Interrogation

I watched my target from the car. The night was mild and dry, and the street was lit with yellow light broken from occasional windows blinking on and passing traffic. The city sounds were muffled, but I focused on my quarry. He exited a building wearing a good suit but no tie and had a briefcase in hand. I gripped the wheel a little tighter, taking a deep breath.

I got out and followed. In the back was a bag with the equipment I needed for this job and moved quietly after slinging it over my shoulder. I slipped my hands into my bomber jacket; they were already sweating.

This was my first time playing this game, and though we’d gone over the rules, planned it with covert check ins and safe words, and we were all set, I was nervous.

He turned off, walking faster. I kept my distance, not following too closely. We fell into a rhythm, and it gave me time to focus and work off my nerves. The street was quieter, darker, and he fished in his pocket for his keys, slowing to pick the one he needed. I closed in, my heart beat hard, but I found calm at the moment I needed to act.

As he slipped a key into the lock of a pretty house on the leafy street, I rushed him, pushing him through the doorway, letting it close, and threw myself on top of him, forcing him to the ground. He tried to draw in a shocked breath as I pinned myself over his back using my weight and thighs and slipped out the handcuffs from my pocket, and in a well-rehearsed move, secured his hands.

“Get the fuck off me.” He bucked up, grunting as he thrashed.

I leant over him, elbows in the back of his shoulders. “That’s not how this is going to go. You’re going to do exactly what I say.” I put my hand to his throat and squeezed.

He went still. “What do you want?” He was rigid and furious but kept still.

“There’s some information I want from you.”

“I won’t tell you anything.”

“That means there’s something to know.” While I spoke, I rooted through the holdall over my shoulder and dug out a knife. It looked impressive, and though dangerous, it wasn’t sharp. I leant over him, running it along his cheek. “I’m going to get up, and if you want to keep all the blood in your body where it is, you’ll do as I say.”

He swallowed and nodded once.

Dropping the bag and knife as I leant back, I slowly slipped off him. He didn’t move, sprawled on the hall floor hands cuffed behind him. I nearly broke character but bit the inside of my cheek.

I took his feet and dragged him along the smooth oak floor. He flipped over and kicked out, sending me onto my back. He tried to get to his feet, but I tackled him at the knees, making him fall, and grabbed his crotch.

“Do you really want to fight me?”

He thumped his head back with a grunt before looking at me with a glittering sneer.

I could just about reach the bag and slipped out the knife again. He eyed it as I held it against his thigh.

“Where is the artery?”

“I’m not giving you anything.” His wild dark eyes were alive and intent on me.

“Yeah, yeah. You said that.” I smirked. “Up.” With the knife at his neck, he scrambled to his feet, and I walked him to a dining chair in the open plan living area.

I shoved him into it, and he looked me up and down. I knew what he saw, but I didn’t feel like myself. I had my baby-fine blond hair in a high ponytail, where it normally was down. I usually wore dresses that complimented my large breasts and rounded figure. But I wore all black, skinny jeans and knee-high boots. Long-sleeved black tee.

I’m innocuous, non-threatening. Soft. But the side of me that I rarely embraced? He wanted it. He wasn’t handsome in a traditional sense. Tall, broad, no six-pack or gym made muscles. But manly. Hairy chest, acne scars dotted his cheeks, but his jaw was strong. His strength lay in gentle determination, and his integrity was charismatic, alluring. His beauty overwhelmed me sometimes. It was the little things I loved; his thick lashes, generous smile, the veins on his arms and large, careful hands.

His eyes glowered with fury. He’d only ever looked at me with devotion, but this was more than thrilling.

His chest heaved up and down, his black curls on golden skin fell forward as he leant to shift his weight.

From the bag, I took the zip ties and raised a brow. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Securing each ankle to a chair leg, I glanced up at him. “Don’t look so angry. Just give me what I want, and this will all be over.”

“No.”

I grinned in what I hoped was a threatening way. “Oh, you will.”

I straddled his lap, securing his upper arms to the slatted back of the chair. My chest brushed his, my breasts pressing against him. His eyes fluttered closed, and he hardened. A bead of sweat fell down his temple. He radiated so much heat, it seeped into my skin. Putting my hand on his heart, I felt it pound.

“What are you going to do to me?” he whispered.

“I’m going to hurt you until you scream and beg. I’m going to make you feel things you never imagined. You won’t remember your name by the time I’m finished with you.” I pinched his chin.

He squirmed and whimpered.

I slid two fingers in his mouth, making his eyes widen. “I think you’ll enjoy it. I know I will.” I let him go and made sure my tits brushed his face as I stood.

His dick was like rock, pushing at the fabric of his trousers. With him secured, I undid the buttons of his shirt methodically.

“Please don’t.”

“I love it when you plead.”

