Mastering Him

by Meghan Boehners

  Seriously? The woman finally opens her mouth and this is what she's willing to share? Jennifer gaped like a fish out of water, but she took what she could get.

  “So you earn more than that? Doing what?”

  The bright red lips parted, showing perfectly-even teeth, a show of a childhood and adolescence that involved some fairly expensive orthodontics. Her teeth were gleaming white, so perfect that not even cosmetic dentistry could buy this kind of improvement. Miss Sally's nose was symmetrically planted on her face; a less severe haircut and she would look like a supermodel.

  She stood, then straightened her slim skirt, seemingly irritated by the few, light wrinkles caused by their sitting. “I'm not privy to say, Jennifer, but let's just leave it at this: I help very, very flawed people to get what they really want. And need. And people will pay more than you ever imagined to get what they really need.”

  Jennifer snorted. She couldn't help herself. “Yeah, right. People pay you to have sex with them.”

  The speed with which Miss Sally closed the gap between them was breathtaking; her face was inches from Jennifer's, suddenly, her arms by her side. “I have one rule, Ms. MacIntire.” The change in address terrified Jennifer suddenly. “I never, ever touch my clients. And they never, ever touch me.”

  Miss Sally stepped back, eyes dark and cold. “Whatever you think I do with my clients, think again. Your ideas are so off base that you can't even imagine the world I create for them. Frankly, you won't let yourself.”

  Creating worlds of what? Jennifer wondered, back to being intimidated by the dominatrix. Miss Sally stood, backbone ramrod-straight, and stared at Jennifer with an intensity that was so erotic she wanted to reach out and kiss her. Or slap her.

  She wasn't sure which.

  “I won't let myself imagine what?”

  “The freedom that people struggle to find.”

  Jennifer shook her head, a few strands of newly-reddish highlighted hair getting caught in her eyelashes. She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “Let me get this straight. You have people like him,” she pointed upstairs towards where Declan was showering, “come into your club and offer to pay $400 an hour for you not to touch them, and not to let them touch you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you do this full time?”

  “I have a three-year waiting list, so there is no shortage of clients.” That's not what I asked, thought Jennifer, but she let it slide. A rush of admiration, startlingly physical, hit her. How in the hell did someone do that? Convince extremely powerful, well-off men to pay so much money to be controlled by...her voice?

  Jennifer chuckled. “Forgive me, Miss Sally, but I am trying very hard to comprehend this. It's a bit out of the mainstream.” The dominatrix tilted her head slightly to the left, the only sign of acknowledgment. God, how did she make her skin so creamy? Jennifer wondered. And eyes that were so...ethereal. Yet hard, like she had been though a hundred lifetimes. A little black eyeliner on the top lids made them stand out. She glanced at Miss Sally's chest and noticed a nub poking through the fine cloth. Two nubs. Too distinct to be nipples.

  Nipple rings. Ah, God, a clit ring, plus this?

  What else did she poke holes in? Jennifer wanted to go grab the big dildo she had made Declan use yesterday and fuck it right here, right now, staring into those eyes, wanting only to please this woman.

  “How do you do that? Why do people come to you for these services? What makes a person seek out being so submissive? Because Declan is anything but a sub in real life. He wants to be in charge. All.the.time. It's a huge problem.”

  Nodding, Miss Sally maintained eye contact. “And that is their problem.” She didn't elaborate. Jennifer felt her confusion grow.

  “So you only talk to them? Never touch them?”

  “I didn't say I only talk.” Miss Sally looked at her watch. “Where is Declan?”

  Jennifer had nearly forgotten him. She waved a hand vaguely towards the stairs. “He always takes long showers.”

  “No. You are in control. He takes as long a shower as you want him to.”

  Hot damn! Miss Sally was right. Jennifer hesitated. “Uh, I'll get to him in a minute. But back to what you do. So you won't talk to me about Declan. But you did tell me you never touch your clients. He wasn't allowed to touch you. All these years he's been seeing you weekly. What in the hell have you been doing?”

  For once, Miss Sally showed some real emotion, aside from the cold, dark look she'd given Jennifer moments before. This time, the woman seemed to blossom a bit, opening up, her smile radiating pleasure that Jennifer hoped was contagious.

  “That is what I am about to do, my dear. Teach you exactly what Declan has been coming to me for all these years. Stop talking and start doing.” She pointed to the family room. Jennifer walked to the door, opened it, and what she saw made her nearly scream.

  Miss Sally's hot breath tickled her ear as the dominatrix had crept behind her. “This is what Declan wants. And this is what you are going to give him. But only on your terms.” Jennifer's clit swelled with the screams she held back, her body tensing as she told herself not to turn around.

  Clients couldn't touch Miss Sally. Jennifer gawked at the room, then spun around and stared into Miss Sally's eyes, her own lust reflected back at her in those black, dilated orbs.

  Two could play at this game. Declan turned on the shower to buy some time, then found Jennifer's email on her computer. None of this made any sense. Why would she jump him like that yesterday, so out of character, and make her his bitch? They'd been on shaky ground for a long time, and he'd been fine with just barely tolerating each other. That seemed so unbelievable to him now; what they had found in these few encounters renewed his love and commitment. Yet Miss Sally was downstairs plotting some sort of punishment for him. The thought of that made him hard again, but something else nagged at him.

