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Just Once

by Frenulum

Copyright © 2001 Frenulum. All rights reserved.

It began in the afterglow.

We lay naked on our bed, cuddled. Lori had her head on my chest and one leg over one of mine; I could feel the damp heat of her sex on my thigh. Doctor Willy, my trusty and indispensable tubular companion, lolled fat and happy on the other thigh, sticky with Lori’s juices, warm and heavy, radiating messages of satiation to the rest of my body.

With a pillow behind my head, I had a nice view of the top of my wife’s lovely head as she snuggled with me. Not to mention a pretty good picture of her lovely back and hip and ass and leg. Despite the past hour of tumbling about in the bed, I still caught the clear scent of her shampoo. I reached over with my free hand and started lazily stroking her hair.

I love those times. My body has no unmet needs, my soul’s been refreshed with love and lovemaking, I’ve spent time with my best friend in the world, and I get to lapse into whatever semi-drowsy thoughts will come into my sex-sedated brain. I don’t remember what I was daydreaming of, on that particular day — maybe nothing more than some brainstem-ish thoughts like “Mmm, soft hair” or “Ahh, balls empty now, good, good.”

“Dan?” Almost a whisper from the face hidden on my chest.

“Mmm?” Roughly the level of clever repartee I was prepared for at such times.

“Can I ask you something?”

I was just sufficiently alert not to go automatically into office smart-aleck mode, where “You just did” is the pro forma response. “Sure, love,” I said. Figuring, not unreasonably, that then it would be Lori’s turn to talk.

But... silence. Ok, I said to myself, there’s no hurry. I started drifting again.

“Umm.” Lori again, finally. “I want to ask you something but I don’t know —” Another extended pause. “It’s — I want to ask about an idea but if you don’t like it, I want it to be like I never said anything. Ok?”

We hadn’t been married for three years without my gaining some ability to sense her moods. And I was starting to get the feeling that this wasn’t going to be a question about wallpapering the bathroom.

“So... something like ‘members of the jury will disregard counsel’s remarks’? Or am I missing the point?” Tossing it back to her for elucidation, I wished I could see her face. My mood sensing isn’t quite so hot from the back.

“Like that,” she replied, still sounding hesitant, “But... everybody knows the jury doesn’t really forget — they just try not to use whatever they weren’t supposed to hear. No, I mean really forget.”

I took some time to answer. I knew Lori would be patient; I’m often the deliberative type. “I guess my answer is: I don’t know how to do that. How to forget something on purpose, I mean. I understand what you’re saying, but I think to be honest I’d have to say that, well, I’d be like the disregarding juryman.” All was quiet in the bed while she digested that and I thought about whether or not to say more. Then we both opened our mouths at the same time.

“Have you —”

“I guess —”

Another pause, then: “You go” from Lori.

“Think back on all the time you’ve known me,” I said. “Can you think of any time I ever held something you said against you? Or anbody else, for that matter?”

Quiet again. I was starting to feel a little bit nervous. My mind, now quite a bit more awake, had understandably been trying to predict what Lori was driving at. And, unfortunately, the only thing I could think of that would make her so hesitant — too shy to look at me, for goodness sake — was that there was some trouble in our relationship. Something that had been brewing for a while, invisible to me. At the same time, other thoughts argued against that: we’re deleriously happy together, she’s just not the type to be unfaithful, and no way would she ever be insensitive enough to raise such a topic while we’re still moist and flushed from a romp in the hay. Also, hadn’t she said something about “an idea”? That would hardly be the expected word choice if she were contemplating some disaster to our marriage.

An eternity passed — well, two or three minutes, I suppose. Lori was so still that it occurred to me she might have fallen asleep.


“Still here, love.” I felt her take a deeper breath. Here we go, I thought.

“You’re a great husband and a great lover.” Oh, god, I thought, if she’s starting off with compliments there must be a hell of a sledgehammer coming at the end. “You’ve never been anything but kind and gentle and sensitive with me. I always know you’re making love with me — with me, Lori, the person, your wife — it’s not just something, you know, just physical. Oh, I’m not making sense.”

I reassured her. “I’m with you so far. Go ahead, I’m listening. Don’t worry.”

She collected her thoughts for a few seconds more. “When you make love with me, honey, I can always feel how much you care about me. It’s in how you touch me, what you say, how you look at me — everything. How you read me and think about what I need. Oh, Danny, believe me, I know how lucky I am to have you.”

I stretched my neck a little bit, to plant a kiss on top of Lori’s head, and gave her an extra squeeze with the snuggling arm. By way of thanks for the compliments — and acknowledgement that she was right: I do care for her that much and more.

There was another long pause and then another deep breath. I tried not to tense up for the hammer.

“That’s why,” Lori continued, “This idea of mine is so crazy.” Point of no return, dear, I thought at her. Half wishing she’d just say “Well, never mind after all” and we could resume our regular life.

“Honey, suppose we —” A pause to reconsider words. “Danny, you’re the only lover I’ve ever had. You’re the only lover I’ll ever have. I’m yours until I die, you know that.” I just waited. When she resumed, Lori was as hesitant as I’ve ever heard her. “Suppose, just once, just to try it... Suppose one time... you weren’t like you are, so gentle and sensitive... What if you were...” — and now the words started to come more easily, as if some cork had finally been drawn — “What if you were rough, and just, well, took whatever sex you wanted from me, and didn’t care what I needed or wanted or even if I was in the mood at all, and if you weren’t so kind and gentle and if you didn’t treat me as your lover but just — something to use. What if we tried that once to see what it’s like, Dan? Just to see, ’cause I don’t know any kind of sex but our sweet gentle marvelous kind?”

Forget the sledgehammer. I think the traditional term is “poleaxed.” While I tried to figure out what to say — even what to think — Lori got nervous about the silence.

“I know it’s crazy, I know I have what every woman dreams about, I know what we have is so special.” Now I started to hear tears in Lori’s voice. “Please don’t think badly of me for asking, honey, if you’re mad just please forget I said anything.” And now, finally, she scooted up on the pillow next to me, making eye contact for the first time in what seemed like hours. Her eyes were searching mine for some hint of horror at what she’d said. I had enough sense to offer some comfort while I thought.

“I’m not mad, I don’t think badly of you, I love you and you can’t make that go away. Now hush and give me a minute; you’ve been thinking about this and I haven’t and I need to catch up.” Lori nodded and relaxed into the pillow a little more.

Some time passed while I came to grips with the proposal. While my brain was occupied, I took the opportunity to get snuggled up again with my dear wife, this time spooning her from behind. One of my favorite restful poses. The gears churned.

“One comment, one question, one concern,” I said, breaking the long silence. “The Comment.” I pronounced the capital letters. “There’s nothing shameful about what you just asked me. You’re just curious about a possible experience. A human experience that other people have had and you haven’t. There’s nothing in your curiosity that could make me upset. I’d only be upset if you had something on your mind you wouldn’t tell me — and that didn’t happen. So, the gentlemen of the jury bit doesn’t even apply, ok?”

“Ok” — in a small voice, but one with a hint of relief.

“The Question,” I continued. “Suppose we do try out this idea of yours. I understand my part, I’m the insensitive horny woman-objectifying caveman.” That earned a faint giggle. I love it when she laughs when I’m snuggled up against her. “What I don’t quite see is what your part is — why don’t you react to my crude advances with a kick to the family jewels? Because one thing you definitely didn’t say is ‘rape’ — or ‘force.’ Two things.”

Dub this one “The Night of the Long Pauses.” I had patience aplenty, though. When Lori answered, she sounded shy, nervous, hesitant again. “Well... suppose. Suppose if, for some reason, whatever, I couldn’t... resist, or say no, or... I mean if something meant that I had to do anything you said, even if I hated it, some law or rule or some circumstance. And... if I knew I wasn’t... you know, allowed... to, um, have any say about it. Like it was your right to... use me.”

Light bulb? No. What clicked on over my head was more like an acre of stadium floods. Maybe I’m slow, maybe you were way ahead of me as you read this — but understand, this was a completely new angle on someone I’d known intimately for three years of marriage and a couple before that.

I carefully kept my voice calm, neutral, soothing. “Ok, thanks, I think I understand. So I come to part three, The Concern. I don’t think it’s really a concern, ’cause I trust you in the same way that you trusted me, to tell me what you were thinking of. But I’ll raise it just to be complete and fair, ok?”


“Let’s say we go ahead one day and enact this bit of rôle playing. Suppose I do my best to, well, get into the part — know what I mean?”

“Yeah. Go on.”

“So then I would imagine that I might act toward you with something between... indifference and contempt. Because you’re nothing but a convenient body. Is that along the right lines?”

In a very, very tiny voice: “Yes.”

“Ok, so we’re going along fine, and instead of saying ‘Lori, my precious, may I have a moment when it suits you, please, dear,’ I might say something like... ‘Get your ass over here, you fucking slut!’”

Again, quietly: “Yes.” But I got more of a response than that. For no sooner had I said the last two words than I felt the skin on Lori’s arms prickle into goosebumps. Aha. This goes deeper, methinks, than casual fantasy, I said to myself. But I gave no hint that I’d picked up any additional message.

“So my concern is, next day when we’re back to normal, are you going to be wondering ‘Where did he come up with that stuff — is that the real Dan? does he really not care for me?’ You know what I mean? I’m afraid the words or the actions might really hurt, long after playtime is over.”

The goosebumps had faded away. Lori replied earnestly, “Oh, no, I know what you mean, but I wouldn’t feel like that at all. I mean, I’d understand you were just treating me like a guy like that would — would treat a girl like that. Dan-o, I already know what the real you is like, I’ve had years to learn you. I won’t get confused.”

I nuzzled my dear wife for a minute, collecting thoughts. “Ok, a proposal, then.”


“I want to think about this some. I want to imagine myself in that situation, and imagine if I could go through with it. Because, as you just said, that’s not the real me. My proposal is: if I decide I can’t, I’ll just tell you no. Otherwise I’ll tell you yes, I’m willing to try, but then I’m just gonna spring it on you — the whole scenario, that is. I mean, I don’t think it’d be the kind of thing where I’d ask you ahead of time what evening would be convenient.”

