Who's on Top? A Twisted Romance

Our former discrete, friendly behavior at the office resumed. We held out for three weeks, during which time I exceeded the masturbation record I'd set as a teenager. Then we initiated a sneaky affair that played right into the worst clichés of office liaisons but brought levels of erotic and emotional intensity I'd never known. She said the same.

The fact I'd been her first teased me deliciously. There might be some guys out there still looking for virgins, but I most definitely wasn't one of them. Hell, my first girlfriend when we were both 16 had already been with three other guys. I'd been grateful that at least one of us knew what she was doing. But now I was surprised to discover how the notion I was the only guy who'd been inside her felt incredibly hot. One night I spontaneously blurted, "Whose pussy is that?" I sounded like a bad porn actor, but she grinned and assured me it was all mine.

My career move surprised me as much as anybody. I wasn't trying to avoid office competition or allow our affair to come out. I simply woke up one morning and didn't want to go to work. Without having consciously decided to, I'd been composing a story in my mind. I called in sick and wrote it down. I started doing that once a week or so. My absences didn't go unnoticed. (I invented "quiet quitting" before its time.) But neither did my stories. A friend of a friend gave a couple to a literary journal editor who called to offer not publication, but a job. My prospective new employer had to explain what a "commissioning editor" did, but it sounded good to me. I turned in my resignation, took a pay cut, and have been happier ever since.

She gave me a stern talking to while it still could've made a difference about why I should stay with the company and maximize my potential for earning, authority, and influence. I thanked her but said she hadn't changed my mind. She kissed me -- the first time in the office, albeit behind a closed door -- and has been supportive ever since.

We started dating openly and moved in together after a few months. Her steadily growing salary afforded us a spacious apartment and my fresh work activities connected us with interesting cultural types. We enjoyed ourselves immensely.

The job change reduced my stress and increased my pleasure in life so drastically that our sex got even better. More playful. Daring, even. Spanking, tying up, toys. When we tired of our own experiments, we started visiting some places one of my more exotic friends put us onto (my new company had a line of erotica, so you could say all in the line of work). Not sex clubs, per se, but dark-lit hangouts with edgy music and dancing (on and off the stage). I can neither confirm nor deny that the atmosphere turned us on so much we found private corners for clandestine groping and fingering. It's possible we called those things "orgasm pregaming," since they happened before we went home to fuck our brains out.

After a few blissful months, an approaching company merger demanded so much from her that we became like college roommates with mismatched class schedules. I won't blame her rising star at the company, or the even longer work hours, for the decline in our sex lives. From what I hear, all couples go through these kinds of ups and downs.

My publishing boss noticed that I seemed to be at loose ends and started inviting me out for drinks and dinner on a regular basis. One night, she took me to a particularly expensive restaurant, where we both got soused on premium cocktails and fine wine. Over desert, she told me she'd gotten an offer for a job in London, a city where she'd always dreamed of living. She'd be leaving at the end of the month. I toasted her success.

Then she added that, since it no longer mattered, she could tell me that she'd wanted to fuck me ever since she read my first stories (i.e., before we'd met in person, which I found simultaneously cool and mystifying). What's more, since she was leaving soon and I obviously had time on my hands, she thought this would be a fine opportunity to satisfy her desire, not just tonight but at every available opportunity until she got on the plane.

I think about that exchange from time to time. One day I'm appalled I turned her down. We would've had fun. Mostly, I'm impressed with myself. She didn't look hurt, I'm glad to say. More like shocked, as if I'd passed up on really good Yankees tickets. She barely spoke to me for the brief remainder of her tenure. No doubt she found me hopelessly bourgeoise for staying true to my live-in lover.

When I got home that night, the object of my passion and affection had just arrived back from an overseas trip related to the merger. She was tired. Stressed. Distracted. I didn't care. I fucked her brains out.

She slept like a baby and thanked me in the morning.

Our sexual ups and down kept coming. After the merger closed, the celebratory trip we took that cost a fortune but barely put a dent in her bonus became like a second honeymoon. We scarcely saw the island we'd chosen and tipped the cleaners handsomely for changing the sheets as often as they did (she's a squirter as well as a screamer, and I'm here for it).

We did spend a lazy afternoon on the beach, where they practiced sunbathing European style, the women topless. She looked to me before dropping her bikini top. I shrugged and said, "Hey, I'm no prude." She asked me to slather her back with sunblock. As I worked in the cream, I kept telling her to sit up straighter so I could reach everywhere. I'm not sure if she realized I was doing that because it made her luscious breasts stand out, but others certainly noticed. I whispered, "You're getting eye fucked by all the men and half the women on the beach." My comment made her snigger, but I caught her sneaking glances behind the chic pair of dark glasses she sported. She appreciated the attention, and I enjoyed watching them watching. When we got back to the room, our already high sex drives had been turbocharged.

