Regular relaxation is supposed to be good for you, right? So many of my girlfriends gripe because they never get a break. Yet, here I was sitting drinking coffee and reading a glossy magazine at my husband’s behest, whilst he did the housework.
I should have been thrilled, but in reality, I was fidgety and completely unable to settle into reading. It didn’t help that Don was currently hoovering the room I was sitting in. It wasn’t the noise that was distracting me—it was more the sight of Don’s tight backside clearly visible through his trousers as he bent over to move the furniture. If there’s one thing I’ll say for my husband, it’s that he’s thorough. Once he’s decided to do something, Don makes absolutely sure that he does it well.
He turned towards me and began pushing the vacuum towards my stockinged feet. I lifted them out of the way so he could get past, and was rewarded by him wriggling his ass in my face as he went by. Whatever his motivation for distracting me, it worked—there was no way I was going to be able to read anything with that tasty sight in front of me. Giving in to the inevitable, I leaned forward and hooked a finger into the back of Don’s trousers, pulling him down beside me on the sofa.
He laughed and leant away from me—I moved to grab him back, before realising that he was just switching the machine off.
Putting my drink and magazine down on the table, I beckoned him closer. As soon as he sat down, Don slid a hand up my thigh and squeezed. So he had been trying to tempt me, after all. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one feeling fidgety this afternoon. I leaned in to kiss him, and he stroked my legs as his tongue probed my eager mouth. God, he tasted good. He stopped for a second and pulled back to smile at me in that way that made me instantly wet.
I stretched my leg out across his lap, and his kisses became more urgent, before he pushed me backwards onto the sofa. Sliding one hand down, he felt for my pussy, and I instinctively spread my legs to give him access. His firm fingers pushed against my clit and slid briefly inside me, making me gasp.
Sitting up slightly, Don pushed my leg up into the air and kissed my foot, before sliding down between my legs in order to give my aching cunt the attention it so desperately needed. I arched my back as he pushed first one, then two fingers deep inside. I could feel myself dripping onto his hand as he began to finger-fuck me in earnest, and I couldn’t wait any longer. Grabbing the back of his head, I pushed him down hard against my cunt. He caught on quickly and immediately began to lick my clit in long, steady strokes as shuddering began deep inside.
He’d always been good at this; pussy licking was one of his greatest talents. His tongue swirled and probed, and I thrust myself upwards against him, desperate for the hotness of his mouth against the frantic pulsing of my core.
Realising I was close to the edge, Don reached his arms around my hips and held me down hard, whilst his tongue forced me closer to oblivion. I was shaking now, tipping my head forward to watch him sucking and licking at me, even as I lost control. I came suddenly, my entire body spasming into orgasm and my legs locking around Don’s back as I gripped his head against me and forced him to taste the sticky wetness coming from my pulsing cunt.
As I subsided slowly, Don pushed my legs wide apart, so that he could see just how wet I was. Looking up at me, he gave a small smile and then leaned forward to lick my cunt again, sending what felt like electric shocks through the sensitive nerve endings. I shivered with excitement, and he sat back and laughed slightly, before climbing up between my legs and leaning over to kiss me. I could taste my own cunt in his mouth, and it only made me want him more.
Pushing him backwards so that he was sitting down on the sofa, I knelt up next to him and waited impatiently as he undid his trousers and freed his beautiful cock. Unable to stop myself, I immediately bent to take it into my mouth, luxuriating in the width and hardness of him and knowing that it was all mine to play with. Moving my head up and down, I fucked him rhythmically with my mouth and heard him gasp as I pushed his cock deeper down into my throat with each movement. His hand slid over my back and down onto my backside, where he gripped my flesh hard and made me intensely aware that my bare ass was sticking up into the air and just waiting for attention. I gripped his balls as I sucked at him, feeling the blood pulsing as his excitement increased. His groans got louder as he kicked off his trousers in order to be able to thrust up into my throat.
I couldn’t wait any longer. Pushing myself upright, I caught hold of Don’s shirt and shoved him backwards onto the sofa, so that I could position myself over him. He laughed and smiled up at me, the anticipation clear on his face as I reached for his thick cock. I gave him a squeeze and he gasped as I lowered myself slightly in order to rub the head of his cock against my soaking-wet cunt.
Oh god, there was no way I could hold out any longer. I sank down, groaning as his engorged cock stretched me until I could hardly bear the pressure. Leaning forward, I kissed Don deeply, sucking his tongue into my mouth as I swirled my hips letting him fill me completely. I gripped the sofa arm for leverage and pushed myself back and forth, riding him forcefully as I took my own pleasure.
He grinned up at me and I slapped him hard. The shock made him gasp and thrust automatically upwards, pushing himself even deeper into my hot, wet cunt. The throbbing of my orgasm rose deep inside me and I became almost frantic with desperation. I slapped Don hard again, before bunching his shirt in my fists and using it to anchor myself as I forced my body down onto him. Rolling my hips in order to gain maximum contact against my pulsating clit, I used one hand to grip his neck so he couldn’t move. I had the perfect rhythm going now, sliding myself up and down the full length of his swollen cock and pressing him into every last inch of me. It felt as though every nerve inside my cunt was on fire as I pushed myself towards the edge, not caring about anything except my own pleasure. I gave one last twist of my hips and was gone, exploding from my very core and shuddering with the desperate desire to have him as deep inside me as possible as I came hard and tightened around his cock.
Leaning forward, I kissed him deeply as the shaking slowly subsided. He was still hard as a rock, and it was tempting to keep going where I was, but I’d had a better idea. Giving him one last brief kiss, I forced myself to slide up and off his cock in order to go find what I was looking for.
Don sat waiting as I left the room, and looked slightly confused when I came back in empty-handed. But I had a surprise in store for him. Taking his hand, I led it down my body to where my skirt puffed out from its pleated waistband. As he felt what was hidden beneath the fabric, Don grinned.
I slowly pulled up my skirt to reveal the black, strap-on dildo I’d been hiding and saw a distinct gleam appear in his eyes. Without warning, he pulled me down onto the sofa and rolled on top of me. Taking each of my nipples into his mouth in turn, he dragged them on his tongue and sucked hard, before pulling away with a delicious slurping noise. His hands roamed my body, stroking the smooth length of the dildo and then moving down to where my slippery wet cunt waited for more attention.
Pushing himself upright, Don balanced himself between my legs as I looked up at him in anticipation. His cock was so hard that I could see it throbbing from where I lay, and I wanted nothing more than to feel it pushing slowly into me. Gripping himself with one practiced hand, Don slid his cock up and down the length of my wet slit, making me groan with pleasure. The dildo stood temptingly upright and I couldn’t stop myself from imagining how I was going to use it to punish my horny husband, as he thrust himself deep inside me without warning and I cried out. I arched one leg up and over his shoulder as he began to fuck me in earnest, stretching me open and forcing me to take the full length of him.
He bent forward to kiss me and I sucked his bottom lip into my mouth, not wanting to let him go. His thrusts became more urgent and he reached over my head to grab the sofa for leverage as he ploughed me hard down into the soft leather. I was becoming overwhelmed with sensations, his cock feeling as though it might split me wide open as he hammered himself into me.
Just as I thought he was going to come there and then, he slowed and lowered his weight onto me. His hips rolled against my very core and I felt as though I might float away, but he was too clever for that. He gave a sudden, deep thrust with all of his weight behind it and it was all I could do not to scream as the neurons in my head and my cunt fought for dominance in a desperate race to push me over the edge yet again. As he pressed down, the hard surface of the dildo pressed between us and I stroked it in anticipation as Don pushed himself rhythmically into me. He licked and sucked at my toes as he rolled his hips and fucked me with the full length of his cock and found myself toppling. I reached my arms over my head and hung on to the sofa arm in a desperate attempt to anchor myself, as I lost control completely. Spasming up against him, I clenched my cunt as hard as I could and gripped against the heft of him as I came hard yet again. My own wetness dripped down between my buttocks, making me want him inside every last part of me. He slowed and I moaned softly as the waves lessened and I once again became aware of the room around me.
And I hadn’t even carried out my own devious plans yet. Don licked and sucked my nipples and then moved up to kiss me, his tongue probing my mouth as though testing how deep he could get inside me. He was stroking the dildo as we kissed and I decided that it would be cruel not to let him experience it fully.
I dripped some lube onto the very tip of it, watching Don’s reaction as I did so. He couldn’t take his eyes off it, following every move I made as I stroked the lube from the base up to the tip and back down again. Reaching a hand out, he began stroking it himself, as if playing with his own cock. I led his hand around and over it, getting him used to the feeling. He stopped to pour more lube onto it himself and I knew he was ready. This was going to be some fun wife pegging husband sex.
