Fed Up (3 page)

“One might,” she agreed. “Any objections?”

“None,” he said.

She refused to betray her nerves.  “Arms over your head,” she said. 

Saying nothing, he complied.  So as not to freak him out, she knelt on the bed and drew the tie from around his neck. 

“You’re going to tie me to the bedpost?”

“Uhm.”  She secured his wrists to the wooden slats.  He could get out just by wiggling, and they both knew it.  Which was part of her plan to disarm him.  Within the next quarter hour, Jon would be so shocked, he wouldn’t sleep the rest of the night.

“Now your feet.”

“You’re scaring me,” he said. 

She heard the slight husk of amusement in his voice.  No mind.  He wouldn’t be laughing for long, poor sod.

Beth traced a fingertip across his lips.  “Be a good lad, now.”

He still had a raging erection.

She moved to the end of the bed.  The cuffs she’d purchased for his ankles were made of Velcro.  They were much more secure than the tie at his wrists. 

She latched his right ankle to the footboard.  “Wiggle your foot.” When he couldn’t pull it free, she moved on to the next one.  “How about that?”  She’d spread his legs wide, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before his thigh muscles fatigued.  Definitely a plus.

Absently she wondered where her mean streak had come from.  Oh.  Yes.  From being ignored by the man she’d flown six thousand miles to marry, that’s where.  “How’s that feel?”

“Fine.”

Tomorrow night, the correct response would be, “Fine, Mistress.”  One step at a time.

She crawled back onto the bed, then sucked his cockhead into her mouth.  He arched his back. 

“My lucky day,” he said.

She slid her mouth down him, sucked him, licked him.  Because she knew he liked it, she took him all the way to the back of her throat, fighting back her gag reflex. 

Beth tasted that first drop of pre-ejaculate.  “Delicious,” she said.

He groaned and arched his back.

She pumped him hard for several seconds before removing her mouth from him. 

“Beth!” he protested. 

His hips jerked, but she showed no mercy, crawling to the top of the bed.  While he was distracted, she reached under the pillow and got out the handcuffs she’d hidden earlier.  She snapped one around his right wrist and fastened it to the headboard.

“What the hell…?”  He jerked his arm, only to find it totally locked in place.

Then she snapped another around his left wrist.  The tie would have never worked; Velcro wouldn’t have worked for his wrists either.  He was simply too big and strong.

Once he was spread-eagled and helpless, she climbed from the bed.  “You look fabulous,” she said.  “All mine.”

Beth pulled the sweater over her head and dropped it on the hardwood floor.  Her husband watched her intently, his gaze feasting on her breasts.  They were barely confined in the confection of her red lacy bra.  The brassiere had been dear.  Judging by his expression, it had been worth every pence.  Not only did it lift, it separated, creating cleavage.  And the low cut meant the tops of her very hard nipples were visible.  All this from a piece of lingerie.  Maybe she’d have to spend more of her days shopping.

“What else do you have on?”

She made a show of flicking open the top button of her jeans.  Slowly, very slowly, she lowered the zipper. 

“You’d better be planning on climbing on top of me in less than twenty seconds,” he said.

“Absolutely.”  Silently she added,
Not.
  Beth took her time wiggling her jeans over her hips, then down her thighs.  She kicked off her shoes, then slipped back into them when she’d discarded her pants.

She’d bought a matching g-string that crawled between her cheeks and barely covered her pussy.  The shoes had been the icing on the cake.

She pulled the pins from her hair and tossed them on the dresser.  She shook her head, arched her back, then moved a few metres away so he could see the entire package.

Until she’d met him, she’d been more than just a bit self-conscious.  He hadn’t minded the bit of extra weight she carried.  It made her look like a woman, even if she didn’t look like the women modelling this season’s fashions.  She actually looked like a woman, Jon said.  And, he’d said, that made her a better fuck than any of the model-thin women out there.  No man that he knew liked his partner’s hip bones digging into his body, he insisted.

Since then, she’d been proud of what nature had given her; she didn’t mind showing it off for him because she knew he appreciated every piece of her, every curve. 

