A Craving for Control

Bethany was desperate. Why couldn't her husband see it?

Please read the Standard Disclaimer on the Alextasy Biography page

--=[OOO]=--

One night. That's all I asked for, just one good night. I was sure that was all it would take to get the bizarre urges out of my system.

One night, the Saturday before my thirtieth birthday. Little Charlie and Becky were staying with their Aunt Cece. We had the house to ourselves. My husband and I were both hoping to re-kindle the fires that had cooled after seven years of juggling a home, two jobs and two kids.

One night.

That was my birthday request. I had to know. Was I crazy, or could I really subject myself to such...depravity?

After reading that book--you know the one I'm talking about--I hadn't been able to stop fantasizing about Charlie doing those things to me. A deep yearning to let go, to give complete control to somebody else, filled both my dreams and every idle waking minute. My spirit burned with a lust to hand over the reins and accept whatever fate was dealt to me. I longed for a chance to explore harsh and jagged erotic landscapes.

Alone with my computer, I had delved deeper into a kinky world. I didn't understand why my excitement grew as I read about all the dreadful yet strangely enticing paraphernalia. Ropes. Chains. Leather. Handcuffs. How many pairs of panties had I soaked imagining myself handcuffed to my bed, powerless against my husband's wicked desires?

Then there were the titty clips, the butt plugs, the paddles and whips and crops. Ohgod, how my skin tingled at the prospect of a riding crop's sharp bite.

When I tried to think about it logically, nothing made sense. Only a few years ago I would have gone ballistic at the very idea of letting a man dominate me. That was ludicrous. I was a strong, liberated woman. A successful branch bank manager. Why did I get all weak and gooshy inside whenever I imagined being forced to submit to the sort of degradations I read about? Was this some sort of early-onset midlife crisis that happened when you turned thirty?

I found other books and stories online, and videos, too. Many of those were far more intense. That didn't scare me. I wanted more. I learned the names for all the different roles and activities--master, slave, submission, dominance, bondage, discipline, power-exchange, painsluts and cumsluts and analingus and humiliation... Oh, my fucking God, yes! Humiliation! I wanted that. All of it. The last six months my fingers had spent more time fiddling in my panties than during the whole of my randy teenage years.

When I timidly mentioned a few mild fantasies, Charlie had laughingly agreed to give it a whirl one night for my birthday. He tied me face-down to the bedposts, then he spanked me.

"Harder!" I begged him, twice, then bit my lip and accepted the tentative smacks.

Then, in his deep, sexy voice, my husband said somewhat forcefully, "Suck me, Bethany."

Okay, that was more like it--Charlie had always waited for me to offer first. He knelt next to my head and I sucked him, hoping he would grab my hair and fuck my throat. I should have known better. I would have even settled for my husband coming in my mouth or all over my face.

Instead, after a minute or so he pulled out, hoisted my hips up, and took me from behind. The scratch of his stiff pubes on my lightly glowing butt was more titillating, but not nearly enough. I wanted to shout 'No!' when he reached underneath and diddled my clit, making sure I came before he did.

Afterward, he untied me. He asked if I enjoyed myself. He didn't get it. That was the whole fucking point. I wasn't supposed to enjoy myself, dammit!

In the interest of marital harmony, I lied, telling him it was wonderful. Then I timidly mentioned he could have been a little rougher if he wanted. Charlie chuckled. Then he kissed me and turned out the bedside light. In minutes, I heard the steady rhythm of his breathing.

My one night was over.

I went to pee. Looking in the mirror, I admired the pastel color on my buns. They felt warm and excited. Sitting on the toilet, I fingered myself while pinching my titties and my butt. That orgasm was stronger than any I'd had in years. Maybe ever.

In the following weeks, I dropped lots of hints about doing it again. He mostly laughed them off, snorting when I replied "Yes, master" anytime he would tell me to do something that sounded the least bit like a command. I knelt on the floor by his recliner in skimpy outfits, my hand in his lap. He gave me funny looks as I fondled him, licking my lips lasciviously. He chuckled and shook his head, turning back to the TV.

Then I noticed that he was no longer amused. When I mentioned something about needing a spanking because I'd forgotten that he'd run out of beer, he gave me a disgruntled look.

"Will you please stop joking around like that, Bethany," he said. "Little Charlie might hear you."

