Forbidden

Prologue Jules: I am not that kind of woman. I am married, loved, cared for. I love my husband. I have no right to want more, no right to desire something else, someone else. A desire like that should be forbidden, should not be lived out. But he, Tom, knew. He knew what I wanted, what I craved. He knew what we both wanted from one another. He can give me the pleasure I crave. The kind of pleasure my husband can't give me because he loves me too much. So I submit to the forbidden.

+ + + + +

Tom: I brushed my hand through my hair and adjusted my tie, admitting to myself that I was nervous. I was on time to pick up my date for dinner at the Miller's.

For dinner with Jules.

Finally, a chance to meet her face to face, a chance to shake her hand, hear her talk, listen to her thoughts and opinions.

Maybe once I meet her, my odd obsession with the town's veterinarian's wife would be gone.

Ever since I'd first seen her, running around town doing her grocery shopping, I couldn't get her pointed face and the shape of her body out of my mind. How she'd quietly talked to a friend on the street, her starched blouse tugged in, the sensible skirt hugging her hips. How her breasts had moved beneath her blouse. That ass. Her demure body language.

How she kept her gaze to the ground.

Why I couldn't shake the absolute certainty that she was a submissive.

I was crazy.

If she knew my thoughts, she would be beyond creeped out. But I wasn't going to act on my strange feelings, wasn't going to make her uncomfortable. I'd never touched a woman who wasn't a willing participant. But I would take a good, long, hard look at her.

How she reacted to me.

Her husband was a nice guy, so I'd heard. Well respected, well off. And I had no intentions whatsoever to take his place.

I wasn't looking for a girlfriend, wife or a random fuck with a hot, married woman who walked, talked, dressed like she hadn't been fucked well and good in forever.

No, I was looking for someone special. I was looking for someone to teach, dominate and control. Someone who begged for pain, cruelty and punishment at my hands. Someone who begged for my hard cock down her throat, hands tied, leashed.

I was looking for a willing, eager submissive. And tonight, I'd find out if that someone was Jules.

+ + + + +

Jules: Tom. Such a simple, short name for a man so intriguing, I thought, and closed the door behind our dinner guests. I felt hot, flushed for some reason.

I turned around to my husband, said, "That was an interesting night, wasn't it? That Tom guy...what do you think of him?"

"Well, pleasant enough, very polite," Christopher replied as he cleared up their guest's wine glasses off the dining table. "Is Susan dating him seriously?"

"It's more casual she said."

I watched my husband, as I love to do. His quiet, steady demeanor, the laugh lines around his eyes that never quite smoothed out.

My husband wasn't an intriguing man. I didn't think anyone had ever thought that about him. He was a solid man, with capable hands and a warm heart who was a vet during the day and cooked dinner for his friends and his wife at night.

I loved him to death.

I wondered if it would be weird bringing up Tom again.

"He gave me his card, you know," I said. "Before he left with Susan. Said he was considering selling his house. He lives up on Alder Lane, beautiful property, Susan told me."

"Susan would now, gossip queen that she is," Christopher said with a quick glance. "I saw you two whispering in the kitchen. What was that about?"

I waved my hand. "Just girl talk." I laughed, but uneasiness crept up my spine. "She told me that she's trying to get him more interested in her, but that he's very guarded. She heard that he's into really kinky stuff so she was curious about dating him."

I laughed to cover up how nervous I was. "She told me that she is trying to get him into bed and he resists her attempts. Isn't that funny?"

Christopher paused, catching my gaze. "Kinky stuff?"

"You know, bondage, rough sex. She said he's a dominant, whatever that means." I knew exactly what it meant, and my heart beat in my throat.

"I see," my husband said slowly. "And you were fascinated by that?"

"Not really," I lied. My words hung in the air between us, and suddenly I felt cold and hot at the same time.

"And he gave you his card?"

I nodded. I couldn't shake the words that Susan had whispered in my ear, what she'd said about Tom, about his...sexual pasttimes. "I might give him a call tomorrow to arrange a viewing of the house."

My husband nodded, then made his way upstairs to the bedroom. "I'm beat, honey. You coming too?"

"In a minute, yes," I replied.

I grabbed my wine glass, drained the remainder.

Alone, I gave myself permission to look at Tom's card with his address.

