“Kitten, I’m not repeating myself.” I stand and walk toward her. Lifting the spatula from the counter, I tap it against my hand. “Tell me what you’ll eat, or I’m spanking your ass.” I turn it over, evaluating the pattern. “I bet this would make a great design on your skin.”
Her blue eyes go from the bacon to the box of pancake mix and then to the spatula in my grasp. “Okay, pancakes and bacon, but no syrup.”
My grin grows. “Oh, there will be syrup.”
Leaving the spatula on the counter, I turn around and walk back to the table. As I do, I hear the rattling of bowls and pans. Without another word, she does as she’s been told. Watching her cook for me, naked, is sexy in a way I never imagined.
As the cabin fills with the delicious aroma of pancakes and frying bacon, her concentration zeros in on the cast-iron skillet. I never thought about the popping and crackling grease with bare skin, but it’s obvious, at this moment, it’s my kitten’s number-one concern.
Once she’s compiled a plate of pancakes and another of bacon, she brings them to the table. She brings me a plate and silverware before refilling my cup of coffee.
So far, she hasn’t even had coffee. I’m making her wait.
It’s as she reaches for the second plate that I stop her. “Just the syrup. No other plate is necessary.”
“But you said...” My kitten stops herself before she says more.
I reach for the bottle of syrup and point to the floor. Spreading my legs, I wait as the indecision clouds her beautiful eyes.
“Trust, obey, submit,” I remind her.
Slowly, she falls to her knees and crawls to the area between my legs. “Here,” I say as I bring my coffee cup to her lips. The liquid has cooled to the perfect warmth. She practically hums as I tilt the cup for her to drink.
When she’s finished drinking, I open my eyes wide.
“Thank you, Sir,” she says as she lowers hers.
Right in front of her is my erection. If I’d taken medicine to help with an erection—which I didn’t—according to the commercial, I’d need to call a doctor. I’ve been fucking hard since she got in my truck.
I remove two pancakes and cover them in syrup. I know this is pushing her limits. That’s why I didn’t leave it to her to eat on her own. “Open your mouth, kitten. Close your eyes.”
Her breasts heave as she does as I command. As the sticky, sweet cake gets to her lips, she closes them tight, blocking the way.
“Kitten.”
“Please, Sir,” she mumbles through closed lips.
I’m not going to entertain her concerns. She’s beautiful. She’s perfect. Her body needs more than fruit and vegetables to sustain her this weekend.
When I don’t speak, simply setting my jaw and narrowing my eyes, she peers my way and acquiesces. Her lips part. As the syrup-covered pancake lands on her tongue, she sighs.
“Chew and swallow.” After she does, I ask, “How does it taste?”
“Oh my God, it’s delicious.”
“Come here.” I pat my leg and she climbs up onto my lap.
Our breakfast is consumed from one another’s lips, her feeding me and me doing the same. Syrup drips from her chin to her breasts where I lick it off her skin. By the time we’re done, she’s eaten not only at least two of the pancakes but also two full strips of bacon.
I can’t take having her sexy naked body on my lap any longer without taking her again. Directing her to lie on the floor, I then reach for the bottle of syrup and stand above her.
“Vic—Sir?”
“Oh, kitten, I want to be sure your memories of this weekend stick.”
At my words, her face blossoms into the sweetest—no pun intended—smile. Her hair is a sex-tangled halo, and she’s not wearing any makeup. Her eyes sparkle, cheeks grow pink, and her lips shine with syrup. It’s not at all like the Erika the world sees on TV. The vision before me is sincere and real and more stunning than she’s ever been onscreen.
I smile as Erika struggles to stay still as I drizzle syrup over her tits and stomach. Though I might have considered punishing her to watch her skin again turn red, I can’t. I need to be inside her.
Stepping out of my jeans, I kneel between her spread legs and look down at the sticky concoction flowing over her light skin. “You’re beautiful.”
