In the cool darkness, she could barely make out his shape. The temperature difference made her nipples stand on end. She had to stop leaving the air conditioning turned up so high.
He ran his fingers through her hair, roughly combing out her careful braid, and then he pushed her to her knees.
“Hands behind you, Mrs. Spencer.”
She complied, assuming one of the submissive positions he’d taught her. From their earliest days together, she’d loved pleasuring him with her mouth, and he never thought twice about taking advantage of her addiction. It worked well for them both.
One shove and those shorts fell to his ankles, proving her assessment correct. They were entirely too loose. He kicked them away, but she didn’t pay much attention to them. Instead, she focused her gaze on his engorged cock. The thick purple head demanded the caress of her tongue.
She leaned forward and licked a path around the tip, widening her circles until she had him in her mouth. She sucked lightly, knowing it would drive him crazy until he was compelled to take over.
Until then, she took her time, exploring him with her lips and tongue. She loved his texture and the salty, musky flavor that leaked from the tip. After a few minutes, she heard him groan, and then his hands gripped the sides of her head. He set the pace now, fucking her mouth with long, slow strokes.
She relaxed her jaw and swallowed every time he came to the back of her throat, urging him deeper. His moans came faster and shorter. Crude language sprinkled from his lips.
“Fuck, baby. Take my cock deeper. Suck harder. That’s right. Your little cunt is dripping, isn’t it?”
She made a noise of agreement in the back of her throat. The vibrations shut him up for a second. He knew how much that kind of language embarrassed and excited her. Five years of marriage, and certain words still made her blush. Of course, that was why he used them. He loved to see her cheeks turn red.
And then he shouted and his hot semen shot down her throat. She swallowed to keep up with the supply, to keep every drop.
When he withdrew, she used the back of her hand to wipe away the extra saliva that coated her lips and chin. Giving head could be so very messy.
Always amused by her need for neatness and order, he laughed at her as he pulled his shorts back into place.
She lifted a brow. “Is that all you got, hot stuff? I expected more.”
It was a dangerous move, mouthing off when he was in Dom mode, but she always loved the outcome. Jonas had a magic touch when it came to making her body sing in all the right ways. He didn’t disappoint now.
The room upended and she found herself over his shoulder. The pool house wasn’t large. It had a shower room that could accommodate four, and that was the main feature. Otherwise, it comprised two large rooms. One was a combination kitchen, living, and gaming area. The other was a bedroom. Shortly after she had it built, Jonas had turned it into a man cave. It housed so many electronics that she’d installed an alarm. She didn’t mind, especially after the children were born and it became an escape for her, too. She’d even bought him a pool table.
He threw her down on the sofa. She landed on her ass, sinking deep into the cushion. It was too soft to provide any bounce. Knowing what was coming next, she scrambled out of the way, but he was too quick.
Before she knew what had happened, he had her face down over his lap. He threw one leg over her knees to hold her in place, and he placed one firm hand on her lower back.
Knowing she would be eagerly anticipating what was about to happen, he lowered her bikini bottoms slowly. She squirmed a little bit more now, trying to get him to slap her ass to make her stop, but he was too smart to fall for her ploy. He halted his actions completely.
Seconds ticked by. Her half-naked ass waited. He’d positioned her so that she was up a little on her knees, her ass presented prettily, her legs spread wide enough so that he could spank her pussy if he wanted. It didn’t take long for her to give in. “Please, Armand. I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I promise.”
“Ask for it, Mrs. Spencer.”
The moment she took his name, he’d begun calling her ‘Mrs. Spencer’ during most of their games. He used it often as a way to stake his claim. She didn’t mind. She liked belonging to him.
“I’ve been bad, Armand. I need to be spanked.”
“That’s not asking.” He rubbed his palm over her flesh, a little fresh incentive.
“Please spank me. Please? I need a good spanking. My husband is away and I’m going to be very bad.”
His hand stilled. “You’re
going
to be?”
“Yes,” she said. “With you. I’ll do anything you want if you’ll just spank me. Hard.”
The first time she’d gathered the courage to ask him for what she wanted, it had turned into the most blissful night of her existence. Since then, Jonas had steadily initiated her into the world of bondage and submission. And she’d discovered her inner masochist.
She could feel it already, the burn that would morph into a steady tingle, but he didn’t deliver.
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
A loud crack rent the air. He spanked her so hard her body scooted forward. The leg he’d thrown over the backs of her knees pulled her back into place, and she better braced her hands against the arm of the sofa. “I’ll keep that for later.”
Before she could process his comment, he delivered another blow. Knowing he wouldn’t stop until she climaxed, she didn’t bother to count how many times he spanked her. As he warmed her up, he rested between each smack, taking time to caress her heated flesh. Soon he switched up the rhythm, and she could no longer distinguish one blow from the next. It blurred together as an inferno coiled low in her abdomen.
And he stopped.
She wailed a protest.
He lifted her and set her on her feet. “I never promised you an orgasm. You begged for a spanking, sweetheart, and that’s what you got.”
Was he going to make her beg for a fucking, too? He’d never done that before. She was about to protest when he stood and moved into her personal space, thrusting his chest forward to bully her into walking backward.
Puzzled, she took one step after another until she bumped into an old, scarred table he’d owned for longer than he’d been with her. With a devious grin, he gripped her hips and lifted her on top. “A spanking only increases your attitude. You still think you’re in control.”
She didn’t, not really. Sure, they had a safe word, which she could use if she needed him to stop, but almost nothing could induce her to call “onion.” He could do pretty much anything he wanted to her, and she would most likely love it.