That earned a short laugh. Lori flipped over, facing me, and planted a serious and protracted kiss on my lips. “Deal,” she said, with the first Lori-sized smile I’d seen since we’d started talking.

I flopped back on my pillow. “As long as we’re on the subject, got any other fantasies?”

“Yeah,” came the reply, “I’m fantasizing about falling asleep. I think you wore me out a little while ago.” Lori pulled a sheet up and closed her eyes.

I lay there for a long time, looking up at the ceiling and going back over this very surprising turn of events. On the one hand, I was a little bit concerned that Lori felt the need to be — well, “mistreated” was the word that kept coming to mind. That there was something in our gentle, companionable, respectful sex life that wasn’t completely fulfilling her.

And on the other hand...

This tall, slim, curvy, creamy-skinned, pink-nippled, long-haired goddess had just handed me a pretty amazing sexual carte blanche. And that was a thought powerful enough to wake up good ol’ Doctor Willy.

After fighting against wakefulness for a few minutes, fruitlessly, I slipped out of bed, threw on some pj pants, and headed downstairs. I knew I wouldn’t wake Lori — she’s never anywhere between 100% awake and 100% asleep.

I cruised through the kitchen; dumped some cashews into a bowl, poured a glass of red, and carried them into the den. I settled in behind my desk, pulled out a pad of paper, and started thinking.

I tend to think about things by writing — doodling ideas, crossing out dead-ends, circling and underlining and connecting. It’s just my way of focusing on a problem.

And a problem I did have — in the sense of a puzzle, not of something wrong. I’ve led a pretty vanilla sex life but I’m at least acquainted with the wide scope of human sexuality, and I knew that Lori was not the first woman in the world with an urge to be dominated. I understood that, at least according to the conventional wisdom, abandoning control of sex to someone else could translate into freedom. The same idea is behind bondage: if I can’t move, then it can’t be my fault or my responsibility what happens to me, and so however it makes me feel is valid.

Where that urge came from, and why it had just now surfaced, I could afford not to dwell on right away.

But a certain puzzle remained. Start with the no-brainer, that if my dear one had a fantasy and I could make it happen, then that would be a good thing. But treating Lori with sensitivity and gentleness wasn’t just some kind of veneer on my personality, it was an essential component of my self-regard: I’m a nice guy. So the challenge was to figure out how far I could go to break the boundaries of “our sweet wonderful kind” of sex, without losing anything I valued.

Ok, some obvious things. Speaking roughly was clearly in the cards, judging from Lori’s reaction to my earlier example. “Slut” or “bitch” or “cunt” — ok. Nothing that would have a long-lasting sting: I could probably call her a “piece of ass” but not a “lousy piece of ass”; a “bitch” but not a “stupid bitch.” Nothing sounding promiscuous or unfaithful, like “whore.”

And some amount of rough handling, too — if I remembered correctly, Lori had used the word “rough” a couple of times. What else had she said? “Mean.” I jotted words, drew connections, doodled and underlined. I wouldn’t strike her, not even in play. Grabbing her, shoving her around some, maybe squeezing something a little too hard: ok. Manipulating her like an object rather than asking for her coöperation, that would be the right approach. You don’t ask a Barbie doll to bend over, you grab her head and her ankles and push.

Rough, mean, uncaring. Use her. Sex object. Rear entry? I had heard a couple of women say that they found that to be an objectifying position, although Lori had always seemed to enjoy it just fine; on the other hand I had never asked her outright. “Doggy?” I wrote, and sketched a faint line over to “Bitch.”

What else? I’d have to think about pacing. In theory this game was all about my taking my pleasure without regard for hers, but it would probably be more satisfying all around if I gave her a chance to get off anyway. How about sex toys? Bonds? We didn’t have any stuff like that on hand — should I buy something? Then I crossed out “bondage” — that was wrong. Bondage is for immobilizing a strong woman, one who would otherwise resist. But a woman who can’t resist, who isn’t allowed to — a sex object — is controlled with words alone.

A little insight flared as I focused on the words “sex toys,” and I changed it to read “Lori is a sex toy... for me.” That was the ticket. Like one of those awful dolls, but warm and attractive and actually pleasurable.

As I doodled and scribbled, trying to capture the ideas as they came and went, two more notions were competing for brain space. Two things that would push Lori way outside of her comfort zone, emphasizing to her that she was being used at my whim, but that weren’t actually harmful and wouldn’t make me feel like a jerk.

The first is pretty easy to understand: Lori very definitely does not like the tastes of sex. She’ll happily suck my cock (and very nicely at that), but it’s firmly in the foreplay section of her book. She wants to be done before that first early drop oozes out. And the same goes for her own flavors: after I eat her pussy, she doesn’t want to kiss me until I’ve washed my face. It had never been that big a deal for me — well, ok, I did occasionally yearn for a nice start-to-finish blow job — but making sure that she got a good taste of pussy juice, or spooge, or both, would clearly be a dominating thing to do to her.

The other one’s a little tougher to describe. Lori’s not at all body-shy, if her exposure is sort of a consequence of what we’re doing. I can get a gynecologist’s view of her puss while we’re making love, for example, and she doesn’t care a bit. But if there’s any kind of focus on her nudity outside of a context like that, then all of a sudden she’s very bashful. For example, if I catch her half naked while she’s dressing for work, and if it seems like I’m looking at her rather than just seeing her, she’ll blush and turn away to minimize her exposure.

So I wanted a way to force that discomfort. Make her put herself on display, somehow. The first thing that I thought of was to make her do a strip-tease: that would not only put her on display but it would prolong the agony and make her complicit in it. On the other hand, that didn’t seem like it would fit with the sort of fast-paced “tear off a quick piece of ass” scenario I’d been envisioning.

The wine and the nuts were gone. My pad was full of chicken scratches, and my mind was full of fog. Time to hit the sack again, and let the ideas whirl around some more until a picture started to emerge.

The next day was pretty normal. Wake, commute, work, come home. One of us made dinner, I don’t remember who. Our conversation was normal, neither alluding to the previous evening’s topic nor feeling like we were working to avoid it.

Maybe the only thing odd was how definite it seemed, without either of us making any kind of overt sign, that we weren’t going to make love — not that night, and not any other until I gave Lori her yes-or-no answer. Somehow that was just understood — and I was fine with that, since I didn’t think it was going to take me long. In fact, I’d pretty much already decided I could go through with my part, but I still had details to work out and didn’t want to make a premature announcement.

I stayed up again that night, dragging out my notes and going back over them. I was staring at the words “on display,” which were ringed darkly in one corner of the pad. The strip tease idea wasn’t going to wash: the mood would be wrong. How could I push her into that particular discomfort zone? Hmmm....

What about...

“Then he had an idea,” I said softly to the empty room. “An awful idea. The Grinch had a wonderful, awful idea.” Smiling with satisfaction at having solved the problem, I picked up the pen and wrote a single word inside the “on display” circle. And underlined it.

I was ready.

Lori had an early appointment the next day, and slipped out of bed without waking me, so I didn’t have a chance to talk to her. But I figured it would be unkind to keep her in unnecessary suspense, so when I got to work I phoned the florist on the first floor of her office building, ordered a bouquet, and told them to include a card with the single word “Yes.”

It apparently took them about two hours to find the elevator (ok, ok, they had other orders to fill), because it was that long before an e-mail rolled in from Lori.

“Gulp. When?” was all it said.

Well, that was easy. “Whenever I feel like it,” I replied. I felt like writing “Whenever I feel like it, slut,” instead, but these days you never know who gets copies of all the interesting personal e-mails.

In any case, my answer was something of an evasion, since I was already setting my sights on Friday night — that being Thursday. I figured that would give me a whole weekend to make up with her if I had seriously miscalculated everything.

Lori was home ahead of me that night, and met me at the door with a tremendous hug and shining eyes. “Oh, Dan, thank you,” she said, with her head pressed tight to my shoulder. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you in a lot of ways. I thought a hundred times about telling you to forget about it, but... I’m glad you said yes.” Then she relaxed her bear-hug and looked up at me. “You’re not going to tell me when, though?”

“Nope,” I said. “Complete surprise. One minute your loving husband, next minute Mister Demanding.”

She laughed at that, but I heard just a hint of nerves in the sound.

We ate; I went to do some household paperwork and Lori headed upstairs. When I went up an hour later I found her lying on the bed, fast asleep, dressed in a sheer, powder blue baby-doll she sometimes puts on as an unsubtle hint that she’s in the mood for some nice hot lovin’. Interesting. In a way it was too bad her long day had caught up with her, since a romp would have been delightful, but on the other hand it did avoid some potential awkwardness. And I only had to wait until tomorrow.

I took a good long look at Lori slumbering peacefully, wondering as I so often did how I had ever managed to deserve such a beauty for a soul-mate, and then reluctantly drew up the blankets to cover her. When I finally called it a night a couple of hours later, she didn’t stir as I climbed into bed beside her.

Friday night.

The night.

I had a loose plan. There were specific things I was going to do, and I had a general idea of how I’d direct the action to get from each one to the next; but I hadn’t really scripted out the whole scene, or planned what to say. I figured a lot of that could just happen as it happened.

I waited until after dinner; I had settled in with a book and Lori was in another room working on a cross stitch. The house was peaceful, and I figured that I would have the advantage of surprise. I went up to the bedroom, arranged a certain item where it would be handy when I needed it, and headed back downstairs. When I got to the foot of the stairs, I took a deep breath, reassured myself that this was all going to work out fine, and called. “Lori!”

“What, Dan?” came faintly from the sun room.

“Get in here!” It was a conscious effort to omit the “please.” I started heading toward her, meeting her just as she came through the doorway.

“Dan, what’s —”

“Shut up, bitch,” I interrupted. I grabbed hold of her upper arm, not gently, and started marching her toward the stairs. “I haven’t had a piece of ass in days, and I’m going to have one right now.” We reached the staircase, and I turned her to face me, grabbing her other arm. Lori’s eyes were wide and her breathing already sounded faster and harsher than usual. “Now you listen to me, cunt. You go straight up to the bedroom, get bare-ass naked, lie on the bed, spread your fucking legs wide, and wait right there for me. Got that, slut?”

