Bob entered the room with ease, turning to assess the reaction of his guest. She stood in the doorway, gawking, as he strode up to a hi-fi stereo. Soon, light strains of Pachelbel's Canon in D Major were floating on the air.

"We have easy listening, too," Bob said, thumbing through the playlist. "Sade. George Strait."

A refrigerated wine cooler with a see-through door sat beside a table lamp and leather recliner. He bent low to open the door.

"I know it's a little early, but a Bourgogne chardonnay might hit the spot." He searched the cooler's contents. "Oh! I could make Mimosa!"

He produced an already open bottle of cremant. Ma'amusa merely blinked, still frozen in the doorway. He presented her with the sparkling wine, then stood by her side to follow her gaze with his eyes.

He found her staring at the wall opposite from the doorway. It was lined with crushed velvet, blood red and floor to ceiling high. Straps and chains hung from hooks, with cuffs and shackles lining shelves. Centered among them was an X-frame Saltire Cross, shiny black and prominent.

"I don't even know why we have that," Bob said of the cross with disgust. "We never use it. I guess it's just for looks."

He put the bottle of cremant on the table and approached a waist-high bed. "This is what Cecilia likes best," he said, placing his hand upon it.

Ma'amusa's mouth slowly opened. "Mr. Rohan," she managed to say.

"You said you had a secret. That you break into mens' homes."

"Only you, Mr. Rohan. And I swear it to be true."

He continued, unconcerned. "So now you know my secret. Our secret, as it belongs mostly to my wife."

He fussed with a wrist shackle made of sturdy leather, double lined with rabbit fur. It was attached to a chrome chain, which itself was attached to an iron rod running the length of the bed.

Bob spoke quietly to the shackle. "When I almost lost Cecilia -- when she thought of leaving me -- I nearly begged her on my knees to explain why."

He reached across the bed and retrieved the other shackle, chained to the far side. "She refused," he said to it. "So I went to Benjamin and asked what was going on at these parties where she was spending her time."

"And you never knew?" Ma'amusa asked.

Bob's glare nearly floored her. "No," he answered simply. "I didn't. Or maybe I didn't want to. So I went there one night to see the answer for myself. Benjamin let me enter the manor, but he wouldn't let me in the trophy room, where Cecilia had been. He sent for her instead. She came out wearing a robe and nothing else. Said that she was modeling."

Ma'amusa entered the room, for pity's sake more than anything. "Oh my," she said, sounding like her husband.

Bob nodded while playing with the shackles. He laid them gently on the bed.

"Yeah," he said. "I know, I figured it out. But instead of leaving me -- or me kicking her out -- she said 'Let's get boarded.' It was a new thing then, as we've been brainboarding for over a year."

He panned his hand over the room. "And she showed me this." He walked up to a padded table, with stirrups like those used for a gynecological exam. "This was our first toy," he said, patting a piston powered sex machine bolted to the table.

With a timid finger, Ma'amusa gently flexed the fifteen inch rubber dildo attached to the toy. She looked at Bob with confusion.

"Why are you showing me this?" she asked.

"Well, like you sort of said, most people knew what Cecilia was doing in the trophy room."

"It wasn't just her," Ma'amusa remarked.

Bob smiled. "Oh. I know." He tapped his head near his brainboard. "Remember. She showed me. She didn't tell me. It was better that way, you know? Like, she was so in charge in that room, in the den of sin she created. Sitting high on her pedestal, modeling for that frieze. Like the monster being created, she ruled over the chaos that went on.

"The carnage," Bob said to the sex table. "The ruin she was causing."

"She had help," Ma'amusa said. "She had --"

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Dean," Bob said for her, so he didn't have to hear someone say the name. "My wife showed me how, although she reigned supreme, the idea at first was his."

As Ma'amusa examined the dildo strapped to the sex machine, Bob walked over to a shipping box the size of an ottoman.

"And this is our newest toy," he said of the box. "It's a Sybian."

"A Sybian?" Ma'amusa repeated, the dildo firmly in her grasp.

"It's a toy that you ride. Like a pommel horse. I'll strap Cecilia to this wall and make her sit on it until she passes out from ecstasy."

"Mr. Rohan," Ma'amusa scolded.

"No," he clarified. "It's what she wants. In fact, I won't have to do anything. She'll probably chain herself to the wall, and fire the darn thing up. I could go to the kitchen and make coffee, and come back later to say hello."

"Unless she's unconscious," Ma'amusa pointed out.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Bob said with a grin. He then became animated. "But you see, here's why I'm telling you this. Like we know, you can't have sex with your mate while you're boarding. It's impossible. But women, when they have sex, can have unending orgasms. Up and down and all around, over and over and over."

"Like a ferris wheel," Ma'amusa said, mounting the sex table. She threw the hem of her skirt over her chest, exposing her pantied butt to the dildo on the machine. "A parade," she added while placing her feet in the stirrups.

