He’s so breathless, and his whole body trembles, tautly. There’s a flush all over his cheeks and whenever I get even the slightest bit close, he can’t help moaning.
‘If you’ve been bad, I might have to punish you,’ I say, but he just strains further forward. As though instead of punishment I said pleasure and instead of tying him I let him go. It’s always Oppositeland with him, my Artie.
‘But if you’ve been good,’ I tell him, ‘if you’ve been good, I might give you a reward.’
The two are interchangeable, and he knows it. It’s why he tenses when he hears me moving towards the bedside cabinet, because I could be doing just about anything. I could be finding something to spank him with, something to whip him with. Once, he begged me to hit him with a belt, right across his back. Hard, he’d said, like you want to mark me, like you want to hurt me.
And I had obeyed.
But it’s always better when it’s secret and special and he doesn’t quite know what’s next. In fact, he’s trembling when I return to him. His whole body has drawn taut, and it gets tauter when I go back to him and run the thing I’ve brought over his only-just-hairy chest.
I think he can tell what it is. It’s pretty new and still smells latex-y, because I’ve hardly used it. Why would I want to use it when I’ve got his big thick cock at my beck and call, almost the equal of this toy in my hand? I don’t even understand why he bought it for me, though I’m getting a clearer picture right now.
His face has gone bright red, despite the fact that almost nothing humiliates him any more. I can grope him right between his legs in the middle of Marks and Spencer’s, and nothing happens. He just goes boneless and parts his lips, waiting for more.
‘You want it?’ I ask, and he groans loudly. Of course he wants it! I should have known. All I have to do is run the head of this thick latex cock over his mouth and he shudders like a struck dog.
He pokes his tongue out and tries to wet his lips, but it just means he ends up inadvertently licking the thing. Or possibly not so inadvertently – I don’t know. When I press it to his mouth he won’t take it in, but he’s not exactly stopping it either. As though most of him is screaming no, but some of him just wants to know what it would be like to take someone’s cock in his mouth.
Not that he’d ever admit it. Of course, I’ve suggested it to him before, in the panting heat of a marathon sex session. Usually when he’s on the verge of orgasm and too far gone to care, his cock lodged deep in my pussy and my finger somewhere rude, like between the cheeks of his ass. And he’ll squirm and try not to look at me, but I can almost feel what he’s thinking – what would it be like? What would it be like to have some guy in his mouth, thrusting until he came?
Like this, I think, and then I order him to suck the vibrator in my hand. As though I’m the guy, and I just can’t wait for him to do it. I’m hard and eager and wanting it, and he’s a wanton slut, almost but not quite willing to give it.
‘Yeah, take it,’ I say, and he moans around the thick length of the thing. He moans and grimaces and doesn’t want to do it, I can tell, but he keeps going nonetheless. He sucks even though I haven’t told him to, as though he can taste real flesh and feel real heat and wants nothing better than to please.
And it’s so … so … oh …
‘Yeah, you like that, baby?’ I ask, as my sex swells and more liquid trickles down my thigh. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take, in all honesty, but I’ll do it just for him. I always do it just for him. ‘Feels good, huh? Feels good taking that big cock in your mouth.’
He squirms and jerks forward, the tip of his cock just skimming the material of my nightie. Though I suppose even so slight a contact must feel like bliss, when you’re so close to coming.
Which is why I give him a spank, for his trouble.
‘Bad boy,’ I tell him and take the sex toy away – like a punishment, I think, though of course I don’t know it is one until he actually tries to go after it. His mouth opens and closes, searching and searching for the thing I took away, while my clit jerks and my body thrums and I can’t stop myself running a hand over my own nipple.
I have to. He’s the one tied up, but I’m the one losing control. I need to dig my fingers in for just a second, feel the flesh of my breast as it gives under the pressure. And once I’m done, I lick the tip of the thing he’s just sucked. Just to give myself a little taste. Just to know, for a second, what it’s like.
Before I move on to the next stage of the plan.
‘Move back,’ I tell him, and of course he obeys. He shuffles and wriggles awkwardly, until the leash bows and there’s space enough in front of him. Of course, the whole thing is still going to be difficult for him – he can’t rely on his arms, after all – but I can’t afford to care about that.
Caring is not the point right now.
‘Bend over,’ I tell him, as abruptly as I can. And though he hesitates, I only think he does because he’s considering how best to do this thing. Should he just lean, gingerly? Go face first into the mattress? I don’t think there’s enough length to the leash to allow the latter, but for a second I think he’s going to attempt it.
And then suddenly he’s shuffling on the bed again, rearranging himself until his legs are spread almost embarrassingly wide, body straining as he attempts to go on all fours – only without the two stabilisers in front. Instead, he’s just clinging to the leash behind him, muscles straining to keep him in a rough L-shape, shoulders creaking with the effort.
It’s only after he’s completely still and in position that I realise I’ve been holding my breath. Would he do anything, just absolutely anything, if asked him to? If I told him to?
I think he would and yet I can hardly believe what I’m seeing. It strikes me hard, in the gut – my husband’s almost total willingness to obey – and then once the feeling has dissipated I’m just left with this …
My almost total willingness to push him as far as he can go. It soars through me, so strong suddenly that I’m momentarily stymied. I’m not the cool girl, wandering oblivious around the supermarket. I’m just Clara Henley, clumsy and unsure.
Then less so, when he strains just that little big further and finds the head of the cock I’m still holding, with his mouth.
Of course, it’s entirely different when he does it like this. We’re on different but familiar levels now, me knelt on the bed in front of him. Him with his face so close to the mattress.
And also to the thing I’ve inadvertently put in almost the right place. I mean, it’s not as though I can avoid the idea. I’ve done it without thinking, and now it’s as though I really do have something thick and stiff between my legs.
Something thick and stiff that he’s now sucking. Because he definitely is, and I definitely like it. I know I do, even when I don’t exactly want to accept it. Words just come to my lips, and they make me accept it.
‘Yeah, suck my cock, you little bitch,’ I say, far fiercer than I was a moment ago. Far gruffer, too, though that sound has almost nothing to do with wanting to feel like a man, in some way. It’s because I’m aroused, so aroused at the sight of my husband debasing himself like this, and I just can’t keep my voice on the straight and narrow.
It goes up and down and left and right, then drops out altogether when he starts moaning around the thing I’m now holding like a raised fist. Jutting and rude and angry, almost,