“Oh, god, Dan, I —” Lori began, her voice trembling.

“Did. You. Hear. Me?” I growled, gripping her arms tighter and shaking her slightly with each word.

“Yes, yes, I —”

I spun her around to face the steps, grabbing her shoulders from behind. Then I put my lips right behind her ear, and in a low whisper said, “And you’d better start beating off, slut, because when I get up there, I’m gonna fuck you wet or dry. You got that, slut?” Lori nodded several times, very quickly, as if she couldn’t control it. “Then get going.” I gave her a shove: unexpected, it momentarily unbalanced her, but she caught the bannister and scurried up several steps before pausing to look at me over her shoulder. I was standing, hands on hips, glaring up the stairway with as much menace on my face as my untried acting ability could summon. “You’d better fucking hurry, bitch!” I yelled. She started running up the stairs, stumbling once more in her haste, and disappeared around the corner.

I realized that I was trembling a bit myself. Nerves, partly. Partly realizing that no matter how much we had agreed to this in advance, it was still a risky step in our relationship. A few deep breaths. A glance at my watch. Give her a minute. One more. All right then... show time. I headed up the stairs to the bedroom.

I reached the doorway to our bedroom and stopped, stunned by the sight before me. Lori was on her back across the bed, nude, her legs spread nearly into a straight line, her right foot at the foot of the bed and her left at the pillows. She had obviously been in a tearing hurry: clothes were strewn all over the floor, and a pair of rose-print cotton panties was peeking out from under one knee.

Lori’s left hand was on her right breast, her middle finger just toying with the erect nipple, and her right hand was on her pussy, stroking up and down with all four fingers. Blood rushed to my cock at the erotic and unaccustomed sight. Lori’s eyes were open, staring at me, and her face and neck were suffused with red, the deep blush of embarassment at her exposure.

But one thing was clear, and I voiced it. “Well, aren’t you the obedient little slut?” I sneered. Lori’s eyes closed and her color deepened, my only reply. I pulled my shirt over my head and dropped it on the floor. “You getting that hole nice and wet for me, slut?”

“Yes,” came the whispered reply.

“Yes, what, slut? Tell me!”

Reluctance sounded in every tremor of her voice. “Yes, I’m — I’m, getting wet for you.”

I pulled my belt off rapidly. The snapping sound of it hung in the air like a threat. “Don’t be coy with me, bitch. Say the words. Tell me!”

“Oh, god, Dan. I — I —”

“Tell me!”

“I’m getting my pussy nice and wet for you.” The words broke from her with a half-sob: a wall breached, a defense gone. I slipped my pants off, and stood there making a tent out of my shorts. Lori was oblivious, focused like a laser on my face.

“Show me,” I snapped at her. “Spread your lips open and show me that juicy cunt.”

Lori moaned in protest but moved her right hand, trying to pry her labia apart by spreading her fingers. “Use both hands,” I ordered. “Pull that pussy wide open and show me, bitch.” Her left hand slid down and her fingers scrambled to find purchase on her slippery lips. Lori’s breathing was deep and ragged, as if she’d been running; I wondered if it was passion or anguish gripping her body.

I stepped up to the edge of the bed, looking down at my wife’s gaping slit, pink and glistenting with cunt-honey, spread wide open by her delicate fingers. I’d never seen her so aroused in so short a time.

“Yeah, that’s what I wanted, baby,” I said, using a common pet name that Lori hates: she thinks it’s a horribly demeaning word to use for a grown woman. “Now you keep spreading that hot pussy open for me. Don’t take your hands away. Don’t move.” As I spoke, I turned to my dresser and picked up the object I’d placed there earlier.

When I turned back, and Lori saw what I held, she gasped, and her body reacted involuntarily: one arm flew up to cover her tits, the other hand cupped her vulva, trying to hide everything. “No Dan no Dan no please no please I can’t please no...” Words tumbled out of Lori’s lips in panic.

“Spread that sloppy fuck-hole open for me NOW!” I roared. Lori was still shaking her head no, but the force of my words or the powerful tension of our game held sway, and seconds later she was back in position, the fingers of both hands stretching her twat wide open. Still murmuring “No, please, no.” Staring terrified at what I held.

I raised it into position, squeezed, and watched the room erupt with light through the viewfinder of my trusty Olympus E-20.

I started snapping commands at Lori, who obeyed dazedly, lost it seemed in some kind of emotional fog, trying to cope with the scene and the exposure and the shame and the sexual excitement all at once. “Stick a finger up your cunt.” Flash! “Two fingers, slut.” Flash! “Spread that fuck-hole open.” Flash! “Show me your clit, slut.” Flash! “Play with your tits.” Flash! “Play with your tits and your cunt.” Flash! “Pull that nipple. Harder!” Flash!

I had intended to stop after just a minute, but suddenly I became aware that the glow of Lori’s skin, the flush spreading over her chest, her increasing moans, and the wetness in her puss added up to something familiar. “Are you gonna cum, slut? Does doing what I tell you to make you want to cum? Use two hands on your cunt and cum for me now.”

Her hands flew to her snatch: one probing deeply, one strumming her clit. Her back arched. I fired shot after shot of her face as she cried out in orgasm, then a half-dozen closeups of her fingers, working away in the gooey mess of her pussy.

I put the camera down and tore off my shorts. My erection was fierce, painful, straining my skin; the head was already beaded with semen. I strode to the bed and grabbed hold of Lori, who was just coming back to her senses, by hip and leg. I started to twist, ordering, “Roll over, slut. On your hands and knees. You’re gonna get bitch-fucked.” Lori did her best to comply, but I kept pulling and shoving at various parts of her, making it harder — just to add to her feelings of helplessness and confusion.

When she finally got into position, I grabbed her around the thighs and pulled back sharply, skidding her knees right to the edge of the bed; the sudden movement collapsed her onto her elbows. I pulled and shoved at her legs, spreading them to a perfect right-angled vee, her pussy completely exposed, already puffy and reddened from her frantic masturbation. Lori’s snatch was glistening with juices and plenty had already run onto her thighs, but I wanted to work her up even more before my next planned assault on her defenses.

I stood behind Lori, who was panting hard, head down; if her eyes were open she had a view of the quilt and that’s all. I manhandled her ass cheeks, squeezing and spreading them as I lined up my cock at her entrance. It usually requires some care and some adjusting when I first sink inside her, but that night I was determined to claim her cunt in a single rough thrust.

But I had miscalculated. Lori’s tunnel was so slick with her secretions it was as if I’d pumped a whole bottle of lube into her first. My cock slipped into her cunt without resistance and, because I had put so much force behind the thrust, bottomed out by slamming into her cervix. Lori cried out wordlessly with the shock of the sudden intrusion and the pain of being ramrodded to the quick.

I pulled all the way back, until I could see half my glans, and slammed home again with the same effect. I quickly realized that a couple of things were going my way. The slickness of Lori’s cunt was easing the friction on Doctor Willy somewhat, so I had a little better chance of lasting long enough to carry out all of my plans. And nailing her cervix on every stroke was taking us from “sweet and gentle” to “rough and mean” in a pretty definite way, while the slight discomfort it caused me was also helping to keep the brakes on.

The only sound in the room was Lori’s inarticulate cry as my cock slammed home again and again — “Uhhh! Uhhh! Nguhhh!” — and the slap! slap! of my loins against her ass. I held my wife by the hips and pulled her back at me with each powerful thrust, making every stroke as long and hard as I could.

“Hey, cunt, you like getting fucked like a bitch?” I demanded.

“Y — uhh! Yesnguhhh! Y —”

“Tell me, you fucking slut. Answer me!”

“I — I — I love uunnhhh! b-being fuhhhhngh! fuhh! fucked like aaaahuhh! b-bi — ah! bitch,” Lori gasped, her breath torn from her over and over as every full-length stroke of my cock rammed deep into her. Her head was tossing with the thrusts, her hair tangling; I caught brief glimpses of her flushed face, eyes open and staring at nothing.

“You’re just a horny cum-slut, aren’t you? Tell me!”

Lori shook her head no, a feeble gesture immediately belied by her voice. “I’m juUhhhh!st — a horny c-cuuuungh! cumsl — cumslut.”

“What else? Tell me!”

She was gone from our normal world. “I’m a p-aaaanhgh! pussy f-f-for you to use!”

“Talk!” Never letting up, I stroked steadily, yanking her back to be impaled on my cock with every thrust.

“I b-belong to you. Nguhhh! I’m your caaaargh! c-cunt. Uhhhnnnhh! I’m your o— ohhhhhh! ob— Ohhhhhh!! obedient — AAAAAaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!”

Lori’s cunt clamped down on my cock like a vacuum vise. I was fully inside her, and rode out the storm there as the orgasm swept over her. I had seen her cum so many times over the years, but never like this, her whole body trembling, the roseate flush spreading even to her back, her breath coming in harsh gasps that were barely human.

I held tight until the rictus passed and she began panting, her shoulders heaving as she gulped in oxygen. Slowly, I slid my prick out of Lori’s cunt, which was still squeezing rhythmically in little aftershocks. As the head pulled away from her pussy, strings of honey formed a bridge between us, shining in the room light.

I turned and grabbed the camera once more. Only at the flash did Lori figure out what I was up to. Her shoulders tensed but she didn’t protest or try to hide herself.

“Look at me, slut,” I ordered. Lori started to move a knee, but I stopped her. “No, stay put. Just look at me over your shoulder.” She complied, tossing her hair to one side, and I got a good look at my wife’s face for the first time since I’d flipped her over to fuck her from behind. Her cheeks were flushed from humiliation, exertion, and orgasm. Her mouth was slack, lips wet; her eyes were wide, fixed, and a little unfocused. She looked drugged.

