Francine and I had been married for four years before I realized she had serious fantasies about domination. I certainly can’t say she was deceiving me because she did leave me plenty of clues. Her pet name for me was “Slave,” after all, and she had a habit of leaving her favorite books lying around the house — books with titles in which words like “mistress” and “whip” and “heels” figured prominently.

But I figured those books were a kinkier variety of the standard romance novel. And lots of couples make jokes about the husband being a slave, right? Our friends thought it was the cutest thing when Francine would call me Slave and ask me to get her a drink with the words, “Your goddess wants wine, Slave.”

Most of the time, Francine was soft and sweet and affectionate, which I loved. When I finally discovered how deep her fantasies went, she didn’t become any less affectionate. And the truth certainly didn’t make me love her any less. Just the opposite, if anything.

The night I realized something was up beyond simple joking around came when I found a folder of stories on Francine’s laptop. I wasn’t snooping; my own machine was on the fritz, and I had to borrow hers. In the process of looking for someplace to temporarily store the document I was working on, I found the stories.

There were about a dozen of them, all about a dominant woman named Mistress Kitty and her slave — named Slave, surprisingly enough. I knew immediately that Francine had written them. There were specific words and little stylish flourishes that could have come from no one else. And the physical descriptions of Kitty and Slave were obviously meant to depict Francine and myself, down to the mistress’s wire-rimmed glasses and her honey-brown bangs. Slave, for his part, had unusually large balls and a little mole on his cock, so … yeah.

The stories didn’t freak me out or anything. In fact, the more I read them, the more excited I became. I was charmed and flattered by how sexy Mistress Kitty clearly thought Slave was. The stories made it clear Mistress Kitty loved fucking Slave, in addition to tying him to the bed and driving him out of his mind with elaborate sexual games. Reading about that stuff gave me a serious hard-on; at that moment I wanted more than anything to go find my wife, lay her down on our bed and make her come at least three times.

Even so, I have to admit, it was for me a whole new way of thinking about sex. It made me question a little whether Francine really liked it when I took the initiative in bed. I decided the only way to find out was to talk with her.

It was probably the best thing I’d done in our marriage by far. When I told Francine I’d found the stories, she grinned impishly and said, “It took you long enough … Slave.”

After a long talk, it was evident to me that nothing had really changed between us. My finding the stories didn’t mean Francine had suddenly relinquished all the submissive elements in her own character, and it didn’t automatically convert me into a real-life slave. We talked a lot about her specific fantasies, and all the deliciously kinky things that turned her on.

Pretty soon we decided to try bringing Mistress Kitty and Slave into our bedroom. The catch was that Francine — not inappropriately — would call all the shots. She would also be the one to decide when we took this next step in our sex life. I would be taken completely by surprise when it finally happened.

So the next couple of weeks were pretty hot for me. When I slid into bed next to my wife, I wasn’t sure if I was going to suddenly feel the cold steel of handcuffs locking round my wrists. The next time Francine got cozy on the sofa with one of her “mistress books” and slid her beautiful bare toes out from under her favorite blanket, it might not be a playful request for a footrub, but the beginning of my life as Slave for real. Accordingly, I was in a state of serious sexual excitement most of the time, and Francine was more than happy to accommodate me. Those couple of weeks, frankly, saw us fucking more than we had in the past several months together.

But the night finally came when my wife decided to make her private fantasies reality and lead me into the world she’d created.

It happened, as shouldn’t surprise you, when I least expected it. I had just gotten home from a late night at the office, and there really wasn’t much on my mind except a high-pressure meeting I had scheduled for the following week. Dinner was a couple of swallows of milk from the carton in the fridge, and then I staggered up the stairs to go to sleep.

Or so I’d thought.

“Slave?” a voice called from the shadows of our bedroom.

It was Francine, of course, but there was something subtly different about her tone. It was as soft and loving as ever, but there was a hint of steel in it as well, and an excitement that was very different from her usual turned-on coo. In an instant, I forgot all about the meeting and the incredibly tiring day I’d just had.