  Jennifer had pulled away, too. This hadn't been a one-way street. A couple of years ago she'd cooled off, willing to have a romp in bed here and there, but never enough. It had started shortly after he began going to Miss Sally's club, and at first he'd feared she had learned his secret. Over time, though, Jennifer had never said a word. She just started redecorating the house, getting more of those mani-pedis, and gaining a little weight.

  The thought had passed through his mind more than once that maybe she, too, had a secret. But until now he hadn't really cared enough to dig deeper. Turnabout was fair play, though. A few clicks and he found himself in her hard drive.

  It didn't take long to find her secret files; a folder named “Recipes” was it.

  She never cooked.

  What he found was so disappointing and so horrifying that he couldn't believe it. Email after email from some sex chatting site. Not instant messages, but a series of emails dating back months! First of all, who the fuck sends emails anymore?

  Second, who was this guy sharing detailed sex fantasies with his wife?

  The first email:

  Dear Jennifer,

  I'm flattered that you found my profile interesting. I know that by most people's standards I am a bit kinky. I believe in exploring all sexual interests or fantasies – no rules, limits or taboos. I am single but would someday like a partner to share my life. I haven't found the right person yet. If you want a serious relationship and you're interested, great! If you would rather have a casual relationship, that's fine. If you want nothing more than an occasional evening of sexual abandon, no problem – that's fine, too.

  Basically, the ball is in your court. What would you like to have happen now that you've made the first step? What would make you the happiest?

  Yours,

  John

  “Found my profile interesting”? What the fuck? That meant Jennifer was the one who initiated this!

  He read the next email:

  Wow! You responded fast! I'm interested in exploring the bounds of online sex. No promises of more, but if everything goes well, I might consider meeting you an
d acting out some of the incredible things we'll be writing in the future. I'm exploring the sensual side of me, trying to become less inhibited, interested in learning more about frustration and pleasure, limits and breaking them. I just finished a bubble bath and I dreamed of you as I stroked myself to orgasm. Tell me more, more, more! Direct me through a fantasy that will make me explode.

  Waiting and panting,

  Jennifer

  Back up the truck. What was this? So he'd been spending how many years trying to meet his sexual needs with Miss Sally, and meanwhile his own wife was out trawling the Internet for a sex buddy? He checked the date on the email: eighteen months ago.

  Holy shit.

  More:

  Dear Jennifer,

  Great to hear from you! One thing I forgot to mention – you're a 44DDD? Wow! Now that's a handful! Sounds interesting. I've never been with a woman with a chest that large. Brings all sorts of erotic images to mind. So that you know, I love all things oral. I consider my oral abilities to be far above average. I love to eat pussy (pardon the directness) and am content to do so for hours. Usually, though, women can't take it for more than fifteen minutes. After that, she usually asks me to stop so she can feel me inside her. No problem there! I've even had a few women pass out on me – that is wild! Passing out from too many orgasms – I love that.

  My dear, after reading your letter a couple of times, I have become really horny. I LOVE to masturbate. I know that I am not alone in this – just about everyone does – but not many people are comfortable enough with their sexuality to admit it. I'd love to tell you ALL about it if you're interested. Just telling you about all the details would turn me on to no end. You too, I hope!

  Well, dear, I wasn't kidding when I told you that you have gotten me horny. I hope you're proud of yourself. You words, and my telling you what they have done to me, are making me harder and harder. I just can't sit at this computer any more. Time to play! I hope that you'll think about me – and what I will soon be doing – as soon as I send this letter to you. I hope that it excites you enough to want to touch yourself, too.

  Love,

  John

  His heart sank. Oral sex? She was out looking for a guy with a great tongue? What about his tongue? She always said that he was such a master with it. But here she was looking for someone else. Declan had strayed because he wasn't going to find a Dom at home. Well, at least, he had never dreamed Jennifer would be a Dom at all, much less a great one.

  Yet she had a GREAT tongue at home. Why would she go looking for more?

  He read the next email through a haze of red fury:

  Dear John,

  Think about my creamy breasts overflowing from a black teddy, my legs wrapped in silk, black stockings clinging to my thighs by garter straps made of leather. On my feet – open-toed velvet heels, my red toenails playing against the silk. I slip my foot out of the slipper and my foot caresses your bulging crotch. You run your hands over my smooth calves, reaching for the heat between my legs. I stretch my body, leaning toward you, and you bury your face between my breasts, tongue stroking the curves, reaching through the lace to my erect, flushed nipples.

  I slide my body down yours, and soon I'm on my knees before you, hands eagerly reaching for your blood-engorged vessel. You groan as I free you, enclosing your nine-inch member in the valley of my bosom, lubricating the journey with the glistening drops from the tip. Your hips rock gently, and you mesh your hands within my auburn curls, urging me to use my mouth as I have just used my breasts. I fulfill your wish and soon you are trapped within my mouth and your hips thrust harder.

