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Authors: Carolyn Faulkner
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out of the car, then guided her into the house and straight up the stairs to their bedroom - do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.
He was vibrating nearly as badly as she was with anticipation. He just loved stimulating her by remote control, knowing how prim and proper she was at work. He had thought of nothing else all day but had resisted the urge to turn it on too early. He didn’t want her losing control of herself at work and, if last night was anything to judge by, those little things packed a wallop. Sean was eager to discover the results for himself. She was nude in front of him - his preferred state of dress for her - practically before they’d made it into the house.
Not that that was necessarily unusual. He had, on occasion, taken her in full daylight, up against a tree on their heavily forested property or on the grass of their small front yard . . . he loved the sight of her gloriously naked form in the sunlight, and her hesitancy - her modesty - on this point never failed to delight him. It didn’t seem to matter how many times he pressed her past her comfort level to obey him, making sure she was most generously rewarded for it; it always popped right back into place the next time he had a taste for taking her in the great outdoors.
Now, though, they were standing at the end of their big comfortable bed, his hand already between her legs, just cupping her. Sean watched Ginger’s eyes literally roll back in her head at the waves of pure pleasure those two little helpers brought to her - nonstop for the last hour and a half or so.
For his Ginger, it wasn’t just those godawful things buzzing away inside her. The biggest part of her response to them was that his command to her to do it. Submitting to him got her hot, and having his hand claiming bold possession of the tenderest parts of her only served to amplify what she already felt.
It was him - not the gadgetry - to which she responded. That ultra-intimate level of connection that the muggles - vanillas - would never, could never really understand. Over their years together, she had voluntarily exposed herself to him - and sometimes he had laid her open himself in testing her limits, as well as setting a good number of them for her, provided a completely safe place in which she could be his to an extent that often left her breathless and tearful.
She had reveled in almost every bit of what they’d explored, but that was because the basics were there: submitting to him had her at the boiling point from the beginning, and it was always what her responses came down to. His voice, his manner, his innate dominance turned her on more so than any contraption ever could or would. It was him . He was the key to her . . . everything.
The center of her world was standing there holding what was - for the moment - the center of her world. Ginger could barely scrape together a coherent thought and absolutely could not prevent herself from grinding against that firm hand of his. It was so big that its presence there automatically forced her to spread her legs a bit to accommodate him, but then he used his own leg to sweep hers open even further - as if she was a perp he had up against a wall - forcing her to grant him access to that which he coveted.
That which he owned.
They had never had any sort of formal ceremony to acknowledge that side of their relationship. They didn’t need it. It just was. More than domestic discipline, but less - or rather different - than what either of them had seen online, she knew she could trust him not to ask anything of her that would be detrimental to her in any way, and yet he managed to think of things like this that tested her, stretched her emotionally and intimately and physically in ways she could never have imagined before they met.
She’d been his - in this bare-bones, deeply committed manner - for longer than she would ever admit, not wanting to encourage him
He was vibrating nearly as badly as she was with anticipation. He just loved stimulating her by remote control, knowing how prim and proper she was at work. He had thought of nothing else all day but had resisted the urge to turn it on too early. He didn’t want her losing control of herself at work and, if last night was anything to judge by, those little things packed a wallop. Sean was eager to discover the results for himself. She was nude in front of him - his preferred state of dress for her - practically before they’d made it into the house.
Not that that was necessarily unusual. He had, on occasion, taken her in full daylight, up against a tree on their heavily forested property or on the grass of their small front yard . . . he loved the sight of her gloriously naked form in the sunlight, and her hesitancy - her modesty - on this point never failed to delight him. It didn’t seem to matter how many times he pressed her past her comfort level to obey him, making sure she was most generously rewarded for it; it always popped right back into place the next time he had a taste for taking her in the great outdoors.
Now, though, they were standing at the end of their big comfortable bed, his hand already between her legs, just cupping her. Sean watched Ginger’s eyes literally roll back in her head at the waves of pure pleasure those two little helpers brought to her - nonstop for the last hour and a half or so.
For his Ginger, it wasn’t just those godawful things buzzing away inside her. The biggest part of her response to them was that his command to her to do it. Submitting to him got her hot, and having his hand claiming bold possession of the tenderest parts of her only served to amplify what she already felt.
It was him - not the gadgetry - to which she responded. That ultra-intimate level of connection that the muggles - vanillas - would never, could never really understand. Over their years together, she had voluntarily exposed herself to him - and sometimes he had laid her open himself in testing her limits, as well as setting a good number of them for her, provided a completely safe place in which she could be his to an extent that often left her breathless and tearful.
She had reveled in almost every bit of what they’d explored, but that was because the basics were there: submitting to him had her at the boiling point from the beginning, and it was always what her responses came down to. His voice, his manner, his innate dominance turned her on more so than any contraption ever could or would. It was him . He was the key to her . . . everything.
The center of her world was standing there holding what was - for the moment - the center of her world. Ginger could barely scrape together a coherent thought and absolutely could not prevent herself from grinding against that firm hand of his. It was so big that its presence there automatically forced her to spread her legs a bit to accommodate him, but then he used his own leg to sweep hers open even further - as if she was a perp he had up against a wall - forcing her to grant him access to that which he coveted.
That which he owned.
They had never had any sort of formal ceremony to acknowledge that side of their relationship. They didn’t need it. It just was. More than domestic discipline, but less - or rather different - than what either of them had seen online, she knew she could trust him not to ask anything of her that would be detrimental to her in any way, and yet he managed to think of things like this that tested her, stretched her emotionally and intimately and physically in ways she could never have imagined before they met.
She’d been his - in this bare-bones, deeply committed manner - for longer than she would ever admit, not wanting to encourage him
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