“Coming, Mistress Kitty,” I said.

Trembling a little, I entered the bedroom. I didn’t wait to be told before slipping off my clothes. In Francine’s stories, I remembered, Mistress Kitty always had Slave undress before serving her.

Getting naked isn’t always a sensuous experience, but getting naked because someone else wants you to does amazing things to you. It was as if my skin was suddenly remade as a new sex organ. I felt every shifting breath of cool breeze from the air-conditioning; the roughness of the bedroom carpet under my bare feet was deliciously erotic. Seeing Francine in bed — knowing she was waiting for me to come and please her — excited me. I felt my balls tightening up and my cock lifting and stiffening.

“Come here, Slave,” she whispered. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I stammered, trying desperately to remember how Slave addressed Kitty in the stories. In any case, “Mistress” didn’t seem to displease her.

“I had to work late tonight,” I explained as I moved toward the bed.

Francine’s response was a throaty chuckle.

“My poor baby,” she said. “You have to work so hard for your lady.”

She reached out a long-nailed hand and slid it over my hip, letting it linger on the stiffness of my dick. I gasped, but made no effort to move away — like a good slave.

“Come here,” she said again, closing her fingers around my erection and using it to draw me closer to her. “I want a taste of you,” she murmured, and with that, she pressed her lips against my cock, kissing and licking my shaft.

Kissing a slave’s cock might seem more the act of a submissive than a domme, but Francine managed to do it in a way that was both teasing and subtly proprietary. It reminded me that I — or Slave, at least — belonged to her and her alone. It was also, need I say, incredibly hot.

“Get in bed,” she told me. “Do I have to remind you what you need to do next?”

I remembered what it was she was talking about. In the first of the Kitty and Slave stories I had read, Slave had to get into bed with his mistress and fuck her — “slowly and sweetly.” Suddenly, it was as though the words were imprinted on my forehead. “Slowly and sweetly,” indeed. Something about those words, when applied to fucking my goddess, seemed so purely sexual I might, under other circumstances, have had to fight the impulse to fondle myself.

Francine pulled the covers aside, so I could climb in with her. I remembered in the story that Slave had kept his hands clasped behind his back while approaching Kitty, as though they were cuffed there. She seemed pleased that I remembered.

“Good boy,” she whispered. In the dimly lit room, I could hear the wet sound of her fingers being covered with lube and introduced to her pussy, the subtle squelch of her juices mingling with the clear fluid of the sweet-smelling lubricant.

I wanted to fuck her so bad, and when I positioned myself before my mistress and let her guide me inside her, my pleasure became nearly overwhelming.

I entered her slowly, but firmly. I heard her sigh and gasp as she took my erection into her, then again as I partially withdrew and sank myself back into her once more. Damn, that felt good! Had I been my normal, pre-Slave self, I might have been tempted to start whaling away on her like nobody’s business. But I was Slave now, and Francine was Kitty. It was my job to please her in the manner she desired.

Francine’s moans of pleasure took on the subtle growling sound of a predatory cat. As she growled louder, my thrusts became more determined. I could smell her — the floral fragrance of her perfume and the way it interacted with her clean, warm skin. I also smelled the salty scent of her sex.

I sensed myself getting ready to come, my cream coming to a boil in my swaying balls.

“Do it, fuck me hard,” Francine said, as softly and lovingly as she’d ever said anything to me — but also with a note of firm command I could not resist. “Fuck your mistress’s pussy, Slave. Don’t hold back any longer.”

“Yes,” I whispered, and suddenly I was thrusting away for all I was worth. In no time, I felt my load draining into her, as though in tribute, and felt the eagerness with which she accepted my seed. The moment was absolutely amazing.

For a long while, it seemed I couldn’t quite remember my name was anything other than “Slave.”

Not that I was complaining … or that I have complained, in all the weeks since.