He let his head fall back with a moan. I watched him carefully for a minute before carrying on. He licked his lips as I pushed the shirt and jacket off his shoulders, letting them hang there. I took the phone from his jacket and turned it off. Then I went through his wallet.

There I was. A photo from a party booth at my birthday bash last year. I wore a gold sequined bustier, and I was covered in glitter, caught in mid laughter. He’d just whipped his dick out for a second off camera. It was his favourite pic of me. Said it was pure joy.

“Who’s she?” I showed him the photo.

His fear and anger focused. “I’ll never tell you.”

I tossed it on the table. Running my fingers down his chest, enjoying the feel of him at my mercy, I pressed my lips to his shoulder.

He froze.

“Who is she?”

“I’m not telling.” He shuddered as I ran my tongue over his collarbone and back to the muscle of his shoulder.

I bit down.

He shouted. “Stop, please.” His cry was delightful and desperate.

I let go and blew on the wet, red marks of my teeth.

“Who?”

He shook his head. “No.”

I went for his other shoulder. He lurched his hips forward, dick pressing into me. He hissed and growled his breath.

Again. And again, until the tops of his arms were marked; the fleshy muscle perfect to bite on. I slid down onto my knees, biting all over him until tears swam in his eyes, and there was a definite damp spot on his trousers. His heat made me sweat.

“See, I told you you’d like it.”

He shook his head.

“Tell me what I want to know.”

“Never.” He virtually spat it at me.

I undid his belt, and he bit his lip.

I wrestled them off roughly, along with his underwear, to the floor. Exposed and hard, moisture covered the tip of his dick.

He was so tense.

Propping my chin on a hand, I made sure my elbow dug into his thigh. “Aww bless. You do like it.”

“I don’t. I don’t want you to do this.”

“Now we both know that’s a lie. To put a stop to this tell me who she is.”

All he had to do to get out was say the word, and as we stared at each other, I thought he might. Instead, he raised his chin and stayed quiet.

“That’s what I thought.” I ran my finger up the length of his dick.

His eyes flickered. I grabbed the knife and dragged it up the inside of his calf and the top of his thigh, weaved it around the bite marks that’d bruise on his chest, and to his neck.

He opened his mouth wide and drew his knees in.

“Oh are you close? This is agony, isn’t it? All you want is her. That sweet woman who’s kind and precious. But she’s not here, is she?”

Tossing the knife, I grabbed his dick, squeezing. He shouted. When I let go, he slumped, straining at the zip ties.

“Tell me.”

“Fuck you.”

“You will.”

I put the bag on the table and picked out some latex gloves, slipped them on and pushed up my sleeves.

“What are you going to do?”

I set out a bottle of lube and a butt plug. He went very still. I undid a few buttons on my top, partly because I was hot and partly so he could see down my cleavage.

Urging his hips forward, I made him perch off the edge of the seat with his thighs spread. With a dollop of cool lube to the silicone tip, I nudged it in.

“No.” His eyes fluttered.

“Stay still. You know how this works.”

With a deep and guttural moan, he watched me work the length in, and then it slid to the wide lip.

“There. Ready to have a little fun?”

His lids were heavy when he pulled his lips into his mouth and then swallowed. “Please.”

“Please? What do you want? Say it. Be honest with me.”

“I… need to come.”

“There. The first honest thing so far.” I kissed and sucked his thigh and wiped off any excess lube.

He licked his lips as I ran my finger over his cock. Working the moisture all over. He was so hard. It twitched, and he took a sharp breath.

I did it again, watching for his reaction. That one perfect spot always was the most sensitive. He hissed when I circled a figure-eight over it.

His gaze fell to my chest. Tits pressed against the inside of his thigh.

“Are you looking at my tits?”

He turned his head away.

“Answer me.”

“No.”

“You’re a liar.” I stood. We stared in silence at each other. I was torn between ending this and pushing harder. Both were love. Instead, I pulled off my top. He moaned. My bra was necessary support but not sexy. He did like what it did to my cleavage, though.

I straddled his lap, and he pressed against me. “Tell me,” I whispered into his ear, grinding against him.

“No.” He sounded less angry, less sure. I kissed his neck, the rough stubble and sweat there was like catnip. My mouth watered, and I was getting as turned on as he was. For a minute, I let myself have that pleasure but slapped him and got off.

He tensed and un-tensed, precum seeping out. I needed to pull him back a little.

A short reed cane was his favourite. It left so many pretty marks. He struggled, brought out from his lust.

“Stay still. We don’t want to get your cock or balls accidentally.”

He complied.

“You can end this. Tell me.”

He raised his chin in defiance.

“So strong and brave, aren’t you?” I smiled and used my best cooing tone.

He stared straight ahead.