She doesn’t speak as her lids flutter and she veils her eyes.
“No, kitten, look at me.”
Her blue eyes grow wide as she takes in my naked form.
“I’m going to fuck you again. And then, after we shower, I’m going to do it again and again. What do you have to say about that?”
“Thank you, Sir.”
My grin quirks upward as I take my syrup-covered fingers and tease her swollen clit. Her hips writhe at my touch as she squirms on the tile floor. I lower my chest until we’re plastered together and my cock teases her entrance.
“What do you want?”
“If I lie, will you punish me?”
“Yes.”
“If I tell the truth, will you fuck me and then punish me?”
I swear my cock doubles in size. “I could punish you for topping from the bottom.”
Erika nods. “Please fuck me first. I want you.”
“And then?”
“I suppose that’s up to you.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Sir,” she adds in the sweetest tone.
I couldn’t do anything else but comply: my need is too great. I push inside her warm haven. As I do, her back arches and her syrup-covered breasts push upward. My thrusts still as I lap my finger in the syrup and bring it to her lips. “Open.”
She doesn’t hesitate as she takes my finger between her lips. Her tongue teases as she licks.
“Fuck.”
I remove my finger and resume our rhythm. In and out, the sensation of her walls surrounding me—squeezing me—with no condom separating us is heaven. I always knew it would be.
When we both come, I stay inside her, my body stuck to hers as I support myself on my elbow. I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s all I’ve ever wanted. The expression of bliss on her beautiful face is better than anything I’ve ever seen.
I tuck a piece of her gorgeous hair behind her ear and smile. “Kitten, you realize we aren't using birth control?”
“Yes. And it feels so good.”
“You could get pregnant with my baby.”
She nods. “It's what you want.”
“It is,” I confirm. “What do you want?”
Her sexy body wiggles beneath mine. “To be with you, forever.”
“I love you, kitten.”
She lifts her gaze until our eyes meet. “I've always loved you, Vic.”
Chapter Eleven
Victor
“Hmm,” Dr. Kizer says with a smile as we walk into her office, hand in hand.
Erika's cheeks redden as she leans against my shoulder.
“Dr. Kizer,” I say in greeting.
The counselor’s smile broadens. “Tell me, Mr. Cross, Ms. Ellis: how was the cabin?”
I squeeze Erika's hand. “I think it was just what the doctor ordered.”
“Ms. Ellis?” the counselor asks.
“Erika Cross, Mrs. Victor Cross,” my wife says. “I'm having them change my name at the station too. Soon it will be Erika Cross on channel fifty-three. I had some preconceived notion that I couldn't advance in my career if I used my married name, but now I realize what that did to Vic. We've been married for almost five years; I want everyone to know.”
“Victor,” Dr. Kizer asks, “how do you feel about that?”
“I think I have the only woman I've ever loved next to me at this moment.”
Dr. Kizer nods. “My fee includes use of the cabin. If you two are all done there, we can adjust—”
“No,” Erika and I say together. Though a smile tugs at my lips, I narrow my eyes at my wife in an unspoken warning.
Her blue eyes sparkle as she lowers her lids.
“I'm sorry, Sir. It's your decision.”
“Doctor, we'd like to use the cabin again next weekend.”
She grins. “Very good. I admit it’s an unconventional therapy, but for some it’s exactly what’s needed.”
Erika’s cheeks grow pink, and I recall how red her ass was with the paddle. “It was.”
“Erika, tell me how you felt when Victor took you there.”
She sighs as she looks at me and back at our counselor. “Scared, excited, confused.”
“Go on.”
“Happy and so fulfilled.”
“Can you explain?”
Erika’s light pink lips disappear for a moment behind her teeth as her blue eyes glisten. “I thought we were done—that our marriage was over. I didn’t think there was enough energy or desire on either of our parts. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to know that Victor loves me enough to plan all of that, to push me out of our normal, and...” Her voice cracks. “...reignite the sparks that I thought had died.”
