The effect was enchantingly erotic.
As if she weren't spread-eagle before Jennifer, Miss Sally calmly ordered her. “Go get him. Now.”
Jennifer obeyed.
“We're in the family room!” He heard Jen's voice as he descended the stairs. Stopping, he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, glanced down as his limp cock and pulled at the dog collar. The wet leather made him smell like a musky cow. Ah, well. Maybe it would turn Jen off.
Opening the door led to a scene he really, truly would never have imagined in a million years.
There sat Miss Sally on his Bauhaus couch, legs spread wide and propped on a coffee table that cost about as much as a full day of her services, her Blahnik heels gouging scratches in the teal. Scratches that came from her squirming and twisting to insert as much of the ginormous dildo in her hand into her dripping cunt as she locked eyes with Jennifer, willing his wife to stare and react.
Jennifer was gaping openly, a thin line of drool trickling down the right side of her face. He bit his lips, trying desperately not to laugh. Watching Miss Sally pleasure herself had almost become passe for him, but not quite. What had been limp moments ago now sprang to life. The Dom's eyes found his and she gave him a half grin, tipping her chin up as she angled her pelvis just right, altering the vibration level on her toy, her body curling in on itself and then stretching out, like a cat.
She maintained utter control over her orgasm. He saw Jennifer's hand move to her own clit and now he did grin.
Oh, Miss Sally wouldn't like that.
Wouldn't like that at all.
Jennifer was about to get a taste of Miss Sally's punishment. The thought made Declan grin like a Cheshire cat.
“What are you smiling at?” Miss Sally demanded. Shit – she'd been watching him. Like a one-room schoolmarm, Miss Sally saw everything. Nothing escaped her. Her omniscience was part of what made her so attractive, so appealing, so commanding.
She pulled out a bottle of Astroglide and set it next to her. “Pour!” she ordered. Declan ran to comply, grabbing the bottle off the couch, where it left a small stain, and opening the flip top. Jennifer seemed to barely know he was there.
He centered the bottle over Miss Sally's now-red, hard little clit, and squeezed, the clear fluid viscous enough not to spray, roping in a long line over her skin. Man, he was hard. He looked at Jen and for a second forgot about her betrayal. Wanting her, and – of course! – wanting Miss Sally drove out his anger and doubts for three whole seconds.
But they returned. He stared at his wife as if she were a stranger. Which she was, essentially. How had they spent nearly a decade together, only to reach a point where he was spending time at a BDSM club and she was chatting online with strangers, describing intimate sexual fantasies to some guy named John, who wanted to tie her up and shove a vibrator up her ass while fucking her.
His wife.
His wife. Who now watched Miss Sally fuck herself with a vibrator.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Jennifer. No touching!” Miss Sally scolded.
“I'm not touching you!” Jennifer said, blushing, her hand snatched away from her snatch quickly. Declan suppressed a smile.
“Of course you weren't.” Her voice hitched slightly, a rare show of emotion, and then a torrent of fluid poured out of her red, shining vagina, the gush the only real tip off that she had just orgasmed. He longed to lap it up, and then had a better thought, a little fantasy of his own.
What if Jennifer were forced to drink it? Ah, damn it, his cock literally twitched, flailing a bit, before settling down. If Miss Sally saw that...
“Of course you weren't,” Miss Sally repeated, “because you know the rules. You know that no one touches me, and I touch no one.” Gush. More fluid poured out as she strumed her clit, swirling in circles, her hand in a steady pattern as she masterfully stroked that red nerve center, her face so poised it made him want to fuck her just to see if he could get her to crack.
She never, ever did. It was part of the game, part of the charm, the reason why so many men – and not a few women – paid for her services. She had helped him so much, yet now he could see how little, really, the past eighteen months had helped him. For here he stood, watching his wife watch his dominatrix masturbate in front of them, and all he could think about was making his wife lick his Dom's juices off the couch.
He laughed. Miss Sally glared at him. “Something funny, Declan?”
