by Trent Evans
“Everything off.”
Nodding, she looked down, fingers already working at the buttons of the blouse.
“You forgot something.”
“Oh,” she said, her cheeks darkening with a blush. “Sorry. Yes, Sir.”
He kissed the top of her head, then walked over to the couch. He sat, splaying his legs apart, his erection blatant beneath the fly of his slacks.
“Over here. I want to watch you.”
She paused, still working buttons loose. “The windows—”
“I don’t care. Come closer.” He indicated the floor between his outstretched legs. “Right here.”
The sway of her hips in the tight skirt almost had him groaning as she crossed the room to him. He reached out, smoothing his hands up and down her hips, savoring the firmness of her upper thighs.
“Take your time. From now on, when I tell you to strip, you’ll do it to please me. First, and foremost, that means you take it slow, and let me look at you as you do it. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Her little nervous smile made his heart soar. Her acquiescence spoke to something inside of him, his need to be in control, more specifically, to be in control of her. She slipped the last button of her blouse, tugging it from the clutch of her skirt, but leaving it hanging open. Rather than take it off, her hand moved to the front clasp of her bra, snapping it open. He inhaled slowly as she pulled the lace free, her breasts moving in that languid way that had his cock throbbing, his hands itching to take their soft weight in his palms. Shrugging her arms free, the blouse dropped to the floor, a pool of white around the heels he still couldn’t believe she’d worn on a plane.
Keihl stared at her beautiful breasts, already imagining how they’d change, wondering if they already seemed a little fuller than last time he’d seen them. She pulled her shoulders back, her blush deepening, her eyes downcast, knowing what he was looking at.
He pointed at her feet. “Don’t you get funny looks when you have to take those off at the security check point? Not exactly travel shoes.”
“I definitely get looks, but I don’t think I’d call them funny.”
Her mischievous smile appeared again, and he cleared his throat, masking his own laugh.
“Yes, I’ll just bet you do, don’t you?”
He imagined the hard-ons the TSA men would be hiding behind their counters as they watched the lithe woman in the tight skirt bending to remove those heels. Yes, she’d be getting looks, all right.
“Now, the skirt.”
She gave him a little nibble of her lip as she reached back for the zipper, throwing her generous breasts into even greater prominence. His gaze wandered down her belly, his eye looking closely, trying to discern the slightest new curve. But there was nothing, as yet.
“When do you start showing?”
She shrugged despite the sway it imparted to her breasts. “Depends on the woman, I guess. Two, three months?”
He drank in the still flat plane of her belly, the deep, dark navel, the trim, petite waist, and wondered if she’d be earlier than that. He found he couldn’t wait.
Preggo fetishist now?
It wasn’t that simple though. Not by a long shot. Sure, maybe it wasn’t exactly normal to be so aroused at the thought of his pregnant wife, swollen with their child, but he didn’t care. This was between Kirsten and him. Nobody else mattered. He’d examine just what the fuck had come over him some other time. For now, he intended to enjoy himself — and enjoy her.
The dark skirt joined the blouse and bra on the floor boards, leaving her in nothing but a tiny set of black panties, and those borderline slutty heels. His fingers snapped at the waistband of the panties.
“I see the underwear matches the shoes. Meeting someone?”
“A strange, frightening man. But no matter what I do, I’m drawn to him. I can’t help myself.”
He curled his finger slowly, beckoning her closer.
“Sounds like an evil bastard.”
She bent over, the heavy, ripe breasts brushing softly together below her. She laid a hand on either of his knees, an electric current traveling up his inner thighs, making his balls tingle.
“Oh he is.” She reached back and untied her hair. “A terrible, cruel man.”
Her hair fell around her face as she drew close, her light, pleasant scent surrounding him. He guided her hands back to his knees, then took up that luxurious dark hair he’d never tire of running through his fingers. He fisted a hand in the strands.
“Now, is that any way to talk about your Sir?”
Then he brought her lips to his, tasting her, their tongues finding one another, the softness of her mouth, the warmth of her breath taking his away. He pulled her back with a little bite to her upper lip. Her eyes fluttered, then she smiled at him.
“No, it isn’t.” Her eyes sparkled within that dark veil of her hair. “I wonder what should be done about that?”
Keihl kissed her on the nose, then brought her forehead to his. He gazed into those big, bright eyes.
“Go upstairs and lay face down on the bed. You’re about to find out.”
Kirsten watched him over her shoulder as she took the stairs reluctantly. She seemed to wonder why he wasn’t following.
“Get going, Kirsten.”
Her pace quickened, but just before she’d passed out of view, he stopped her.
“One more thing.”
She turned, bending over the railing so that she could see him from halfway up the stairs.
“I changed my mind. I want you kneeling by the side of the bed, facing it.”
He didn’t miss her sharp intake of breath nor the flash of her eyes at his pronouncement.
“And I want you naked.”
She paused, her eyes big as dinner plates, her fingers nervously drumming along the worn wood of the railing.
“Now.”
Kirsten turned, stumbling a moment, then disappeared up the stairs at almost a run.
For just a moment, Keihl sat there, looking out the big picture window at the waning afternoon sunlight.
