He remembered the nights they had shared in past years. So many that none could be singled out. Nights where he was ruthless in his whippings. Nights when their passionate joining threatened to seal them into one person instead two. Nights she crawled for him, worshipping the power he wielded over her, begging him to touch her, to beat her, to take her.

There were mornings when he’d find her twisting her naked body in front of the full-length mirror in their bedroom, trying to get a good look at her bruises. Reaching behind her back to feel the way the welts had grown while she’d slept.

At first, he’d thought she was concerned about the markings. When he’d asked her about it she quickly puts those thoughts to rest for him. For her, the marks were her memories, souvenirs of the exchange they shared. From that point on he tried to leave her something to find in the morning. It was almost a game for him now, to leave her a love bite, or welt, or perhaps a handprint, something for her to find. Sometimes they were obvious, sometimes, just for fun, a hickey under her breast, or teeth marks on her inner thigh would give him extra time to watch her twist and turn as she searched for his mark.

The marks she nursed now were not the kind of marks that either of them appreciated. They were marks of invasion. They represented the frailty of life. They represented how swiftly their bond could be severed. From the depth of his soul he hoped this was the worst thing they would encounter together. He knew it was not to be, there would be other interferences in their life, but today he willed the threats of the world away.

He watched as she took a sponge and started squeezing the warm water down her back and arms. Watching the droplets trickle down her smooth fair skin. Seeing the tendrils of long dark hair dampen and curl from the water and the steam of her bath. She looked beautiful and serene. This was a healing bath for her, not one for washing or shaving, but one for letting her incision heal and her body relax. She was most comfortable in the tub these days and he enjoyed sharing this time with her.

Sharing time. They had shared seven years together by his count. Two years of courtship, one as a collared master and slave, four as husband and wife. The beginnings of their courtship had been tenuous. He, more experienced in the lifestyle they had chosen, she, excited and fearful. Wanting to please him but extremely apprehensive of the level of pain that she knew he enjoyed inflicting. It took a great deal of caution on his part to finally convince her that his interest was in her limits, not his.

He had been careful when playing with her. He introduced her to things she’d never heard of, things she’d never dreamed of. But he did it slowly, letting her confidence build, watching her fears drop away one by one until she was finally convinced that her inexperience would not impair his enjoyment.

The fact of the matter was, for him, exposing her to so many new things served to enhance his enjoyment of their play. Watching her grow, seeing her rise to each challenge he set before her, watching her continue to succeed. Knowing it was he who was guiding her, filled him with a new sense of power he’d not experienced before. She was teaching him at the same time, something neither of them had expected.

The separate roads that had led them to each other joined, and they began to walk the same road together each comfortable with the pace and rhythm in which they traveled. Their bond strengthening each day, binding them together. Molding them into what they were now.

But what they were now, had been threatened. He had traveled their seven years together without considering how easily she could be taken from him. He knew she would not leave him willingly, but he hadn’t considered outside influences. He hadn’t considered accidents or illness. This little surgery had shaken his world far more than he would admit to her.

The healing baths started the day after she came home from the hospital. The doctor had told her a bath would ease the pain from her surgery but she was afraid it would hurt more when she dipped into the hot water. He’d allowed her to avoid the bath the first day, but he couldn’t stand to see her in such pain and discomfort and so he took charge.

After they had finished the dinner that he’d prepared for them he had drawn her a bath. He led her into the bathroom and helped her into it, promising he’d stay with her, promising he’d help her out quickly if the water caused her more pain. He knew right away from the look on her face that she’d discovered a way to ease her pain. Her face relaxed, then lit up with a big smile as the warmth of the water worked its magic and she was pain free for a while.

Since that day, almost a week now, they had fallen into a routine of soaking her after dinner. It did something quite unexpected for both of them. For him, after a long day’s work, the quiet time in the bathroom was concentrated on just the two of them. He had refused to answer the phone the first couple of days so that he’d be available for her if she needed him, then he decided the uninterrupted quiet time was too precious to their days to permit interruptions. He knew for her it was a time to let go all of the pain and discomfort she’d been feeling all day. She felt whole and uncut in the tub. And she enjoyed the uninterrupted attention she received from him. It had become their time and he decided this was a ritual they would continue long after she was healed.

Funny, he thought, how they both enjoyed it when he inflicted pain on her body. She loved the endorphins that raced through her body and he loved to watch her react to the medley of pain he chose for her. This pain was different though. It wasn’t good for either of them. He hated to see her in any discomfort that he didn’t cause. He wanted her happy and healthy. He wanted her with him. Always.

He watched her squeeze the sponge again and a waterfall of droplets ran down her arched neck and drizzled down her breasts. Breathtaking beauty.

Beauty. Yes. He didn’t need to see her in the bath to appreciate her beauty. She was beautiful inside and out. He thought she was pretty when they had first met. He didn’t realize then, the beauty hidden in the depths of her eyes when she looked at him. Beautiful in her love, stunning in her pain, and resplendent when she writhed and moaned in the ecstasy of their joining.

