“Straight To…Number One” by Touch and Go
“Erotica” by Madonna
“Feelin’ Love” by Paula Cole
“Justify My Love” by Madonna
“Principles Of Lust” by Enigma
“S&M” by Rihanna
The sensual beat of “Straight To…Number One” by Touch and Go filters through the hidden speakers. The music is just loud enough to hear, the words whispered rather than sung, seductively breathing suggestions of what the night may hold.
Go large or go home, I tell myself. If I’m going to make this work I have to sell it.
As Christian turns I close the door, kicking it decisively with a spiked heel while snapping the strip ties I’m holding in my hands. The sound cracks through the room, drawing a raised brow from my husband before his gaze rakes the length of my body, taking in my bold, Mistress Ana ensemble.
His face is a testimony to all the deliberations in his mind when his shimmering silver gaze finally finds mine. I watch in fascination, and no small measure of apprehension, as the emotions play over his face like a reel of film. Surprise, confusion, lust, uncertainty, anger – all flow from one into the next as the scene and its implications unfold in his consciousness.
“Ana,” he says simply, but his voice is pained, gruff, chock full of the sentiments I just saw him work through, but it’s the undeniable edge of want I hear that hardens my resolve. I just know he’ll talk me out of this if I give him half a chance, but from that brief flare of interest I spied in the depths of his now-guarded stare, I’d bet anything that he wants this. Maybe not for me to play Domme, but to be in here, to let out that untamed wolf – not for pain, but for the limb-locking, body-contorting delectation.
Moving in on him I lightly rest my index finger on the sensual sculpt of his lips. “Do you trust me?” I ask, fusing our looks, blue to gray.
He hesitates, looking a little lost, his eyes searching as he slowly shakes his head, contradicting himself when he says, “You know I do, Ana, but why here? This room…”
“Sshhhh,” I soothe, stilling him again with my finger pressed to his mouth. “Because I want us to get over it. I want to re-christen this room, claim it back for us with love and trust, banish the ghosts of pain and heartache, of safe words, and contracts, and holding back, because I want us both to be comfortable with being our whole selves around each other. I want to be what you need, but I want this, too.”
I hear him swallow. “You want this?” he asks, a small frown arrowing between his brows.
“I do,” I confirm, my answer clear, absolutely decisive before I go in for the kill, playing what I hope is my trump card. I can’t afford to give him an inch to maneuver here. Laying my hand over his heart, I let the comforting heat flow between us. “Christian, you seem so hung up on the bad memories this room holds, but you forget that our amazing, erotic journey began here, with me seeing this room, and despite what it meant, still giving you my virginity.”
My words hit home. His haunted look melts into a darkening one, his lids instantly growing heavy with desire as he recalls his ultimate claim of ownership of my body. He licks his lips. “Fair point, well made, Mrs. Grey,” he breathes, a clear note of lust blooming into the rasp of his voice, “but why play Mistress?”
Tilting my head I give him a devilish smile. “I want to remind you what it does for me, how stunningly sensual it is to submit to someone you love and trust, and to be taken to the very edges of your comfort zones then tipped over into blinding ecstasy. The build-up of anticipation, not knowing what’s to come, accepting that someone else takes responsibility for your pleasure, and simply reveling in that pleasure without fear.”
With my fingernail I trace a line from the hollow of his throat, along the sexy, exposed V of his opened shirt, down to the first closed button. Keeping my eyes trained on my task, I pop the buttons and drag my teeth over the curve of my lower lip, knowing that my husband is watching my every move. I hear him gasp, his hands moving to my hips as if drawn there by a magnet. There’s no denying the sizzling aura charging around us, the sexual tension building, zinging with amatory possibilities.
Sensing that his decision is poised on the tip of a knife’s edge, I push with the tiniest of nudges. “I want you to remember how mind-blowingly arousing it is to see the one you love taking gratification from your body, enjoying every inch of it, boldly admiring it, and being blatantly flushed with desire for you.” I slip my hands under the opened panels of his shirt, sliding them around his waist to tug the tucked fabric from his pants, and count my words carefully. “The Mistress thing is simply to set the mood, to get you in the right frame of mind,” I coax nonchalantly, playing it down, borrowing his words to me from that long-ago, pivotal night.
Christian curls his index finger under my chin, lifting my head to snare my gaze. It’s my turn to miss a breath. His eyes are the color of a stormy sea, and his delectable mouth is curved with a dangerously naughty grin. “Mrs. Grey,” he rasps, his voice low, sinfully seductive, and more than just a little bit teasing, “you certainly are dressed for the part.” Shamelessly he drops his stare, making no excuses for the appreciative roam of his eyes as his finger draws the pert outlines of the top of my breasts spilling from the cinched corset.
