“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 End
Ready for More?
The Unexpected Dom #1: A Sample. Read how it all started....
Jennifer MacIntire soaked in the enormous Jacuzzi bathtub that Declan had insisted they install last year with his end-of-year bonus. She had been careful to pick the perfect bathtub design with the exact right detachable spray nozzle, a device that was currently shoved up against the needy skin of her clit, the pressure pushing her to a much-needed orgasm after nearly seven weeks of zero sex.
Her husband had no idea she was masturbating with a $2,000 gold-plated shower head, and nor – frankly – would he likely care. She pushed thoughts of Declan out of her mind and thought of Matt Bomer. Tatum Channing. Zach Braff. Colin Farrell. Benedict Cumberbatch. Jim Parsons. Wait – he just came out.
Who cares?
She just filled her mind with men who turned her on, her hands snaking up her body, the bubbles teasing her rock-hard nipples, her fingers on one hand cupped in an odd shape to shove as many as possible in her pussy, trying to fill it. She'd forgotten to grab her little vibrator she used in the bath; whoever invented waterproof sex toys was a fucking genius and deserved a blow job every day for the rest of his life.
Probably a woman, she thought.
The pink wave of release built within her, making her pinch her nipples hard, now filling her with a pain only Declan could release. Even when she tried not to think of him her body shifted, made her, forced her to reveal the truth: she craved him and even when she was free and at liberty to think about someone else, anyone else, her body wanted to fuck her very own husband, wanted his face between her legs, wanted his tongue and lips to replace the shower head, wanted his ass pumping that thick cock into her, her hands grasping the dimpled skin, feeling the ripples of –
A tiny shift and “Unh! Unh!” she grunted, the release pushing her to gush a bit, the water covering up the fluid itself but her body knowing when she squirted. Declan's tongue and this spray nozzle could elicit that response. Sadly, the nozzle was winning in that competition, having racked up a lot of points lately.
A quick finish of the bath and she was in her bathrobe, padding downstairs, her caffeine needs overcoming all. It was 6:21 a.m. And time for Declan to head to the office.
She found him in the massive kitchen, all granite and stainless steel, with appliances that cost more than her entire four years of college. He'd demanded they spend money to display their new wealth, his company's IPO making them richer than anyone they knew, and right now she watched as he manipulated a $5,000 espresso machine, making it hiss and spit out the perfect double with a crema of perfection.
He poured the shot into a small travel mug. Looked at her, but made no move to touch her. She was a bit drained from the morning orgasm and didn't mind. Mostly.
“I’ll be home late tonight, so don’t hold dinner,” Declan MacIntire said as he was going out the door. “It’s a business dinner. I would probably have asked you to go but this is too important to take a chance on your embarrassing me like you usually do.” He rolled his eyes. “Oh, and try to look presentable when I get home.”
He gave his wife, Jennifer, a disgusted look up and down her body and slammed the door shut. You would think, Jennifer thought, that after all these years of his treating me this way, I’d stop letting it bother me. It was always the same thing every day. She wasn’t pretty enough. She wasn’t smart enough. She was boring. She was a terrible cook. The list went on and on.
Well, excuuuuuse me for not being a fucking Hooters girl, she thought. Marry one of those, you asshole.
Declan was the CEO of an advertising firm that serviced some of the biggest clients in the world. He had worked hard to get where he was now and she appreciated that. But somewhere along the way, he had become lost to her. She couldn’t really remember when he first started criticizing her every move because it seemed to have happened gradually over time. Maybe it had something to do with his climbing the ranks at work and now being Mr. Large and In Charge all the time. Obviously, he was simply bringing his work attitude home with him.
Whatever the reason, Jennifer was getting to the end of the proverbial rope. She was starting to hate her entire existence and she was starting to hate Declan. That was something she never would have dreamed could happen, either. Declan had been her reason for living at one point in time. They had met in college during their sophomore year and she had been taken in by his Black Irish looks, those bright green eyes, and that amazing six-pack of abs. His wit, his charm, his relentless pursuit of her her her – he stopped at nothing to have her.
And then there was Declan's tongue.
If there were a “Mr. Universe” award for tongues, Declan would win it year in and year out. Oh, what that man could do to a clitoris with that tongue! He could triple-knot a cherry stem and lob it on the top of his nose. His bar trick had been enough to get Jennifer to go home with him that night they met in a nightclub, and they'd been inseparable until a few years ago.
She might be staying just for his tongue.
But then again, he hadn't gone down on her in sooooo long. TOO long.
Now, all she felt around him was dread. She had given up so much for him so that he could focus on furthering his career. This included her own promising career as an interior decorator. At the time, she had been happy to help her husband get ahead, but now she bitterly regretted letting go of something she had loved so much.
Jennifer looked at herself in the full length mirror in the master bedroom. I still look pretty damned good, she thought, no matter what he says. Her hair was a little boring, and she needed some good facial waxing and new make-up, but she was still under thirty, curvaceous and pleasant. A sudden surge of anger rose up in her.
