I’m standing in our bedroom just staring at you. God, how I love you. And I seriously do wish I could tell you everything. But I’m also not sure how to have that conversation.
How does someone tell her husband that she performs submissive for other men who log into her website?
I justify it all the time. I tell myself that it’s not truly cheating because I’m not, in fact, having sex with anyone. But then again, if there’s nothing wrong with what I’m doing, then why can’t I just come clean and tell you? Why do I keep it a secret?
You would understand, wouldn’t you?
I like to think so.
But I can’t be sure. So instead, I do what I do every night. I watch you sleep. Then I get dressed and head out to the garden shed. The garden shed you built for me because I wanted to get off the grid. How ironic that it saved us from poverty by housing an online submissive site. It’s perfect because I can always come back inside before you wake up. And if someday I don’t make it back in time, I’m sure I can always tell you I was checking on something out here. And you would believe me.
Because why would I lie?
I sneak out of the house as quietly as I can. Even outside, I tiptoe down the path and across the grass to the shed. Inside, the aroma of fresh potting soil and the musty scent of earth fill the air. I take a deep breath and smile.
How I love that smell.
My outfit hangs on the hook behind the door. I have several that I designed myself. Most of them are designed to rip away easily, like a stripper’s clothing. But made to look like they won’t.
I set up the backdrop, hiding the tools and plants from the view of the camera, and turn everything on so it can boot up while I get dressed. I think today I will dress as the librarian. I always dress as the librarian when I’m feeling guilty.
It was our first attempt at role play. After 15 years of marriage, you asked me to pretend to be a librarian so we could spice things up. Sometimes I wonder if you would understand that I wear this as a tribute to you and our love. Or if you think it taints our love with the idea that other men are watching me take it off at their command. I wish I could just ask you. But how do I ask you without confessing everything.
And this has already been going on so long. There’s no way I can just confess everything easily.
Everything is set up. I got dressed, and everything for the live site is up and running. During the day, clients can just log into their customer accounts and replay old videos of our sessions.
“Sandra,” Bob says into his webcam.
“Bob,” I smile and sit in front of the camera. “How are you tonight?”
“Nevermind about my day,” he says. Like always, he’s in a hurry to get going. That’s never a problem. A fast night usually means fast payments.
I brush my fingers through my hair and twirl the brown ends. “Yes, Sir. What should I mind?”
I might as well jump in, then, if he wants to jump in so badly. No sense in making him wait when he clearly wants to get going.
“Your nipples. How do they feel right now?”
“They’re hard. They ache.”
His breathing gets louder as he closes his eyes. He has the Webcam aimed at his face so I can’t see what his hands are doing. But the jerking movement his shoulder makes doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
“They ache because they want me to touch them….”
I let out a groan of approval as he talks.
“They want me to suck on them. But I’m not going to.”
“No. Those nipples have to earn their relief. Now put on the blindfold.”
I take off my fake glasses and tie the blindfold over my eyes. Still facing the camera. My blindfold doesn’t blind me, completely. It’s sheer enough to let me see the lights from the camera and computer. But no one can tell. Not that I want to spy on them or cheat. But I have to make sure I keep facing the camera or else what good is the website.
“Is it on?” he asks.
“Yes, sir,” I turn on my most submissive voice.
“Good,” he whispers. “That’s good. Now, I want you to lean back in the chair. Way back so I can see up that skirt.”
I lean back and prop my foot up on the desk, carefully positioning my legs to shade my nether regions.
“Open your legs wider,” he commands.
I obey, slowly.
“Black. Nice.” I make sure my legs are separated just enough to give a glimpse of the black lace thong currently adorning my bottom.
When I first started, I hated the color black. It seemed cliche. I preferred wearing reds or blues: colors that complimented and my frame but helped me stand out. Then I noticed how well black glistened once I started getting wet.
The clients love that.
Bob is no exception. His breathing is starting to turn into a hissing. He’s trying to remain composed. To keep with the persona he wants me to believe. But barely two minutes into his session and I can see his eyes trying to roll back into his head.
“Are you wet?” he asks. “How wet are you?”
“I’m wet,” I tease.
“Let me see. pull your panties over.”
I obey again.
It’s easy for me to get wet in front of clients like Bob. All I have to do is imagine your tongue licking across my pussy. My hot core lights up every time I think of your thick cock pressing into me. Of your mouth flicking and playing with my nipples.
My clients don’t need to know any of this. So I continue acting for Bob. Pulling aside my panties and making sure my juices shine for the camera.
I carefully dip my fingers down and let them slide just over my clit. I take a deep breath and let out a long, slow sigh. Turning it into a slight whimper at the end.
His breathing faltered.
I slide my fingers over my clit again. Then I reach further down and let my fingers dance around my opening.
“Uh-uh,” he says. “Not today.”
I stop and pull my fingers back.
“Take your top off and sit back,” he says. “Keep your legs open so I can see.”
I followed his instruction without question.
My nipples are already hard and aching from dreaming about your mouth suckling them.
“Oh God, you’re already hot for me,” Bob says. He obviously thinks my body is reacting to his weak commands. “Play with your nipples.”
I cup each of my breasts and start playing with my nipples. Flicking. Squeezing. Rolling them between my slender fingers. I make sure I moan loud enough for him to hear. My hips rock in place. Images of you, caressing and fondling me, fuel my desires and I drip with passion.
Bob is getting turned on, too. His heavy breathing is making it hard for him to give me any more commands.
“Roll over,” he says. “Get on your hands and knees.”
“Yes, Sir,” I reply in my softest voice, and I do as he says.
“No that’s no good. Take off your skirt and panties.”
I rip off the skirt and slip out of my panties. Once I return to my position on all fours, he moans louder at the picture of my perfect, round ass.