Guiding him onto his knees, I pushed him gently forward so that he was leaning over the arm of the sofa. Unable to stop myself, I gave his backside a sharp slap and, instead of complaining, he audibly gasped. Yes, he was ready.
Positioning myself between his legs, I dripped some of the lube onto his tight hole, which twitched and puckered as I stroked it with the tip of my finger. I could see his body clench as the tip of the dildo pressed against his opening and I placed a reassuring hand on the small of his back.
There’s a good boy, I was saying silently, open up for me. Take me inside…see what I can give you.
He relaxed into it and I pressed myself slowly against him, opening him up a fraction at a time. He was nodding and groaning as I slid deeper inside him.
See how it feels? I thought, thrusting the last couple of inches without warning and making him cry out. I held still, pressed tight up against his body, as he became accustomed to the intrusion and murmured to himself with pleasure. Slowly I began to rock against him, pulling out a short way and then sliding back in, keeping the momentum building.
“Do you like this?” I asked him, breaking the quietness. He couldn’t find the words and just nodded silently as he pushed back against me. I began to thrust harder, looking down at where my smooth cock was sliding in and out of his willing hole.
Pulling out fully, I watched him close up and then forced myself back deep inside him, watching him stretch open to take me. Sliding out again, I pulled Don over onto his back and positioned myself between his legs. I’d had so much fun with his cock that I wanted to watch it whilst I fucked him. He held his legs wide apart and gazed at me with anticipation as I slid slowly back inside him. His cock was pulsing again now, and I suddenly had a desperate urge to fuck him so hard that he would come as I watched.
I leaned back slightly, so that I could see myself sliding in and out of him, and reached a hand forward to grasp his cock. Taking my weight on my other arm, I began pegging him in earnest whilst stroking his cock in time with my thrusts.
Oh yes, I thought, you like this, don’t you? You love this wife pegging husband sex as much as I do. You like taking me in your ass and letting me fuck you, letting me stretch you open and filling you with my hard cock as I ride your ass and pump your cock until you don’t know what to do with yourself…
Don groaned as if he could hear me, as if he knew what I was thinking when I fucked my husband and made him feel how I felt when he fucked me. How it felt to be stretched from the inside, to be forced to come—forced to take more, to feel more, to be pushed so close to the edge that it felt like you might burst apart at the seams and all you can think about is that cock deep inside you and how it makes you feel, how you need it to be deeper, harder, more…
I was pumping him hard now, my own excitement making me almost lose control as I fucked his ass deep and watched his face tighten with the sheer, animal pleasure of being well and truly taken. I felt him clench and pushed myself deep inside him, pressing tight against his flesh as he groaned and spasmed. He spurted without warning, spraying upwards as his ass tightened around me even through the silicone of the dildo.
I collapsed onto him, kissing him gently as he jerked upwards one last time and then subsided. He groaned as I slid carefully out of him, and we lay there like that for a few delicious, sticky moments, remembering how to breathe again.
I smiled quietly to myself. I do like to think we have a very well-balanced marriage.
The End

Chloe gets off the tube where she’s been instructed. At street level she checks directions on her phone. Her heart quickens, she takes a deep calming breath. She must not be late.
Oh my God, am I really doing this? she thinks in slight panic. Yes, keep going, I can’t back out now.
She walks past some suited city workers, standing around quaffing pints, cocktails and prosecco bathed in early evening sunshine, laughing jovially. It adds to her feelings of elation, knowing that they couldn’t possibly guess what she’s about to do.
That’s because she’s about to get a beating. She’s going to get spanked. She’s willingly offering her ass for punishment. Yes, she’s going to pay a visit to a Professional Dom, a BDSM Master.
*
Until a month ago Chloe was in a long-term relationship. However, she’d gradually realised that she was living a lie—so bored of the staid perfunctory sex she had with Charles. Yes, on paper, it seemed perfect. He was handsome, well off and a kind and caring man. But she couldn’t settle. She felt increasingly unfulfilled, yearning for excitement that did not materialise.
She’d begun to have some very specific fantasies—she thought constantly about being tied up, about enduring pain, about her body being used and abused. She came to a startling realisation that she was absolutely desperate to be spanked, hurt. To have her hair pulled and to find out what it was like to submit to someone. These shocking thoughts had filled her waking moments while her dreams became progressively vivid—salacious imagery of ropes, leather, whips, chains, slutty strappy bondage outfits and gags.
Yes, gags—this was what excited her the most. The thought of being physically incapacitated, bound was one thing, but to be silenced too, unable to respond or express herself, forced into holding her screams back.
Oh my God!
These thoughts drove her wild until she’d tried to share them with Charles. He had merely laughed in an embarrassed fashion, shutting her down. She felt the pain of his judgement and was unable to admit to him how fundamentally important this felt to her.
She was surprised by the lurid scintillating detail her brain concocted and for a while, tried to suppress these intense thoughts.
How can she ignore these incredibly visceral scenarios which bubble out of her conscience? This is a calling—it comes from a place deep inside the core of her sexual being.
She can’t recall exactly what awakened her initial seed of desire. But now it’s germinated and grown into these powerful predilections she simply has to act upon. She vividly remembered seeing some images of Shibari, the beautiful art of Japanese rope bondage and was captivated.
She’d begun seeking out alone time with some very specific erotic porn. In secret, of course, stolen moments before Charles got home from work or while he was out with friends. She delved deeper and deeper into a fantasy world of dungeons, latex outfits and threesomes… Her eyes startlingly opened to the existence of an incredible mind-bending array of tools in the erotic BDSM world, things she’d never thought possible.
She’d braved it, and after long deliberations on a kink website, she’d finally clicked and purchased a vibrator with an anal attachment, a small flogger and a ball gag. The days before they arrived were tense with hot anticipation. The innocent-looking, plainly wrapped box finally came. She’d had to sit down as she opened the package. Her hands trembling with overwhelming desire, her lace knickers soaked with her swollen cunt’s juices. She’d lain down on her bed, fully clothed, too impulsive to waste time undressing, her skirt roughly yanked up.
She gasped as she inserted the ball gag. Its chemical silicone taste filled her mouth completely and most unfamiliarly as she tugged her panties to the side. She pressed the thrilling buzz of the vibrator onto her clit. She came almost immediately as the thrum of her toy made contact—hard, long, forceful shudders filled her whole body as she bit down hard into the ball gag and gulped through her suppressed groans.
Oh, My, Fucking, God, this is better than I could have imagined! she thought happily, riding the waves of euphoric bliss.
Later, she was compulsively scrolling websites selling stripper shoes and boots when a small innocuous-looking ad popped onto her screen. She held her breath and stopped in her tracks.
Yes, this is it! Why didn’t I think of this before?
She fired off an email before she could change her mind.
The next day Chloe checked her inbox impatiently several times before it arrived. His email was down to earth, welcoming and straight to the point—yes Master S was available and more importantly had offered her some dates.
*
Her excitement is almost unbearable, she has had these agonising fantasies interminably—months since her first thoughts. Now, today she is taking charge of her own destiny. She is quaking equally with a sense of power and vulnerability with each step she takes closer to her goal.
She finally arrives at the doorway, it looks so innocent—a pale blue door with an entry phone as he’d described. But is she ready for punishment from Master S?
She could be arriving at any kind of appointment, but this is no dentist surgery. She rings the bell, there’s a cheerful “Hello,” and she is buzzed in. The lift ascends. She checks the time, realising with horror that she’s six minutes late. The walk took longer than she’d allowed for in her heels.
The lift door slides open, she steps out nervously into a penthouse apartment which affords stunning views over the city. Master S is unexpected—shorter, plumper than she’s anticipated but he has a gentle demeanour and an attractive face with bright kind eyes which twinkle as he smiles. He steps over and greets her warmly. He’s smart but casually dressed in a crisp white shirt, relaxed and smiling. She is instantly relieved as he seems genuinely pleased to see her. He offers her a drink, a soft one and then suggests heading down to his ‘dungeon room’.
No messing about, straight down to business, she thinks.
Over a few emails, he had gradually put her at ease and reassured her of his professionalism and expertise. His credentials and experience in the kink scene as a both an educator and respected authority gave her confidence that she was in good hands. She bared her soul and admitted her desires. Specifically, about the ball gag fantasy, she’s been having…
The room is bright and well-lit with rich red walls and velvet drapes. He ushers Chloe in and invites her to look at the equipment. Dominating the room is an imposing portable wooden St Andrews Cross. Next to this is a spanking bench he has set up with hand and ankle cuffs waiting suggestively. Chloe’s chest tightens, and her knees weaken.
