by Andi Madden
I will make her give into her darkest, deepest, forbidden desires.
I will make her submit.
And I will make her mine.
Chapter Eight
Jules
I turned into Christopher and let him scoop me up into an embrace. I yawned, not feeling quite awake yet.
Kicking off the covers, I gave a sigh as cool air touched my too warm skin.
He kissed me playfully on the forehead while his hands started exploring, dipping between my thighs.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he whispered against my ear, a laugh at the back of his throat. “I’m already late to work.”
But his hands were telling me a different story. Leisurely, he explored my body, while his hard-on rested against my stomach. I closed my hand around him and gave him a stroke that made him groan.
Pulling up my t-shirt over my head, I pressed my breasts against chest, knowing how much he loved to play with them.
His hands came around them, then he moved lower. His mouth closed over my nipple.
I laid back, closed my eyes and enjoyed the attention he gave me, letting myself be turned on by his need to have me.
His hard-on rested against my inner thigh as he moved up to my neck. I giggled as he kissed my ear while his fingers got busy dipping into my pussy.
I was wet, his hornyness for me turning me on.
I could feel him nudging at me, and then he slid slowly and smoothly into me. He groaned in my ear, one hand around my breast, massaging it.
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and pushed up my hips to meet his thrusts. I loved the weight of his body, how he pushed me into the mattress. Loved how urgently he fucked me, steady strokes that made him groan with pleasure.
I wished he’d flip me over, his hand against the back of my neck to keep me down. I wished he’d fuck me hard from behind, spanking me.
The thought alone made me moan and I closed my eyes, imagining a woman who was being held down by two guys against her will.
My breath came faster, and as always, I felt guilty for not having normal sexual fantasies. I’d read somewhere that rape fantasies were normal, but it didn’t feel normal to me.
His hand clamped around my breast and startled me out of my thoughts. It felt good, to be held like this, to return his deep kisses.
He tensed under my hands, his thrusts becoming slower and when he grunted out loud, I could feel his cock throbbing inside me as he came.
“My sexy wife,” he said, and collapsed on me.
I gave him a kiss, nestled in his embrace until his breathing had calmed.
“Wish I could stay in bed with you, hon,” he said, getting up with a sigh. “I’m swamped in the office.”
“We could go to bed early tonight, watch a movie?”
“I still have to update the accounting software tonight. Movie in bed sounds like a plan for the weekend.”
I nodded. “You’ll be home for dinner?”
“Don’t think so. I’ll be out the door by ten if I’m lucky.”
He got up and out of bed, headed for the bathroom. I heard the shower start.
“I love you,” I whispered, then turned my face into the pillow, closing my eyes to block out the day.
My husband was well known and liked in our community. The town’s veterinarian—little kids knew his name.
He didn’t deserve a wife like me.
He didn’t.
And yet, I could hear my own thoughts racing as I tried to talk myself into seeing Tom again.
And I tried to talk myself out of it.
It’s been four weeks since I’d last seen Tom. Four weeks since he had so masterfully brought me to my knees. Four weeks since he collard me, leashed me, whipped me into climax.
I still felt dirty because of it.
Dirty and ashamed.
And I wanted more.
Chapter Nine
Jules
I smoothed down my dress, just so that my hands had something to do. My palms were sweaty, my heart racing.
I rang the doorbell.
I waited, waited and just when I thought he wasn’t home, Tom opened the door.
His gaze ran over me, his face not betraying his thoughts. He looked bored almost.
“What is it you want?” he asked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe.
I had no simple answer besides that I wanted him. I wanted to be with him more than I wanted to stay away.
“Can I come in?”
I wanted punishment. I craved the uncertainty of what he’d do with me, how he’d take me, how he’d touch me. The sweet pain, the exhilarating release.
He let me wait for an eternity, or so it seemed to me, before he nodded.
“Of course you can come in, Jules.”
There was something in his tone that made my breath hitch.
I resisted a guilty glance over my shoulder to check if anyone saw me walking into his house.
Just thinking about what my possible excuse would be for being seen with him made my stomach sink.
I was in real estate, and he was considering selling his house.
I followed him into the house, let the front door close with a soft click.
The stairs led to his bedroom in the first floor, I already knew that, but he didn’t take me there.
I followed him into his exquisite living room. He pointed to a chair at a large dining table, then disappeared.
I sat, pulled my legs up on the chair.
When he came back, he held the collar in his hand, a choker. To anyone else, it probably looked like a stylish necklace. To me, wearing it was a sign that he dominated me.
I’d wanted to be alone with him, but I couldn’t meet the cool heat simmering in the depth of his eyes any longer.
I looked down, studied my toes, unsure how to behave and what to say.
“Jules,” he said quietly, making me look up again.
“Tom.” Just saying his name felt weird and wrong. Just saying the name of another man made me feel like the cheat I was.
“What did you like when we played, the last time?”