As life got back to normal, with me taking on my former boss's job and her going into a recruitment drive for company expansion, our ardor cooled again. We still had sex, just not as often. I could live with that. The hitch came when it dawned on me that we'd dealt with our lack of time by routinizing our sex: foreplay, positions, who came first -- even our dirty talk for fuck's sake -- all followed a formula. My gut told me we had to do something.

I posed the question on a Sunday afternoon over drinks. She tensed up, understandably daunted by the idea of having another problem to solve. She had enough of those. I suggested we reframe it as not a problem but an opportunity, an admittedly corny line, but one we'd both been known to use in business meetings with some success.

No pressure, I said. What we do isn't bad. It's good, in fact. Just a bit too consistent. After all, neither of us went for "good enough" in any other aspect of our lives. That concept seemed to connect for her. After staring into space for a moment, she said, "I used to enjoy getting spanked. Do we still have the paddle?" I wasn't sure but said I could purchase another. Then she added, "I know that means a certain amount of submission...." I waited for her to say more, but instead she picked up her drink and announced she was going in for a bath.

I wasted no time buying new paddles. The butt plug and vibrator turned up in the bedside table, where we'd left them months before. On a whim, recalling her "submission" comment, I also sourced a couple of soft bondage devices.

A week later I pulled out my new treasures. First time, just spanking. The paddle was designed to make a loud slap without causing real pain. She loved it. Me, too. While she lay on her stomach, ass glowing red, I lubed up her anus, teased it with my finger, and then slid in the butt plug. She grunted, groaned, and sighed happily. With the plug up to its hilt, I spanked her more enthusiastically. After a few minutes, she pleaded loudly, "I wanna come."

I flipped her over and sucked her clit into my mouth. The plug fell out as I licked. I ignored it until she ordered me to put my finger in her ass. Her orgasm came in a shout. She spread her legs wide and I bottomed out in one thrust. The slapping of our hips sounded like a standing ovation. I pumped rope after rope of cum into her womb. Just when I thought I was done, I felt another contraction. I wound up staring wide-eyed into space for several minutes. Not wanting her to worry, I whispered, "I'm still coming."

"I know," she said, smiling coyly.

She had a business trip after that, and by the time she got back I was ready to go to the next level. I took off work early so I could cook her favorite dinner -- steak au poivre with a dry red wine, lava cake and brandy for dessert. I feared after the travel and such a meal she might want to sleep.

Instead, she was all over me. We ripped each other's clothes off on the way to the bedroom, fell onto the mattress, and went at it like wrestlers. We'd flip each other over, hold on with arm or leg locks while I squeezed her nipple or she pumped my cock. I flipped her onto her stomach and sat on her butt so she couldn't move. She wriggled and tried fruitlessly to buck me off. I reached to the side of the bed and grabbed one of the ties I'd rigged under the mattress (following the instructions in the BDSM kit, of course) while she'd been away. I slapped a fur-lined leather cuff onto her right wrist.

"What the fuck?" she asked, incredulous. I slid down her leg to grab another restraint and locked onto her ankle. She said my full name sternly, a thing she only does when she's pissed. I ignored her and finished strapping her left ankle and wrist to the bed. She actually sounded a little panicked. Whether it was good acting or how she really felt, I couldn't say. Neither of us had seen me take charge this way.

Watching her squirm made my cock even harder. "If you want me to stop, say 'pineapple.'"

The look on her face said she found that idea weirder than being cuffed. "Why 'pineapple'?"

"Because we need a safe word, and I've never heard you scream any kind of fruit in the throes of passion."

"Ah," she said, appreciatively. "You've done research."

"Trust me," I said.

She thought for a moment. "I'm not sure I do," she said with a worried quiver.

My natural impulse was to release her so we could sit down to talk about it. Then it struck me: She wasn't resisting the game; she was playing it. I'd gotten a green light. If not, I'd be hearing about Hawaii's number one export.

"Doesn't look like you have a choice," I said.

"Don't... don't hurt me," she begged.

I got it. I took the paddle from the nightstand and gave her ass a hard thwack.

"Owww," she cried. I spanked her again and she howled louder.

"Oh, please, please, I can't stand it."

She wasn't using the safe word, so I kept spanking. Her yelps got so rowdy, I said, "You have to keep quiet. Take the punishment you deserve." I admit I lacked the swagger of a classic Dom, but I was trying. She made a show of holding in her cries as I kept paddling her butt. She schooled me at acting, no denying it, but her performance inspired me to new levels.

