Mastering Him

by Meghan Boehners

  Was he any better, though? Going to Miss Sally's club? A sinking feeling made his stomach ache.

  He dried off and forced himself to read the next email:

  Holy Shit!

  Right now, I'm lounging in my desk chair with my smooth legs spread apart, exploring my already-wet pussy. I am reading snatches of your message as I write back. I'm lifting one hand away from my trembling lips and my finger is tracing lazy circles around my clitoris, teasing but not fulfilling. I'm completely naked, having stripped down after working a ten hour shift, serving drinks to horny bastards who ogle and squeeze my body.

  Do you like knowing that they dream of me, too? Now, my painted fingernail provides enough pressure to test that threshold between pleasure and pain. I love to imagine pushing that threshold with you. I'm envisioning you stroking yourself, lit only by the glow of your computer screen, the light catching the first drops of pre-cum, which you use to ease your journey to ecstasy. Your face is contorted in a wild look, as you struggle to type and fight the hormonal tension.

  I can see you here, under the desk, prying my legs apart without resistance, forging a trail with your tongue toward my throbbing, swollen clit. You tease me, caress my folds, circling slowly and flicking the nub just once, making me twitch with excitement. I'm getting dizzy, breathless. You reach for my aching tunnel with one, two, then three fingers, digging for my G-spot, then suddenly, shockingly, replacing fingers with tongue.

  I'm mumbling, “Fuck me with your tongue!” and your tongue tenses, aiming for my spasming clit, licking and flicking and driving me into a frenzy. My back is arching up now, now, and I feel...Oh, God, electrical impulses are finding nerve paths I never knew I had! Oh, I can't type, this is taking forever, I'm feeling and feeling, I can feel every fold, every cell in my pussy, I imagine your swollen, glorious cock driving into me. I'm wet, I'm fingering myself to simulate as I'm writhing my body...My juices are flowing, slithering down the cleavage of my ass, onto the chair.

  In my mind you're reading this and your face changes as you shift into a sensual mode, giving over to your body, wrenching every drop of tension and pleasure from your touching. You struggle to write, but your hand glides over your enlarged tool and you quickly drop your jeans. You imagine me and...

  I don't know how to end this. I'm flooded with incredible images now and I need to get my vibrator – there's some fuel for another session. Jesus, write back as soon as you can! Wow.

  Jennifer

  What was this “ten hour shift” crap? She's pretending to be a waitress? That's her back story? Declan found himself laughing, a cold, soulless sound that made his testicles creep up into his abdomen. That's the best she could do? Pretend to be a 44DDD and a waitress to attract some loser to have email sex with on one of those cheapass sites? Oh, God, he hoped she hadn't actually spent money on some porno access site just to engage in craptacular talks like this with some moron.

  He forced himself to read on:

  Hi Babe!

  Once again you've succeeded in getting me hot and HARD with uncontrollable desire! I just toweled my warm body off after a long, hot shower. I laid the towel over the chair here in front of my computer and brought a large bottle of lotion with me. I've been gently stroking my hard cock and am about to pump out a little of this cold, white lotion onto my aching shaft.

  I wish you were here to see! When I stop stroking it, my cock lies on my hard stomach and twitches, begging for attention. Now I'm spreading the lotion all over my prick with my fingertips – letting them gently glide over the rigid hardness that your letters have created.

  I begin stroking and I think about you emerging from a bubble bath. I would hide behind a door and watch as you sensuously worked baby oil onto your slippery little feet. The sight of you in the dim light of your room, your legs shining – oh! I am hard! I've started to pump harder and faster, imagining you there.

  As you stretch to spread the oil your robe falls open and your beautiful breasts come into full view. As I stare at the gorgeous orbs I see your arm move and, incredulous, I watch as you spread your legs slightly and your oil-covered fingers travel up your glistening, firm thigh and end up between your legs. You begin to squirm and moan and your body's sensations take over as your robe has fallen completely open, exposing your soft, toned body. I watch as you cup one of your hands and fill it with oil, then reach your hand up to your breast. You look down at your fully hardened nipple and gently, slowly, begin to pour oil onto it.

