When Aimee’s long-hidden secret comes to light, her fiancé discovers a desire to submit he never knew he possessed.
The thick manila envelope showed up at my office, addressed to me in black marker in a shaky hand. Inside was a glossy adult magazine dated several years ago.
Baffled but starting to think this was a prank, I flipped to the pages marked by a sticky note. There, in a multi-panel pictorial, I found my fiancée, Aimee. She was dressed in lingerie that left nothing to the imagination. An older man accompanied her in the professionally lit photos. He was nude but for a leather collar attached to a long chain. Aimee held the other end. Over the course of a few dozen panels, she had the man lick the underside of her stiletto heels, beat his backside pink with a wooden paddle, and ground her pussy against his face.
His cock was erect the whole time. The sequence ended with him apparently spontaneously erupting all over himself while lying on his back, as Aimee flicked his cock with a riding crop. She grinned devilishly all the while.
It was unmistakably her. I hadn’t known Aimee seven years ago, but I’d seen pictures of her at twenty-two. Other pictures.
Shock numbed me. The sights and sounds of the surrounding office area took on a surreal cast. I felt like I was in a very bizarre dream. My desk was isolated enough that no one had seen me open the package.
I was very much in love with Aimee. Our wedding date was two months away. She worked for a financial firm that specialized in small businesses, helping the little guys get started. She was generous, intelligent, emotionally accessible. I knew she had done some professional modeling in college, but I hadn’t known about… this.
The envelope had no return address and contained no note. My first coherent thought was: blackmail. But where was the demand? And how could anybody use this magazine as leverage? Aimee wasn’t running for political office. If once upon a time she’d wanted to strut in her undies and discipline some dude for — presumably — fair monetary compensation, who would care?
This was personal. And aimed at me.
Before I could begin to try to sleuth this thing, I found myself turning the pages again from the start of the shoot.
Aimee’s body was whipcrack-tight. Black stockings emphasized her sleek legs. A garter belt hugged her trim waist. She wore no panties, and she was shaved clean of pubic hair, the lips of her sex gleaming. A black corset covered her only to the undersides of her perky breasts. Her nipples were stiff and as hotly pink as the man’s ass was going to be in a few pages.
Her hair was longer than now and lacquered with spray, but still jet-black. Her eyes danced with demonic delight.
I had flipped through the photos hurriedly the first time. Now I went slow, studying each panel deliberately. Some part of me knew that every moment was carefully posed, a choreography of pornographic tricks. But I started to feel I was looking at living images. I could almost feel Aimee in motion, stockinged legs moving with scissored precision, heels clicking on the black floor. I heard the clinks of the chain as she forced the man to crawl.
When she produced the paddle, I heard his whimper and her bright laugh.
Aimee and I had an excellent sex life. Both of us were attentive and passionate. I had never been with a woman more beautiful and energetic than she was. My fiancée excited me in every way, and I was looking forward to sharing the rest of my life with her. But we had never done anything like this. And she had never once hinted that she was into this sort of dominance thing.
Okay, granted, this was a freakin’ magazine spread. She’d been a model, and she had worked this shoot. No doubt she had followed the photographer’s instructions. The man with her was being paid to maintain that massive hard-on. It was make-believe.
But goddamn, did she get me believing she was all in!
The pictures made me hot. There was no denying my erection.
Briefly, I’d felt an immature knee-jerk jealousy over the guy, but that went away. As I stared at the photos, I started to see myself in his place. The floor was hard beneath my hands and knees, but all my attention was focused on Aimee, looming above, gripping the other end of my chain. She excited me terribly, but I knew instinctively that pleasing her was my most important task.
I had to be properly disciplined before I would deserve even a taste of her. I begged to touch her, as the older man appeared to be begging, his face twisted into a piteous expression. Aimee brayed cruel laughter, exciting me further.
She pulled the chain, and my leather collar bit into my neck. I crawled for her. My achingly erect cock waggled, but I was forbidden to touch myself.
The part of me still at the office was aware of the hard-on extending down the left leg of my slacks. I was hunched over the magazine. I slipped a hand off the desk and surreptitiously rubbed my swollen crown through the fabric, glad I wasn’t the poor enslaved bastard who couldn’t play with his own junk.
Yet by now I was that person… sort of. My imagination was running on overdrive. My eyes burned feverishly. I was licking the bottoms of Aimee’s stilettos. Then she had the wooden paddle in hand. I beseeched her to spare me, but she only laughed.
The paddle whistled through the air. It hit me across both tense asscheeks. The stinging impact awoke needy impulses in me. I promised her anything if only she wouldn’t hit me again. Yet I actually wanted another blow. And another.
By the time I’d turned to the photo of the man’s crimson rear, pre-come was dribbling onto my thigh. I was making covert little grinds with the palm of my hand under the desk, maybe thirty seconds away from shooting my load.
That realization gave me a sudden jolt. What the hell had gotten into me? I shoved the magazine back into its envelope and threw it into a drawer. No one, thankfully, appeared to have seen what I was up to. My forehead was moist when I wiped it. My cock stayed stubbornly hard until lunchtime. By then I had decided what I would do about the unexpected delivery I had received.
I was going to have to confront Aimee.
Her hazel eyes got wide, then wider. I didn’t act like a dumb-ass possessive teenager. We had both been in relationships before meeting each other. That’s how you learn about yourself and get ready for when the forever one comes along.