Alpha Sin (mind control erotica)

by Nicolette Allain

  Alpha Sin (mind control erotica)

  Alpha Sin (mind control erotica)

  Midpoint

  Alpha Sin

  Shades of Sin 7

  By Nicolette Allain

  Copyright © 2013 Dominant Other Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, in part or in full, without express written consent from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters depicted are above the age of eighteen, and all sexual acts depicted are consensual.

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  Smashwords Edition

  Carlos entered Angela from behind roughly, the way she liked it. She liked the way his weight felt above her, pinning her to the satin sheets of her marital bed, the way his rough stubble felt against her shoulder-blades, the way his scent -- Old Spice and engine grease, grass clippings and sweat -- overpowered her, surrounded her, entered and filled her.

  The broad head of his thick cock pressed into her with a familiar possessiveness, sliding in with a slight upward angle as he lay atop her. Calloused hands closed around her forearms, pinning them to the bed above her head, his legs between hers, holding them apart, his taut abs, slick with sweat, sliding against her buttocks. He was on top of her, he was inside her, his essence was all around her. It was in moments like these that she could truly let go and let a man take her away, take her control away.

  He pinned her as he thrust, a forearm across her shoulder-blades, her face pushed down into the mattress. She turned her face aside to breathe, grunting each time his thick length entered her, pushing back against him the best she could. Her half-lidded gaze rested on the sight of his fingers on her forearm, fixating on the grease under his fingernails. Part of the thrill, for her, was the dirt, the feeling of defilement, of her refined and civilized body being taken by someone earthy and primitive. Carlos didn't give a shit about the finer points of Paradise Hills savoir-faire. He didn't care about the Homeowner's Association. He didn't care about politics or taxes or any of that. At least, while they were together, Carlos only cared about fucking her, hard, savagely, and she could let the rest of her life's concerns fall away and let herself rut like an animal.

  It was at these moments, when her brain turned off and her body turned on, that she felt truly alive. She wished she could share them with her husband.

  She'd considered cuckoldry, of course. Letting Henry know about her affair. She was almost certain that he'd accept it silently, glumly, like he did everything she forced upon him. She had no real desire to be cruel to the man, though. She didn't find the prospect of humiliating him exciting, and knew he wouldn't get off on other men fucking her. She knew that his acceptance would only lead to more contempt on her part, and things between them were difficult enough as it was without her growing to hate him.

  An increase in Carlos's tempo drove thoughts of Henry from her mind, and the head of his cock started to rub her inside just right. "Like that," she gasped. "Just like that."

  He shifted behind her, propping himself up, his strong hands pressing her shoulders into the bed. Every thrust of his hips came harder than the one before, driving her face up against the headboard. She didn't mind. This was the kind of alpha-male fucking she needed, without self-consciousness, without meekness, without hesitation. Each powerful thrust seemed to penetrate her to her very core, sending waves of sublime pleasure radiating through her body.

  She felt his cock tremble and swell inside her, and moaned louder as she felt him close in on his orgasm. He thrust into her one last powerful time, the length of his penis entirely within. She could feel its heat pulsing as he sent spurt after spurt of hot cum into her depths.

  He lay atop her for a moment, breathing heavily. She allowed herself seconds of timeless bliss before giving his flank a quick slap.

  Carlos rolled to the slide, his softening cock dragging as it pulled out of her.

  She sat up, grabbing a cigarette from the bedside table.

  "You got a second to talk?" he asked.

  She picked her watch up from beside her Virginia Slims. "Make it quick. Light?"

  He sat up and grabbed his jeans off of the floor, taking a bic from his pocket. "It's kinda important."

  "Later," she said, leaning close to let him light her smoke. "I've got an appointment at Francois's, and you still have the west rosebushes to trim."

  He slipped his jeans on, one leg at a time, sighing heavily. "Fine. Seems all the time you have for is fucking."

  "It is what it is," Angela said. She had no real interest in socializing with Carlos beyond their quick fucks. She didn't talk to the cleaning lady. She didn't talk to the guy who came by twice a month to touch up the house's trim.

  "That's the problem."

  She gave him a dirty look. "You only ever seem to complain after you've cum. Why is that?"

  He shot her a wry grin. "Because you're too cock-hungry before to let me get a word in before you shove my cock down your throat."

  That was it. That wry arrogance. That simple confidence. That's what turned her on, that's why she was fucking her gardener.

  She smacked his ass as he stood up.

  That's what her marriage was missing. That self-assurance was what her Henry was missing, and no matter how often she told him that he needed to stand up for himself, that he needed to be a real man, that he needed to be more forceful, he never seemed to get it.

  She resented him, and a big part of the reason why was that she needed to step outside their marriage to get a half-way decent fuck. She resented having to cheat on her husband to get her sexual needs met.

  ###

  "Do you have your spare glasses packed? Your mp3 player for the plane?"

  "Yes, dear," Henry said.

  "You have your boarding pass? A cash tip for the cab?"

  "Yes, dear," Henry said.

  "You made your reservations to the Hilton in Miami?"

