How I've Spent the Last six Months Part Four

As I drove up to that sales conference, Darren sitting silently in my passenger seat, I’d never been more furious in my life.

My husband! The fucking rat! Screwing some WHORE, no less. Was he using a condom? I guess it didn’t matter. He and I hadn’t so much as kissed in weeks so I didn't need to worry about his skanky slut giving ME an infection through him. But I was determined that as soon as I returned I was going to kick that fucker out of my life for good.

Now the sales conference was a nightmare.

It was long and it was hot and the conference hall didn’t even have air conditioning. Darren was like a little kid, far too scared to talk to me about anything. Not that I could concentrate! While some stupid ‘sales guru’ they’d flown in from America was up on stage talking about ‘closing’ and fear of loss,’ I was imagining what my Hubby’s prostitute looked like.

Was she younger than me? Was she prettier than me? I mean, I’m a good looking woman and I couldn’t imagine anybody really pretty would become a prostitute. But maybe she was desperate. Maybe she was on drugs or something. Shit! Maybe my husband was having sex with a junkie every weekend!

My day got even worse when it came to my presentation. Fucking stupid little Darren had one thing to remember – one fucking thing – and he forgot to bring it. I didn’t have the CD with my sales presentation on. So I had to stand in front of a room of a hundred of my peers and rattle off some crappy presentation from memory, with no charts or figures or graphs to guide me. I must have looked like a total idiot. The tepid applause when I’d finished pretty much confirmed that my speech had failed to impress.

By the time the conference wound up for the evening, I went to the hotel bar and ordered a bottle of chardonnay and started working hard to finish it.

I’d done quite well – probably about three quarters of the way down – when Darren slunk up to me like a naughty puppy. Fucking expense account bullshit meant we had to have dinner together, so there I was, pissed off and half drunk and sitting in a cheap hotel’s restaurant struggling with overpriced and undercooked chicken.

Now I have two small problems when I’m angry. I get bossy and bitchy and I get extremely horny. The alcohol wasn’t exactly helping, either. So I ate my dinner and glowered at Darren and I started thinking really dodgy things.

You see, my opinion of Darren had somewhat changed that day. When I’d first met him, I’d thought he was a cocky, arrogant little prick and cut him down to size. But now, since I’d already terrified him into submission, he’d basically become as docile and pathetic as a puppy. Add to that the fact he’d fucked up my presentation and the little dick was so eager to please it was embarrassing me. He sat down opposite me, nursing a pint of lager and trying to use a knife and fork to eat his hamburger.

I finished off my bottle of wine and moved onto my second and started giving Darren an entirely new appraisal.

He was a kid. A little, nervous, uncertain kid. All that macho blustering bullshit he and Matt had tried when they first arrived was just textbook overcompensation. Darren knew that he was a pretty worthless junior sales exec and not very high on the totem pole. He was looking across the table at me with a mixture of awe and terror.

And I didn’t mind that one little bit. I mean, Darren was actually a good looking kid. He was still slim and fairly muscular. Give him a few years and a few more pints of lager and he’d be chubby and sloppy like most of the sales dickheads at my company, but at the moment he was nice looking. And the smooth chin (I hate stubble) and baby soft skin was attractive. Darren looked clean and neat and malleable and I suddenly started thinking that he might be able to make up for his earlier fuck-up with some other service.

I decided it when he started apologizing for the six millionth time about forgetting the presentation CD.

“If you really want to make it up to me,” I hissed, buoyed by alcohol and horniness, “go upstairs.”

I handed him the key to my room.

“W-what?”

“Go upstairs,” I swigged down half a mouthful of chardonnay. “And I want you naked by the time I get there.”

Now I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. I was drunk, of course. I was also horny and pissed off. My fucking husband was probably in Basingstoke right as we spoke, balls deep in some junkie prostitute. So what I was about to do wasn’t any worse, was it? I mean, at least I wasn’t wasting our money. And at least Darren was clean. I mean, he looked clean. Now I’d got the better of him, I had even started to suspect he was a virgin – or at least pretty inexperienced. And it’s not like I was going to fuck him.

