Sarah's Way

Wanting to please her more, I began to lick around her hole, and the areas around that, and up and down between her cheeks.

"Oh!!!" she cried out. I'm definitely going to have you spend more time back there!"

With that, she stopped me and had me stand.

"Don't worry, Mark!" she said, turning to me."There's no way I would have you do that to me unless I was really, really clean. I just wanted to know what it felt like, and I loved it! But I'm not going to make you do something disgusting just because I can.

"I love you, Mark," she said taking my hands. "Trust me."

She dried me off like a little boy getting out of the shower.

"I started a grocery list and left it on the table. Take a look at it and try to think of what else we need. I want you to teach me how to make your Shrimp Scampi tonight. Michelle and I want to make it for Suzanne," she said. "Now get dressed. We're going to the store."

The rest of Sunday was just delightful. In fact, all of Sunday was delightful, even taking into account the pain in my balls from her foot job. In hindsight it seemed only to heighten my orgasm.

It's like we were dating again. We went grocery shopping together and I told her how to select the best shrimp for making scampi, judge the freshness of garlic, and why unsalted butter was best. When we first met it was clear I was the cook. I wanted to teach her, but she never seemed to take an interest until now.

We also laughed together, as we did listening to the comic after my Saturday caning.

Back at the house, she asked questions and marveled at my skill as we worked on a gourmet dinner together.

It wasn't me preparing a dinner for her, only to be disappointed later by her falling asleep, before we could make love. Something better was happening.

I had prepared this meal many times for her, with an impressive presentation that by then she knew well.

"Ok, we're ready to serve now?" she said.

"Except that I forgot to slice some lemon garnishes," I replied, taking the rest of the lemon we used to squeeze the juice for the scampi.

"I can take care of that," she said. "I remember how you set it all up. I'll get it on the table. You go and leave your clothes in the bedroom and come back to join me. I'll pour the wine, too."

I paused a second because it was a sudden change of direction of the afternoon and evening.

"Go!" she said. "I want you undressed for dinner!"

I recalled her words as she ran her bare foot up and down my thigh: "Think about being naked when I want you naked. . ."

I left for the bedroom and took my time undressing. I knew from experience how much time it took to get everything on the table.

I timed it perfectly, returning naked to see my place set and Sarah waiting for me.

Sarah didn't have anything sexual in mind for dinner. We ate together like a newly married couple, only I was naked and she was not. She made no reference to me being exposed, nor did I.

When we finished, she helped me clean up the dishes. We had an unspoken rule in the house, that if one fixes the meal, the other cleans up the kitchen. Since I usually cooked, she usually cleaned up.

I took the gesture as significant. I was trying to feel out this situation. I had, while spent from a moment of erotic passion, made a gesture that demonstrated my willingness to be "owned" by her. She was not trying to make me a household slave responsible for all the work.

In fact, except for the fact that she caned me unmercifully, crushed my balls beneath her foot and had me lick her asshole, she had never been so nice to me.

I couldn't help bursting out laughing at the thought.

"What??" Sarah asked, puzzled.

"Nothing," I said.

"Come on now, it wasn't nothing. What are you laughing at?"

"Just something I thought of."

She pressed and I resisted.

"Mark!" she said with a tone of warning in her voice.

I told the truth.

"It just crossed my mind that except for the fact that you caned me unmercifully crushed my balls beneath your foot and had me lick your asshole, you had never been so nice to me," I said. "That just struck me as funny."

Sarah chuckled a bit too and seemed unsure at how to respond to what was an obviously ridiculous contradiction.

"Well, I think we're both going to be happier with Sarah's way," she said, referring to herself in the third person.

We watched TV and snuggled as the night before after my caning. I remained nude. She got ready for bed, and sat on the coach with me, wearing her pajamas.

Later, I slipped into bed first. She threw the covers back when she came, took her spot next to me, then surveyed my body from head to toe.

"You really are a sexy guy," she said, rubbing her hand along my chest and belly. "I know I was pretty mean to you at times this weekend. But I was only thinking of what would make us both happier. And you seemed to agree."

She started to kiss my chest and quickly worked her way down.

I marveled at the brilliance of the woman who owned me. Every step of the way she was ahead of me, and knew how to play me. I might have called it manipulative back when resentment instead of dominance and submission marked our relationship.

She had acknowledged what she had done to me, but before that could become an issue in our conversation, started to kiss my body. The same thought goes through every man's mind when a woman starts to kiss him and works her way lower and lower. And every man wants it to end the same way and doesn't want to say or do anything that will stop it.

I had gone from a man who let his wife cane him to avoid talking about our relationship to a man who wanted desperately to talk about the new relationship -- only to be silenced by my desire to take in the pleasure she was offering.

Earlier, I didn't complain about her crushing my balls because I so desired the pleasure she was bringing by cock.

I said not a word, and she took me in her mouth, an unusual move for a dominatrix, if the stories I read were any indication.