  "Yes, dear," Henry said.

  "Have you double-checked?" Angela put her hands on her hips. She stood between her husband and the door. "You remember last time you went to Fargo and the Marriott had screwed up your reservation, and because you didn't confirm with them you ended up staying at that horrible motel."

  "Yes, dear," Henry said, in the same quiet tone.

  "You need to make sure of these things, Henry. You know how forgetful you are. Maybe you should check again."

  To Angela's quiet disgust Henry pulled out his phone, checked his mail, and sent off a quick note to the hotel he'd be staying at. She hadn't wanted him to actually check, she'd wanted him to lose his temper. To tell her he had it covered. To react. To do something besides take her nagging. To be a real man for once. God, he was aggravating.

  "It's confirmed, dear," he said, shoulders sagged.

  She hated the way he stood like a broken man. "Kiss?"

  Henry stepped forward for a kiss, and she turned and offered him her cheek. He pecked it obediently.

  "Okay. Go on, then, you'll be late."

  He nodded, picked up his suitcase, and headed out the door.

  Half the reason she was cheating on Henry was to sex-starve him into aggressive action. They hadn't had sex in months, though she'd started fucking Carlos shortly after they'd hired him. The sex-famine was for Henry's benefit; why should she starve too? She had, for a woman in her thirties, a strong sex drive. She had needs, needs Henry didn't seem to acknowledge or respect, no matter how often she told him that he needed to be more of a man, no matter how often she
belittled his ability to satisfy her. What was wrong with him?

  She needed a nice hard cock to fuck the disappointment right out of her head. She picked up the kitchen phone and called Carlos.

  "Come over," she said. "I need you."

  She could hear him hesitate.

  "What's wrong?"

  "I don't feel right about this, Mrs. Fondham. Your husband... he doesn't deserve this. Maybe if he beat you or neglected you... but I was having a beer with him last night and he's a pretty cool guy."

  Her lips drew tight. "Henry is not a 'cool guy.' He's a wimp, Carlos. That's why I need you to show me what a real man is."

  "Yeah, no, I don't think I can do this anymore. Not after I get to know him."

  Angela stared at the phone in rage and disbelief before returning the headset to her ear. "He is not your friend, Carlos. He is your employer. I am your employer. How do you think he's going to feel if I tell him what you've been doing to his wife? In his bed? Do you think he'll still want to 'have a beer' with you?"

  "He'll be hurt. But you do what you gotta do, Mrs. Fordham, and I don't do what I gotta not do."

  "Fuck you, you piece of shit," Angela said. "Don't bother coming in Saturday. You're fired!"

  She slammed the phone down into the receiver, then slammed it a few more times for good measure. Who the fuck did he think he was, some fucking gardener breaking up with her? Didn't he know how important she was?

  She was married to Henry fucking Fordham, one of the oldest and most respected families in Paradise Hills. She was on the school board.. She was a member of the Daughters of Lilith, for Christ's sake.

  The Daughters were a social club of Paradise Hills' most influential and powerful women. Business owners, local politicians, corporate executives, and their wives and daughters. Her first impulse was to use her connections there to strike out at Carlos, to ask Susan, head of the Homeowner's Association to blacklist, or Alice, a sheriff's deputy, to boot his work truck. Maybe have Susan, who worked for the chamber of commerce, to revoke his business license.

  Then she remembered the Daughters'... other asset.

  The Daughters of Lilith, while being a social club, also had shades of pagan mystery cult overtones. Angela had always thought it harmless bullshit, until the last meeting had resulted in the summoning of an actual pagan god. This god -- Cernunnos -- had offered the Daughters a bargain: should they summon it with the masturbatory ritual it taught, it would offer them a service. A boon.

  Thoughts of magical revenge quickly flickered through Angela's head, but she was a practical girl. She knew of a much greater favor to ask of this god.

  #

  "έλα με γαμήσεις," Angela moaned, rubbing her clit furiously. "έλα με γαμήσεις!"

  Despite her high sex drive, she didn't masturbate very often. The remnants of religious guilt and her mother's stern scolding. This was a special occasion though. She was masturbating to summon a pagan sex god. She doubted her mother would have approved, but it was for a good cause.

  You have called, a voice echoed in her head, and she could feel His presence suffusing the master bedroom. I have answered. What boon would you ask of me?

  Her eyes snapped open and she sat up in bed, eyes looking for any sign of Cernunnos's presence. "It's my husband. He's too... passive. I want him to be a real man.

  So you want--

  "I'm sick and tired of his wishy-washy attitude. I want him to be more... forceful. More confident. More of a man, you know?"

  Do you mean--

  "A real man just takes what he wants!" she said. "My father was a mechanic. Never asked questions. Just assumed he knew best, and other people fell in line."

  Your husband--

  "I want to be married to a man I can be proud of! A man I'm not ashamed to be seen with--"

  ENOUGH. The mental volume stunned Angela into silence. I get the gist. Do you want a new man, or do you want me to alter your current husband?

