The Game

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Bubble bath filling the air with strawberry essence Ashley leisurely soaked. She had no idea the duration, introducing hot water a couple times to elevate the fallen temperature her sole measure. She looked at her tightened fingertips mirroring tiny prunes, concluded it was time to move the process along.

After a brief shower rinse with a towel wrapping her waist, another wrapping her wet hair Ashley sat at the vanity. Pulling the magnifying mirror close she began her ritual transforming herself into a being of male desire.

Tweezers in hand Ashley began plucking eyebrow strays. Her thoughts began to drift wondering how many months, years in fact, it had been since she would invest this much time, take so much care preparing herself for her husband.

Of course it could never be like when she was carefree, when she and Tom dated or early in their marriage. That was extravagance a four-year-old daughter and six-year-old son just wouldn’t allow.

But then she paused, tweezers falling away, looking deep in the mirror she asked if that were really true. Am I using the children as an excuse? Or have there been opportunities to do more? Have I fallen into the complacency of eight years of marriage?

Tonight would be different; she hoped, the first step to break free of feared complacency, a renewal of their passion and desire.

Admittedly, she wasn’t like most of her friends who juggled full time employment and full time motherhood. Tom’s position provided for them comfortably allowing her to raise their kids without a care in their four-bedroom suburban home.

Ashley recognized some time ago sexual fire that once roared hot had continually dwindled and was now reduced to a still burning flame. They made love typically three, sometimes four times a week, their encounter always beginning with pleasurable foreplay. But it was at the end of a long day; dinner, cleaning up, spending time with the kids, packing them to bed after baths.

They’d usually engage the missionary position, it’s conclusion usually twenty or twenty-five minutes from their first touch, the night growing later, the future’s morning beckoning, they’d kiss good night and drift off to dreamland.

Concerning her most wasn’t her lack of satisfaction, it was her husbands; she sensed it growing. She knew he loved her, cherished their kids, that Tom wouldn’t do anything to compromise their family. But lately, deep within, she’d been haunted by a sliver of fear privately admitting his pent up needs went unanswered.

Ashley broke from her trance not wanting to consider consequences, she just wanted to make things right again. Carefully gliding the eyeliner across her lid she promised tonight would be that beginning. She’d make herself perfect, no detail overlooked.

Then a tingle, almost a tremor rippled through remembering the article she’d read a couple weeks before that spawned the inspiration. Paging through a women’s magazine one afternoon, The Game, caught her eye. The caption beneath guaranteed to spice up a married couples intimate life grown stale.

Two words galvanized her attention, reinvigorate and energize, exactly what she knew they needed. Ashley was intrigued the article promising if they were bold, daring, willing to try something new it would rekindle forgotten passion. The Game called for them to role-play, something out of the norm, fresh and exciting.

Rouge brush in hand, applying color to her cheeks Ashley snickered remembering her initial reaction. Over two days she must’ve read The Game twenty times. Finally relenting to its ruling power she gave it to Tom; petitioned his opinion.

After completing, Tom handed it back then threw the look he sometimes gave following what he considered one of her hair-brained ideas. Like when she wanted the putrid lime green paint color for her new car Ashley wrote off the idea until a few nights later while snuggling in bed Tom asked it she really wanted to give The Game a shot. Ashley surmised later Tom must’ve picked up on her moping, decided to humor her.

Immediately her blood stirred, “Yes I really do…I mean if you want to.”

Tom agreed but Ashley had to swear to abide by the strict rules The Game demanded. One of them would determine the fantasy roles for both partners. Both must play The Game from beginning to end without breaking away from their role or questioning or not allowing a partner’s sexual desire. Tom would determine their roles.

Ashley anxiously buttoned up the silk blouse, her entire outfit new. She’d chosen the cream blouse and black shorter skirt as elegant and sexy. Underneath the skimpiest lingerie she’d ever worn. The thin bra barely contained her and she wiggled feeling the thong wedged between. Ashley never cared for thongs but knew Tom loved the look. Tonight was special; she’d overcome the discomfort.

Satisfaction was hers studying the reflection. Blonde hair curling softly over her shoulders, blue eyes prominent, mascara highlighting her facial features perfectly. Maltepe Escort Small flowers apparent from her bra through the clinging semi see-through blouse complimenting her full round breasts. Not too tight though, nicely concealing the ten extra pounds she kept promising to lose. The flaring skirt exposed most of her long legs, the feature she regarded her sexiest.

