**Author's note: this is a BDSM story concerning a husband and wife who both get sexual pleasure from her domination of him. If that doesn't interest you, don't read this.**
It was summer. The slow death of summer, with the shadows lengthening by the day. Outside, a lawnmower droned somewhere in the warren of suburban streets. The day's heat had dissipated as the afternoon aged, and the air hung still and hazy. I was right where I wanted to be: between Amy's legs.
Not that she gave me much choice. My wife, Amy, rules completely in the bedroom. Ever since she discovered this kink of mine, and hers, she has steadily tightened her grip on our sex life. And I love it.
We spent much of today shopping. It's a new way she's discovered to tease and torment me; to drag me from store to store while she tries on clothes and shoes and treats me like her errand boy. "Fetch this in a smaller size," she'll order, and off I go to bring her what she wants. Knowing how I like to see her in sexy shoes and boots, she loves to take me to the shoe store and parade around in outrageous heels. "If you're good today," she'll say with that devious smile she's developed, the one that makes my chest tighten, "maybe I'll let you pick out something for me to wear. With my approval, of course." Of course.
I must have been good today, because she did let me buy her a pair of boots. Knee high, black patent leather, with a five inch heel, laces up the front and buckles on the side. Amy's closet is rapidly filling with sexy footwear, but these boots might be the hottest pair yet.
"I bet you can't wait to see me in those boots, can you?" she asked as we drove home.
"No, I can't," I said eagerly.
"The thing is, they're not very comfortable."
"That's ok; you won't be doing much walking in them." She laughed.
"That's true. And if I need anything, I can just send you, and you'll run to fetch whatever I want like a good boy, won't you?"
"Y-yes," I said. When she talks like this, I know what's going to happen. I can hear the change in her voice, from the loving wife I have in public to the hypersexual mistress that dominates me behind closed doors.
"Yes what?" she said softly, without looking at me. I knew what she wanted.
"Yes Miss Amy," I replied.
"Louder!" she abruptly shouted.
"Yes Miss Amy!" I yelled. From the corner of my eye, I saw her smile. She turned in the passenger seat and leaned against me.
"Such a good boy," she purred in my ear, and I felt her hand on my crotch. "So excited to be my little bitch again, aren't you?"
"Yes Miss Amy," I said, my voice cracking as she rubbed her palm in a small circle against my rapidly hardening cock.
"Say it then," she demanded.
"Miss Amy, I am very excited to be your little bitch," I said.
"And you're going to do exactly as you're told."
"And I'm going to do exactly as I'm told."
"For the rest of the weekend, you exist only for my pleasure."
"I exist only for your pleasure, Miss Amy." I groaned as she abruptly took her hand away.
"That's enough of that. We don't want you to get too excited and make a mess, do we?"
"No, Miss Amy."
"God, I'm wet." I heard her fidget in her seat, and struggled to keep my eyes on the road.
"Here," she said, and held a finger to my lips. I could smell her on it. I put my lips around it and tasted her arousal. She giggled.
"Just can't get enough, can you, slut?"
"No Miss Amy, I can't."
"Well", she said, and shifted in her seat again, "better hurry then. If I make myself cum before we get home, I guess I don't need you after all, do I?"
From the corner of my eye, I saw her hand slip inside her tight-fitting jeans. The car began to fill with the smell of pussy and the sound of her quiet moans as she masturbated right next to me.
It was the fastest we ever made it home from that mall, but it felt like forever.
I swung into our driveway carelessly and killed the engine. Amy withdrew her hand from her pants. Her face was flushed, and her breathing a little faster than normal.
"You're in luck," she smiled. "We just about made it. But now you owe me an orgasm."
"Of course," I grinned.
"Ok," she said as her breathing slowed, "I'm going inside. Bring all the bags in, then strip and wait for me. I want you naked and on your knees by the time I'm ready, understand?"
"Yes Miss Amy," I said. I had a feeling that would be all I'd be saying for the next day and a half.
"Come around here and open my door for me." She's good at this, finding little ways to reinforce her power over me, the tiny humiliations that excite us both so much. Like any good chauffeur, I got out and walked around the car to open her door.
"Do my pants back up," she ordered. I bent down and reluctantly pulled up the zipper on those skintight jeans as she watched, smiling up at her obedient husband. I offered her my hand and helped her out of the car. Without a word, she strode inside. I gathered up her shopping bags and hurried after her.
The bedroom door was closed. Quickly, I set the bags down and tore off my clothes. I'm not scared of Amy, my wife of seven years. She loves me as much as I love her. But Miss Amy? I'll admit that I'm a little bit scared of Miss Amy.
I waited, and waited. Kneeling naked on the floor as instructed, my erection pointing towards the bedroom door, towards her. She likes to keep me waiting.
After what seemed like an hour but was probably five minutes, the bedroom door opened. Amy stepped out, her red curls floating free around her shoulders. Her pale breasts were held high on her chest by a black push-up bra that laced up the front. I watched, mesmerized, as she walked towards me, her double D breasts jiggling with every step. She wore nothing else. The slight red dusting of her pubic hair was perfectly visible. My only disappointment was that she was barefoot.
She stopped in front of me, and dropped a pair of panties on the floor where I knelt. I recognized them as the ones she wore to go shopping.
"You've made a mess of those," she said sternly. "You're going to have to clean them."
"Yes Miss Amy," I said.
"Put them in your mouth," she ordered. I balled up the damp underwear and pushed it between my teeth. I could taste her juices through the thin fabric.
"That's better," she smiled down at me. "You're not here to talk, are you?"
"No Miss Amy," I tried to say, but all that came through the panties was a series of muffled grunts. Amy laughed at me as she sat on the couch in front of me, crossing her legs and depriving me of the sight of the pussy I could taste on my tongue.
"Alright, slut," she sneered, "you wanted those boots so badly. Crawl over there and get them, then crawl back here and put them on me."
Naked, crawling, with her damp panties in my mouth as a gag, I was ecstatic. I quickly removed the boots from their box and brought them to her. I took her extended foot in my hands reverently and slid the boot on. Then I began the task of lacing them tightly, from the top of her foot to just below her knee. Then I buckled the five buckles over the laces, drawing the boots even tighter. The shiny black leather clung to her legs and feet like a second skin. She flexed her foot, admiring the boot for a moment. Then she recrossed her legs so that her other foot was raised, and I began the process again. All the while, she stared cooly down at me, a slight smile on her face.
"That's right," she said quietly, almost to herself, "fix my shoes for me, bitch."
When I was done, I sat back, my hands at my sides. She stood up and tried a few steps in the tall heels.
"What do you think?" she asked. I stared helplessly up at her, and she laughed.
"That's right," she said, "nice and quiet. Sluts like you should be seen and not heard. I bet you'd like to kiss these boots, wouldn't you?"
I nodded eagerly.
"You'd lick them, too, if I told you to, wouldn't you?"
I nodded again.
"Such a little pervert. I think it's time for these, don't you?" She'd brought the handcuffs from the bedroom. She stood above me with the cuffs dangling from a single finger, her other hand on her hip, her red hair tumbling down to her irresistible cleavage, her exposed pussy level with my face and her shiny black boots at my knees. What could I do? I snapped the handcuffs on myself, securing my hands behind my back.