Flash! “There. I just wanted a picture of a horny cum-slut and her wide open fuck-hole.” I put the camera down and stood behind Lori as if I were going to start fucking her again. Her head dropped. I shoved her legs a little wider apart and grabbed her pussy in one open hand, kneading and massaging it with no delicacy, no regard for tenderness, no finesse.

“Yeah, slut, you have a wet, sloppy fuck-hole. Can you feel how gooey you are? My hand is covered in cunt slime. You must really like being slam-fucked, bitch, ’cause your cunt is dripping.” I continued to rub my palm all over her pussy. Lori was whimpering: I couldn’t quite make out words.

I figured my hand was as gooey as I could get it. Time for the second assault. “Look at me,” I commanded. Again, Lori turned her head to the side, tossing her hair out of the way, meeting my eye. I reached forward and took hold of her face in my open hand, smearing cunt juice all over her cheeks, nose, lips, and chin. I grabbed the back of her head with my other hand, and used the first to make sure I spread her honey thoroughly over Lori’s face.

She froze, except that her eyes grew wider as her next breath was redolent of hot pussy. I finished by jamming three fingers into her open mouth, wiping them off on her helpless tongue. Then, before she could react, I slipped back, lined up, and rammed my dripping cock home in another clean full-force thrust.

Lori’s head stayed up, looking at me as best she could as I pounded into her. Her tongue reached out tentatively, touched a gooey lip, and withdrew.

We fucked like that for another few minutes, without a word. Then without warning I reached forward and grabbed Lori’s arms, pulling them back suddenly. She fell onto her shoulders, face planted in the quilt, and I started barking orders again.

“Play with yourself, slut. Play with that fucking clit while I pound your cunt.” I felt her shift her balance as she stretched a hand back. “Use two hands. One on your clit. The other around your fuck-hole.” Another shift, and then I felt two v-spread fingers on either side of my invading shaft. I slammed repeatedly into her hand, driving Lori’s fingers over and over into her pussy. She was vocalizing again, grunting with every thrust, and soon I saw signs of the tension that signalled another climax was imminent.

I pulled out and backed up a step, drinking in the beautiful sight of Lori’s sex, rosy and glistening, her lips spread and her cunt gaping, as if begging not to be left alone. Lori was nearly oblivious; her fingers were still jammed into her clit, pressing and rubbing. The cheeks of her ass were reddened from being repeatedly slapped by my body, and before I quite knew what was happening I had raised my hand and delivered three quick, hard spanks, the first handprint blooming crimson before the final smack fell.

Lori cried out, wordlessly, as I grabbed a leg and a shoulder and started to pull her off the bed.

“On the floor, fuck-toy,” I commanded, my voice harsh. At the last word Lori gasped, and her body stiffened even as she was sliding off the bed. The quilt, tangled in her limbs, slid off with her, easing the fall. Her gasp turned into a moan and I saw the telltale flush of orgasm spreading across her face and chest.

“On your knees, bitch!” Lori scrambled for her bearings as I continued to grab her, drag her, pull her into the position I wanted. “I’ve had enough of that sloppy cunt,” I told her. “Time to fuck your face.” I finally got her kneeling in front of me, face level with my cock. I was so hard it hurt — the blood pressure in my cock seriously felt like it was at the bursting point. I felt stretched and gorged and solid as steel.

Wordlessly, Lori started to reach up for my cock. I knocked her hand away. “Hands down, slut. Don’t ever put a hand on my cock when I’m fucking your face. Put them both behind your back.” Her eyes still fixed on my rampant erection, just inches from her face, Lori dazedly complied. Her lips were parted and glistening, and it was all I could do not to press my cock between them and seek the relief I needed.

I put one foot up on the edge of the bed, which left my crotch wide open. I grabbed a thick hank of Lori’s hair in each hand, pulling tight.

“Look what a slimy mess you made, slut. Look at all that fucking cunt-juice all over me. Now lick my balls clean!”

I pulled Lori’s head toward me, twisting on the hair handles to angle her face right up to my nutsack. She was whimpering, whether from dread or pain I couldn’t tell.

I roared, “Get that fucking tongue busy right now, bitch!”

Shocked, reeling from sensory overload, Lori started licking. At first, just the tip of her tongue emerged, and at the first taste I could feel her trying to back away. I resisted, pulling her closer, forcing contact. “Get that tongue busy, slut. Eat up every drop of that fucking cunt-slime. Keep going, get it all, clean me up.” As I harangued her, Lori began licking me with broader swipes of her tongue. Because she couldn’t pull away, my juicy, spitty balls were being wiped repeatedly across her face, and my cock, bouncing freely above, kept smacking into her. I used my grip on her hair to manipulate her head, moving her busy tongue over my ball sack until there wasn’t a spot she hadn’t covered.

I pulled Lori’s head back, tugging hard on her hair and tipping her face up to look at me. Our eyes locked. “Are you a cocksucker, baby?” I asked.

She’d learned her lesson — no short answers allowed. “Yes, I’m a cocksucker. I want to suck you. I love to suck your cock.”

“Are you a good little cocksucker, slut?”

“I’m a good little cocksucker. Please give me your cock to suck. I’ll be good. I’ll be good for you. Please.”

“You want this slimy cock?”

“I want your cock. I’m a good little cocksucker. I’ll clean my juice off your cock. I’ll do whatever you tell me. Please give it to me.”

I let go of Lori’s head. I angled my cock toward her open mouth, moving so the head was just outside her lips. I waited, holding her gaze. Waited. She was like a dog with a treat balanced on its nose. Waited.

“Suck it.”

Her face moved forward the last inch, and the head of my cock disappeared into her mouth. Her already slick lips closed tightly around my shaft and she began to bob rapidly on it, her tongue swirling underneath.

I’d felt as hard as a crowbar a minute ago, but still I could feel a last few heartbeats worth of blood pumping into my dick, thickening it beyond anything I’d ever felt.

Her eyes were locked on mine: wide, unblinking, lustful. I watched her eyes for a moment, then her hot pink lips warping inwards and outwards as they traveled tightly down and back over the contours of my bulging prick.

“Hey, baby, I told you to suck my cock. I didn’t say to suck half of it, did I, slut?” I put a palm against her forehead; pushed her back and off my cock; held her where she’d been a moment before. Her mouth gaped open, her tongue was out, searching, reaching for more cock. “An obedient little slut does what she’s told, doesn’t she, bitch?”

“Yes, oh, yes, I do. I’m an obedient slut. Please let me suck you, please. Please put it back.”

I rocked my hips to one side, then back, swinging my engorged penis across her face, slamming into her cheek before dragging past her mouth and free again. I don’t know what it felt like to her, but it wasn’t gentle — I can’t imagine that that much flesh filled with that much blood can produce a caress. The sound of the slap hung in the room; a wet patch glistened on her cheek where the spit-coated cudgel had landed. Her eyes widened even more — I hadn’t thought it possible — and with a gasp she darted her right hand to her pussy, rubbing frenetically at her clit. Coated with cunt juice, her fingers made a soft squicking sound, but I knew she still heard the slap of my cock in her mind.

I swung back the other way: smack! and another patch of wetness appeared. Another gasp.

“When I tell you to suck my cock, you fucking cunt,” — smack! again — “I expect you to do it” — smack! — “like a slut does it” — smack! — “all the way down.” I stopped, pulled back, let go of her head.

“Please.” It came out as a moan. “Please, more, please.”

“More what, fuck-toy?” She moaned again at hearing the word. “More cock down your throat? Or do you need your slutty face cock-whipped some more? Hmm?”

“More — please, whatever you want, please. Slap me, choke me, fuck me, I want it all, I want what you want, I’ll do anything, please, anything you say, I want your cock, please, give it to me, give it to me, oh, please —”

I cut off her speech by thrusting forward and plugging her throat with hot meat. “You talk too fucking much, cocksucker,” I told her. “Your mouth isn’t for talking, it’s just another hole for me to use.” I began pumping back and forth, still with rod to spare outside her lips, but far deeper than she’d taken me before. With every thrust I felt her gag reflex take hold, heard her choking but unable to cough. “Poor little slut, this is too much, isn’t it? Am I choking you, cunt-face?”

She couldn’t move to nod, or breathe to talk, but her look was imploring. I thought I knew what entreaty her eyes held. I put both hands behind her head and threaded my fingers through her hair.

“Well that’s too fucking bad.” With that I jammed forward, burying her nose in my groin and the head of my cock somewhere near her vocal cords. She was beyond choking. Her eyes welled full of tears but stayed fixed on mine. “Here’s how good little sluts suck cock,” I told her, and pulled back until just the head of my dick was in her mouth. The feeling of her throat muscles on my receding shaft was amazingly acute, and I knew we were fast approaching the end of play time. “Like this,” I said, and pressed smoothly back down to the bottom of her gullet in one long, slow stroke as tear drops rolled down her cheeks. Out again, back in, out, each time rewarded by the slurp, gag, choke, gag, gasp of her vain effort to cope. And rewarded by her tongue, which, during the moments she could actually breathe, never failed to swirl furiously beneath my cock. On every outstroke, a cascade of spit followed my retreating dick, spilling out of Lori’s gaping mouth and down her chin.

After twelve or fifteen such strokes — no more — I felt the warning signs of eruption, pulled my cock out of her mouth, and pressed it against her face, the shaft alongside her nose, the head at her left eyebrow. Lori’s tongue whipped out and licked what she could reach. I rubbed up and down her face once, twice, pressing my cock against her with my hand, jerking off with her cheek.

“Here’s what fuck-toys love,” I gasped, as the launch began. A jet of cum flew from my cock head only to explode a half-inch away against the upper orbit of Lori’s left eye. The cum sprayed at the impact, dropping splatters of goo from her hairline down to her lips, but the bulk of it made an instant lake over her open eye. A lake that overflowed, matting her eyelashes and starting to lube her cheek. I continued stroking against her face, sending more fountains of cum to coat her features. A shot with an upward angle cleared her forehead and arced downward to form a brilliant line of white in her dark hair. She blinked reflexively, sending rivulets of hot cum from the pool in her eye cascading down her cheek. I moved slightly, letting the lesser spurts spray over her lips, up her nose, against her fine white teeth.

