Powerplay: Hot Down Under

Sam and Nicky White are a typical contemporary power couple.

She’s a ball-busting vice president at the country’s leading bank, he’s the trophy husband she wears on her arm at executive dinners. Except when they are in the bedroom.

In the bedroom, their “games” of sexual domination have Sam firmly in the position of power. Nicky, however, is ready to bring the game to an end but Sam has other ideas.

During a night of domination and submission in their isolated country cottage, an unexpected guest drops in on the couple. A dangerous guest. And for Sam and Nicky, nothing will ever be the same again.

Buck naked, the chilly night air kissing his hot flesh, Brad Tellerman dropped his clothes into the stagnant creek. If luck was on his side, he’d never need them again. Not those particular items, at least. He’d never wear orange again, that was for certain. Rubbing his hands together, he turned away from the lake and faced the night before him. A soft breeze blew across the water’s still surface, stirring the fine hairs on his legs, chest and balls. A tingle of excitement rippled through him. With a deep breath, he smoothed his hands over his newly exposed chest and stomach. He loved being naked, loved the sense of freedom it allowed. Alas, it wasn’t a state he’d enjoyed over these last fifteen years.

A wry chuckle rumbled his chest. There wasn’t much of anything about the last fifteen years he’d enjoyed. Except fooling everyone who thought him too institutionalised.

Except escaping.

Casting one last look at his discarded uniform, Brad Tellerman turned and began threading his way through the matted scrub rimming the lake’s edge. The eye-hurting orange one-piece overalls might be covered in filth but they were still too easily recognisable for what they were. The scrub might scratch his bare flesh but that was infinitely better than being caught wearing a prison uniform. Besides, there was a light off in the distance. And he was hungry.

Goddamn, his wife’s arse was hot.

Sam watched intently as she bent over before him, sheer black-stockinged legs straight, stiletto-clad feet spread wide. Her glorious mane of midnight-black hair brushed the floor as she folded her body further over, slowly wrapping her burnished copper-tipped fingers around her ankles as she looked up at him through the V of her legs. Deep sapphire eyes flirted with him from behind lowered lids. “I’m yours, master.” Her voice was like honeyed velvet. “Do with me what you will.”

Bam! Just like that his cock was a throbbing steel shaft of hot-to-trot hunger.

His straining erection rubbed the silk of his boxers, tenting the front of his work trousers. His balls grew heavy and swollen, like they’d been pumped full of liquid metal. Stepping forward, he pulled at his belt buckle, the snick of the fine leather whipping through the loops of his trousers sending a shiver through him. Dominating his wife was the biggest turn-on he could imagine. Dominating her with leather was like lust incarnate. Wicked and intoxicating. And wow, what a power rush.

Until the night she’d confessed to the fantasy of being a submissive, he’d never realised how fucking arousing it would be to treat her like his sexual slave.

Until she’d allowed him to treat her rough in the bedroom, to control her every sexual response and action, he’d never realised how inferior he felt to her career success.

What a fucking shame she only let him do it once in a blue moon.

His eyes roamed over her perfect, jutting arse, following the black line of her crotch-less leather G-string as it disappeared between the crease of her cheeks, down the seam of those black stockings, to her smouldering eyes. “Please,” she mouthed, her full lips glossed. “Use me any way you want.”

With a fluid arc he raised his folded-over belt and brought it down. Right on that firm, smooth and oh-so-perfect butt.

Her squeal of pain sent molten heat straight to his balls and cock. If he thought he was hard before, that was crazy, because he was
really
hard now. He stared at the new red welt marring Nicky’s flesh.
Holy fuck. I think I’m going to shoot my load here and now.

“Don’t make a sound,” he ordered, smoothing his hand over the welt.

She caught her bottom lip with her teeth and, her eyes shining, nodded.

With another swift down-stroke, his belt slapped flesh. Harder.

With another squeal, Nicky squirmed, rolling her hips so her arse wiggled.

“You squealed, Nicky.” Sam danced his fingers over the blooming red mark on her butt.

She slicked the tip of her tongue over her lip. “I’m sorry, master.”

It was too much. The title he demanded she use, the quavering note in her normally self-assured voice, the smell of her juices wetting her pussy … all too much. With a growl, Sam lunged, hooking Nicky around the waist and throwing her onto their bed.

