Ebooka przeczytasz w aplikacjach Legimi na:
Odsłuch ebooka (TTS) dostępny w abonamencie „ebooki+audiobooki bez limitu” w aplikacji Legimi na:
Learning Submission at the Marriage Conference
By Deborah Cockram
© Copyright 2018 by Deborah Cockram and After Midnight Press
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Everyone in this story is 18 or older.
If you like these steamy, sexy tales, please look for other stories by the wicked writers at After Midnight Press. To find more of their work, simply visit their website to find a host of our hot, sensual stories for sale – often many are offered free or on a special reduced rate!
You can keep up with all of our hot new releases and special offers – as well as occasional prizes for our subscribers, and get a FREE copy of the scintillating romance tale, Shared by Hubby, Ganged by Three in Her Own Bed by joining our mailing list!
The After Midnight Press Newsletter
Keep up with all of the latest releases and news -- Follow us on Twitter @AfterMidnightPr
Visit our Webpage http://aftermidnightpress.blogspot.com
I slide my butt along the table top.
"Little more," she says, and I scoot back more, until my legs are nearly all up on the table top.
"Now lay down."
Okay, this is getting a little irritating. But I do as she says, laying down slowly, not quiet trusting that the table top is behind me. I mean, I know it is, but I still have this feeling I might fall off the edge, so I lower myself slowly, until I'm lying on the table.
That was odd, fearing I might fall even though logically I know the table stretched out behind me, but being blindfolded, in an unfamiliar place, with people I didn't really know, it was as if couldn't make myself trust my brain. Hmm…maybe that's what this is all about, addressing trust issu—
Suddenly, right in mid-thought, they grab my wrists, yank my arms up over my head, hard and fast. Before I can react I feel wide leather cuffs slapped around each wrist.
"What?" I cry out, trying to struggle, to roll off of the table. Each of them lays down on my arms, pinning me to the table as they buckle the cuffs in place, then they roll off of me. I yank as hard as I can, try sitting up, but to no avail – I am bound to the table top, absolutely unable to free myself.
"What are you do—"
Before I can finish I feel something hard and rubbery and round shoved between my lips deep into my mouth, stretching my jaws wide. It's…it's some sort of gag. I shake my head from side to side, trying to ask what they think they're doing. The gag starts to slip from my mouth, and then I feel one of them push it back in, deep, while the other wraps leather bands around my head, buckling in back. It's a ball gag. I've seen pictures of them, but never had touched one before.
"Uuuu eeee eell" I cry out, trying to say "What the hell?" But, that muffled string of unintelligible syllables come from my mouth, along with a bit of wet, bubbling spit.
I yank on my bonds again, trying desperately to sit, to move. It's no good. I'm stuck.
I lay there for a time, and nothing happens. They don't touch me, don't say anything, and I start to calm down a bit. I mean, it isn't as if I really expect anything bad to happen. I'm at a marriage conference, for crying out loud. This is one of those dumb little exercises conferences get people to do all the time. A little bit weird, yes, but nothing to worry about.
I hear the door open. My breath catches in my throat – what, who … I can't even think straight. I flinch when a hand touches my cheek, gentle, caressing.
"It's just me, beautiful."
Tommy, my husband.
I feel his hand sliding down my throat, his fingers gently touching skin, going farther down, across my chest, down to the point where the top button of my blouse is fastened. I feel him unfasten that first button, then the second, then the third, the blouse falling away from my breasts. He undoes the fourth and fifth buttons, the final two, and the blouse falls open.
I squirm, trying desperately to free myself, but to no avail. I'm not sure what I'd do right now if I were to free myself. Part of me wants to slap him, but the truth is, I'm becoming aroused. The idea of simply lying here, submitting to my husband, letting him have his way with me, has a certain alluring quality I've not felt before. Still, I…this will sound strange, but I have this odd need to challenge my husband, to not let him know this…this…it's even hard to think, but this might not be so bad. I might enjoy…hell, I AM enjoying this. But I don't want him to know.
My breath catches in my throat again, this time as lips kiss across my chest, hands playing down my stomach. I shivered. Damn it, I shivered, because his touch was turning me on. I pulled harder against the bonds, pressed my tongue against the gag – and felt a new pang of arousal at finding myself unable to make a difference, to loosen the bonds, to move the gag.
Tommy has been trying to get me to experiment some with bondage and different kinks for a long time now. That's why we're here, at a Christian Marriage Conference, trying to sort through some issues in our marriage, and this is one of them. Far from the only one, but it's become a bigger and bigger issue – not so much the bondage itself, but the differences in our changing, evolving lives, what we want in our careers, what we want at home.
I can't say I had any idea, any clue I'd find myself like this, bound to a table with my husband able to do as he wishes with my body, but here we are. So far the conference has been great, so I should just relax and go along.