“Yes,” I murmur my agreement, all too aware of the needy note betraying my automatic desire.
His grin turns to a smirk, his confidence returning when he sees how easily I succumb to him here, in his domain. “And what were you planning on doing with these, Mrs. Grey?” He runs the scissor of his fingers along the black strip ties I’m holding in my hand, feeling the texture, as if to test the fabric.
For a beat I falter. Do I mention that the ties are disposable in order to put his mind at rest? That they are made to tear given enough force, designed specially for beginner subs who may not yet feel the trust that should be inherent to the Dom/sub relationship, or can I rely on his infinite knowledge of all things sexual, and assume that he already knows?
With the nagging prickles of doubt crowding out the certainty I felt earlier, I’m forced to acknowledge that it’s harder to maintain my bravado than I thought it would be. As always, it’s so easy to fall under my husband’s sexpertise spell, melting my resolve with his searing words of seduction, and bringing me to my submitting knees before I can say Sir.
Stay focused, I chide myself, but it’s my inner goddess who comes to the rescue, jolting me from the hypnotic lure of my husband’s provocative baritone with an almighty crack of a long whip above her head, effectively shifting me back into character. I drop my lashes. “These are special ties, Mr. Grey, designed specifically for the…uhhm…. skittish sub,” I croon, lifting my brow into an arrogant arch while I tap the tip of his nose with a solitary digit in a show of dominant swagger that‘s hard for me to portray, but necessary if I’m to pull off this feat.
His eyes widen, sparkling with humor now as he drops all pretense and laughs outright. “Are you calling me skittish, Mrs. Grey? There’s nothing fucking skittish about this,” he growls, gripping my ass and grinding his tenting groin into my belly.
Gotcha! I think smugly. That male ego will never allow him to back away from my challenge now.
Fighting the urge to wrap my legs around him, I hook the strips around the back of his neck instead, bringing his face closer to mine. With our lips almost touching, and our eyes glued, I find my inner Domme. “Prove it,” I dare with a small jerk of my chin.
His smile fades, a mixture of surprise and ratiocination coloring his features before the tiniest of nods gives me the green light I’ve been hoping for. It’s hard not to beam my victory, but for the sake of my role I bite back my twitching lips, assuming my Mistress persona. “Very good,” I drawl, keeping my features neutral. “Now, let’s get rid of this shirt,” I order, moving back, giving him the space to heed my command.
He hesitates only for a moment before bringing his wrists up to undo his cufflinks, watching me, his reticence clear in the slow motions of his movements.
I fist my hips, eyeing him, unimpressed with his reluctant submission. “Mr. Grey, I know you can do better than that,” I tease, trying to put him at ease with a touch of levity. With a confident strut I move in behind him, resting my chin on his shoulder. “Maybe you need a reminder of how this works,” I breathe, brushing my lips against the shell of his ear, enjoying the shiver I feel rushing through him. “You please me,” I add before stepping back, “and I let you come. But if you don’t….” with a snap of my wrist I flick the ties against his firm ass, giving him a solo spank, “then I won’t.”
Careful now, my inner goddess cautions, don’t push too hard, you’ll lose your ground.
Again I have to swallow a giggle when I face him once more, his amused expression doing nothing to help me stay in character. I narrow my eyes at him in a bid to stay serious. “Mr. Grey,” I scold, “do you need a lesson in obedience?”
His eyes change again, reducing to a look that says don’t fuck with me as his jaw hardens with a clench. “You want a show, Mrs. Grey? Like this?” he asks in a tone too low to be anything but dangerous, when he rolls his shoulders, making the most of his fantastic physique, dropping his shirt to the floor in a way that has me squirming.
My heart slams into my chest. Not only because he is his usual, stunning self, but also because of the bite of authority threaded through his words. “I’m indulging you, baby,” he continues evenly, “to prove a point more than anything else, but there’s very little sub left in me, and my control is always strained where you’re concerned. So I’m warning you now, Mrs. Grey. Don’t push me. Little girls that play with hungry tigers will get their brains fucked out.”
Shit! Wow! I’m not sure whether I should be excited or terrified.
On a steeling breath I answer him with a curt nod, marking my understanding, but maintaining my poise. I am also here to prove a point, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let my husband hijack my scene.
Start as you mean to finish, I tell myself, boldly taking in his masculine display, feasting my half-lidded eyes on his angular stance, and the way he so effortlessly oozes confidence in that innate sexuality of his. I catch my lip between my teeth, giving my husband the full blast of my brazen appreciation.
