Forbidden Pleasures: A Submissive's Plea

21 hours ago

Hello, everyone! I wrote about a wonderful marital bed experience in a previous story, Delicious New Horizons, so please do read that if you wish for more context, as much of the language I use connects to that story as well. I apologize if any language used is particularly too vulgar. We never use strong language on principle, however in sensual contexts, particularly extremely overwhelming situations, we do spontaneously.

Our relationship has grown from one of traditional wifely submission to something more strongly and erotically tied to the same theme—both in and out of the bedroom. I always wished to be taken care of and taken charge of within the marital context, however this nature has bloomed so greatly as my husband has within his role. I call him “Sir” as a symbol of my affection, respect and submission to him. He treats me like his Queen, and is caring beyond words.

Part of this submission from me is a somewhat fantastical desire to have more children from him. Sir is always considerate of me, and if I declined he would never force anything. However, within context of a marriage where I have willingly put forth my body for our mutual pleasure, I trust his choices and his kindness in considering my views. I want children, as many as we are blessed with—God blesses His children with children of their own, to love and to cherish, so I am receptive of that. I understand that it may be strange or off-putting for many when expressed this way.

In our conversations, he was much more open than I and shared the desire to take me out for a nice date, and bring me home for a “firm and proper evening together.” We had not had much time in recent days due to some hassles.

My pussy was dripping with excitement at the very thought of what he had in mind. I meekly accepted, as I trusted him to plan whatever he believed was best for us.

Some days afterward, he called me one late morning from his office:

“Sophia, I took the liberty of contacting Mrs. L. She very happily agreed to look after Tara until tomorrow afternoon. She will be there this afternoon, 2 o’clock.”

I will admit that post-birth we have actually never gone out for any sort of event or night out without our child with us. Call it nervousness, but neither of us are willing to leave our child to a nanny or sitter. Both of our families live far away, so the only older and experienced person we knew we could trust was Mrs. L.

I appreciated Sir’s attention to details and appropriate measures taken to ensure that our daughter would be safe whilst I was accompanying him. I thanked him, and soon after sent off baby Tara with her caretaker, whom our daughter was delighted to see.

Another call came in sometime after, wherein Sir said, “I will be home early. We will take the car out to the nice restaurant by the lake. I called in for a reservation. It will be a good place for just us.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you for doing all of this for me…”

“Of course. But I do expect some things of you.”

“Please tell me, Sir!” I gleefully asked him. “I would love to do whatever it is!”

“There is a lovely dress you have, in red, and it is made of this wonderful satin,” he said as I listened intently. “You can wear whatever else you wish, but I want to be taking that dress off of you this evening.”

There was something delectably erotic about saying that he wants to take the dress off of me, as opposed to merely see me in it. He was making his intentions clear. A chill travelled through my spine as I realised that this was one of several steps to eventually leaving me in babbling shambles on our bed, his seed a raging fire in my womb, prepared for God to forge life anew within it.

“Yes, Sir!” I said, putting aside my thoughts.

“Good girl,” he said with a slight hint of laughter. I loved hearing that I pleased him.

Now I had to tend to myself! I quickly rid myself of my housedress, walking into our bathroom. I turned to the mirror, undoing my hair and letting it fall around my shoulders. Sir had expressed his appreciation of long hair, and liked to stroke my hair softly, so caring for it and keeping it in decent condition is something I am happy for.

My hands carefully travelled down to my collarbone, then my breasts. Touching and tugging on my buds, I bit my lip and blushed. It felt wonderful to watch my own body, thinking of how my dear husband will conquer it tonight. I was beginning to drip with eagerness and anticipation.

But Sir has a rule: I do not have permission to touch myself for sexual pleasure, unless I do so with his express permission, and only if he can be present for it. In our marriage, there are many such guidelines and our dynamic is encompassing all aspects of life (of which the sexual is only one part). I was immediately cognisant of the rule, withdrew my hands and giggled with a red face. I was very prepared for pleasure—and my pleasure is permanently founded upon being Sir’s Nymph.

I took a shower, being sure to let water cleanse me fully, using a lovely body wash that added a flowery scent to me. I applied some lotion across my body—across my arms and legs, around my breasts, on my neck, and finally on my bum. As I applied it there, I could almost feel tenderness from disciplinary spankings of the past I received for breaking rules. I enjoy our relationship and the discipline—both due to the emotional and relationship growth it gives, and the heartfelt joy I get out of the submission from it. There is also the emotional joy of being touched in such a private way.

I slipped into the satin dress, looking into the mirror. It was not too tight to my body, and was classy without showing too much of my skin. It had straps that went across my shoulders, a ruffled upper line that covered my breasts, but showed their shape. It flowed down to near maxi-length. I put on a white cardigan atop it, and did my hair the way Sir likes it. After dolling myself to what I believed would make Sir happy, I soon heard the sound of his motorcycle.