She landed on her back, legs splayed, glistening sex exposed. Breasts that were more than perfect jiggled as she bounced on the firm mattress, the dusky peaks of her nipples tight and puckered already. Before she could move he was upon her, straddling her hips and pinning her to the bed. He stared down into her luminous eyes, grinding his eager, rigid cock against her mons as he snared her wrists in tight fists. “Tell me what I’m going to do to you,” he ordered, yanking her arms further up the bed to press her wrists beside her head. “Tell me how I’m going to make you scream and cum until you can’t move or think anymore.”

A whimper slipped past his wife’s parted lips. Sam couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or trepidation. If he was honest, he didn’t care either way. His cock was too damn hard, his balls too damn swollen. Rising onto his knees he reached down between their bodies with one hand, plunging his middle finger deep into her sex and wiggling its tip against the highly sensitive spot he knew would make her arch and squirm and beg for more. “Tell me, wife.”

“Oh God,” Nicky moaned, throwing her head back as he buried another seeking finger, and another, into her clenching, creamy channel. “Sam, please …”

He withdrew his hand—a little—pinching at the tiny pink nub of flesh hidden between the folds of her sex. “Tell me,” he ordered again, dipping back into her wet heat, taunting and teasing with what he knew she wanted. With what only
he
could give.

Scalding blood rushed into his cock, pumping him harder than ever.

Nicky gasped, rolling her head to the side, her eyes squeezed tight. “You’re going to fuck me,” she whispered. “You’re going to stick your big, hard cock in my cunt and my arse.”

An exquisite spasm claimed his cock at her crude language, language she never used outside his domination. The words were a testament to his control over her and he revelled in it.

“More,” he demanded, driving his fingers back into her sodden slit. The sound of her juices slurping around his fingers was aural ambrosia.
He
had made her that wet. Him. “Tell me what else I’m going to do.”

Another soft cry fell from Nicky’s lips and she caught her bottom lip with her teeth again. “You’re going to fuck my mouth as I suck you off.” Her chest heaved, her round, heavy breasts rising and falling as she gasped and panted in rhythm with his plundering fingers. “You’re going to pump your load into my mouth and I’m going to swallow it.”

Sam’s balls grew tight and his cock strained even more against his boxers, seeking, no,
needing
the damp heat of her sex. Goddamn, he was so fucking horny. He stared down into Nicky’s face, noting the sheen of perspiration that slicked her cheeks and forehead, noticing the way her tongue touched her lower lip every time his fingers touched the inner walls of her sex. Ribbons of molten lust coursed through his veins.

“Fuck me, S-S … master.” Nicky’s cry was a hoarse breath. “Fuck me now.”

Her pleas were like fire on his flesh. Fevered, he dropped his head to her breasts, drawing the pink tip of her left nipple into his mouth in a greedy suck as he plunged his fingers back into her pussy. Her juices slicked his flesh. Her musky scent filled his nose. She arched her back, pushing her hips higher, pumping her sex harder to his hand. “Please, oh God, Sam. Please.” Her free hand tangled in his hair, pulling on the strands as she gripped in painful tugs that sent hot pleasure straight to his cock. “More. Give me more.”

He lifted his head, his breath short. “Oh, I’ll give you more.”

Without withdrawing his fingers from her pussy, Sam reached for the bedside drawer, fumbling in its depths even as his other hand twisted and wiggled in his wife’s depths.

Ah, there it is.

A grin stretched his lips as he pulled what he sought from the drawer.

Oh yes. That’s it.

He ran his grasp up and down the long, thick glass dildo, its surface chilly against the fevered flesh of his palm. “You want more, wife?” He held the dildo before her face, watching her eyes focus on its shiny, transparent shape. “Here’s more.” And before she could even gasp, he dragged its cold tip down over her ribcage and buried it up to the hilt in her sex.

“Oh yes.” Nicky writhed beneath him on the bed, eyes still closed, face contorted in tormented pleasure.

The dildo slid in and out of her wet pussy, its smooth surface now slicked with her milky cream. Sam watched as Nicky’s muscles clamped down on its solid length, his blood roaring in his ears. With his free hand he rubbed at her clit, smearing her flawless flesh with the slick product of her pleasure. “Oh Sam,” she moaned, reaching for his hand with hers. She wrapped her fingers around both his wrists, holding him in a vice-like grip. Helping him fuck her with his fingers and the dildo. Christ.

“I’m going to remove my clothes,” he told her, his throat dry. “You are not going to stop fucking yourself.”

“I’m not going to stop.”

“When I’m naked, I’m going to climb onto your chest and you’re going to suck my cock while you continue to fuck the dildo. You will not come until I say so.”

