There was something satisfying in the love she shared with him, in her embrace. He was no longer afraid of her blackmail, as their agreement and love ...rew. They wouldn’t always make love, but it wasn’t always downright fucking either. Sometimes they would just snuggle and hold each other taking turns as the big spoon.“How was your night, Rye?”“It went well, made the average.”“Mmmm, me too. Can you believe it’s been almost a year since we started this arrangement?”“Has it?!” He was surpised, “it. I can only imagine her comfort because she does not allow me, like other husbands, to enjoy the "rights" of the husband. On this cold November night she has decided that I am to sleep in the "bitch cage". A cage placed under the basement stairs. Her decision on where I sleep, like most of her decisions regarding my level of discomfort, seems to be purely arbitrary; a fleeting whim that I must endure long after she has forgotten my existence. My night is spent not so much in restful sleep, nor. She put her hand under my chin lifting my head saying "you are not allowed to look anywhere but into my eyes unless I give you permission.And you will call me Mistress Stacy.Do you understand?"I stupidly responded "yeah."She grabbed my chin squeezing saying sternly"yes what?"She wasn't joking.I replied "yes Mistress Stacy." She released my chin from her tight grip and I kept starring into her beautiful green eyes." That's good " she said and after a few seconds of starring "now you can look at. She was sitting with her legs spread wide, and in her hands she had a knife. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘Sacrifice me, baby.’ Baby? Fuck. I woke up sweating. That was not the type of dream guys wish for, let me tell you. Like, if that were a lucid dream, Ruth would be holding… Fuck. I told myself I gotta stop this. I pulled myself out of bed and turned on the lights to my aquarium. The ryukins rushed to the surface. ‘Nice try, guys.’ But they knew I was a sucker. I really was. I sprinkled some.