She caught her breath. “I love it, I do love it, I’m a good obedient f-fuck-toy.” The cum on her lips formed strings across her mouth as she spoke; the cum on her teeth bubbled out and made her lips all the stickier.

There was only one answer for that — I grabbed her head again, targeted my cock on her begging mouth once more, and pulled her all the way down in one strong thrust. It was hard to tell if her eyes were tearing from the choke-fuck or from the stinging pools of sperm in them. My cock was sensitive, and burying myself once more down her throat was exquisite agony.

I pulled out, and wiped a substantial gob of spooge off her cheek with the head of my cock. “Hey, cum-slut, eat that jizz,” I ordered.

She dived onto my cock again, licked off the cum, and swallowed. As she continued to suck me, thick globs of sperm meandered down her face, some dripping to land on her thighs as she knelt before me. I kept pulling away, only to use my stiff dick to spoon-feed her more of the gluey mess. Every time her mouth gaped wide I could see globs and strands of jizz on her tongue, coating her teeth, bridging between her lips, and the sight was the most erotic I had ever seen. There was one more thing to do.

“Don’t you fucking move,” I commanded. “If you lift a hand you’ll be sorry.” That last instruction might have been unnecessary, as by now both of Lori’s hands were buried in her crotch, manipulating her pussy with unflagging purpose.

I picked up the camera. Lori had passed from anguish at being photographed, through resignation, and arrived at a place where despairing compliance was the only thing left. I fired off a few shots of her cum-soaked face. “Open wide. Show me.” Flash! Flash! One more shot. “Smile for the camera, fuck-toy,” I said.

Lori smiled — with her mouth. It was an effort, and didn’t extend to her eyes. Flash! I put the camera back down. My erection was finally beginning to fade, my cock now dipping below the horizontal, not quite so painfully engorged. Lori worked away at her quim, lost in her own thoughts, but looking at me.

I stepped back to her, gathered up her long hair, and used a handful as a towel to wipe off my sticky cock. My wife did not react to this final indignity.

“That’s all I needed,” I said, as I turned to my dresser and grabbed out a t-shirt and shorts. “I think there’s a ball game on. See you.” I left the bedroom, clothes in hand, without a backward glance at my wife: kneeling on the quilt in the middle of the floor, face glazed with semen, masturbating.

I headed downstairs, slipping into the shorts and shirt as I walked down the hall. It was part of the plan, just leaving her like that: dismissed, no longer necessary, a sex object that had no purpose once I got my rocks off. I was half afraid it would be too much.

Just as I reached the first floor, I thought I heard Lori call something. I turned to go to her, went up a step or two, but didn’t hear anything more. Maybe I had imagined it.

I turned back, fired up the television, and flipped to the Tigers/Twins game. It should have been interesting, but it was just a place to point my eyeballs while I replayed and replayed the events of the last hour. Now, I realized, is the time I should have planned out. Where’s Lori? Is she coming down? Should I go up to her? Is she angry? Elated? Unsatisfied? Calling an attorney? Sharpening a knife? Do I apologize for doing what she wanted? Was it what she wanted? Or was it too much, too harsh, too uncaring? Had I just lost someone I loved?

I got half way up the stairs, meaning to see how Lori was doing, but I heard the shower running and went back down. I took a beer out of the fridge, looked at it like I’d never seen a bottle before, and put it back; went to the bar and poured a finger of Bushmills. And then tripled it. I sat back down in front of the game, became aware of the tense bases-loaded one-out situation, and... went away for a while. I think what happened is that my mind was so overloaded, my thoughts so confused, and my emotions in such turmoil that escaping into the game was like a narcotic. For whatever reason, when I came out of my haze at the end of the 14th inning it was late, the lights on timers had clicked off, and the house was quiet.

I shut off the TV, and went upstairs not knowing what situation I would find, dreading the worst. But all I found was a freshly scrubbed Lori, tucked into bed, fast asleep. There was nothing to read on her beautiful sleeping face.

I cleaned up, took care of the usual personal things, and crawled under the sheets beside her. And then sleep claimed me too.

When I woke up on Saturday I knew imediately that Lori was gone.

It might have been something about the sound of the house, or maybe it was something I’d noticed earlier without waking up, but I knew I was alone.

I showered and dressed, not allowing myself to think about last night, putting it off. Downstairs in the kitchen, I got a pot of coffee started — and then spotted the note on the kitchen counter. White paper with a little rose border. A picture flashed into my mind: crumpled panties lying on our bed as I fucked Lori from behind. Little roses.

The note shook as I picked it up off the counter. I told myself to calm down, and read it. It said:

Dan —

I have to be alone for a little while. I need to think about some things before I see you. I’m sorry to just bug out but I hope you’ll understand.

I’ll be home in time for dinner. I’ll get groceries.

I love you

— L

A deep breath or two helped me relax a bit. Ok, taken all in all, the note was a lot better than I had dreaded. No apparent anger, no threats, no tears; and she hadn’t left, she was just out.

Plus love, underlined.

Need to think? You and me both, Lori, I said to myself.

I went about some routine chores that morning: some vacuuming, some laundry, a light switch replacement off the top of the honey-do list. It was all the kind of thing I could do without much mental effort, so I concentrated on the scene that had played out last night.

First of all: had I given her what she asked for, or just something twisted from somewhere inside my head? She had said “rough”; I had pushed her around some, and been pretty harsh on her hair, and I’d smacked her bottom. She had said “mean”; I’d called her every debasing thing I could think of. She had said “something to use” and “take what you want”; I had fucked her however I felt like it until I was done, and then cast her aside. She had said “have no say about it”; I had ridden right over whatever resistance she had shown.

But had I done anything else — anything she hadn’t wanted? In the details, yes. She hadn’t said to me, on that night that seemed so long ago, please force me to eat your cum because I hate it. She hadn’t said, please make me say humiliating things about myself. She hadn’t said, fuck me so hard it hurts. On the other hand, she hadn’t offered any details at all about the experience she longed to have — didn’t that mean that the implementation was up to me as long as I followed her design?

Second: had I betrayed any of the limits I had set on myself while deciding whether or not I could give Lori her fantasy? Had I stepped over the line that defines who I am in my own mind?

On the language front, no. I was pretty sure, as I reviewed the previous night’s events once more, that I had shied away from the words I thought to be too hurtful. On the other hand...

I said aloud, over the whine of the vacuum cleaner, “You dope, you ran out of other hands an hour ago.”

...On the other hand, calling my beloved wife “cunt-face” hadn’t exactly been planned out as a safe thing to say. Where the heck had that come from? All right, say that when it came to language I had been right on the edge.

How about the rough stuff? Had that been over the line? I’d made a pretty good effort to use things like keeping her off-balance, or manipulating arms and legs, rather than anything actually painful. I’d gripped her pretty firmly a few times, but not so hard that I’d have bruised her. One exception: those three quick spanks had been as much of a shock to me as to Lori — I had not planned to do that. But there had been her sweet round ass, the ass I loved to caress and fondle and kiss and pat, already smacked to a pink glow, and the sight had just set my hand in motion.

That one bothered me a lot. I had raised a hand to my wife, and struck her, and I hadn’t even thought about it.

What of the other things: the picture taking, the rear entry, the deep throat, the facial, the hair pulling? I mulled over each item as I went about my tasks, and after much soul-searching decided that while most of them had just been in the category of good script ideas, two of them might be said to have been more for my satisfaction than Lori’s.

The pictures. Ok, I’d planned it as a way to push her into her discomfort with being on display. It was such an obvious way — obvious once I’d thought of it — to say “look, you’re naked, and you’re being observed.” That was legitimate. But I also had to acknowledge that, having been exposed to my fair share of porn in the ordinary course of growing up male, it had been exciting to me to be making porn of my favorite beautiful woman. And calling every shot. On balance, it had been a fair ploy, but a little bit of a selfish one.

And the facial. There, as with the smacks on the ass, I was starting to feel uncomfortable. Being honest, I thought there had been more to it than objectifying Lori by making her deal with one of her sexual taboos. I could have accomplished that just by making her finish the blow job, just by cumming in her mouth. Instead, I thought, I might actually have been expressing some — frustration, maybe, or longing at least — at the fact that I’d been eating her to orgasm for years, without being similarly rewarded. Looked at like that, the facial might have been more than literally a slap in the face.

By the time I wound down, I was feeling ok — not great, not awful — about my attempt at fantasy fulfillment. I’d done mostly what my beloved had asked me to, and while there had been a selfish component in my actions it was not the largest contributor. And I’d remained pretty true to my principles, although I was definitely going to have to apologize, at the very least, for those spanks.

I made a sandwich, added some carrot sticks and some corn chips and a tangerine to my plate, and took it all outside with a glass of iced tea. Sitting in the warm sun, eating, relaxing a little, I felt a little relaxation of anxiety as well. Ok now, I thought with a wry mental grin, all I have to do is try to guess how Lori feels.

I recognized that as futile. She’d get home soon enough, and I would know how she felt — that’s something in our marriage that has always been guaranteed. And one way or another, we’d cope with it together.

I ran some errands, then came home and spent an hour or so with the digital camera and the computer. The photos of my wife, naked and sexy and exposed and hot, were so arousing that I was as hard as a pipe by the time I got half way through them. I selected one, printed an eight-by-ten, and slipped it into an empty photo album. I made a title sheet and slid it into the front cover, and then stored the book away in a desk drawer. To be pulled out if one thing unfolded, to be quietly destroyed if another.

At about five o’clock the phone rang.


“Hi, it’s me. I’m at Coastal. They have fresh salmon or yellowfin tuna — any preference?”

“Umm... salmon.”

“Ok. I’ll be home in 15 minutes. Can you start things? I’m starving.”

“Sure. See you soon.”


I went out back and dumped coals on the grill, stacked them up, and started the fire. Lori had sounded perfectly normal — not tense or upset. I realized I was trying to read too much into a simple phone call.

There wasn’t time to do anything elaborate for dinner. I hunted out a tube of bake-your-own rolls and got them arranged on a baking sheet, washed some red grapes, and gave a batch of frozen mixed veggies a preliminary ride in the microwave.