The frustration kept climbing. In my free time at work, I pulled up stories and videos on my phone, filthy smut about women being used, abused, disgraced and embarrassed in thousands of ways. My thoughts turned dangerous, imagining myself in those women's places, my body subjected to unspeakable suffering at the hands of brutal, uncaring men. My panties were constantly wet.

Don't get me wrong. I loved my husband. He was an exceptionally good man. He was too good. I'd always been a good girl myself and never associated with any of the 'bad boys' at school. Now I was regretting my lack of experience. I didn't want to cheat on my husband. The urges kept growing stronger and stronger. Something was bound to break.

--=[OOO]=--

Road crews were doing work on my usual route home. The detour took me through one of the older areas of town that was just beginning a renaissance. A sign on a store caught my eye--'Eve's Apple'. An open street-side parking place appeared. I pulled into it without even thinking.

This was on the far side of town from my office. I prayed none of our clients recognized me as I walked by the store, peeking in. There wasn't a lot to see. I turned around and walked by the window again. At the last moment, quick as I could while no one was looking, I slipped through the door.

It smelled clean. Not like sex or anything gross. The shelves were neatly stocked with plastic and rubber penises in all shapes and sizes. Several racks on one side had skimpy clothes. The exposed naughty parts of the display manikins were hung with dildos or painted to look realistic.

A pretty, slender young woman at the counter smiled and nodded at me, then turned back to her magazine. Her auburn hair was long and straight with bangs that fell to just above her brows. With her pink blouse and plaid skirt, she looked entirely normal. Except for the metal studs in her nose, her ear, and her eyebrow. Not to mention the brightly colored tattoos snaking down each arm and up her thigh.

I'd heard tattoos were painful. What would my husband say?

I wandered through the store, marveling at all the paraphernalia. The videos were neatly categorized--'Erotic', 'Ass Play', 'Big Women', 'Racial'. I flipped through a few titles on the 'BDSM' shelves. My panties were drenched again.

The heavier gear was in a back corner. Leather outfits and cuffs. Stainless titty clips like the ones I'd read about. They made my nipples ache deliciously. Spreader bars and ball gags. I knew the names of everything and how they were used. With a quick mental calculation of our credit card balance I decided I could buy one of each. Then I imagined Charlie's eruption when he saw the bill.

Several riding crops were displayed about chest-high on the wall. I was about to examine them when the bell on the front door chimed. A balding, middle-aged man came in. I scurried back to the video section, perusing some of the more 'vanilla' titles.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the man talking to the cute girl at the counter. She was laughing. Probably buttering him up for a sale, I figured. An attractive young woman like her probably had no interest in older men, especially an old fart who looked even more dull and normal than my husband.

Engrossed in their flirting, they weren't paying attention to me. Gradually, I meandered back toward the interesting section. Although I'd noticed the many shoplifting cameras, the two other people in the store could hardly see me above all the shelves between us. A long one-way mirror was along the back wall. I hoped no one was in there. I would have been so embarrassed if someone saw me.

Then I got a little rush imagining someone was watching from behind the mirror and they knew who I was.

I picked up a riding crop. It was so light, yet it felt so sexy in my fingers. Woven black leather. So stiff, yet flexible. Like an ultra-long thin cock, I thought. I remembered what the Doms in the videos and stories had done with that little leather flap on the end. Pussy spanking. Titty whipping. Making a sub lick it before she was punished.

The plastic handle was interesting. Round, and about six inches long with a gentle curve, I could picture someone using it to fuck his sub, or stick it in her ass and make her crawl to him on all--

"I recommend that one up there."

I spun around, nearly jumping out of my skin. The middle-aged man was standing right behind me. I stared at him, horrified. He was pointing higher on the wall.

"The one you're holding has a plastic core," he said, nodding toward the crop in my hand. "It could break when he hits you. That could give you a nasty cut. The one up there is fiberglass. Or if you want good quality, Jessica could order you a fine willow or bamboo model. They're more expensive, but definitely worth it if you're a bad girl who needs regular maintenance."

His smile was disarming. He spoke as if he was suggesting which cut of steak to order at the supermarket.

"I, uh...I don't...I mean...this isn't...I haven't ever..." Fumbling with the crop, my nervous hands tried to hang it back on its hooks. Instead, I dropped it on the floor.