“You’ve tortured me long enough,” he said.  “I get the picture.  More sex.  I promise to come home when I say I will and spend more time with you.  I’ll fuck you ragged every night of the week.  Now put me out of my misery, wench.”  Jon’s cock, red and engorged, was thrust out away from his body.

A lesser woman might have taken pity on him.

But she had a six month head of steam built up inside.  And…well, she was actually enjoying herself.  Until recently, she’d only guessed at her latent dominant desires.  Even in her fantasies, she hadn’t enjoyed herself quite so exquisitely.

There was something intoxicating about seeing a strong, powerful man naked and spread, totally at her mercy.  She felt slightly drunk with giddiness, and she had a lot more in store for him.  His caseload could wait.

Besides, she hadn’t heard him beg yet. 

She’d seen him in court, knew he could be persuasive.  Let him use some of those skills on her. “Any idea how long it’s been since you ate me out?”

“Ate…?” 

“Yes.  As in devoured my pussy, using your tongue, your teeth, enjoying yourself and pleasing me without thinking about anything else?  Any idea how long its been since I came hard against your mouth?”

Until tonight, she’d been the good girl.  Their sex had been hot and plentiful in the beginning, but she’d always been a bit reserved.  Well, watch out world.  Elizabeth Driscoll was unfettered.  “You’re going to use your mouth for something other than putting criminals in jail.  You’re going to lick me, Jon, until I say you’re done.” 

Right now, in the heat of the moment, in anger and arousal, his eyes darkened, the colour becoming that of a storm whipped forest.

She climbed onto the bed.  For torture’s sake, she straddled him.  He groaned when she slid her pussy down on him, taking his penis deep inside, her vaginal walls holding him, squeezing him.

He thrust high.  She felt his body trembling beneath her.  He was already close to ejaculating. 

“No way, Counsellor.”  She lifted herself from him. 

He groaned.  “You’re an evil woman, Elizabeth Driscoll.”

“You’ve had a hand in creating me.”  She leaned over him and kissed him deep.  Their tongues mated, and he was more aggressive with her than he had been in months.  Passion.  She knew he could taste himself on her, and that knowledge made the kiss all the more dizzying. 

Boldly, she angled her body so that she was kneeling above his face, her thighs on either side of his head.  She was still wearing her g-string, and she hadn’t yet moved it aside.

She lowered herself gingerly.  She supported most of her weight on her knees.  But she put enough pressure on him that he had to realise it was her, not him, who was in total control of the situation.  Slowly, she moved back and forth, making sure he inhaled her scent.

He did his best, sucking the silk of her g-string into his mouth as he tried to make her clit even more erect.  She enjoyed the sensations, every last one of them.

But she wanted more.  She wanted to feel his mouth on her.  Leaning back slightly, she moved aside the silk, exposing her slit.  Dragging her hands into his hair, she held his head captive and softly said, “Eat my pussy.” 

Chapter Three

If he protested, she never heard it.  She lowered herself onto his mouth, drowning anything he might have said.

He was good at this, but practice would make him even better.  “Suck on my clit,” she told him. “Gently.”

She began a rocking motion.  “Appreciate it.  Appreciate me.  Think about what you’re doing,” she said.  “Please me.” 

He sucked and nibbled and then, at her order, licked. 

And since this was about more than just simple pleasure, because it was about the way she’d decided to switch roles, she slowly shifted her balance, leaning forward a little farther, grasping the headboard.  His head was completely buried between her legs. 

Now it wasn’t about him controlling her arousal, it was about her being pleased.

He moaned and thrashed a little. 

“Stop fighting it,” she told him.  “Stop thinking about you and start letting go.”  In the States, they’d had a term for people like him.  Control freak.  It was beyond being a type A personality.  It was about making sure things, all things, went according to his plan.

She wasn’t sure if there was a British equivalent, but her husband ran his law firm along with this household.  He’d dictated their courtship, chosen a wedding date and arranged everything so it ran on his schedule. 

Letting go was going to be good for him.

She drew her thighs even closer together.  If such a thing were possible, she fucked his face.  She humped him, and he used his tongue to slide up inside her cunt.  It was possible that she had been this aroused before.  She just didn’t remember her pussy dripping in quite this way.

“Come,” he said, the word muffled. 