Oh, no. He knew that voice. He was in deep shit. A tingle of thrill started in his solar plexus. She looked at him, then Jennifer, and shook her head, disappointed. Gush. Then she removed the vibrator, turned it off, smoothed her skirt over her knees and acted like she had not just been beating off with a sex toy.
“You two have so much to learn. You, Jennifer – your broke rules. Rules in the contract. And you, Declan – I know that look. That laugh. Eighteen months and you still can't follow my rules.” She stood and walked over to a small box, about the size of an ottoman, which had what looked like a dick poking out of it. Declan knew exactly what it was, but Jennifer squinted, brow furrowed, puzzling over it. He almost laughed again.
Maybe she was as naïve as he always thought. Then he remembered the emails and a dull simmer filled him. For all he knew, she was a Sybian saleswoman on the side, with a secret life of parties and clubs for suburban housewives, like something out of a Selena Kitt novel.
“Lick it,” she said to Jennifer, pointing to the spot on the couch. A dull gray spot the size of two buttocks covered the formerly-cream-colored upholstery. Jennifer cocked her head to the left and just frowned.
“Lick it.” Miss Sally's words were more emphatic.
“You want me to lick...that?” Jennifer's tone was a mixture of incredulity and marvel. Holy shit, he thought. She's actually turned on by this. Maybe she was more of a sub after all.
“When a client defies a Dom, you must lick it. When a client is wicked, you must lick it.” Miss Sally seemed a bit, er...unhinged as she chanted what sounded like her own version of the very popular Devo song. Jennifer recoiled as the Dom taunted her. Declan, much more seasoned in the BDSM mistress's ways, just closed himself off to emotional reactions and awaited his own fate. His skin began to prickle with the gooseflesh he had come to develop whenever Miss Sally was in this kind of mood.
It meant kink.
And he loved kink.
Jennifer, on the other hand...well, this would be a delight to watch. If she thought that calling Miss Sally after snooping on his phone was going to be some sort of humiliation for him, or a kind of wake up call that could erase everything that had gone wrong, then she was in for one hell of an ironic surprise.
Because Miss Sally had a preternatural ability to read people. And, he suspected, she already knew damn well that Jennifer was no victim here.
“You lick that,” Miss Sally ordered, pointing to her own wet spot, “while Declan licks your feet.” Obeying immediately, he dropped to his knees with a painful thump and bent over, his tongue spreading over her toes, tight to a point at the webbing and them laving more. Jennifer jumped back, out of reach, and giggled.
“NOW!” The dominatrix's voice changed, deepening, the command impossible to defy. Jennifer bent over, kneeling down, and tentatively licked the spot on the couch. Declan found the toes of her right foot an sucked on them in succession, starting with her littlest toe, her groan telling him all he needed to know. She was one or two clit strokes away from a full-on orgasm.
One Miss Sally would deny her.
He slid his hand up her thigh, careful not to give her any release. Just enough touch to drive her up one level of madness. Then he removed his hand, poking his tongue between her big toe and the next, slathering and nipping as her hips squirmed.
Unable to see her, he imagined her face right now, imagined how confused and turned on she must be, but then an image of her Internet lover hit him full blast and he found himself biting her toe, hard enough to make her squeak, his mind awash with pictures o
f “John” licking her cunt, fucking her from behind, and doing so many intimate acts that Declan – and, God dammit, only Declan – should do with and to her.
“Unh! Unh!” Jennifer moaned, her own hand going to her clit as she now sucked the thin fabric of the couch seat.
“No, no!” Miss Sally exclaimed, smacking Jennifer's hand with the riding crop, like she was correcting a small child. “None of that!”
Jennifer pulled back, sending Declan to his haunches, his dick standing tall as he crossed his legs and looked up at the two women, eager for what came next. “Wait just a minute! What do you mean?” Jennifer breathlessly demanded. Her face was nearly purple from arousal and the effort not to come. Declan knew that look. Knew that feeling.
She had better get used to it. At least for the next – he looked at a clock – two hours and forty-five minutes.