Dr. Kizer tilts her head. “The way he took you to the cabin was also unconventional. What do you have to say about that?”
Erika looks from the counselor to me and back. “I’ve thought a lot about it. As it was happening, I was scared. I was afraid he’d gone mad...”
“And then?”
My wife’s smile broadens. “He was right to do it that way. If he would have asked me to go, explained his plan, I would have said no. I would have overthought the whole thing and let rational reasoning rule.”
“And then?”
Erika squeezes my hand. “I don’t want to think about it. I’m afraid our marriage would be over.”
“What about you, Victor?” Dr. Kizer asks.
I swallow the lump growing in my throat. I’m the Dom in this relationship, yet the truth is that I’d do anything for the woman beside me. “I was excited and to be honest, nervous. I’d talked the whole plan up in my head and believed it was the right way to go.” I turn to Erika’s trusting blue eyes. “Yet I know Erika, and she can be stubborn.”
Erika smiles.
“It wasn’t until I pulled the truck over onto the side of the road and learned how aroused she was that I knew we still had a chance.”
Dr. Kizer leans back against her chair and looks from me to Erika and back. “Well, it sounds like the cabin was a good start. It’s yours for as long as you need it. I'm sure you still have a few things yet to explore.”
“Yes, we do.” I grin at Erika as her cheeks grow even rosier. We never made it to the canes, nor did I take her ass. Everything that we did do was a lot for our first time as Dom and sub. Though Erika may have questioned it once or twice during our weekend, I wanted her to be comfortable.
“My advice,” the counselor says, “use the cabin. Fan those flames. But don’t forget to talk. Communication is the key to keeping that flame alive.
“Erika, was the name change your idea?”
My wife looks up. “It was. Vic didn’t even ask me to do it. I wanted to. I never realized how important my taking his last name was to him—and to me.” She adds, “I want the world to know that I’m his.”
“Victor?”
“I’d brand my fucking name on her forehead, but this will work.”
Chapter Twelve
Erika
“Oh, Sir!”
The lights of the cabin are low as Victor's cock teases my core, rubbing over my clit and moving in and out of my entrance. I can’t hear anything but his voice, his breathing, the slaps of the flogger still ringing in my ears.
“Please,” I beg. My voice cracks with need, wanting him deeper, wanting more.
“I told you, kitten, where I was going to fuck you, and it's not in this tight, warm pussy.”
My throat dries as I try to swallow. I've gone along with everything since last weekend. And while Victor made me nervous on our first drive to the cabin, everything since has been as he promised. It's my fantasies played out in real life. Over the last week, after our appointment with Dr. Kizer, we've taken the time to talk to one another. We’ve been honest and said things we should have said long before. More than that, these new roles have given our marriage something we've never had—total trust and freedom.
Freedom to be open with one another with our bodies and our hearts. Freedom to give the kind of trust and submission it takes to allow a person to do what Victor has done and is doing to me. My wrists are bound to the bondage table, but instead of lying flat, my ankles are also bound, attached with short chains that hook to my wrists. I'm on my knees and shoulders with my cheek pressed to the table and my ass in the air. I couldn't straighten my legs if I wanted to.
His finger moves in and out of me. Each time it's gone, I tremble at the loss. Not only that, but each time it leaves me, it gets closer and closer to my tight hole. I’m scared, but by the evidence on my husband’s fingers, I’m also excited.
“Do you trust me, kitten?”
“Yes, I do, Sir.” My answer gives me the strength to let him continue. Though I can’t believe this is going to happen after years of protest, I’m equally as excited. This is what he’s wanted since we were first married, but for the first time, it’s also what I want.
I shiver as cold gel combines with my essence as Victor lubricates my tight ring of muscles.
“When you get used to this,” he explains, “we won't need the gel. You're always so fucking wet. But now, I want to make it easy. I don't want to hurt you.”