I paused to marvel at how sexy she looked, bound and red-assed. When I rubbed my fingers between her legs, she felt wetter than ever, which for her is saying something. I noticed that my cock was also the hardest I'd ever felt it. It actually hurt, but, like the spanking, in a good way. She'd been the one to ask for this, but I was into it as much as she was.

After half a minute of silence, she lifted her head. "May I ask a question...sir?" That word made the muscles in my cock even tighter.

"If you must," I said.

"I'd like to know what I'm being punished for, so I can be properly sorry."

Oh, wow. She was good. I hadn't fleshed out the scenario in my mind, so I thought quickly. I didn't want to make it too close to real life -- we were acting out a fantasy, after all -- so I wasn't going to say, "You've been neglecting me." It needed to be more dramatic. I blurted the first thing that came to me. "Who'd you hook up with on this so-called work trip?"

"What?" she asked, sounding aghast that I would ask such a question.

I spanked one butt cheek, then the other. She whimpered but held it in. "You heard me," I said. "Who'd you fuck?" Another pair of slaps. I think my acting was improving. I sounded angry, to myself, anyway. Hopefully to her, too.

"Nobody," she said, gasping. I spanked her again. "I was working," she added, a tone of pleading in her voice. Then, more harshly, "I don't shit where I eat."

How did she even know that old vulgarity? I spanked her three times, each harder than the previous. "Watch. Your. Language."

"Yes, sir." Would that ever stop having such an effect on me? I hoped not.

I poked my finger into her vagina and rubbed it around. "I can tell you've let somebody else into my pussy," I said. "It's messy as hell. Stop lying and tell me who it was."

She didn't answer, so I kept spanking. Her ass was bright red and I wondered if I was going too far. She took care of that when she spit out, "Sir, please stop. I'll tell."

"I'm listening."

"The trainer," she said with a quiet intensity, like a spy forced to give up secrets. "In the hotel gym. I booked a session. He had these muscles, and his hands were all over me. It made me so horny. It was after hours, so nobody else was there. I... I sucked his cock."

The slap on her ass echoed through the room. "Language."

"I gave him oral sex."

"What else?"

"Nothing."

"Liar." I paddled her hard, multiple times.

"Okay, yes. We f---..." she caught herself. "We had sexual intercourse."

"What position?" Another spank.

"Please, sir, please, that hurts."

Her ass was shining, so it probably did. But no mention of fruit. I gave her another.

"Then don't make me drag it out of you. I want to hear how he fucked you."

"I got on the floor on my hands and knees. He came up behind me. He rubbed his c- ... penis against my a-... posterior."

She was having entirely too much fun not-saying dirty words. I spanked her again. "How'd it feel?"

She hesitated, like she was afraid to tell me. Her ass got another whack.

"Good, sir. Then he pushed it into me. We did it d-...." She struggled to find a word, then, failing, spit out quickly, "Doggy style. I don't know what else to call it."

I held back a chuckle at her joke. "Whose pussy is that?" I demanded.

"Yours, sir," she said meekly.

"Then why'd you let another dick inside?" I showed my displeasure with the paddle.

"I... I..."

I spanked her again. "Answer me."

"I was horny as f- as heck, sir."

"How big was he?"

"Oh, sir, I shouldn't say." She was asking for more punishment; I granted her desire.

"Okay, okay. I'll tell you, sir," she panted hoarsely. I waited. She made a show of catching her breath. I couldn't tell how much was acting, but whatever it was, she was into it.

When at last she spoke, she spit out the words with a passion she usually reserved for pitching business ideas. "He was a goddamned stud. He had a monster cock, and he used it to fuck the shit out of me. I coated his horse dick with my cum."

Well, I just lost it. I threw the paddle aside, grabbed her ass with both hands, and lifted her hips to bring her pussy into position. I only then remembered I still had pants on, so I clawed at my zipper, dropped my jeans and plunged in deep. She felt so warm and juicy it was like I'd already fucked her. I won't say she moaned, or yelped, or groaned.

She howled.

As I pounded into her over and over, she got even louder. I reached my hand around and fingered her clit as we fucked. "Oh, shit," she cried. "I'm gonna come. I'm gonna... Fuuuck."

She came with such force that her vaginal muscles squeezed me right out. That wouldn't do, so I pulled her hips toward me and shoved my cock back into her hot, wet tunnel. I felt her spasming around me as I poured my seed into her belly.

I stayed buried inside her while we both rode out a series of involuntary clinches that pulsed on and on for minutes. When my cock finally shrank and dropped from her pussy, I felt totally drained and completely blissed out.

She spoke first. "Holy fuck," she sighed, drawing out her words.

"That sounds like a prayer," I said.

"Yeah. It's mine, now," she answered.

"And may I say I love the way your vocabulary is growing."

She gave a throaty laugh. "Okay, then. Untie my motherfucking hands... sir."

We'd only just begun.