𝐁𝐌𝐔𝐒 𝐈𝐗
衛ゑニ
𝐵𝑒𝓎𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒♡
Robyn and I weren't always eager for polyamory and threesomes with other women. We weren't always this exploitative and fowling to add another feminine element to our velour duvets. However, it began as a once-in-a-lifetime thing, to eventually loving the fact that we could both dominate one being, sexually.
I can be dominant and submissive, but only for my wife. And forging away that side of me for my lover's sake was prime for us, until it wasn't. I craved my demanding identity. I loved putting pressure on a bitch to make her do as I pleased under the intensity of my sharp tongue and piercing gaze. My authoritative demeanor had bitches ready to seep their lips onto the bottom of my feet, wishing and waiting if I'd fuck them and unleash my wrath on their bodies. I loved that. I missed that.
Robyn knew what I desired without me having to tell her so it was her suggestion to try something new. And before long, I was like a vampire through the night, hunting and questing out my next pulse to feed on. Then it became a craving. A craving to dominate multiplied, up until a year ago.
"So basically you're saying that you're afraid to date Kelly because we fucked before? That shouldn't really matter Lauren. It was like once and if I'm not mistaken, she probably knows already."
Her pout dropped identically to her jaw just now. I mean I don't tell Kelly everythingggg. Okay, maybe a bit too much, but damn, just because I'm a therapist doesn't mean I don't need therapeutic advice here and there too.
"Noooo! Why did you tell her?! Now she's probably going to look at me as some whore or sloppy seconds and butter me up just to fuck and drop me too."
The brown hairs on my eyebrows furrowed. "Is that what you think I did? Buttered you up, fucked then ducked? That's absurd and fictitious, and you know it."
Part of it is true, and she was actually our last fuck, but it's way more to the story than she's leading on. Lauren was the perfect submissive. She had the right tone of voice, she was gorgeous to me and her mannerisms alone begged for me to fuck her. The way my name rolled off her tongue, I knew it.
I knew I had to have her and share with my wife.
Coming into work this morning was already challenging, watching my babies knocked out, snoring beneath the white sheets of our bed. I kissed both their lips and left a love note on the dresser, not wanting to interrupt their dream-ville of peace.
The first thing I'm presented with as I functioned my door open was Lauren's short ass, sitting on the sofa with a grey jogger set on and the attached hood assembling her untamed straightened hair. Caught utterly off guard would be an understatement. Her eyes were tired and droopy as if she hadn't slept in days.
She wasn't her usual happy and jolly self, which had me worrisome for a change. Yes, my past behaviors towards my beloved assistant have been questionable and somewhat flawed, but I'm not malicious or corrupt by far. My heart could use a cap full of WD-40, but that's not the point.
We were now both indulging in a cup of decaf coffee with pure cane sugar, sitting on opposite ends of the nylon fabric couch that usually my patients would occupy. I felt it was my duty to hear her out. Not as her boss, but as a woman. As Beyoncé.
