Friday Afternoon (11 page)

“No,” I huff out on a breath.

“Good.”

His fingers fondle my wide-open cunt, brush through the lips, over my desperately waiting opening and then down to my clit.

Levi slides a vibrator under me, arranging pillows so it rests against my clit. Without another word, he slips his cock in me.

He pounds me hard and fast and with such force that my body moves toward the head of the bed with each pump. Then he shifts his weight forward and pushes me down into the soft mattress. His large hands hold me down in front of him, one on my back and one on the side of my head. He pushes me into the bed and uses me. The vibrator is on high speed and I come almost immediately. I scream my orgasm, but not with words. It’s more like a sound that hints of pleading and complete submission.

“Fuck yes. Yes!” His hands curl over my shoulders and he jerks me backward into his thrusting cock until he explodes in a roar, slamming four, five, six more hard and deep thrusts before he collapses over me.

His full weight squeezes the air out of me as soon as I draw it in. “Get off,” I huff.

He rolls off and lies on his side looking at me. “Fuck yeah. That was fucking incredible.”

I feel dazed and don’t answer him. Right now, I’m taking in air and trying to calm my seizing heart. When the Velcro cuff on my right hand, and then my right ankle are unfastened, I roll, groaning, into the fetal position.

He applies something to the skin on my wrists with gentle glides of his hands, then to my back and rear, soothing the skin there.

“Mmm, feels good.”

When he’s done, he follows where his hands have been, placing gentle kisses, brushing them everywhere.

The longer I lie there, the more alert I become.

He gives me water, cares for me as if I were his prize possession. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

I’m his right, his domain, and I give myself to him freely.

Mia

I had been surprised by Levi’s choice of “winnings” for our bet. The whole collared, fuck slave for a weekend thing has me intrigued, and after a week of my mind returning to that sentence over and over again, I’m hooked by the unknown. The kink factor in our Friday afternoon trysts has been escalating into foreign territory for me. So far it’s been good. I like the tie-me-up sex he’s been into lately. It has been unbelievably amazing. But my curiosity eats at me and I can’t hold it back any longer. I want to figure out what’s going on inside his brain.

I type “sex” and “collared” into a Google search, hit Enter, and, uh, the results are porn. But after a couple minutes and a couple more searches I get past the porn and get to the fundamentals of BDSM. I read several articles and I see why Levi’s attracted to this dynamic. It fits his personality. He’s uber-dominant. It’s one of the things that attracted me to him in the first place. I don’t like wishy-washy indecision in men. The strong confidence consistent with these Doms correlates with Levi’s personality.

I read for several hours about the power exchange of dominance and submission, about restraint, and the use of pain to find pleasure. Sometime amid this gigantic upload of information, I realize we already consistently practice several aspects of “the lifestyle” and what we don’t regularly practice, he’s currently “training” me on. After another two hours on the Internet reading, watching videos and looking at pictures, I’ve learned three things. First, in the bedroom, our relationship can definitely be categorized as Dominant-submissive. Second, the only aspect of BDSM I know turns me off is humiliation. And third, I have exhibitionist tendencies lurking inside me because the thought of Levi dominating me in front of an audience makes me wet.

When I’m done with my research, one immediate thought comes to my mind and sticks there.

He’s been leading me to this but never told me.

He’s training me, molding me to be what he needs, but he’s never come right out and said, “This is what BDSM is, and it turns me on.” Then another bombshell hits. He was training me before the twins were born, too. But after their birth, nothing. No orders, no sexual demands, no expected submission in the bedroom and then, eventually not much of anything in the bedroom.

He’d given up his needs for his family? I’d have had no problem submitting, serving him, if it would have made him happy. I want to fulfill his every desire if I can. I always have. Plus, sharing this with him fills a need within me, too.

Since the spark between us has been reignited, his inner Dom is resurfacing. I’m disappointed he hasn’t come right out and talked with me about this. Almost fifteen years and not one word. He made the decision for me–for both of us.

Why?

I sit back in my chair and my brain works hard to get past what I view as an insult. After all this time, he doesn’t feel comfortable enough with me to tell me? He doesn’t know by now I’ll love him no matter what? Jeez that stings.

I pause and shake my head. We’re both changing, developing new parameters for our love. I can’t expect more from him than I expect from myself, and it has been only recently I’ve realized I’m most happy when I relinquish my will and follow my husband’s. And it seems like the more power I relinquish, the more he steps up to the plate to be everything we both need. He’s grown as a man and now, to me, he’s larger than life. Our newfound sexual relationship is a beautiful symbiosis that fits us perfectly, like a second skin, connecting us, making us one.

And I know, in part, these changes within me are not so much about a couple gaining back their passion, as they are about a woman, me, who has finally hit her stride and come into her own, accepting herself for what she truly is inside.