In the corner is an ornate plush red and gold double seat.
He winks at her. “You’re going to be sitting in that shortly, you have an important task to complete,” he says.
What does he mean? Chloe ponders. But she doesn’t have time to dwell as he brings her focus to the adjacent wall where there is an impressive rack. On it displayed neatly are implements and devices used for impact play—the tools of his trade.
This is a different world indeed—lots of sex toys. There are whips, riding crops, floggers, spanking belts, paddles, canes—thin, and thick, heavy and light, leather, metal, wood, glass. An impressive arsenal.
She looks more closely and spots some metal devices which she guesses are nipple clamps, as well as hoods, dildos of varying sizes and colours, chains and butt-plugs.
Then she sees the row of ball gags. Her gasp is audible.
He has noticed her reaction.
“Are you alright Chloe?” He kindly, knowingly checks in.
She nods, unable to speak, as if already silenced. He talks to her in a relaxed manner, overlooking her obvious twitchiness. He begins to explain how this will work, asking her about safe words and so on.
He looks her in the eye. “Now, I’m going to warm you up a bit first before your special task.”
He begins by demanding that she removes her skirt and blouse.
She is suddenly daunted and intimidated, but she quickly complies—undoing the zipper allowing it to drop to the floor.
“Do it neatly!” he commands.
“Oh, y… yes, of course, sorry!” Stammering, she can hardly articulate.
“Sorry, what? Young lady, I need your respect.”
“Sorry, Y…Yes, Master.”
Her eyes downcast, she flushes with embarrassment. He had explained in his emails that she must show deference and address him as ‘Master’.
He had also checked her clothing preference. She picked out a black lingerie set which complements her lithe shapely body. She glances down at the satisfying curve of her breasts.
Breathe, she commands silently.
She thrills inside, hardly able to believe this is happening.
He first bends her gently over the spanking bench. She is demure, does as bidden. She shudders a little, not from the cold, no—excitement is building, nervous quivers flood her.
Stay calm, Chloe grounds herself.
“I will use a variety of implements on you,” he tells her. “Do you mind being marked?” His voice deepens with a serious tone.
In a quiet wavering voice, stippled with nerves, she answers, “No, no, not all, Master.”
She inhales in deeply. She’s ready.
He expertly ties her hands and ankles onto the bench using leather restraints. Faced down, hot anticipation is swelling in her chest, almost spilling over like an avalanche.
Next, he places a blindfold over her eyes. It’s an amazing one—confusingly, she can still open her eyes fully, yet she is in complete darkness. This sensory deprivation immediately heightens her awareness. She feels his fingers deftly unhooking her bra, her back exposed now.
“Now pick a number between one and five.”
“Two,” she says, feeling cautious.
“Ok,” he continues, “you were six minutes late, so two times six is…?”
“T… twelve, Master.” She pants. Oh my God, I didn’t get away with it! Realisation hits.
“Yes, good girl, that’s how many strikes I’m going to start with. And you are going to count.”
Oh. My. Fucking. Goodness! I’m melting already, this is so hot, he’s so masterful, in control. Her thoughts run away with her.
Chloe loves this power dynamic—she softens, submits, mentally giving in to him as she feels the first whack.
It’s overwhelming—unfamiliar, this relinquishment of control. But it’s more potent, more all-encompassing than she’s foreseen. Her skin stings as she almost forgets to count.
“One!” She breathes.
She assesses. Surely most people would find this utterly terrifying, but I trust him. She’s almost shocked to realise she is ‘in role’ so quickly and comfortably.
Whack, the noise sings out against her ass.
“Two,” she says quietly. The impact really is so hard. I can take this. She breathes inwardly, deeply.
I can say no or stop this at any time…
She is ultimately empowered by choosing to do this. But she is also under his control, giving up her power and her body. It’s such a strange alien, conflicting feeling as she is usually dominant and authoritative in her ‘real life’.
This is so freeing! she thinks.
He begins to whack her with a heavier flogger.
She counts, focusing her mind on the intense sensations, the energy in the room, the sounds and her breath. In between strikes he drags the many soft thick suede fronds across her back, buttocks and legs sensually. This feels intimate and almost caring. He isn’t rushing this process, and bizarrely she feels like a Goddess.
The weight of the flogger on her back is surprising. It knocks her very breath away. Its force reduces her to a mound of flesh, muscles, sinews and bones being subjected to this punishment. It’s humbling but at the same time, it’s exhilarating, so life-affirming, and she’s now breathing into the pain, riding the waves of happy hormones that begin to overcome her—engulf her.
Chloe continues counting dutifully.
“Are you ok?” He checks in with her.
“Yes, Master, I love it! Thank you, Master.” She sighs euphorically and continues to count as the flogger continues its efforts on her skin.
“Louder, keep going.” His masterful voice cuts through her consciousness.
It’s now taking all her concentration to focus on the numbers, as though they don’t make sense at all.
Are we near the end of this or just beginning? She feels confused and entirely discombobulated.
Chloe’s fully immersed now, at the same time sinking and floating. If she stopped to analyse, the strangeness of this it could be too much. But she is totally at one, it comes to her—this is a homecoming, an arrival.
It’s over. He’s stopped.
She hears his voice as she re-joins the present.
“Where am I?”
He gently releases her shackles and helps her stand from her prostrate position. Removing the blindfold, he walks her over to the red and gold chair.
She shivers, awash with emotions and the hot red sting on her surely glowing ass. He holds her by the shoulders and checks in again. She can feel the prick of hot tears stinging her eyes, blinking them back she nods, and he hands her a sheer black top.
“Put this on.” He commands.
She struggles slightly but manages to get it over her head—she is covered, but only just. Her nipples and breasts are clearly visible, pert and provoking.
He bends down to her level and looks into her eyes kindly, causing a dichotomy of feelings to course through her.
He takes a band from his pocket and gently pulls her hair into a ponytail, some stands of her hair left loose, framing her face. Again, there is that intimacy.
Next, from his pocket, he slowly retrieves a black ball gag. Her heart accelerates.
This is it! She quivers with dawning comprehension that he is about to realise her ultimate sexual fantasy.
He places it gently into her mouth, staring into her eyes intently as he secures it behind her head.
“There. Well done, Good Little Slut! You’re ready for your task.”
He walks over to the chair he has pulled over and sits down, facing her.
“Now, you are going to show me how you pleasure yourself.”
Her heart beats almost out of her chest, pounding with the possibilities and excitement of this.
It’s daunting, intimidating. She’s never done this, not for anyone. Faltering, her whole body peppered with nerves, she answers with a shy nod—unable to utter words now her mouth is so obscenely occupied.
Obediently she starts to touch her legs, tentatively trailing her fingers over her thighs.
He sits opposite, drink in hand almost leisurely, nodding slowly with encouragement.
Spurred on, she gasps and glances up at him, looking for reassurance. Although he doesn’t smile, his expression beams approval.
Fuck, this is so hot!
She strokes herself, her fingers dawdling gently across her skin—finding her suspender garter, she pulls it up and then releases it teasingly.
Snap, it’s a satisfying sound. Chloe is really getting into her stride now.
She leans forward in the chair, continuing to caress her legs. Her confidence builds—she is enjoying this, a lot.
Luxuriating, she rests her hands on her knees as she gazes down, feeling suddenly coy again.
Breathe… I can do this. Chloe turns her head slowly to one side, brushing her hands up and down her legs. She focuses on the sensations, pleasure mounting. As her hands delicately stroke her inner thighs, she looks at him and repeats these movements teasingly.
Take your time, you’ve got this, she thinks, composure regained. She leans back, her head supported against the chair. She starts rubbing closer to her groin. Her rhythm builds, and tension bubbles up as she releases audible pants.
She looks him in the eyes as she rubs her breasts, stroking them provocatively, her hands move down, pressing her clit rhythmically through the lace of her pants.
Cheekily she flicks the strap, enjoying the sting of the elastic.
He sits impassively, holding his drink and slowly swirls the liquid in the glass as he watches her little show attentively.
She glances at the table and reaches for a dildo which has somehow materialised. Perfect timing as she’s desperate for penetration. She pulls her knickers aside and teases her moist slit with the cold hard rubber of the toy.
