Surrendered Wife

Just another story, the book is real but don't take this stuff too seriously.

We were spooning, sleeping, and I woke up to the feeling of his hard cock pressing against the fabric of my pj bottoms. He was rubbing himself lightly, I thought maybe he wasn't even awake. I had a brief flush of lust but I was tired, besides, he hadn't done the dishes and I didn't want him to think that would slide.

I was almost asleep again when I felt his fingers slide into my waist band and start tugging the bottoms down. I ignored it, but he seemed to think he could get away with it. He pulled at them until they were down below my ass. His fingers wandered, sliding down, finding my pussy dry. I felt the cool air on my skin and continued to pretend like I was asleep.

He wouldn't accept that though. He was already rock hard and trying to breathe softly enough not to wake me up. I could feel a smear of precum along my ass cheek as he rubbed the head of his cock on me. He reached over, ever so slowly, and pulled my left leg up towards my chest, opening me up to him, cock already resting on the very edge of my pubic hair. I hadn't shaved in a week just to spite him, to show him real women in their natural form weren't gross. Porn stars just had more time on their hands to take care of things like that. In response he'd left a copy of something called "Surrendered Wife" on my bedside table instead of my regular book.

It had a rose on the cover so I figured it was a romance, for some reason. I saw a few of the chapter headings and I became intrigued. I wondered if he really took it seriously and that kind of turned me on. I thought of a time two months ago when I'd gotten tipsy watching movies and he came home angry that I'd forgotten to meet him at a company dinner. He'd pulled me over his lap and spanked me, hard and apparently with deaf ears to my cries. It'd worked, I hadn't forgotten any of his dinners since but I resisted his attempts to change my style of life.

I couldn't help it, it's in my nature to assert myself.

But I didn't want to read the book. I only read a few chapters looking for something hot. "Abandon the Myth of Equality" wasn't the kind of thing I really bought into, especially if it was followed by "Say Yes to Sex." I mean, c'mon. I figured they gave that stuff up in the 50's when they realized women weren't just maids. I was halfway through that thought when I had to stop myself from gasping. He was pressing the head of his cock against my asshole (he hated terms like that) and didn't seem to be letting up. I thought I was going to let him have his fun, but I'd told him "no anal" since we'd met. He seemed bent on it, though, as if it represented something else. Like I was holding out just so he couldn't have all of me.

So what if that was true? I liked keeping him going. I liked saying I didn't feel like sucking his cock just because he felt like sitting down in front the TV and calling me into the room for that purpose. I told him I appreciated that he worked all day but that didn't mean that I was just going to fall to my knees and worship him because he had a paycheck. Besides (my favorite jab) it's not like I didn't want to work.

There was something secretly satisfying to my ego about vanilla missionary position sex, taking the joy out of it as I close my eyes and refused to kiss him.

I almost gasped again, he was working his cock, wet with precum, around in a little circle at my hole. I had felt the entrance, so briefly, such an intrusion that made me so wet. Wet like I'd gotten before I'd met him when I was still with his best friend and I'd beg for it. I wondered if he was using lubricant, I could feel the wetness on my thighs. I didn't respond so he didn't respond to me, he just kept going, loosening me up.

Maybe it was because I hated being kept at home, even though I could do whatever I wanted. I'd worked since high school and it was hard to get used to. I hated him because he respected me, loved me, and that just seemed like the same line I'd heard every night in the bar I worked in through college. I didn't want to believe that I'd wasted that much time on something so worthless.

Oh God, he pressed in, I couldn't help it now. I gasped and when I tried to stop myself I groaned. He pushed in with more force, arm over mine and across my chest. He was moving his hips in circles, working his way in, and I did nothing. I was turned on still, but the deeply intrusive feel of what he was doing didn't turn me on any more. I realized it wasn't supposed to, it was supposed to be for him just because he wanted it. Because I loved him, and I really did, and because I said I would honor him at the altar and I hadn't. I was supposed to respect him and I hadn't, he'd been kind and I'd been purely bratty. He'd given me a home and security and I hadn't even humored him after a long day at work.

"That's it," he whispered, "take it. Trust me."

I pushed forward against his arm so I could push back with my ass. It was a little awkward at first until he leaned into me. He got up on his right knee a so when he was ready to hit bottom he really did. He put his back into it, as they say, pushing in slowly and moving his hand down to hold my breast. Breast, I wasn't even thinking of it as a 'tit.' He pinched my nipple between his fingers, hard, and I didn't tell him to stop. I moaned. I liked this, I loved how it felt. Giving him pleasure just for the sake of making him happy.

I opened and saw the spine of the book, there, I couldn't even read the title in the dark. He mashed my breast against my chest, pushing me down into the pillow so I couldn't see anymore. He stopped then, usually I would've said something maybe even something mean, but this time I didn't. I was as docile as a lamb. He pulled out and got up on his knees, grabbing his pillow and working it under my hips. Spreading my legs and looking at me in the moonlight, then reaching over to turn on the lamp (something I never allowed). I adjusted myself, taking my own pillow and trying to arrange it like I thought he'd like it. So he could get to my breasts without much effort, pulling my knees up so he could enter me again.

"Uuuugghhoooohhhh." was something like the sound I made into the pillow. I was smiling, I could see the rose on the cover now as he pushed into me, gently. I kind of expected him to slam into me, but I should've trusted him. He knew what was best. I made appreciative sounds, he stroked my butt and my back making it relaxing for me. He touched my face, stroking me like a cat.

"I love you." I said.

"I love you too, sweetie." he replied.

And he paused to adjust my legs against, so I'd be perfect, and he began thrusting harder. Harder because that's how he needed it and he hadn't had a release in such a long time. I should've been happy he hadn't fucked his secretary, I though. He reached up and took my hands, pulling them down by my waist so I was in a completely submissive position, unable to control what he was doing. Harder, deeper he went, and it hurt. No doubt, it hurt. The stretching combined with /that/ feeling. That dark intrusive wrongness that I was giving up to him. His legs were slick against mine, slick with sweat.

His breathing was ragged and freckled with sparse grunts. He was lost to it, about to cum and I wanted him to. I wanted him to pleasure himself with me. For once it was 'sex' instead of 'fucking.' He pressed me down with a hand on my back, as if I was bowing to him. Worshipping him because he was what I needed, wanted.

His cum flooded into me, hot and deliciously wet. I pushed my hips towards him in a slow controlled circle. He left himself inside of me, letting his weight come down on my back. Snuggling like that.

"Thanks for reading the book, hon."

(for the interested reader: I plan on sequels, please check back)