My Surrender

“Mike . . . please . . .”

I was on my knees, his boxers a soft barrier against my cheek, my own pulse thundering in my ears. The thick, musky scent of him filled my senses.

“Please what, Aimee?” His voice was a low rumble above me as his hand gently cupping the back of my head.

“I . . . I need you. I need to taste you.”

The words were a whisper, a confession that still sent a jolt of shame-tinged heat straight to my core.

He didn’t answer with words. He just hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down.

A month ago, I couldn’t have imagined this. I was Aimee, the girl from the sheltered home where sex was a whispered sin, a duty for procreation. Mike was my sweet, patient husband who I loved desperately, but whose appetites terrified me. His hands would wander, his kisses would deepen, and I’d freeze, a polite statue, my mind screaming with the lessons of my youth.

Then, one night, he’d looked at me with such raw, unguarded want it cracked something open.

“Let me show you,” he’d whispered. “Just feel. Don’t think.”

And I did. I let him guide my hands. I let him put my mouth where I’d never dreamed of putting it. The first time I took him in, I gagged, panicked. But he was so gentle. So encouraging.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that,” he’d said softly.

And the strangest thing happened. The submission, the act of giving him this primal part of myself . . . it didn’t feel like losing. It felt like finding. A deep, hungry part of me I never knew existed woke up and screamed for more.

Now, here I was, kneeling willingly. My shyness was a distant memory, burned away by this new, all-consuming need to please him—to be his.

My lips parted, and I leaned forward. The first touch of my tongue to the velvet-soft head of his cock made him suck in a sharp breath. That sound—it was my drug. I licked a slow, broad stripe up the thick vein on the underside, savoring his unique, salty taste. My own arousal was a slick, aching heat between my thighs.

I took him into my mouth slowly, letting my tongue swirl as I descended. His fingers tangled in my hair, not forcing, just holding. Guiding. I relaxed my throat, taking him deeper than I ever had before, until my nose pressed into the crisp hair at his base. A low, guttural groan vibrated from his chest into mine.

This. This was what I was for.

I began to move, a rhythm building from that deep, needy place inside me—up and down, my tongue working, my lips tight. I hollowed my cheeks, the suction pulling another ragged moan from him. My hand came up to cradle the heavy weight of his balls, rolling them gently as I worked his length.

“God, Aimee . . . look at you.” His voice was strained.

I glanced up, meeting his darkened eyes. The look of awe and pure, carnal hunger on his face made my stomach flip. I was doing this. I was making my strong husband look so utterly wrecked.

I moaned around him, the vibration making his hips jerk. The taste of him, the feel of him stretching my mouth, the complete surrender of it—it was a feedback loop of pleasure. My free hand slipped between my own legs, under the hem of my nightgown. I was soaked. I circled my clit, creating a sharp, bright shock of sensation that made me whimper against his skin.

He felt it. “Are you touching yourself for me, baby?” he rasped.

I nodded, my movements becoming messier, more desperate. I was his good girl, his obedient wife, but here on my knees I was also something else entirely: his slut. The word bloomed in my mind, hot and shocking and true. I embraced it. I wanted to be his personal, perfect slut.

“Enough,” he growled, and gently pulled me off him.

A string of saliva connected my lips to his glistening tip. Before I could protest, he hauled me to my feet and spun me around, bending me over the edge of the bed. The cool duvet was a shock against my flushed chest. He pushed my nightgown up to my waist. His large, warm hand smoothed over the curve of my ass.

“So ready for me,” he murmured.

His fingers slid through my drenched folds, finding my clit and rubbing tight, firm circles. I cried out, my hips pushing back against his hand. He positioned himself, the blunt, hot head of his cock nudging against my entrance.

“Tell me what you want, Aimee.”

“You,” I gasped, my face buried in the bedding. “I want you. All of you. Please.”

He drove into me in one long, perfect stroke, filling me so completely the breath left my lungs in a whoosh. He was so big, stretching me, claiming me. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, letting me feel every inch.

Then he moved. He started slow, deep, punishing thrusts that rocked my entire body forward with each one. My own pleasure was a white-hot coil tightening deep in my belly. Each snap of his hips sent jolts of electricity through my nerves. The slap of skin on skin, our mingled moans, the creak of the bed—it was a symphony of our raw need.

“Whose are you?” he grunted, his pace increasing.

“Yours!” I cried.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours, Mike! I’m yours!”

His hand fisted in my hair, a gentle pull that arched my back, and the new angle made him hit a spot that had stars bursting behind my eyelids. The coil snapped. My orgasm ripped through me, violent and blinding, my inner walls clenching around him in frantic, rhythmic pulses. I screamed into the comforter, my body shuddering uncontrollably.

Feeling me come triggered his own release. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside me and groaned, a raw, animal sound. I felt the hot pulse of him filling me, the ultimate mark of his possession. He collapsed over me, his weight a delicious anchor as we both gasped for air.

After a moment, he rolled us to our sides, still intimately connected. He nuzzled the nape of my neck.

“My perfect girl,” he whispered, his voice thick with sleep and satisfaction.

I was a boneless, sated puddle of bliss. The shy, inexperienced woman I’d been was gone, erased by the one who craved her husband’s touch more than air. I was his wife. I was his. And in the dark, with his seed cooling on my thighs, I knew with absolute certainty . . .

I was his slut, too. And I loved it.