Forgiveness

I didn’t need to yell. I didn’t need to argue. I was done doing that. The anger I felt toward Jessie had been simmering for weeks—maybe longer. Words had failed me. His apologies felt hollow. His promises of “doing better” had started to sound like noise.

So, I stopped trying to talk.

I decided to show him.

He sat quietly on the edge of the bed that night, wearing only his black cage. He shifted his cage uncomfortably as he sat on the edge of the bed. His cock was caged, locked snug—exactly how I needed it. Not for punishment. But for focus. For devotion. For clarity. He watched me as I applied my lipstick, my thighs exposed beneath the silk robe that barely covered the matching lingerie I wore beneath.

“Tonight,” I said without looking at him, “is about me. My release. My pleasure. My forgiveness. I preached to him.”

He swallowed. “Yes, Ma’am.” …