Chapter 7

SEVEN

ASHLEY

D ays passed, eventually the awkwardness of my confrontation with Jerry fading into our normal routine. Cleaning. Gaming. Ignoring.

Jerry left for work and I threw myself onto the sofa, closing my eyes and resisting the urge to scratch my nails into my face.

I needed something to change.

Anything.

Life was ticking by and leaving me with nothing but more wrinkles by the day. Heartache and eye creases. The fucking glamour.

The front door opened and closed, but there were no footsteps in the hall.

‘Jerry, did you forget something?' I asked.

Silence.

Dragging myself to my feet, I headed to check the door. On the floor lay a folded sheet of paper, the word PET written in block capitals on the front.

Curiosity had me opening the paper, the words inside again in the same block capitals. Was it from Jerry?

I see you.

A perfect pet who needs to be looked after. Such a lovely collar and you need someone to take the leash. Wear it for me this afternoon, pet, and I will show you how to be adored.

Be on your knees in the kitchen at three o'clock wearing nothing but the leather collar and cuffs.

For a moment my heart all but stopped.

What the fuck was this?

I hauled open the door in time to see Jerry's car pulling out of the garage and reversing onto the street. I held the note, and he winked before driving off.

He winked.

I looked at the letter, and back at my husband's quickly disappearing car. Excitement had me giddy by the time I'd shut the door behind me. Finally. Jerry had finally reacted to something.

God, I had been such an idiot. Of course, he needed time to come around to something so out of character for us. The collar had simply shocked him. After ruminating on it, the desire must have grown. Imagining him in his games room, touching himself to the memory of me on my knees, had me wet before I could even put the note into the hall dresser.

My face broke into a grin, and I skipped up the stairs to have a shower. I was going to blow Jerry's fucking socks off. I'd shave myself until I was slippery smooth and pamper every inch. By three o'clock I'd present him with the perfect wife, willing and eager. If he liked it, maybe we were on the precipice of change.

I'd be a perfect pet.

The word had given me a thrill, however demeaning.

Pets were beloved, pampered companions.

I only hoped that he fucked me like a toy rather than a pet. The years of vanilla sex had perhaps never been enough for either of us. A new dynamic might be exactly what the doctor ordered.

The bathroom mirror steamed as the shower heated, and I drew my finger through the condensation until the word PET stared at me, my face visible in the stark letters.

My new title.

Pet.