Submission
The Silk and the Sting
The apartment was a sanctuary of order, a stark contrast to the chaotic, blood-soaked streets of Hell’s Kitchen that Matt Murdock navigated every day. Dex spent his hours maintaining that order with the same obsessive precision he used to apply to his ballistics. He scrubbed the baseboards with a toothbrush, polished the silverware until it mirrored his own hollow expression, and ironed Matt’s shirts until the creases were sharp enough to draw blood.
But today, the domesticity had a different edge. Dex had spent the afternoon opening packages he’d ordered in secret—discreet, unmarked boxes that felt like contraband. He had spent hours researching, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he looked for things that would make him feel even smaller, even more owned.
He stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom, his breath hitching as he appraised his reflection. He was wearing a new dress—a pale, blush-pink silk slip that was even shorter than the last one. It was gossamer-thin, clinging to the hard, corded muscles of his thighs and chest in a way that felt deliciously transgressive. Underneath, he felt the heavy, grounding weight of a weighted steel plug, its flared base pressing firmly against his entrance, keeping him stretched and ready. Around his waist, he had fastened a delicate lace garter belt, and tucked into the small of his back was a vibrating ring intended for Matt's use.
He felt like a doll. A weapon repurposed into a toy.
The sound of the front door opening sent a jolt of adrenaline through him. He checked the clock: 6:02 PM. Matt was home.
Dex didn't rush to the door. He knew Matt preferred to find him. He moved to the kitchen, standing by the counter where he had prepared a simple, elegant dinner. He kept his back to the entryway, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He heard the cane click against the floor, then the rustle of a coat being hung up.
The silence that followed was heavy with anticipation. Matt didn't say a word, but Dex could feel the man’s focus shifting, his heightened senses mapping the room, picking up the new scents—the smell of expensive silk, the faint metallic tang of the steel plug, and the sharp, floral perfume Dex had dabbed behind his ears.
"You’ve been busy, Dex," Matt’s voice drifted in from the doorway, low and dangerous.
Dex didn't turn around. He gripped the edge of the marble counter, his knuckles white. "I wanted to look nice for you, Matt. I wanted to be... enticing."
He heard Matt move. The footsteps were slow, deliberate. Matt stopped directly behind him, not touching him yet, but the heat radiating from his body was enough to make Dex’s knees weak. Matt’s head tilted, his nostrils flaring as he took in the scent of Dex’s arousal and the fine silk.
"This isn't the dress I left for you," Matt noted. His hand came up, his fingers grazing the hem of the silk where it rested mid-thigh. "It's shorter. Thinner. You’re showing a lot of skin, Benjamin."
"Do you like it?" Dex whispered, his voice trembling. "I bought it to please you. I bought other things, too."
Matt’s hand moved higher, his palm flattening against the small of Dex’s back, feeling the lace of the garter belt through the silk. A dark, appreciative hum vibrated in Matt’s chest. "You’re experimenting. Seeking out new ways to be submissive. To be my wife."
"I want to be perfect for you," Dex gasped as Matt’s other hand found his hip, pulling him back against the hard line of Matt’s suit trousers. "I want you to use me until I can't remember my own name."
Matt didn't respond with words. Instead, he reached down, his fingers hooking into the delicate hem of the pink dress. He began to lift it, inch by agonizing inch. The silk slid upward over Dex’s trembling thighs, exposing the lace of the garters and the pale, scarred skin of his legs. Matt’s touch was light, almost teasing, but the intent behind it was absolute.
"You’re shaking," Matt murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of Dex’s ear. "Is it the cold, or are you just that desperate for me to see what you’ve done to yourself?"
"I'm desperate," Dex confessed, his eyes fluttering shut. "Please, Matt. Look at me."
Matt bunched the silk in his fist, pinning it against Dex’s waist, leaving his backside completely bare. The sight—or rather, the sensory map Matt drew in his mind—was exquisite. The cold steel of the plug caught the light, a silver spark against the vulnerability of Dex’s body.
"A plug," Matt said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a predatory growl. "You’ve been walking around like this all afternoon? Waiting for me with this inside you?"
"Yes," Dex sobbed. "Thinking about you. Thinking about how you’d feel when you took it out and replaced it with yourself."
Matt’s hand moved to the base of the plug. He didn't pull it out. Instead, he pushed, the heavy steel toy bottoming out inside Dex, hitting his prostate with a blunt, forceful pressure that made Dex’s vision go white.