Putting one hand on his knee, I closed his thighs a touch and lined up. I struck the top of his leg. He jumped. Then the other. I knew the pain. The sharp sting. The cool tingle and hard heat that followed it. The singing in his mind as pain rushed and chemicals were released. I licked my lips.

Each precise, careful strike left a perfect red line. He flinched. Sweated more. Breathed harder. He grunted with each one.

With a cry, he looked down, and his hard, heavy dick twitched against his hip. His face twisted, and he went rigid. I stopped.

He laughed, high as a kite. He was mine. He slow blinked, delirious. “Please.”

“I know what you want. You want me to give in and set you free. You’d tackle me, rip the clothes from my body and fuck me.”

The dangerous grin that spread over his face as he leant forward made my clit pulse.

“All you have to do is tell me.” I leant to him, pinched his chin and pecked his lips. “Give in, and you can have what you want.”

He sneered and pulled my bottom lip through his teeth. “No.”

I slapped his face. “That was your only chance.”

“Let me come.” He nearly sobbed.

“Tell me.” I grabbed his hair, lifting his head back.

“Fuck you.” He panted, vitriol dripping from him as he squirmed.

Instead of answering, I ran my finger over that spot on his cock, barely touching with the gentlest skim of a latex-clad finger.

He shook his head with a pained moan.

I stopped and let his head fell back.

He was marked all over, cock red and the desperation of him was glorious.

“Tell me, and I’ll let you come. I’ll give you what you need.”

The line of his neck altered as he swallowed, and I wanted to bite it.

“I can’t take anymore,” he slurred.

My heart stuttered. I was sweating and desperate myself.

“Then tell me, and this will be over.”

His chin wobbled. I unhooked my bra, letting it fall to the ground. His eyes widened.

Then my boots and jeans. All I wore was my pretty lace knickers.

“I was going to untie you if you told me, but now?” I slid down my underwear. I straddled his lap, and he blinked rapidly with his body tense.

“What do you need?”

“You,” he grunted.

Instead, I ground my pussy up and down his length, letting him feel how wet I was, almost inside me but not quite. “Well?”

The sound was feral, desperate. He ground as much as the plug allowed.

“Tell me,” I whispered into his ear.

“Fuck.”

“Give in, say her name, tell me, and I’ll give you everything.” My tits brushed his chest in the way that drove him wild.

He shook, but relaxed and stilled. His eyes swam, bright and beautiful. “Her name is…”

“Yes?” I held my hand to his throat and spoke into his hot mouth.

His brows furrowed together. “Iris.”

I grinned. And with my other hand, I grabbed his dick, and then slid onto it.

He shouted, the need radiating from him.

I didn’t move but licked my lips. “Tell me about her.”

He shuddered and squirmed before meeting my gaze. His wild eyes were calm, wide and pupils huge. “Iris. Her name is Iris. She’s the love of my life. Strong, beautiful, fearless. She lives her life with every fibre of her being. She’s the most generous spirit.” A tear fell down his cheek. “She’s the first to step up and help. She makes me a better, more thoughtful human, and I’d die without her.” His bottom lip trembled.

I blinked back my own tears, and though my heart soared, I stayed in role.

I grabbed his face, my mouth turned down, and yet he looked at me in the haze of subspace and utter love.

Then I rode him, squeezing his neck.

“Relax, let me give you this release. Don’t fight it.”

He stuttered a breath and then gave.

“My beautiful man.”

He hauled in a breath when I loosened my grip. “Iris, Iris, please, please I need it so bad.”

I smoothed his frazzled damp curls and kissed him before squeezing again. The half-smile on his perfect mouth was my focus as I fucked him. He got higher and higher until I saw the change.

I released his neck as his mouth pinched.

“Fuck, I’m coming.” He grew frantic, hips canting, and then he cried out in a guttural need. It was all I needed, my own strain and desperation overwhelming me. My tits brushed against his chest, our skin slapped, and the perfect vision of him lost to pleasure, spiralled my own. The pull of his cock inside me as he went lax came just as I peaked.

“Come, Iris, yes.”

I lost all control, pulling at his hair, wild through the pleasure.

“Iris? My beautiful Iris.” He panted.

I slumped and let my hold go.

“I love you,” he said it over and over.

I reached for the knife and cut his arms free, and still on him, reached for the little key in the bag. With his hands loose, he cupped my face, kissing me hard and deep, hands exploring me. Squeezing flesh and holding tight.

I laughed at the need.

He didn’t want to let me go, but I got off and released his feet. He kicked the rest of his clothes off and urged me onto the floor. With gentle care, he slid into me again, and I wrapped my legs around him. He shifted to cradle my head and pressed little kisses to my forehead, trembling.

“Are you okay? Talk to me,” he said quietly, still kissing me, and emotion thick in his breathless voice.

“Yes.” I kissed him, pressing my cheek to his. “Are you?”

The grin that spread over his face was so full, my heart burst. He hummed, moving inside me a little.

