What happens to a kinky couple after twenty years of marriage, with kids in the house and two active careers? Can they keep the magic alive? Will he still own her, or will they have relaxed into something comfortable?
When the rules, protocols, and constant reminders of his ownership slide away and get lost in the daily shuffle of life, can they get the magic back?
“We’re going to make some changes,” he said as he generously lubed my ass. “You’ll wear your plug at least four days a week, and likely more. Hell, I may put it in you every day. We’ll start with two hours a day and work up. You’ll have a much larger one before you spend the night in it — hopefully one big enough to stay in while you pee. In the meantime, you’ll need permission to use the restroom when it’s in, and you’ll need me to take it out and put it back in.”
I’d needed permission to use the restroom any time of day our first five years of marriage, but so many of our rules had been impossible to hold onto once we became parents. The bathroom one had gone away during pregnancy, before the first kid had even arrived.
On this night I was bent over the bed, legs spread, and I closed my eyes against the cool of the stainless plug when my Sir held it to the outside of my asshole. I breathed out and relaxed so my Sir could press it inside me. I almost squealed when he held it at the widest point, but breathed in relief when he finally let it slide in. This plug is solid stainless steel and heavy. It’s designed for long-term wear and doesn’t hold me super-wide open once it’s in, but I never forget it’s there. The weight of it against those outer muscles, the large mass inside me moving and shifting every time I breathe — it’s a constant reminder of the fact my husband owns me.
And it’d been months since he’d put it in me.
The gloves crinkled behind me as he took them off, and I gasped when he jammed two fingers in my pussy all at once with no warning.
“In the twenty-plus years we’ve been together, I broke the connection between nipples and sex for you. It’s been fun, but I’m ready to change that. Until I say otherwise, you won’t orgasm without nipple stimulation. You’ll no longer beg me for an orgasm — you’ll beg me to play with your nipples. I won’t touch them unless you ask me to, and I’ll tell you when you can finally have your release once I’ve had my fun.”
“And if I’m alone, Sir?” God, if I couldn’t get myself off I’d be miserable.
“We’ll set the adjustable clamps so they don’t hurt terribly, and you’ll have to put them on before you can make yourself come.”
“Thank you, Sir.” I was positive I wouldn’t be able to orgasm with any stimulation to my nipples, but at least he hadn’t said I couldn’t try.
“You’re welcome. Spread your legs and arch your back.”
He’d gradually let most of our daily protocols go over the years, but when in a scene he always means business when he issues commands, so I spread my legs farther apart and pushed my ass higher into the air.
Three fingers spread me so damned wide, and I gasped as he pressed against the front wall and hit the spot.
“I’m close, Sir!”
“I just gave you instructions and you’re already not following them. Do you want the belt?”
“I’m sorry! Please play with my nipples, Sir!”
“Roll over and hold your legs out of the way.”
Fifteen seconds later I was looking at the ceiling, he had three fingers back inside me, and my eyes were squeezed closed. I knew he’d soon have me on the edge of an orgasm again, and I dreaded the pain he’d inflict on my poor nipples when I asked him to play with them. In recent years, the slightest touch had been like an off switch. I hadn’t consciously realized he’d programmed me to hate any touch to them, but I saw the truth in it when he pointed it out. He loved to hurt them and he’d always done it around denial and pain with no reward or release, and as a result I wanted to slink away any time he even looked at my chest. I could be teetering on the edge of an orgasm and he’d grab my nipples and it’d be gone.
He’d spent twenty years programming me to hate any touch to my nipples, and he suddenly thought he could make a rule about only being able to orgasm while he hurt them? I was sure it wouldn’t work.
Just the thoughts of it had me struggling to get into the right headspace. I’d been okay on my stomach when there was no way he could get to my chest, but now? I couldn’t even start to get there. Three fingers in me and I was miles from the idea of an orgasm.
I gasped again when he added a fourth finger and pressed his oh-so-wide knuckles in until my pelvic bones stopped his progress. “You’re thinking too hard. Nothing exists in your world except my hand in your cunt.”
His words were harsh but it was what I needed, and I sank into his dominance. His hand was my world, and I gasped, moaned, and whined as he spread me open. My pulse raced and I grabbed at the sheets while he relentlessly fucked me with four fingers.
I was seconds away from telling him I was close when I remembered the new rule, but I could only say, “Nipples, Please! Sir, god, close, nipples!”
“Need to hear you ask the question.”
It took another two breaths for me to put the sentence together. “Please, play with my nipples, Sir!”
I braced for pain as he leaned forward and reached for my chest, and I breathed in relief when he increased the pain in my pussy but softly caressed my right nipple with the backs of his fingers. “Come for me, my headstrong little fucktoy with a hand in your cunt and a plug up your ass. Spasm around me so I can press in even farther. Let me feel it — c’mon, give it to me.”
This book was added to our catalog on Friday 19 January, 2018.