“W-what?” Darren stammered.

“Upstairs,” I ordered. “Now.”

He scurried off like a good little boy.

Which gave me a few leisurely minutes to drain the last of my wine and pay the bill.

As I strode to the lift on my high heels, I was feeling pretty damn good. Warm and buzzying from the wine. My pussy was tingling. I couldn’t believe I was about to do this, but I also couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of doing something like this earlier.

As the lift headed upstairs, I checked out my reflection in the mirror. My hair was in a tight bun, but drunkenness had let a couple of wifts of hair fall down around my face. My suit and skirt were sharp and official looking, but my big boobs and round bottom filled them out nicely. I looked hot, actually.

And that’s what all this was about, I guess. I wanted to feel hot. I wanted to feel like a gorgeous, sexy, desirable woman. My limp little Hubby, wanking away to his internet porn or possibly fucking some diseased prositite, hadn’t made me feel like that for weeks.

I was swaying a bit as I made my way down the corridor, but stood up straight as I pushed open the door to my bedroom.

It was dark. Darren had switched off the overhead light and just kept the bedside ones on. His clothes were in a messy pile on the floor. Darren himself was under the covers in the bed, duvet pulled up to his chin. He looked so meek and helpless, I felt almost motherly.

Although I didn’t sound it.

“Get the fuck out of my bed!” I yelled. “That’s not for you!”

Like a SHOT he was out from under the covers.

And that’s when I saw him naked for the first time. And it wasn’t an unpleasant sight.

Darren was very slim, with pale skin and that slightly lanky build of men in their early twenties who haven’t quite grown out of being teenagers yet. He had a tight little white bottom and a hairless chest. There was some gay looking tribal tattoo on his arm. That, along with his hairless chest and earring and highlighted hair, made him look very gay indeed.

Hanging between Darren’s legs was a fairly nice looking dick. It wasn’t hard – I’d probably got him too scared for that. But it was nice. He looked clean. There’s nothing worse than a young man who’s all stinky and sweaty and greasy when you get him out of his clothes.

I felt delicious. Here I was, with a pretty naked boy in my hotel room. Oh, Hubby, I thought to myself. If only you could see me know. There you go, boasting about wanting other men to fuck me. You fantasy was a hair’s breadth from coming true and you were too blind to see it.

Except, of course, I wasn’t going to fuck Darren. At least, not tonight.

Now if Darren had been nervous before, he was terrified now. There he was, naked as a jay, and I was just staring at him. The poor boy shivered and cupped his privates in his hands.

“You!” I eventually demanded, wondering exactly what it was I was going to do with this pretty plaything now I’d actually got it. “Still want to make it up to me?”

“Y-yes.”

Swaying slightly (either horniness or the wine) I grasped the hem of my skirt and started to wiggle it up over my hips.

Once the pinstripe was bundled up over my waist, I hooked by thumbs into my tights and started to pull them down. I had to kick off my high heels to do it, which spoilt the fantasy a bit, but a moment later I was standing there bare-legged with my pretty little French knickers stretched over my big, round bottom.

“On all fours,” I ordered. And Darren, bless him, hopped down onto his knees and shuffled forward.

I half sat, half fell into the chair in the corner and shuffled my bottom to the edge of the seat. Skirt up around my waist, thighs spread wide, Darren was crawling towards a perfectly unhindered view of my pantie-clad crotch.

Now if I’d known I was going to have some twenty-two year old boy snuffling around my pussy, I’d probably have got her waxed or shaved. As it was, Darren just had to put up with a couple of thick, brown hairs peeking around the corners of my knickers. Not that he seemed to mind.

In fact, as he crawled closer, I could see his cock swelling up quite impressively. Like a long, pale torpedo, it swung back and forth between his legs. I licked my lips.