Then Lori came home.

She popped in through the back door carrying a brown paper sack, dressed in sweatshirt, blue jeans, and sneakers, and smiling a little bit shyly. She put the bag on the counter a gave me a soft, quick kiss.

“Hi, honey,” she said, “I’m really sorry about leaving you alone today, but...” She abandoned that line of thought. “I hope you’re not too upset.”

“I’m not upset at all. I understand — at least I think I might. Anyway, we probably have a lot to talk about. What would you think of just having dinner first?”

Lori looked relieved. “That sounds good; I’m so hungry.” She glanced around the kitchen and took in my preparations. “Do I have time to freshen up?”


“Time for a 5-minute shower?”

“No problem.”

“Thanks, Danny. I’ll hurry.” With that she was off, headed upstairs.

I checked the clock. Lori is an unusual woman: when she says five minutes, she means five minutes. The fish would take about twelve. I turned on the oven, seasoned the salmon filets, and carried them out to the grill. Back inside, I popped the rolls in the oven, nuked the veggies again, set the table, and uncorked a bottle of fumé blanc from the fridge.

I took a glass of wine outside, flipped the salmon over, and then just stood there, enjoying the wine and the cooking smells and the warm breeze and the birdsong. Enjoying the fact that my beloved was back home, whatever might lie ahead. Then I felt her arms reach around me from behind, squeezing, as she lay her head against my back. “I love you, Dan,” she murmured.

She let go and I turned to look at her. “Freshen up” to me means washing my face and taking a leak. To Lori it apparently meant showering, changing into sandals, a royal blue tiered miniskirt, and a white spaghetti tank, putting on some eye makeup and lipstick, and clipping her beautiful, sleek hair back in a Pollyanna.

I gave her a whistle and she grinned at me. Oh, but that was a welcome sight, after a day of anxiety.

“Thank you, kind sir. Time to eat?”

“Two minutes. I’ll bring these in. Could you grab the rolls out of the oven?”

Together we got everything to the table in reasonable fashion; we ate and drank and enjoyed and avoided the one subject we really needed to talk about. When we were done we did a quick clean-up and took the last of the wine into the living room.

“Well,” said Lori, taking a seat on the sofa.

I opted for a chair: not as good for cuddling, better for talking.

“I have a lot to say, Dan-o,” she began, looking steadily at me. “Some of it might be — sometimes the words are going to be hard to find. You’re always patient with me, I just want to ask for a chance to get this all out.”

“No problem, love,” I replied. My anxiety level started to climb again. I’d been lulled by her apparent good spirits and by the normalcy of dinner; but this didn’t sound that encouraging.

“Ok. I have to say one thing first because it’s the most important thing I’ll ever have to say to you. Dan, I love you more today than ever, and I’ll love you more tomorrow than now, and nothing else we talk about tonight changes that; and I won’t let anything hurt us.” Then her voice grew fierce. “Not even me.”

I wanted to let Lori keep going, so I just reached out and took her hand. She squeezed back tightly for a few seconds.

“Dan,” she resumed, “I spent a long time this morning — last night and this morning — coming to terms with a feeling I’ve had for a while. For a few years. For a long time I didn’t really understand it, and then for a long time I tried to ignore it, and then I tried to — I don’t know, deny it or make it go away or... Anyway, I couldn’t, and that’s why I asked you to —”

She paused, and took a few deep breaths, looking down at our joined hands. Then she squeezed mine again, looked up, and met my eye.

“I’m a submissive, Dan.”

Her eyes searched my face for a reaction, and in the pause I decided to speak up.

“That sounded like a very deliberate choice of phrasing, Lori,” I offered.

She nodded. “I should have known how quickly you’d get that.” Lori collected her thoughts while I waited quietly. “I didn’t want to say ‘I’m submissive’ — that sounds like... a condition, or a mood, or... even a life-style, maybe. But it isn’t. Submissive isn’t what I am, it’s who I am — part of who I am, anyway.”

I just nodded to show I was keeping up. Lori continued. “In a way it’s really unfair of me to just spring this on you. One thing I was thinking this morning is how you’d feel if I just came home one day and said ‘Honey, guess what, I’m a lesbian.’ I mean, that’s the sort of thing you kinda want to be clear on before the wedding.” I laughed, and then Lori did, and the tension eased a little bit.

“Ok, that’s funny, but this is — I feel like I’m — oh, shoot, give me a minute.”

“Take your time,” I reassured her, “We have all the time we need.” I poured out the last of the wine into both glasses, and Lori took a sip.

“Danny, this isn’t something I knew about myself when we met. All the time we were dating, I tried to be sure to be really honest and open with you about who I was, about what kind of person I was. Because it was obvious real early that I wanted to spend my whole life with you, and I couldn’t — I mean, if you fell in love with anything but the real me, then I’d eventually... betray that love, when I turned out to be different than you thought.”

Lori’s voice had been growing more emotional, and now I could see tears collecting in her eyes. “So now, I feel... like I have betrayed you, by just coming in here and exploding this bomb.”

I had to speak up. “You haven’t. Look, Lori, nobody’s permanent. Everyone evolves and adapts. I mean — look, we’re going to have children some day, right?”

“I hope so.”

“Me too. So when that day comes, I’ll be a father. Don’t you think me the husband-and-father is going to be substantially different than me the husband? I guess I don’t really know, but I imagine that would be a pretty fundamental, major change. Don’t you think we’ll both adapt to that, and talk about it, and figure out whatever we need to figure out to keep things going, to keep being partners and lovers and friends?”

Lori blinked back a couple of tears and nodded. “Yeah, that’s — I think you’re right.”

“So let’s not talk about betrayal,” I continued, offering as much reassurance as I could put into words. “You started off with the most important thing you had to say. I haven’t forgotten that; I won’t. So let’s just talk about... what you’ve been feeling, and what happened last night, and... a new facet to who you are. Just a facet, not a new person. Not a stranger. Still my beloved.”

She squeezed my hand again and two tears finally overflowed her eyes. But she was smiling at my words. “Ok,” she said. “I need a tissue.” She left for a moment, returning dry-eyed to the same seat.

“Talk to me,” I said gently, in unconscious imitation of last night’s harsh commands, “And we’ll figure out what comes next.”

Lori seemed to have a little better command of herself as she began. “Dan, whatever you think of me — whatever you will think of me soon — I want you to know that... that if nothing changes, if we go right back to the life we had together all the way up to... all this stuff, then that would be — I could live my whole life like that, the way we were, and I’d be so happy. We’ve been so great, and you’re the perfect husband and the perfect man and the perfect lover and I know that’s more than I have any right to dream of. Am I making any sense?”

“Well, calling me perfect probably certifies you as insane,” I answered, earning a laugh, “But no, I understand.” I felt that Lori was having a little trouble getting started, so I prompted her again. “You said you’ve had a... feeling... for years.”

“Yes. I guess it was — Dan-o, remember when we first started to make love?” I smiled happily and nodded. “I wasn’t just a virgin, I was a naïve virgin. A shy virgin. I didn’t know anything, and I was a little timid about everything. I still am, about some things. You were so patient with me. Talking to me, showing me things. Guiding me if I didn’t know what to do. You were never pushy or demanding but... in those first few months, there’s no doubt you were — I don’t know, in charge of me. Not controlling, I mean, but... You were the — the boss, and I... I obeyed you.”

I could see the skin prickling on her arms, as I had that first night, and Lori’s next words confirmed how she felt. “Dan, just saying ‘obey’ to you is... thrilling. Just the word!”

“I can tell. Go ahead, honey, it’s ok.”

“After a while,” Lori resumed, “It got to be that, well, you didn’t have to give me much guidance. About sex, I mean. And we had this great, beautiful, perfect love life. We loved each other, and we loved making love, and you were so caring and sensitive every time. And you always gave me really great orgasms, which, if I believe what my friends say, isn’t as usual as you’d think. And it was all perfect — except... I started to feel like something was missing. And slowly I realized that... it was that thrill, the thrill I get from thinking about following your suggestions, and having you guide me and show me what to do, and obeying you.” Lori had been looking at her hands, but now she looked me straight in the eye. “Dan, honey, I missed being your obedient little cunt.”

I recognized those words from last night. Lori had gasped them out on the brink of an orgasm, and so I wasn’t surprised to notice her nipples stiffen beneath her blouse.

My beloved continued, “Over the past few years, it’s just been growing stronger. My longing for that thrill. And at some point, I don’t really remember when, I started to have other thoughts. Like, not just having you guide me but having you... command me. Order me around. Push me around. I started to fantasize about you as my —” Lori stopped, needing to compose herself to finish. “As my master, or my owner, or my captor, or my King, or — or anything that meant your absolute dominance and my unconditional obedience.” She scanned my face, looking for any sign that she was upsetting me.

“I understand,” was all I said.

Lori drained the last of her wine. “More?” I asked, and she agreed, so I went to the kitchen to grab another bottle. When I came back she was standing by the bay window, just watching the neighborhood. At the clink of a glass she turned and walked back, and in those few seconds I gave thanks for the millionth time to whatever genius invented the miniskirt. And to Lori’s mother, who herself possessed a pretty fine pair of wheels, for passing that gene on to her three long-legged daughters.

We both sipped wine, and Lori picked up where she had left off. “So I had these... fantasies, I guess. And the problem was — I knew I could talk to you about them, but I also knew that the ways I was imagining you just... just weren’t you. I mean, being kind and gentle are part of... of how you’re put together. So I knew I couldn’t ever have those thoughts become real. I tried to just stop having them. I’d distract myself. Or if I started thinking about you in that way, I’d make myself remember something real, like how sweetly you’d kissed me goodbye that morning, or how great my last backrub felt, or the last time I’d cum with you inside me.”

Lori patted the seat beside her. “Dan-o, would you come sit with me?” I complied, wrapping an arm around her as she snuggled in close. “But it didn’t work. Those thoughts kept coming back. Maybe getting stronger, or maybe not, maybe it was just month after month of having the same feelings. So finally, I thought, look, just talk to Dan about it and, well, see if, just once, he could — he could bring himself to do those things. I really had to work myself up to asking you, ’cause I knew it was really asking a lot, to make you... step outside of who you are.”