“That was so much fun.” He laughed. “You’re incredible.”

“I thought I went a little hard on you.”

“I’d have taken a lot more.”

“I broke you.” I narrowed my eyes, but his joy didn’t change.

“You wish you did. It was so good. Fuck. Though I need to get this thing out of my arse.”

We both laughed.

“Well, why don’t you do that, then I’ll tend to your wounds.” I pecked his lips.

He sighed when he licked them. “In a minute.”

He nuzzled me, and I stroked his back. We came down together until discomfort interceded.

I joined him in the shower when I heard it turn on, and this was my favourite bit. I’d cleanse and comfort him, and we’d live it all over again.

I loved being someone else for a little while to know who I am, and we always came home to each other.

Catch Me

My man is a built like a bulldozer. Solid muscle around thick, heavy bones. All macho and growly. When I first met him, he scared the crap out of me. In truth, he cries at adverts and has the softest touch.

Except when I provoke him because I’m a brat. I push and push. One of my favourite things is stealing his shirts and hoodies. Something happens to his face, mouth goes flat and that softness evaporates.

I ride him, I adore him, I suck his big cock, and he lives to make me happy, but that primal shift fulfils a quiet need in us both.

It was a heady summer but rained in oppressive rumbles of thunder all day. Fresh rain had dried out into a hot and muggy night, and I was pent up. He was stressed at work, so release would do us good. I rolled my shoulders and planned as I cooked dinner. After we’d eaten, and he took a shower, I got ready.

He’d bought a bunch of new t-shirts. It can be a struggle to get clothes his size, and though I’m not small in any sense, the thing came mid-thigh. It was a band tee and one of his favourites. I changed and padded barefoot past him when he was coming out the bathroom half-dressed.

“Is that…”

“Mine now.”

The change was subtle. The stress lines in his brow softened, humour gleamed in his eyes before letting out a grunt.

His grunts are a language of their own. That one was: fine, let’s do this. His eyes sharpened into lust and strategy. “Take it off.”

“No. I like it.” I ran my fingers down my front.

“You know what’s going to happen.” as he spoke, he dropped his work clothes and pulled out the belt from his jeans. I appreciated his body as he did.

“You’ll try.” I smirked, backing away from him before darting downstairs.

I was giggling, already breathless as he caught up with me, and we struggled. I yelped as he turned me and let go.

“You okay baby?”

“Sucker.” I took off.

“Every time,” he roared, and we circled the kitchen island.

I’d unlocked the back door. I just had to get into the garden.

His chest rose and fell, eyes mean but grinning. “You’re going to get it. I’ll catch you, hog-tie you and get my top back, and it won’t be pretty,” he snarled, edging forward.

I backed away, tugging his t-shirt down in a vain attempt at modesty. “Promise?”

He lunged, and I dodged, throwing open the door, and ran down the garden with him on my heels. The light had just failed, the damp grass slippy under my bare feet, but I could see my goal.

Our narrow garden was long, and at the end, under the old cherry tree, he’d built us a summer house. It was enclosed and private and my favourite spot.

I ran hard. He didn’t have speed, and I relished that little victory, knowing I was going to lose. As I reached the path, he grabbed me around the waist, covered my mouth to stifle a scream, and I struggled, fighting and clawing as he panted in my ear.

With a grunt, he flipped me around and took my mouth in a bruising kiss, but I squirmed hard as he tried to lift the t-shirt.

Slipping out of his hold, I went to get away, but we slipped and fell with a thump. He pinned me, and we both grunted, laughed and panted in the struggle. On my front, pressed into the wet grass, the cold earthy scent filled my nose and cooled my burning skin.

Pressing down with one hand on my back, he held both of my hands there as he straddled my hips. I bucked under him.

“Relent.”

“Never.” I twisted as he wrapped the belt around my wrists, pulling it tight until the leather bit. He pulled the fabric up, squeezing and caressing my body as he did, and I was so aroused, I undulated into his touch but bucked hard, scrabbling.

He used the movement to pull the fabric over my head, and in a quick — and well practised — move, let the belt go, and pulled the t-shirt off. I turned over, defeated.

Panting, we looked at each other. I was covered in bits of grass and dirt, sweating, and beyond aroused.

He only wore casual lounge bottoms, his hard dick tenting out. He pulled them down, and grabbing my hips, entered me.

He kissed me hard as he did. He growled into my hair, bunching it in his fingers.

“Time for a lesson.” Thrusting deeply, he fucked me.

As darkness fell in the quiet night, on the wet earth, he took my body, and I tried not to cry out, clawing his back. Biting his shoulder, I sucked the spot and came in a breathless hard peak of bliss as I arched back, seeing the black night and crescent moon above us.

