Mastering Him

by Meghan Boehners

She motioned for him to turn around and she rubbed her hips against his ass as she undid the collar freeing it and letting it fall. “Thank you!” he groaned, then grunted, something between a sigh and a moan, as her hands wandered down to his heavy member, thick with wet hair and a ball sac that hung nice and low, relaxed and luxurious.

  He turned abruptly and kissed her, so sensitive and tender that tears sprang to her eyes, the day's brutality washed away for this moment, a juxtaposition she appreciated even more, both experiences balanced nicely in her pantheon of sexuality.

  His fingers sought out her arousal, discovering how drenched she was. "I want you, Jennifer. I never should have let you go." She thought she was through, but desire crested and renewed within. She needed to envelop him, to ride him, to lose control, to be on top of him, to feel him pound her from behind.

  Taking control, needing to be the mistress for this one time, to have him in her power, she pulled him down to the shower floor. Taking aim, she plunged herself directly over his filling cock. He pulsated and she groaned when he went all the way in, the four shower heads pounding on her back and over her legs, the need for him greater than the desire for a nice, soft bed.

  "I fucking love this, you're so big," she cried out. The feeling was incredible, a completion, everything wrapped into one. Like an abyss of everything taking every aspect of her, more than she'd felt even earlier today on the Sybian, for it was Declan's flesh in her hands, Declan's thighs spread against hers, his mouth pressed into her..

  As she rocketed herself up to the mushroom cap, the sliding like a prayer, seeking out a coming more supernova than any other. Kneading her breasts, he was sending little electric shocks directly to her G-spot. She moved her knees, changing the position, slid enough to make him beg, clamped her pussy, hard, then impaled herself.

  "Ohhhhhhhhh... Jesus! I love you so much," he moaned. She joined him, reciting the words as well, meaning them. Oh, how she loved this man – so much she'd risked everything yesterday. And now, now she had no idea what tomorrow might bring, but she needed this moment to last forever.

  He made her get off, pulled her, dripping wet, into the bedroom, and soon they were standing by the side of the bed. He gently guided her on the bed, ass up. One hand took his cock took her this way, the other hand tweaked and pinched, hard, as she rolled his palm over her red breasts. She reached for her clit as he took her, face buried in the bed.

  Thrusting, thrusting, she shoved her ass back in rhythm with his hot cock, the pleasure so insane, pounding beautifully into her cervix. Grabbing a pillow, she bit it, fists so tight, two fingers and a cock her tools for orgasm.

  “Declan!” She screamed until she was hoarse and rutted and jerked, hot cream and sex as their juices flowed, exploding, felt him coming giving her a cream pie, her pussy holding the product of their lust, as he spurted.

  "Jennifer! Oh, God, I am coming in you!" His voice faded, she couldn't concentrate and as her entire body struggled to handle these multiple waves, simple flesh too inept to know how to work with the magnitude of climax.

  As he fucked her, she slammed back as he pulled her hair and pinched, the pain mixing with the thrusting and the explosion to make her scream an animal sound and then it was just a sense of exhaustion, all cock and slick and mouth.

  "What the hell was that? He groaned into her back, stroking her hair.

  She turned around and pressed her naked front against his. “Sewer pipe?”

  His confused laughter made her throat ache as she faded off to sleep, wet and wrung free of all sexual need, curled up in the arms of the Declan she'd fallen in love with. Had they rescued their marriage in time? Was this intimacy the real Jennifer and Declan, or was it too late? Too tired to think anymore, she drifted away, safe in his arms.

  Her gently, rhythmic breaths told him she was out, finally. Staring at the ceiling, his pulse racing, Declan couldn't stop thinking about the implication of the day's events.

  One more email:

  ...your inner thigh. But I remain there only for a moment. You open your mouth to moan and you feel a silk stocking stretch across the opening of your mouth. I quickly wrap it around the back of your head. Becoming more fearful now, you wonder if this was such a good idea. You feel the knot tighten against your head – you are now bound and gagged!