I watch his lips part on a gasp, his body jolting with the instinct to come to me, but he remembers himself, instead flexing his hands in an effort to fight his nature. “Now the pants,” I croak, my throat dry with need.
This time Mr. Sub gives me my money’s worth. With never-faltering skill he toes off his shoes and pulls off his socks, making the mundane task look graceful, before moving his dexterous fingers to his belt. Slowly he pulls it from the loops, swaying his chiseled frame in time with the sexy beat of the song. Without losing my riveted gaze he undoes his button and zipper, holding his pants around his hips for a cheeky tease before letting them pool on the floor.
I break our stare, stealing a strained breath to regain my slipping composure. Christian is hot, but Christian stripping provocatively is positively panty-combusting, the creamy slickness of my thong only adding fuel to the fire that’s burning me into a fevered state. I look at his luscious mouth, the sinful curve of it impossibly tempting with its perfect smidgen of arrogance. Next my transfixed blues roam over his neck and his shoulders, taking in the delectable turn of his firm muscles, and guiding my visual journey to his defined abs and that irresistible V disappearing into his black boxer briefs along with his happy trail, which I’m about to follow with all the diligence of a super sleuth.
Swallowing down my pooling saliva, I linger on the impressive strain of his erection, the outline of which is clearly visible though the soft cotton of his undies. Standing proud, feet planted wide, watching me practically drool over him, I see the knowing smirk he’s trying very hard to suppress. He knows the power his bared body holds, knows what it does to me because mine does the same to him. I thrill in the knowledge that my plan, at least thus far, is working, that he’s experiencing this the same way I would.
“Mr. Grey,” I purr, trying to keep the breathless excitement from my voice, “please lie on the bed, facing up.” Now that he’s playing along, I cannot wait to get my hands on him, to tease him, to drive him mindless with desire.
Again I see the conflict on his face, his internal battle with following orders raging on, but when I cock my hip, narrowing my eyes, he relents, making his way to the bed, and following my instructions.
At the head of the bed I lean over him, making sure to brush my breasts against him when I stretch out his arm. Taking a leaf from his book I quietly explain my way through what I’m doing. “I will be binding your wrists to the bedposts, Mr. Grey. You are free to talk to me, to look at me, to moan, even to beg,” I smirk, catching the smile threatening to split his lips, “but you will take what I give you. Are we clear?” I ask, securing his left hand with a simple knot.
For my words I get another amused, raised brow from my husband, who is obviously not feeling the threat in my tone. Before he has time to smooth-talk his way into my panties, I bend over him, capturing his lips with a kiss. His mouth is not as reluctant as his submission, and he opens for me, licking eagerly into mine. When his free hand cups my ass I snare his bottom lip between my teeth, raking over it with a firm, warning nip. “Uh-uh,” I remind him, plucking his hand off my backside before dropping it onto the bed.
He smirks, his low-lidded gaze following me as I round the bed in decisive strides. “With that ass, baby, you can’t blame me for trying,” he quips defiantly.
Scowling at him I pull his right arm into position with more force than I intend. I tie a quick knot, and then slip a finger between the strip and his wrist to test his comfort, all the while feeling the weight of his stare on me. Satisfied, I stand back, surveying my work. I’m pleased to note that his erection hasn’t waned; if anything, it’s grown, the tip already glistening as it pokes enticingly from the elastic waist of his briefs.
Now that he’s bound I’m feeling surer of myself. “I would be very careful if I were you, Mr. Grey, or this could turn out to be a Very. Long. Night.” I admonish, enunciating every word slowly, and deciding there and then that I won’t be elaborating on the special ties.
I crawl onto the bed, giving my insubordinate husband an eyeful of cleavage as I reach behind his head to retrieve a small bottle of massage oil. In a defiant gesture he lifts his head, nuzzling into my breasts, not heeding my advice in the slightest.
“Mr. Grey!” I cry in exasperation. Fisting a handful of his hair, I push his head back, pinning it to the red leather covering the large bed. “If you are not going to take me seriously, I’m just going to have to make you.” I lift my leg to straddle his middle, securing him further with the weight of my body.
Our eyes lock, suspending us in a trice of time, each of us measuring the other’s will. I feel him buck beneath me, grunting as he wrenches his wrists in his restraints, his gaze darkening. “Let me touch you,” he grits tightly, finally sensing my commitment to play out the scene.