Automatically, she lowered her gaze. Though they didn’t use titles, and Jonas typically didn’t make her ask for permission before coming, he was as demanding, sometimes more so, as the Doms in those erotic romances she’d begun reading during her first maternity leave. And he always made her beg for an orgasm, so she really didn’t see a distinction. She still only climaxed when he let her.
The coolness of the lacquer faded due to the warmth radiating from her ass. Somewhere between the lounge chair and now, he’d completely disrobed her. It hadn’t taken much to get rid of the scraps of material that passed for a swimsuit, which wasn’t something she’d wear for a serious workout anyway.
He shoved at her shoulders, and she found herself flat on her back. The tone of their encounter was set. Moisture pooled between her legs because she knew he wasn’t going to be gentle.
With efficient movements, he buckled cuffs around her wrists and ankles. In short order, he used snaps to bind her arms above her head. The table might be ugly, but it served a purpose. It had hooks strategically placed along the legs and underneath the top. Jonas had modified it over the past five years to fit her body and all the positions he preferred to use.
Normally he would immobilize her legs next, but he threw her for a loop when he snapped the cuffs together. Then he pulled a chair over, climbed on top, and pulled a chain from behind a panel in the ceiling. It looked like he had modified a few things other than his orgasm table.
When he finished, her legs were stuck straight up in the air. She could lift her ass if she used her abdominal muscles, but those weren’t as strong as they once had been, so she couldn’t hold the position.
He stood at the foot of the table with his hands on his hips. Her legs hid half his body from view. “That’s a damn fine cunt you have there. It’s red and swollen from your spanking and dripping with juices.”
She felt the swipe of his finger over those inflamed tissues, and she shuddered from the lightning it sent careening up her torso.
“I think you want me, Mrs. Spencer. Is that true?”
“Yes.” No hesitation on her part. He’d denied her an orgasm and she was ready to beg. This was his favorite part. “Armand, please don’t be cruel.”
She knew he wouldn’t be too cruel. Each of his personas had a distinct personality that had developed over the course of their relationship. Master J was cruel in all the right ways. Matt, the virgin she’d deflowered, was obsessed with a call girl. And Armand fucked like a marathoner. There were more, but these were her favorites. She’d signaled the terms of the scene with only the use of that name.
God, she loved this man. He made her dreams come true, and then when she thought up new dreams, he made those come true, too.
He rechecked her bindings before disappearing across the room. She heard evidence of him shuffling items around in a drawer or cabinet, but he had left her field of vision, and her position didn’t allow her to shift.
She wasn’t known for patience, and Jonas loved to exploit this weakness. Tugging with her arms, she tested the give of her wrist bindings. Then she tried to move her torso. In this she was more successful. However, it yielded no relief. The motion only made her more aware of her acute need.
“Armand.” She breathed his name, a plea and a sigh. “Please fuck me. Please don’t leave me here all alone.”
He appeared on her other side, chuckling at her pathetic begging. Holding his hand over her body with his palm up, he paused. “You’re going to stay still while I fuck you. This will ensure your cooperation.”
She could see the glint of light from something silver. He tilted his palm, and a delicate chain slithered to land on her stomach. She recognized nipple clamps on a long chain.
From his other hand, he produced a ball gag. Sabrina wasn’t a fan of the way it felt in her mouth or of the drooling mess it necessitated. She shook her head. “No, Armand, please. I promise I’ll be good. I’ll be silent.”
He cupped her jaw and forced her mouth open. Wearing a gag made her feel more helpless than being bound. She struggled against it, but she lost the fight. She always lost these fights. He popped the ball between her teeth, brought the strap around, and buckled it on the side of her head.
Sabrina sank back against the table, feeling every inch of her body cede control to Armand. She didn’t have the ability to just submit, and Jonas always knew exactly what he needed to do to force the issue.
“One more thing, and then you’ll realize exactly how little control you have over anything, Mrs. Spencer. And then I’m going to fuck this tight, hot little cunt all afternoon. When your husband returns later today, you’ll still be walking funny.”
She tried to say something, breathe a shade of protest, but the gag turned her words into a whimper.
He pinched one nipple hard and twisted it viciously. Her back arched off the table, trying to ease the sudden pressure. No longer worried about making too much noise, she screamed against the sharpness, even as it ebbed into a pleasing sting.
He toyed with that tender bud, an arrogant slant to his lips as he ignored her desperate noises. When he tired of that kind of play, he clipped the clover onto her sore nipple and gave the other the same treatment.
Then he secured the chains to hooks on the underside of the table on each side of her body. Now her wrist and ankles were bound, and he’d used her nipples as the third point of security. If she shifted to the left, it eased the tug on that side, but it intensified the pain on the right side. A similar thing happened when she tried to wiggle to the right.
He watched while she tested the limits of her movement and the consequences of trying for something other than what he allowed. When he was satisfied with everything, he unbuttoned his shorts and let them slide to the ground. His tapered hips offered no resistance.
She watched as his body was revealed. The chiseled perfection never ceased to amaze her. He’d installed a workout room in the basement, and he used it regularly now that he didn’t have a separate job as a Sadist/Dom-for-hire to keep his muscles as hard as iron.
His erection sprang from a nest of curls. If the gag hadn’t been in her mouth, she would have licked her lips, inviting him to let her taste him again. As it was, he fisted his cock and pumped his hand up and down the length in slow motions that drove her insane with unsated need.
The thick scent of her arousal filled the room, her body’s way of sending out insistent signal flares. She whimpered and wiggled. The pain brought a sheen of wetness to her eyes, forcing her to call upon the shallow well of patience that frequently ran dry. He would fuck her when he wanted, and she couldn’t say or do anything to entice him closer, harder, or faster.