  The cold oil sends a shock through your body. I can feel the electricity, the overwhelming sensation race through my own body! You gasp as your other hand reaches your throbbing clitoris at almost the same instant.

  I reveal myself from my hiding place and after the shock wears off, you reach for me. I dive for your love button and you watch, almost helplessly, as my face moves towards your incredible wetness. I feel your entire body shudder with an earth-shattering orgasm. I hold onto your hips for dear life as you begin bucking your pelvis in time with the waves of power shooting through your limbs. My hands are now grabbing your tight ass, pulling it apart each time my tongue darts inside your slippery, hot fuck hole. “Fuck me with your tongue!” you murmur. “Tongue fuck me, Baby. Stick every bit of that wet tongue up my sweet pussy!” You're becoming much more vocal – losing yourself, letting go, giving in to your raw desires.

  You need something inside you – you need to be fucked. I stand up and you smile when you see my hard cock. “Do you want me to fuck you, Baby?” I ask. “Do you want my hard prick in your hot little pussy?”

  “Yes!” you scream, and in an instant I am between your legs, holding the very tip of my dick against the outer folds of your gorgeous womanhood. And, well...you dream up the rest. Happy fantasies!

  Love,

  John

  Declan retched, afraid he would actually vomit. This? She was attracted to this kind of sloggy, fake-sexy mess? What kind of limp-dick fuckhead leaves a woman to finish the fantasy? And “Fuck me with your tongue!”??? Like Jennifer would ever say that! He couldn't stop, though, and continued to her response:

  John,

  I'm naked.

  I'm wet in every way you can imagine.

  I'm thinking of you, my brain, my labia, lips, and heart pulsing, imagining your naked body, wet like mine, looming over me, your skin gliding against mine, rubbing your body over me without touching those places that truly ache for you.

  You position our bodies in a 69 cocoon and the touch of your tongue on my labia is divine. Is there a God? He resides in your tongue, making me pray, calling out “Oh, God! Jesus Christ!”, our bodies temples, forming a church of pleasure. I deepen my mouth, stretching my throat to accommodate your aching cock as you begin to ride my mouth, now a slick, warm tunnel for you.

  We flip, and now I am on top, my ass in the air, my back arched, riding your face. Your tongue is so perfect, your lips the icing on the cake, and I am moving with you, lifting and descending, caressed and creamy, and now your tongue fills me as I tease your balls, taking them both in my mouth, gently sucking, releasing, and then running my mouth along your shaft, tracing your pulsing central vein with my tongue, then lightly rimming the tender area between your dick and your ass, making you twitch and shudder, shifting the pressure in agony from my enormous clit.

  But you aren't easily distracted. Now you pin me down and I am ready for you to fill my pussy with your wet, ready member. You have other plans for me, don't you? You reach under the bed and find a silk scarf you placed here, and with practiced hands you bind me to the four posts of the bed. “Shhh,” you whisper, as you bring the blindfold over my eyes, you face traveling down my body, searching for...

  Now, dear, you finish this!

  Love,

  Jennifer

  What the everloving fuck? She was into being tied up? He had tried that years ago and she'd acted like he was a fucking pervert, like he'd asked her to let him slice her into a million pieces with a rusty nail clipper. Now she wanted
to be tied to the bed with her own nylons? Maybe he wasn't the only one in this relationship who needed to go to a BDSM club.

  He knew time was running out; Jennifer or Miss Sally would be up here soon to see why he was taking so long.

  Speechless. Shell-shocked. Furious. Declan struggled to find words to describe what he felt. His fist nearly went through the monitor. He banged his head against the keyboard drawer, the pain helping to keep him from running downstairs right now and screaming at her.

  Thump thump thump. Pause. He knew the sound of Jennifer walking up the carpeted stairs. Counted her steps. Knew she'd only come halfway up, pausing at a turn in the staircase.