Dragging a single finger down her neck her skin felt soft, that long bath producing the desired outcome. She drifted again, wondering what her husband had invented for their fantasy roles. She thought they’d enjoy a quiet dinner somewhere, Tom would tell her the invented characters and then The Game would commence. Maybe he’d rented a hotel room; guised as a traveling businessman she’d come knocking as his hooker. Or maybe a hotel maid who cleaned the room in his presence and they were overcome with lust. Or maybe he’d drop her off and she’d cozy up to the bar between two gentlemen and strike a conversation. He would arrive a little later as a stranger, picking her up with sexually direct innuendos to the dismay of the men hitting on her. The latter seemed most exciting.

With a final glance she decided to open another button exposing more skin, a deeper dimensional view of her ample cleavage. “Perfect!” She concluded with a smile.


Foot tapping rapidly she checked her watch for the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes; Tom already was almost an hour late. The kids safely stashed away at her parents, this was their evening, where was he? After several calls to his mobile went unanswered her concern grew. Then she heard the rattle of the garage door, hum of the opener, Ashley exhaled a sigh of relief.

Tom walked through the door, her heart raced looking at him outfitted in a starched white shirt, vibrant red patterned tie and pleated charcoal trousers. She found him particularly studly in his business attire, his shirt tapering in from broad shoulders to a slender waist. She loved the way those trousers hugged him just right. A notch above six feet the scale had never exceeded one eighty-five.

Just as quickly as her spirits soared they plummeted as Tom barged into the kitchen hardly looking at her. Ashley anticipated her hours of preparation would be rewarded with an approving smile, warm compliments and even envisioned flowers. The only thing in his hand was a small paper sack.

“Where’s my dinner?” He barked.

“Tom?” She said dismayed. He never acted this way.

He proceeded to the stove loosening his tie and opened the door, “What the hell is going on here? Where is my dinner?”

Palms covering her mouth, “Tom! Honey! I thought we were going out!”

He glared, “Going out?” Then he shook his head disgusted and marched upstairs to their bedroom.

Had something happened at work? Nothing about him was her Tom. Had he been laid off? Fired? Is that why he hadn’t answered her calls? Her eyes began to well up feeling alone, isolated in the kitchen. She heard loud noises upstairs, terrified to know what may have happened wondering why tonight of all nights?

“Come up here!” She heard his call demand.

Ashley smiled affectionately entering their room wanting to console the unknown trouble he was battling. Tom was seated on the bed, she moved in front of him. His expression was blank, green eyes unflinching starring into hers. She wanted to reach out, stroke the curl in his thick chocolate hair but she still couldn’t read him.

Nervous fingers grasping at her skirt Ashley’s eyes fell down the front of her body and she stammered, “Honey…how do I look? I spent the afternoon getting ready for you.” She hoped her sexy appearance might raise his spirits. Her eyes lifted but his expression remained unchanged.

Voice flat, “No dinner? Spending an entire afternoon making yourself pretty?” His gaze traveling down her body, then up again, “To answer your question you look kind of trampy.”

Terror surged through her veins, “Tom!”

He rose and began pacing a circle around her, towering Ashley the better part of four inches. She was insane, not knowing what was happening, what was going on with Tom.

His voice monotone as he moved, “No dinner for your husband who worked hard all day long yet you had plenty of time to paint your pretty face?” His sarcastic tone quizzical, “And then you expect me to take you out?” She watched him shake his head once more. Ashley wanted to reach out and grab him, hug him tight, ask Tom to confide his trouble.

“And you expect me to take you out looking slutty? So all the men will look at you? Well I’m not taking you anywhere. Do you know why?”

Ashley felt her body convulse. Here it comes. She feared Tom would inform her he lost his job, they couldn’t afford going out.


“Let me tell you why,” his rough, monotone voice interrupted. “Because you’re a spoiled little wife and spoiled wives don’t deserve a night out.”

Ashley shrieked, “Tom?”

“Quiet down!” he commanded still Ümraniye Escort pacing around her. “What my spoiled little wife deserves is a lesson; a lesson to put her feet back on the ground. And that’s exactly what you’re going to get, a well deserved lesson.” He returned to his position seated on the bed.