Where could this go from here? Part of him knew the answer, and no matter his bitter resentment of it, he knew it was right. Despite what they’d explored together, despite learning more about themselves, and their desires in the last three months than they had in the past five years of marriage, certain realities were inescapable. The Game — or at least some parts of it — and bringing a baby into this world were simply incompatible. Already, he fought the instinctive urge to protect her at all costs, to — cliché as it was — put the woman on this protective pedestal, above, safe from any danger. That urge, useful though it was for perpetuation of the species, somehow walled her off from him though — or perhaps it was the other way around? He’d just started to get inside this woman’s head, really learn what made her tick, and now, he feared that it would go no further — at least for the duration.
He stood, adjusting the now throbbing erection in his pants.
And then it came to him, and he cursed under his breath. Maybe there was another way? Maybe getting inside her head, exploring those fantasies that she’d thus far merely hinted at, was the adaptation, the adjustment that was needed. He’d seen in her eyes that same fear, that same doubt, he felt. It was up to him to figure out how to make this work, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to give up yet. She was worth more. She was worth anything.
Yes, unfortunately, his days of beating that sweet, round bottom until it shone a flaming scarlet were over. Just admitting that much to himself was a breakthrough — that acknowledgment that punishing her turned him on, that pain — and giving it — turned him on, at least in that context. Rather than collapse into a neurotic ball of worry and self-doubt as he once might have, he was (more or less) at peace with that fact, that acknowledgment of who —and what — he was. God had seen fit to gift him with an incredible woman who sensed that in him, somehow picked up on it, and rather than flee from it, it drew her to h
im. He’d said it before, but he’d say it again — he was the luckiest asshole on the face of the Earth.
That wasn’t the only discovery he’d made about himself though. It wasn’t just that he had a sadistic streak in him — there was something else he’d learned he craved, something that spoke to him on a primal level, that made his blood fire with the heat of arousal, with the dark energy of lust, and possession.
Control.
Telling Kirsten what to do, and then watching her do it. It really was that simple. Now he saw the path forward. Yes, backing off on the physical punishment was warranted, but he knew now that there were many other ways to meet Kirsten’s needs — and to meet his too.
With an exultant grin, he took the stairs two at a time, every second away from her like an eternity.
He needed his Kirsten, and he needed her now.
* * *
She wondered why he hadn’t come up right after her. She’d had visions of him chasing her up the stairs, hounding her, tearing at her clothes, that voice of his that she loved so much rumbling at her ear. But he hadn’t.
Kneeling there, the silence of the house crowded all around her, the very air seeming to still against her skin. A bead of sweat ran down the trough of her spine, despite the coolness of the air conditioning. She leaned up a little, folding her arms under her head on the bedspread. The carpet was soft under her knees, but somehow the position was more comforting, as if pillowing her head on her arms helped her think, helped her process all that had happened, and all that she hoped might yet happen.
This can’t work, Kirsten. And that’s entirely the point.
Dammit, no! There had to be a way. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen!
“You’re being a selfish bitch, don’t ya think?” she whispered. “This isn’t about you anymore.”
She remembered the final approach that afternoon, the bump and whine below her feet of the landing gear lowering, the soft almost inaudible buzz of anticipation and fear that she still felt every time landing approached. She’d distracted herself with thinking about seeing her handsome Keihl again, being home, soaking in her own tub with a glass of wine.
And that had brought her up short. No more wine for her!
She smiled against the fine down on her forearm. She’d adapt to that. But she remembered the next thought she’d had too, and it had made her frown bitterly.
Keihl. The Game. What happened now?
As they’d begun the descent, she’d buckled her seatbelt, stroking the slight curve of her belly that she hadn’t remembered feeling before, and thought about it all. What could they do? To her mind, many more doors were closing than were opening. And that would be okay in the end — nothing was more important than that little person growing in her belly. Her baby. Their baby.
It was that thought that both comforted and dismayed her — both then on that bumpy final approach, and now kneeling naked against the bed — for it spoke the truth of things, the inescapable facts.
There was still time though — and she intended to make the most of it. There was still a chance — maybe — to explore yet more, to learn more about herself, and to learn how deep those desires, those fantasies, those drives really went. She could only guess, but she knew that if she had help — Keihl’s help — she’d get there.
And no matter how much it scared her, no matter how much it made her shudder in dread and anticipation, she couldn’t wait.
A hand touched her back and she yelped.
“Little nervous?”
Keihl dropped to a knee beside her, leaning an elbow on the bedspread, the mattress moving under his weight. His hand drew soft circles over the flesh of her upper back, fingers playing with the locks of her hair spread over her shoulders.
“A lot nervous, apparently,” she said, lowering her head back to her arms. “What took you so long?”
He watched her for a moment, then stood, moving her hair off her back to fall over her far shoulder, the locks tickling one of her already hard nipples.
“I’m going to say a few things, and I want you to listen. Can you do that for me?”
“The Game?”
It was an absurd question, but somehow she needed to ask it, as if saying the words gave her permission to unlock that door within herself, a door into a fun house room of pain and pleasure, terror and delight.