She whimpered, her fingers digging into the soft underside of his wrists. “Sam, please …”

Scrabbling backward, unable to tear his eyes from the sight of his wife stabbing her sex with the long, thick rod of glass, Sam stripped his body of its clothes. Boxers, tie, shirt, socks …

Nicky’s eyes opened and, through thick, lowered lashes, she watched him. Watched him watching her.

When he was naked, cock straining for the heavens, a glistening drip of pre-cum squeezing from the tip, he climbed back onto the bed. He moved slowly, knees on either side of his wife’s body. Past her hips, her waist. Past her ribs until the sides of her breasts brushed against the sides of his legs. His cock jutted from the dense matt of hair at the juncture of his thighs, eager. Waiting for her mouth. “Open up, honey,” he almost snarled. “I’m home …”

Tellerman scaled the fallen carcass of an old eucalypt, his sights set on the faint light in the distance. The spring moon sat low in the sky, thin and pale, throwing very little illumination on the land around him. He didn’t know how far he’d come since crawling out of the transport van wreckage but it wasn’t far enough. The accident would have been reported by now, which meant “they” would be out looking for him. The body of the transport driver would be found first, twisted and broken by the overturned vehicle, his keys nowhere to be found.

His Glock would be equally missing.

The guard’s body would be found next, rammed into the crumpled space of the front right wheel arch. Also missing his Glock.

Tellerman needed to get out of the open.

A breeze—soft and smelling of fresh earth and wet grass—played over his naked body. It felt like a million kisses on his flesh and, despite the situation, his cock began to pump full of blood.

A groan rumbled low in his throat.

The desire to stop moving, to lean against the trunk of the fallen tree and take his own much-needed release into his hands was overwhelming. A quick pull and he could be off again.

And leave a spurt of cum in the dirt for the sniffer dogs to find?
His hands curled into painful fists.
Think, Tellerman, think. Two years of planning and sixty minutes of freedom down the drain because you couldn’t control your fucking cock?

He trained his eyes on the beckoning beacon of light on the horizon, ignoring the throbbing ache his cock had become. He didn’t have the time. Besides, there were other things he could sink his cock into. Warmer things. Wetter things.

A slow grin curled the sides of his lips and he picked up the pace, sprinting across the dark paddock. Someone was about to get an unexpected visitor. And some unexpected fun.

Pulses of exquisite, hot tension rolled through her. Over her. She pulled on her bottom lip with her teeth, biting back a cry of pleasure. Sam would only torture her more if he knew how turned on she was. Would only taunt her with his power over her body.

God, she hated him.

Almost as much as she hated herself.

But she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t resist.

She might be the youngest female vice-president of Eastcoast-Tec Banking, she might bust the balls of her male subordinates on a daily basis, but when it came to being dominated by her husband, she turned into a whimpering whore.

Another stab of wet heat pierced her being, a reaction to the humiliating but intoxicating pressure of the glass dildo pumping away in her sex; the dildo that, by Sam’s orders,
she
controlled. Heavy balls slapped against her chin and lips as she sucked at his thrusting cock, his turgid length filling her mouth utterly. His hands rested on his hips, fingers splayed, as his burning grey eyes bored down at her.

She craved this submission. This need to be beaten, controlled. Craved it every night, refused and hated it at the same time. When that craving became too much, when the aching hunger to be humiliated and dominated became all-consuming, became obsessive, she would call Sam at work and tell him to met her at the “cottage”, code for their country weekender. Without waiting for an answer, she would kill the connection, leave work early, drive the fifty-five minutes it took to arrive at the two-storey house in the middle of twenty acres of neglected farmland, dress in her black, seamed stockings and crotch-less G-string and wait for her husband.

Like a pathetic, weak female.

And as she waited, her pussy would pulse and flutter and grow damp with that deep, dark craving for release.

The head of Sam’s cock pressed against the back of her throat. He was long and thick, her husband, his balls large and round. She loved the feel of them on her flesh, the feel of his solid length in her mouth. “Suck me harder,” he commanded, shoving his hips into her face. She did as she was told, taking his cock deeper into her mouth. With a slight curl of her tongue she pulled one of his balls past her lips, sucking it into the wet depths of her mouth. A long, low groan told her Sam liked it.

A lot.

There was a squirm of something intense and profound in her chest. A shift. A desire. A rebellion. The ball-busting vice-president was screaming from within, denying her submission.

