Submissive Lust

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I dressed in front of him just like I had so often before, and definitely more so since he told me how much he had loved watching my performance. Starting naked, after having dropped a towel from my body, I’d slowly and sensually slide my best lace knickers up my toned, slightly bent legs- my bum bent towards him, the asset of mine I knew he loved best amongst others. Then my bra, holding in place an already pert set of breasts that he never complained of being too small, as much as I had grown up fearing that they were.I always dressed this way in front of him, and always in a way I’d never dress alone. Whilst wearing my knickers and bra, and occasionally some silky stockings that stopped shy of my thighs, I’d stand in front of the mirror and apply a ‘come kiss me’ shade of red lipstick to my lips, and the usual cosmetics to the eyes he’d often complimented. Then ever so occasionally, for no logical reason other than to obtain a reaction, I’d wiggle my bum for him. Just a little, and just enough for it to be noticed- without excessively enough for him to know for sure I’d done it purposely.Sometimes, when I was dressing in this way, he’d pull me back to the bed and fuck me- his cock pushing past my knickers, which would remain on me long after he had cum and which I would feel erotically soak up his seeping cum from me when we were in the presence of ignorant others.On other occasions, I’d catch him in the mirror stroking his cock as he studied me- with such an absence of embarrassment that it would actually make me blush. When nearing his end, he’d either beckon me over so that he could drain his balls in my greedy mouth, or he’d walk to me and stroke his cock inside the knickers that he’d ask me to open for him. Again, the black lace of them keeping me turned on through their stickiness when in the presence of ignorant others. The bedroom was his domain. He was the caveman and this was his cave. Few outside of our bedroom would possibly know how he dominated inside of it, save for a handful of ex lovers, and fewer still would ever realise how almanbahis much I loved it.Tonight we were going out for a nice dinner. I swear that the only thing he loved more than me was great food, and therefore there was no, at least so far, fucking me. There was no stroking. There was no cum. He just sat, silently, observing me- like a hunter studying it’s prey.When I finished by the mirror, I went to put on my dress and this was his cue to get clothed also- and it never ceased to amaze me how he still finished getting dressed at the same time as I had, some half an hour or so after I started.I walked towards the bedroom door before being forced to stop to turn around and face him, wondering why he was still standing there, and still so silent.’Ready’? I asked him, genuinely quizzing my husband of a few years.Yet he still stood there, staring. His silence creating an awkwardness that I couldn’t explain. Was there something wrong? Had I done something wrong? My mind raced through the events of the day in an attempt to answer my growing questions.Without warning, his lifelessness ceased and he strode towards me with obvious intent. Two or three deliberate strides and he was with me, too quickly for me to really process what was happening. His hands had already rose to my neck before he’d properly reached me, and with a grip that always managed to somehow be so strong and yet so caressing, he pushed me to the wall which was situated just behind me. His body pressed against mine, and he pinned me so very still- like a shelf he was ready to nail to the wall. Like a way he had often nailed me to the wall before. He took his left hand from my neck and I felt it move roughly down my body, between my legs, back up my thighs and grab at the front of my recently placed underwear. He grabbed them tightly in his hand, and I felt him pull them forcibly – feeling the fabric being forced into my arse from behind, and lifted away from my cunt at the front.His breathing was strange. Almost angry- breaths separated unnaturally apart, but each one almost perfectly timed. almanbahis yeni giriş They were audible and deep.This was new and not new. He often had whims of dominance that was both surprising and not surprising, different yet the same. Every time, every single time, I felt the same tinge of shame. Shame that I let him use me in this way, but mostly shame at just how wet I got when he did.He sometimes treated me in a way that would be impossible to describe to any of my friends or family, without them being fearful that I was being abused. That I was in some sort of unhealthy relationship with a man who didn’t respect me. But I wasn’t, and he did.After what seemed like an age of me being so suddenly accosted against the wall he moved his mouth to my ear and grunted, like the caveman he was: ‘Who said you could wear knickers tonight?!’ My eyes would have given away my arousal right there and then. It was sudden. Never before had I had to ask permission to wear knickers, never had I needed his permission to wear anything at all. But here he was, demanding who had given me permission  (with the clear implication being that only he could have), as if that had always been the way. That those had always been the rules. I immediately understood my role in our play.I mumbled, desperate to somehow hide my delight, somehow trying to suppress the surge of adrenaline coursing throughout my body. ‘No one’. Because no one had given me permission to wear sexy lace knickers. His voice took an even angrier tone at my admission, and he pressed his mouth right up against the lobe of my ear and quietly yelled at me, with even more aggression to his voice than before, ‘Take them off!’That was it. That’s all he said. And whilst he still had his hands against my neck, holding me against the wall at that perfect pressure that drove me wild with submissive lust, I had to take my knickers off.It was tricky, as I couldn’t bend. I had to try and lift my legs, brushing them against him as he still held his body so close to mine, and bring my feet up close to my almanbahis giriş waist so that I could hook them over my heels- freeing them from me one leg at a time. Then he kissed me. Deeply. It was his way of saying, without words, that he loved me. But he wasn’t going to say he loved me. Not tonight. Tonight, I knew, I was his- and he was going to use me like a fuck toy that he owned. He took his hands from my delicate throat and guided me, by my arse, down the stairs of our house.  His right hand hand found its way under my dress, lifting it as he did, and the palm of his hand was grabbing firmly at the cheek of his property. As we descended the stairs he was now, like the lover he was, walking side by side of me to the front door. I blushed as I opened it. I knew he wasn’t going to remove his hand, and despite the relatively quiet area that we lived, I also know that if anyone saw us they could see exactly what he was doing. They would see exactly how little I was wearing under a relatively short, black dress. There was no one there, and my blushes were saved. He managed to guide me to the car, open the door, and place me inside the passenger seat with still no one else spying on us. At least I thought no one had- who knew if a neighbour just happened to be looking out of the window? It was dark, and I wouldn’t have been able to see them if they were.A sluttier part of me, always so well hidden from the world, hoped that they had.Dinner was almost normal. He was his public self now. A few glasses of wine and a nice meal in a respectable establishment. He was his usual kind and courteous self- almost flirting with the male waiter, despite never a more heterosexual man having lived in existence.  But throughout the whole of  the dinner I couldn’t stop thinking forward to what it was I knew would be coming once we got back home, all of which meant that I could feel the wetness of my pussy dripping down my thighs as I stood up to walk out of the fancy French restaurant we had dined in. We drove home in silence that helped set a mightily erotic mood. If a friend had been in the car they would have called it awkward- the kind of atmosphere that some would suggest could be physically cut with a knife. It wasn’t awkward for me though. It was arousing. It was very, very erotic. 

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