The Sorority Sister That Enslaved Her Husband:
a BDSM Fantasy

 

EXTRACT

 

J.S. Lee

Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.

 

This is a work of fiction. All characters are 18 or older, and you should be too.

 

The goosebumps had never left since he had kissed his wife good-bye that morning and the quizzical look on her face had spoken volumes although she had only kissed him back. Now, on his knees and waiting in the prone position, he had no idea what to expect, only that her anger was a terrible thing to see.

 

When the door opened, he dared not look in her direction, even though the steady click of her heels coming toward him made his heart lurch with every step. In this room, he was a slave, nameless, powerless, but not without a heart. He remembered that every time she touched him.

 

"Slave," her voice caressed and teased him, like a tongue floating along all the tender places on his skin, something he could picture her doing easily when he was far from her sight. In moments like this, he knew she was far more likely to spit on him than embrace him. "Why do you try to fight it so hard, slave?"

 

It was a rhetorical question, it was unnecessary to answer and one that only she knew anyway. "Why do you make it so difficult?" she stood by his side now, and a long red fingernail on his chin forced his face up to stare at her. As always, the sight of her took his breath away, her long, black flowing locks running down her back, swinging with every movement of her hips, her pale face with the dark eyes and the full, red lips that he had always longed to kiss. His eyes traveled down her body, her perfect breasts molded under the heavy, leather corset, her slender hips wrapped in more tight leather, the long legs almost entirely concealed by her thigh-high boots, she was a goddess. A wet dream that could easily melt into a nightmare, as he had recently discovered.

 

"Time for your punishment, slave," she murmured after letting his face go. "Up on your feet," she commanded and he found that his legs trembled so badly that once he was up, he feared that he would fall. Once his wrists and ankles were locked into her shackles, he could strain and pull and wince all he liked, there was no escape until she was done with him.

 

"Let me put this away for you," her voice was a husky whisper and when she grabbed his half-hard cock he found himself moaning from her touch, if even for a moment, his affection dripping on her soft palm, he wanted to thrust, but knew before his hips moved that the punishment would outweigh the seconds of pleasure.

 

She smirked as she grasped him, wrapping a leather strap quickly around the base of his dick which made him fully hard and flail in the device. With more quick movements, her skilled hands had his balls separated and tied, his erection was bound and she held the other end of the strap securely in her hand so that she controlled his penis. The first jerk on his tether was sweet and painful at the same time, as was everything she did. He sighed and bit his lip as the leather bit into his tender skin.

 

She stepped behind him and the feel of her pulling on his cock and balls, pulling his hard-on back between his legs was excruciating and wonderful and his thighs flexed and his hands grabbed for the chain above his cuff, as if to give himself strength for what would follow.

 

"This is long overdue, slave," she told him, close to his ear, her breath touching him like fingers wondering down his bare back. "You've been spoiled, haven't you?"

 

"Yes, Mistress," he panted, knowing that she must be right, she always was.

 

"Thinking that you could get away with that, pathetic!" her voice was ice and steel and his heart galloped in his chest, harder with every word. "Who do you belong to, slave?"

 

She yanked hard on his bulging erection so that it was more pain than pleasure this time and he cried out as he quickly answered, "You, Mistress."

 

"You need to remember that, don't you?" she barked at him, and he could hear the unmistakable sound of the paddle drawing back, the weight of it drawn up in the air, knowing it would come down with a crash on his bottom in a moment.

 

When she struck, he saw colors and could hardly breathe, somehow he managed to answer, "Yes, Mistress," while he whimpered. She struck again, it was harder this time and the electric current was a fire running down from his cheek and the back of his thigh. The pain came again and again, he could picture the long, purple welts rising on his bottom that would shout at him every time he looked in the mirror and tried to sit down. She would leave him raw and aching this time.