"I'm good at being a Dom," Bob said of himself. "And Cecilia is a great sub. But I can't experience what she feels when I'm working her. And having her express joy and gratitude when it's over isn't the same thing."

He stood next to Ma'amusa as she lay in position on the table. He leaned in close to speak to her face, his brazen approach causing her to gasp.

"But you could do it," he said. "You or Ma'a Taua can be my switch. I'll sit in my chair and wear blinders, and experience what she feels."

He stared at Ma'amusa unblinking, awaiting a reply. Her eyes grew wide and fearful, showing a range of emotions. After realizing she wouldn't speak, he played with the sex machine now between her legs.

"Cecilia would let you use this," he said of the machine. "I mean, we'd have to get you your own dildo, but yeah. You can use it. But I think you should consider this."

He walked up to a pedestal made of sturdy wood, with a height of just over two feet. Its angled surface had a slight ledge, all of which was fully padded.

"We don't use this," he said. "It won't support Cecilia's weight, and she's not athletic enough to make it work." He placed a hand on its padded surface and burned his intruder with a stare. "But you could make it work."

Ma'amusa's mouth hung open with her tongue protruding, frozen in a silent hiss. Bob retrieved a full face harness and electric piston from a shelf on the velvet wall, fitting the piston into a hole on the front side of the pedestal.

He continued explaining how the station worked. "This is a blowjob machine," he said of the piston. He threaded the its electrical cord through the hole, then displayed the harness. "It has a ring gag you can use, but it's pretty big. Two-and-a-half inches, at least."

Centered on the harness was the gag ring, fully wrapped in leather to ease with insertion. "I don't think we'd use the ring on you," Bob surmised. He plugged in the piston and turned it on. It slowly thrubbed, pumping with a range of twelve inches.

"You'd do this willingly," he said with confidence, certain of Ma'amusa's oral sex skill.

He turned off the piston and continued explaining. "So you can kneel here and wear the harness, with your hands strapped to the base. Or we can go a step further."

He produced a pair leg braces mounted on brackets. "With these you can be fully suspended. You balance your butt on the pedestal and put your legs in these braces, then have your hands tied to the ceiling."

Ma'amusa'a gaze rose to a steel ring in the ceiling. "For complete submission, I tie your hands to the wall. Then you'd be bent over backwards, and fully exposed."

From another shelf on the wall, Bob retrieved a hand-held device. Massive and two feet in length, it also drew power from a cord.

He presented it to Ma'amusa. "We can use this if you assume that position."

Standing behind her as she lay on the table, he presented the device. It had a handle long enough to reach between her legs, shiny black and curved like a claw. Its working end had a two-by-three inch pad made of soft vinyl, neon orange and ribbed for pleasure.

"I press this button," he explained, "and it pounds away." He demonstrated a second feature -- two rollers, also made of ribbed vinyl, facing each other to form a pinch point. "This button turns these on," he said of the rollers. "They vibrate a bit, and the whole thing is heated, offering you a warm pleasure."

He reached over her body and held the toy near her pantied pussy, exposed with her feet in the stirrups. "Would you like me to demonstrate further?" he asked.

Ma'amusa's whole body shook. Her lips had grown dry from her mouth hanging open, as she heaved a soft hiss at the toy.

"Oh!" she exclaimed while shaking her head, indicating the answer was No. "My god," she then purred, indicating perhaps it was Yes.

Bob put the toy aside. He ratcheted the dildo sex machine in place between Ma'amusa's legs, using brutal force. Its enormous rubber dong hung an inch from her panties.

"When I turn this on," he kindly explained, "it has a stroke of over a foot. I mean, it'll shove you right off the table! But I can dial it down to a more manageable range of about nine or ten inches."

"Nine inches?" Ma'amusa gasped, fearful of even that.

Bob looked at his half-hard meat, hanging naked before her. "Well, yeah. I mean, that's what I have. Ten if I get real excited."

He worked a calibration lever on the machine, making her realize he was setting it to its highest range. "About sixteen inches here," he said of the stroke. He ratcheted the lever down to its lowest setting. "This is about eight." He then set the lever in the middle. "And here is me."

He set the control for the machine near her head, where see could see it. "You press this button," he explained, gently touching it. "And boom boom boom! Off you go!"

Unable to close her mouth, Ma'amusa began to pant. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the handholds on the table. Bob flipped the wrist clamps into place, showing how he could lock her in if he so desired.

Her eyes grew wide as saucers. A concerto by Vivaldi played on the stereo, For Mandolin in C Major.

"I need an answer," he said, close to her face.

She breathed hard while forcing out words. "Mr. Rohan. Please." The scent of her pheromones filled the room. "I need another washcloth, if I may. And a new pair of panties, and a day-liner."