THE METHOD
Version 3.0
HIM
He had never been the superstitious type. In fact, he regarded such magical thinking as backwards, counterproductive and harmful. But even he had to admit that, at least in his case, the third time had indeed been the charm. He drifted in that liminal place between sleep and vigil, enveloped by a warm, steady stream of pleasure. Slowly he opened his eyes.
Dr. Hannah Hays—rather, former doctor—was licking his cock softly, kissing it with tenderness, worshiping it with the devotion of a true fanatic. The tantalizing smell of breakfast came from the kitchen. Their morning ritual, the beginning of another perfect day with his perfect wife. He considered stopping her, making her a bit desperate—it was fun, every now and then, to let her need for his cum build up and manifest itself in the form of a new sexy outfit, a new perverted idea and act, a new attempt to force him to cum. The predator was still there, buried deep inside… but it had been domesticated by the third iteration of his formula. Now the panther was his little housecat… and his devoted woman, single-minded in her desire to be the perfect companion.
He relaxed and let her skilled mouth drive him over the edge. She came without even touching herself as soon as she felt his cum enter her body. No, it was somehow more than cumming. It was orgasm and fulfilment and complete peace, all rolled into one. Her juices fell on the bedroom carpet. She didn’t wear underwear anymore. No matter. He knew she would clean it all up later.
“Good morning, honey”, he said.
After swallowing, she replied with a smile.
“Good morning! Breakfast is ready! Let me set the table for you!” she chirped and bounced out of the room. She was wearing one of her favorite outfits: a floral dress that would have looked like it belonged in the 50’s if Hannah hadn’t modified it to make it shorter, to show more cleavage, to strike the perfect balance between “devoted wife” and “teasing slut”. That was all her—he hadn’t told her how to dress at all. It simply… happened. The utter devotion instilled by the formula had manifested in many ways—and apparently, Hannah saw that aesthetic as the best one to please his eyes.
She hadn’t been wrong, although she had an extensive wardrobe. Sometimes she would metamorphose into a different look, a different person, just to give her love variety and spice.
And she did love him. That had validated his theories completely. Everything, even true love, boiled down in the end to chemicals.
Once he had made that breakthrough, he had considered different variations of the formula. One to make everyone feel immense respect for him. One to turn girl into willing bisexual sluts for the night to bring home. One to compel mindless obedience. He had almost started work on these variations before realizing… he didn’t need them. He had Hannah. The right Hannah. Hannah as she always should had been. Clever, charming, sexy, devoted… happy.
Her happiness made him happy, and all she needed to be happy was his happiness.
It was the perfect arrangement.
HER
As she set the table, she was overcome by how lucky she was. Soft, golden light entered through the dining room windows, and her mind went back to the sterile, artificial, cold light of the lab. How willy she had been, to believe happiness was hidden somewhere in her equations! How misguided to believe being a professional was more important than a devoted woman to the perfect man! How blind to miss that the perfect man had been there all along, just a short walk away, hidden away in the biochem lab!
She felt sorry for other women, she truly did. Trapped like she had been by a lifetime of lies. “Be a strong woman”. “Be independent”. “Be fierce!”. That way only frustration lay, and it had taken Peter to show her the truth. Service and loving submission was true freedom.
This was her home, in a way that no other place ever had been. This was her place, perfect for her, made for her as she had been made for it. It was a reflection of her love. Peter was perfect for her, and she strived every day to be perfect for him. She was happy. There was no other word for it. Sheer, peaceful, blessed happiness.
She felt a pang of need. Greedy, she chastised herself. Peter had been generous enough to give her his seed already, and she had no right to demand more. But still… maybe she could do something special when Peter got back from work.
Her mind went to her wardrobe. The product of a lot of research, from catalogs to porn, she had assembled it carefully, making sure Peter couldn’t know exactly what she had hidden there. She wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise. Maybe a variation on her maid outfit? Perhaps something with leather and a leash? Her alt-girl punk outfit?
Ah, she would have time to figure it out. For now, it was breakfast time… and everything needed to be perfect.
He deserved nothing less.