Free Feast on Me by Terri George Page B

Chinese okay?”
    “ Sure.” I
smiled back. “I’m just going to take a quick shower.”
    “ Where shall
we eat? Kitchen table or laps in front of the TV?”
    “ Laps,” I
replied over my shoulder as I headed down the hall to our bedroom;
the unrelieved ache persisting between my thighs.
     
    He’d ordered too much food, as
usual. Once the leftovers were stashed in the fridge and the empty
wine bottle deposited in the recycling bin, David returned to the
couch and pressed the button to play the DVD. The remote tossed on
the floor, he stretched out his legs on the coffee table and
crossed his bare feet.
    He wrapped an arm around my
shoulder and pressed a soft kiss to my temple. “I love you,” he
whispered, pulling me in close.
    I snuggled into his side;
David’s affection soothing after his earlier harsh supremacy. “I
love you, too.”
     
    After rough play scenes, David
always felt the need to reinforce our relationship as husband and
wife, not just Dom and sub. That night he took his time; every
caress and lick a benediction. I writhed and moaned under the sweet
torment as he brought me to the brink again and again. Tears
tumbled down my cheeks as I begged him to let me come. Finally he
let me fall; his love a soft murmur as he shuddered in climax.
     
    ***
     
    Sex with previous boyfriends
had been fine, great even, but there was always something lacking;
for me anyway. Sure, some of them liked it a little rough, taking
me from behind, but then, who didn’t love it doggie style? But I
needed more. I wanted my hair pulled, my ass spanked. I wanted them
to call me a slut as they took me.
    Then I met David. And I knew he
was different.
    Yes, he was charming and
attentive. We made each other laugh. Yet there was more; a primal
undercurrent to our mutual attraction.
    The first time we had sex,
David grabbed my wrists and pinned my arms to the mattress high
above my head. I remember sighing as my body surrendered under his
strong hold.
    At
last .
    I recall how intense his gaze
was as he looked down at me, cock fully immersed.
    He moved inside me, and smiled.
“Oh, you and I are going to have such fun.”
    We still did all these years
later.
    David brought me to the deep
understanding of my desire to submit. That it was a natural,
fundamental trait within me and something to be reveled in. As was
his need to dominate and control.
    We didn’t broadcast this side
of our relationship, didn’t belong to any clubs. We felt no need to
partake in public scenes. Our sex life belonged to us: private and
to be cherished.
    There would always be those too
closed-minded to understand. My job was all about damage control; I
spun other people’s public humiliations. I knew how reputations
could be trashed by gossip and had no wish to be the target of
malicious tittle-tattle.
    This was my choice. I didn’t
need to think, only obey. My work days were filled with decisions.
There was a freedom in relinquishing control. My submission didn’t
make me weak, just as David’s domination didn’t make him a bully;
far from it. Outside of the bedroom, David was the kindest man I
knew.
    My submission didn’t extend
beyond the bedroom, or play scenes though. Outside of sex, David
and I were equals. We made decisions about everyday things
together. We were partners in our marriage, both opinions had equal
weight. Of course we argued, but he didn’t have the final say like
it was his automatic right. Sometimes he won, sometimes I did.
    If people knew, they’d probably
think David flogged and spanked and tied me up all the time, but
sex wasn’t always kink. During the week we were usually too tired
for a prolonged scene. We’d try to add an element of kink, but
weekday sex was pretty vanilla, albeit great vanilla.
    Of course, every couple had
their own thing. We weren’t into the extreme stuff. Some kinksters
would probably consider us pretty tame.
    David loved scenes like the
gallery, where we pretended we were strangers and fucked