Framing his face with my palms I kiss him, willing him to relax. When I feel the tension draining from his body, I pull back. “You said you trusted me. You must know that I would never hurt you. For once, let me give this to you,” I reason, feathering kisses across his brow as I speak.
He eyes me with no small measure of skepticism, letting out a long breath. “I do trust you, baby, but not touching you? I don’t know if I can do that. Already it’s driving me mad.” To prove his point he thrashes against the restraints once more.
“Just relax,” I breathe, starting a trail of kisses along his jaw. I relish the sharp intake of his breath when I rim the shell of his ear with the tip of my tongue before tugging on his lobe with my teeth. I feel him shiver when I shift, working my way down his neck. Like a cat I gently rub my cheek into the nook there, his stubble deliciously abrading, such a potent reminder of his maleness.
“Hhmm,” he hums when I reach his chest, kissing, licking, and gently nibbling on his nipples made tight by his goose-bumping skin. Wriggling backwards I straddle his hips before lowering myself onto the bulge in his boxer briefs. I bite my lip, watching him as I drag my sex over the rigid set of his erection.
His shoulders come off the bed, arching as a hiss escapes from his lips. “Ana,” he growls, his voice low, thick with lust, and stunningly erotic.
Slowly, with every quickened breath, every squirm from him, my feminine power builds, giving me an inkling as to why he likes taking charge so much. I feel almost high with it, drugged with the pleasure of seeing him unravel like this. Bolstered, I do it again, this time eliciting a deep groan from him, the sexy sound ratcheting up my need.
It’s a pleasant surprise, a consequence I wasn’t expecting, and it gives me renewed respect for my husband’s measured control. Already I’m finding it hard to maintain my tease as I grow wetter, my core muscles clenching ravenously, the barrier of our collective underwear keeping the delicious friction between us muted.
Christian bucks his hips into me on the next slide, lifting his head to watch the join of our bodies. “Take off your panties, baby,” he rasps, his eyes slightly glazed with the heady mix of his desire. “I want to see you.”
Strictly speaking, he’s not the one that should be calling the shots, but I’m too tempted to feel him, skin on skin, and I’m very sure that it will only drive him wilder. Like a hawk he watches me as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed to stand. I turn around, kicking off my heels as I go. I hook my thumbs into the thin elastic of my panties then pull them down, bending over to give him the full view of my sex blooming between my legs.
“Fuck,” he spits with a clear note of desperation as he fights against his bonds again. “Untie me, baby,” he demands, “you have to let me touch you!”
Need hits me like adrenaline, bolting though my body like lightning, but I shake my head at my husband, my teeth sinking into my lip once more. Jeez! I think, this is seriously addictive. I never quite understood the appeal, but I do now. It’s wildly arousing, making me want to do some very naughty things.
Why not? Quips my inner goddess, wearing a filthy grin and not much else, and for once I have to agree with her.
Sans panties I crawl over Christian’s prone body again, taking up my place across his lap. Before I sit, I reach into his briefs, freeing his pulsing shaft, the veins thick and heavily relieved, drawing another pained moan from him. With my inner goddess’s encouragement I check that my husband is paying close attention before slipping two fingers between the swollen lips of my sex.
His head is up, his neck muscles corded with strain as he watches, his stormy gaze glued to my mound. My fingers are stringy slick with moisture when I extract them, glistening with my arousal, which I rub onto the crown of his penis. He clenches his jaw, baring his teeth in a grimace before letting his head fall back, glorying in the sensation and moaning.
Whoa! Hot! I think, repeating the process, and feeling myself become wetter still. I feel the hard peaks of my nipples grazing against the constricting fabric of the corset, making me hyperaware of them, and giving me another naughty idea. I was going to wear the thing the entire time, but as I’m making a lot of this up as I go, I reckon there’s room for improvisation.
I lower myself onto the underside of his erection, my lips engulfing him in a hot, wet kiss. Christian’s body jolts under me, jerking with pleasure. “Baby,” he pleads, changing tack, “please!” Again I shake my head, too turned on to register that Mr. Über Control is actually begging, but I do take pity on him, giving him a long slide of friction, keeping him on edge.
Reaching behind me I pull the ribbon that binds the corset, immediately feeling the fabric easing away from my body. With a quick tug I pull it over my head and off, revealing the spill of my aching breasts. I hear Christian catch his breath. “So fucking beautiful,” he croaks before pushing his pelvis back into my spread thighs.
My body is flushed, fevered, and wanton, my sexy plan not only working for my husband but for me too. Gathering more cream from my sex, I watch my husband, watching me as I smear it over my nipples before I lean forward, offering the tight buds to him. Like a ravenous baby his hot mouth closes over the tip of a breast, his suction drawing it deep, suckling with hollowed cheeks. My moan is thready as my hips grind into him without volition, seeking that tipping friction instinctively.
