Beside Myself, Book I: Drugged by His Femdom Wife

I felt myself nod, more noticing than initiating that reaction.

“Oh!” her face softened, she got up, moved toward me, stood, leaning over me, almost nose to nose, cupped my cheek.

“Poor, Baby!” she crooned, the sympathy in her tone seeming entirely and deeply genuine.

“I like Trolls, Baby. And I love you. I really do! And, I’ve just always wanted,” she brought the other hand up, to cup both cheeks, “my Very-Own-Troll—” it was like there was a brief skip in the audio track, the interruption of a lump of passion in her throat, “to play with,” she finished, an octave lower.

My stepfather had referred to us as the Troll and the Witch—meaning only bad things about me, only good things about the witch who had married me. I didn’t understand why she’d married me either; you don’t question—fabulously!—good luck.

But then things began to. . . change.

It would take me a while before I learned that—I’d thought she was perhaps “casting spells”?—my wife-the-pharmaceutical rep had been dosing me.

A while longer to learn what those meds did, and. . . why.