I raised my hips and bucked as I tensed, my body jerky and desperate. His long, rough moan at my pleasure slowed him and savoured my pussy gripping him.

Sated yet still desperate, I whimpered as he pulled out and flipped me over with a smack to my arse. I fisted his discarded tee as he found a deeper angle.

He grunted each breath and punishing beat of hips. Grabbing a fist of hair, he pulled my head up, rendering me immobile. Losing himself, rough and fast, all I could do was keep breathing, my body jolting and tits bouncing until he stilled, and I felt the pull and jerk inside me. Taking a minute, he caught his breath, running his hands up my back as I rolled my hips.

Sliding out, he pulled me up, and hoisted me over his shoulder, filthy and wet, while picking up the ruined tee in his other hand. “Okay, baby?”

“Mmm.” I still felt him inside me.

He slapped my arse hard and took me back in and upstairs. I looked in the mirror when he set me down in the bathroom and pulled a twig out of my hair.

“Right, you sexy fuck. Wash.”

I stepped into the shower, but he didn’t look happy.

“What’s wrong?”

He folded his arms, looking at the tee. “I really liked that one.”

I grinned, lathering shampoo into my hair, dirt and grass washing away. “I’m sorry love. Another one is arriving tomorrow.”

He laughed. “You. I fucking love you.” He ditched his grass-stained bottoms and squeezed in next to me.

I started laughing, unable to stop as he felt me all over, delighting in my body. Sharing a shower never went well, but it was fun.

Submitted to Housework

I tapped the wooden arm of the bedroom chair, clicking my nails, watching.

The nude man on the other side of the room glided an iron across a freshly washed bed sheet. He neatly folded it and set it down on the perfectly placed pile next to him.

Bored, I got up, but he didn’t lift his face and started on a blouse. I stood next to him, steam rising, the smell of heated cotton and the vague scent of him close by made me want. I palmed his naked bottom, squeezing it, but he didn’t pause.

I leant right in, still feeling him. “You’re doing a terrible job.”

“Sorry, I’ll do better.”

“You say that every time. And yet you never improve. Bend.”

He hovered, the smallest doubt in his eyes as he turned his head slightly, but he obeyed. He held the ironing board and bent a little.

“More.”

His chest rose silently, and he went further. I pinched hard, making him tense.

“Ready?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

I smacked his arse cheek hard, and he jolted forward. He didn’t make a sound. He never did. Always silent until I pushed him too far.

Each sharp slap was loud in his quiet resistance. I stopped at ten.

“Continue.” My hand stung, and I admired my work. His bottom beautifully red.

“Thank you, Mistress.” His voice unruffled, he went straight back to his task.

Sitting back in the chair, my heart thumped, and desire kindled the fire to come. He ironed a pair of trousers, and as he hung them up, his hands trembled. He glanced at me, wet his lips and started on another shirt. He carefully navigated the fiddly buttons as I draped one leg over the arm of the chair, exposing myself. My dress rode up, and he glanced at me. I wore nothing under it. Blinking hard, he clenched his jaw. Running my hand down my front, I pushed my hips forward.

His cheeks reddened as I cupped between my legs, my pussy hot and wet against my hand.

He ironed slower, continually glancing at me.

“What is it, my sweet?”

“Nothing, Mistress.”

“Ah, poor sweet, you can tell me.” I opened my legs wider, hiding nothing as I pushed two fingers inside me.

“I want you.”

“When you finish.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

His hidden disappointment cut me, always did. I huffed, getting up again.

I stood behind him, and put my fingers in his mouth. Sucking them hard, he moaned.

“Carry on.” He continued on the next, a silk shell top. He set the iron to silk, and gently placed the blouse on the board, smoothing it out as the iron cooled before starting on it.

I felt all over his body. “This is my favourite top. Be careful with it.”

He didn’t miss a beat as the iron glided through the delicate fabric, light steam rising. I grasped his cock hard, but he didn’t flinch.

So well trained.

I stroked it, kissing his back, my free hand roving over the contours of his body. I palmed his still hot and red bottom, and the only sign he gave me of any discomfort was his slight intake of breath.

My stoic, sweet man never complained, never begrudged me an inch of my power. In fact, he needed it.

I pinched his bottom and bit his back. He shuddered as he set the iron down and hung up my blouse. I kissed where I bit, and looked up at the hanger.

“Perfect.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” His reverent whisper was perfect.

“Good deeds deserve rewards.”

He moved onto another pair of trousers as I picked out a roll of PVC tape.

I went to my knees under the board, kissing down his body and feeling all the way. I cupped his balls, stroking his hard and hot dick. There wasn’t much left on the roll, but enough, and un-spooling it, I folded the plastic strip, so it was narrower and wrapped it around the base of his cock and balls. The only sign of his discomfort was the tensing of his thighs and the softest moan in his breath.