Taking my weight onto my hands, resting on either side of Christian’s head, I give myself over to the rippling sensation of my core, my senses immersed in all the pleasure sparks firing within my body. Much as I want it, I don’t have my husband’s steely control, and my body has taken over in its mindless race to orgasm as my world narrows to the two points of contact between Christian and me.
“Oh, oh, oh,” I mewl in a stepping staccato, the sound of my voice foreign, even to me, as my heated blood rushes through my veins, delivering its cocktail of hormonal ecstasy when I come – hard – tipping back my head in a primal cry of pleasure.
Finally my hips slow as I come down from my mind-blowing orgasm, reality filtering through my haze when I find my husband’s wide-eyed gaze glued to mine as I sit up again. What just happened comes as a bit of a shock when I realize that I literally just took my orgasm, with little regard for my husband, too lost to sensation to heed anything but the powerful call of release.
I giggle, half-embarrassed, half-overjoyed when Christian shakes his head. “I’ve never seen anything like that,” he breathes. “You came so damn hard you gushed,” he tells me, clearly awed. “Untie me, baby, I want to fuck you. Now! I have to feel how wet you are,” he commands, a needy edge to his tone that’s easily explained by how close he must be to coming himself.
I shift on his lap, feeling the copious slickness, and his body going rigid beneath me. “Don’t move!” he barks, clenching his jaw as he holds on to that legendary control.
“I’m sorry,” I squeak, biting back a giggle.
“Lift yourself off,” he grits, before breathing deeply, working to regain his composure while I push up from my shaky quads.
Christian’s head snaps up when he hears me gasp, my embarrassment deepening as I flush the color of beetroot. My hand flies up to cover my mouth, stifling the squeaking sound when I see how wet I’ve left him. His erection is lying thick and angry against his belly, desperately in need of release, but it’s glistening with my cream, along with his belly and thighs.
Holy moly! Did I do that? I wonder, taken aback.
“That’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, Mrs. Grey. Don’t go all coy on me now, baby, but I’m warning you. Get this shit off me!” His muscles bulge as he writhes against the restraints, shaking the bed with his powerful jerks. “I need to taste you. If I don’t, I swear I’ll break this bed!”
There’s no denying the directive in his tone, it’s harsh and unyielding, urging my scramble up his torso without thinking about what I’m doing. With my knees planted on either side of his head I reach for a tie, but I’m stopped short by a jolt of electricity coursing through me when his mouth closes over the slippery, orgasm-sensitive lips of my sex. Trapped in a freeze-frame of time, I feel his roar vibrate against me before my world is turned upside down.
Within the space of a scant second Christian tears free of his bonds, throws me onto my back, pinning my knees to my shoulders with a strong hold on the back of my thighs, completely immobilizing me, and opening me to him. Immediately he buries his face in my sodden mound, lapping at me like a man possessed. In vain I try to buck away from him, the sensations overwhelming so soon after the biggest orgasm of my life, but he’s relentless, urgently taking his fill of what I denied him.
My hands claw at the leather surface of the bed for purchase, my head thrashing about as I moan for him to stop, to continue, I don’t know. I’m stunned when I feel a fresh surge of spasms start at my core, swelling like the crest of a wave. Sensing my imminence, my lust-driven husband stabs into me with an almost brutal force, his erection swelling as my inner muscles clamp around him, milking him as another almighty orgasm breaks over me. His pistoning hips punch into me as he arches his back, pushing as deep as he can into the wide splay of my thighs, my gratification setting off his, tearing an animalistic sound from his throat.
We stay locked in visceral pleasure for what feels like ages before my sweat-slick man collapses onto me, dragging in big lungfuls of air. “Fuck!” he says finally, as overcome as I am by our night’s turn. “That was unreal.”
I nod my agreement against his neck, still too breathless to speak. It takes another minute or so for us to come to, with Christian moving first, taking his weight onto his elbows, pushing away from me to stare into my eyes. Tenderly he cups my head, using his thumbs to brush the stray hairs from my face. “I think tonight we are both thoroughly fucked, Mrs. Grey,” he teases with a lopsided grin.
I hold his gaze with an equal measure of love, giggling happily. “I think so, Mr. Grey,” I agree, “and I declare this Red Room a room of pain no more!”
Thank you, Susan, for suggesting “Feelin’ Love” by Paula Cole for this chapter.
Be kind and review, please.