Recently she has enjoyed making herself come in front of a mirror. The sight of her own thigh pulled up, exposing her dripping wet cunt drives her insane with desire. The way it anchors her, but it’s also as if someone else is controlling her. Her limbs are not her own.
She does this now, clenching her thigh tight, knowing that Master S has a maximum view—this thought is a huge turn-on.
When did she become such an exhibitionist? This is so exhilarating. Huge waves of pleasure escalate as she finally thrusts the dildo deeper and deeper into her wet folds. Her pulsating clit throbs under her fingers as she quickens. Her breathing is hitching and rapid.
Oh my God, am I actually going to come? Chloe can’t believe how filthy and wrong this feels, but yet so right. She begins edging herself, feeling the rushes of hot passionate want coursing through every cell. Her gasps are becoming so loud now in spite of the silicone cramming and muzzling her mouth.
She can’t contain her saliva, which drips wantonly and uncontrollably from her lips, hot wet viscous spit slides down her neck.
Fuck! This is unbelievable! She has an out-of-body experience—erotic images of herself in this degrading, defiling position flash through her mind, yet she is owning this.
This is it! Oh. My. Fucking. God….!
She increases pace. Furiously plunging her depths now, rubbing and gyrating as the beautiful crescendos climb higher and impossibly higher. Her heart is thumping with such force it’s virtually exploding out of her body. Her hips undulate uncontrollably with exquisite waves of this all-encompassing, utterly consuming, pure primal desire.
She can’t stop now even if she wanted to.
She unravels. She melts. She retreats within and submits entirely. Her body bucks, her thoughts liquify, she judders and writhes in a frenzy of pure unbridled lust.
She eventually recovers and calmly stands up, in control again. She walks over to him and speaks humbly.
“How did I do Master?”
The End

The hot, frothy water surrounding me is only arousing me more as I lie back in the bath, trying to get a hold of myself. It’s been one of those days, where just everything set me off, but especially him. Of all my strange crushes, the new guy in the archives department is the weirdest.
Brown, pinstripe suit and thick, black glasses. Unruly black hair curling into his collar. Big hands. Like, really big hands. Heavy hands. Hairy. Long, chunky fingers.
And short. He’s really short. At least six inches shorter than me! It could be his posh accent, his string of degrees and obvious intellect. However, it’s really that he’s built like a rhino. Clearly, he’s hiding a bodybuilder beneath the crappy suit. I’ve also been wondering how big is he in the trouser department? In my head his cock is thick, and long, and a dusky pink.
There’s nothing I need more than hot, hard sex at the end of a busy day, yet I’ve been let down. My husband is working late this evening. Again. He messaged earlier with many emojis, letting me know just how sorry.
How could he do this to me? Today of all days! When I’m horny as hell.
Even the photocopier made me shiver today. That blast of heat it emits when its output is high, which it was today, as I printed out several copies of our annual sales report for the board tomorrow.
Stress and needing lots of sex seem to go hand in hand for me. Which isn’t fair. Especially seeing as though my husband is working on a major project himself at the moment, preparing a new architectural pitch for some billionaire. I know his work is important to him, just as much as mine at the auction room is important to me, but doesn’t he know, I’m in dire need of dick?
That photocopier—its warm breath like his whenever he’s between my legs, blowing on my pussy, his green eyes staring before he ever even takes that first lick. And just the thought of that one time when I was working late and he turned up unannounced and we photocopied each other until well after midnight. When we finally got tired, we came home and decorated the house with our artwork.
Even my rather mundane letter knife had me sweating today. He once removed a pair of my panties with his cutlass-shaped opener, which he keeps on his desk at home. And today, well, I know it was very naughty of me, but I sat at my desk for most of it commando. Legs spread. Wondering if anyone would be able to scent me. Especially Rupert, the hot, short geek with black eyes hidden behind thick glasses. I should’ve worn a sweater today, rather than the white blouse I wore open to my cleavage but I’ve been hot as hell since last night. My husband had arrived home late and failed to get hard and I went to sleep eventually, at two a.m., rather unsatisfied.
All that’s kept me going all day has been the thought of getting home to my new lingerie. I collected it from the doorman on my way up, shivering just thinking about it. Luckily, I chose not to have it sent to me at work or else the temptation might have got the better of me.
I leave the bath and pull on a robe. I’ll dry in seconds. Not only is it a warm night, but I’m burning feverishly with needing him. Yet he’s nowhere to be found.
Before I pull on my new items of clothing, I send him a text: You might want to access the hallway camera in around 10 minutes x
It’s our game. Whenever he’s neglecting me, I do this dance for him—and up until now, it’s never taken more than half an hour for him to be persuaded to come home once he sees me writhing on camera for him.
He knows about my past. How it was a different man nearly every day. I was insatiable. Still am. With a body like mine, and a dangerously high libido.
Yet, I found him—but I wasn’t tamed, as such.
I choose to remain faithful, because I love him.
But I do also love cock.
Ariel, I can’t, he replies, and I pout.
Well, fuck him.
I’m going to enjoy myself, whatever.
I pin my hair up tighter, retouch my lipstick and start with the high-waisted knickers. He really loves the vintage look. It’s why he bent me over his Aston Martin that first night, because he couldn’t control himself—because we were fire—because he couldn’t resist my affection for tight pencil skirts, a nipped-in waist, heels and my red hair, always done up. He said to me that first night, “Ariel, I can’t believe…”
“…my breasts?”
“Yeah,” he groaned.
“Totally natural, I assure you.”
“I can tell, that’s why they’re… fuck… let me slide between them…”
His company had helped to renovate and expand our premises, and this was the big reopening event. The sophisticated, elegant champagne reception indoors hadn’t stopped us. And we also left early, obviously, and came back here to his penthouse apartment and didn’t sleep a wink at all.
Oh, and now I’m just sad those days seem far behind us.
Maybe we married too quick. It was six months later we became man and wife. I was twenty-six, he was nearly forty, but we were so sure. So in love.
I’m going to enjoy myself anyway tonight. See if he doesn’t come home. I’m frightened he won’t… but I’m also 99% certain he’ll soon be logging into the security system and checking the hallway feed, and he won’t be able to stop himself calling his driver and coming straight home to me.
I’ve pulled a chair into the hallway. It’s his chair from the office. His ugly chair, the one I hate, so he’ll know I’m not playing games when he sees I’ve pulled it into view. I’m sending him a message: I’m desperate, please come home!
I’m barely keeping my few clothes on, posing with my ass in the air, rubbing myself over my panties and nearly coming because I feel so sexy. And what if he were to come home this minute? Find me looking like this? What would he do?
I throw that image out. I’m disappointed in him.
No, it’s time for some fantasy. Time to remind him he has a siren in this house.
Oh fuck, the way my tits feel firm and heavy in this sheer, long-line shirt which feels cool to the touch and leaves nothing to the imagination—and the stockings. I’ve never worn a pair of stockings yet that hasn’t ended up in the bin just a few hours later. I pray that they won’t end up ever reused after today, but…
I can hardly stand it a second longer, imagining he is watching. His cock straining his jeans… and my body is here, beautiful and ready for him. I’ve never felt more desirable than I do when I’m with him. But I’m walking around all day every day so horny, and so ready all the time, my body is always on edge, needing it—wanting it—but I resist, for him though I could fuck all day.
My pussy is so heavy, the weight of my arousal, the yearning I have for a thick, hot, delicious cock, throbbing in my hands, in my mouth, then inside me.
My pale nipples are highly sensitive and the thoughts that race around my head as I stroke and caress them over the gossamer material.
Rupert, shutting the door on my office, then locking it. He’d suddenly not sound so polite or well-mannered, nor look even as shabby, my scent had drawn out the horny bastard inside. He’d rise to full height and grunt, “You’re not wearing knickers, are you, Ariel?”
“No, Rupert. Is that naughty of me?”
“Very. I want you on your desk, skirt hitched up, legs spread.”
I’d do as he says, and then he’d stand there, watching me spread open to him with my heeled shoes hooked over the edge of the desk. He’d stare, a hand against his mouth, trying not to smile. And I’d wonder why he wasn’t getting down to business.
“Rupert, sit in my chair and come and eat me, please.”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
But, then—just as he’s hunkering down in my sexual fantasy, getting ready to lick through my folds and tease apart my lips, sucking the juice from my slit before placing his mouth around my clit and drawing me deeper with his tongue…
My husband slides into my thoughts, snapping me from the fantasy.
I can’t.
I can’t do it.
I just can’t.
Not even in my imagination.
