The Unexpected Dom #1: Jennifer's Revenge (BBW BDSM Male Submission) (6 page)

Second, who was this guy sharing detailed sex fantasies with his wife?

The first email:

Dear Jennifer,

I'm flattered that you found my profile interesting. I know that by most people's standards I am a bit kinky. I believe in exploring all sexual interests or fantasies – no rules, limits or taboos. I am single but would someday like a partner to share my life. I haven't found the right person yet. If you want a serious relationship and you're interested, great! If you would rather have a casual relationship, that's fine. If you want nothing more than an occasional evening of sexual abandon, no problem – that's fine, too.

Basically, the ball is in your court. What would you like to have happen now that you've made the first step? What would make you the happiest?

Yours,

John

“Found my profile interesting”? What the fuck? That meant Jennifer was the one who initiated this!

He read the next email:

Wow! You responded fast! I'm interested in exploring the bounds of online sex. No promises of more, but if everything goes well, I might consider meeting you and acting out some of the incredible things we'll be writing in the future. I'm exploring the sensual side of me, trying to become less inhibited, interested in learning more about frustration and pleasure, limits and breaking them. I just finished a bubble bath and I dreamed of you as I stroked myself to orgasm. Tell me more, more, more! Direct me through a fantasy that will make me explode.

Waiting and panting,

Jennifer

Back up the truck. What was this? So he'd been spending how many years trying to meet his sexual needs with Miss Sally, and meanwhile his own wife was out trawling the Internet for a sex buddy? He checked the date on the email: eighteen months ago.

Holy shit.

More:

Dear Jennifer,

Great to hear from you! One thing I forgot to mention – you're a 44DDD? Wow! Now that's a handful! Sounds interesting. I've never been with a woman with a chest that large. Brings all sorts of erotic images to mind. So that you know, I love all things oral. I consider my oral abilities to be far above average. I love to eat pussy (pardon the directness) and am content to do so for hours. Usually, though, women can't take it for more than fifteen minutes. After that, she usually asks me to stop so she can feel me inside her. No problem there! I've even had a few women pass out on me – that is wild! Passing out from too many orgasms – I love that.

My dear, after reading your letter a couple of times, I have become really horny. I LOVE to masturbate. I know that I am not alone in this – just about everyone does – but not many people are comfortable enough with their sexuality to admit it. I'd love to tell you ALL about it if you're interested. Just telling you about all the details would turn me on to no end. You too, I hope!

Well, dear, I wasn't kidding when I told you that you have gotten me horny. I hope you're proud of yourself. You words, and my telling you what they have done to me, are making me harder and harder. I just can't sit at this computer any more. Time to play! I hope that you'll think about me – and what I will soon be doing – as soon as I send this letter to you. I hope that it excites you enough to want to touch yourself, too.

Love,

John

His heart sank. Oral sex? She was out looking for a guy with a great tongue? What about his tongue? She always said that he was such a master with it. But here she was looking for someone else. Declan had strayed because he wasn't going to find a Dom at home. Well, at least, he had never dreamed Jennifer would be a Dom at all, much less a great one.

Yet she had a GREAT tongue at home. Why would she go looking for more?

He read the next email through a haze of red fury:

Dear John,

Think about my creamy breasts overflowing from a black teddy, my legs wrapped in silk, black stockings clinging to my thighs by garter straps made of leather. On my feet – open-toed velvet heels, my red toenails playing against the silk. I slip my foot out of the slipper and my foot caresses your bulging crotch. You run your hands over my smooth calves, reaching for the heat between my legs. I stretch my body, leaning toward you, and you bury your face between my breasts, tongue stroking the curves, reaching through the lace to my erect, flushed nipples.

I slide my body down yours, and soon I'm on my knees before you, hands eagerly reaching for your blood-engorged vessel. You groan as I free you, enclosing your nine-inch member in the valley of my bosom, lubricating the journey with the glistening drops from the tip. Your hips rock gently, and you mesh your hands within my auburn curls, urging me to use my mouth as I have just used my breasts. I fulfill your wish and soon you are trapped within my mouth and your hips thrust harder.

My tongue traces the mushroom and I alternate between teasing your tip and slowly sucking your shaft. The pace increases and soon you're moaning and bucking, out of control, as I lap your juices, filling myself with your seed...

I've got to go fulfill myself right now – I'm ready to cream myself! Maybe someday we can talk on the phone – the idea of phone sex makes me horny as hell!

Love and oral kisses,

Jennifer

It took every ounce of self-restraint not to run down the stairs and confront her. Teddy? What lingerie? He hadn't seen her wear anything sexier than yoga pants in two or three years. Leather garters? She didn't own leather garters! She was totally lying, both to this fuckhead online and to her own husband. What a cheating bitch. Leading this guy on via email and simultaneously going to pot at home, making him go out and find some other way to meet his real sexual needs. His breathing became labored from the shock of it, and the damn dog collar started to pinch.