“You come when I tell you you can come. And not before.” Miss Sally pointed at Declan. “And now you will use that magic tongue to make her come so close – achingly close! – but not tip over.” She stared intently into his eyes, the severe cut of her bangs making her seem almost alien, so intimidating and sexual that he nearly came from that gaze alone.
“Yes, Mistress,” he replied, pulling on Jennifer's ass and turning her over, her hips now propped up on the edge of the couch, her body on fire, her skin pink and rosy and ready for him.
What in the everloving hell was this woman doing to them? Never, ever had Jennifer ached to come so badly. Visceral pain mixed with a pending, pregnant need to just flow over and scream and clench and get this orgasm out!
"Mmmmmmmm," she whispered as he raised her hips. But his next shift meant that his tongue settled on her red nub, a soft touch like a promise, so mind-blowing she nearly exploded all over his lips, instantaneously.
"God, Declan, that's amazing," she whispered, feeling his hands on her rear end, owning her. Using those muscled arms, he hiked her up a few inches, giving himself one hand to drive her crazy, sliding one finger inside and looping it up so that it set off unexpected waves of pleasure. This was what she wanted, what she craved most – the sense of connectivity, or freedom to love, of wonder and compassion.
With, she noted, a $400 an hour Dom watching. “Go a little to the left, Declan. And for God's sake, stop using your fingers that way. It's a clitoris, not a guitar string!” Jennifer was annoyed but amused all at once. Who knew she'd give Declan a blow-by-blow critique? When he followed Miss Sally's advice, though – oh, the wellspring of joy...
The intensity was almost too much. She bloomed with lust, all heat converging on her clit, as he licked it, slowly growing the release within, slipping his finger in and out, making her want more. Her legs began to shake, and she knew she would come like a freight train soon. Her hands sought him out, holding on for dear life, sliding and guiding him to find the just-right rhythm that would --
"Oh, Declan!" She hissed, fucking his tongue, which licked her, hard, right where she needed it most. His tongue opened up, hot flesh on hers, as he gave her focused and expansive flesh play. Her whole body became one big muscled ball, surprising her after the day's crazy orgasmic activity, her dripping hole clinging to his finger, hands pushing his tongue into her, his head moving quickly to match her as she thrashed.
"You are so good at this! Don't stop!" she implored, hands curling into fists of near-orgasm, her pussy crammed into his tongue as she groaned. This was an eternity of pleasure and now she felt so much so fast.
His tongue stopped abruptly as Miss Sally used a long, thin cane to shove him from her dripping pussy, his face slick with her and her clit screaming in tense pain. “No!” she screamed, the agony of almost coming after all this too much to bear.
Declan's face was utterly soaked by Jennifer's juices. He'd imagined he was John, going down on her in some hotel bed in a nameless town miles away, that he was some strange guys off the Internet giving her pleasure, but then – at the last minute – tormenting her by following the Dom's orders, leaving his cheating, lying wife in more agony in her body than he had in his heart.
Though that was impossible right now.
“Come here,” the dominatrix said, ordering Jennifer to the Sybian. Miss Sally's words rang out as she reached for the Astroglide, this time pouring it into her own hand and giving the Sybian's dildo a hand job. She stroked the plastic masterfully, as if a real, human man were attached to what Declan knew was about to be in his own wife's dripping pussy. His balls seized and he had to focus on his breathing, using steady patterns to will his orgasm down. Eighteen months of pure torture – exquisite submission – under Miss Sally's tutelage had, at least, taught him how to control himself in the face of overwhelming need.
Those lessons had helped him rise to become CEO.
Jennifer had no such advantage.
“Come here,” she insisted, crooking one finger at Jennifer, and this time she obeyed instantly, clearly thinking she would finally get some release. She kept her eyes from Declan. Was she embarrassed? This was her show – not his.
And, besides, he was still pissed at her. Who was “John”? Had she actually called him? Was this –
“Climb on. But do not come, no matter what you do.”
“WHAT?” Jennifer's outraged, incredulous shout was like heaven to Declan's ears. Aha! Careful what you wish for, Babe. Or what you find on my cell phone and contract for...