“What a complete and total asshole!” she said to her reflection. Of course, she didn’t mean her. She was talking about Declan. “I deserve better than this and I’m not putting up with his shit any longer!”
Jennifer was a bit startled as she said those words to herself but she also knew that she meant every one of them. The next time Declan started ridiculing her, she’d have a little surprise for him. He wasn’t God, after all. Just because he thought he was right all the time didn’t make it true.
Yeah, His Royal Highness was about to meet his match.
That night, Declan came through the door smelling of alcohol, which never signaled anything positive for Jennifer. But she refrained from saying anything at first. Then he stopped weaving and bobbing in the hallway long enough to stare at her. He was giving her the look.
“I thought I told you to clean yourself up,” he roared at her.
“Declan, you’re about this side of drunk right now, so let’s not do this.”
“No! I WANT to do this right now! You’re a hag! Do you know that? There is NOTHIN
G attractive about you! I don’t know what I ever saw in you!”
Now he was just getting hurtful with his nasty comments and Jennifer had heard them all before. Tonight, however, they were affecting her a bit differently.
“You know what, Declan? I don’t know what I ever saw in YOU, either! Just because you’re always at the gym working out and you get $150 haircuts and you’re some big wig at work, doesn’t make you a real MAN!” she screamed at him. It felt good. She felt her spine straighten and her temper flare as she dished his shit right back at him. He could eat it for all she cared.
This is what it felt like to stand up for herself.
It felt damn good.
Declan looked at her with a thunderstruck expression on his face. At first, he didn’t seem to be able to form a reply, and when he WAS able to speak, all he could manage was a pouty “Well, so? You’re BORING in bed!”
Jennifer wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at that. He hadn't fucked her in so long she couldn't really remember whether she WAS good in bed or not. In fact, as she recalled, it had been two months. Two months of using her Battery Operated Boyfriend so often that in certain states Declan could have sued her for adultery – she'd burned out five sets of batteries in eight weeks.
It was so typical of him but she was fed up with his nonsense and his cruelty. She marched upstairs to their bedroom and threw his pillow and a blanket down to him. Then she locked the door so he couldn’t get in. As she had suspected he would do, he simply passed out on the couch, not having the balance needed to navigate the stairs.
And for the record, she thought as she faded off to sleep, I am damn good in bed. Maybe it's time I stretch those pussy muscles, and maybe I'll cheat on you the way you've been cheating on me.
REALLY stretch them.
The next morning, Jennifer didn’t bother waking Declan up before she left the house to do some shopping. She didn’t know how he managed to wake up on his own or when he had left for work, but he was gone when she returned a few hours later, a fact for which she was eternally grateful. There were some very important things she needed to do before he returned from work that evening and he had to be absent for her to complete them.
Jennifer glanced in the mirror at her new hair. The stylist had definitely kept his word about transforming her. The once mousy brown and drab hair that had been hers was now a vibrant and shiny, deep auburn that brought out her green cat eyes. She had also let him cut it in a shoulder-length style that suited her face perfectly.
Next had been a stop for a complete makeover. She learned lots of makeup tricks and came home with several bags of recommended products. Jennifer was still a bit in awe at the change in her. In fact, she wasn’t sure her own mother would recognize her right now. But that was a very good thing.
She hurried to finish getting things in place before Declan returned home from work. He had some lessons of his own to learn and she was going to be his teacher. Wouldn’t he be surprised? she thought as she set things up in family room. There was plenty of space and privacy in here to do what she needed. Finally, about thirty minutes before Declan was due home, she ran upstairs to the bedroom and changed into her new outfit.
Right on cue, she heard Declan’s car pull into the driveway. Jennifer raced downstairs so she could be at her post just behind the front door. She had locked the door to give herself a bit more time to get ready because she knew that Declan would have to take time to unlock it. As he fumbled around with the key at the lock, Jennifer could hear him cursing her with each breath. She smiled at the sound because that merely spurred her on.
Declan finally managed to unlock the door and stepped inside. As soon as he slammed the door, he started to yell for Jennifer. Before he even realized what was going on, Jennifer leaped on him from behind and wrapped a cord around his chest. She had him on the floor and was straddling him in no time, hog tying him, rendering him completely helpless.
And fully bound, controlled solely by her.
“What the FUCK are you DOING?” he roared.
“Shut up, Moron!” Jennifer said in a deadly quiet voice. “It’s time for you to learn a lesson or two about respecting your wife.”
He kept straining and fighting against the cord she was using to keep him under control.
“Be still or you’re going to force me to hurt you,” she said.
Oddly enough, Declan stopped struggling and simply stared up at her. Jennifer stood up and used the long end of the cord to haul him to his feet. She led him into the family room. She halted at a table that held various items, among them a pair of scissors, which she picked up. Positioning the scissors at Declan’s neck, she started cutting on his clothes. Since the scissors were sharp, she made short order of slicing through the material and in minutes he was standing naked in the middle of the floor, wearing only his socks and dress shoes.