  My tongue traces the mushroom and I alternate between teasing your tip and slowly sucking your shaft. The pace increases and soon you're moaning and bucking, out of control, as I lap your juices, filling myself with your seed...

  I've got to go fulfill myself right now – I'm ready to cream myself! Maybe someday we can talk on the phone – the idea of phone sex makes me horny as hell!

  Love and oral kisses,

  Jennifer

  It took every ounce of self-restraint not to run down the stairs and confront her. Teddy? What lingerie? He hadn't seen her wear anything sexier than yoga pants in two or three years. Leather garters? She didn't own leather garters! She was totally lying, both to this fuckhead online and to her own husband. What a cheating bitch. Leading this guy on via email and simultaneously going to pot at home, making him go out and find some other way to meet his real sexual needs. His breathing became labored from the shock of it, and the damn dog collar started to pinch.

  The shower continued its beat of water; he needed to hurry. So he read more:

  Oh Baby!

  In your letter, you mentioned that you found the concept of phone sex exciting. If you would ever like to experience it, let me know. I'd also love to tell you exactly what I am doing to myself as you play with your wet pussy. Would it turn you on to hear my voice, my breath, my groans of pleasure as you play with yourself? Would you like to hear me cum for you? Let me know.

  Back to my mission – to make you happy. Imagine I'm between your smooth, bare legs, devouring you. I'm sure that you have a clean, sweet-tasting pussy. I'd love to give it the attention it deserves. You would indeed slip your four-inch, velvet heel off your foot and place your silk-encased foot on my growing erection. Just thinking of the feeling of your foot stroking my hardening cock drives me crazy!

  Now add the sight of your beautiful legs spread wide apart, your wonderful hands exploring your body for me to see. I would love to watch your painted fingernails disappearing into your soaking wet, engorged pussy. I want to watch you caress, pinch, and pull at your rock-hard, swollen nipples – at the same time watching your gorgeous foot sliding up and down the now-rigid shaft of my prick.

  I hope the thought of it makes you as wet as it makes me hard! The rest would be up to you. Would you like to watch my cock explode hot cum all over your silk-covered leg as you continue to foot-fuck me, or would you like to take my throbbing tool into your mouth and feel the hot cum shoot into the back of your throat? Of course, I could always hold off cumming and slide all nine inches, nice and slowly, into your burning fuck hole. I'd be holding myself in a push-up position on top of you, looking down, watching my cock sliding inside you.

  Look down, my love, I want you to see my pulsing manhood slide into your eager pussy. Then again, maybe you're in the mood for something different. Maybe you want me to make you get on all fours, your ass in the air as, looking back at me, I'd fuck you from behind. I'd be on my knees, behind you, with my enormous hard-on in my hand. Would it turn you on to see me pumping my cock behind you? Would you like me to fuck you, dear? Would you like it in the ass?

  Your wish is my command.

  I want you to know that I have opened my jeans, pulled them around my thighs, and am stroking my cock as I write this. I am stroking it harder and faster now. I'm going to cum pretty soon. I've pulled my jeans off completely now and have my legs spread slightly apart. Every now and then I stop pumping on my cock and reach down and cup my balls with my fingers, at the same time pressing down on the very base of my shaft with the palm of my hand. Then I reach down and flick a finger over my asshole.

  This feels really great – I am totally gone. I am going to spray cum all over my stomach now, and I wish you were here to watch! The second I begin to come I'll send this. Send the power of my orgasm over the computer lines. I want you to cum with me. Rub that beautiful pussy for me, baby! Fuck that gorgeous wet cunt with your pretty fingers while I cum for you –

  Crack. The world went gray for a moment, and then Declan found himself standing, his hand bloody, a hole in the wall board. He had blacked out for a moment and, in a fit of rage, punched the wall. His pinkie finger felt like it was broken, and he started at the glowing computer screen, glad he hadn't punched that.

  Sack of shit. Some goddamned asshole was jerking off to letters his wife sent, letters that involved more sex in two thousand words than Decl
an had gotten from her in twenty months. He sucked the wound on his knuckles.

  “Declan? Is something wrong?” Jennifer's voice carried up the stairs. Stall stall stall.

  “It's fine! I dropped the shampoo caddy in the shower!” he shouted, hoping she couldn't tell from the sound of his voice that he wasn't really in the shower. He minimized the window in her email and ran into the bathroom, leaving the dog collar on, washing as fast as possible, his hand spending three times longer than usual around his cock, the soap stinging the new scrapes around his knuckles where he'd punched the wall. Who knew lube and juices could mat hair like that? Maybe they'd invented a new formula for making dreadlocks.

  Ten minutes later he was done, but left the shower running. Jennifer would think he was just taking one of his long showers. If she really loved him, she'd realize he started doing that a few years ago, when he needed to stroke off with sex toys in the warm, wet environment, after Jennifer seemed to lose interest in sex.

  Now he knew why – those fucking emails. Some guy was getting his own action that he should have been getting. Jennifer was masturbating in front of her computer to this guy's dreck. Jesus, it made him sick. Sick sick sick –