His words seem ironic, being as he's just flogged my ass and thighs. Unlike a paddle, the flogger has an array of leather pieces, their ends like sharp whips as they abraded my skin. Though they never cut, it felt as though they did.
Each strike wasn’t one, but twenty as the flogger reddened my ass and thighs. Nevertheless, I understand what Vic means. I understand the difference between intentional pain for pleasure and pain for harm. My husband chose the flogger to clear my mind, to get me ready, and bring my focus on him, where it belongs.
It worked. Not only because of the pain, but because I trust him to know how much I can take. Because I do trust, I’ll also obey and submit. Now, my mind is clear. Nothing else exists beyond the walls of this cabin.
I whimper as his finger penetrates the tight ring of muscle.
“Kitten, listen to my voice.”
I do. My mind slides into that space where I’m filled with the deep timbre.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Do it. Trust me.”
The flogging left my ass and thighs tingling while building my want. I long for relief. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and concentrate on his movements—the way his finger moves in and out of my ass and the way his other hand works my clit. He knows my body better than I do. Just as with the punishment, he knows exactly how much I can take.
Higher and higher he strums me until my toes curl.
“Not yet.”
I hold my breath as the tip of his cock presses against me.
“Relax and I'll let you come.”
I've learned his meanings. He is really saying that if I don't relax, he won't let me come. And as much as I want air right now, I want to experience an orgasm. In the last week, we’ve had more sex than in the last two years. It’s left me sore and wanton. Each time shows me how good it can be, making me desire more of what only Vic can do.
There’s no more self-gratification after an erotic read. I am allowed to read the novels, but Sir wants me to read them aloud. If I thought they were sexy reading them to myself, I had no idea what it would be like to read as he teases my skin, making me hot and bothered.
“Who owns you, kitten? Who do you belong to?”
“To you, Sir.”
“And what do you want?” His cock pushes harder, applying more pressure.
I push back toward him as much as I can in my bindings. “To come. Please, Sir, fuck my ass and let me come.”
He'd told me before that he wouldn't take my ass until I begged. I never thought I wo
uld, but I just did. I'd do anything for him.
I suck in a breath and ball my fists as he plunges forward, taking my ass and making it his. Tears leak to the table as he moves; thrust after thrust, the fire inside me burns until the rhythm is right, and my body accepts the invasion. His warmth covers my freshly punished skin. My thoughts are monopolized by the fiery burn of his cock in my ass and pleasure of his fingers on my clit.
Higher and tighter I go, lost in the sound of his breathing until I see explosions of light, and I come apart. Moments later Victor does too, filling me with his seed until I’m overflowing.
He pulls out and kisses my most private parts. Next he unfastens the chains and my legs relax. When he rolls me over, his expression takes my breath away. So much love and adoration. He smooths back my hair, tucking a piece behind my ear, and gently kisses my lips.
“Kitten, you're perfect and you're mine—forever.”
I'm too tired to speak. Instead, I smile and nod. He's right.
I am.
This may seem unconventional to others. I’m not sure I can tell even Jenn what we’ve been doing. She already knows that my attitude has changed. It is impossible to hide my satisfied grin when I mention his name.
He’s my husband, my love, my life, and my Sir.
Chapter Thirteen
Victor
A year later
I lean against the studio wall with my arms crossed over my chest as I watch the stagehands unplug my beautiful wife from her microphone. It’s a good thing they’re disconnecting her because a hot mic might not be a good idea with what I have planned for us back in her dressing room.
“Let me help you, Mrs. Cross,” Erika’s assistant, Abby, says as she offers Erika her hand.
My laughter fills the emptying set as Erika kicks off her shoes and lets Abby help her stand. At nearly eight and a half months pregnant, she’s made no bones about her hatred of the fucking heels. While I can understand her discomfort, I admit that imagining her and nothing but four-inch heels makes my boxer briefs strain under my trousers—even with her ever-growing midsection.
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