“You heard me just fine, Jennifer,” the Dom crooned, stroking his wife's hip with a riding crop she had hidden behind her back. “You need some lessons in restraint. Declan,” she turned to him, her voice terse, “will watch. No touching for you, either. No coming.”
“This is a Sybian,” Miss Sally explained, as if she were teaching a child the order of operations or the history of the War of 1812. She smacked the riding crop in her open palm, the red, long fingernails caressing the leather longingly, as if she were stroking a beloved cat. “It takes the place of a man for you.” She looked at Declan. “Because you don't have a real man.”
He inhaled sharply, the thrill of her words making him ache for more. Jennifer turned to him, eyes wide and indignant, then looked back at Miss Sally and said, “You really shouldn't – ”
“Don't tell me what to do.” Ice ran through Declan's body as Miss Sally smacked Jennifer's ass with the crop – hard. “Get on.”
Jennifer opened her mouth to say something, looked at Declan, who tried to warn her, and then she said “But I –”
Jennifer sank, quite suddenly, onto the Sybian, a good seven inches of thick, fake cock inside her as Miss Sally slapped her again with the riding crop, the stroke leaving a bright red square on her hip. She yelped, shocked by the instant filling, and Declan saw a mixture of relief and terror fill his wife's highly-aroused face, her auburn hair a mussed mess, her eyes half-lidded with the look of someone who wasn't quite in this world any more.
Good. Declan knew exactly what would happen to Jennifer if she let herself climax, and he worked very hard to control himself as he imagined it. This wasn't just about his own pleasure – which was nearly overwhelming at this point, his gratitude for Jennifer's recent change almost as enormous as his anger towards her (and, right now, his cock) – but was more about Jennifer's exploration of a side of him, and her, that she was going into nearly blind.
Miss Sally was about to remove the blinders that Jennifer had no idea she wore.
A quick flip of the switch and the vibration mode was engaged. The Sybian Miss Sally used was a special design, she'd told him last year. The standard model wasn't enough. This had the base, which vibrated at varying intervals chosen by the Dom. The small plug at the bottom could have a series of attachments put on it, different sizes of dildoes and butt plugs as chosen for whatever needs the client might have – or whatever orders the Dom might issue. Declan noticed that this particular dildo that Jennifer now rode had little feelers that went out – one for her clit and one for her anus – and he suspected that the orgasm she was supposed to hold back
would, in fact, be so explosive she was bout to receive the worst beating of her life.
The only beating of her life.
Unless “John” and Jennifer had actually met in a hotel room somewhere, and...
“I can't!” Jennifer huffed, bucking against the vibrating cock that filled her, on her knees straddling the base, the special ottoman Miss Sally had designed holding Jennifer's weight as she threw her head back, trying to use every muscle other than her kegels to control the unavoidable climax. Declan watched her, fascinated, as his anger dissipated, his intrigue piqued. For here sat his wife, his lover, his confidante and the woman he'd tied himself to legally for good or ill, her face sweating and her body slick with juices and lube, clutching her skin and screaming through gritted teeth as the Dom she had hired made her ride these waves thought giving over to the uncontrollable.
And if she did let herself orgasm, Miss Sally's punishment would tell him everything he needed to know about his wife.
Was she a Dom or a sub? He was about to find out. His own hand felt like iron shavings drawn to a magnet, his cock the offending pull. His own orgasm was right there, on the surface, and he feared if he moved he would trigger it, shooting like a fire hose all over Miss Sally, who stood no more than two feet from him, her laser-focused attention on Jennifer's face, watching for tell-tale signs.
This was no subtle ride, though, as Miss Sally instructed Declan to “Lick her. Now.” He obeyed, the thin skin of his rock-hard cock disturbed divinely, making him cringe, as he moved to position his mouth over the frantic Jennifer, who screamed, “No!” as his fingers sought out her clit, his head bobbing and weaving to find it, his tongue hitting the spot just once as she grabbed his head by his hair and pulled, hard, smashing him into her pussy, the friction of the dildo against his cheek as she screamed.
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