I might often sit at my desk wondering at the secret life of Rupert outside the doors of the auction house. I can guess he’s probably built like a rugby player inside his stuffy suit, with thighs like tree trunks, a bubble butt and a cock like a third arm, but when it comes to it, I can’t imagine, even in my fantasies, ever being pleasured by anyone but my Simeon, my husband.
This is how it always started in the past, even with Simeon, I’d get so caught up imagining a backstory to these guys, conjuring up filthy tales to go with them, but the fantasy would be smashed as soon as I got to know them beyond the sex.
But not with Simeon. He was my actual fantasy man. He is my fantasy man.
It’s time to get him the fuck home.
Before I deign to sit in his monstrosity of a chair, I make love to the wall, writhing against it, rubbing my pebbled nipples up the hard, cold surface as my mind tries to send signals to him across London, to come and fuck me already.
The ache in my hips is insane and just the thought of his plump mouth on my neck, his nose brushing through my hair, as he stands behind me with his strong hand on my waist.
The smell of the rose oil in my bath lingers and I know if he were here, it’d be driving him insane. His instinct to get between my legs and taste the freshness of my bathed pussy.
I know where the camera is and I play to it. In my imagination, he can zoom in, focus and move the lens around to get a better view. He’s getting a close-up of my body, my bum hugged by the lace of my panties, perhaps the little patch of wetness on the gusset.
I play with my breasts over the see-through shirt for as long as I’m able to resist temptation, though I’m near the point where I can’t stay my hand a second longer, my nipples straining to be released and to feel the air on them. If he were here, I’ve no doubt it would’ve been removed already, but…
Instead, I hold out. I touch another of my highly sensitive erogenous zones, my throat. The strain in my body from not being fucked in at least 48 hours is crazy. I need him here, rubbing my neck, kissing my skin, easing out the tension and ridding me of my work stress with just his presence.
I’m going to play the lonely, horny, dirty little slut now if that’s what it takes. I can’t wait for a second longer, slipping the buttons open on my transparent gown, letting it fall away to the floor.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
I touch my breasts, squeezing, trying to ease the ache inside them, the yearning for him. I hold my hands closed over my nipples, trying to soften them, lessen the pain, the harshness of me needing them sucked with nobody here to suck them.
I take to the chair. Now I mean business.
Is he watching?
Are you watching, my love? I’m desperate for you.
Is he riding in the car already?
Has he already taken our private elevator up? And he’s just outside, waiting until I’m literally on the cusp before exploding through the door.
Is his fly open, his cock out, ready for me to plunge my mouth around once he gets here?
I lie back in his manky old antique of a chair and feel the heat of my breasts, sliding my hand slowly down until encountering the much more feverish heat of my pussy. It would only take a few rubs and I’d come. I’ve been waiting all day to get home, bathe, put on my pretty things and have my husband slide his massive cock up inside me, and here I am, with nothing but a beautiful body and a pair of hands to play with. He locks up all my sex toys so I can’t play with them alone. He gets jealous if we don’t play with them together.
I hook my leg over the arm of the chair, and it’s obvious even over the silk, my pussy is saturated, fat and throbbing.
Are you watching, my love? I’m playing with what is yours.
I can bear it no longer and slide a couple of fingers into my panties, looking right into the camera. If he isn’t already dashing home, he’s fucking dead, or he’s become a cold-hearted bastard.
I stroke two fingers over my clit, slide them slowly into the swell of my pussy, and pant softly as I come, thinking of his glazed look as he enjoys being the voyeur.
The edge taken off, I breathe easier and relax, slowly easing down my high-waisted knickers until I’m entirely naked save for the stockings and my heeled shoes.
My arse on the edge of the chair, my legs spread, pussy open to the cooling air. I can take my time now—smearing my juices around, feeling my bare vulva, satin-soft from my latest wax.
I lose myself to a memory, idly playing with myself, indulging in the never-ending pleasure the female body provides.
It was a couple of months after we first started dating. He organised a surprise for me. I was blindfolded and taken to bed naked, told to lie back and let him tie me up. I did everything that was asked of me.
Soon into our play, I realised we weren’t alone. He’d invited another woman along. But not for him. For me. Her smaller, more delicate mouth lapped at my pussy. She licked inside me, and I cried out, tensing around her little tongue as she rubbed her finger ceaselessly over my clit, her long nails a big giveaway she wasn’t Simeon.
She played with my bottom, using a slender toy that gradually opened me up.
Eventually, I was untied but I wasn’t allowed to remove the blindfold. We kissed, writhing across the bed, wet pussies meeting. I didn’t know anything except she was wearing Chanel perfume, had long, straight hair, small breasts and yet big hips, strong thighs and slim calves.
Then Simeon fucked me as I lay on top of her. His cock shunted me back and forth, our breasts knocking together, her fingers caressing my clit. It was one of the deepest orgasms of my life. And I didn’t think it would get any better.
Until she wore a special strap-on. He lay on the bed and I climbed on top of him, kissing and giggling into his mouth as his cock stretched open my pussy, and her toy explored my anus.
I reached new heights that night and have thought of it so often ever since. Simeon never explained why he organised that night. I never asked, either. She was just for my pleasure, and it was incredible, but I didn’t yearn for it again and never asked for a repeat. Even back then in the very early days, I already knew that what Simeon and I had was more than sex, and I think I passed the test. Still, it happened and I remember it very well. It’s the gift that keeps on giving…
I shift on the chair so my bottom is pointed directly at the camera. Surely he cannot deny me now. Not when he can see how wanton and lustful and slutty I’m feeling tonight. I’d probably do anything he asked of me, perhaps even let him ease his massive big cock into my pucker a little, if he wanted.
Whatever. I’d even let him fuck another woman, just so long as I could watch. Just so long as his eyes were still on me, and I could play with a toy or something.
Just whatever he’d allow me to have.
I shove my fingers in and out of my sopping pussy, finding no impediment. My insides are full, my ridges prominent. I start to swell even more and I can feel the beginning of my belly tensing, low and deep in my womb.
Just the thought of him watching me, staring at my bald pussy, splayed just for him all pink and runny with cum.
My hips move as if we’re fucking, circling and swaying, and I almost have myself convinced he’s inside me. I could never forget that feeling, ever. I close my eyes and concentrate, focus on that sensation of being so full, so tightly gathered around him, I can hardly breathe and I’m gasping—he’s so deep inside me I have a lump in my throat.
He’s fucking me from behind, our bodies slapping, and he’s holding my heavy tits in his hands, grunting as he fills me, riding me until the tip of my clit is ready to explode, my insides on the cusp of clutching him and never letting go.
I get deep inside my pussy, rubbing those ridges, until I’m so close. I’m rocking my hips onto my fingers, then slipping out, sliding along my sex, tantalising the U-spot then my clit, sliding back in, repeating the process. All the time I’m holding on, changing tack, stopping. Not yet! Fingers moving elsewhere, keeping myself on edge, just as he showed me, that first night when he became the first man to demonstrate to me just how deeply a woman could come if she could handle being edged. Sometimes for minutes, sometimes half an hour… sometimes longer.
I can’t believe he’s still not home. It’s outrageous. I spread myself even wider, fucking myself even harder, the pinnacle so close now. I couldn’t be more ready to come if I tried.
Can’t he see me—the desperate slut I am—in agony for the love of him? Desperate and doing this, only for him? Or I would surely have broken into the toy chest already, had myself a comfier surface on the bed and made myself come six times already with the latest rampant rabbit.
But no, here I am, prostrating myself for him pussy out, butt up, wriggling and writhing around, for his pleasure.
I lie back in the chair again, all my resolve gone. It’s time to fuck myself silly because he’s not coming home, is he? He warned me.
I play with my breasts, imagining that at any moment, he could walk through that door, release his delicious cock and thump himself straight inside me, initiating a cascade of orgasms, until I’m rubbing myself so hard, I squirt all over his chair and destroy the damn thing, which I nearly do.
But I’m holding on, trying to hold on, for as long as possible.
And then I’m done with propriety and waiting for my husband to get home. My fingers stab inside me and I’m squeezing my tit, gripping my alabaster skin, all the while imagining her little delicate tongue flicking across my clit and her toy in my arse, her fingers in my pussy. Simeon grunting in the background as he wanks himself at the sight of his woman being penetrated and pleasured by a tiny woman.
I’m so close, the tension inside me mounting. I breathe deeply, holding on, trying not to let go too eagerly. I cry out. I can keep going a bit longer. I can keep going—he may come home.
But then just the thought of him smiling as he watches me frig myself tips me over the edge and I let go, filling the empty corridor with my cries, praying he’s out there listening behind the door, getting the benefit of this show, as he should—it’s all about him.
