Everyone sees my husband as a high-powered CEO with a heavy hand. It’s a carefully cultivated image that he’s worked hard to perfect throughout his career. Of course, every professional needs a way to unwind. That’s when Hank comes to see Mistress Trix — that’s me, by the way.

Over the years, Hank and I have taken on very traditional roles in the public eye. As far as everyone else is concerned, he brings home the bacon, and I fry it in the pan. The fact that I do so while wearing a black latex catsuit my husband purchased during a business trip to Amsterdam is little more than an extraneous detail.

Most evenings, Hank will come home tired and worn out after a long day of phone calls followed by meetings, and then even more phone calls. He knows that all he has to do is sit in our special chair and Mistress Trix will come to take care of him.

What makes the chair so special? While it might appear to be a regular dining chair at first glance, it’s actually equipped with a series of hidden straps and restraints — items that Mistress Trix knows how to manipulate to make Hank feel at ease.

The best part of these hidden restraints is that if you don’t know where to find them, you’d never suspect that the chair is anything but ordinary, allowing us to leave it on display in our home. So many times, Hank and I have shared a knowing glance when an unsuspecting guest sinks into the seat. It’s our dirty little secret.

After one particularly grueling day, Hank headed straight for the chair the moment he stepped foot in the house. Sensing that my man needed extra special care that night, I slipped up the back staircase and headed to my closet, where I donned his favorite outfit from Mistress Trix’s wardrobe.

With my leather corset perfectly laced and my thigh-highs carefully clipped in place, I grabbed my riding crop and headed down to our living room.

When I entered the room, Hank was already dutifully waiting in his chair with his eyes closed. Not looking at me directly was one of the many rules we’d hammered out throughout our domme/sub relationship. I didn’t want him to see me when I entered the room as Mistress Trix; I wanted him to feel me. Taking away his sight meant that he had to rely on sound and scent to know when his domme was ready to play.

He also had already taken off his shirt and pants — another rule I loved to see him follow. If I tie a man up while he’s still fully clothed, I find myself hard-pressed to strip that unwanted fabric off later on. I didn’t like wasting my time cutting through expensive clothes. Besides, those were signs of corporate bondage, and that’s simply not my brand.

I walked across the glossy parquet floor, taking extra care to make certain my six-inch heels clicked with every step. Click, clack. Click, clack. I could see Hank’s grip grow tighter on the arms of the chair as I closed the distance between us.

“Did my little puppy have a hard day?” I cooed.

“Yes, Mistress Trix, one client just would not — ”

The loud crack of my riding crop connecting with Hank’s thigh cut his sentence short.

“No discussing work here. You know that’s against Mistress Trix’s rules, you naughty boy.” I brushed my fingers over his cheek. “But don’t you worry, Mistress Trix is going to make you feel better.”

Slowly, I ran the tip of my riding crop up Hank’s chiseled abdomen, allowing the leather to tickle his skin and awaken all the nerves underneath. When I reached the curve of one well-defined pectoral muscle I stopped and waited.

“Do you think you can keep still for Mistress Trix?”

Knowing what came next, Hank grit his teeth and scrunched his eyes up real tight.

“Yes, Mistress Trix.”

Filling with pride for my well-behaved sub, I raked my fingers through his hair and offered a token of praise: “Good boy.”

Then I pulled the crop back and brought it back down right on his nipple. Thwack! His skin turned an impressive shade of red, just like his favorite power tie. What a fashionable submissive!

Pleased to see that Hank didn’t even flinch, I decided to push his limits a tiny bit more before I broke out the restraints. One side of his chest was already covered with beautiful splotches of red, so I set out to make the other match.

Gently, I skimmed the crop over his skin, making my way to the other side of his torso. When the leather bumped against his nipple, I didn’t stop. I circled the rounded nub instead. When Hank’s nipple looked erect enough to cut glass, I lifted the crop up and positioned it way back behind my head. Aiming carefully, I brought the keeper down hard onto the swollen bud. Bull’s-eye! It was a direct hit.