“Your ass is missing something,” he says.
I nod and moan, pretending to be on board with anything he says.
“Rub it. Rub your fingers over your tight little ass just like you would your pussy.”
I do as he says. My middle finger dips down to the juices dripping from my opening and smears them back over my ass. I rub and swirl my juices around my bottom opening and moan.
This is where I decide to do Bob in. Time to protest a little, to make sure he feels like he’s in charge.
“Please,” I feign. “Please let me slip something into my pussy.”
“No,” he says. “No. But you can fuck your ass with that finger. In and out. Two fingers.”
I’m glad I was in a position to hide my disgust at Bob’s vulgarity. Still, I groan as if he is forcing me and I slip those two fingers into my ass.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “Yea, that’s it. Keep going like that. In and out.” He mumbles an erotic narration of my movements.
I continue to sway my hips. Occasionally begging him to let me relieve the pressure building up in my pussy. Telling him on command how much I wish his cock were inside me instead of my fingers.
His groaning took control. The slurping sounds his hand made grow louder and more intense. As he starts to scream, I lean my bottom in closer to the camera and throw my head back.
“Please let me cum,” I beg.
“What the fuck is this?” Bob says.
Before I get a chance to take off the blindfold and try to see what he’s talking about, your hand is wrapped around my wrist and pulling it away from my ass. You grab my hair and pull my head back further as you lean in to whisper: “Shh.”
I swallow my breath, wondering what you’re going to say next.
“This is how you’re making the money?” you ask. “This is how you saved the house? By letting men tell you how to put on a show for them?”
I’m silent. I keep expecting the lights to turn on and the cameras to turn off around me. Or for you to scream. To break the computer.
Instead, you play gently with my opening. Letting my juices cover your fingers as your hot breath caresses my ear. My hips start to rock, and you stop them.
“Uh-uh. You heard the man.”
“Oh God,” I whisper.
My clit throbs. Begging for some attention. But you’re careful to avoid it. Keeping your fingers swirling and dancing around other areas. Lighting my nerves on fire.
“Beg for it,” you whisper. “Beg me to let you cum like you were just begging him.”
“Please,” I whisper. I even giggle a little; the words sound absurd being performed in your voice. I don’t take you seriously at first.
You grab my hair tighter and pull until I almost scream.
“Please!” I say louder as I realize just how serious you are. “Please let me cum.”
The end of your cock rubs the flesh of my ass. You guide it up and down, giving it a peek into the folds of my pussy without allowing it to penetrate any further. My skin is on fire, and my clit aches.
My breathing is turning into a blend of gasps and moans. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out. I’m starting to regret this blasted blindfold. I want to see your broad shoulders. To look into your hazelnut eyes. Instead, my imagination has to suffice.
“Again,” you demand.
“Please!” I cry out again.
This time, you press the tip of your thick cock into my prepared ass. I groan as you push yourself into me. You pull me back into you by my hair until your hips are flush against my firm cheeks.
“Again!” Your demands are louder and sharper than before.
“Please,” I beg. “Please let me cum.”
White spots flashed before my eyes as you pull out and slam your cock back into me. My arms buckle under the force, giving way as I fall forward.
You pull my hair back again until my head is as far back as my neck will allow. Your shaft pulsated inside me. Throbbing in my backside. “Again.”
“Please,” I whimper.
Three more thrusts. Still my pussy is swollen and neglected. Aching for relief. “Please,” I whisper again.
You withdraw from inside me and let go of my hair. “I didn’t tell you to beg again,” you say.
You leave me crumpled on the bed. My hips rocking and my core waiting for whatever you have planned next.
Then you pull my wrists back behind me, and you tie them together with something. Soft. Fabric. Your touch is tender, but your grip is firm.
I tug on my wrists. They’re bound tightly. Tighter than I can break away easily.
Next thing I know, you’re gone. I can’t smell your cologne anymore. Your hands are no longer gripping me. Even your breathing has disappeared.
“John?” I ask. Still propped up on my knees. Blindfolded and with my hands tied behind my back.
“Shut up,” you whisper.
I obey right away. Then your hands grip my hair. One fist on either side of my face. You didn’t say another word, just pulled my face onto your cock. My lips stretched across your cock, hurting the corners of my mouth a bit.
You don’t care. You just keep pulling my mouth onto your cock. Shoving your shaft deeper into my mouth until it hits the back of my throat and nearly triggers my gag reflex. Over and over again until you scream and your cum runs down my throat. Finally, you’re still. Breathing hard and brushing my hair away from my face. I can’t tell your expression through the blindfold, but I imagine there’s a smile on your face.
Still I haven’t cum. My pussy throbs and I can barely contain my breath. Tears are preparing to stream down my face.
“You still want to cum?” you ask.
“Yes,” I whimper.
Your warm hand grabs my pussy by surprise. Plunging a finger deep into me while your palm cups over my clit. The motion nearly knocks me over with relief as my pussy tightens and clamps down on your finger.
You pull up, coating your fingers in my juices and smearing them across my clit.
You fist my hair behind my head and lean in next to my ear. Your hot breath is brushing against my ear as you whisper. “Then cum.”
And I did.
I scream as my pussy floods. My body rocks against your hand and every nerve quakes. Your hand grinds against me, refusing to let up as the swollen folds of my pussy quiver under the power of my orgasm.
This is the longest orgasm I’ve ever had in my life, and I can’t hold myself up. As I crumble, you catch me, still grinding against me with your fingers. Those blessed. Unrelenting fingers.
Finally, my body stops shaking, and I am lying in your arms as you stroke my backside.
We sit in silence for a few minutes.
“Holy fuck,” Bob says. “You aren’t going to make me pay extra for that, are you?”
You laugh and reach over to turn off the camera.