I shudder, let go, and my pussy contracts over and over, gripping my fingers. I’m trembling, thinking of his smile, his tongue wetting his lips. It feels never-ending until a wave of warmth and serenity replaces all the anxiety of before and the aftershocks set in.
In the absence of him, I hug myself, especially as my temperature drops—my heightened state abating, the heart slowing down. I wish he were here. In my mind, he is, big arms wrapped nearly twice around me, his soothing voice in my ear.
I nearly fall asleep, but then I hear his key in the door.
“Well, you got me home.”
I’m barely responsive so he lifts me out of the chair, but I can’t even open my eyes, and I’m on the verge of tears as he carries me away.
We get to the bedroom but before we even make it to the bed, I’m sobbing in his arms and he takes the lush white armchair by my side of the bed, cuddling me close on his lap.
“Baby, I think we know what this is,” he says.
“I’m tired and work’s crazy and you weren’t here,” I cry.
He cradles my face and kisses my mouth softly. “I think it’s finally happened, Ari.”
I shake my head. It’s not possible.
“Yes,” he says, smiling.
“Yes?”
“Yes,” he chuckles, then strokes my belly.
It’s true—I’m late. A couple of days, maybe more. I’m emotional. Even hornier. And I need him more than ever.
I’d given up. We’ve been trying so long, but maybe…
“I love you so much,” I cry, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and kissing him.
“I love you more, baby girl.”
He gently eases me into bed and then undresses and all my fears, worries and cares melt away.
Ends

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ve just watched some of the hottest sex I’ve ever seen.
And afterwards had what’s got to be the fuck of my life… so far.
I say ‘so far’, because I reckon today is just the start of something fucking amazing.
Or should I say, the start of some amazing fucking?
But the irony is that it couldn’t have gotten off to a worse start.
Let me explain. Cally—my girlfriend—and I have been travelling in Greece with her friends Adam and Anya.
Cally’s got style. She’s got a great sense of humour. And she’s got a great body with a brand new bold and beautiful tattoo on her back. She got it specially for the holiday.
But, if I’m honest, there a few things about her which I don’t like so much. Top of this list is a tendency to have a short fuse when she gets anxious. And when she gets stressed that short fuse becomes shorter. And the explosion it triggers becomes bigger. If things are really bad, it can verge on the nuclear.
It was our turn to do the driving. Cally was behind the wheel and I was navigating. We couldn’t use the internet as we were in a remote part of a remote island with no signal.
We kept missing signs and going wrong. Cally was getting twitchy and when I misread the map for the third time and we drove ten miles in the wrong direction, I knew I was in for trouble.
Eventually, we found our guesthouse, but it was dark when we arrived. Cally held off until we were alone in our room and—bang, off she went.
She’d calmed down by the morning, though I sensed she was still simmering, and after breakfast we all agreed to go on a hike to a far-flung beach. It was about five miles from our guesthouse along a path through a deep gorge. Anya had been talking about this particular beach since we picked her and Adam up from the airport.
Here’s the problem—I was the one with the map and I couldn’t work out the route. Again. Rather than go right at a white church, we went left. When I realised I got it wrong I admitted straight away, but as we retraced our steps Cally said that she’d had enough. A repeat of yesterday. The day was ruined, I was “fucking useless and not just at map reading” and she was heading back to our room.
It was a shame as I knew how much Anya had really wanted to go to this beach. But, I felt I had no option but to return with Cally and face another verbal battering.
As we were discussing all this an older couple squeezed past. They smiled and walked down the route we should have taken.
Then, Adam, true gent that he is, made a suggestion, which I thought might just saved my life.
Now I should tell you that Adam isn’t your normal bloke. Not only is he a really good guy, but he understands people better than most. And he totally gets Cally. They were friends at university and he’s known her longer than I have. Besides, I reckon he knew what I was going to have to deal with when we got back.
So, with unbelievable thoughtfulness he suggested that I continue to the beach with Anya, he was an even worse map-reader than me after all and Anya was dire at it, and he’d go back with Cally. They could chill out around the pool and catch up with some reading.
Cally thought for a minute and agreed that it was an excellent idea and wished Anya luck with my “fucking amazing navigational skills” and said she’d send out mountain rescue if we weren’t back by supper.
And with that Cally and Adam headed back and Anya and I followed the old folk to the sea.
At first we didn’t really talk much. Anya and I had met a few times before the holiday but I didn’t know her that well.
I should add that she was sensationally attractive and when we took our first swim as a foursome earlier in the week, she had gone topless. She said she always did in Greece.
Cally, who’d never been to the country before, did the same and the sex we had that night was incredible. I guess she’d been turned on as much as me.
The path to the beach meandered through olive groves. The sound of cicadas filled the air and even though it was only ten in the morning the sun was getting seriously hot. Anya ran a finger through the tiny beads of sweat on my arm. “It’s going to be a warm one,” she announced. “Too hot to be in clothes.”
I shivered despite the heat, wondering if it was ok to see Anya’s breasts if Cally wasn’t there.
After a couple of hundred yards we overtook the old couple and the southern Mediterranean rural idyll gave way to a steep, rocky descent across large boulders. Thankfully there were paint marks to guide us through the rocks.
It was tough going and I have to admit that when we hit a particularly tricky section I enjoyed guiding Anya’s legs to the best footholds. I told myself that it was Anya who was offering her feet very readily. But if I’m honest, I was seeking out any opportunity for physical contact. Not good, I know. Anya’s comment about not wearing clothes had triggered an urge deep within me.
When we were down I was taken by surprise when she didn’t let go of my hand. So we continued, couple-like, along the bottom of the gorge, weaving our way through purple-flowered oleanders.
We were both sweating and stopped for some water. Anya drank from her bottle and then offered it to me. Strangely, I found this an intensely sexual experience. Her saliva was evident on the rim when she handed the bottle to me and I could taste it on my lips and tongue.
As we pressed on I asked about the beach and why she wanted to go there so much.
“I read about it a couple of years ago,” she replied. “It’s one of the remotest beaches in Greece.”
She took a few steps before adding: “And it’s known as Aphrodite’s Bath. You go there to swim naked and have sex on the pebbled shore afterwards.”
Was this her intention? To have sex on the beach? With Adam? With Anya? With…me?
I was aghast. I had a girlfriend!
A glug of pre-cum seeped from my cock despite my attempt to cool the sexual fantasy brewing in my thoughts.
A minute or two later and the sea was in sight. Anya grabbed my hand and started to run towards the waves, then stopped a few yards short, dumped her rucksack and pulled off her T-shirt.
“Come on Chris,” she announced. “You can’t wear clothes on this beach.”
And with that she stripped completely and helped me unfasten my belt. She seemed eager, freeing the buckle swiftly and slipping my shorts off with a flourish. I was partially erect and a thin line of pre-cum started to dribble between my legs. Anya smiled at the sight of it. No kidding. She didn’t ignore it or make fun of it. She just gave a super cheeky smile.
Once naked we ran into the sea. After the heat of the walk, the cool water was so welcome. We swam a little and splashed each other as if we were kids.
I thought about giving her a hug in the water, but wasn’t sure how to play it. Christ, I could really fuck her, but what about Cally? Besides, I just couldn’t read the situation. Was she suggesting we fuck on the beach when she talked earlier? Or was she just stating the facts? Did she even fancy me?
Anya led the way out of the water and I saw her take a look at my cock. It was harder than when we entered the waves.
But then our eyes were distracted by the older couple who’d made it down to the cove.
They were a good thirty years older than us and had walking poles. Perhaps they needed them because of their age. Perhaps they were just experienced walkers and were more prepared.
They waved at us and walked to the other side of the beach.
We sat down on the pebbles and Anya dug around in her rucksack for some food. We dipped hunks of olive bread into a tub of taramasalata while sipping from a couple of cans of Mythos.
As we ate our gaze was drawn to the older couple. They were stripping off as if they were teenagers who’d just broken away from their parents and were desperate to make the most of a few moments together.
As we watched, they set up a tripod, clipped their mobile phone into it and, God’s honest truth, started to fuck each other. They rattled through positions. First she gave him a blow job, then he went down on her. Then he took her from behind. Christ—they were putting on quite a show.
I literally couldn’t take my eyes off them. Unsure of the etiquette of what to do after witnessing a live sex show, I glanced at Anya when they’d finished.
“That was fucking hot,” Anya remarked. “I can see you think so too,” she added looking at my nearly hard cock.
And it would appear the couple had noticed my erection too.