"Call me," he'd said. "Or text. Let's have coffee to discuss if it's a good time to sell." His gaze had lingered, dark, stern, the corners on his mouth slightly upturned, until I couldn't meet his gaze anymore.

He wasn't a tall man, but still taller than me, and he was built like a bull with wide shoulders and a barrel chest. His handshake had been firm, warm, a moment too long.

My face had turned hot. No idea why. He was just a guy looking for a real estate agent, shouldn't feel awkward. Selling houses was my job.

I crumbled up the card in my hand, tossed it aside, and then followed my husband to the bedroom.

Christopher was in bed already, lights were out. I quickly brushed my teeth, undressed and slipped into bed with him. He drew me into his arms and I tried to relax against his chest.

I stared into the dark, my heart beating in my throat. Christopher knew what went on in my head, what I couldn't stop thinking about. But we didn't talk about it, avoiding to address what sometimes hung between us like the cloud that it was.

For our love was sweet and kind and gentle. We didn't fuck, we truly made love. My husband was a selfless lover, skillful with his fingers, his tongue. And I loved everything about him. But after three years of being blissfully married, he knew, he knew that there was a dark side to me, sexually.

He knew that I loved it rough, but that he did not. He knew that I'd once ask him to choke me, just a little bit, but that he simply could not do that to me. That I'd once asked him, after a drunken night out, if he'd tie me up, rough me up. He'd done it, but I had sensed his discomfort and he'd been unable to climax.

The next morning had been tense and awkward and neither him nor me had ever spoken about it again.

"I love you," my husband said and pressed a kiss against my neck. "And I always will, no matter what."

"No matter what?" I repeated, closing my eyes, a feeling in the pit of my stomach as if the floor had given away beneath me.

"Always."

+ + + + +

Tom:

Three days.

Three days until she had texted me, asking for a quick chat over coffee, if I was I still interesting in selling my house.

No, I wasn't.

But fuck, I was interested in her.

But it had taken her three days to text him, damn. I had hoped she wouldn't be able to resist. It had been no accident that her friend Susan had given her some saucy information about me.

I had counted on it.

And after seeing her in her own house, I was even more convinced that she was the girl for me. My new pet to handle, to teach, while giving her exactly what she wanted—a mutual agreement of dominance and submission.

And I wanted her to fully know what I liked, what I was. Not your normal lover, not the man who will cuddle after I come down your throat.

I was the man who will tell her that she's a good girl and then give her what she wanted most. A man who will dominate her, push her, control her, tell her what to do, fuck her hard.

Her master.

+ + + + +

Jules: I took a seat in the coffee shop where Tom had agreed to meet me.

Just real estate talk, I told myself. Just about his house. I couldn't afford the chance to pocket a commission that big.

At least that's what I told myself.

In truth, I had been unable to get Susan's words out of my head. Unable to get his rugged face out of my mind. The dark hair that was cut short and neat. His square hands with long fingers. The way he had almost said nothing at the dinner table but had still felt so present, so domineering of the conversation.

How the other guests had sought out his thoughts. How his voice had sounded—dark and quiet and authoritative.

How he'd looked at me across the table, his eyes seeking mine. A dark gaze I was unable to hold for longer than a second.

How I had the feeling that all of his attention had been on me the whole time until I had all but vibrated with inner tension.

"Hi, Jules," Tom said, sliding on the chair across from me. "I see you brought me brochures?"

"Yes," I said, blood rushing to my face, glad that he was oblivious to my thoughts. "To give you an idea of the current market."

I clutched my marketing material to my chest as if it could protect me from the nervousness that had exploded inside of me after seeing him.

He took it out of my hands, his fingers brushing over my breasts.

"Thanks," he said, seeking my gaze. "But that's not why I came."

I lowered my gaze to escape the intensity of his face and played with the sugar packets in front of me. that I'd made a mistake in meeting him, then registered what he'd said.

I looked up again. "Not why you came? So you've decided against selling you home?"

"You know why I am here."

I shook my head. "Sorry, I think there's been a—"

"If I'd ask you if you prefer the touch of a riding crop or a whip between your legs, what would you say?"

All air went out of me. Did he really just ask me that? I stared at him, noting how incredibly relaxed he seemed. I curled my hands around the edges of the table to ground myself, and rose slowly to my feet.

I wanted to tell him to go to hell, to go fuck himself but all I could was shake my head, my heart beating in my throat.

