morning. You'll have something ready?' Jerry spoke through a mouthful of flakes, another rivulet of milk dripping to his shirt.

The fact I still wanted to be fucked by him was a testament to my desperation.

‘What would you like?' I slipped a little coyness into my words, ever living in hope. Most married men would kill to come home and bang their wife before going returning to work like billy big balls.

‘Maybe some chilli soup? You know, like my mom makes.'

With a sigh, I took another glance at the hallway. Just me for the fun, then.

‘You always say you don't like my chilli soup.'

‘Yeah, Mom left some on Tuesday. She put some containers in the freezer. Can you take one out to defrost and heat it up for me getting home?' Jerry didn't look up from his phone while he spoke, simply directed his spoon limply at the freezer.

Of course Mommy dearest would have left soup for him. They probably had a jolly good laugh at how terrible I was at cooking, too. Which would be fine if I actually couldn't cook. I just couldn't cook like her .

Finally, Jerry pushed back his stool with a screech and stood. ‘Gotta hit the can before I head out. See you lunchtime, babe.'

Orange globs of cereal still floated in the abandoned bowl he left on the counter, milk pooling beneath the base and leaving sticky wetness on the counter.

Sometimes I dreamt about stopping all the chores. They didn't get me anywhere, anyway. Or at least demanding to be paid for them. Hell, I probably wouldn't even care about the fucking bowl if he'd scooped me into his arms for a lingering kiss before he left me for the day. Choreplay only worked if it culminated in sex.

Soon enough, the door clicked, and his car growled before heading off down the quiet street.

Barely two minutes after his departure, I'd fetched the box after double locking the door. The smooth cardboard tingled against my fingers, excitement coursing through me.

Ripping open the tape sealing the box, I tore through the black paper which covered my items, a grin plastering my face as the first peek of pink appeared. Shiny gold metal chilled my finger as I stroked it over the collar. With a squeal, I pulled the leather items out of the box and spread them on the counter.

A twinge gripped me between the legs as I surveyed my shiny pink items. I'd never dreamt of being collared, but the ideal of someone picking the set out and decorating me in it was a heady one. God, I wanted that. To be precious and pampered by a man who cherished me. Not as a dishwasher or life organiser, but as an emotional, sexual, human being.

Moving to the window, I pulled the blinds closed, not willing to wait a single second longer before trying on my purchases.

Tearing off my leggings and top, I stood naked in front of the full-length mirror in the hallway and looped the collar around my neck. The leather had an almost sweet scent with whatever finish the creator had used to polish it to a soft sheen.

An image of his thick arms flashed into my head. What if it were his fingers securing the gold fastenings rather than mine? I pulled the strap through the buckle a little tighter than was comfortable, a tingle creeping up my spine at the added pressure on my throat.

I fixed the wrist and ankle cuffs next, each fanning a submissive flame in my chest. I dropped to my knees and surveyed myself in the mirror. My red curls fell around my shoulders, contrasting with the girlish pink fitted around my neck. My freckled cheeks held a blush that only deepened when I spotted it. Swallowing, I split my thighs, seeing my feet tucked beneath my already glistening pussy. The vulgar sight sent a wave of shame through me, but heat chased the humiliation.

My fingers found their way to the wetness, grinding through hot flesh until I lost all sense. My eyes lidded in my reflection, pink washing my chest at the perfectly indecent picture I made.

I could feel the tension coiling in my groin, a subtle ache that intensified as I arched my back. My heavy breathing filled the room, the air thick with anticipation. As I moved my fingers in and out, I could feel the heat building, the friction causing a tingling sensation. I needed more. So much more.

I wanted the desperate heat of passion, the addictive flare of lust. A tear tracked my cheek as I came hard, the collar choking my moans and my need soaking the floor.

Tremors shook me as I leant on my heels, caressing my wet fingers over the pink leather as I came down from my high. Leaning back, I grabbed a tea towel from the counter and swept up my mess. Glimpsing myself in the mirror, my face rosy and my chest pricked with sweat, the urge to capture the moment filled me.

Grabbing my phone, I knelt in front of the mirror, closer this time. Holding the tea towel to cover my nipples and drape between my thighs, I snapped an image. Careful to crop it below my nose, I smiled. The woman in the picture looked a million miles from the woman I was. She looked freshly fucked. Pretty. Confident.

Should I send it to Jerry? Maybe it would give him something to look forward to when he got home…

I 'd stayed in the collar and cuffs all morning, cleaning and organising in nothing else. By the time Jerry's car pulled into the drive, I was so sure that the items would inflame him in the same way they did to me.

After undoing the double lock, I knelt in the kitchen, hands behind my back, displaying myself in the same way I had in the mirror. Excitement quickened my pulse as the door opened and each footstep had me squirming with need.

Jerry rounded the corner, pausing when he spotted me. His eyes danced over my body, hanging on the collar for a few seconds. A red rush filled his cheeks, and I took the blood flow as a good sign.

Emboldened, I crawled toward him, swinging my hips and looking at him.

‘What are you doing?' he asked, his voice faltering as I neared him.

‘Hoping you'll have me for lunch,' I replied, trying to maintain my confidence even as his mouth pulled into a sneer.

‘Fuck sake, Ash. Can't a man even come home for lunch without being expected to perform? I've been working all morning, while you've been fucking around with whatever this is.'

Just like that, he crushed my spirit, dousing my need with a chilly dash of reality.

Sexy and playful wasn't for me.

Jerry walked past me without another glance, and I stood, embarrassment swallowing me up.

Tears pricked as he rummaged behind me in the kitchen. ‘And where is my fucking soup? You had one job…'

I fled the kitchen before listening to another word.

Fuck Jerry.

Fuck his soup.

Fuck them all.

I tore the collar and cuffs from my body when I reached our room, throwing them into the drawer next to all the unworn lingerie and slamming it closed.

Pulling my biggest, ugliest hoodie on, I stormed into the en-suite, tears already darkening the material.

The cold floor welcomed me like a friend, used to embracing me in my moments of despair. My ass chilled against the tiles as I let my sorrow leak from my eyes until long after Jerry's car left.

Eventually anger filled the space the sadness had abandoned, furious rage glowing through my veins.

Someone in the world would appreciate me.

I needed one person to affirm that Jerry wasn't right. That I was still desirable. Just one person.

Fury propelled me to the kitchen, where I grabbed my phone and found my way back to Aimly. After a longing glance at the thick arms holding the harness, I threw caution to the wind and added my photo to the reviews.

The collar and cuffs were perfect. Thank you so much.

Unfortunately my husband didn't like them, so they won't be used for their intended purpose.

No surprises there, though. He ignores me no matter what I do, or don't, wear.

Still, they are beautifully crafted, and I appreciate the effort you put into them. Maybe one day I'll know what it's like to have someone enjoy me in them.

Or out of them.

I filled in the username as LonelyHousewife and, with only the slightest hesitation, hit the approve button.

The review went live. A swipe of satisfaction soon outweighed a splash of nerves.

Well, fuck you, Jerry. At least someone out there would enjoy seeing me in the outfit.