Our Saturday night dates loom on my mind days before the fact. Sue tends to show up in short skirts, high heels, revealing tops and with a different attitude from the workweek. The coolheaded executive with an MBA and PhD now starts to relax. The crisp tone in which she issues orders at the office becomes gradually more tentative, subdued, and submissive.

I’m in charge on Saturday nights, a pattern set a few weeks after we began dating. It was a Saturday afternoon, and we were sitting on the sofa in my apartment. Sue was being difficult, irritated at something that had gone wrong at the office the day before. “You’re going to have to let it go,” I told her, a bit more sternly than I’d intended. She gave me an indignant look and said, “You can’t tell me how to react.”

I mulled that for a moment, and then gave voice to a forming thought. “Not during the week, I can’t,” I said slowly. “But on Saturday afternoons and evenings, I can.” She poked me in the chest with a laughing “Screw you!” I instinctively grabbed her outstretched arm, and then, inspired by a further thought, pulled her across my lap. As soon as I had her in place, I began lifting her skirt.

“What are you doing, you prick?” she called out, but she was still laughing.

“Showing you who’s in charge on a Saturday afternoon,” I replied genially, while continuing to flip her little skirt above her waist.

“Fucker!” she said, but her tone still sounded pretty jocular. She started reaching around, trying to fend me off and to pull her skirt down. I casually pinned her wrist to the small of her back.

I spanked her through her pink panties for a couple of minutes, then yanked those down and continued on her bare butt, which soon took on a rosy glow. She did some kicking and struggling intermittently, but her resistance steadily lost fervor. After a while, she lay there in quiet acceptance of the discipline.

Before I let her up, I spelled out my rules. On Saturday afternoons, I’d expect her to gradually put aside her executive mindset, and I’d be available to help her in that direction. From 6 p.m. on Saturdays, I expected thorough compliance that would extend until 6 a.m. on Sunday.

During that latter phase, she’d be spanked, tied up, tickled, carried over my shoulder, or whatever else I wanted. Subject of course to common sense and a safeword that she could employ to exit this submissive mode at any time.

I let her up from that first spanking and as she stood before me, I asked, ” Do you agree?”

“Yes,” she said, a little breathily.

I gestured for her to get down on her knees. She did so and avidly unzipped my pants.

Our routine’s worked out great for us. Sue gets to put aside her professional responsibilities and the tough-minded persona she’s adopted to deal with such challenges. I get to see a different side of her than the rest of the world does.

The transition over the course of a Saturday can be a bit tricky, especially for her if she loses track of the time. One recent Saturday morning, she was complaining that I hadn’t done some dishes the night before that I’d said I’d do. In fact, I’d just done them, but I let her rant in a bitchy tone for a while. Then I smiled and tapped my watch. I showed her it was 12:02 p.m.

“Fuck,” she said under her breath.

“Take a look in the kitchen,” I said, taking her hand and leading her there. She saw the empty sink and the dishwasher running quietly. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

“No problem,” I said, releasing her hand and giving her a gentle pat on the butt. She was wearing sweatpants. “But tonight I want you dressed appropriately, even though we’re staying in,” I said, specifying, “Short black skirt.” She nodded.

It was a quiet afternoon. We did some reading, watched some TV. I ordered Chinese food, which arrived around 5:30 p.m., just after Sue had changed. I noticed the delivery guy looking at her avidly over my shoulder.

While we were eating, I tapped my watch and showed her it was 6 p.m. “Yes, sir,” she said, stealing a shy glance at me before casting her gaze downward at her plate.

We finished dinner in silence. Then I said, ” Clear the table, young lady.” She did do, bringing dishes to the kitchen and beginning to wash them.

I interrupted her briefly with a little gift: a white apron I’d bought that I tied on over her little black skirt. It made for an appealing French maid look. “Thank you, sir,” she said and turned back to the dishes.

When she was done, she emerged from the kitchen to see what tonight’s stay-at-home date-night activity would be. I’d attached some leather straps to a big armchair. I patted the cushion. “Kneel here,” I directed. “Ass up.”

She did so, still wearing the apron. I flipped it up along with her skirt, then pulled her panties down. Next, I tied her arms to the top of the chair and her legs to the armrests.

I stepped back to look over my handiwork. She was hogtied, helpless and barely able to move. Her Ass was in the air, her Pussy on display. The latter was starting to glisten. I’d get to that soon enough, but first things first.

I took off my pants and underwear, then lubed up my rigid cock. Then I spread her cheeks and went in. Her groans filled the room, but they were sounds of pleasure and submission.

The next morning we’d be equals, with the usual give-and-take. But tonight Sue was my own personal slave, and right now my cock in her Ass was a perfect symbol of my mastery. I grabbed her hair with my left hand as I held her hip with my right. I thrust, she groaned, and she loved every minute of it.