  "Oh, make Henry better if you can," Angela said. "I mean, I love him. I don't know that there's any hope for the man, but if you think you can fix him--"

  So mote it be, the voice echoed in her head. Your husband has been altered.

  "Just like that?" Angela said. "How will I know?"

  There was silence in her head, and she realized that the presence had departed.

  "That was easy," Angela smiled. If it had worked.

  #

  She had her doubts. Angela didn't know that even an ancient pagan sex god could make a man out of Henry. If Cernunnos failed, and Henry was still a wimp, would she get a refund? Would she get another boon? Could she ask for a new husband? She'd just have to try summoning him again if it didn't work.

  Henry was due to be back from his Miami trip this evening. He hadn't called from the airport, which was mildly irritating, but if he had become a man she wouldn't press the issue. If he had become a man she wouldn't have to. Thoughts of a new Henry, a stronger Henry, a Henry she could be proud of filled her thoughts while she waited for him to return. To be honest, it was a bit of a turn on -- affection, financial security, and masculinity in one package was all she'd ever wanted.

  As the hour of arrival drew near she felt an excited anticipation building within herself, like it did when she was a girl on her birthday. She sat near the living room's picture windows, waiting for the taxi to deliver him home. He hadn't called from the airport upon arrival; she absently hoped that forgetting to check in with her wasn't part of his new manly persona. She didn't see why it would be, but maybe ancient pagan sex gods had weird ideas of what manliness was.

  When the cab pulled up in front of the house, she quickly stepped away from the window so as to avoid looking too eager. Oh, is that you, Henry? I hadn't noticed your return. How was your trip? And then he'd take her in his arms and kiss her, deeply. She'd swoon. She knew she would.

  She sat on a stool near the kitchen counter, trying several times to arrange herself as casually as possible, finally deciding on demurely crossed-legs with a magazine in hand.

  The front door opened, and in walked Henry, jacket over one arm, hat on his head. He looked, she thought, exhausted, but not in the way he usually was. It was a good sign. He stood up straight, not slouched, and his head didn't hang. Instead of avoiding eye contact, his gaze sought out hers almost instantly.

  Angela's anticipation spiked, and she looked up from the magazine she wasn't reading. "Hey, honey, how was your trip?"

  He was next to her in a second, baggage dropped by the door, a growl in his throat, eyes narrowed. His strong fingers were at her throat, gripping her jaw, turning her face towards him. She was too surprised to do much other than yelp as he crushed his lips against hers. She let out a muffled cry of surprise and shock; the action was so unexpected, so uncharacteristic, she literally had no idea what to do.

  "Henry, what--" she managed to turn her face aside from his.

  His answer was to stand her up and half-slam her against the wall, pinning one of her wrists above her head, the other held tightly at her side, and press his lips against the soft flesh of her neck. She felt his hard teeth gripping tender skin, and gasped.

  She'd never seen him this passionate before, but there was something else behind it. Something dark. Something indomitable. She was definitely afraid -- terrified almost -- but excited at the same time. This was far more than she had been expecting.

  "Henry," she moaned, and that seemed to excite him further.

  Her husband pinned her other hand above her head, then holding them both in place, reached up under her skirt and gripped her panties waistband. Hoping for the best, she'd worn a pair of expensive French-lace underwear. She gasped as he tore them off, ripping them in the process, the light material tearing easily.

  "Those were hundred-dollar La Perla panties, Henry!"

  The venom in her voice didn't seem to dissuade him as his fingers returned, sliding roughly inside her. This was a far cry from his usual almost tentative touch, far mo
re brutal than even Carlos's aggressive sexuality. She gasped in shock and surprise, and he stuffed the black lace into her open mouth.

  Angela cried out around the material in her mouth. It was too different, too strange, too far from the pale to be aroused, to be frightened, to be anything but shocked.

  "Just shut the fuck up, goddamn it," he hissed, the words even more shocking than what had preceded them.

  He lifted her, then, forcing her legs apart, and she felt his hard cock -- rock hard, possibly harder than she'd ever felt -- pressing against her crotch. It was all she could do to hold on to his shoulders as he positioned her, then lowered her body while thrusting himself up into her. The penetration was sudden, forceful, and a little painful.

  She found herself not minding.

  Henry fucked Angela against the wall hard, slamming her against it with each thrust, while she held on for dear life. It was all that she'd wanted. It was more than she hoped for. He was finally giving her what she wanted, fucking her like a man, like more of a man than Carlos had been. He was taking what he wanted.

  She moaned into the panties stuffed into her mouth.

  He fucked her harder, each thrust sending her head smacking back into the wall, but she didn't care. Her nails dug into his shoulder through his work-shirt. His hands were under her ass-cheeks, supporting her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

  She let out a last long groan as an orgasm ripped its way through her body. She hadn't cum in a long time, not even with Carlos, and the power of it sent stars in front of her eyes.

  When her pleasure haze ended, Henry had finished, had cum inside her, had left her in the hall to take a shower. She felt his seed dripping from her well-fucked pussy as she crawled on her hands and knees to the bathroom door, still unsteady.