The shower continued its beat of water; he needed to hurry. So he read more...

Read the rest at
The
Unexpected Dom #2: Dominating the CEO
.

Pegging the Boss – A Sample

Traffic was a bitch on I-95, and I knew I'd be late. Some dark-haired asshole who looked like an FBI-type in a Beemer and Oakley mirror sunglasses tried to cut me off when I was three cars away from the tollbooth as I eased off the turnpike onto the interstate. Came within an inch of my bumper. White hot rage shot through me, along with a flushed, hyper-alert sense. No way. I sat in this fucking line for 20 minutes and now Mr. Entitlement USA thinks he can cut me off?

He waved and shrugged, like he was oh-so-innocently asking for a small favor. I shook my head slowly, glad I was wearing sunglasses, too, because the red-hot death ray would have shot out my eyes and burned him to a gristled little crisp.

He smirked and shot forward, tapping my bumper. Fuck you, buddy. My car is crappier than yours and I am insured. You hit me, you're slumming.

I eased up and turned the wheel slightly to the left. No way I was hitting him. Ever vigilant, I made it so that in this game of chicken, I would win. Move an inch, take an inch. Like sex, I was doing to get what I wanted.

Right now.

He backed off and I moved forward, victorious. BAM! Take that. Someone with less determination than me right behind me let him in. I looked in my rearview mirror and realized he was flipping me off.

So I shot him the bird back. Fuuuuuuuuck you, dude.

And then he proceeded to follow me. Fine. Whatever. We were trapped in gridlock for the cloverleaf onto I-95, so I pulled out my makeup case. I always ran out the door a few minutes late, so I'd learned to prioritize. Powder, blush, mascara, lipstick. Done. I'm sure in a few years I'll need a hell of a lot more makeup, but at 21 the worst I need is a little undereye concealer if I party all night and come into work a little hung over.

Not true today, though. I got what I needed last night. My boyfriend, Darren, finally put out. That man has a tongue that could lick the moon if he really tried. Damn. Too bad he has to drink a six pack before he's willing to go down. My clit appreciated the effort, and it was a nice change from our boring, vanilla sex. I mean, missionary position is nice once in a while – what woman doesn't like to have a broad man's back to grab onto and scratch when she's screaming and coming like a freight train with a full load – but every single time?

If I climbed on top of him and rode his pole he practically yawned. Getting that tongue to flick my pussy took a ton of alcohol. And when I suggested using a strap-on last night, that had, apparently, been the last straw for poor old Darren. His baby blue eyes had bugged out of his head.

“Lindsay, you're nuts!” I'd never seen a person actually spring out of bed, but Darren managed it, naked and loopy from the beer. We hadn't even had intercourse yet; he'd finally gone down on me and I'd been moaning with pleasure just a few seconds ago.

“No – it's just a thought. I figured we could be adventurous.”

“By shoving a plastic dick up my ass?” Now he was scrambling into his jeans. He yelped – catching some pubes in his zipper as he rushed. I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing.

Ah, damn, I wasn't going to get his cock in me now, was I? “Well,” I crooned, climbing across the bed on all fours, letting my breasts dangle and rub against the sheets, sending tendrils of lust down to my increasingly-wet pussy, “everyone has fantasies, you know? I just thought I'd – ”

“No fucking way, Lindsay. I'm done. It's bad enough you want me to – ” he waved vaguely at my crotch – “put my mouth on, on
that.
But now you want to be the man and fuck me with a dildo you wear around your waist? You need to see a shrink.”

Now I was pissed. “If anyone needs a shrink, Darren, it's you. If you have to liquor up in order to, well, lick her up, then you might be gay. Go find a nice bar with men and explore a little. Have a nice life.” I'd been screaming the words as he walked down my apartment hallway and slammed the door just as I said the word “life.”

And that had been my night. The end of a weird 6 weeks with Darren.

So no undereye concealer today. I'd gotten off and ended a relationship. Today was about being reborn, cleansing myself, and just breathing. It was Friday and I had decided at the last minute, before running out the door, that I would go on a little trip, alone, to my parent's cabin in Vermont. Packed up some good erotic romance novels, my sex toy collection, and some Junior Mints, all neatly crammed into my laptop bag. Sitting in a cabin, watching porn and reading some good, raunchy shape-shifter crap was my idea of a cleanse.

This asshole in the Beemer kept following me as I pulled off the interstate and went down the back roads to the office.

And then pulled into my parking lot at work.

He parked in a spot right by the main door. The spot that said “Reserved for the Vice President of Marketing.”

I was the new marketing assistant.

Oh, shit.

The asshole in the Beemer was my boss. Mark.