Running to the door, I opened it to see him there, with flowers in hand. He was wearing his office shirt, but had folded up his shirt sleeves and undone it a bit, so that I could just barely see the hair on the very top of chest. It was, admittedly, very alluring, and his aura is one that makes me melt each time.

“Good evening, darling.” He had a soft but knowing smile on his face, and his eyes immediately read my body, as my breasts raised and lowered in heavy anticipation. For what must have been a few seconds, but felt much longer, there was silence as he surveyed my body.

“Sophia, you look lovely.” He wrapped his arms around me, being sure to let them wander and firmly grasp the curves of my back.

“Mmm… thank you, Sir,” I shyly cooed my approval of his touches. I was then led outside, to the car.

Just as he offered his hand for me to get into the car, he stopped.

“Sophia, I need you to understand something.”

“Yes, Sir?” I asked earnestly.

“If you enter this car now, you will end tonight in my bed. No challenges, no hidden efforts. I have a very strict purpose tonight.”

I shook, visibly, keeping my eyes down and turning bright red from an eager shyness that made my pussy tremor from the presence and command of my dearest husband. Leaning into my ear, his deep, rich voice—with a hint of primal desire—whispered,

“Your clothes will not be on. Your body will be… well pleased. Do you understand?”

“Ohhh…. Sir…”

“Speak up.”

“I… yes… I understand.”

“Good girl.”

I smile giddily at this phrase. I am his good girl, and I love to please my husband. Not only in the bedroom, but anywhere. I love when he loves the food I cook, the small things I do for his pleasure and happiness, or even the days where he calls me that as he pampers me in the bath or whilst out shopping. I greatly desire to fulfil his desires, to be one of those desires myself.

I slipped quietly into the car, keeping hands folded on my lap. He got in, and we started the drive to the restaurant. The drive was silent as I looked out of the window at the evening sunlight and the drum of life.

Sir spoke up: “I have plans, Sophia. So do not worry yourself about anything at all, simply relax.”

“I am just a little concerned about Tara.”

“She will be fine. I would not entrust our daughter to anyone other than the likes of Mrs. L; you have done enough housework and mothering. All of which is lovely and I am grateful, but spend tonight away from all of that.”

“Yes, Sir, I suppose it has been some time since we have gone out for dinner, just the two of us.”

“Exactly, and I do need to release some well-kept stress in the appropriate places.”

Sir’s statement was very matter-of-fact, but of course I knew what “stress” he was going to release and where those “appropriate places” would be. I hid my face in my hands, flustered beyond belief.

“Blush now, my dear, blush now. You will have neither the breath nor the time to do so later.”

I shake, visibly, keeping my eyes down and turning bright red from an eager shyness that makes my pussy tremor from the presence and command of my dearest husband. Leaning into my ear, his deep, rich voice—with a hint of primal desire—whispered,

“Your clothes will not be on. Your body will be… well pleased. Do you understand?”

“Ohhh…. Sir…”

“Speak up.”

“I… yes… I understand.”

“Good girl.”

We soon arrived at a lovely lakeside restaurant, and my dear husband took me inside and we got a table with a window view of the lake. Calming jazz played as I looked around, seeing tables a good distance from each other, filled completely with couples.

“This is a very pretty place, Sir.”

“Hmm, it is, I am disappointed in myself for not bringing you here before.”

A waiter arrived at our table, and my husband took the lead in ordering for us (something he often does).

“Well, we can start with scallops, then we will have the poached halibut.”

I love how Sir takes charge, even in the smallest things. Not once during courtship or marriage have I genuinely ordered anything. If I wish for something, I will tell him, and he always makes the order—sometimes with alterations, sometimes not. It seems small, but something about it seems lovely to me.

We ate a lovely meal, and the waiter came over to ask for dessert. I love sweets and dessert items, but Sir is not one for a sweet tooth. With his permission, I enjoy some nice treats.

“Go ahead, darling, order whatever you want, I want you to enjoy the evening—I certainly will.”

I blush strongly, nearly giggling as the waiter asked me for my choice. I got a watermelon granita, which was wonderful for a cool summer evening, and I ate it with a smile. After our meal, he paid the bill and gingerly guided me back to the car.

He opened the door and said, “In—now, my dear.”

He is loving, but Sir had a purpose that night, and whilst he enjoyed making me feel genuinely happy, he was not mincing his words!

As we began to go home, his hand firmly but lovingly rested on my thigh. This is something he occasionally has done with me—especially if we are travelling on our own—and to me it felt special. However, considering how agitated I was by the building tension, I shuddered and blushed a good bit.

“Sophia, I need you to understand something.”

“Yes, Sir?” I asked earnestly.

“If you enter this car now, you will end tonight in my bed. No challenges, no hidden efforts. I have a very strict purpose tonight.”

“Your clothes will not be on. Your body will be… well pleased. Do you understand?”

“Ohhh…. Sir…”

“Speak up.”

“I… yes… I understand.”

“Good girl.”

The rest is to be continued in Part 2.

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