Fantasy Encounter with a Dom

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The following is a work of fiction, a product of the author’s imagination. Any semblance to actual person’s or events is purely coincidental. This work contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright laws. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

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I’d like to write a dedication to a very special person and the submissive that this book is loosely based upon, Carrie Anne Ward. She has helped me tremendously with this book. She is a strong beautiful woman who like me, is passionate in so many ways. She possesses a talent in art and writing.

For some reason the world inflicts this self doubt in us when we are young. Luckily, for most we overcome this; are stronger for it, and it can be seen by all those who encounter us. It’s always puzzled me why others try to interject their opinions on to others. Try to shame us. People think that what we do is wrong. For instance, writing erotic novels or being in a loving Dom/sub relationship.

What I am trying to say is this. Enjoy your life, trust your heart and follow your passions, as we have.

Thank you for all those who have helped me and especially those who have inspired me to write this book.

XX

S
uzy Ayers

Chapter 1

Another Tuesday morning, still in her pjs, Keira curled up in her desk chair and tried to fix her latest novel. The torrential rain on the saltbox cape was overpoweringly loud; the sound of it made her want to tug the chenille blanket tighter around her as she worked. Stuck on the sex scene, she tried to find the correct tension; stared at the pelting rain and ice against the glass of the window. She let out a long sigh, her glance shifted to the picture on her desk and she picked it up; she ran her finger over the smiling, happy faces. The beautiful long ivory dress adorned with sparkling beads and her fingertip veil, memories of how her sister helped her with it, her something borrowed. A tear burned at the rim of her eye, as she remembered that tight feeling in her chest when he’d call her his wife, his bride…his beautiful bride and belonged to him, heart and soul.

She
blinked the painful desire to have those days back and smiled at the faces behind the glass. The other side of the frame contained a photo of them on their honeymoon dressed in their finest for a formal dinner at a French restaurant at the resort on the island of St. Lucia. He looked so handsome and trim then, in his burgundy red microseude soft shirt. She rubbed the chenille between her fingers; the silken threads reminded her of it. And a tie, he never wore ties. A wistful sigh escaped her lips
.
And her black floor length strapless dress with a deep V in the front. Thoughts danced about as she remembered the candlelit romance and soft whisper of words for only them, as she slid her foot between his legs, gently she teased his groin. Her thoughts drifted to images of them as they lazed about on the soft sandy beaches; as they splashed each other in the warm salty water. He’d hold her body in his arms. How she loved it. The flutter of butterflies tickled her belly at the memory. His strong muscle bound arms, flexed in their embrace. Her lips curled as she thought about the taut body he used to have. She’d giggle as he flexed his arms and showcased those tattoos; a red devil on his left bicep, to insinuate devil-dogs and the Marine Core globe with Eagle wings and an anchor on his forearm. Something about those muscles upon muscles made her heart beat a little faster, as they formed rock hard in her grasp. It reminded her of his dick getting hard in her hand.
Damn.
Thoughts of her husband warmed her straight down to her crotch and she removed the blanket as the tingle sensation in her clit came to life. She blew it away for now and wished she could save it for later.

She chuckle
d aloud, as she remembered how frisky she was in the pool that overlooked the ocean. She pulled the crotch of her suit aside and led his hard dick to her eager pussy under the waterfall, as they entangled in kisses. She didn’t care who was around, just them, caught up with each other. Well, he did. He scolded her, but when they returned to their room he punished her back door plenty on that four-poster bed. Her voice rang out and the neighbors had surely been aroused by her screams of pleasure throughout their honeymoon.

She thought
of him now, at work, how he hated it. He’d come home nightly full of stress since she lost her ‘real job’ over a year ago now. He called her writing a hobby. She set the picture down; she kissed her fingers and pressed them to the other framed photo of her two babies, both in school at the moment. The house was quiet except the storm that raged and the tip-tapping of her fingers on the keys.
This god damn scene! Agghh.

She and Tim have been married for almost ten years and they’ve been through so much. They wanted a young family but initially it didn’t happen, fertility issues and they were her fault. Cysts on her ovaries had prevented her body to produce enough, or viable eggs. She felt guilt, the guilt any wife would feel. That he would regret that he married her. After two years of
practice
they finally had a daughter, and then shortly there after a son. She had been torn terribly from her second child and stitched in many ways. Recovery had been a battle, the normal six weeks, turned into six months and then she sought out professionals. 

Even now she still wrestled with feeling beautiful like that woman in the wedding picture. Marked and mutilated by her children in many ways. Mothers
she had encountered in this tiny town talk about and say they’re proud of those marks. Tiger stripes they’d call their stretch marks lovingly-formed by their little tigers. She looked back at those photos, distracted again.
What’s wrong with me? Why aren’t I proud of those things? Maybe that makes me a terrible person or mother.

