Amelia's Story

It was several years into their marriage when Amelia discovered her husband's fetish for vinyl and leather. They'd watch movies together, and every so often Michael would look at some villainess and say, "she's hot." It was a while before Amelia began to notice that all of these women were wearing latex, leather, or pvc. On a hunch, she went through his computer one day while he was out. She knew he looked at porn, and it never bothered her, but she'd always supposed he was looking at garden variety sex scenes. Now, after him having mentioned how hot the leather clad villainess in last night's action movie was, almost thirty times, she figured he might have a little fetish.

Boy, did that turn out to be an understatement. His search history was a blizzard of latex and leather images, searches for dominatrix videos, femdom gifs, anything with women in tight, shiny clothing. Often the women were simply posing seductively on their own, other times they had men bound to beds or kneeling at their feet. There were thousands of them. This was more than a little fetish; this was an obsession. For a moment, she thought about asking him about it, but she quickly changed her mind. She pulled up her Ebay account and started searching for just the right outfit. When it arrived, he'd get the surprise of his life, and Amelia would receive a very grateful fucking.

For the next week, she could barely keep the wry smile from her face whenever she looked at him. He asked why she was looking at him funny, and she just smiled and said, "because I love you." He had no idea what he was in for. Whenever she had time alone at the house, she logged online to "research" for the big day. She watched femdom video after femdom video. At first, she was a little unnerved; after all, could Michael really want her to be cruel to him? But over the course of the next week, as she began to see the appeal. Michael wanted to surrender, and she was beginning to see the empowering side of taking control.

She got home early on the day the final piece of the outfit arrived and could barely wait to try it on. She'd never had a thing for leather herself, but the anticipation of surprising her husband with his fantasy and her own growing interest in taking over in the bedroom were really starting to turn her on. She slid into the slick, tight, black pleather pencil skirt and stood in front of the mirror for a moment admiring how it hugged her hips and round ass. She put on her black lace bra -his favorite- and over that put on her tightest, fitted, blood-red blouse. Next came the buckled pleather underbust corset, which was a pain to get on, but looked amazing, hugging her slim waist and framing her breasts. She had a pair of trashy black high heels from her bachelorette days, and she fished them out of the closet and strapped them on, then went back to the master bathroom to survey the final product in the mirror. She looked fantastic; easily the match for Michael's internet dominatrixes.

She ran her hands down the sides of the corset and over her hips and ass. She was beginning to see why he was so turned on by this. The feel of the tight pleather was one thing, but the view of herself in the mirror as one of her husband's dominant fantasies was beginning to have strange effect on her: she felt in control, dominant. It wasn't quite perfect, however. On a sudden whim, she pulled her long brown hair back into a tight, low ponytail, then took out her contacts, placing them in their overnight containers, and put on her glasses, the "sassy secretary" pair she'd selected when her optometrist was having a buy-one, get-one sale. That was it; the missing element. She shifted her stance and her hand went to her hip as she felt herself drifting into "character." She felt as though she were watching herself transform before her very eyes. This was going to be even more of a surprise for Michael than she had originally planned.

By the time Michael got home, she'd been admiring her new look for almost ten minutes, and her eyes narrowed as she heard the front door close. She turned and headed out to the foyer where Michael was just hanging up his jacket. Though it had been years since she had worn them, she stalked confidently down the hallway in her trashy black heels. Michael lifted his head to the unfamiliar clacking noise on the hardwood floors and found himself staring dumfounded at his fantasy come to life. Where he expected to see his loving wife, perhaps in jeans and a t-shirt, smiling and welcoming him home, instead he saw a stern-faced mistress sheathed in skin-tight pleather. He just stared, his mouth opening slowly to simply hang there agape.

Somewhere inside of herself, Amelia smiled; this was the shocked reaction she had so hoped for. On the surface, however, that smile did not register. She was fully in character now, and she looked down at her paralyzed husband with open disdain.