  I lower my warm, naked body onto yours, and then you hear a “click” and then a humming sound. Next, you feel the sensation of ice-cold vibrating plastic against the tip of your right nipple. First your right breast, then your left – it seems like hours to you, feeling these vibrations shoot through your charged body. You try to scream “Fuck me!” but the restraint in your mouth won't allow it. Just as you think you can't take it any more, you feel my fingers against your dripping wet, thoroughly swollen pussy lips. Your body begins to buck and grind with a mind of its own.

  Then, without warning, you feel my fingers replaced with the head of my cock. The hardened head of my manhood presses directly against your throbbing clit. A tidal wave of orgasms rips all shreds of awareness from you as your body convulses uncontrollably with multiple, mind-blowing climaxes. You feel my cock slide down the drenched outer lips of your burning cunt, faster and harder – I fuck you with increasing authority. You feel my hand behind your head, unfastening the restraint that forces your silence. As the silk fals from your lips I whisper in your ear, “What do you want, Baby?”

  “I want you to fill me with your hot cum!” you hiss, and just as the sentence escapes your lips you are taken by surprise as I place the vibrator head at the edge of your tight asshole, which is wet from your own juices. “Do you want to be fucked like never before?” I ask. You pause, considering the act, and then plead, “God, yes! Fuck my asshole, too! I want that vibrating cock deep in my ass while you fuck my cunt!”

  I continue to pump your sweet, saturated pussy, the vibrator slowly making its way inside you until its eight inches are completely buried within your burning asshole. “Oh, God!” you scream repeatedly, and with one final bed-shaking thrust I slam my twitching tool deep inside your aching slit, simultaneously pumping the vibrator in your ass with short, quick thrusts. As I explode steaming cum inside you, your body shakes with an unspeakable, silent dance of sensory pleasure.

  And with that monumental release, my sweat-covered body collapses on top of yours. I untie the stockings from your wrists and ankle and we lie together, kissing each other, gently fading.

  I want you! Call me at 212-555-1212.

  Love,

  John

  Declan just stared at the words, stunned into a creepy silence that made him feel like a character in a horror movie, ready to kill everyone within sight for the sake of plot development. Except he wasn't in a movie, and he wasn't psychopathically insane. He was, however, stuck in an unreal situation as his wife snored behind him, blissfully unaware that she not only had broken his heart into a million pieces, but she was grinding it into his skin while wearing seven inch stilettos.

  So this is how it ends, he thought to himself, taking deep breaths full of nothing and letting them out. If he breathed in evil and breathed out good, perhaps he could counteract the whole mess, neutralize what had gone wrong and help rightness to flourish.

  Reading about some guy who wanted to shove a vibrator up his wife's ass made him want to go eat a raw burger in front of vegans, or provide health care to people in front of Republicans. Using taxes. It sent him into a counterdependent rage that had no victim.

  She seemed too innocent, sleeping like this, her face pressed into the pillow, sleeping on her stomach, plump ass staring up at the ceiling. Her lips were just the tiniest bit pouty in slumber and for a brief second he could imagine their daughter's face, like Jennifer's but cherubically younger. Kids? They had talked about it, and now that he was hitting thirty he wondered if it could happen.

  Or was the bond simply broken?

  Wake her up. Ask her about the emails, his conscience urged him.

  Fuck that shit. Throw the ho
out on her fat ass, his little internal devil advised.

  Both sounded good, but in the end he did neither. The clock read 3:45 a.m. Now and he needed a few hours of sleep before Miss Sally would help him. She could work with him on the right approach. If they were both subs, he'd know that within hours and would know that they both needed to walk away, chalk the decade up to a lesson learned, and to find the right person after all.

  She was his person, his heart cried out. What had he done? Had he driven her into a desperation so great she sought out sex chats and emails to meet her needs?

  Miss Sally would help him untangle this tomorrow.

  Only after he tangled Jen.

  Light. Bright, blinding light. As one eye cracked open, slowly, the lid peeling back to reveal the window, Jennifer stretched, willing blood to go back into her extremities.

  But she couldn't. What the fuck? Her hands wouldn't move. Her feel were spread out, rendering her unable to bend her knees. Turning on her side was impossible, and she opened both eyes in panic, finding herself completely immobile.