The warmth and moisture of a woman's mouth are sublime for a man. I groaned, caressed her soft red hair, and forgot about any moment of pain that had happened in the past 48 hours.

Sarah brought be off, and in contrast to Saturday night, it was she who swallowed my come.

"After all I put you through, I thought you deserved that," Sarah said. "Don't forget that I love you, Mark. And don't forget that you belong to me."

With that, she pressed her head into her pillow with a slight smile on her face, ready to go to sleep.

Monday started a new work week, the daily grind for married couples of working age, and I wondered how doing things Sarah's way would fit in with the necessities of daily life. Already, I got the idea that I wasn't to be a 24-7 submissive made to crawl around and eat from a dog dish.

The early part of the week was pretty uneventful. As days went by, I found that I was to sleep nude from now on. I the morning, I was to go about my routine shaving and having coffee and a bite to eat in the nude. Then I dressed for work as usual and went off, from now on not forgetting to kiss her goodbye before she left for work.

In the evenings she was again more loving and affectionate than she had been before. She did not for the most part interfere with my usual evening pleasures -- taking time to read, surf the Internet a little, or watch a favored TV show. At some point she would have me undress for bed.

On Wednesday, she had me undress a little earlier, with the simple command "Go get ready for bed," which by then I knew what meant.

She had me sitting on the couch rubbing lotion on her feet, but made no move to expand that into the foot job I enjoyed on Sunday. She went off to get ready for bed herself, and soon told me to turn everything off and come to bed.

I found her on the bed with her pajama bottoms and panties off, her knees up and her legs spread wide.

"Something I never let you find out about me is that every once in a while 'she' needs to come out and get some air," she said about her vagina, marking the first time I had heard a woman refer to her own sex that way.

She was rubbing herself lightly.

"I was always too embarrassed to let you know before, let alone watch. But now things are different. But right now it's not air that she wants, but attention. I'm glad I own a man who can give her some."

My cock rose on seeing her on display, but not so much at the erotic sight of a beautiful woman spread wide open, but at the idea that my wife had opened up to me so much.

I licked her slowly, the way she always liked it. I so love the taste and smell of a woman, and like to savor it, and have found that by working her slowly I enjoy more of her flavor and essence than I would if I tried to bring her off with furious tongue action early.

Licking the edges of her inner labia, I worked around the circle of her opening before circling her clit, then poking it deliberately with the tip of my tongue. I considered it a privilege when her come flowed over my tongue.

She cried out, thrashed about, thanked me, then turned on her side.

I snuggled against her, spoon-fashion, with my erection pressing against her ass.

When she made no move to respond, I pressed harder, and pumped my hips back and forth to signal my arousal. Married men know the routine well.

"Mark!" Sarah said, pulling herself away.

I was still thinking in the old ways, in which resentment ruled our marriage. I was still getting used to the idea that nothing about Sarah's way was fair, or was supposed to be. I had agreed to it for other reasons.

Still, thinking about the old ways, I tried to negotiate, albeit timidly.

"So I'm not allowed to come, then?" I said.

Sarah shot up in bed and turned the lamp on.

"Mark! You belong to me now!" she said, emphatically. "Your body belongs to me.

"This belongs to me," she went on, grabbing my cock. These belong to me."

She grasped my testicles.

"Your orgasms belong to me. You will never be allowed to come," she said, frightening me. "You will be required to come. When I want an orgasm from you I will ask for it or produce it in the way that I see fit.

"Mark, don't worry. I know you need release, especially after some of the things I do to you. I'm not going to run some kind or orgasm denial game just to drive you crazy. I know what you need and you will get it. But sometimes I have a bigger picture or other plans in mind, but I do not feel obligated to tell you what I'm thinking.

"But, OK, if you must insist on coming tonight, if you cannot sleep without it, go get a washcloth."

I wasn't sure if that was an order, an option, or an admonishment, or all three. But I got up and came back with an old washcloth.

She stopped me at the edge of the bed.

"Just stand there and do it; you don't need to get into bed," she said.

I hesitated, knowing that she meant for me to masturbate. The desire that built from my licking her started to wane.

"Sarah, it's OK, I don't need to. . ."

She rolled he eyes as if exasperated at me.

"Your orgasm is required," she said sternly.

I stood there and started to stroke my member.

I felt ashamed doing this in front of my wife, who was unwilling to help me out the way I had just helped her. But I belonged to her now, we had decided. It was an uncomfortable moment for me, masturbating for her again. But it was not a painful moment, and the erotic intensity of our relationship had never been so intense since I submitted to her dominance.

I told myself that that's why I went along, but the way she was able to manipulate me told me she had a deeper understanding of why than I did myself.

It was taking me a while. To help hurry me along, Sarah pulled back the covers and pulled down her top to show me those magnificent breasts.

I finished into the washcloth.

"Good boy," Sarah said. "Now go put it with the dirty towels and come to bed."

At least she had not paddled or caned me during the week, I thought. But a weekend was coming up, and something told me there would be some new experiences in store for me as I learned more about Sarah's way.