His fingers worked inside the waistband of my jeans, playing along the top of my panties. I couldn't help it – I moaned, arched my back just a little. My jeans unsnapped, hands slipping inside, pushed them off my hips, down my legs, to my feet. I lifted my legs so he could pull them off.
I felt other hands on me now – Tommy was caressing my legs, but another pair of hands playing across my chest, soft feminine hands.
I tried crying out around the gag.
"It's just me," the voice said, and I recognized it as the young redheaded woman who had opened the envelop.
I shuddered. The others are still in here with us? Others free to touch me? Panic and a sudden, puzzling, deep and hard pang of arousal sprung up from within me, mixing together in a confusing ball of emotions. I felt my pussy growing wet, and a quick memory of how this evening started, how differently I had envisioned the rest of the night going…
A little thrill ran through me when Tommy pressed his lips to mine, his arms slipping around me, holding me. I pressed against him, wiggling a little to rub my breasts against him. I feel a sudden desire flare inside me, a wish that his bare arm would be pressing against my bare breasts.
We were fully clothed, of course, and in a room with 50 other people, so it wasn’t like we were going to do anything. Still, to hear Tommy say those things – a dozen different compliments, things he loves about me, admires me for, some heartfelt emotions he has for me – and then to feel him kiss me like this, holding me as he hasn’t done in a long, long time…well, my body shivered, and I felt a sudden dampness between my legs.
I wanted him.
Instead, we broke the kiss – but not until after we’d lingered several seconds beyond what the speaker told us to do – and then sat back in our chairs, holding hands now. It has been a long time since holding hands felt like something sexual, but it did now.
The speaker, Joel Epstein, has been chatting with us for the past – my gosh, has it really been three hours? He’s had us write out lists, burn them (in provided safety containers), do new lists, share them with our spouse, and this latest exercise he had the husbands tell their wives 12 things they love and admire about them, then give them a kiss.
That’s what Tommy and I were doing, kissing after he gave me his list. It was so cute – he said he could do a dozen more, and then a dozen after that.
We’re at a marriage conference, a meeting which promises to revitalize our marriage, makes us see and feel things about one another we haven’t in a long time, if ever. At least that’s what the promotional material says. The conference opened on Friday evening, and after some introductory remarks, the first three hours have been all about husbands treasuring their wives, loving them and expressing that love. It's been nice.
Tommy and I don’t have a bad marriage, we’re just typical. We’ve been married 15 years, we have two kids (both staying with their grandparents this weekend), and we simply don’t have time to talk and focus on one another like we used to. And Tommy’s developed this interest in…what’s it called…bondage? I don’ t know, he spends time online some nights looking at pictures, watching videos, and then he talks to me about having sex like that – tied up, being spanked. It really doesn’t hold much fascination for me. Okay, to be completely honest there have been a few times when I’ve looked at his computer, wondered what it would be like to be bound like the women in some of those pictures, and it used to be a big turn-on when Tommy would hold me down, or stretch my arms above me so he could hold both of my wrists with one hand while touching and caressing with the other, and it was a thrill when he would do it – I mean all the way – while pinning my arms beside me.
Okay, I don’t know, maybe being tied up wouldn’t be so bad, but it feels funny to think about. I know I've always like it when he pressed his will on me, physically, when it was just a little bit rough and he held me down. Being tied up? Who knows?
I always read that a women’s sex drive increases when she nears forty, and a man’s drops off. That’s been the opposite in our house – I’m just so tired and worn out I don’t feel like doing anything anymore, and Tommy…well, he wants to do and try a lot of things. I guess we’ve grown different directions in some ways, and that’s definitely put a strain on our marriage, so when Tommy suggested we drive up to West Virginia for the conference – we live in Southwestern Virginia, near the coalfields, so isolated the only decent sized city without two hours of us is in, of all places, West Virginia. Still, when he said he wanted to go to that conference, I was like “hell yeah.”
So here we are, Friday night – it lasts until Sunday morning – and I already feel so different, like we’re reconnecting.
After ensuring every couple has had their turn, every wife has listened while her husband extolled her virtues, Joel, the speaker at the little podium on the stage, holds his hands up motioning for us to be quiet. The talking fades to a low murmur, then silence falls across the room.
“ This next step is going to be a big one,” he says, walking out from behind the podium. He rubs his palms together, then locks his fingers. “This will set the tone for the rest of the weekend. Wives, it is vital, absolutely vital, to be just as open and accepting as you can be with this next step.”
He walks back behind the podium, puts his hands on the edges, and leans forward. “You’re all sitting in rows of six, with three couples on each row. I want the women on each row to get up and walk to the rooms surrounding this auditorium.”
A low murmuring broke out over the crowd. A few women stood. “That’s right. Each row has a room designated for it. You three ladies on row one,” he said, pointing to the first row. “You go to the room labeled Row 1. The rest of you do the same. Inside, you’re going to find a box with an envelope in it. I want you all to go inside your rooms, shut the door, and follow the instructions you find in the envelope.”