  A quick look at her feet, then her wrists showed she was tied, quite securely, to the four bed posters, limbs in complicated mechanisms she'd never seen before, but that she knew she could not defeat. Struggle was useless. What was Declan up to, now?

  “OK, so sign here,” she heard a familiar voice whisper. Craning her head, she looked down at the end of the bed, her eyes focusing on two people about seven or eight feet from the bottom of the bed. She was slightly nearsighted, so it took a moment for her eyes to adjust.

  Declan, dressed neatly in jeans and a polo shirt, and...Miss Sally? He signed something, handed back a leather portfolio, and Miss Sally took it, snapping it shut with great authority.

  “Ah, she's awake!” Declan announced, the two walking closer to Jennifer.

  Who just realized she was naked, her vagina spread nice and wide, facing her husband and his Dom.

  If it could talk, what a string of expletives it would mutter.

  Miss Sally smiled and waved. “Good morning, Jennifer. I hope you slept well.” She glanced at her watch. “Because in two minutes, we get down to work.”

  The bedside clock read 7:58 a.m. Jennifer sighed deeply, a lump in her throat. Really? Again? “Who? What?”

  “Declan has hired me to teach him to be a Dom.” Even Miss Sally couldn't say it without letting a laugh escape.

  Jennifer bit her upper lip as Declan appeared with a dog collar. C'mon. Seriously? “Sewer pipe!”

  The light went out of Miss Sally's eyes as she turned to Declan and shrugged. “You know the rules.”

  He frowned. The clock read 7:59 a.m. “Give me one minute? The session hasn't technically started.”

  “One minute,” the Dom replied, her eyes lingering over Jennifer's bound body. “And not one second more.” She smacked him on the ass with her portfolio pad. “Because then you would be breaking my rules.”

  The Unexpected Dom #3: Core of Pleasure

  The man couldn’t even bother with comfortable restraints, Jennifer thought to herself, fruitlessly pulling on her wristbands, her hips starting to ache from being stretched in four directions. The straps rubbed at her wrists and ankles, predictably, and she found herself not so much angry as disappointed. Chagrined, really. Declan seemed to treat this as some sort of sick game now, rather than an earnest attempt to love each other and figure out how to go on together.

  Instead, he indulged in revenge, hiring Miss Sally now to sexually torture her. And Miss Sally would, she knew; whoever paid her made the rules, so Miss Sally wasn’t just Switzerland in Declan’s little game, but more like Blackwater. A hired mercenary ready and raring to go. A quick glance at the dominatrix showed her fiddling with her smartphone, probably texting her next gig or calling on those giant mover guys to bring in a dildo the size of Christian Grey’s ego.

  Or wallet.

  “Sewer pipe!” she barked again, and Declan’s face fell. Ah, so Miss Sally had told him her safeword. Good. She knew that the game had to stop now. She was done. Sex with Declan last night had been too good. Too tender and loving and warm and what she needed. This? This was a bucket of ice water. A slap in the face (and not in a good way). A game of monkey in the middle where she was eternally out of reach of the ball.

  It was cruel. Not funny, not sexy, not kinky or cute or arousing. Enough. Enough, enough, enough.

  She was crying uncle. Or sewer pipe. Or whatever.

  “Jen,” Declan crooned, his face next to hers, hand on her shoulder, kneading and caressing in an attempt to – what? Relax her? Really, Declan? You tie me up in my sleep and think you can massage away the Mr. Grey? she thought. No fucking way.

  “You have to let me go!” she chortled, quite pleased with herself. She might know squat about the BDSM lifestyle but this she knew: Miss Sally wouldn’t proceed if she didn’t agree.

  “I know,” he whispered. He started to untie her, gently releasing one wrist. She wanted to slap him, but didn’t. “I just thought we could try, one more time, to make this work,” he muttered, his voice sad and genuine, the game apparently over, his tone drained of everything. “I’ll let you go and you can run off with John.”

