Hearing another woman call my husband ‘Master’ had an impact as potent as hearing someone else tell him, “I love you.” It stung, felt foreign and insulting…yet, I couldn’t help but giggle. A lot, in fact.
When she entered the room, wearing nothing but my collar, something inside of me twisted (even more so than it already was). And when he told her to get on her knees, and she obeyed without refrain, I leaned back in the chair I was strapped to, and gave a warped smile. They were my minions, and even though I was bound, I was watching over them; they were in my domain. He breathed every ultimatum as if from my thoughts straight to his tongue…
As the primary submissive in this scene, I felt quite dominant. I hadn’t expected that. A madness, unlike I’ve ever experienced before, ran through me. It started in my chest, and spread. Like a spider web being spun, it weaved itself into me. Looking back, I’m happy the room was dark, for I must have looked crazed. I felt my animal. She was there, fully present, and watching.
I don’t remember all of the positions, or demands, I just remember the feeling. I was a hyena, barking and jerking around, impatient and wanting. I was free of my human, and as he took her, I could see he was too. Her moans were breathy. His voice, severe. My body, vibrating and hysterical.
When he finally decided to set me free, we rapidly blended together. Skin on skin, mouth to mouth, beast to beast. I don’t remember moments, just blurred together images of colours and sounds – red sighs, yellow spanks, navy gasps. Sparks. Pain. Fire…
The days to follow would be full of anxiety and reminiscing. Remember when you were ‘normal’? Remember when sex was just that: sex? And then the million dollar question surfaced…would you ever go back?
The Quean has been fed, and therefore the beast shall live on. I’ve seen the other side, and no, I would never go back.
Until next time,
Fuck well, friends!