But it was enough.  His demand, his responsiveness, his hard-on…all combined with the way he suddenly sucked her clit into his mouth made her climax with a soft scream.

She shuddered and bucked.  Her entire body shook.

Jon slowly decreased the intensity of his sucking, but it took her a full two minutes to come back down from the orgasmic high.

She concentrated on getting her breathing under control again.  When she finally did, she climbed off his face.

Still kneeling next to him, she kissed his lips.  She tasted herself on him.  Then she noticed that his face glistened with her body’s juices.  “Nice,” she told him.

“I pleased you.”

“Oh, yes,” she said.  Her clit throbbed.  “And you’ll get the chance to do it again.”  She stroked his hair back from his forehead.  He was so important to her, so necessary in her life.  “But we can’t forget about you, can we?”  She looked at his erection.  Still amazingly turned-on.  “You’d like to be satisfied, wouldn’t you? You’d like to come deep inside me.”

He nodded.

“Pardon?”

“Yes,” he said.

She left the bed, a little unsteady on her heels.  Facing him, she made a show of adjusting her g-string to completely cover her sopping wet crotch.  She adjusted the bra, taking a second or two to tweak her nipples as she re-situated her breasts in the demi cups.  His gaze never left her body.  She felt alive.  Exhilarated.

Then she crossed the room to the dresser drawer where she’d stashed her new goodies. 

She’d had a kick shopping at the sex shoppe, and her credit card had all but melted at the number of pounds she plunked down for their evening of fun.

The woman who’d been behind the register knew a lot, and she hadn’t been in the least bit shocked by the items Beth had been looking at.  In fact, the woman had helped Beth get over her own embarrassment. 

As if people bought ball gags and cock rings every day, the owner had explained exactly how each item worked, the best way to secure them in place, and she’d given advice about what to watch for to make sure your sub wasn’t in distress.

Even that word was a turn on.  Sub.  What a thrill to have her big, powerful husband submit to her will and whims.

As Beth was leaving the shoppe, the woman had encouraged Beth to let herself go, to get into the scene she was creating.  If she laughed, so what?  If she got aroused, enjoy it. 

She’d taken the woman’s recommendations to heart.  Looking in the mirror hanging on the wall above the dresser, she glanced at him.  “You know why you’re bound to the bed, right, Jon?”

He tested the bondage.  “Because I came home late.”

“And?”

“Because I’ve done it repeatedly.”

“And because I love you.”  She took the first of the tricks from the drawer.  “If I didn’t, I would have thrown a girlish fit and started an argument.  Wouldn’t that be something to look forward to coming home to?  A row every night?  To be honest, Jon, I might simply have packed it in and gone back to the States.”

His eyes widened.

“Yeah,” she said.  “I’m that sick of being here alone with no end in sight.”

“You didn’t tell me,” he said.

“I did.  You didn’t listen.  It appears I have your full attention now.”  She slid the drawer closed.  “And you have mine.  Are you wondering what I’m going to do to you?  If I were you, I’d be a bit concerned by now.”

He was getting into this.  Despite being secured, his body stretched somewhat uncomfortably, he was lifting his hips, unintentionally simulating a fucking motion.

Keeping the item hidden behind her back, she knelt on the bed again.  “I’d like you to suck on my nipple,” she said, “making it hard.  Would you like that?”

“Yes.”  The word was hoarse.

“Say
please
.”

“You want me to beg you?”

“Is that a problem?”  Her heart raced.  Parts of this had seemed easier in theory.  But when you were in the situation, with your man, the one accustomed to power and control, telling him he had to beg in order to suckle at your breast…?

“Come on, Beth…”

“Please, may I suck on your nipple?” she corrected.  “I want to please you.”  She put down the item she’d been holding.  He was paying no attention to that whatsoever, he was staring intently at her.

Being the focus of his attention was all she’d ever wanted.

Taking hold of her left breast, she plumped it, then thumbed back the lace to expose her nipple.  “Ohhh.”  Beth moaned.  “I want your mouth, instead of my own fingers.”  Getting on her knees she seductively swayed towards him, brushing her breast across his mouth.

He latched on.

“Oh, no.  Not until you ask nicely.”  She pulled away.  “You’re mine,” she said.  “We do this my way.”