Darren was on his knees in front of me now, breathing in the musky scent of my cunt. My clit was throbbing, even without being touched. The feel of his hot breath on my thighs was delicious.

“You know what to do,” I ordered, even though I wasn’t entirely sure he did.

His lips started kissing my thighs. His nose was snuffling against my pussy through the soft cotton of my panties. I half closed my eyes and drunkenly surrendered to the sensations.

Darren was clearly inexperienced, but he made up for it in enthusiasm. After slathering my thighs with spit and kisses, he started tugging down my knickers and I lifted my bum off the chair to help him remove them. Then his nose, lips and tongue went right to the ‘hot spot’ and he was literally devouring my pussy.

To be honest, I prefer to be teased a bit first. I almost jumped off my chair when Darren rammed an inch of tongue down my cunt without so much as a by-your-leave. But his enthusiasm was sexy. And the wetness, too! I get pretty wet normally, but Darren was slathering and slobbering down there and it sounded deliciously wet.

To further support my inexperience theory, Darren seemed to be licking, sucking or kissing every single inch of my pussy except my clit. For the briefest of moments, I felt a little disappointed. But then I realized that I was in charge of this situation and, besides, Darren would thank me if I taught him this. So I grabbed his ears and manhandled his head until his tongue was hitting the right spot.

And then?

I just threw my head back, spread my legs wider and enjoyed it.

It was the enthusiasm and energy that was so delicious. It was been over a month since I’d last been eaten out and by that stage in our relationship, Hubby was more or less just going through the motions. Lick, lick, lick. Suck here. Kiss there. Concentrate on the clit for one, two, three minutes until POW! I came in his mouth like an obedient little cunt.

But Darren didn’t know what the fuck he was doing and it made it deliciously unpredictable. My arousal would build and build and then plateau as Darren’s tongue found some other, less satisfying avenue to explore. Then he’d return to the sweet spot and up, up, up my arousal would go.

I was SO wet down there, I must have been making a wet spot on the upholstery. I didn’t mind, though. That’s what hotels are for. Besides, all those secretions and saliva made it deliciously easy for Darren to slid two fingers into my pussy and start pumping.

It was unsatisfactory – I prefer the fingers to stay fucking still, to make me feel full and tickle my g-spot. But the sensation was different.

I gasped and groaned. I popped the buttons of my blouse, squeezing my big breasts. And then, after painful seconds teetering on the brink of it, I came.

My orgasm was shattering. I squeezed Darren’s head between my thighs and didn’t let him breath again until my whole body had stopped bucking and shaking. Then, panting for breath, I kicked him away and felt the cold air conditioning on my wet thighs.

It felt blissful. I had two or three après-orgasm shudders and then just tingled in pleasure. Warm and relaxed and sleepy I wanted nothing more right then than to crawl into bed and go blissfully to sleep.

How I've spent the last six months.... Part One

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Collared!

My husband bought me a collar for Valentine’s day.

I know, it’s not exactly a gold ring or a diamond necklace. But it’s something we’d been discussing for a long time now and actually it was the sweetest present. Not the collar itself – although that’s damn cute, to be honest. It’s a little pink doggy one with little silver bones on it.

No, it’s what the collar meant.

A few weeks ago, our marriage almost hit the rocks. It had been rocky for a long time. This is because Hubby is a complete pussy and I’m a total bitch. He’s a lovely guy. He’s kind and loving and considerate. But people walk all over him. On the other hand, I’m a bossy bitch. People demand results from me. I have to get my team at work to hustle their arses and I do that by being tough on them.

The problem is, this behaviour follows me back from the office and it’s how I act at home. And it’s miserable for both Hubby and me.

I was yelling at him for everything. Not having dinner ready for me. Paying too much for the weekly shop. Getting bills wrong. It was that especially which pissed me off. If he left me to sort out bills or paperwork, I would fly off the handle at him. I was responsible for all this shit all day! Why did I have to be responsible for it at home as well?