"Get up here," she commanded, then turned and stalked off down the hall toward the bedroom. Michael hurried after her, not saying a word. By the time he had fumbled off both of his shoes and stumbled into the bedroom, he found Amelia standing by the bed, looking irritated. His eyes immediately went to her breasts, her cleavage showing from the opened buttons of her tight red blouse framed perfectly by the corset. His glance drifted down her slim, corseted waste, past her curvy hips sheathed in the clinging pleather skirt, and down to the tall, black, stiletto heels. Slowly, he lifted his head and looked into her eyes, his look one of utter confusion. He was still dumbfounded, but whether that was from her transformation or his inability to realize that his fantasy was materializing in front of him, Amelia couldn't tell.

Nor, she suddenly realized, did she particularly care. She was becoming cognizant of the fact that, while this had started as a sexy surprise for Michael, it had already grown beyond that. Flush with anticipation from her "research" and the sense of power and control that her adopted persona was instilling in her, Amelia found that a part of her, this new part of her, didn't care what Michael felt or wanted at all. This wasn't about him anymore; it was about her. It was all about her.

"Don't move," she snapped, "don't talk, and definitely don't touch unless I give you permission. Do you understand?" This last she said with her head tilted down, her blue eyes staring at him over the rims of her secretary glasses, the way one does to a disobedient child. It took a moment for Michael to register exactly what was going on, but he nodded eagerly, saying nothing.

She walked to him slowly, deliberately emphasizing the sway of her hips, and stood inches from him, her eyes locked on his, her breasts just barely touching his chest. Never dropping her gaze, she reached down and felt the bulging front of his slacks, his hardon already straining. A surprisingly feminine gasp escaped Michael's lips and his hips began eagerly rocking his trapped cock against her hand. Amelia smiled, and she could see Michael flinch at the touch of real wickedness that the new persona had inserted into that smile. He was helpless in the grip of her hand, in the grip of his own fantasy, and that smile foretold exactly how much that helplessness would cost him. Slowly, she knelt, unbuckled his belt, opened his pants, and freed his hard cock, yanking his slacks and boxers roughly down around his ankles.

His cock was fully erect and standing just inches from her face. She exhaled on it, and watched with satisfaction as he shuddered.

"Oh god," he gasped breathlessly.

"I thought," she purred, "that I told you not to speak." With that, her hand flashed from her side and slapped his cock with all the strength she could muster. Michael let out a sharp cry and stumbled to the side, staggered by the force of the blow and his shock at the viciousness of the slap. Part of Amelia was surprised too; she had done that without even thinking, and she had hit him hard. For a moment she felt her old self rising to take control, felt that she had gone too far. An apology began to well up to her lips, but when she glanced at her husbands eager, defeated face, silently begging to be forgiven for his offense, that voice quietly subsided. Her new persona reasserted itself.

Michael's eyes registered the change. Her moment of doubt caused his furrowed brow to loosen, his expression to become calmer. As her new dominant side returned, as she narrowed her gaze at him, she watched as an unmistakable look of fear and anticipation twisted her husband's face.

"Good," she thought, "you should be afraid."

"Look at me," she commanded, gripping his cock in a tightening fist. He complied, his hips adjusting to her slight yanks on his shaft. "When I give orders, you obey. If you disobey, you get punished. Nod if you understand." Michael nodded, still looking down at her with that look of tortured anxiety. "Good," she purred, releasing her grip and holding his cock gingerly in her fingertips.

She leaned her face down to within an inch of it, then stuck out her tongue and slowly ran it from the base of his shaft to the head. Michael shuddered in pleasure and bit back a moan, which instead came out as frantic breathing through his nose. Using a tiny lapping motion, she licked from just under the bulb of the head of his cock to just above, then continued around the sides, making little kitten licks upward from where the shaft meets the head. Michael had clenched his eyes closed and the breaths through his nose were halting and broken like sobs. From somewhere in his throat, behind his clenched teeth, a whining vocalization escaped, and Amelia stopped. Michael froze, his eyes opening cautiously to stare down at the dominatrix that had somehow replaced his wife. She could read the frantic questions on his face: Had that involuntary noise been too much? Would she slap him again? Would she continue teasing his cock with her little licks? What did he have to do to regain her favor?

He was right where she wanted him.