“It’s about The Game, yes.”
About?
“We can’t do it anymore, can we?” The words physically hurt her as they left her lips.
There was pause, then his hand stroked her back once more, a finger tracing the line of each shoulder blade, the skin of her arms tightening in gooseflesh. “I didn’t say that, did I?”
“But it’s true,” she murmured, lips brushing against her arm. “The baby. Everything.”
“We have to make … changes. Which is what I want to talk to you about.”
“You do?” She’d expected him to just cut everything off, and just as certainly she knew she’d agree to it. But this was something else. What was he up to?
“This is something we both need to decide. On what we do from here on out.”
“I thought… I don’t know what I thought.” She turned, but his hand clamped on her shoulder.
“What are you doing, Kirsten?”
“I — getting up?”
“Don’t move until I tell you to.”
Heat pooled between her naked thighs at the cool steel in his voice. “Um, okay.”
“What was that?” Heat bloomed across her ass as the smack rang out, and she yelped. “Try again, dear.”
“Sir. Okay, Sir.”
“That’s better.”
“I thought we weren’t… ?”
His hand relinquished its hold on her shoulder, the fingers gentle again, stroking through her hair. “I don’t want to stop. But certain things can’t go on. I think you know what they are.”
“No spankings. No… pain, I guess?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite that way.”
“How would you put it then?” She swallowed, tensing. “Sir.”
He chuckled somewhere behind her. “Good catch.”
She’d assumed it would have to be that way, yet he’d just smacked her ass as hard as ever, her cheek still throbbing with it. She had no doubt his hand print was reddening on her ass as they spoke. Wouldn’t that be what had to stop?
Please, no.
“To be honest, I’m not sure yet. Some Domly guy, right? He doesn’t know.”
At least some of the regret she heard in his voice was genuine — and it made her want to hug him.
“Not knowing the answer doesn’t mean you’re weak. Quite the opposite, actually.”
She wished she could turn around and look up into those dark eyes of his, to show how proud of him she was. But that would mean moving — which he’d prohibited — and that fact made her want to turn around and take his cock down her throat.
Where the fuck did that come from, slut?
The thought surprised her nearly as much as it aroused her, a trickle of moisture slipping from between the lips of her sex.
His hand tapped her back. “Sit back. Ass on your heels.”
She obeyed instantly, dropping her hands to her lap, keeping her eyes down, her breath coming fast and hard now. This was what she loved — the gruff, demanding Keihl that she only got to see during The Game. The same Keihl she longed to see a lot more of.
He slipped in front of her, the fabric of his slacks brushing against her hair a moment, then he sat down on the bed, his legs spread to either side of her. A finger lifted her chin, and she met his brilliant, dark eyes. Her nipples pebbled immediately into hard stones. His jaw was clenched, lips a thin line, his gaze as hard as the rest of him.
“We’re going to play things by ear, Kirsten. One thing I do know is that right now, this early, there’s no issue, really.” His fingertip stroked her trembling lips, and she pressed a kiss to it, making him beam. “But what I don’t
know, I’m going to find out.”
“You could… talk to someone.”
The name almost passed her lips, but she didn’t want to push him. There was still unease there — dangerous ground, for now, though she still wasn’t entirely sure why.
Oh you’ve got a pretty good idea why, don’t you?
It wasn’t time for that though, not yet.
“I could talk to him — I’m assuming you mean Tom — but I’m not sure I want to. Maybe. My concern though, is you. I’m going to make damn sure I don’t do something stupid that might put you or the kid in danger.”
The way he said “the kid” made her smile. It was endearing. It was exactly the kind of thing Keihl would say.
“I’ll agree to whatever you want, Keihl… but.” She looked down, letting her hands drift up to grasp the leg of his slacks, rubbing the smooth fabric between her fingers. “I’m not broken.”
“And I intend to keep it that way.” His eyes flashed. “But first it’s time for that punishment, isn’t it?”
Kirsten’s breath froze. “P-punishment?”
“Your little tease downstairs. You didn’t think I’d let that slide, did you, dear?”
Oh thank God.
“No, Sir.”
He reached down and took both her nipples between his fingers, pulling up gently. “Are your tits sore?”
Kirsten’s mouth went dry, the maddening gentle squeezes of his fingers arrowing pleasure from her nipples down to her clit.
“Not… too sore. They were a lot worse the first couple weeks.”
“Good.” He pinched both nipples firmly, the pain drawing a high pitched sound from deep in Kirsten’s throat. “Clasp your hands behind your back. Shoulders back. Present these tits.”
She clasped her own elbows, pulling her shoulders back slowly, her cheeks flaming hot as his gaze dropped to her breasts.
Keihl unbuckled his belt, pulling the black leather through each loop, his gaze never leaving the vulnerable globes of her now heaving breasts. Was he really going to… ?
“This is for that smart ass of yours. Later.” He set the belt on the mattress next to him, where her nervous gaze could easily see it, reminding her of what was to come.
He reached out, cupping the weight of her breast in his palm, lifting it up as if in offering. He squeezed it firmly. “Does that hurt?”