Ashley visibly trembled when he said, “Now lay across my lap and receive the lesson my spoiled little wife deserves.”

Instantly she knew looking in his eyes this wasn’t a joke. What is happening she asked over and over? Could this be The Game? That possibility didn’t seem to exist. They hadn’t developed the roles each would play. This wasn’t exciting it terrified her. Somewhat reluctant she began to move forward.

“Lay across my lap. Now!” he said with urgency.

Timidly she sprawled across him then looked back finding his eyes fused to her skirt directly below him. With a final attempt she squeaked, “Tom?”

“Quiet!” He lashed back his hand now gliding across the fabric. “It’s time you had a lesson.”

Instinctively she raised her hips feeling him pulling up her skirt then questioned if it were wise.

Tom starred downward, her soft, smooth, curving skin arousing every fiber that made him man. The sexy thong circling his wife’s hips then disappearing into her depths captivating. Even after two kids her shapely roundness hadn’t changed much from the day they married. Excitement grew as he surveyed his target.

Softly his hand stroked across her ass. Feeling his delicate touch had Ashley breathing a bit easier, wondering again if they were playing The Game.


Her ass stung immediately and she cried, “Ouch!” Looking back pissed because he’d struck her so harshly, “Tom, what the…?”


“Quiet!” He snarled.

This assault so loud it even stung her ears. Ashley clawed her fingernails into the comforter, anything to help dissipate the pain.

Gazing down Tom was quite pleased with the first round attack; two red handprints branded her ass leaving discernable finger imprints.

His hand again gently rubbing, tone moderated, “The spoiled little wife will learn her lesson. If she speaks the punishment will be more severe.”

His hand tugged at her thong, the sexy one she fantasized would overwhelm him, that maybe he’d slide off clenched in his teeth. “Well this is in the way.”

“Ouch!” she squealed from the sting as his strong hand ripped it away.

Ashley remained silent her head abuzz. Has something gone terribly wrong Tom? What if we’re playing The Game? She agreed to strictly abide by the rules. The Game dictated both must participate without question.

She parted her legs somewhat wider feeling his left hand fall between, his right hand still gliding across her ass.


“Ouch!” Her body jerked, Ashley doing everything to contain herself, to keep from shouting, “What the hell are you doing?”

His hand softly rubbing again, she felt his other hand, the tip of one finger gently caressing between her legs. Strangely her arousal bloomed. Her ass was on fire yet that fingertip slipped easily in an abundance of wetness.


“Owwwww!” It was excruciating, the sting resonating through her entire body. That fingertip had slightly penetrated, probing, intensifying her burning.

Convinced now Tom hadn’t lost his job, nothing was wrong, this was The Game he invented eased her mind. Not because this was The Game she had intended but at least their financial situation seemed clear of dire straits. They weren’t the Titanic steaming toward an iceberg. She realized something else; she agreed to play and must adhere to the strict rules.

Her hips moved, responding to his fingertip lazily gliding just inside.

“You like that don’t you?”

“Mmmm,” She responded, gyrating her hips more.


Another ear-piercing scream and his hand softly resumed stroking, massaging the sting.

A light coating of perspiration grew between their connection, a by-product of the spanking, that manipulating fingertip.

She felt her arousal intensify. Is it because I’m lying bare assed across my husband’s lap? Is the harsh spanking exciting me?

Eyes closed anticipating another spank Ashley felt his body shift beneath her, as reaching for something, felt his erection shooting skyward through his trousers. His left hand fell back between her legs, his right hand, now slicked with oil, massaged her ass. It felt soothing, desperately needed relief from the burning. She knew the milky white now glowed red, doubted given the opportunity she’d be able to sit. Maybe this was the conclusion of the lesson escapade. Treat her wounds then take her.

His hand coated with fresh oil Tom rubbed longer, her body responding to his fingertip delicately probing her wetness. Just when she totally relaxed, SLAP!

“Ouch!” she squealed, the application of oil seemed to elevate the severity. Those spanks burned and stung but now Ashley recognized they intensified İstanbul Escort her pleasure. Between her legs a fire roared feeling wetter than ever before, that fingertip gliding easily.

Against the lowest region of her back she felt something, knew it was the bottle of oil. With a generous squeeze oil passed through her like a river through a canyon. Then it fell, dropping like a waterfall, cascading between her legs.

