The Night You Caught Me

I’m standing in our bedroom just staring at you. God, how I love you. And I seriously do wish I could tell you everything. But I’m also not sure how to have that conversation.

How does someone tell her husband that she performs submissive for other men who log into her website?

I justify it all the time. I tell myself that it’s not truly cheating because I’m not, in fact, having sex with anyone. But then again, if there’s nothing wrong with what I’m doing, then why can’t I just come clean and tell you? Why do I keep it a secret?

You would understand, wouldn’t you?

I like to think so.

But I can’t be sure. So instead, I do what I do every night. I watch you sleep. Then I get dressed and head out to the garden shed. The garden shed you built for me because I wanted to get off the grid. How ironic that it saved us from poverty by housing an online submissive site. It’s perfect because I can always come back inside before you wake up. And if someday I don’t make it back in time, I’m sure I can always tell you I was checking on something out here. And you would believe me.

Because why would I lie?

I sneak out of the house as quietly as I can. Even outside, I tiptoe down the path and across the grass to the shed. Inside, the aroma of fresh potting soil and the musty scent of earth fill the air. I take a deep breath and smile.

How I love that smell.

My outfit hangs on the hook behind the door. I have several that I designed myself. Most of them are designed to rip away easily, like a stripper’s clothing. But made to look like they won’t.

I set up the backdrop, hiding the tools and plants from the view of the camera, and turn everything on so it can boot up while I get dressed. I think today I will dress as the librarian. I always dress as the librarian when I’m feeling guilty.

It was our first attempt at role play. After 15 years of marriage, you asked me to pretend to be a librarian so we could spice things up. Sometimes I wonder if you would understand that I wear this as a tribute to you and our love. Or if you think it taints our love with the idea that other men are watching me take it off at their command. I wish I could just ask you. But how do I ask you without confessing everything.

And this has already been going on so long. There’s no way I can just confess everything easily.

Everything is set up. I got dressed, and everything for the live site is up and running. During the day, clients can just log into their customer accounts and replay old videos of our sessions.

“Sandra,” Bob says into his webcam.

“Bob,” I smile and sit in front of the camera. “How are you tonight?”

“Nevermind about my day,” he says. Like always, he’s in a hurry to get going. That’s never a problem. A fast night usually means fast payments.

I brush my fingers through my hair and twirl the brown ends. “Yes, Sir. What should I mind?”

I might as well jump in, then, if he wants to jump in so badly. No sense in making him wait when he clearly wants to get going.

“Your nipples. How do they feel right now?”

“They’re hard. They ache.”

His breathing gets louder as he closes his eyes. He has the Webcam aimed at his face so I can’t see what his hands are doing. But the jerking movement his shoulder makes doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

“They ache because they want me to touch them….”

I let out a groan of approval as he talks.

“They want me to suck on them. But I’m not going to.”


“No. Those nipples have to earn their relief. Now put on the blindfold.”

I take off my fake glasses and tie the blindfold over my eyes. Still facing the camera. My blindfold doesn’t blind me, completely. It’s sheer enough to let me see the lights from the camera and computer. But no one can tell. Not that I want to spy on them or cheat. But I have to make sure I keep facing the camera or else what good is the website.

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