I no longer believe if I give up authority to my husband, I am less of a woman. It has been difficult to do for me, a woman whose mother came of age during the bra-burning era of the sixties. Growing up, I was given straightforward mandates by my mom. Never put myself in a position where I have to depend on a man. I can do anything a man can do. I am just as smart, probably more so, than any man. Independence, the freedom to be who I am, is essential in a relationship…this mandate I agree with. However, I want to feel the freedom to be who I am, and I am a woman who functions better and moves through life happier when I don’t have the weight and responsibilities of the world weighing me down.

At some point during this year, I’ve realized it isn’t a crime to want to be cared for and protected by a man. I no longer have compunctions about being subservient to my husband, not only in the bedroom, but for the most part in real life, too. The woman’s libbers of my mom’s generation forgot somewhere down the line that it feels good to have the love, support and protection of a good man. My mom would die of disappointment if she knew this, but I don’t need to be in control of everything all the time. Levi provides for the girls and me, respects us, loves us, and I trust him to not only take into consideration my opinions, but to make the best decisions for our family. He hasn’t failed me yet.

I am happier. I walk a little taller with the spark of my secret love affair with my husband heating my body. It’s common for me to be at work when a moment from the time we’ve shared together flashes through my mind. At that moment, I’m flooded with the warm comfort of knowing true and undying love. The knowledge…no, the surety, of what we share has made me secure, confident, stronger. I’m happy giving up control. How can that be bad?

I need to let him know the happier he is, the happier I am. I want our lives together to be everything he’s ever dreamed of. I don’t want to settle, and I don’t want him to either. That’s the reason we started our Friday afternoon meetings in the first place.

I think about the last decade and the sacrifices he’s made. The frustration he’s probably suffered through in silence. And all the while I would have given him what he wanted, what he needed.

God.

I need to fix this.

My mind wanders through the last eight months of Friday afternoon meetings. I suspect we’re already pretty close to achieving the relationship he wants. There are quite a few activities related to BDSM we engage in regularly and some have been tried and rejected. Knowing Levi, exhibitionism and sharing are probably out. He’d tried humiliation, at least I felt humiliated by the anal fingering he subjected me to every night for a week, trying to “prepare” me. He knew I didn’t like it, and he hasn’t made any other attempts at what I would consider humiliation.

What’s left? What else is he looking for? The slave thing. I’m at a loss on how to bridge the remaining gap between us until finally, I stand, grab my purse and announce to the two teenagers glued to the TV, “I’m going out for a while.”

Less than a half hour later, I walk into the Only for Lovers store and try to look comfortable amongst the lubes, toys and sexy lingerie. I feel the scrutiny of the young woman behind the counter after I realize I’m the only customer in the store. Then to my horror, the woman walks around the counter and approaches me. Is she kidding?

“Can I help you find something?”

I feel like slapping her for butting in on my growing embarrassment but I take a moment to find the correct phrasing for what I’m looking for. “Do you have a BDSM or fetish section?” I think I detect a moment of surprise as she glances at my body before meeting my gaze again.

“Sure. Most is back here but there’s also things sprinkled in here and there throughout the store. It would be easier if you could tell me what you’re looking for and I can point you in the right direction.”

“I’m just browsing,” I say, turning away from her. She gets the hint and leaves me to face down and explore a wall of kink solo. I’m surprised at how many displayed items we own already–paddle, plugs and restraints. But there were a few items not yet in our toy box.

Ball gag? No. Making noise is one of the best things about our Friday afternoon rendezvous.

I’m drawn to the display of nipple clamps. Some look like jewelry. Some look like torture devices. I zero in on dangling ones that resemble jewelry. According to the box, they’re weighted and adjustable. I like them. Dark red, faceted stones sparkle from the ends of gold chains.

I pull them from the hook and look around at the rest. There are a few other items that seem interesting, wands, things for fetishes I’ve never heard of like puppy play. I’ll have to ask Levi about that one, but if he asks me to bark like a dog, I’ll have to smack him.

Toward the floor, a book catches my eye. The cover showcases a photo of a collared woman kneeling. The title reads
The Good Sub.
I pick it up and leaf through. The first chapter displays several photos of the same woman in submissive poses. I read, “Any well-trained sub should know the basic poses that please her Master.”

I have a surge of inspiration. The pose on the cover conveys utter submission. That, along with the nipple clamps and nothing else, should let Levi know we’re now on the same page. I keep the book and take it along with the clamps to the register, adding a bottle of lube to my Subbie 101 supplies on the way up. I pay and make a beeline to my car. I have a whole lot of reading and body upkeep to do before our date. I’m excited about this new world opening up to me.

I’m impatient to supply Levi with exactly what he wants from me. I try to imagine his reaction but after a few guesses, I leave this road untraveled. He’ll decide what to do with me. I just want to please him.

With great effort, I manage to make it home before him on Friday and I run through the house shedding clothes and getting ready to present myself. I pull my long brown hair into a high, tight ponytail and clip the nipple jewelry into place. I experience a moment of what-the-fuck as the metal closes on the sensitive skin of my nipples, but I forge ahead, thinking only of my husband’s pleasure, not my own.

The garage door opener sounds as I’m finishing. I race to the door and get into the kneeling pose with my hands placed on the tops of each thigh and my eyes averted right before he walks through the door.