His cock reddened, balls tight, and a small bead of moisture beaded and fell. I caught it with my tongue.

He drew a sharp breath and trembled as I ran my tongue over the tip.

I didn’t take him into me, but teased with the slightest licks and caresses, barely a touch.

The ironing board wobbled as he ironed harder.

I let him go and stood. The crease in my trousers was off.

I grabbed the fabric, the hot smell of laundry clouded on the residual steam. “What’s this?”

He set the iron down. He lowered his face.

I squeezed his cock, and he gritted his teeth. He knew what was coming.

“Bend,” I spat.

He nodded, and he leant over. I stuffed as much of the trouser leg into his mouth as possible. He bit on it. From behind us I picked out a long flexible cane and teased him with it.

With one hand on his back, I stuck hard. He held his breath, as I hit his solid thighs, up to his sensitive bum, and back. Criss-crossed lines appeared. The sticky sheen of sweat broke out over his skin, yet he didn’t cry out. It was his only denial of me, that lovely sound of a cry in pain.

His beauty was soft strength; calm penance against my vicious, sharp desire.

His breath came fast, and I halted, he panted gripping the board for dear life.

“My sweet.” I fingered the red welts, and found no broken skin.

He stood, swooning a little, and braced against the board. He groaned, clearing his throat. “Thank you, Mistress.” He trembled as he picked up the iron.

I blinked away my softness for him and set the cane down. Tears filled my eyes as I went back to my seat. I turned slowly, catching the small smile on his face.

His eyes sparkled, and cheeks reddened as he ironed the crumpled fabric that had been in his mouth.

“Feeling smug?”

“Chastised, Mistress.”

My heart calmed, and I picked up where I left off. Finding release from the chemicals rushing and the divine sight of my husband happily ironing naked with his hard cock jutting out.

I palmed a tit exposing myself and moaned, the heat in my pussy almost too much.

He didn’t look up but caught of glimpses of me as he folded and hung clothes. I teased myself, not seeking orgasm. I lost all sense of dignity, provoking him, and yet he didn’t once falter.

When he set the iron down and rounded the board, I stopped.

“I’ve finished, Mistress.”

With a sigh, I stood, righting my dress. “Let me check.” I rounded the board, running my hand over his still red back. He hissed a little. I looked through the immaculately ironed clothes. “You’ve done a good job.”

“Thank you.” He couldn’t hide his smile.

“Are you proud?”

“No, of course not.”

“Insolent.” I grasped his cock.

Arching his head back, he gave it to me; the sound of need.

“Please.”

“Please? You want this?” I took a hand and put it between my legs. He turned his face, chest rising and falling sharply with a dark look in his eyes.

“You want to taste?”

“Yes please, Mistress.”

I grabbed his hair and urged him down to his knees. He greedily went for my pussy, pushing my dress up, humming as he licked and sucked. I came quickly, already beyond aroused.

I pulled away. He fell forward and looked up, saying what I’d waited for. “I need to come.”

Hot lust syphoned through me. “Do you?” I tilted my head.

He closed his eyes, so pained.

“Put your hands behind your back, and sit up.”

He obeyed, and I squatted down, hovering over his tip. I dug my fingers into his neck, and he bared his teeth, body straining as I slid down onto his cock, so hot, hard and throbbing.

He gave in, finally crying out.

I pressed my face against his, kissing him roughly.

“Fuck, please, please.” His red cheeks darkened, eyes pinched.

I came again; his submission always gave me satisfaction, I slowed, drawing the pleasure out, pussy tight in anticipation before peaking in waves of pleasure.

I pressed my teeth against his lips, and he shook.

“Please let me come, Mistress.” It was a quiet prayer that I’d longed for.

“Is it there? Hovering? The edge of pleasure with your cock bound tight? Can you no longer resist?”

His eyes flickered. I kept riding him, enjoying the last of my bliss, relaxing against him.

“You have permission. Take your pleasure.”

With a growl, he grabbed my waist, fisting the fabric of my dress and thrust up. Every thrust was a grunt, claiming his denied pleasure. For weeks, I’d not let him come, I teased and forbade his orgasms. He fell forward, lying me down, and took me with abandon. Hard and desperate, I relished the man whose quiet dignity I’d dismantled.

I laughed, knowing the pain his cock would be in from the tape. I fingered his back, feeling the welts, and with a sharp gasp when I pressed my nails in, he came. I felt the hard pulsing twitch and rush of cum inside me. It seemed to go on forever. Spent and limp, he fell against me, and I cradled him, soothing and crooning as he recovered his breath.

As he came around, he leant up, wincing.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Not enough.” The fucker smirked and kissed me, teasing my lips.

“How long do we have?”

He looked up behind me. “The kids will be back in an hour.”

“A few more minutes then before I tend to your wounds.”

He laughed, and I kissed his neck. I loved Sunday afternoons.