“You spanked me,” I answered quietly, easily remembering how he’d swung a riding crop at my ass. How the sound of leather meeting my bare skin with a satisfying snap had aroused me while I’d stood before him, wearing the choker, the leash.
It had brought me to my knees with longing.
“Did you like the pain?”
“Did you like giving it to me,” I whispered, seeking his gaze.
He’d stroked the riding crop over my breasts, had given my nipples sharp little flicks. He’d licked his lips every time when I let out a moan.
He stepped close to me, fisted his hand into my hair at the nape of my neck. He slowly pulled my head back. It wasn’t a gentle caress.
He fastened the choker around my neck.
“The necklace is yours,” he said. “When you come to me, you will be wearing this, always.”
I nodded.
Necklace was a pretty word for it. It was a collar. He’d put it around my neck the first time, and I’d submitted to him, totally and unequivocally.
His cruelty brought me pleasure.
His touches that brought me pain—I begged for it. The night we’d spent together—the only night we’d spent together—he’d let a riding crop dance over my skin.
And I wanted all of it again.
He hooked a finger of his free hand beneath the necklace and the hollow of my throat.
I swallowed, feeling the pressure of his finger against my skin. My pulse beat so hard in my throat that I knew he would feel it too.
He pulled me up and away from the chair, his finger hooked around the choker.
I unfolded my legs, rose to the tips of my feet. He held me tight against him, limiting my movement. I wasn’t afraid anymore of what he’d do to me, how he’d make me submit to him—not as much anyway.
A sliver of fear would always remain—and this trace of fear was as arousing as
the touch of leather against my skin.
I wanted him to be rough.
He would indulge my fantasies for his own twisted pleasure.
“Pull up your dress for me.”
I swallowed easier when he let go of the choker, his finger no longing pressing against my throat.
He kept a firm grip around my neck, held me in place as I hiked up my dress around my waist, then pushed the hem inside my panties.
There’d be no playing around, I realized, as he opened his pants. No spanking, no leather crop kissing my skin.
He slipped his hand between my legs, pushed my panties aside. He ran two fingers over my folds.
“Not wet for me?”
I shook my head.
“It will hurt then.”
If his first few thrusts would hurt, I’d be wet all the faster. And if the pain from the stretch that his thick cock caused would make me groan, it would be out of lust.
When he relaxed his hold around my neck, I twisted away from him.
He yanked me back, my face smacking against his chest. I liked the brutal way he fisted his hand into my hair. I arched my back as the strength of his pull against my scalp increased. My breasts stuck out, grew tight beneath my dress.
“I want to hear you sob when I fuck you.” His mouth twisted into the sadistic smile I’d longed to see for the last weeks. “Don’t disappoint me.”
He knew his words turned me on.
Shame raced up my spine, confused me.
I’d never shake the feeling of shame that my desire to submit to him created.
Unbidden, my husband’s face showed up in my mind. Tears welled up in my eyes. I should leave, should leave and never return.
Shame and guilt would always be a constant when I was with him.
And yet, I’d be on my knees sucking him off if he so much as whispered that it would please him to feel my lips around his cock.
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders when he lifted me, his hands coming around my ass.
He pushed me against the wall, hard. The pain wrought a groan from me. I locked my legs behind his back when he told me to.
For a moment, I thought he’d kiss me.
When he didn’t, I tried to fight the humiliation that he’d turned his face away as I’d lifted mine to him.
He pulled my panties aside and I clung to him as he shoved himself straight into me.
My body welcomed him with slick heat. Too wet, I thought with a twinge of regret, but not so much that the sudden tight stretch his cock gave me wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was more a moan than a sob as he moved my hips up and then down on him again. There was already that familiar sharp sensation of my own orgasm. He drove deep into me, fucked me harder, each thrust pushing me against the wall. He called me a whore, his whore.
His hand came down over my mouth. He muffled my sobs, didn’t let me catch a breath. He growled into my ear that I didn’t dare come, that he wasn’t giving me permission.
I didn’t give in, riding that sharp wave of my own lust. It was agonizing, feeling thrust after hard thrust of him, while I tried to stay away from that mindless space my own orgasm promised.
His fingers dug into the flesh of my ass as his cock throbbed inside of me.
I almost lost it then, feeling him come inside me. As if he knew, he kept still. If he’d thrust just one more time, I’d have climaxed. So, I balanced on that edge between release and need.
He pulled out of me and I gave a strangled cry. Was such my punishment? No more orgasms? No leather dancing over my skin?
He adjusted his clothes and only his warm come between my thighs was proof that he’d fucked me. And maybe the weak muscles in my legs as I stood on my own feet again.
He gave a sharp tug at the collar, made me stumble against his chest. I’d wait in vain for an embrace.
My husband would offer me that kind of love; Tom offered only dominance.
The scent of sweat clinging to his skin reached me. A masculine scent that made me press my cheek closer to him, the need pulsing between my legs still too immediate. I’d do anything for him if he only made me come.