T
he sound of a diesel tumbled up the street and overpowered her ears through the storm.
There’s the bus.
Her feet padded down the stairs quickly. She grabbed her trench coat and umbrella at the door. She raced the bus to the driveway. She hated living in New England, the weather could never figure out what it was doing.

“Hi babes.” Her arm stretched wide for her two little ones who charged at her.

“Mommy!” Lily claimed
her left hip.

“Hi mom.” Jake
, her right.

She squeeze
d those two little blessings, as she hurried them inside before she became the next Mary Poppin’s as her black umbrella wavered. “Come on.” They splashed along the cracked driveway in need of repair, like so many things in this house.

“Who wants a snack? And hot cocoa?”

“Me!” They screamed in unison as they dumped their backpacks, muddy rain boots, and wet gear in the front hall.

They curled up together on the couch for some
TV time and relaxation, as dinner cooked in the Crockpot and the scent of beef stew overtook every crevice of the house. It made even Keira’s stomach rumble in anticipation. Lily grabbed a puzzle, bored with TV and they attempted this two hundred piece cat scene.

The familiar key and turn of the lock, “I hear daddy.” Both kids jump
ed off the couch at lightening speed and nearly knocked him over. They rehashed their day in a high-pitched almost inaudible bursts of words. Both fought to be heard and vied for his attention.

A laugh escaped
Keira’s lips.
It’s the same thing every night.
She stayed back. It’s his favorite part of the day, he had told her once.

He leaned down to her,
“And how are you honey?” The smell of motor oil overwhelmed and burned her nostrils.

“Fine.”
She flashed a smile, as she presented her cheek for him. His coiled unshaved facial hair bristled against her. He kept it to spite her.

“Looking fine. And something sure smells good.” He e
ntered the kitchen and she chased after him and left the puzzle she worked on with the kids in her wake.

“Oh
no you don’t mister.” She swatted his hand. “Don’t open that. It’s not ready.”

He dropped hi
s lunch bag on the floor, and it made a thud. His hazel eyes, like unpolished jade stones turned intense. “Then I’ll just have to have an appetizer.” His hand slid under the lip of her butt cheek and pulled her swiftly toward him.

“Hmm. Appetizer? What about the kids?”
Her voice lowered in seductive sweetness.

“Kids? What kids?” He teased
.

She
giggled as the hair from his face tickled along her neck. “You’re naughty.” She swatted him for the second time. He left to wash up and she continued to pick up, after him and the kids with an internal sigh, contempt tugged at her.
My life is reduced to this, maid Keira.

After the normal nightly routine
, she and Tim attempted their nightly affair of trying to be intimate. Well he was of course always successful, it was Keira.

“Just forget it.” The sharp stabs of pain felt like needles being inserted into her clit with just the slightest pressure, she couldn’t take it. “Why do I have to be so broken?” She whispered as she rolled over and wiped the tears away, so he couldn’t see them. Tim always told her how terrible he felt, which in turn made her heart hurt.

“You want a back rub or something?”

She flicked off the lamp beside her. “Sure.” She whispered, but not long into it, his fingers dribbled and gave way. His loud snore made her body flush with anger.

Angry with him, with her self, but mostly with her own body, it had given up on her. She missed those multi-orgasmic passionate nights; need to please, and be pleased over and over.

Keira and Tim’s
sex life had returned, re-bloomed, after physical therapy for her vagina. Who knew they had something like that? A safer route then surgery she felt. Before physical therapy they were unable to even have intercourse at all and for her that was unacceptable. Still, there was something missing.

She had bought more sex toys after his initial
pre-kid purchases. She even purchased some bondage things too. When she perused the internet, some were laughably cheesy, others she feared they’d break. Or worse feared Tim might think them
too
kinky. But nothing seemed to help.
It sure wasn’t moisture.
Damn you! Stupid fucking pussy!

Unsatisfied
and wide awake she dressed; she wrapped her robe around her and went back to her computer. The night provided shelter; no one could see her or hear the images she’d pop on. Some by mistake; others truly aroused her.

Keira wa
nted more then her body would allow. Her writing from spicy and saucy romances began to show her darker wants and desires.
But will my readers want this? And moreover could I bring myself to press that button, to self publish it?

For
now she continued to write it. It was cathartic and it got her juices flowing. Being able to work from home certainly had it’s advantages, a big one right now being that she could research into these not-so-work-friendly sites online. She meandered through pages on sites, peeked at those locked pages on her Twitter account and came across one that really caught her attention. Claimed to be a fellow writer and something about it really tugged at her to want to see. She was a submissive owned by @MasterJarred32.