“William,” she growled, “how can you submit to someone if you’re dictating parts of the scene? It makes no sense.” Melissa was a submissive, although sometimes I wondered about her aggressive tendencies. Perhaps she would switch if she met the right girl.
“It’s not like that,” I explained coolly. “For Cerise, sceneing is a fetish. In addition to dominating, she gets off on the surprise role-play I provide. She loves thinking on her toes and being challenged creatively,” I said, gushing. “It makes her an even better Domme. To her, it would be no challenge to simply have me do what she wants. Instead, she showcases her talents on the fly. She’s brilliant.”
She gave me a “Yeah, yeah,” and quickly closed the conversation. She didn’t get it.
She didn’t have to.
What Cerise and I had was special, and we didn’t need anyone else’s approval of how our D/s relationship worked. The bottom line was that we were both incredibly satisfied thus far.
And today, my Cerise would be more than satisfied.
I took care with the outfit I selected for her. I picked out a red wrap blouse that would hug her figure in ways that her “teacher wardrobe” would never allow. I paired it with a tight gray pencil skirt with a long slit up the back. Lastly, and this was a gift from me, a pair of sexy black Louboutin pumps, characteristic red underside matching her blouse perfectly. Definitely a boss’s wife outfit, I decided, pulling out some jewelry to highlight just how much her “husband” made. The silver and ruby choker would look especially lovely against her tanned skin.
I waited patiently in the “office conference room” for Cerise to arrive home. It had a little desk with punch and chips, typical of a work party, along with a bar of cocktails and mixers. I even floated some green sherbet in the punch. I was becoming quite domestic—too bad I would never eat or drink my creations.
I heard the purr of her car as she pulled into the driveway, and the soft jingle of keys as she put her purse down on the table. The bathroom door slammed, and I threw on some holiday tunes and a mistletoe tie while I waited.
“Have a holly jolly, Mrs. Norrel,” I said, handing her a cup of punch as she walked into the “office,” looking like sex on legs. I could barely keep my body from pouncing at her. Forget the blouse hugging her, it was sensuously embracing her. Cerise’s cleavage peeked out so amply, I wanted to accent it with some mistletoe, or stick a candy cane in it. I held back my desire as she took the punch wordlessly from my hands and sauntered over to the bar.
“Thanks, William,” she said, sipping casually. “Any plans for the holidays?” She leaned over, décolletage bouncing slightly. I licked my lips and found words.
“Not really. My family’s heading to visit relatives in Pennsylvania, but I have too much work to catch up on. You?” I tried to break eye contact, not wanting “the boss” to walk in and catch me ogling his wife. I suppressed a smirk—I was getting immersed in my own fictional scene.
She made a sour face with her full lips and groaned. “Ugh. Matthew’s taking me on some cruise. I hate cruises,” she said, raking her hand through her long, curled hair. “He always picks vacations where we’re forced to be together twenty-four-seven. I’d rather just travel and sightsee. I prefer being alone,” she purred, biting her lip slightly.
That sent me over the edge. I had to get things moving faster, but without her noticing I was taking too much control.
So, I flirted. “I wouldn’t want you to leave my side, either,” I mused. “Mr. Norrel is a smart man. A lucky man,” I said, my throat going dry. I wanted her so badly. She turned to refill her drink, and I caught a glimpse of her long, luscious legs through the slit of the skirt. I imagined taking the fabric on either side in my hands, and tearing it until it exposed whatever lingerie she was wearing beneath. I was hoping for some lacy boy shorts this afternoon. They were the perfect blend of a thong and bikini panties, and showed lots of cheek.