It was time to change the balance of power. Sam’s domination of her sexual pleasure had to end. She couldn’t live with it anymore. It was time to—

Sam buried his hands in her hair. He pulled on it sharply, yanking back her head. “It’s time,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, like whiskey over gravel. His piercing grey stare held her captive. “Get on your knees.”

Her pussy clenched with hot anticipation, gripping at the dildo she still pumped into her wet, tight sheath.
Oh Nicky, don’t 
…

With a shove, Sam threw her over onto her stomach. The dildo slipped from her grip, flinging across the room and clunking against the floorboards. As if the sound acted as a signal, Sam grabbed at her hips and jerked her arse up into the air. His fingers plunged into her pussy as his tongue tormented her tight anus, licking and circling the puckered hole. Nicky’s heart hammered against her breastbone and she smothered a groan of pleasure into the doona.

Oh God, yes.

Growing more savage, Sam moved his mouth to the pink folds of her sex, replacing his fingers with his tongue, flicking at her swollen clit before sucking it past his teeth and biting. Shots of exquisite pain lashed through her. “Oh my fucking God!” she screamed

“I didn’t tell you to speak,” Sam said, his voice strained. The bed shook as he straightened to his knees and then his hand came down. Hard on the right cheek of her arse.

Burning agony ripped across her flesh. Spears of wretched pleasure stabbed at her core. She whimpered again, wanting to cry out, wanting to be punished more. But the game was not over yet, she knew that, and Sam was in control. Of her and of her body. It didn’t matter what she begged for, he would decide what she was allowed.

His fingers curled into her flesh, short blunt nails cutting into her skin in tiny crescents of slicing pain as he yanked her pussy back to his mouth. His tongue lapped and drove at her sex and arse. Hot tension wormed and wiggled in the pit of her stomach. Her nipples pinched and ached, her breath grew short.

Oh God, please, Sam …

Just when Nicky felt on the verge of falling over the edge, spiralling into the abyss, Sam pulled back. Cold air rushed at her, chilling the hot wet flesh of her sex. A shiver rippled over her and her nipples pinched even harder, the pain in their puckered tips almost palatable. “No. Oh Sam, please don’t—”

The cry of protest was past her lips before she could stop it.

And Sam’s responding laugh of delight was low and smug.

He had her exactly where he wanted her. “I’ll do what I want.
You’ll
do what I want.”

Nicky dropped her head, stifling a sob of despair. Excited despair. Hate rolled over her again, sopping her pussy with fresh cream.

“Tsk tsk, look what I’ve done.” Sam’s tongue slid slowly from her slit to her anus. “I’ve made you all wet.” Strong fingers followed the same path, circling and teasing. “Wet and hungry. Good. All the more easy to do this …”

There was a slight shift in her husband’s body weight, a moment where Nicky could feel him change the balance of his position, and then his cock drove into her wet, gripping sex.

God, yes!

“Oh Sam!”

She bucked, the bulging girth of his rigid length sending charges of pure sensation—raw and utterly carnal—to every part of her being. She sucked in a sharp breath, desperate to keep some semblance of control. The strong and musky scent of their sex sizzled her sinuses—she could smell her own juices mingling with Sam’s sweat. Just as she was about to scream, to tell her husband she could take no more, to please, please let her come, Sam’s thumb pressed against her arse and dipped, slowly, past the resistant circle of puckered flesh.

“Tell me you want more.” His voice murmured in her ear as his hot, damp body pressed against her backside and hips. “Tell me not to stop.”

“Don’t stop,” she wept. “Please, Sam, don’t stop.”

His chuckle was low and dirty. The sound filled her with vile ecstasy. She knew what he was going to do the moment the words fell on her ears. And he did.

With another sharp slap to her arse, he stepped off the bed, his cock pulling from her sex and his thumb sliding from her anus with soft slurps of suction. “I’ll do what
I
want.” He walked around to the side of the bed, stopping level with her head.

She stared at his thighs from the corner of her eyes. Wanting him to finish what he’d started so much she felt like she was on fire. Every inch of her being quivered with the need to come, the need to erupt in a gush of burning, guilty, hateful pleasure. All it would take was one more touch of her clit, one more brush of her nipples and she would be there—a screaming, moaning creature of pleasure.

But he didn’t touch her. Instead, he looked at her. “Don’t,” he said, knowing what she wanted. Knowing how much she wanted to ram her fingers into her own sex.

She lay on the bed, her butt stuck up in the air, her pussy clenching and gripping, her thighs slicked with her own cream and Sam’s sweat.

Balancing on the edge of insanity.

Hating herself and wanting more.

Oh, so much more.