“And that brings us to a few nights ago, I take it,” I said.

“Mmm-hmm. I found the nerve, somehow, and you were patient and understanding and sensitive like always. And then you told me you’d do it, and I was excited and terrified. At some point it hit me that I didn’t know what you’d do — I mean, I knew you’d do what you promised, but I didn’t know, well, how.”

“Neither did I. It took some time to work that out,” I replied, “And some of it ended up being a surprise to me, also.” Lori kicked off her sandals and swung her legs up on to the couch, over mine, turning within the nest of my arm to rest a cheek — and one firm breast — against my chest. Her skirt slipped up her thighs, effectively making the transition from mini to nano, and a small part of my mind began to wander. “So... last night,” I prompted.

“Last night. Oh, Danny, what a gift you gave me. You were so good. Everything you said, everything you did, was so right on target that I kept thinking that’s all, that has to be all he can do to me. And then you’d do something else and I’d be caught off guard and shaking with excitement and anxious and feeling... feeling everything I hoped to. And cumming. Oh my god, Dan, last night was like a continuous orgasm with occasional gusts. It was unbelievable.”

“There were things I did that I meant to be... uncomfortable for you,” I offered.

“They were,” said Lori, “That’s mainly what I thought about all morning long. Those are what finally helped me come to terms with... all of this. With myself. You did things that... I should have hated. Like taking pictures. That was fiendish, that was nasty, you knew how that would freak me out. And it did, and I hated it, but I had to obey you and the thrill from obeying was so much stronger than my fear. Feelings like that made everything so clear. Or later, when you... Dan, one time back in college two of my suite-mates had a porno magazine they got from one of their boyfriends, and they showed me a picture of a girl with cum all over her face. I thought, if there’s anything more demeaning and degrading a man could do to a woman, it’s beyond my imagination. Then last night, you did that to me, and left me there. I got up, and looked at myself in the mirror, and I came like a freight train, looking at the mess you’d made of my face. Because that made my submission so undeniable.”

That explained the cry I had heard just after I left her. Lori’s nipples looked like they were going to tear through her tank top, and I finally lost the will to resist. I raised my free hand and cupped one of her beautiful breasts, feeling the hard spike of her nipple through the thin fabric, a point of heat in the center of my palm. Lori gave a little purr and turned her head to kiss my chest.

“But of all the things you did last night,” she continued, “You know what was best? What helped everything be clear?”


“When you spanked me. I thought about that over and over and over this morning. And you know what? Taking pictures, or talking dirty, or tasting cum, or screwing really hard, or any of the rest of it, that’s stuff that two equal people can do. But spanking? That’s never equal. It’s always one person in control and one who’s not.

“Dan, honey, love of my life, I need to be the one who’s not. I’m a submissive.”

I fondled Lori’s breast gently as she concluded, “I know I said ‘just once.’ I know it’s not fair to you. I know you can’t be... an actor instead of who you really are. If I never have that experience again — I told you, I’ll be the happiest woman in the world. If I can, even a little, even just one aspect of it, then I’d like that. If we can find a way.”

She rolled out of my embrace, straddling my legs on her knees, and kissed me with passion, love, tenderness, and the relief of having unburdened herself at last. I returned the kiss in full measure, and we didn’t come up for air for ages. By the time our mouths parted Lori’s skimpy clothing had been seriously rearranged, and her hand was stroking my fully erect cock through my pants.

Lori hopped off the couch, and pulled her tank top off over her head. “I spent this afternoon shopping for a thank-you gift for you, but I wasn’t having any luck. Because it had to be something really, really good to even try to repay you for last night.” The mini fell to her feet, to be kicked aside, leaving Lori clad in nothing but a tiny pair of pink bikini panties. “Then it hit me: the perfect thing for you. I want to give it to you now.” She knelt on the floor in front of the couch and began to work at my belt buckle. “Help me with your pants.”

I got my pants and shorts off in a flash and without losing a second Lori bent forward and sucked my cock deep into her mouth. She held her head still for a while, letting her tongue do all of the work on the captive shaft.

She pulled off and let my prick spring up against my stomach, and switched to a two-lips-and-a-tongue slide kiss from the base of my shaft to the head, over and over again. Every time she slid up near the head I felt a jolt of pure pleasure course through me.

Then she sucked me in again, now bobbing her head, letting the pressure of her lips add to the erotic symphony. She didn’t take me into her throat, as I had forced her to last night, but she did push herself to the limit of her comfort; and even when I was deepest in her mouth, I could see and feel the tip of her tongue emerge to try to lick just a little farther.

Every now and then she’d pull my cock out of her mouth and tongue it, or swoop down to lick my balls, or just give it a few playful kisses, and at one of those times I noticed the first early pearl of jizz beading at the tip. Lori saw it, too.

She squeezed my shaft, milking upward, until that pearl was fat and juicy and in danger of spilling. She looked me right in the eye. “Mmmm. Is that for me?”

All I could do was nod. Keeping her eyes locked to mine, Lori bent over, stuck out her tongue, and lapped that glob of cum right up. Before I could react, she had plunged my cock deep inside her mouth again, sucking harder and faster than ever. I couldn’t keep still, and began to lift my hips off the couch, thrusting my shaft into Lori’s avidly sucking mouth. Suddenly she turned her head to the side and let my cock fuck into the inside of her cheek, and I could see the bulging shape of it as her face stretched around the plunging cockhead. That was a new twist, and the erotic sight spurred me closer to orgasm. Lori centered her mouth again, sucking, tongue swirling madly, taking in more than half my cock on every stroke.

The whole scene was too much. Beautiful woman. Pretty hair. Tits. Nipples. Ass. Kneeling. Sucking. Tongue and lips and teeth and fingers and... eyes, beautiful eyes, trusting, adoring, looking at me, looking into me. I knew what her gift was.

I started pumping hot, pungent cum into Lori’s mouth, as she made her sucking strokes shallow, just pressing behind my cockhead. One of the stronger spurts must have caught her right in the back of the throat, triggering her gag reflex, because she gave a gentle cough and her eyes grew wider; but she recovered and kept sucking as I fired spurt after steaming spurt of jizz onto her tongue.

Then she let her strokes increase again, going more than half way down my cock, then sliding back up until just the head was in her mouth. I could tell that her mouth still held all of my cum, because at every stroke a little bit got wiped off on her lips.

She took my cock out of her mouth, put her lips together, and with some effort swallowed my load in one gulp. Only a droplet, trickling down her chin, remained. She felt that, wiped it up with a finger, and sucked her finger clean, watching me all the time.

She licked my cock all over, manipulating it with one hand, until there was no spermy residue, and then continued sucking me, softly, shallowly, and gently, until the stiffness began to fade.

“That was my present?” I asked.

Lori lifted her head and smiled at me. “Yup!”

“Taking my cum in your mouth, that was it?”

“Mmm hmm. I promise I’m never going to be squeamish about it ever again.” In her lowest, most sensual voice, she added with a smoldering look, “I’m your good little cocksucker and you can cum in my mouth whenever you want.” Suddenly she looked worried. “Um, is that a good gift?”

I reached out and cupped her lovely face in both hands. “Lori, it’s just what I’ve always wanted.”

I thought the cliché would get a laugh, so I was ill prepared for her reaction, which was to throw herself into my arms, sobbing like there would be no end to the tears.

There wasn’t much I could do besides hold her, stroking her hair and trying to calm her down as hot tears soaked into my shirt. For all its intensity the storm passed fairly quickly, and Lori was able to speak again.

“Oh, honey, I know it’s what you wanted. I’ve known all along what a bad lover I’ve been —”

“Lori, that’s not true!”

“It is so. Is there any other woman who’s so selfish that she’ll suck her husband’s cock and then leave him wanting every single damn time? For years and years?”

“Lori, you always found ways to satisfy me. Ok, not by cumming in your mouth, but always some way that was great and exciting and perfectly all right with me.”

She sniffled. Her face was still pressed against my chest. “Really? You’re not just saying that to cheer me up?”

“Look, I’m really happy that you’ve found a way not to be skittish about semen, but only because it gives us a new way to make love — when we feel like having it be that way. But that doesn’t make the last five years turn into bad ones all of a sudden.”

Lori was quiet for a while, thinking and wiping her eyes, before she rose to give me a soft kiss. Her sperm-scented breath was a novelty. “You are too understanding to be believed, Danny. I’m so lucky to be with you.” She held my head between her hands and stared right into my eyes from just a foot away. “But no matter what you say, I still owe you about five thousand blow jobs for all the past ones I didn’t finish. And I’m gonna pay up.”

I had to laugh at that. “Um, I appreciate the thought, but I’ll have to be honest and say a thousand a year is probably a little higher than the average rate for married men.”

Lori stood up and faced me with fists on hips. “I don’t care. And anyway, you deserve better than average.” She bent over and picked up her skirt and blouse, giving me a lovely view of her taut sexy bottom in barely-there panties. “Let me go wash my face, honey; I’ll be right back.”

When you’re standing at the edge of a cliff and you’re going to take a small step, it’s a matter of some consequence what direction you choose. I realized we were at that point in our lives, in our marriage. I could have chosen the safe, backward step, by saying nothing. Instead, I stepped forward. Off the cliff.

“Ok,” I replied, “But don’t put your skirt or top back on.”

There was a fraction of a second’s pause before I saw Lori’s nipples crinkle into hardness. She looked at me and nodded, understanding instantly what had just changed between us, then scurried out of the room: blushing, obedient.

She came back a couple of minutes later, face and hair tidied, dressed as I had instructed. As she walked the length of the room toward me, I was once or twice fooled by the lighting, the pink color of her panties, and the motion of her stride into thinking she was nude, and without her dark nest of pubic curls. The illusion made Doctor Willy twitch, a surprisingly rapid sign of life after the thorough, ball-draining blow job I’d just received.

