Sunday after Poker

It was a Sunday morning in the suburbs with all that entails. Lots of late sleepers and generally quite quiet all over the neighborhood with just a few worshippers scrambling to make it to Sunday school on time and that one asshole mowing his lawn (because there's always one.)

Inside our home, I was tied naked face up on the ottoman and being fed my new husbands cock. Actually quite forcefully. I considered it a major victory in our relationship.

John had been so gentlemanly - almost timid - during our early months together but was slowly gaining his self confidence and a manly swagger about taking what was his.

His ex-wife had really done a job on him mentally I think. She had been quite the frozen feminist bitch with rules about decorum. 21st century notions that probably made great sense in the boardrooms where she did her business, but that had essentially neutered John's more primal instincts in the bedroom. It had taken months but he was finally overcoming all of that.

Why was it so important to me that my husband stop being a nice guy and embrace his primal nature? Like everything else in life, it comes down to upbringing.

It had started with my father, a man who took what he wanted from my sister and I both separately and as a pair. He told us what he wanted us to do we did it or there would be repercussions. We grew to love Daddy and his commanding ways.

Later, my first real lovers tended to be men I met at bars or at the truck stops that served as the economic hubs of our little town, and often those interactions involved money.

My favorites were those men and women who knew exactly what they wanted and were not afraid to ask for it by name or simply grab me by the ankles or waist and move me into the right position or pose to meet the needs of their perverse private fantasies.

On the other hand, when the person in the bed or backseat was quiet or reserved, it almost always resulted in a less than stellar sexual encounter filled with guessing games and unfulfilled desires.

In my view, the best sex came if women dropped their modesty when they dropped their panties and that men needed to pull out all of the stops when they pulled out their hard cocks. Take what you want. Make it happen and be bold.

I had learned early on with John that I would need to retrain him to get rid of his proper bedroom etiquette. I had developed little head games over time to make him aware that it was all available for the taking but that some things he would have to make his as they would not be given freely.

I would, for instance, suck his cock anytime and practically anywhere. In our few months of marriage I had done it at his office, in restaurant bathrooms, and numerous times in the car. He had asked me to do it in bed once early in our relationship and I had answered with "you only have to ask lover." He experimented a bit and found my words were true.

On the other hand, though I was a total slut for him in most ways, I would not offer him anal. I knew he wanted it but was too proper to ask. I decided it would only happen if he stepped up and took it like a man.

It became another head game. I hinted that others had taken me anally but never hinted he could have it and shifted away when his cock got too close during sex.

But back to the leather ottoman. It had been purchased as a place to sit down in our large walk in closet. A convenience for when it was time to put on shoes in the morning. It had not been purchased as a sex toy or bondage device.

I had changed all that one night after a very competitive night of online poker.

I had been winning all night and John quipped "You have taken everything but my dignity."

I laughed and dealt one more hand.

When he lost, I had taken his dignity by dressing him up in some of my lingerie, tied him down with a few neckties and then made him my bitch.

He ate a lot of pussy and ass that night as I sat on his face. I fed him my cunt with enthusiasm and spread my cheeks wide so he could get his tongue in deep. If he wasn't performing to my standards I would squeeze his cock hard or painfully pinch his nipples.

He was genuinely horrified when I took out some pictures of him with our new digital camera wearing nothing but panties and lipstick and genuinely humiliated when I masturbated him through the sheer tight red silk until he exploded into them. The photo of him stretched out clearly showed the stains of the pools of cum in the pants. The color of those stains in the red fabric matched the badly smeared lipstick on his lips. Lips which had recently been sucking my toes and kissing my ass. (I had this photo saved on my computer for years and he knew it.)

That was then. Now I was the one spread eagled on the leather alter after a long and competitive overnight poker game that I had lost crushingly. When I finally conceded we both knew what that meant - it had been the agreement all along.

He had already cum once in my hair and I could feel the drool collecting on my chin as he plunged in and out of my throat. There had been many photos taken and would be many more to come I was sure.

John had not forgotten the humiliations and tortures I had imposed that night. The clothes pin he had placed on my left nipple was actually quite painful and my trusty little vibrator, which he had stuck in my bum, was getting to be an annoyance.

Begging him for mercy was impossible while he fucked my mouth and since my eyes were under his balls he could not see the panic and pain that I was experiencing.

My only hope at this point was that he might finally cum on my face so that I might catch a breath. I tried to use my tongue as much as I could and even moved my head as best I could to please him. When he finally did it was such a relief that I actually came a bit too.

John loved to see me with cum on my face. His ex would not do this for him. He knew that I preferred him not to cum in my mouth - I really am not much on the taste and texture - so he found a spoon I had been using to eat yogurt and slowly scraped it off my chin and cheeks and made me lick it clean repeatedly.

Finally he stood up, grabbed the camera and took photos of the mess he had created while I begged him to remove this clothes pin and the vibrator. He pretended for a minute that he wouldn't - twisting both to taunt me -but it was just part of the game. He finally did remove them after a few final photos.

It was almost 11am when we made the transition from the ottoman. In bed he took the time to fuck me once more quite thoroughly before we both passed out from exhaustion. God I loved that man.

We stopped playing the game when I became pregnant with my first child and never picked it up again. John never did take my ass but I gave it to him willingly on his birthday - which became kind of a tradition for as long as we were married. The photos were lost to history as our computers died.

***

Please excuse typos and things. I am writing this on my cellphone. Feedback always fun and appreciated.