"You want to be filled?" Matt asked, his grip tightening on the toy. He began to twist it slowly, the textured steel grinding against the sensitive walls of Dex’s interior. "You want to be my little domestic secret, dressed in silk and lace, stretched open for my convenience?"
"Yes! Please, Matt, yes!" Dex cried out, his forehead dropping to the cool marble of the counter.
Matt leaned over him, his weight crushing Dex down. He reached around with his free hand, unbuttoning his own trousers with practiced, ruthless efficiency. He didn't waste time with more talk. He reached down and gripped the flared base of the plug, pulling it out in one swift, wet motion.
Dex let out a choked, hollow sound at the sudden emptiness, his body sagging, but Matt was already there to fill the void. He didn't use any more oil; the friction of Dex’s own arousal and the remnants of the plug’s lubricant were enough. Matt guided himself to the entrance and pushed inside with a brutal, possessive shove.
The sensation was overwhelming. After the cold, unyielding steel, Matt’s heat was like a brand. He was thicker, harder, and infinitely more demanding. Dex’s breath hitched in a series of jagged sobs as Matt began to move, his hands anchoring firmly on Dex’s hips, his fingers digging into the muscle.
"You like being my wife, don't you, Dex?" Matt grunted, his pace quickening. Each thrust was deep, aimed with the same terrifying accuracy Matt used in a fight. He found the sweet spot, the sensitive knot of nerves that turned Dex into a shivering mess, and he struck it again and again.
"I love it," Dex wailed, his fingers scratching at the counter. "I love being yours. I love the dress. I love the way you hurt me."
"I'm not hurting you," Matt corrected, his voice a low rasp of exertion. "I'm calibrating you. I'm keeping you centered."
Matt reached down between them, his fingers finding the cock ring Dex had mentioned. He slipped it onto himself, the vibration hummed through both of them, a buzzing, electric current that heightened every nerve ending. Dex’s scream was muffled against his own arm as the added stimulation sent him spiraling.
The rhythm was relentless. Matt wasn't being the gentle lawyer now; he was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, taking what was his with a dark, focused intensity. He lifted Dex’s leg, hooking it over his arm to gain a deeper angle, driving into him with a ferocity that made the kitchen table creak under their combined weight.
"Look at you," Matt hissed, his teeth grazing the skin of Dex’s shoulder, leaving a mark that would surely bruise. "Dressed in pink silk, crying like a girl, taking every inch of me. Is this what the great Pointdexter has become? My pretty little thing?"
"Yes," Dex gasped, his eyes rolling back. "That's all I am. Your thing. Your wife. Please, Matt, harder. Give me everything."
Matt obliged. He increased the tempo, his thrusts becoming shorter and more violent as he neared his limit. The vibration of the ring, the heat of Dex’s body, and the sheer, absolute submission of the man beneath him were too much to withstand.
"I'm going to... I’m going to ruin this dress, Dex," Matt warned, his voice breaking.
"Do it," Dex begged. "Ruin me."
With a final, devastating lunge that felt like it reached Dex’s very soul, Matt emptied himself. He groaned, a long, guttural sound of release, his body shuddering as he collapsed against Dex’s back. Dex’s own climax followed instantly, a violent, messy explosion that left him gasping for air, his muscles twitching in the aftermath of the overstimulation.
They stayed like that for several minutes, the only sound the hum of the refrigerator and their ragged breathing. Matt eventually pulled back, his movements slow and heavy with the afterglow. He reached down and smoothed the silk dress back down over Dex’s hips, though it was now wrinkled and stained.
"You look beautiful in pink," Matt whispered, kissing the back of Dex’s head.
Dex turned around in Matt’s arms, his face flushed, his eyes shining with a terrifyingly pure devotion. He reached up, his fingers trembling as he touched Matt’s jaw. "I have more. In the bedroom. More things for you to try."
Matt smiled, a slow, dark expression that promised a very long night. He picked Dex up, the man’s legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, the silk dress bunching up once more.
"Then we shouldn't keep them waiting," Matt said, carrying his prize toward the bedroom.
As Matt laid him down on the bed, Dex felt the weight of the silk, the lingering throb of his body, and the absolute silence of his mind. The white noise was gone. There was only Matt. There was only the leash. And as Matt began to reach for the next box on the nightstand, Dex knew he would never want to be free again.