Jennifer handcuffed Declan’s hands in front of him and ordered him to remove his both socks and shoes. He was still strangely quiet and obeyed her instantly. She wasn't expecting such compliance! She needed to be careful, though; Declan wasn't stupid. Any chance to escape and he would take it. When he looked back at her, it was if he was seeing her for the first time.
“You look – different,” he said.
“I AM different, you jackass,” Jennifer replied. “Now, you need to get on your knees and beg my forgiveness for the way you’ve treated me for years, you worm.”
She used the riding crop that she had retrieved from the table to whack him on the side of his hips as encouragement. The red mark she left made her feel queasy, but she acted like she was in control.
“Kneel, worm,” she commanded. “I won’t say it again.”
Declan saw the look in his wife’s eyes and slowly went to his knees. He couldn’t believe that he wasn’t fighting her more on this but he was, surprisingly, aroused by this change in her. Those feelings had died a long time ago, right about when he started going to the BDSM club with a few guys at work. He'd kept his trips there a secret, and had been very, very careful never to technically cheat on her. Not even a quick hand job or blow job like some of the more “moral” guys at work.
He was in it for the loss of control, for having someone else tell him what to do for once. Being the head of the company sucked in many ways, with the burden of a thousand responsibilities on his shoulders. At the club, he could just be tortured until it all faded away, teased into a tizzy he unleashed in the care of his dominatrix, stroking off to the memory of being the ultimate sub.
His wife was standing before him wearing a black leather corset that laced up the front, black silk thigh high stockings, and black patent leather knee high boots. She had had her hair colored and styled and she was wearing makeup. In shock, he realized that he found her absolutely beautiful.
“What are you looking at?” Jennifer barked at him. “Beg me for forgiveness!” With that she cracked him over the shoulders with the riding crop. “Say it!”
“P-p-please forgive me for mistreating you,” Declan stammered.
Jennifer whacked him over the shoulders again.
“Don’t look at me! And call me Goddess! Tell me how beautiful I am and that you’re here only to do my bidding!”
“You’re so beautiful, Goddess. I exist only to serve you and do as you command.” The words rolled effortlessly off his tongue, for he was very practiced in following a dominatrix's command. Only his wife didn't know that....
Read the rest at The Unexpected Dom #1: Jennifer's Revenge, by Meghan Boehners.
Pegging the Boss – A Sample
Traffic was a bitch on I-95, and I knew I'd be late. Some dark-haired asshole who looked like an FBI-type in a Beemer and Oakley mirror sunglasses tried to cut me off when I was three cars away from the tollbooth as I eased off the turnpike onto the interstate. Came within an inch of my bumper. White hot rage shot through me, along with a flushed, hyper-alert sense. No way. I sat in this fucking line for 20 minutes and now Mr. Entitlement USA thinks he can cu
t me off?
He waved and shrugged, like he was oh-so-innocently asking for a small favor. I shook my head slowly, glad I was wearing sunglasses, too, because the red-hot death ray would have shot out my eyes and burned him to a gristled little crisp.
He smirked and shot forward, tapping my bumper. Fuck you, buddy. My car is crappier than yours and I am insured. You hit me, you're slumming.
I eased up and turned the wheel slightly to the left. No way I was hitting him. Ever vigilant, I made it so that in this game of chicken, I would win. Move an inch, take an inch. Like sex, I was doing to get what I wanted.
Right now.
He backed off and I moved forward, victorious. BAM! Take that. Someone with less determination than me right behind me let him in. I looked in my rearview mirror and realized he was flipping me off.
So I shot him the bird back. Fuuuuuuuuck you, dude.
And then he proceeded to follow me. Fine. Whatever. We were trapped in gridlock for the cloverleaf onto I-95, so I pulled out my makeup case. I always ran out the door a few minutes late, so I'd learned to prioritize. Powder, blush, mascara, lipstick. Done. I'm sure in a few years I'll need a hell of a lot more makeup, but at 21 the worst I need is a little undereye concealer if I party all night and come into work a little hung over.
Not true today, though. I got what I needed last night. My boyfriend, Darren, finally put out. That man has a tongue that could lick the moon if he really tried. Damn. Too bad he has to drink a six pack before he's willing to go down. My clit appreciated the effort, and it was a nice change from our boring, vanilla sex. I mean, missionary position is nice once in a while – what woman doesn't like to have a broad man's back to grab onto and scratch when she's screaming and coming like a freight train with a full load – but every single time?
If I climbed on top of him and rode his pole he practically yawned. Getting that tongue to flick my pussy took a ton of alcohol. And when I suggested using a strap-on last night, that had, apparently, been the last straw for poor old Darren. His baby blue eyes had bugged out of his head.
The Unexpected Dom 2 Page 6