  “Declan!” she called out. “Get down here. Miss Sally has some, uh...something to show us.”

  Bitch. Cunt. Whore. Asshat. Whorecuntbitch. He couldn't come up with enough words to describe her. Spending years – years! – on this complete moron online, to the point where the guy sent her his phone number? Had they hooked up? Jennifer attacked him yesterday out of the blue; was this some sort of goodbye in her twisted way? Was he being punked?

  Pull it together, dude, he reminded himself. A few deep breaths and he felt better. What pained him, what really touched the little, hurt part of him deep inside, was the hope. This morning he had awoken with such hope, such love for Jen. The guy who fell for her completely back in college felt like he could come out once again, and now – oh, hell no. Here he was, humiliated beyond belief sexually (and loving it), yet humiliated to his core for being cuckolded (and hating that).

  Meanwhile, his very own professional Dom was downstairs talking to his wife and preparing a session for them both that he expected would be titillating. The last thing he wanted to do right now, though, was fuck his own wife.

  He'd rather talk to her.

  Because she had a lot of explaining to do.

  “Declan!” The voice was annoyed, insistent.

  “Yes, Dear!” he shouted, a little too loud, a little too fake. Pad pad pad, he heard her steps as she went downstairs.

  And now to face his two Doms. Oh, joy.

  "First order of business, then: the rules." Miss Sally, with characteristic precision,took three quick steps towards Jennifer, stiletto heels tapping like the beat of a riding crop against a wall. "I've already told you my primary rule: I do not touch clients, and they do not touch me."

  Jennifer nodded. Miss Sally started at her and just blinked. Twice.

  "Good. We are understood. Second rule: I am in command while on the clock. Always." She looked at her watch and said, "Three hours and seventeen minutes remain." A decidedly uncharacteristic wink followed. "Plenty of time." The effect was chilling, for her mouth did not move one millimeter. A wink without a smile made Jennifer feel dirty. Ashamed.

  Out of control.

  She found herself listening with half an ear as Miss Sally continued. Her mind couldn't push back the images that raced through her head, of her lips on Miss Sally's torso, of dining at the Y, of making Miss Sally's implacable face twist in pleasure-filled agony.

  Of whips, ball gags, swings and...

  "Third. When I talk," she enunciated, as if Jennifer were half deaf, her breath a tease, a scent of clove and rosemary and something musky, "you listen." Though her face was neutral, Miss Sally's eyes showed anger at Jennifer's transgression.

  "I was listening," Jennifer squirmed. Surely the dominatrix knew exactly what Jennifer was thinking. The rush of pictures wouldn't leave her mind, and she feared she would blurt out some completely inappropriate comment, like "let me go down on you!" or "teach me how to rim!" The words stood on the tip of her tongue, like an impulse she couldn't control, the need to shout them as great as the need to urinate or vomit, an uncontrollable contraction in the birth of a completely different Jennifer, one who wanted to make love to this incredible woman who her husband had spent six figures on.

  She was curious.

  She needed to know.

  Eyes gleaming, face slack, Miss Sally did seem to read Jennifer's mind. "Fourth: I am teaching you how to dominate your husband. He is a natural sub -- you can see it in his arousal whenever he is humiliated. But I am not a cuckoldrix. My lessons will only take you so far."

  "A cuckoldrix?"

  Miss Sally smiled gently. "Ah, you're so innocent." She swallowed, the nodded. "A cuckoldrix is a Dom who helps to cuckold a husband."

  Jennifer stared back blankly. Miss Sally sighed. "You do know what a cuckold is?"

  "It's, well...isn't that when a wife cheats on her husband? The husband is a cuckold?"

  Like a teacher praising a good student, Miss Sally clapped once. "Good! So what do you think a cuckoldrix is?"

  "Uh, a dominatrix who makes a man into a cuckold?"

