My red hairband

A story with themes of consensual non consent. Please read with caution.

My red hairband was my safe word. Or, more accurately, it was an indication of my availability. Whenever I wore it, my husband knew I was giving myself up to him completely. He didn’t have to take the opportunity, and he often didn’t, but he knew I would be a willing participant in whatever he did, if he were to do it.

My favourite thing about this method of signalling my consent is how I can beg and plead for him to stop, and he doesn’t have to wonder if I actually mean it. If I was wearing the hairband; in my hair, or more often, around my wrist (where it was less likely to fall out inadvertently), then he knew he could continue, regardless of how much I struggled.

It was also super easy to slide on or off, depending on whether I was actually “available”. For example, I could wear it, and have a friend or family member drop round unexpectedly. I could simply just slide it off and put it in my pocket until I was ready again.

And despite how sexually active we were together, he didn’t always go for it. He would tease me, letting me wonder if he’ll take the bait. He would often try to surprise me, too. Waiting until I’ve almost forgotten about it before, pouncing on me and taking me however he wanted.

Just thinking about it was getting me all hot and flustered. He would be home any minute. I knew he was going to have had a busy day, and when he called to say he was on his way, there was frustration in his…