Good Boy

Summary: A quiet night in bed takes a delicious turn when my sweet, innocent wife reveals a dominant side I never saw coming.

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My wife and I had been together for years. We had a great relationship--solid all around. A good social circle, a nice home, great jobs. Everything felt balanced. Even the sex was good. But... there was always something more I wanted. Some kinks I kept hidden away.

Lindsey was amazing. But could she ever really be into the kind of dirty kinks I was? I doubted it. She was petite, about 5'4", with soft curves and a knockout smile. Sweet, nurturing, affectionate. Her whole demeanor seemed at odds with the darker fantasies I kept to myself. And I didn't want to risk damaging what we had by revealing something that might seem... sinful.

She knew guys watched porn, of course. But since we had a healthy sex life, she probably assumed I didn't watch it much. We never talked about it. The truth was, sometimes I craved something different. Something darker. So instead of risking the harmony in our relationship, I'd sneak away from time to time to watch or read something filthy. Then I'd take care of myself alone. My little secret. And I was convinced there was no point in sharing.

Still, I loved my life. Without a doubt.

One Thursday night, after a long day at work, we had an early dinner and climbed into bed to read--a little tradition of ours. We'd cuddle under the covers, sometimes tangled up, legs over legs, bodies pressed together, each with our own book. We'd chat here and there about the stories, but mostly it was a quiet intimacy, just the two of us.

As the night wore on, Lindsey got cuddlier--head on my chest, her leg draped over mine. I started gently running my hand along her back, then across her curves. A little back scratch became a slow caress down to the waistband of her underwear... then back up again. Eventually, my hand wandered to her ass, then her thighs, pressing between them ever so gently.

It was always a slow burn--almost teasing myself. I'd avoid her most sensitive spots for as long as possible, just enjoying the tension. But eventually, I'd feel the warmth between her legs and there'd be no turning back. The books would go down, and we'd make love--slow, passionate--and fall asleep wrapped in each other.

Tonight felt like one of those nights.

Except, this time, I switched from my usual book to something dirtier. A short story filled with my favorite themes: a dominant woman taking full control, making her man submit, making him worship her... and then rewarding him with a delicious, humiliating, cum-eating ending.

As Lindsey lay across me, her head resting on my stomach, she could feel my hands roaming. She could also see the bulge growing under my sleep shorts. Gently, she let her hand fall to my cock. At her touch, it twitched.

Just the idea of her stroking me while I read my filthy little story sent a jolt through my whole body.

As I grew harder, her attention grew too. Slowly, absentmindedly, she stroked me through my shorts while still reading. I was rock hard in minutes, straining against the fabric. Her thumb grazed the underside of my head, and I throbbed. I looked down--she wasn't even watching me. Still reading. Just casually stroking my cock like it was no big deal.

She slid me free of my shorts and kept going, her book still propped on my thigh. I was barely holding it together. Her fingers teased me--long, slow scratches from the tip down the shaft, then back to stroking. I was on the brink.

The mistress in my story was describing, in exquisite detail, how she would spit a hot, sticky load into her submissive's mouth and make him swallow every drop. The words, the scene, and Lindsey's teasing hand--it was almost too much.

I groaned and set my book down, overwhelmed.

But then she paused. "Keep reading, baby," she said, still looking at her book. "Or I won't keep stroking."

I froze.

"Good boy," she whispered, as her hand returned to my cock.

Did I hear that right?

I hesitated, mind spinning, but her hand stopped again. "Did you hear me?" she said, more sternly. "I said be a good boy and keep reading, or I stop."

I picked the book back up, stunned--and wildly aroused.

Her hand resumed, now stroking with more intent. Her nails danced along the underside of my shaft. The story intensified. The mistress sucked, teased, commanded. She started a countdown.

"Three," the mistress said, squeezing his balls. "Think about how big and salty that load is, baby."

Lindsey put her book down.

"Two," the mistress continued, now pressing hard against his prostate. In the real world, Lindsey was jerking me with determined strokes. My breathing hitched. I was holding on by a thread.

"One."

In the story, the mistress plunged his cock into her throat, sucking just long enough to draw his orgasm before pulling back to catch it in her mouth. He erupted--rope after rope. Then she forced his mouth open and slowly spit it onto his tongue. She kissed his cheek and whispered, *Good boy.*

At that exact moment, my cock exploded. I moaned loudly as Lindsey stroked harder, milking every drop. I had never cum like that--so hard, so fast, so intense. Hot jets splattered across my stomach and thighs, each spurt landing with a satisfying smack. My whole body seized up.

And still, she stroked.

Eventually, her hand slowed, dragging the last bits of cum from me. My orgasm subsided. I exhaled, fully spent, mind foggy with bliss. I barely registered her crawling up beside me, kissing my forehead.

She leaned into my ear and whispered, "Good boy."

And that was the last thing I remember before I drifted off to sleep.