I wanted to come home from work and just not have to be responsible for anything. I wanted him to be in charge. I just wanted to be told what to do. I just wanted to surrender all those responsibilities.

Our marriage was in trouble, but one aspect that had always been good was our sex life. Hubby was always eager and horny and while he was a complete pushover at home, in bed he tended to be aggressive and dominant and that was the Hubby I loved.

I just loved him to heft me about with his muscular body and bend me into any way he wanted. About the only time I felt truly safe and comfortable in our marriage was when he had my face buried in the pillow and was fucking me hard and fast.

I wanted that feeling all the time.

A few weeks back, we had the most enormous argument. He’d spent the last year and a half being the loving, obedient husband and when I raised my voice one time too often, he blew up at me.

He yelled at me. He told me to stop being such a spoilt, stuck up little bitch. And when I tried to slap him, he grabbed my wrist and spun me around.

Now I swear, I ought to nail the bastard for wife beating, but Hubby put me over his knee, ripped my trousers down and gave me the kind of spanking I haven’t got since I was a little girl.

I swear. Slap! Slap! Slap! My arse was bright red by the time I finished.

And the weirdest thing? I totally melted.

From the moment he had me over his knee, I stopped struggling. I normally treated Hubby like shit. He was always so eager to please and did everything I asked (or demanded.)

To suddenly have him dominate me like that – to just throw me over his knee and spank seven shades of shit of out me – made me moist like you wouldn’t believe.

Now I’m not condoning what he did. I think guys who hit women are scum. But the fact is, hubby didn’t hit me. He just spanked me, like a naughty little girl.

I got so turned on by the fact that he was strong enough to subjugate me to his will. For the first time in the last five years, I actually felt powerless. And it felt wonderful.

I literally melted in his lap.

When Hubby was done spanking me, I slid off his lap onto the carpet and I swear, my arse was so hot you could have fried eggs on it. I had tears rolling down my face and the bastard had ruined my makeup. But I shut up.

For the first time in the last three years, I shut up.

I just sat there and sniffled. And Hubby was like a changed man. Instead of being so eager to please, like a little puppy, he looked tough and powerful.

I realised then and there that I wanted him to be in charge. I wanted him to dominate me, just like I dominated the girls in the office all day long.

I wanted to come home and switch off. Basically be his slave. God, that was such a turn on for me, the thought of being him submissive little slave.

And of course, Hubby wasn’t arguing with this suggestion. When I told him what I wanted (it was a couple of days later, when I’d worked up the courage) he was so turned on by it he yanked my skirt up and practically raped me on the carpet (and although I struggled, I loved it.)

But the problem was, I couldn’t do it. I found a real problem switching into submissive mode when I came home from the office each day.

When I went to work that morning, I’d be full of good intentions. But by the time I’d come home, I’d be tired and pissed off and just wanted dinner and a glass of wine. Or I’d find out he’d forgotten to do the car tax and get pissed off that there was more responsibility I was left in charge of.

It was better. I was submissive some of the time. But as soon as something went wrong, or I broke the mood, I was back in bitch mode.

It didn’t look like it was ever going to work, until Hubby, being the academic sort he is, told me about Pavlov’s dog.

Pavlov’s dog was trained to water at the mouth when a bell rang. It’s a conditioned response or something. And Hubby suggested we could do the same thing with me.

It was based around the collar.

He was going to buy me a collar. I’d take it to work with me in my handbag.

I could be my normal self at work – the super bitch. But before I opened the front door to step back home, I had to open my handbag, take out the collar and put it one.

And as long as I wore the collar, I was his slave.

It seemed like a really great idea, because before I couldn’t establish the different roles and kept turning into super-bitch when I was meant to be a slave. So with a collar, it was like a constant reminder that I was in slave mode.

It was a sexy idea and I was excited when I opened my Valentine’s Day present to find that cute little collar in there.

The question is, will it work?