A flux of air lifted the corner of the top page of Dave’s sales contract.
He suddenly wasn’t home alone. A whoosh would happen whenever someone entered from the garage.
Dave heard a mean grunt, metal buckles thwack the kitchen counter, the sharp cracks of salt and pepper shakers hitting the hardwood floor.
Dave rolled back his desk chair slowly and stood. He peeked around the office door. In the middle of the kitchen, his wife, Nadia. Her hands balled in fists. Her face staring at the spinning ceiling fan.
Dave didn’t speak. Instead, he returned to his desk.
A few moments later, cabinet doors clapped closed. A drawer rolled open and slammed shut. He heard the clacking of jars and bottles as the refrigerator door was yanked open.
There was the carbonated pop of a can. It was set on the granite counter.
Then the house was quiet again.
Soon, Dave appeared from the office and saw Nadia. She now leaned over the counter, shoulders set upward sharply, her head sunken between them.
The hard heels of Dave’s loafers clacked on the wooden floor, and Nadia raised her head immediately.
Her face was red and her mouth was in a snarl. Seeing her husband, though, her face flushed to shame. Before Dave had to move farther, Nadia nodded. She left for the dining room.
Dave paced slowly down the hallway to her. His foot pressed on the singular board that creaked when touched.
When he entered the dining room, he saw Nadia had plopped herself onto a fragile aged chair.
The wooden chair had a stiff pilgrim slat back, a hard seat, and four lean legs. The Angry Chair. It had held many angry and disobedient children throughout the centuries and continued its duty.
Nadia cupped her head in her hands. Hearing her husband, she straightened up. Her arms aligned with the long, narrowed back posts. She drooped her wrists to the chair back and set her ankles to the front two legs.
Dave still didn’t speak. He walked to a waist-high bar cabinet. It had tapered legs, an angular base and beveled front edges, which gave it a mid-century look. He unlocked it and lifted the top. Opening the door immediately brought up a scent reminiscent of cattle herding in the Wild West. He lifted out a rough hemp rope. It dangled in his hand like a limp python.
He knelt beside Nadia. The two remained silent. Nadia looked to the ceiling and gritted her teeth. She pressed her lips tight.
Dave noticed her quick breaths.
He wrapped the rope around her right wrist and pinned it with a single column knot against the back post. He weaved the rope around her waist and then knotted the rope around her left wrist and the back post.
He reached once more into the bar cabinet. He brought out pretty pink Lyla and its remote control. He tugged the waistband of her men’s jockeys and adjusted the small Lyla against her clit.
He bound her ankles tightly against the foot of the Angry Chair. Checking his knots, he yanked the rough rope. Nadia’s face winced with the itch on her skin.
Yet, neither spoke.
Again, Dave reached into the cabinet. He pulled out a black leather band with a thick ball attached. He fitted the band of it over her head and adjusted the ball. He buckled the gag tightly at the back of her head.
She let loose a quick gasp, having given up control.
Dave stood before Nadia, who was tied to the Angry Chair. He touched her chin and lifted it with his forefinger. He stared into her rich, dark eyes.
She began to breathe harshly.
He simply tsked his tongue and shook his head. He patted her cheek.
Nadia stared, eyes drooping. Maybe a hint of fear.
Before leaving, Dave pushed up his fingers at the corners of his own mouth, making a forced smile.
He gently touched the remote that matched Lyla that was hidden against her clit, and Nadia jolted in her seat.
Then he smiled and left in a odd state.
He worked in his office, focusing on the sales contract paperwork that he needed to complete. Seeing the remote on a stack of papers, he pressed the button on it. Somewhere, he knew a woman had been jarred again and shaken with a simple buzz.
He heard the screech of the Angry Chair legs on the hardwood floor. He pressed the remote again. The shaking of the chair calmed.
The house was silent, except for the clack of his fingers on the keyboard and the hum of the air conditioner unit pushing cool air through the vents.
He set down his pen again after he had scanned a few more pages. He touched the remote. He heard the grunts and influx of air into the mouth bypassing the ball gag. The Angry Chair screeched again on the hardwood.
He paused Lyla. He checked the clock. 3:45 in the afternoon.
He touched the remote and upped the vibrations. Screeching, rough sounds, a wincing groan.
He returned to Nadia. Beads of sweat covered her forehead and one bead had slid down her cheek. Her eyes flashed innocence, excitement, weariness, and relief at once. Her shoulders shivered.
Dave pulled back the men’s underwear and pulled out Lyla. It was covered in Nadia’s emancipation. He cleaned it, resetting it in the cabinet. He undid the ball gag and knots.
Nadia drooped over, setting elbows on her knees. She breathed deeply as if having just run a long race.
A sharp alarm caught their attention. 4:16.
They put away the ropes and other toys. The cabinet was locked again.
Nadia hugged Dave.
There was a flux of air from the garage.
“Mom, I’m home! I’m hungry!”
There was the clacking of jars and bottles as the refrigerator door was yanked open. A carbonated pop of a can.
“What’s for dinner, Mom? Mom?”
A young boy bounded into the dining room. He saw her hand on the chair.
“Why are you using the Angry Chair? Fixing something? Dad has ladders, you know.”
She leaned into her husband.
“I just needed to use it today.”
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