**Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. I made it up. It concerns a married couple who both get sexual pleasure from the wife humiliating and sexually dominating her husband. If that doesn't appeal to you, read something else.**
It's a constant, nagging feeling, like an itch that won't go away. It's a deep, remorseless craving that never stops, not entirely. Every minute of every day, there's some part of my mind that's on her, no matter what I do. Sat in a boring business meeting, I'll see flashes of the shape of her breasts, the curve of her hips. Driving home, my cock will twitch expectantly as I remember the arch of her foot in her expensively slutty shoes, and the moan in her throat as she climaxed while I licked her. Like a dog tethered in the yard, I can only get so far away before I come right back, endlessly circling the stake that keeps me imprisoned.
I'm obsessed with my wife.
That first night, after her shower, she released me from the handcuffs. Not right away, of course. She made a show of inspecting her boots to ensure I'd polished them to her satisfaction. I had. She spread her panties over her fingers to check that I had erased every trace of her juices from the thin fabric. I had. She smiled as she acknowledged that I had followed her instructions to the letter, because she knew why. The bobbing cock at her feet was there to remind her, and me. As long as she got me horny enough, I'd do whatever she said. It was hers now, a fleshy lever she could use to get what she wanted, anytime she wanted. I'd known that for a while, but she'd just discovered it, and the thrill of this new toy was touching some dark place inside her that neither of us suspected was there.
After making me lick her to another orgasm, after making me beg until I was hoarse, she unlocked the handcuffs, and I pounced. I threw myself on top of her and fucked her harder than I'd ever fucked her. After all the teasing, I didn't expect to last long. But I was wrong. We never had sex like that before. She came again and again, and every time her pussy gripped my cock in ecstasy, she threw me off my rhythm. It went on for hours. It went on so long we had to pause for a water break. We fucked until she couldn't walk, couldn't speak, could only moan and cry out and spasm, again and again, pouring her hot juices all over both of us. When we were finally done, the bedroom window was opaque with condensation, the sheets were soaked in cum, and we lay there, side by side, naked and wordless, until we both fell asleep.
That one night changed our relationship. We went on as we had before; she wasn't Miss Amy forever. We did chores and went to work and had sex, without corsets and handcuffs and high heels, the old fashioned sex we had before. But the obsession in me was growing. I was like a teenager again, constantly horny, constantly hard. At thirty-one, I'd thought I was well past the inappropriate hard-on phase. Apparently not.
And this near-constant fever-pitch lust was obvious. I couldn't keep my hands off her, as though we were teenagers who'd just discovered sex. In the aisles of the grocery store, my hand would rest tenderly in the small of her back. Out for dinner, I would trace the shape of her thigh beneath the table. At home, I couldn't pass her in the kitchen without wrapping an arm around her waist and drawing her in for a passionate kiss.
And my lust fed hers. The more I desired her, the more desirable she felt, and it showed. After all, there's nothing as beautiful as a happy, well-fucked woman. She glowed. She changed. The self-esteem issues that almost ruined our sex life were banished.
I remember the first day she wore a skirt to work. Her office was very casual, and for the three years she worked there, I'd only seen her wear jeans. Until one day, she decided to go with a black pencil skirt that hugged her hips and cupped her ass and made her look incredibly sexy, especially in combination with the black patent high heels she bought to go with it. She giggled as my erection pressed against her thigh as we kissed goodbye in the morning. "Down, boy" she said through her teeth, patting my hard-on as she playfully bit my lip, then grabbed her keys and left. She didn't get far past the front door that evening before I had her skirt off and those heels in the air.
She wore skirts and heels to work most days after that.
We were watching TV in the spare room. It's a long story; I have US Netflix in the living room, and Canadian Netflix in the spare room. So sometimes we'll watch TV in there. We can curl up on the queen size guest bed and relax. She was still in her work clothes; a red sleeveless shirt and a tight grey skirt that ended just above the knee. I'd worked out earlier, so was in a T shirt and shorts that did little to hide my excitement. I'd been staring at the way her hip rose in a graceful arc under the skirt as she lay on her side for a while before she looked away from the TV, straight at me.
"God, you're horny, aren't you?" she said.
"Very," I replied.
"I can see it in your face," she smiled. Under the blanket, her fingers walked down my side to my crotch. "Among other places."
I felt her fingers wrap around my shaft.
"You really are hot for me, aren't you?" she asked.
"You have no idea," I replied. "It's bad. All I can think about is fucking you. I can't concentrate at work, I'm hard all the time – it's brutal."
Her hand slid slowly, slowly, upwards, and slowly, slowly, back down.
"And now you dress so sexy, even just to go to work. I want to fuck you all the time. It's not even fair."
Her hand moved again. Up, and down. Up, and down. I could see the blanket tenting as she rubbed me.
"Sometimes I think about the guys you work with. They must be drooling over you constantly. All these tight skirts and high heels – how do they get any work done?"
She laughed at that, throwing her head back, and I leaned in to kiss her neck.
"Well," she said, "that's very flattering. I like having you all revved up like this. I think about it sometimes, when I'm at work, when I can feel guys looking at my ass in those tight skirts you all seem to love so much. I think about how I have a man at home who wants me so bad he'll do anything."
I nuzzled at her neck, inhaling her perfume, and felt her hand tighten on my straining cock.
"You'll do anything, won't you?"
"Yes, I'll do anything."
"Anything?"
"Anything."
Her grip tightened further.
"Anything, what?"
"Anything, Miss Amy."
"There's a good slut. Now, get naked and go get the handcuffs."
"Yes Miss Amy."
She lit candles. She took off her shirt. She made me kneel at her feet, of course, and she stood in front of me, fists on her hips, her pale breasts spilling over a black push-up bra I'd never seen before, her legs spread as far as her tight skirt would allow. Her red curls cascaded down her bare shoulders, shining like woven copper in the candlelight.
"Ok, slut," she said, "tonight's your lucky night. I'm going to let you pleasure me. What do you say?"
"Thank you, Miss Amy" I barked in response, without hesitation.
"Such a well-trained slut," she sneered. "But first, we need to decide what shoes you're going to be grovelling at, don't we?"
"Yes, Miss Amy," I panted.
"Yes, Miss Amy," she replied. "Now, remember those heels you bought me when you took me shoe shopping? Those three pairs of slutty boots I let you pick out?"
"Yes, Miss Amy." I was practically drooling. About three weeks ago, I'd talked her into shoe shopping, and we'd spent an entire day with her trying on impractical footwear and me being her willing shoeboy, running to fetch her anything she asked for and kneeling in public to put the shoes on her feet. At the end of the day, she allowed me to pick my three favourites and buy them for her. We'd had great sex that night, but the shoes didn't appear that night, or any other since. Until now.
"Well, each of these three boxes has one of those pairs inside. I'm going to let you pick. Crawl up to the box you want and point with your nose."
I couldn't lose. Every pair was sexy as hell. No matter what I picked, she'd look magnificent. Awkwardly, the handcuffs biting into my wrists, I shuffled towards the bed and pointed at the middle box.
"Ah," she said with a smile, lifting the box's lid towards me so that I couldn't see what was inside, "I like these ones too. Ok, here's what we'll do. I'll put these on, since you're in no condition to do it yourself. But you need to take the rest of my clothes off with your teeth."
"Yes Miss Amy! Thank you Miss Amy!" I practically shouted. She smiled.
