Alright, I'll compete for the role of the Dom husband.
There may be a lot of people competing for these roles, so I feel like I should sell myself a little bit. I'll just post a sample and let that speak for itself.
Fluorescent lights clicked and buzzed weakly to life, illuminating damp stone walls with a soft electric purr. The light (what little there was) was angry in its sterility. Despite the cleanliness of the light, it gave the room a green hue that conjured thoughts of hidden decay. It was an appropriate atmosphere.
The walls were bare save for a rack displaying a plethora of instruments, all of which were designed to inflict pain or conflicted pleasure in their victims. The hung menacingly and patient on their respective hooks, leaping visibly off of their stony confines as if beckoning their wielder to select them for this session of playtime. A long, wooden table was hunched discreetly in the corner. Four dingy chains dangled limply from four corners. A soft whistle rose and fell over the sound of the lighting. A lazy and distracted rendition of Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" drifted softly from the darkest corner, where one of the room's two occupants was making himself ready.
The light played harshly off of the many hills and valleys of the broad, pale back. An artistic array of old scars marred the marble surface and twitched and played as subtle movements of the man's arms induced small flexes and twitches. The head was shaved bare, and angled harshly down as he surveyed one of his favorite instruments. Large, practiced hands ran over the braided leather handle of a cat o' nine tails. The leather thongs were tipped in minute points that swayed gently over the floor. Deeply-set green eyes flickered and burned as they followed the steady swish of the menacing black tips.
Still whistling, the broad man turned. His profile revealed his heavy brow and the severe nose and chin that jut out from the plane of his face. His jaw was squared and clean-shaven. His broad mouth was pulled softly into a playful and grin. Combined, his features were intense and purposeful. His focus was absolute as blood rushed through his body in furious torrents. One wouldn't have guessed at his calm demeanor were it not for the steely erection that he sported casually as he strode heavily across the room.
A young woman lay prostrate before him. Her mop of dark red hair hung limply in front of a round and pouty face. The face might have looked regal were it not for the tear streaks and her slack mouth. She was exhausted from her previous ordeals and unable to manage the strength to put up an elegant front. Her wrists were pulled tightly over her head and she was forced to arch her back, presenting herself to the room and to her tormentor. Her full legs were held open by a black spreader bar that pushed stubbornly at her ankles. Two silver weights were held by two fierce little clips which dangled heavily from her smoothly shaven pussy, pulling angrily. She wept to herself softly.
"This won't do." A soft baritone exuded from the man's face. He shook his head slowly. "Not at all. Are you out of energy, my dear?" His large hand found her chin, cupped it, and turned her wide sapphire eyes towards his smokey green ones. His soulless grin broadened when she frantically shook her head, terrified to displease him. She started as the tips of the lashes played over her arched back. The Master padded heavily behind her, his arm flexed as he prepared his first blow. '
Crack! The nine barbs hissed through the air, searing her pale flesh. She screamed in surprise. A fierce sound that tore itself from her throat. "Excellent." The Master stated simply.
Crack! Again the blow fell, red lines immediately welled up from the Slave's pert buttocks. The Master steadily administered these harsh blows until a forest of red marks crossed the woman's backside and thighs. Her back arched erotically every time his whip fell on her soft flesh. Small beads of blood began to well up from her. Her body quivered under the weight of his onslaught. His teeth were grit in a predatory snarl. The whip came down again and again. "If you've got the energy then scream, you whore." He stated through his clenched teeth. Her cries rose in pitch under his instruction as he played her like an instrument. A toy. HIS toy.
The whip fell to the ground with a clatter. The light reflected something else that moved slowly towards her pale flesh. A hand buried itself in her hair and pulled her head fiercely back. The Master's other hand was wrapped around the base of his angry cock. It was swollen and crossed with fierce veins. He pushed the tapered knob of his cock against her accepting entrance. She knew what it was to resist, but her body arched itself away from him. "Never deny me." He growled, and pushed intrusively into her. The process was agonizingly slow, but as steady and unstoppable as the tide as he split her open.
He held the mysterious reflection in his hand. The wickedly curved blade left her hair and played lightly over her body as his slow, but hammering thrusts slammed into her. She was pushed upwards and against the wall with every inward movement. She shrieked as his assault increased its tempo and she felt the cold line of the knife digging softly into her. He moved with practiced precision. Her arms strained futilely against the chains. The obscene sounds and scent of furious sex permeated the dank air. The knife continued its dance, drawing little lines that blossomed red beads all over her body. Her squeals and moans became haggard. His grunting became bestial. He could feel the familiar storm held only barely at bay.
With one final movement he pressed into her so roughly that her entire body was lifted from the ground. He felt his seed surge into her, flooding her, marking her. Her flesh quivered around him, yielding and spasming as she orgasmed at the crescendo of her pain.
The Master's breathing was heightened. Beads of sweat dripped down the naked back. He withdrew his member, still covered in the shine from her. After a moment he turned, carelessly undoing her shackles and letting her collapse in a pile of limbs in an obscene puddle of their combined fluids. "Good girl. Now you wait for me until next time." He said huskily, turning from the room.
Admittedly a short scene, but that's the sort of master I usually play. I'm sure that you can get the gist. Anyway, let me know whenever you're done choosing the dominant husband.