Looking up at him over the rims of her glasses, Amelia kept perfect eye contact as she opened her mouth, and slowly, oh so slowly, closed her lips over the head of his cock. The tension in his body subsided by half and the whine from deep in his throat became a relieved sigh of release as she began hungrily sucking him. His arms pushed back into the wall behind him, and his hips began thrusting, fucking her mouth in rhythm with the bobbing of her head. She was luxuriating in it. Amelia had always loved sucking cock, mostly for the power she felt at having that much control over a man, but this had gone beyond power; this had gone beyond control. Dressed like this, commanding him, teasing his cock with her lips and tongue, Amelia didn't have control of her husband; she had taken ownership of him.

The nostril breathing and whining from his throat was becoming more intense, and Amelia new he was close to coming, so she pulled her mouth from his cock. Michael's closed-mouth whine became pleading, and his hips continued pushing his cock toward her mouth. Gently, carefully, he pushed the tip against her lips. Amelia looked up at him over the rims of her glasses, and cocked an eyebrow just slightly. Michael cringed as her hand flashed again from her side, slapping his throbbing cock as hard as she could manage. He kept his footing this time, just barely, and managed to stifle his cry.

Amelia slowly raised herself to standing, her tall black heels giving her the extra height she needed to stare him levelly in the eye. She inched tantalizingly close, practically daring him to thrust his cock toward her, to disobey her and suffer the consequences, but Michael seemed to have learned his lesson. He averted his gaze and pressed his ass up against the wall, keeping his throbbing cock from touching her as she stepped in. She placed a firm hand on his naked hip, eliciting a small shudder of fear and anticipation, and ran it slowly up to his chest, where she leaned in, pushing him back against the wall.

"Look at me," she commanded, and he slowly, timidly, raised his eyes to hers. "I decide what happens here," she said. "When you cum, if you cum. That's up to me." She paused, testing him but he was remained silent and still but for a slight shiver of restrained panic and desire.

"Nod if you understand," she said, and he nodded emphatically, again, casting his eyes down and away from her gaze. His cock was still straining, fully engorged, and for a moment, Amelia marveled at how turned on her husband was even when the only physical contact was her hand pushing on his chest.

"You are going to pleasure me," she told him catching his gaze when he looked up hopefully at her. "You are going to pleasure me, until I've decided that you're finished. Do you understand?" Again, he nodded excitedly, the return to familiar territory seeming to calm him. "If your cock is still hard when you're finished, and if I'm feeling generous, I may let you fuck me." His eyes widened in anticipation.

"Or I many not," she snapped, and his gaze dropped. "You serve me," she hissed, leaning in on him. "If I let you fuck me, it will be because it's what I want. Do you understand?" He nodded. "I may let you fuck me, but I certainly don't have to let you cum." A pleading squeak came from inside his throat at this, and without warning, her hand slapped hard across his cock. Michael winced and bit back a shout.

"If it pleases me to tease you, I will tease you and not let you cum. Understand this. You owe me obedience; I owe you nothing. Displease me, and I will drive you to the edge again and again, but I will not let you cum. I will drive you fucking crazy. Is that what you want?" Michael shook his head earnestly. "Good," she said, "now get down there." With that, she took a fistful of his hair in one hand, and pushed down on his shoulder with the other. Michael let her push him to the floor where he knelt staring the waist of her tight pleather skirt.

"Pull it up," she said, and he eagerly cupped his hands over her pleather-clad ass cheeks, squeezing and luxuriating in the feel of that tight skirt holding back her ample curves. Looking down at him, Amelia cracked a small satisfied smile. The hunger with which her husband laid his hands on her now easily outstripped that of any other time in their relationship. Knelt at her feet, his hands sliding her pencil skirt up over her hips while she loomed over him, he'd never been so desperate for her. He worked the pencil skirt up to her waist and saw that she wasn't wearing panties. Amelia could tell that he was desperate to begin, but her punishments and the commanding presence of her new persona had made him cautious. His hands still on her hips, he looked up at her sheepishly, questioningly. His cock was still standing erect and throbbing, whether from the teasing or from the sheer fact of living out his fantasy, Amelia couldn't tell.

She paused for a moment, and his questioning look became pleading, but still, obediently, he didn't make a sound. If he could have begged, he would have, and Amelia smiled the wicked smile of her new persona. She dragged out his misery for another moment, then nodded her permission.