This time, Hank wasn’t quite so stoic. His muscles grew tense as he hissed a breath through his perfect, pearly-white teeth. It was time to strap him up.

I bent next to the chair and busied myself, releasing the leather straps that were hidden away in their compartments. One for each wrist sat secretly tucked beneath each arm of the chair. There was also a strap for each ankle cleverly disguised as decorative leather accents that climbed the chair’s front legs.

The arm and leg restraints are very cool features, but my personal favorite is the straps that are carefully stuffed into the chair’s tufted sides. Reaching into the crease where the seams for the tailored fabric met will reward anyone who bothers to look with straps meant to span a person’s hips, waist and chest. I planned to use every last one.

I tended to his wrists and ankles first, making certain the leather bands were just tight enough to bite into his skin. Then I moved around to face him and focused on the straps that would keep his hips and chest firmly in place.

Once he was good and secure in his seat, I took a step back to admire my work. Hank’s eyes were open now, which is only acceptable after he’s been properly restrained. A sly smile tugged at the corner of my lips. I love seeing my big, powerful husband all trussed up and at my mercy.

I dragged my riding crop over each ridge in his well-defined abs, counting each one off with a light snap of the crop. When I reached the top, I brought down the implement again, this time with much more force.

Hank let out a long, loud growl when the leather connected with his skin. He was white-knuckling the arms of the chair, gripping them so hard a stranger might think he was experiencing true pain.

But Mistress Trix knows better than that.

Hank loves my riding crop. He loves the smell, touch and taste of its leather tip, the way it singes his skin and leaves bright red marks behind. It takes more than lukewarm taps to get my man off.

Of course, pacing is very important, and I decided it was time for a tiny break.

I took a walk around my submissive, allowing the crop’s keeper to trail over his skin. I traced a path from his chest to his bicep, then up onto his shoulder.

As I traveled around to Hank’s broad back, my trusty crop followed, trailing over his strong shoulders. When I reached the other side, I skimmed over Hank’s collarbone — one of his most sensitive patches of skin that’s so perfect for nibbles, kisses, and, well, riding crops. Then back I went, down his arm and over his chest, right back to where I started.

I bent down low so Hank and I could see eye-to-eye and told him: “We’re just getting warmed up.”

Like a flash, I lifted the crop over my head and brought it down onto his thigh. The resounding thwack that followed echoed throughout the living room.

Another fun thing happened when the crop collided with Hank’s skin — his dick rose hard and high. Always ready to up the ante, I issued the same treatment to his other thigh. Now both of Hank’s legs were the same sexy shade of red. Better still, his erection went from hard to raging. I could see the first clear bit of pre-come beading on his crown. My mouth watered while my mind urged me to bend down and take a little taste.

I bowed my head, allowing my lips to hover suggestively over Hank’s cock for a moment before finally taking him in my mouth. The tangy taste of pre-ejaculate blended with the musky scent of sweat and soap that was so uniquely Hank.

I opened my jaw wide and eased his dick inside until it tapped at the back of my throat, then I slowly sucked my way back up to the crown and started the process anew. Once I was confident his shaft was good and wet, I rose back up to my full height and spun around, ready to take us both on a bumpy ride.

Hank’s dick bobbed between my open legs. It’s the one part of his body I’ll never restrain — unless, of course, you count fisting his girth before urging him into my hole, which is exactly what I did next. His helpless groans sounded so sweet. I had to have him.

With Hank’s dick buried deep inside me, I was able to sit my ass quite comfortably on his lap. I stayed like that for a second, allowing us both to get acclimated, then I bounced up and down on his dick like a goddamn pogo stick.

Within minutes, we were both sweaty and panting. The leather of my corset slipped against Hank’s slickened chest, but even that extra friction couldn’t slow me down. I didn’t stop moving until I felt Hank’s seed surge into my channel, filling me with proof that I had the power to make one of the country’s most powerful men bow to me.