  "Excellent. You'll be a fast student mentally, I see." Miss Sally gave Jennifer a once over with eyes that evaluated her with a detachment that was sensual. As if Jennifer were a piece of meat at a sex slave auction, and Sally a gentle, humane owner. All pretense of social grace went out the window. This was a new paradigm, a different set of social rules, and Jennifer found herself nearly begging to be taught everything, to be allowed to give Miss Sally pleasure, to extract it and wrap it in a neat little tongue-tied bow.

  "Mentally?"

  "You get concepts. You pick them up fast. You're smart. Clearly -- you figured out Declan's little secret once you bothered to break out of the zombie life you've been living for years." Miss Sally's lip pursed in disapproval.

  That hurt. "Hey! You don't know anything about my life!"

  "Really, Jennifer? I know quite a bit. Declan talks."

  "So you get to know everything about me from Declan, but you tell me nothing about what he did or said with you? Not fair."

  "It's not about fairness. It's about control."

  "Fuck control." That got a burst of laughter from the dominatrix, who walked over to the couch and sat down, right in front of the boxes the movers had delivered.

  "No, not 'fuck control.' Control is the heart of everything." She pointed upstairs, where Declan still showered. "Control made him become a CEO. Turned you into a little wimp. Made him seek me out. Forces you to turn to the fridge instead of your husband for satisfaction. Drives men to power, and makes them fall too."

  Jennifer opened her mouth to reply, her palms suddenly sweating, but Miss Sally added, "And control is why you hog-tied your husband and just hired me to teach you how to save your marriage, my dear. Control. And the longer you deny it, the more you're just wasting my time." Miss Sally spread her arms against the back of the couch in a surprisingly masculine gesture, her knees opening, her skirt riding up those creamy thighs, making Jennifer's mouth water on one side.

  "So we have one more rule: You do what I tell you, but if you need to stop, you tell me your safeword."

  "Safeword?"

  "Didn't you actually read the contract?"

  "No." She waved her hand like swatting a fly. "I never read those." Jennifer barely choked out the last word as Miss Sally reached into a small bag next to the wooden box. The box was the size of an ottoman, and the bag a large, leather satchel. She extracted an enormous vibrator, the kind with little extensions that reached up to the clit and back to the ass. Then a tube of Astroglide.

  What was Miss Sally going to make Jennifer do with that?

  "Pick a safeword. A word that will make me stop everything."

  "But...why? If you're just teaching me to be a Dom to Declan, why do I need a safeword?"

  Miss Sally poured lube all over the tip of the vibrator, then kicked off her shoes. She slid her skirt up and propped one foot on the wooden box, positioning the vibrator right on her clit. Jennifer stared, wide-eyed, her own hand eager to help. Or to touch herself. She wasn't sure which.

  "You didn't read the contract." Miss Sally's singsong voice filled Jennifer's veins with ice water. Something about the lilt made her fear more than any implacable expression.

  "No, but..."

  "I am both your Doms, dear. I may
be teaching you," her voice hitched as the now-turned-on toy vibrated her clit, making her reach up to her mouth and lube up two fingers, her manicured, red nails sliding over a pink clit, "but I am also your Dom. it's a daisy chain. Me to you, you to Declan."

  Jennifer was about to explode from need.

  "And right now you are going to watch me. No touching, no groaning, nothing. All you can do is watch and learn."

  Jennifer's face was as red as her clit. “But what about Declan?”

  “Safeword!” Miss Sally said in that same sing-songy voice, her eyes glinting with mischief, face steeled and serious.

  “OK, OK, uh...'sewer pipe'!” It was the least sexual thing she could imagine. Perfect to utter if she wanted everything to end in the middle of some complicated, painful sex performance.

  “'Sewer pipe' it is, then.”

  Transfixed, Jennifer watched Miss Sally slide the vibe into her pink, hairless pussy, the lips giving way for the enormous plastic member to fit into her passage. Her face was a mask of complete control. She could have been reading the Wall Street Journal or waiting to have her car detailed, versus shoving a huge dildo up her clam right here in front of Jennifer.