He rose to his feet, leaned toward my face and whispered in my ear, "You know," he said quietly. "You know what we both want from one another."

"What?" I replied, knowing what he meant but not ready to admit it.

He gave me a stroke across the cheek. "I will give you the pleasure you crave," he said. "The kind of pleasure your husband can't give you because he loves you too much."

"No, I can't do this," I whispered, but my eyes closed shut at the feeling of his hands closing hard around my wrists.

"But if you decide that you can," he said, "you'll show up on my doorstep Thursday night. And I'll play with you exactly like you want it."

+ + + + +

Tom: It was Thursday night.

And she stood on my doorstep, wearing a dress and an almost terrified expression. But she'd come to me. And I'd make sure that she would do so again and again.

I'd skipped the small talk, the meaningless pleasantries. I'd shown her up the stairs to my bedroom and let her take a seat on the edge of my bed.

I was such a cruel bastard. I could see her shaking. But I could also see the light in her eyes, the curiosity.

I'd satisfy her curiosity, I'd satisfy her needs.

And I'd satisfy mine.

I opened the drawer of one of my chests, took out a few items. And a riding crop that I'd gotten just for her.

I tossed it onto the bed, saw how her gaze was drawn to the leather, watched her face as she went through the possibilities.

Her mouth opened, she licked her lips.

"My rules, my game, my orders," I told her. "Or leave now."

She nodded.

"Take off your dress, bra, panties."

She did, slowly. She pulled her dress over her head, unclasped her bra.

She was about to take off her heals, but stopped when I told her to leave them on. She pulled her panties down her legs, over her shoes. Her breasts were heavy, tipped with dark nipples.

I was hard, had been hard since I'd found her on my doorstep. She was a delicious creature and she was mine for tonight.

She sat down on the bed, crossing her arms in front of her.

I dimmed the lights somewhat, but I was still able to see her, the shape of her body.

I stepped close to her, lowered myself to my knees. Just like the riding crop, I had gotten the choker just for her. A clasped it around her neck.

She tried to get to her feet.

"Sit," I said, placing my hand on her shoulder, keeping her on the bed. "You're a pretty pet."

I rose to get the leash.

She stood up from the bed again. "Maybe I want to leave."

+ + + + +

Jules:

"Maybe I want to leave." I got up from the bed, had already crossed the room when a heavy hand fell on my shoulder.

"No, you don't." The cruel edge to his voice sent shivers down my back.

His hand came around my neck, held me still. He lifted my hair and something cold slid along my skin and snapped shut around the choker.

He gave a tug at the leash. "Now we'll play."

He returned my gaze, leisurely checking me out, holding the leash in one hand, and in the other—the riding crop.

I wrapped my arms around my chest. But my stupid shoes forced my back into an arc, pushing my breasts forward and my ass backward.

I could deal with nakedness, but those shoes turned me into his plaything, his object. Blood rushed to my face and shame crept up my spine under his scrutinizing gaze.

He stepped behind me and swung the riding crop at my ass. I bit my lip, catching the moan that wanted to escape at the sound of leather meeting my bare skin with a satisfying snap.

And there was the sting, the pain that his smack had evoked.

It hadn't really hurt—the smack. Not nearly enough. But the implications of him swatting at my bare ass while I stood before him, wearing those shoes, the choker, the leash.

It brought me to my knees. Lust tugged at me, intensified by the humiliation he put me through.

Crouching, he seized me by my neck and tugged my head up, forcing me to look at him. Calmly, he said, "I didn't allow you to kneel. The next time you do anything without being given permission, I'll punish you."

This was when I stopped pretending that I didn't long for him.

He stroked the riding crop lightly over my breasts. My cunt spasmed as he gave each nipple a sharp little flick. He licked his lips like a snake tasting the air when I let out a long moan. My inner thighs were damp and I noticed how his gaze was drawn to the juncture between my legs.

I spread my thighs, just a little, giving him more to look at. My move didn't fool him. He knew exactly that I was baiting him.

The flat tip of the riding crop traveled over my stomach and a breathless surge of excitement gripped me. I wanted to lose myself in his touch, in his cruelty, but couldn't.

Something was holding me back, and I realized that if I ever wanted to find mindless pleasure with him, he would need to earn my limitless trust. How, I couldn't say. But I found myself wanting him to find a way for me to submit completely and utterly to his wishes.