When I knelt to pick it up, the breath caught in my throat at the touch of the strong hand grabbing my wrist. Abruptly, I released the handle, jerking my head to the side. The balding man was squatted next to me with that same, serene smile. He picked up the crop, then relaxed his grip on my arm. With only the barest of touches at the soft inside of my wrist, he guided me to stand. We rose together. His eyes never left mine. I felt powerless. I couldn't tear my gaze away.

The man hung the crop back on its hook, then took the one down from higher on the wall. I flinched with the whistling sound it made cutting through the air as he whisked it side to side. I could feel my nipples tighten. Juices were seeping between my lower lips.

"Would you like a demonstration?" he asked.

"No!" I shouted. Regaining control, I said, "I shouldn't...I mean, a demonstration? That's not...no, I don't think that's a good idea."

The horrible truth was that my deviant brain was already imagining how that marvelous implement would feel snapping across my bottom.

He laughed softly. "I see. You already have a Dom who takes good care of your special needs."

"No, I don't have a...Dom," I said, then nearly kicked myself. How stupid can you be?

"Oh?" he said, raising a brow. "Have you enjoyed the pleasure of the crop?"

My eyes lowered, neither wanting to lie nor to appear as innocent as I was. I could feel my cheeks burning.

"What if I were to let you see what it can do?" he suggested. Before I could summon an answer, he shouted, "Jessica?" and beckoned to the girl at the counter.

"No, really," I stammered. "You...you don't need to...you know, show me. I was...I was just, you know, window shopping."

"Nonsense," the man said. "It's obvious you're interested. Please be honest with me and with yourself. I promise I won't ever lie to you. Will you give me the same respect?"

My mouth dropped to my chest. He didn't even know my name, but he had given me a promise no one had ever made, not even my husband. Everyone lies, I thought to myself. Or, maybe some people don't.

I realized we would probably never meet again. I had no reason to deny his request.

"I won't lie to you," I said, and with that simple oath my anxieties evaporated. I felt light and free.

A warm smile came on his face that filled my heart with a joy I hadn't felt since the early days of my marriage. I couldn't explain it. He was so disarming, yet he seemed so confident and sure of himself. I liked this man.

The girl came straight to us with a bouncy step. "What do you need, Ben?"

Ben... I hadn't even heard his name.

He told the young clerk, "This lovely woman would like to witness a demonstration of a riding crop. Would you assist me?"

The girl's eyes lit up, her smile ear-to-ear. "You know you don't need to ask! Come on." As she led us toward a back hall, she said to me, "Have you ever tasted the crop?"

"Tasted it?"

"You know, been whipped."

"Um, no," I answered, ashamed to admit my inexperience.

"It's the greatest!" Jessica said. "Especially with somebody who knows what he's doing, like Ben."

Ben and I followed her down a hall in the back then through a side door. Jessica hit the switch and bright fluorescent overheads lit a large room containing odd-shaped furniture made of wood and wrought-iron.

I didn't recognize everything but I'd seen most of the benches and frames online. A sturdy chain dangled to the floor from one of a dozen heavy-duty rings on the wall and ceiling. Colored pieces of rope and all manner of Velcro manacles and odd clothing were scattered haphazardly. In the corner was a small bed with only a fitted sheet. I didn't notice any stains. It was like somebody had started to convert an office into a torture chamber then changed their mind.

One side of the room had a full view of the shop through the back of the one-way mirror I'd seen earlier.

With a side glance toward Ben I asked Jessica, "Do you normally, you know...'demonstrate' your products for all your customers?"

"Oh, no!" she said, shaking her head and tittering like a small bird. "I wouldn't do this with anybody but Ben. He's the best."

I stared at the balding man, amazed. He still had that same pleasant look since I first saw him.

Ben wasn't the sort of person I would remember if I saw him on the street. He was neither tall, nor short. His stocky frame was firm, with a small but noticeable belly pushing at the colorful Hawaiian shirt. He didn't appear to be a body-builder but I noticed bulging muscles on the hairy arms protruding from his short sleeves. His round face made him look happy, with warm, serene brown eyes. He wore khakis and loafers. He was singularly unexceptional.

This guy's supposed to be the best?

All the men in the stories and videos were tall, dark, and handsome, lean and fit, with six-packs and cocks out to here. I couldn't help but wonder how big Ben was down there, and that made my mouth and my kitty water.