Lori took a seat beside me, as much to be out of my direct line of sight, I thought, as to be close to me. “I want to know what’s next, Dan,” she said, “And I also know it’s too soon to know what’s next. I come home and lay this giant issue on you and I know it’ll take time to work out.”

“Mmm hmm.”

She thought for a moment. “But is there... I mean, do you already have some idea about... about what I’ve said and... about, well, how you feel?”

“Give me a minute to think,” I replied. “And while I’m thinking, come here and straddle my legs. No, like — yeah, like that.” Kneeling on the couch over my lap, facing me, Lori was at the perfect height. I leaned my head forward and sucked one hard nipple into my mouth. I toyed with it, licked it, sucked it, generally enjoying the peaceful sensations that we must learn as babies, listening to Lori’s soft moans above me. Doctor Willy was getting a little fat and heavy, but not really waking up yet.

I let her breast slip away. “Ok, that’s the first half of my thinking, time for the second half,” I said, and Lori’s soft giggle quickly changed back into purring as I gave equal time to her other tit. And since my hands weren’t busy, I figured stroking her pussy through her tiny panties wasn’t a half bad idea.

By the time I was done with that side, Lori was panting. “Oh...oh... are you sure you don’t need to think for a few more minutes?” she asked. I laughed but declined, and got Lori to move into the position she’d occupied earlier, cuddled in one of my arms with her legs crossing my lap. I cupped the breast that wasn’t pressed against me.

“All right,” I said, “As you said, it’s early and I don’t have a lot of answers. I’ll tell you what I can tell you, but we will have to figure out a lot as we go.”

“I know.”

“First, I guess I should say I understand. Probably not emotionally, the way you’ve come to a clearer understanding of yourself. But at least mentally, I know — I think I know how you feel and what your needs are. So, let’s just say: I don’t know how much our relationship can change to accomodate your submissiveness, but I do know it can change, at least some, and still be healthy.”

I got a giant squeeze from Lori for that little speech. “There are some things from last night that I already know I’m comfortable with,” I continued. “And some I’m not sure about, and maybe one or two I’m definitely not happy about.”

“Can you tell me?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m sure we can do. I think it’s going to be easy to add an element of — what did you call it earlier? Guidance? Like when I knew you were going to get dressed again, and I told you to leave your shirt and skirt off — just told you, as if you didn’t have a say in the matter. Or when I told you to pull your panties aside so I could play with your pussy.”

Lori sat up a bit so she could look at me. “When did you tell me that?”

“Just now.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened like she was going to say something, but instead she just slipped one hand down to her crotch and drew the pink cotton barrier to one side. I reached down and began to stroke her already damp slit. Lori’s eyes closed and she started to purr again.

“Another thing I really enjoyed was taking pictures of you, so we’re going to be doing a lot more of that.”

“Oh, no, Danny, that’s so — I can’t —”

“I think one nice photo session every week,” I continued, riding right past her objections. “I’ll get a couple of decent lights and soft-boxes and we’ll spend, say, an hour every Saturday doing a good job of it: props, sets, outfits, beautiful sexy girl.” I slipped one finger into Lori’s cunt, not surprised to find it already flooded, and let my thumb wander to the hood of her clit. The old two finger treatment: one on the g-spot, one on the trigger. Not sophisticated, just effective. My thumb provided just the barest pressure as I worked my finger in and out of Lori’s slippery passage.

“Oh, god, Dan, that feels so good!”

“So by next Friday, I want this beautiful bush to be a thing of the past — except for one little strip right here.” I traced a line on her mons with a wet finger and then put my hand back into action. Lori gave a slight gasp when I told her she was going to shave her pussy, but her hips began to rock in time with the probing of my fingers. I spoke slowly, drawing out my words, to torment her with images as I stepped up my frigging of her hot, fragrant quim. “Just like a Playboy model. I’ll dress you in revealing clothes... and sexy lingerie. I’ll have you strip for me... ever so gradually revealing your breasts... and your ass... and your pussy. I’ll tell you exactly how to pose: squeezing your tits... or bent over double while I shoot your ass... or spreading your legs... or sucking on your own nipples. I’ll have you masturbate for the camera... spreading your lips apart... while you play with your clit. And with no curls to hide your bare pussy... you’ll be even more exposed, even more naked.”

Lori was starting to turn pink in all of the telltale spots. I let my thumb stop teasing and start rubbing. “Oh, oh, Dan, I’m close, I’m... aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!” I held tight through her orgasm, letting her ride down the curve and then back up a smaller one a few seconds later.

When her breathing returned to normal I slipped my hand off her snatch and held it up in front of Lori’s face. I watched her, not speaking, until she understood. She reached out and drew my hand to her face, then parted her lips and sucked my glistening middle finger into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around it in a lovely reminder of how she’d treated my cock, licking my finger clean of her juices. When she was finished, she took my hand and laid it on her bare breast, with her hand on top.

“What else, Dan?” she asked quietly. “Besides telling me what to do, and taking pictures of me?”

Decision time again: there was one more thing I was willing to commit to, one further act of domination I was prepared to repeat. But was it for Lori’s sake or for mine? Finally I gave a mental shrug — why not offer it? It wasn’t as if anything we tried had to be permanent. We would find the right path together, in time.

I wriggled out of our embrace, stood, and went to the den, returning with the photo album I had prepared earlier. I opened it to the single page before I handed it to Lori, who took it from me with a questioning look, and then looked down at the photograph: the first of the series I had shot after cumming on her face. A nice close-up of a beautiful woman who’d had a good hard fuck and a thorough face pasting. In the early pictures much of the spooge still lay in thick ropes across her lovely face, and in this one a healthy glob was perched on the tip of Lori’s tongue.

Lori studied it for a long time. Then she looked up at me and said, “You’re going to do that to me again?” There was tension in her voice but it was hard to read — I couldn’t tell if she was scared I’d say yes, or scared I’d say no.

“Yes, we’re going to do that again,” I answered, emphasizing the pronoun to highlight her complicity. “We’re going to practice and practice until you know just how to move your head and just how to handle my cock to make your face as messy and gooey and sexy as it can be. And I’ll put a picture of every one in this book.” Lori gave the faintest of nods, staring at the photo. “Look at the cover,” I said.

She closed the album. “Fuck-toy’s Facials, Volume 1,” it said.

Lori slowly raised her hands to her face, gently cradling it, as if she were reliving the experience of the night before, feeling the spurts of hot cum exploding against her cheeks. She stared and stared at the title.

“Are you going to call me... things like that? Like you did?” she asked in a small voice.

“That’s one of the things I’m pretty uncomfortable with,” I replied. “I don’t especially like vulgarity and I definitely don’t like... insulting you, I guess.” Lori dropped her hands and looked at me, about to speak, but I continued, “However, I’ll make one exception, because I could tell it meant a lot to you.”

She looked down at the title and back up, seeing confirmation in my eyes. “Thank you for that, Danny. Thank you so much.” She put the album aside and stood to kiss me, wrapping her arms around me. “Thank you for all you’ve already done, for the way you’ve accepted me, for all your understanding. Thank you for all the ways you’ve found to — to give me chances to be out of control and obedient and submissive. Oh I do love you so, my Dan-o, my sweetheart.” What a sight we must have been — one shirt and one slightly askew pair of panties between us — hugging and smooching and caressing each other in the middle of the dimly lit living room.

“Dan,” Lori asked, when one kiss came to an end, “Are you — do you think you might ever —”

I interrupted. “Lori, I’ve told you what I know we can do; anything else we’ll have to work out slowly.”

“I know, honey. Let me ask about one more thing and then I promise I’ll stop. And I’m already — you’ve made me so unbelievably happy already, nothing else really matters. But pretty please, just one thing?”

I sighed, but I realized there was no harm in hearing her out. “Shoot.”

Lori stepped in close, looking me right in the eye. I could feel her breath on my lips as she whispered her question. “Do you think you might ever give me a real spanking? Long, and hard, over your lap, as if I’d been a bad, bad girl? Just once?”

I was quiet for the space of several breaths, during which Lori’s gaze never wavered. I thought about how awful I had felt afterwards, after just three quick smacks; but also about Lori’s comment on how important that had been to her. And perhaps, just a little bit, about what a beautiful, tempting bottom my beloved has: firm and smooth and full and sassy.

“I... don’t know... yet,” I replied softly. Lori moved forward and kissed me deeply, her tongue sweeping the inside of my mouth, her lips pressing hard against mine. It lasted an age.

“I’ll just be patient then,” she said, pulling away. She caressed my face, smiling sweetly.

I got my breath back. “Wow. That was some kiss!”

She grinned at me. “Well, you’re some husband. Dan-o, ask me who I am.”

I knew, but I knew she needed to say it. “Who are you, my love?”

“I’m your wife, I’m your lover, I’m your best friend, I’m your ally and partner. And I’m your obedient fuck-toy,” she concluded proudly.

“And you’re happy?” I asked.

“More than ever,” Lori replied, “And finally at peace — not fighting my own nature.” She paused and added, “Know what else I am?”


“I’m a little too tender down below to take you inside me. Somebody was kinda rough with me last night.” She flashed me a coy grin. “But I’m definitely in the mood to say thank you again, if you’re up for that.”

I was — within just a few seconds — up for that.

Then Lori knelt at my feet to repeat her thanks. And didn’t miss a drop.

Author’s notes on Just Once

This tale took about three years to write, during which time I must have played the story in my head hundreds of times. Perhaps for that reason it stands as one of my favorites.

I left a fair amount unresolved between Lori and Dan. For example, will the steps they’ve agreed on be enough to give Lori that thrill she was longing for? Or is she going to need more experiences like Friday night’s? Will Dan lose some of his genuine nice guy status as he keeps pushing Lori into edgy places? Will the d/s relationship bleed into their non-sexual lives? Well, as they said, they’ll work things out no matter what.

Please write and let me know how you liked my story.

P.S. For the record, it isn’t clear who invented the miniskirt. André Courréges and John Bates are often named but usually with some disclaimer. Mary Quant probably did the most to popularize (and shorten!) that most delightful of garments.

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