Submissive Savior's Secrets

The scent of lavender and lemon polish hung in the air, a carefully cultivated aroma designed to soothe and entice. It was a scent I’d spent the better part of the afternoon perfecting, a small rebellion against the chaos of my wife’s surgical practice and her increasingly demanding schedule. As a part-time accountant, my world revolved around spreadsheets and tax returns, a far cry from the intricate world of human anatomy she inhabited. But tonight, my focus was entirely on her, on the subtle shift in her demeanor that always preceded a particularly intense desire.

She’d arrived home earlier than usual, a small, almost apologetic smile playing on her lips. It wasn’t the usual triumphant return of a conquering surgeon, but something softer, more vulnerable. The exhaustion in her eyes was palpable, the weight of responsibility evident in the slight slump of her shoulders. I’d caught her on the bed, clad in a simple white t-shirt and those old, worn gym shorts, a stark contrast to the pristine surgical scrubs she wore during the day. Even in her casual attire, she possessed an undeniable allure, a primal beauty that both intimidated and thrilled me.

“You look great in those darling,” I said, my voice a low rumble, a deliberate attempt to draw her attention. She glanced down at my CK boxer briefs, a hesitant smile gracing her features. "Who, me?" I responded, a touch of playful arrogance in my tone. It was a deliberate provocation, a subtle challenge to her dominance, a way of asserting my own desires without directly confronting her authority.

As she began to fondle her breasts with both hands, her eyes tracing the contours of my lower extremities, something shifted within me. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a silent acknowledgment of the simmering heat between us. It wasn’t just physical attraction, though that certainly played a part. It was a deeper connection, a shared understanding of our roles in this carefully constructed domestic landscape, a recognition of the power dynamics at play.

“Did you work your legs today Babe?” she asked, her voice laced with a playful edge. Her fingers continued to explore, teasing the sensitive skin of my lower abdomen. "You can tell?" I flexed my glutes in the mirror, enjoying the slight ripple of muscle beneath the cotton fabric. Her gaze followed my movements, a calculating glint in her eyes. "I’m not sure. I probably could tell better if you raised your CKs. You know, so I can see your bottom – like you see mine in a thong.” The thought of exposing myself in that way, defying her control in such a blatant manner, sent a shiver of anticipation through me.

“You want me to wear a thong?” I stared at her dubiously. We’d discussed the concept of submission repeatedly, the delicate balance between yielding and asserting oneself. Wearing a thong felt like a monumental step across that line, a deliberate act of rebellion against her wishes. Yet, the desire to please her, to cater to her every whim, was overwhelming.

“I didn’t say that,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper. Her eyes were locked on mine, unwavering and intense. “I just thought your ass was looking especially good tonight – probably from all that working out. I thought maybe you might enjoy showing off all that hard work of yours.” The implication was clear. She wanted me to push the boundaries, to test the limits of our arrangement.

“Ohhh, You want me to take off my CKs. No problem Babe,” I said, my voice betraying my excitement. With deliberate slowness, I peeled off the waistband of the boxer briefs, the cool cotton a welcome sensation against my heated skin. As the last leg was rolled up, revealing my glutes in all their glory, I turned to face the mirror, savoring the moment. The sight of my own arousal was a potent reminder of the power dynamics at play.

Her eyes followed my movements, her breath catching in her throat. “No… I said I wanted you to raise the bottom up of them up like you’re wearing a thong,” she corrected, her voice a low, husky murmur. Her right hand had slipped down the front of her old gym shorts, her left thumb and index finger still rolling her now engorged left nipple. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

The thought crossed my mind: maybe I should get a tattoo back there like my wife has. Remembering her, I glanced her way. She was in her own world, obviously enjoying the show. Her gaze intensified, her desire palpable. It was easy for me to spend an extra 10 minutes in the shower thinking of all the things I was going to do to her when she was more rested. I often did. This particular evening, I had probably spent a little too much time enjoying soaping my buttocks and scrotum.

“You wouldn’t tell anybody?” I asked, testing the waters. The challenge felt exhilarating, a way to push the boundaries of our agreement. "Nope. It would be our secret." Her eyes were locked on mine, a silent promise of discretion. As I began to slowly pump my fist with my cock, she watched in silent anticipation. It was natural to begin slowly pumping my fist with my cock. I’ve done it so many times alone, but this is so much better. Arching my head back, and closing my eyes…

The scent of sweat and arousal filled the air as she continued to explore, her touch both demanding and gentle. There was a primal energy in the room, a raw display of desire that left me breathless. The tension escalated, building to a fever pitch as our bodies drew closer, our breaths mingling in the stillness of the bedroom. Finally, her thumbs slid the waistband of my CKs down to underneath my churning nuts. Ahhhh, relief. My rigid cock was free at last. The moment of release was inevitable, a torrent of sensation that washed over me, leaving me weak and spent.

Her eyes watched me intently, her gaze filled with a mixture of pleasure and satisfaction. As she continued to explore, her fingers tracing the contours of my flesh, I realized that this was more than just physical release. It was an act of surrender, a complete relinquishing of control. And in that moment, I felt a profound sense of fulfillment, a deep connection to my wife that transcended the boundaries of our arrangement. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of us, lost in the intoxicating heat of the moment.

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