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this day I'll never understand. Fortunately it was just normal dust burn off from sitting unused in the Florida heat for a year.
    Me.
    Not my husband. Not their own male relatives or neighbors.
    Moi.
    I pretended to smile and nod at another story they thought was amazingly funny in their inebriated state. Frankly, I hadn't paid the slightest bit of attention. I was too stunned.
    When I worked for other people, I was the natural leader despite not wanting the role. I always ended up appointed team leader, like it or not. The project manager, even when others volunteered and I sat there praying the boss wouldn't see me. The one everyone joked, "Give it to her, she always gets everything done. You're always so busy I don't know how you have time for it all!"
    Well, it had to get done, one way or another.
    I never refused, although I could have.
    So it should only be natural I ended up with a husband who subconsciously saw me in the same light, right?
    Strong.
    Safe.
    Reliable.
    I was so sick of it on a cellular level. I wanted to be taken care of. I didn't want the decisions. I didn't want the responsibility.
    It took every ounce of my will to not stand up and silently walk out of there without my friends.
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    Domma By Default
    by Tymber Dalton
    I wanted to go home and hit my husband. Not bend him over the bed and playfully spank him until his ass and my hand both looked like the skin on a MacIntosh apple, but slug him in the jaw and call him a bastard for forcing me into this position.
    Which was exactly why I didn't move. I stared into my glass of tea. When the waiter returned, I nodded when he offered me a refill. My friends were still drinking, would be good for at least another round and thirty minutes.
    I couldn't go home like this, feeling like this. I needed to calm down.
    I needed to regain control.
    Part of me hated my husband, for my guilt, for my shame.
    I never wanted to be a Domme. I wanted to be a loving wife.
    I wanted a strong, dependable husband.
    Now I think I understood maybe one reason why our variation of BDSM seemed to be the exception, not the rule.
    No matter what Tony or my new acquaintances from the Munch said, it seemed like many dominant women in "the lifestyle" were full-blown Dominatrixes or whatever term they wanted to use for themselves, turning their men into playthings.
    At least that's the information I kept finding. I intellectually knew there had to be more to it than that, but a serious lack of information I could relate to left me feeling lost and alone.
    Maybe this was why, because eventually some women became aggravated at what they'd been pushed into and took on the role wholeheartedly.
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    Domma By Default
    by Tymber Dalton
    Or, maybe not. I knew some women genuinely enjoyed the full-fledged kink, but I wasn't one of them.
    It was difficult to find information on men like my husband, who only wanted to serve, not be used and abused. Even more difficult to find information on women like me who wanted to fill that need for them, not because they wanted and craved the control over their man, but because they wanted to fill that need for their man because they loved him.
    I wasn't doing this for me, that's for damn sure.
    I finally got my friends out of the restaurant and safely poured into their respective homes. I'd texted my husband before I left the restaurant and told him my approximate return time.
    I'd also told him to be waiting for my return.
    I opened the front door and he was sitting exactly as I'd instructed, naked, on his knees on the floor, his arms behind him, waiting with an eager smile on his face.
    "Did I please you, Mistress?" he asked.
    I nonchalantly dropped my purse onto the couch and nodded. How could I ever admit to him what I'd felt earlier? A horrible wave of guilt washed through me. I didn't want to be selfish, I wanted to make him happy.
    This made him happy.
    "You pleased me," I lied.
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    54

    Domma By Default
    by Tymber