“Your turn,” the lady brazenly called over while her husband grinned, nodding encouragement.
I froze, shocked by their suggestion, but also, thrilled. I glanced again at Anya who gave me the most wicked smile.
“Well, don’t you think it would be rude not to?” Anya asked with a mischievous smile.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was she joking? I didn’t say anything, but my cock jerked as an involuntary flow of pre-cum made it clear what my body wanted to do.
“Well, what about it?” she asked.
So what the fuck was I to do? She wanted me. And it was more than evident that I wanted her. But fucking her would mean crossing a line.
Anya seemed to read my mind: “Come on, you only live once….”
Cally’s temper tantrum flashed in my mind and a decision was made.
Before I’d finished nodding, Anya grabbed my hand, “I think they’d appreciate a better view. Their eyesight probably isn’t as good as ours.”
With that she led me across the rocks so we were closer to them. No discussion. No talking likes and dislikes. No agreeing about boundaries—I guess that’s because with Anya, I now realise, there weren’t any.
From the moment Anya had suggested we fuck, a new line of silvery pre-cum had started flowing and my cock swayed between my legs as we walked.
What happened next shows just how fucking hot Anya is. She caught sight of the sticky streak, put her hand out as if she were catching a drip of maple syrup which had leaked from a bottle, wound it around her finger, put it in her mouth and licked it off.
Anya stopped about twenty yards from the couple, turned to me and we started to kiss. What surprised me was that it seemed so natural. We’d kissed each other on the cheek before, but nothing like this.
Anya wasted no time in slipping in her tongue and within moments I felt both her hands on my cock and she started pumping it. I was rock hard within a few jerks of her expert touch.
Having sex with such a confident woman was new to me. When Cally and I fuck she responds to my actions. Being led by Anya was fucking sensational and I remember thinking I had to take note of every move, savour every action of hers as this was something bloody special.
Seeming to know that I liked it, Anya cupped my balls with one hand as she continued to pump my shaft with the other.
Looking back I think I was too absorbed in receiving pleasure, because Anya took my hand and pushed it against her pussy. It was gloriously smooth and she was already moist around her lips.
She has the most sensational tits and I cupped them, mirroring how she had held my balls.
And if all that wasn’t hot enough, the magic happened. With a quick kiss to my chest while in transit downwards, she took my prick into her mouth. Cally can give a good blow job, don’t get me wrong, but Anya can give a bloody fabulous one.
Now, I don’t want to brag, but I’ve been told that I am on the big side when it comes to pricks. And my size has intimidated a few girlfriends when it comes to giving head. But Anya took me in her mouth without hesitation, then slowly took me in deeper, and deeper.
She was deep-throating me—effortlessly. Never in my life had a girl taken my whole length into her mouth. And it felt divine. I thanked the gods—the Greek ones—for this moment of utter sexual bliss. I could feel things I’d never felt before—her cheeks on the sides of my shaft, her throat on my helmet. She pulled back a bit and started to suck me hard. Another new sensation.
Keen to keep up the momentum, Anya stood up, lifted a foot on to a rock behind me and was now going to give me another treat by guiding my length into her tight, warm and seriously wet pussy.
I thought at first she’d hitched up her leg to make it easier for me to enter her, but looking back I think it was as much to give the other couple the best possible view.
I know I need to be a bit careful when I start to fuck—it’s one of those things guys with bigger cocks learn fast—so I started super gently with simple, short thrusts, being careful to avoid going all the way into her pussy. And fuck I got this so right as she kept throwing her head back and mewling.
Still in total control, Anya turned round and guided me into her from behind. I sensed by this that she wanted me to push deeper into her cunt and that chimed with an urge that had been building within my groin since I’d first penetrated her.
I could feel her fingers as she rubbed her clit and her body stiffened as I gave her every inch of my prick. She started to moan and pulled her fingers away, leaving me free to thrust and as I did, she shuddered into a climax.
Not having fucked her before, I had no idea what she liked to do after she came. Was she someone who liked to carry on, or did she prefer a pause? I guessed the she wanted more, but slowed my thrusting right down. Hedging my bets. Showing a bit of care.
She pushed back into me—making more of each thrust—and I knew this was what she wanted. I picked up the tempo and incredibly, she came again. Cally only ever comes once. Another fabulous experience. A multi-orgasmic woman.
She pulled away and started to pump my rigid prick with both hands before bending over on the rocks, beckoning for me to take her from behind once more.
Orgasm number three hit her within a few thrusts and that pushed me close to my own climax. A cheeky gaze from her eyes and a smile tipped me over the edge and I exploded inside her.
She squeezed in response to each orgasmic jerk of my cock, sucking my come deep into her pussy, and milking me dry.
And with that I withdrew, Anya led me back to where we’d left our clothes.
We dressed, waved goodbye to the couple who’d inspired us, and held hands as we headed away from the beach and back through the gorge.
We’d not talked during the fuck at all, nor afterwards. It was as if we didn’t need to say anything. Our bodies had done the communicating.
But big questions remained as far as I was concerned. And I can’t deny that I was beginning to feel guilty.
So I broke the silence by asking Anya what her original idea was in coming down to the beach—as a four.
“To get naked,” she replied.
I asked if she expected us to have sex.
“Probably,” was her response.
So I asked if she expected us to have sex as two couples or as a four.
“As couples, initially, and then I, we hoped it might develop from there.”
I noticed how the ‘I’ morphed into a ‘we’.
“It was my idea originally. Cally had told me that she’d met this boy with the most heavenly prick. She said it was huge and I just had to see it for myself.”
“Cally’s been talking to people about my dick?” I blurted out.
“Come on,” Anya replied. “A dick like yours is something to shout about.”
And as her words sunk in, my guilt began to ebb away. So, she had been discussing my dick with my tempestuous girlfriend. The penny dropped. It all made sense now. The map reading. Getting lost. The tantrum. Swapping partners for the day.
“It’s OK,” Anya reassured me. “Besides, your cock is an absolute treasure,” she added. “Some men I know might get close to you in terms of length, but they’ve not got your girth. And I don’t know anyone with a cock anywhere near the size of yours who can keep it so hard for so long. It’s not fair to keep it for just one woman. It needs to be enjoyed by others.”
The path left the beach and narrowed as we entered the gorge. It was easier for me to walk first and Anya to follow.
After a while, she continued the explanation about the original plans for sex on the beach.
“Adam has always fancied Cally but felt she was too much of a friend to fuck. I told him to think again. What’s so wrong with fucking a friend? You’ve just done it after all.”
She was right. I had done it. I had crossed that line. And I’d fucking loved it. It was like that porn video I’d once watched only better.
She paused as we worked our way across a particularly awkward boulder. I pulled her up the last few yards.
“And, Chris,” she continued, “the sooner you realise you can’t get all you need sexually from one person the better. Besides, think of all the fun you miss if you don’t have new people to explore your—and their—sexuality with. You could have gone through life without ever having someone deep-throat you. That was your first time, wasn’t it?”
I nodded.
She paused and then asked, “How do you think you’d feel if you saw Cally and Adam together?”
I told her if she had asked me yesterday, I would have thumped him. But now, well, I could see things rather differently.
“You know, they might have even fucked this afternoon.” She paused. “It might sound strange, “Anya continued, “but you love your partner so much more in an open relationship. Believe me. And the sex you have with them is so much more intense.”
“Sex is more than just making love to one person. The ancient Greeks knew that. Aphrodite knew it.”
We sat next to each other on a rock, looking down the gorge we had just climbed. Anya took out her last can of Mythos and raised it above her head.
“And I bet those two oldies on the beach know it too,” she said as she pulled the ring and took a swig. “What’s the betting that they’ll show their porn film clips to some special friends of theirs and enjoy one heck of an orgy afterwards?”
After draining the last of her Mythos, Anya asked if I was OK.
I admitted I was thinking about Cally and wondering if she’d be upset about our fuck.
Cally turned to face me, looking me straight in the eye.
“You know the centrepiece of Cally’s tattoo is a pineapple,” she said.
I asked why she mentioned this now, to which she just smiled and said, “Google it.”
The End

Do you know the best thing about being with a man like my fiancé?
He knows exactly what a woman wants, fulfils her sexual fantasies. He knows exactly what to say, how to act, where to touch and when to stop…or not stop.
The game of cat and mouse is his specialty.
And today, I’m the mouse.
I’m exiting my afternoon meeting when my phone alerts me to a message and I open it up.
‘Taxi is outside. Bring your umbrella.’