Abruptly, he turned away.
“Come back tomorrow night,” he said. “Wear the necklace.”
Chapter Ten
Tom
She stood in front of my door, a slight flush in her face. I longed to see that flush all across her body.
She was wearing the necklace.
I didn’t think she would show up.
Yesterday I had been too impatient with her, too unsophisticated. But I had needed the fuck, had needed to feel her and come inside her.
I wondered where she kept the necklace, and if she wore it all the time. Or if she kept it away from her husband. A visual reminder of her infidelity, it had to make her unnerved.
How it made her feel, wearing something around her neck that represented her lust and desires, something that proved that she freely submitted to me.
I knew that it turned her on.
“Want to play?” I asked, feeling how I got hard.
“Yes,” she said, not meeting my eyes.
I couldn’t wait to see her on her knees, to snap the leash to the collar.
I couldn’t wait to turn her skin flushed and red. To see her flinch, hear her moan and sob and cry with unfulfilled lust. Couldn’t wait to make her my little pet.
Couldn’t wait to make her come.
She’d been breathing so hard, her face glowing with lust the last time I’d used the crop. And so wet between her thighs, so wet.
And so inexperienced in her desires.
There were a thousand ways to play with her, yet I couldn’t wait to use the crop on her again. I wondered if she wanted to be kissed, wondered if she knew that I would never give her romantic love.
I pushed the door open, let her in.
Consensual this was. I wasn’t so sure about the sane and safe. I wanted to violate her too much to teach her safe scene play.
My own little whore. Mine to tie up, gag, ignore, spank, fuck. No safe word bullshit, complete dominance. In return, I’d give her everything she wanted—the pain and humiliation, the hard hand on her throat, words to make her cry. I’d make her feel used. I’d give her what she craved, what other’s would call sick longings.
Not how this worked, but I could fantasize about it until she walked out the door to never return because I’d pushed her too far. Because I scared her.
“Upstairs,” I said, and then watched her walk up the stairs to my bedroom.
She knew the way, knew what I’d do to her there.
Her hips swayed as she climbed the stairs in front of me. I wanted to spank her so hard until she cried, and then make her come with my tongue while her ass was on fire from my beating.
She sat on my bed, knees together, and gazed to the ground like the good girl she was. Like the good girl she wanted to be, but really wasn’t.
I told her to undress, and she did without flinching as she had done the first time.
When she was naked besides the choker around her neck and the heels on her slender feet, she sat down on the bed again.
“Spread your knees,” I said.
She did, giving me a nice view between her legs, her triangle of dark curls that would be wet soon.
My hand came around her neck, held her still. I lifted her hair and snapped the leash to the choker.
I gave a tug at the leash. “Stand up.”
She did, met my gaze too as if suddenly emboldened.
I returned her gaze, leisurely checking her out, holding the leash in one hand, and in the other—the riding crop.
She wrapped her arms around her chest. She arched her back, or maybe her shoes did it for her. But her arch presented her breasts and ass beautifully to me.
She was mine, my pet. My little bitch to fuck.
I could do with her as I pleased. The beauty of it was, that it pleased her to be my pet as much as it pleased me to order her on her kn
ees.
I wanted her mouth around my cock badly, but I would come too fast.
A flush crept to her face as if she could guess my thoughts. I wondered if she felt ashamed and if so, how deeply ashamed she was.
In any case, not enough to not come and see me. Because feeling ashamed turned her on, as much as the sweet bite of pain against her skin.
“Look at you,” I said. “Dirty whore.”
I swung the riding crop and hit her inner thigh lightly.
Her lips parted and her nipples grew hard and perky.
“You look at me like you want to suck me off,” I said, placing my hand between her legs. I slid two fingers inside of her, found her wet. “Do you?”
“Yes,” she said.
“And why is that?”
She hesitated, then said, “Because I’m your whore.”
Hearing her say those words should not have turned me on as much as it did.
“Never forget it,” I said, moving my fingers in and out of her. “You’re just a dirty slut, nothing more.”
How could a loving husband ever do that to his wife?
How could he bring her down to her knees, bring her pain and humiliation?
He couldn’t.
But fuck, I could.
I’d give her what we both wanted until we both found release.
“Kneel,” I said, and she did.
I pushed my wet fingers into her mouth, let her taste her own juices.
I’d watched a scene once in a club where a woman was being raped by three guys, staged play, but it had looked real enough.
I’d expected to almost come in my pants, watching her being roughed up and taken like that, but it had done little to arouse me.
Watching how Jules sucked my fingers as if it were my cock made my balls ache.
I stepped behind her and swung the riding crop at her ass. I heard the soft moan that escaped her mouth as leather met her bare skin with a satisfying snap.
And there would be the gentle sting, the pain that my smack had evoked.
It wouldn’t really hurt her, the smack. Not much anyhow.
But all of it implied that she was mine—the riding crop, the pain, her bare ass, the chocker and of course the leash.