He was on her immediately, his tongue pushing open the wet lips of her pussy and lapping upward to her clit. Once there, he worked eagerly, cocking his head and massaging her with rapid movements of his tongue and lower lip. She lowered her right hand to his head, running her fingers through his hair. Normally she would gently and subtly direct him in this way, but today there was nothing subtle or gentle about it. She slid her hand around the back of his head, and, gripping his hair, pulled him back just enough to have him apply lighter pressure. When he changed gears, skillfully running his tongue over and across the hood and labia, she pushed his head in, forcing his tongue hard up against her, directing him. She felt herself getting closer, after all, Michael was skilled in this department, and he'd never been so eager as he was today.

Amelia looked down her husband, still in his grey button-down, his face buried in her pussy, his eyes staring up at her corseted waist and the blood red blouse that so tightly hugged her breasts. He was in heaven. She pulled his head closer to her pussy, and he responded by rapidly running his tongue over her clit, adding pressure and speed. He kept up this tempo, a staccato rhythm moving diagonally over her most sensitive spot, his hands kneading her ass, his eyes closed now in concentration. Amelia felt the orgasm rising in waves, weakening her knees. She leaned over him, bracing herself against the wall with her free left hand, and pushed his face roughly up against her pussy. When the orgasm finally it hit with full force, her hips shuddered against him and her knees shook. She had to lean heavily against the wall with her left arm as she began teetering on her tall black heels.

Throbs of sensitivity washed over her body, but Michael was still at his ministrations. He liked to push her boundaries like this, to continue stimulating her in hopes of a second orgasm, but Amelia was in no mood to be pushed. She threaded her fingers through his hair at the back of his head, and roughly pulled his face away from her. He looked up at her, her juices glistening on his lips and chin, the beginnings of smile on his face. She slapped him, hard, across the face, and that smile was gone.

"You don't control this," she said, her voice mocking and imperious, "I do." She yanked his head back even further, making him face straight up, and leaned down over him. "Do you understand?" Eyes closed and wincing from the pull on his scalp, he attempted a short, truncated nod.

"Get up here," she commanded, standing straight and pulling up on his hair. He hurried to his feet and nearly fell forward when she stalked over to the bed, pulling him with her. She put her other hand on his shoulder and pulled him around in front of her, the bed bumping up against the backs of his knees. She looked him up and down, seeing that his cock was still hard, then stared into his eyes over the rims of her glasses. The look on his face was perfect; that last slap had mixed just enough uncertainty and fear into his excitement to make him look like a frightened and cowed animal. She slowly slid her hands down his neck and shoulder until they met at his chest, where she started unbuttoning the grey shirt he had worn to work. When she had it open completely, exposing his chest, she languidly ran her fingers from his belly up to his nipples. His body trembled, and he bit back moan as her fingers traced slow circles around both his sensitive little nubs. Amelia smiled, seeing the effort it was taking him to remain still and keep from thrusting his hard cock up against her.

She took the open shirt in her hands, and with sudden speed, yanked it over his shoulders, pulling it down behind his back to his elbows. His chest and shoulders exposed, he found his arms bound to his sides by the fabric of the shirt. Instinctively, he tested his bonds, wiggling against them, but other than being able to bend at the elbow, his arms were pinned.

"Lie down," she ordered, pushing back onto the bed. He crashed onto the duvet, unable to use his arms to brace his fall. With his weight on the shirt, stretched as it was behind the small of his back, his arms were now utterly locked to his sides. He looked helplessly up at her, running his eyes up the corset to her breasts and her stern face as she climbed onto the bed next to him. His cock was still hard, in fact, being slapped and bound only seemed to have hardened it, and she wrapped her hand around it as she sidled up next to him on her knees.

"I want this inside of me," she said, eliciting again that surprisingly feminine gasp. She raised her leg and straddled him, pushing the head of his cock against her pussy, but rather than pushing it in, she used her hand to rub it across her labia and clit. Michael winced, and a closed-lipped whine escaped him. Amelia didn't slap him this time, just let her new persona's wicked smile spread across her lips as she continued massaging herself with the head, then rocked her hips, rubbing her pussy up and down the shaft. He clamped his eyes closed, his arms straining at his sides, and tried to bite back any more vocalizations. Again, he was reduced to panting haltingly through his nose as she teased his cock against her labia, tantalizing him, but not letting him enter her. Finally, she stopped, and he looked up at her pleadingly.