Taxi? I’m working, I can’t just leave. Umbrella? Why would I need a—the downpour outside makes me roll my eyes.
‘Now. I’m waiting, baby.’
He’s waiting for me when he should be working. He’s planned this and my stomach flips in anticipation. I skip work without another second of hesitation and jump in the lift.
The taxi takes me home and pulls up outside our house.
He’s waiting for me inside.
My core ripples with arousal, heat surging to settle between my legs, and my nipples ache against my bra. In an instant I want him. I want him so badly, I shoot from the taxi and to the front door. Silence greets me when I step inside and listen for him.
The mid-afternoon sun streams through the windows of the living room as I continue to search for him. I stop, feeling the warmth on my skin that dances with my desire. I bite my bottom lip and wait.
He doesn’t keep me waiting long; two large hands cover my eyes and the length of a strong body pressed into me from behind. I gasp, drawing in a sharp breath before he turns me and backs me up to the wall with his hands in my hair. His breaths are uneven when he looks into my eyes. His body is hot through the suit I watched him put on this morning. His eyes are burning with lust that matches mine.
He crashes his mouth to mine, fusing our lips together in a kiss that is desperate and fluid, frantic yet carefree. His tongue sneaks over mine to explore my mouth with confident strokes. He rolls his hips as he bites my lip, he dips lower as he kisses my neck and his hand slips into my pants. I’m wet, so hot and desperate for his touch that sharp breaths escape my lips as his fingers find my clit and he rubs in a jagged circle.
This is it. This is what I love because my fiancé is a damn sex god, a romantic sex god.
He called me from work, summoned me because he knew his charm would work because he was horny and he wanted me…and he wouldn’t wait.
He kisses me with a ferocity that makes me gasp. His fingers fuck me with the confidence that always makes me moan and pray for more while hoping it will last forever. Easing me back to lay on the sofa, he keeps me on edge by cupping my pussy and stroking with the tenacity that roars through him and makes the outline of his hard cock visible beneath his suit trousers.
He lays me down and I part my legs. He strokes and fuses his lips to mine, swallowing the moan that escapes when his fingertip catches my clit. My trousers are next, keeping my ankles locked together, legs wide before his head dives between them.
Christ, his mouth is as incredible as the rest of him.
He laps and sucks at my swollen lips, his tongue making leisurely circles over my clit as he hums against my sensitive flesh and makes my legs quiver.
I can’t breathe. I can’t draw a deep enough breath to clear the euphoria his mouth creates.
His tongue swirls and circles, flicks and sucks, strokes and plunges and…
I sit up, denying myself the pleasure my mind and body crave, delay our release a little longer to push him to his feet and reach for his belt. He undoes his shirt. I free him from the restraints of his trousers, taking him in my hand, needing him in my mouth…
Looking up at him, I extend my tongue and take my first taste of his glorious cock. He’s smooth and rigid, tastes of his favourite body wash and the salt from his flesh.
I suck and lick. He sighs and groans. I stroke his long length and cup his balls. He pulls off his shirt and slips his hand into my hair.
I need him trembling for me. I need him panting and wild and frenzied.
We should be at work. We should be buried in piles of paperwork.
Instead, we’re at home, immersed in our desire for each other and I want him to be buried inside me, giving us what we both need.
He flexes against my tongue and nudges further into my mouth. I kiss and suck and keep my eyes on his as I take him.
I gasp when he steps back and takes hold of me, turning me around onto my hands and knees and preparing me for the main event. I love the way he plays with me.
I love the way his hands squeeze my ass as he takes one leisurely lick and makes me mewl.
I love the way he breathes against my flesh, heating me from the inside out.
I love the way he loves me and his way of showing it is to command my body.
No words are spoken; they aren’t needed and there isn’t time.
He knows I want him. He knows I’m ready to take him and embrace him and fuck him the way we both need.
I know he’s preparing to give me everything he has. I know he’s tense and trembling and impatient.
He’s buried between my legs, fucking me with that sweet tongue that whispered beautiful things in my ear last night.
And then he’s inside me, and my breath is no longer in my possession.
It escapes in a rush and refuses to return when he eases every perfect inch into me and fills me to the hilt. With his hands on my hips he thrusts in and out. One hand gives me a gentle smack and I gasp. Then I moan. Then I close my eyes and focus on the feel of him.
I push back, trying to take a breath.
He shunts me forward with powerful hips and a hard thrust. My breasts bounce from my bra, desperate to be free to bask in the sensitivity he creates.
The wet collision of flesh, the sound of heavy breaths and the creaking of the sofa are the only sounds that accompany us and lend anticipation to the rush. Is he watching his cock slide in and out? Is he watching my skin redden with a warm flush? Is he watching how wet I am? How I coat him with slick heat as he sheaths himself inside me?
My body begins to tighten when he strokes the spot deep inside me. My stomach quivers and my legs tremble in an uneven rhythm. Arching my back I grip the sofa and look back over my shoulder.
Me. He’s watching me. When I lick my lips and keep my gaze fixed on his, he squeezes me a little harder, drives into me a little slower and a thousand times more intensely.
In a quick move, he flips us over, lays on the sofa and pulls me to straddle him. The way he looks at me almost splits me in two as I lower myself onto him and throw my head back with a moan.
He knows how I like it—like this when I control how deep he goes, how fast I allow him to fuck me, and I get to watch his beautiful face contort with pleasure and control. He watches with a sedate smile, unbuttoning my blouse as I ride him until he’s as deep as possible, filling me completely and meeting my thrusts to give me the friction I need to get off.
My blood heats as the cool air licks my chest. My heart pounds as he pinches my nipples through the lace. My pussy clenches around him as he drives into me and keeps his eyes on mine. I kiss him. I kiss him with so much hunger and love—hunger to come, to detonate around him as quickly as he plunges into me. Love for him because he knows what I need and he’ll serve me my pleasure before taking his own. Our tongues dance and dual. Our breaths escape in fast huffs and collide to fill the room with harsh moans and sighs of primitive lust.
But my lover is not as selfless as he seems.
I like to look into his eyes while he fucks me.
He likes it from behind.
He nods, giving me instruction although refusing to break this silent moment with words that are of no use here. We know each other. We read each other. We want the same things.
I allow him to manoeuvre me, shift me on top of him so I’m facing away and he takes all of my weight. With my hair tickling his chest and my body quivering around him, on the edge of the cliff and ready to take flight, he holds onto my waist and drives up into me. His hand reaches around to seek out my clit and he strokes wildly as I moan and groan and buck on top of him. I hastily tear at my bra and pull it off. I need to feel everything and my pebbled nipples absorb the electric atmosphere around us and ache to feel the release.
I want to come—I need to come, but the exertion becomes too much and the battle to hold my own weight wins over my body’s need to let go. He flips us over again, commanding my body like he has since we first became one, and lays me next to him to keep me on the edge.
I fall.
I allow my body to finally succumb to the intoxicating pleasure and the tremors ripple through my body as I clamp tightly around him and let my eyes roll closed. My clit throbs in celebration and need for more. My walls tighten around him, drawing his orgasm closer and asking him for another.
They’re not unrealistic demands.
My body knows his. I know what he’s capable of. I know what he can do.
He holds me still, driving in and out, stealing a moan from me every time his balls collide with my body. Taking hold of my wrist, he guides my hand to my pussy, encouraging me to stroke myself. I oblige, rubbing furiously as the need to come again creeps up on me.
Hooking one of my legs over his shoulder, he turns me. Once again our eyes connect and it’s enough to tip me over into a gentler yet intense orgasm, as my release ripples around him and he slows his pace.
Leaning over me, he begins his own race and I take my bottom lip between my teeth, keep my eyes on him to encourage him to let go, and I let him use my body to extract his own satisfaction. He thrusts in and out. He groans and takes shallow breaths. His fingers flex on my skin and perspiration lines his top lip. He becomes a god all over again, but not of the corporate world; he becomes a god of passion—a man lost in his own desire.
I love him for it.
When we arrived at the apartment we were dressed for work. We were in the 9-5 frame of mind we need to get us through each day and to each weekend.
Now we are primitive. We are frantic and frenzied and lustful. We are naked and perspiring and wet. We are trembling and exhausted and aching.
But still we want each other.
I still circle my clit as he finds a pace that will get him off.
He still touches me like he can’t get enough, while I look at him and smile like I can’t, either.
He’s still hard, still strong, still the alpha male I fell in love with.
It still makes me moan when he stills, his cocked jerks inside me, and he comes.
It still makes me sigh when he fills me up and takes himself in a firm grasp to give me every drop.
THE END