  Her throat closed on her, her face flushed, and ice water ran through her veins. John. Oh, shit. He knew about John. She blinked rapidly, unable to breathe as white and black dots filled her vision field and she seemed to collapse into a pinpoint of flesh, no longer really here, for her secret had been found out by the one man she wanted most in the world.

  Her own husband.

  Jen saw Miss Sally cock her head and look up, as if she preternaturally could feel the change in the air, the shift of power, the emotional equivalent of the end of a presidential term. Were they in a lame duck marriage? Now that Declan knew, was this the real end? Finding out about Declan’s relationship with Miss Sally had been one thing; once she knew the real truth, it hadn’t been an obstacle to staying together, thank God.

  But John. Ah, hell. What Declan didn’t know...

  And now he did.

  Her first instinct was to ask him how he knew about John. Her second instinct was to go into defensive mode, to make excuses and, maybe, to lie. Her third was to blame him, to point out all the intricate ways he had failed her over the years, to accuse and fling angry diatribes and point to Miss Sally and make it so that he was the source of everything wrong and the reason she had sought out sex chat sites in the first place.

  As her mind geared all of that up, though, her heart stopped it. Nestled deep inside her, the heart said simply, “I am so sorry.”

  So did her mouth. The words came out unbidden, unfiltered, and without pretense.

  He softened and smiled, a wistful look of pain and damage that made her eyes fill with tears. That was a smile that said “goodbye,” a smile of things broken and lost. Not one of hope and recovery and love and intimacy. The power differential made it all the harder as she sat there, naked after being so exposed, while he was crisp and clean cut, the light pink polo setting off his eyes, the snug hug of his jeans on his hips too perfect, the Levi’s worn in all the right places.

  She thought she would be prepared for the day this happened. Not the day she awoke to find herself tied to her own bed, naked, with a $400 an hour dominatrix staring at her hoohaw, but rather the day Declan would leave. And here they were.

  No.

  Just – no.

  He untied her other wrist and she reached for it, rubbing, her breasts turning pink from flush, an arousal of fear and sadness and, maybe, a little remaining fight.

  “Can I explain?” she asked, but Declan didn’t acknowledge her, instead moving on to her ankle. She felt a tear slide down her cheek and swiped it. Miss Sally cocked an eyebrow and stared only at them, her eyes tracking Declan in particular as he finished releasing the restraints. Pulling her legs up, Jennifer folded into herself and dragged the sheet over her knees.

  “Do you really want to?” he finally asked, so cold and abrup
t she wanted the earth to form a sinkhole and pull her in. Overriding her own fear and shame, she took a deep breath.

  “Yes.”

  “Then do it.” She and Declan both jumped as Miss Sally’s commanding voice cut through the air.

  Declan seemed to have forgotten the dom was even in the room, much less watching them both with the attentive eyes of a hawk watching a squirrel at the end of a clearing. “Go ahead, Jennifer. Explain to Declan exactly how he failed you all these years, and failed you to such an extreme that you would seek out another man’s sexting to fill the hole he created in your marriage.”

  Declan reddened and his eyes flashed with pain; Jennifer knew him well enough to see his temper rise, watched his jaw set, fists flexing. If anyone but Miss Sally had said that, he’d have gone off on them. She was, actually, a bit grateful to the dom. She just said what Jennifer had been thinking, but on another level it was too simple. Too easy to blame him.

  So she just laid it all out.

  Shaking her head, she corrected Miss Sally. “No. That’s not right. That is the coward’s way out – to blame Declan 100 percent. And I could, you know?” She shyly looked at her husband, feeling more virginal than she should. This was new territory, though. Sharing like this was never part of her emotional repertoire, and certainly wasn’t something she did growing up. Her family didn’t do emotions. Just pictures and surfaces. If it looked good, it was good enough. You could dip shit in chocolate and Mom and Dad would eat it with a plastic smile.

  She, however, was tired of gagging.

  “I could blame you. But I am so sick of it. So sick of of blaming the world for what I don’t have. So I won’t. I won’t, Miss Sally. That isn’t fair to Declan or to me.” To her surprise, Jennifer’s words elicited a small, tight smile from Miss Sally, who averted her eyes for a second to type out silent notes on her phone screen, nodding to herself.