 

Roleplay

I knew what was coming. We’d planned it all out in advance. The last thing Scott wanted to do was anything I didn’t, but once we started this, the only way out was the word ‘red’. We’d never gone this far before, and I was turned on but scared.

I knew he’d take care of me and trusted him completely.

But this was next level for us. Immersive role play – especially this kind – was dangerous. I was afraid of falling deeper into this life, but part of me welcomed it.

Desired it.

Pulling onto the drive, I texted him and got out of the car. My hands shook, body filled with adrenaline. I rang the bell with my heart pounding.

Once I stepped through the doorway, it would begin.

The door opened, and the love of my life stood in front of me.

Shaved blond hair and warm dark eyes. Not tall –  I’d always gone for tall – but a little taller than me, and not a ridiculous gym rat. He was kind of a twink, and you’d never think he was the perfect Dom.

He really was.

We never started that way. We were pretty average, but one night we mixed things up a bit. Talked about it and realised he’d always had these thoughts, but never acted on them.

Me too, only I’m the one who likes the pain.

We were careful, researched it, slowly exploring, and now here I was about to spend a night in captivity.

I smiled, but it slid off as his eyes hardened and back stiffened.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me inside, slamming the door. With one hand he pushed me against the wall, his palm pinning me, hot and sure.

He smirked.

It was his mouth that drew me to him when we met. It turned up at the corners and allured me.

“You’re going to do as you’re told.”

I took a breath. “You can’t make me.”

This was the code for go.

Hoisting me over his shoulder, I fought him. Pulled at his clothes, thumped and wriggled. His grip was fierce, but we tumbled on the landing. He pinned me down. Legs straddling my chest, pinning my arms to my sides.

I grunted and tried to throw him off. He laughed. One hand grabbed my hair, and I went still. I couldn’t help it, my body reacted like a kitten, and the fucker knew it.

He leant down to me, eyes steady on mine, and he looked at my lips.

“Do what you’re fucking told. Do you want me to be good to you? Huh? Well, obey me.”

I said nothing. We both knew what I’d do next.

The moment he was off me, I tried to run. He caught me around the waist, and we struggled as he took me into the bedroom.

I didn’t want to get away, but I also wanted to win, knowing full well that I’d lose.

Once – after a serious tussle – we were in the bedroom, he pinned me against the wall. We were both panting, angry, and seriously aroused. I was soaked, and his cock pressed into my crotch. He ground against me, his hands pinning mine.

I clenched my jaw trying not to moan. I loved this man. Doing everything I asked of him, and so well too.

He moved quickly, and my brain couldn’t catch up. Pulling away from the wall, he threw me on the bed – a favourite move of his – and holding me down by straddling me again, he reached under the pillow and pulled out some leather cuffs.

They were new.

Pulling an arm free he held it tight and cuffed me, I struggled but was about to come.

He did the other and clipped them together.

I kicked and wrenched from side to side begging him not to, which he thankfully ignored as he hauled me up.

It was then that I saw it.

I’d talked about it but never expected we would do it, and the reason I didn’t notice it was we’d been playing.

In the corner of the room, a metal rig hung from the ceiling. From it dangled clips and straps – I briefly imagined all the fucking we were going to do, and my heart pounded harder. A new pleasure of play. My body clenched in anticipation and I got wetter, heat filling my face.

I went still as he panted into my ear, “don’t you dare come.” He spun me to face him. “I mean it, I won’t forgive you if you come.”

I nodded and focused. The stillness of the look that passed between us was surreal. Both knowing what would happen, but it was a silent exchange of comfort and love.

His mouth hardened, and he looked cruel as he backed me up to the rig.

I remembered the game and struggled. Under it, he held me tight.

“I could gag you and do this, or you can give in, and put your hands up.”

I didn’t fancy the gag. I wanted to call out and scream. I wanted him to kiss me.

My eyes flickered as I raised my arms.

He smirked and stretched my arms up over a thick hook.

My heels barely scraped the floor, and I danced as my body pulled, and pain in my shoulders and wrists seared me, making me call out.

He let me have my fun, and when I stilled, panting, it was time to begin.

I always came easily. At the drop of a hat, actually. I could feel it the backs of my legs, all the way up to my mouth. My whole body radiated with pleasure, standing on the edge.

He knew it and loved it about me.

My dress was a thin cheap thing, though my underwear was expensive. He felt all over my body. Breasts, back, and arse. Hands skimming the tops of my thighs, he teased me, lifting my dress a little, and lightly fingered the tops of my hold ups as they peeked out. He hissed a little breath. He had a thing for stockings; they drove him wild.

He made a little noise of approval, fisting the dress, stretching it out, until it ripped open. He tore it off me moving me forward and back. I kept losing my footing, and I screamed. The strain in my arms making me shake, the comforting softness of the cuffs digging in, but I didn’t care.