I wanted him to rope me, spank me. I wanted his sadistic eyes on me as he shamed me into tears. I craved this rough treatment, it made me feel alive.

And I wanted him to fuck me, never knowing what he would do or demand next.

Pointing with the riding crop to the bed, he said, "Get over there."

I rose to one knee, attempting to stand, when a hard tug at the choker brought me down on my knees again. Wincing, tears shot into my eyes as the metal choker bit into my neck.

The smack he wielded had me crying out. There was nothing teasing about how he had brought the crop against my ass.

"Why did you try to stand?"

I shook my head, my movement restricted by him holding the leash. "I just thought—"

"Don't," he said. "Now get over to the bed."

He stayed behind me, leash in hand, and I felt his gaze against my ass as I crawled on all fours toward the bed.

"Stop," he said, giving me a light tap with the crop. He grabbed one, two thick pillows and stacked them on top of each other in the middle of the bed. "Up," he said, nodding toward the pile of cushions.

I slid myself onto it, resting my upper body on the length of the cushions, keeping my knees on the hard floor.

I hugged my arms around the pillows, enjoying the softness at my breasts while my knees already hurt from kneeling on the floor.

"Spread those legs," he said, slapping my inner thighs with the crop. "Don't get up from this position until I tell you to. If you ever feel the need to scream, you can muffle the sound by biting into the pillow."

He laughed, a truly dark sound that had my nipples hardening into aching points. I rubbed against the pillow until a tug at the leash had me gasping. "Stop that," he said. "You will not touch yourself or bring yourself pleasure in any way."

He tugged harder at the leash, putting pressure on my throat, making me gasp for breath. I wanted to rise to ease the strain but couldn't.

He hadn't allowed me to move, and obeying him was more pleasurable than getting oxygen.

When I stopped rubbing against the pillow, the pressure of the choker against my throat eased.

The riding crop traveled up my inner thigh. "Spread more so I can spank your cunt." He dealt my ass another slap, softer this time.

A hard shiver gripped my body, fear rising to the surface like the blush surely blossoming on my face.

I arched my back, pushing up my ass, and spread my legs more for him. I couldn't see him standing behind me, I kept my face buried in the soft pillow, but I felt his hot gaze until my entire body burned with lust.

Would he be able to see my shaved cunt, how wet I was? Wasn't he tempted to run his hand through my folds? I rocked my hips, stopped when he smacked me. Heat bloomed beneath my skin and I bit into the pillow, desperate for release.

When he stroked the tip of the crop over the slick folds of my cunt, I cried out with relief.

He grazed the crop up and down my bare lips. "You like spreading your legs for me, making me see how wet you are, don't you?"

When I didn't answer, he flicked the crop against my clit. The touch raced along my body like a current, enflaming every nerve.

I bit into the pillow because the moan I let out was one of pure lust and I didn't want him to know for fear he would stop punishing me this way.

"Answer."

"Yes," I whispered. "I want you to see me spread open."

"Why?"

This time, I controlled my hips, controlled my urge to jump up and hump the pillow if need be to find my orgasm. "I want you to fuck me."

"Maybe I don't want to fuck you," he said quietly. "What I want is to see you writhe on the floor, until all you can think of is how you can please me." He slipped the crop's small leather paddle between my folds and turned it, spreading me open. "You do want to please me, don't you?"

My throat was too tight to speak.

Shame crept up my spine, leaving me breathless. And so aroused and needy for some form of release, I'd do anything for him to get it.

"Answer." He dealt my ass another slap, softer this time, ignoring my question. "You do want to please me, don't you?"

"You know I do," I whispered.

"Yes, I do know what you crave; know exactly what you need too." He slapped the crop down on the small of my back. "Close your eyes."

They already were.

I sensed rather than heard him walking through the room. When he came back, his hand settled on my shoulder.

Then he slipped something in front of my eyes, blindfolding me. He smacked me, nothing more than a light tap. "Push your ass higher."

I arched my back, biting back a sob when he said, "Not good enough." Air went into my lungs in a sharp hiss as a series of rapid smacks landed on my cheeks, each stroke a little harder.

I felt flushed and swollen and I breathed out with a sob that turned into a high-pitched cry every time the riding crop smacked my ass.