He knew she’d want to cover her bare skin in lotion when she got out of the tub. She had a favourite vanilla scented cream that she slathered all over herself when she was done. He teased her about it being vanilla and she always retorted it was the last hangover of her vanilla life and she didn’t see a need to let it go. She would put the lotion on in front of him. Her hands sliding all over her body, cruising every curve and every crease. She had a routine established and she always started at her neck and worked her way down. Sometimes she’d stop and massage her breasts more than she really needed to, or spread her legs a little wider than necessary, opening her feminine delights.

It was a little show for him. He loved to watch her when she played for him. Little teases that appeared in her words or actions that implied her lust, though they both new the underlying shyness that she fought to overcome. Even after all their time together she still blushed when she was naked in front of him. She had a fragility that drew protective instincts from him, his shy girl, his lusty slave, his perfect wife.

One long leg rose out of the water, the sponge now drenching her leg, the water making a tinkling sound as it ran back into the tub. He thought of the how she’d raise that leg to the side of the tub when she applied her lotion. How her other leg would be pulled straight as she bent from the waist letting her slippery hands glide smoothly all over her leg. Massaging the lotion into her already soft skin. Slowly and deliberately working the lotion in.

They sat together in the bathroom for half an hour, she soaking, he watching her, both talking of the day they’d had, making plans for the future when she was free of her burden and able to resume her normal activities. Quiet talk, meaningful only to them, and more valuable to him than she might think.

The bathwater was starting to cool down and it was time for her to get out. She could get in and out of the tub on her own but today he stood up and offered her his hands. She reached for them and he helped her stand and helped her step out of the tub. Before she could reach for her towel he had it in his own hands and began to carefully pat her dry. She stood there, while her husband, her master, cared for the body he claimed as his own.

He’d taken such care of her during her recovery. He’d hired a woman to come in and clean for her, he cooked the evening meal. She was left to fill her days with books, television and company, as friends dropped by to visit her. He cared for her completely as she recovered, but tonight, he was touching her in a way he’d never touched her before. He needed to feel her life, to pay homage to the body that housed his heart. He had to satisfy the great urge he felt to give her direct and total care.

He retrieved her lotion from the bathroom cabinet and began to rub it into her flesh. Kneading and massaging, working her muscles, removing what little tension that was left in them. She stood, though he knew it was hard for her, her body was becoming too relaxed. He moved off her shoulders and down her back. His hands slipped to her buttocks where he spent an extended period of time letting his hands circle and circle her roundness until her skin could no longer absorb the lotion. He slid his arms around her and worked up her abdomen, feeling the swell of her belly, the deep curve of her waist and finally resting on the fullness of her breasts. He lingered on her breasts as well.

Though tender, his touch was purposeful. He took stock of her body, ensuring it was solid and flawless, as if by laying his hands on her, she’d never suffer another invasion like the one she was healing from now.

He dropped to his knees in front of her and began to work the light vanilla scent into her legs. This was not a position she had ever seen him in. It was she who kneeled, not him.

How many times had she knelt in front of him? Far more than he could ever count, far more than he could ever ask for. It was something she did frequently as a token of her submission to him. He knew why she did it and he loved her for it.

She knelt beside the bed at night, waiting to be invited in. She knelt in front of him when they were at friend’s homes, claiming she was more comfortable on the floor than the sofa. She knelt when she had something to ask him, or something to tell him. He loved watching her, looking down on her, seeing her raise her face to him. Seeing her offer her submission to him, not needing to have it demanded by him. And now, knowing how easily that could all be taken away, he felt humbled, and kneeling for her seemed proper and right.

He placed his hands lightly on her leg, spreading the lotion in smooth circles up and down her calves. He rubbed her feet as well, lifting first one then the other to apply a generous coating. The love he felt for her overwhelmed him, and as he gazed up at her he saw welling tears of sentiment brighten her eyes.

The lotion applied, he stood up, his eyes absorbing the beauty of her body in front of him much like her skin had absorbed the lotion. He took her terrycloth robe and wrapped both it and his arms around her. He wanted to keep her warm and comfortable. She huddled herself to him and they stood there for a moment, enjoying the closeness of each other’s body. He reached up and undid the clip that held her dark hair; he felt her raven curls tumble down her back, blanketing the arms that wrapped around her. She was his prized possession, he felt proud to be her owner. He was glad she was here to own because it could easily not be the case. He knew that now.

He took her hand and led her to the living room where sat her on the sofa and he tucked a downy soft crocheted blanket around her lap. From there he went to their VCR and popped in a tape that he knew she’d like. He came and sat beside her, she lifted the blanket so they could both share it.

If this was a normal night, the movie they watched could easily be abandoned as their cuddling turned to caressing. A quiet evening at home could quickly become a night of gluttonous sexual hedonism. Bondage and humiliation combined with multiple orgasms, oral worship, whippings and spankings and finally, exhausted sleep. But that was not this night.

This night, the two of them sat entwined together on the sofa, bound by their love of one another. He held his treasure in his arms, savoring the intimacy and tenderness he felt for her.