Deep within the recesses of his mind, there was a fantasy. In it, his girlfriend tied him up, face down on the bed, and fucked his ass while she called him things like “slut,” “whore,” or, sometimes, worse. In these fantasies, he would come from penetration alone, and while these fantasies flitted through his head, his fist was usually wrapped around his cock, and he often had the butt plug he hid from her buried in his ass – in the ass he wish her strap-on was buried in instead of just a small, bright red plug. But he worried that she would leave him if he told her these things, so he kept them to himself. Sure, they were hotter than anything they normally did, but their sex life was satisfying enough without adding orders and spankings and strap-ons. He still enjoyed what they did together, even if it was much tamer than he wished for it to be.
* * *
Deep within the recesses of her mind, there was a fantasy. In it, she was topping her boyfriend, just like the woman in the DVD she hid her underwear drawer, the DVD she watched when he was away on business trips. The DVD showed a sexy, leather-clad dominatrix topping a big, muscular man, a man who was bound to a cross, a man who was flogged until his back was scarlet, flogged and called dirty, nasty things by the woman who was topping him. When she was satisfied, certain he’d endured enough pain, she took him off the cross, bound his wrists, and shoved him onto his knees, ordering him to eat her out until she’d come at least three times.
While she watched the DVD, she would always think of her boyfriend, of how she wished they could do things like this together. She’d imagine she was the dominatrix, and he was the slave, and they were doing the same things the two people did in the DVD, and she came to that thought almost every time, an orgasm so intense that she often cried out as it flowed through her body. The sex they had together was still satisfying, as her boyfriend made sure she came every time, but not three times, and not while he was on his knees, bound, helpless, her slave.
* * *
Tonight was when he was getting home from his latest trip. He had decided it was time – time to tell her. If she left him, it would devastate him, and so he hoped, deeply hoped, that she wouldn’t run away when he told her the truth, told her what it was he thought about them doing.
* * *
Tonight, tonight she was going to tell him. She had laid out rope, a strap, and a strap-on, all of them lying on the bed. She had no idea that he had bought a strap-on on his trip, hidden underneath his dress-shirts and spare underwear.
“I have something I need to tell you,” she said to him, as he walked in the door.
“So do I,” he said with a smile, kissing her hello on the lips. That kiss turned into another, and soon they were stripping off their clothes, heading straight for the bedroom, his hands gripping her sides, her kisses rougher than usual. When they entered their bedroom, she turned him towards the bed, so scared that he wouldn’t approve.
Instead, he laughed. “The dildo I have in my bag is bigger.”
“Oh, thank God. You…you wanted to do things like this, too?”
“Always. For years.”
That night, he was spanked, tied up, and insulted. She called him the nastiest things she could think of, without hesitating for a second, because this felt so incredibly right. She fucked his ass with the smaller dildo, smacking his ass as she did, calling him things like “slut,” and “whore.”
He loved every second of it…and so did she.