Loving CNC

[de_valmont]

She is the shy type. The good girl / good wife. She is 20 or 40 or 60, depending on the roleplay partner's real age.

That's how her husband, her children (if), relatives and friends and colleagues know her. But in her alone times she dreams of being taken forcefully by her hubby. She wants to be taken by surprise, but when the fear and excitement rise, realize it's her trusted lover and hubby. She never asked him, she didn't dare. And she does not dream of a random assault, only her trusted, loving and beloved husband may do that to her.

When she was really drunk, at that awful party at her mom's, she told her best female friend. Two years ago. But she had forgotten the next day anyway.

Hubby is on a biz trip. He might call in 3 days that he was ordered to stay another 3 days, like he often is forced to do. She can feel his anger when he comes home after such a long time, she would so love to provoke him to let it out on her. It would make her feel irresistable, for him. Just for him.

She's back from the shower, still a bit moist in her gown, drying in front of the fire, with a glass of wine, her favourite erotic music, and Lit stories on her notebook. It's dark outside, the wind is howling. She will never get really used to these lonely days, especially the nights. She often invited her bff to stay with her for some days, but she's on a trip with her students, in the holocaust memorial. She will need her comfort when she will be back tomorrow, she always hates the bios and photos.

He, her husband, is 59, white-grey hair on his head, short military cut, his beard dark and white. He's never brutal, but sometimes authoritative, the leader the shy and subby girl wants. He never violated her soul or body. Though he is so often absent physically and mentally, she knows he cares for her more than for his job and for himself.

Was that the wind, making the back door rattle in its frame?

 

[alisunderstorm]

This was supposed to be a relaxing evening.

Most of the lights are turned off or dimmed, with a select few of the warmer lights kept on. The fireplace is crackling, with an aromatic candle lit next to her wafting a soft vanilla scent across the small and cozy living room. All of her clothes are neatly folded and tucked away- her fresh yoga pants, sporty shirts, sun dresses and even some of that surprise, hand washed, naughty lingerie were all sorted out and tucked into cabinets this morning. And completely naked under her bathrobe, with a good book and a good glass of wine, she was supposed to feel relaxed.

But her mind still drifted away from that romantic fantasy between the pages, that happy ending her novel was clearly leading up to. The sex scene was hot, and she had been enjoying the third act climax with one hand on the pages, the other on her toy… but just as her body really started to react, just as her dildo pushed deep with fingers fluttering on clit, just as she felt something come over her… did the “good guy” hero come to save the heroic action girl in distress at the last minute.

It was just that. Yeah the knight in shining armour was hot. But suddenly free of her prison, the girl in the story got back into responsibilities… saving the world… power of friendship, blah blah. Nothing beat the thrill of survival, of fighting and being strong against an indomitable foe. Everything was just easy from then on. Even the author agreed- villains are hot. But for some reason, they decided to drag along the least interesting part of the story: the happy ending.

So there she was, holding her book with both hands, slouched in her chair, with a dry towel under her ass, and a wet dildo pushed inside, slowly sliding out of her. There she was, tempted to charge her phone and browse instagram, maybe to upload bikini photos from her recent holiday just to get some sort of thrill.

There she was… bored out of her mind.

 

[de_valmont]

And felt hands putting a slave collar of leather and metal round her neck. She was shocked, by the sudden consciousness of someone in her house, and of the collar. So she couldn't start to scream and fight before her chair lay on its back, and so did she ... it was no use. A figure, smelling like man, in black pants, socks, shoes, pullover, and mask, pressed her knees to her shoulders and his tongue on her clit. He laughed without voice, and let her scream, and box and scratch him. He just didn't care.