Jessica took a stance a few feet from the window, then leaned forward onto the sill. Her back was nearly horizontal. I guessed that she'd done this before. Reaching back with one hand she grabbed the hem of her short skirt and pulled it up to the small of her back. White satin panties with little pink hearts covered her young ass.

I would have killed for that ass. Heart-shaped with firm globes. Narrow, and yet decidedly feminine. After two children mine was fat and flabby. Charlie teased me about my big butt. He had also tossed out a couple of half-joking comments about getting a gym membership. I had stopped wearing two-piece suits for our summer trips to the beach.

Tucking the crop under his arm, Ben knelt behind her and pulled her panties to her knees. Her tight buns displayed a few faded, oddly shaped bruises. He slapped the insides of each thigh until she had spread her legs as far as the panties would allow. I'd read that hitting the skin on the inner thighs was particularly painful. Jessica didn't complain.

He swished the crop in the air a few times, making that whistling sound. I flinched with each one.

"A riding crop is a precision, multipurpose tool," Ben said, as though he was trying to sell me a new food processor. Bringing the tip up between the salesgirl's legs, he tapped the lips of her shaved pussy gently with the small flap. They were already flushed and swollen.

Jessica squirmed and rolled her hips, whimpering softly. I imagined how that leather tab would feel, kissing my clit. Juices trickled between my labia and I squeezed my legs together.

"If you're careful, it can be quite effective around the breasts," he said, "In the interest of time we won't go there today."

"Aww..." Jessica whined.

"I will owe you," Ben chuckled, and that seemed to appease her.

He told me, "What the crop does best is deliver pain." In a lightning-fast whistling stroke, he snapped it across Jessica's lovely ass, making me jump.

She screeched, "Fuck!" A narrow red line extended across both cheeks.

I gulped, suddenly feeling a little sick at the distress my curiosity was causing for sweet Jessica.

Ben tapped her pussy several times, and she hissed, "Yesss..."

He continued his sales pitch. "When used with the proper delicacy, a crop can give a light, teasing sting."

He flicked it twice, inciting small yelps from his young victim. Each one was accompanied by a softer whistle followed by a light whacking sound. Those stripes were pink, and not nearly as angry.

"Mmm... Nice," Jessica said.

His muscles flexed. In a single motion he jerked his arm back and swung the whip powerfully, making a breezy whistle then a sharp thwack! My ass clenched and I yelped in surprise as a shriek erupted from poor Jessica.

"Fuck!" she said, then sniffled.

Ben told me, "As you can see, uh--forgive me, what did you say your name was?"

"B-Bethany," I said. Sympathetic tears formed in my eyes at Jessica's pain. Staring at the beautiful red welts I was wishing--God how I wished--that it was me on the other end of that infernal whip.

"Bethany...yes, what a lovely name," Ben said, still wearing that same easy smile as he tapped the end of the crop on her pussy again. "Anyway, as I was saying, a crop can bring pleasure, or in the right place, excruciating pain. One more, Jessica?"

She twisted her head around warily. "Yes, sir. Please, sir."

"You're being an exceptionally good model, dear," he told her.

"Thank you--" Her words were cut off by a whistle, a whack, and a murderous scream. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" she wailed, hopping from one foot to the other while her shoulders shook with sobs. A vicious red streak appeared across the backs of both thighs.

My pussy and my ass convulsed and my stomach tightened, trying to conceive how much that must have hurt.

Ben handed the crop to me. My hands were shaking as I took it. I gazed at the long, black leather whip lying in my open palms. I hated it. I loved it. Oh, God, how I wanted it.

What would I do with it? I laughed to myself imagining what Charlie would say.

When I looked up, Jessica was standing again with Ben close at her side. He was whispering something in her ear, and she was nodding. His hand was thrust underneath the back of her skirt, and the sultry motions of her hips left little doubt what his fingers were doing.

It wasn't long, certainly not more than half a minute before she began muttering, "Ohgod! Ohgod!" through quick, ragged breaths. She gripped the fabric of his shirt as her head rolled back then she shuddered several times. A long, weak cry came up from her throat.

"Good girl," I heard him tell her, then he kissed her cheek.

Pulling her panties back up, she turned and smiled lovingly at him, her eyes still red and mascara streaks running down her face. The flush of her orgasm was still on her face and neck. She was radiant. She was beautiful.