When all the remnants were tossed aside, my very expensive underwear still covered me, but I felt exposed. Bared to him. He walked all the way around me, his hand on my waist, steadying me and anchoring me to him.

Trying not to squirm, I nearly begged.

Behind me, he stood close, and I resisted letting my head fall back on his shoulder.

Gripping my lacy briefs, he yanked them down mid-thigh and stood back.

“Fuck, look how wet you are. Dirty girl wants fucking, don’t you?”

“No.” It was more of a grunt. We agreed I had to answer any question; he needed to hear my voice.

He leant forward, kissing my shoulder “Liar.”

He moved away, and I panted, feeling my wetness seep out of me. I was so close.

There was sound, and I focused on my breathing and ignored how good it all felt.

With the click of the lube bottle, all my good intentions went out the window. I fought against the cuffs.

He slapped my arse hard. “Be still, or you’ll pay for it.”

“Yes, sir.”

I obeyed but got wetter yet. It was unbearable and perfect.

Parting my cheeks, he pressed the lubed plug into my arse. He went so slowly. I’d have stuck my bottom out to him, but I barely reached the floor.

I begged. I swore. I made weird guttural sounds as he pushed it all the way in. Heaven.

He squeezed one cheek as he switched on the vibrating attachment to the best setting, and I felt it all the way through my body.

The slow pulse made me moan loudly. Moving around to my front, he undid the front clasp of my strapless bra. Then he sat down on the bed and watched me as I came.

I was so far gone, shaking and crying out. Jerking as I tried to keep my shoes on.

Bucking hard, the plug rubbed inside, and waves of intense pleasure overcame me. It was the longest and most intense orgasm I’d ever had.

I looked at him as I lost a shoe and stood on tiptoes. He took off his shirt and came back to me. My body still twitching.

He picked up a long thick dildo and slid it into my pussy, and he slapped my arse hard. I swore.

I stilled, savouring every second.

Grabbing my hair, he kissed me, tongue in deep, but barely touching my mouth as I searched for more and he denied me.

He stood behind me tweaking my nipples and fondling my breasts until I wound up aroused again.

Steadying me, he spanked me hard with a paddle. It didn’t always make come; I just loved the sensation. Each jolt and sharp slap on my skin got me high. Endorphins made me giggle. It hurt. It was wonderful.

Hitting the backs of my thighs and my bottom, my wetness covered me as the vibration built in my arse and reverberated to my pussy. I lost my other shoe.

My body gave, and I slumped down.

Scott turned off the vibration and slowly teased me with the plug and pulled it out. He put on a condom and eased in.

Gently at first, I felt his cock press against the dildo inside me. We moaned together; it was so tight.

It didn’t take long for him to go faster as my arse relaxed for him. I loved that moment.

The trust I gave to him for this was everything, and he knew it as he started to fuck me. My body jolted against him, and his hands gripped my hips so tightly it hurt.

He came quickly the first time.

Pulling out, he put the plug back in. Cleaned up, he knelt down and ate my pussy as he played with my nipples. Driving me wild. Tormenting me. My body sagged. I couldn’t feel my arms. I didn’t care.

As I came — I forgot how many times I came that way sweating and incoherently begging for mercy — he let up and started wanking on me. Kissing me, coating his cock in my come.

He growled “I love fucking you. My toy to fuck. Mine. Say it.”

“Yes. Yours. I want your come.”

He came hard covering me with hot spurts. He rubbed it into my skin and put his fingers in my mouth to suck clean. I did, devouring his taste.

He put water to my lips, his hands steadying me, and said, “you dirty girl, you like being fucked like this don’t you.” He panted, heat radiating off him.

It was our check-in point.

“Yes. I’m yours to use and fuck.” I barely forced the words out.

By the time he pulled the dildo out and fucked me, I barely knew my name. With a red and sore arse, my wet knickers in my mouth, covered in come, he took his time fucking me hard. Every part of me filled, my limp body his as he slammed into me without mercy.

Sweat beaded on our skin, I felt his hot breath on me, and hard slap of flesh kept me focused on him.

Every muscle screamed, my skin was on fire, every sensitive spot had been tormented until tingling and raw. I was raw. A game that exposed the brutal truth of the animal I was, and I knew true freedom in those restraints.

I closed my eyes and gave into the floating bliss he gave me. I lost all sense; I was so far gone, I’d have done anything.

Then I was moving, my body numb, but he held me.

“My lover, open your eyes, time to come back to Earth.”

It was the end check. My eyes fluttered, and I smiled as he gently pecked my lips before cleaning me up.

He always took such tender care of me, bringing me back.

“I love you.”

He whispered it into my ear as he settled in next to me and we slept, high on sex and trust. It was life. It was him and me. Perfect and delicious.