Tom’s fingertip, that so gently caressed her outermost interior, rose upward renewing its exploration in virgin territory. Shocked, extremely uncomfortable, Ashley felt horror. I’m a soccer mom, member of the PTA and a good Catholic girl. I can’t do this it’s dirty, taboo.

Turning her head readying to levy her objection Ashley’s heart stopped remembering The Game. The Goddamn Game! She bit her tongue agonizing over the strict rules that wouldn’t allow her to question or object to any sexual advance. She was powerless, bound from her sworn promise.

The spanking lapsed, his right hand massaging oil across her cheeks stinging hot, the well-lubricated fingertip of his other hand manipulating tiny circles, seemingly determined to gain entry.

Then it hit, Ashley realizing their unspoken roles. Tom was the dominant partner, she was the submissive; the spoiled little wife who had to relent to any sexual desire her dominant partner hungered.

Unexpected sensations began to build, feeling arousal where she’d never experienced pleasure before, his focused manipulation now shockingly longed. Ashley realized she was defenseless and privately surrendered, accepting her unknown fate. The thought of Tom using her, to satisfy desires she never knew existed, using her body however he pleased heightened her exhilaration.

Ashley stiffened, electricity shooting from head to toe, his fingertip finding it’s way inside, her fingers again clawed deep into the comforter.

No longer Ashley, nor soccer mom, nor PTA member, nor good catholic girl but now the submissive, she wanted more. His fingertip withdrew and another river of oil flowed through the canyon re-lubricating both assailant and prey.

“Ahhh!” She squealed, her head jerking upward, his finger dipping inside. The repetitions now constant he penetrated to his first knuckle, “Yes,” she timidly screeched. , Tom smiled a smile she could not see. “Does my spoiled little wife like this?” He asked with a maniacal tone.

“Y…yes,” she answered softly in embarrassed confession.

“Does she want more?”

“Yes,” she answered again.


“Beg then! Beg if you want more!”

Ashley rationalized it was only his finger, she let the submissive answer, “Give it to me! Give me your finger!”

Tom methodically penetrated deeper and deeper, Ashley’s face tightening, toes curling accepting the full distance.

“Is my spoiled wife enjoying this?”

“Yes,” she gasped.

“Then it’s time for my spoiled wife to learn another lesson.” Ashley let free a frustrated yip as his finger withdrew.

Flipping her over he lifted her legs, crawled out from beneath her. In silence Ashley watched him unbuckle his trousers, let them fall to the floor. She recognized Tom’s relief, his erection standing tall inside his boxers.

“Lay face down, on your knees.”

Ashley obeyed his order without thought. Her arms in front of her, head on the comforter she pulled her knees up beneath her.

Positioned behind, Tom threw up her flaring skirt exposing all of her once more.

Any other time she would’ve been concerned over the well being of the comforter. Tom’s liberal dousing of oil, running down her ass and legs, the comforter soaked it up like water into bread. The bed covering likely would be ruined, but Ashley wasn’t Ashley any more she was the submissive, the submissive couldn’t care less. She wanted more.

First he worked the fullness of her flesh soothing away more sting then his fingertip traced through the canyon where the river flowed. Ashley squirmed feeling his finger again, probing her virgin territory. She longed the new sensation.

Tom rotated his finger till a fraction of the tip penetrated. His voice monotone, “You want this don’t you? You spoiled little wife. You want this back inside you.”

“Yes,” she squeaked.

“Well if you want it you have to take it.”

Ashley eased her body back at a snail’s pace accepting the well-lubricated finger of his stationary hand. Slowly she rocked, taking a bit more with each repetition. When she could push back no further, taken it all, SLAP!

“Ouch!” She screeched, wrought by pain, the severity of the blow echoing through the room.

Ashley eased forward pausing to catch her breath, an opportunity for the stinging to subside.

“This is the next lesson for the spoiled little wife. If you want something, you have to pay for it.”

Dammit! Ashley thought. She wanted that finger, wanted it like nothing else, would sell her children to the gypsies for that Goddamn finger. Tom was clear. To satisfy her desire she had to pay a stinging price.

Eyes slammed tight, anticipating the next assault, she resumed rocking slowly back and fourth yet Tom did nothing. But when she slid back, consumed the full length, SLAP! “Ouch!” She screeched again.

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