**Heya! Thanks for checking out my story. It’s a work in progress. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I am enjoying writing it.** 😊
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“Knock, knock.”
I’m leaning against the doorframe of your home office. It’s 9am and you’ve been working since 6am on the final touches of a presentation. You’re under a lot of stress, you have been for the past month. So it’s with some sheepishness that I repeat myself, louder this time “Knock, knock. Do you know what today is?”
You swivel in your seat with a sigh, tearing your eyes from the spreadsheet before you. “What day is it?” You ask with genuine interest.
“It’s almost ovulation day!” I raise a tiny white strip of test paper in front of me, the chemical reaction having made the test area deep red. Sometime within the next 48 hours, I was going to ovulate and that meant now was the time to start taking advantage of that.
“Oh, is it?” You feign indifference to my excitement but moments later are cracking a knowing smile above your coffee mug before you sip.
“Yes. So. I’m free all day. I know you’re busy, but, seriously, if you have even just a few minutes, come find me and let’s do this.” I smile and turn on my heel to begin down the hall. I am far too serious for your liking. All business. So regimented about getting everything *just right*. You fight back with your awful, horrible, no good, very bad sense of mean, mean , *mean* humor.
“Too bad I’m not really in the mood.” You respond dispassionately as you turn back toward your monitor.
It stops me in my tracks. I back up until I’m standing in the doorway once more, my eyes wide with panic, recalculating The Plan, my stare boring into the back of your head. “Uh…*what?*” I spit out. I’m not angry. I’m just reworking a master schedule in my brain that took me months to put together. My neurotic need for control over big life events is having a full on meltdown.
You turn around, smiling a shit eating grin. You can see two mushroom clouds glowing in my eyes as the bomb drops and levels my perfectly laid plans. “Jesus Chloe, I’m kidding. Relaaax. We’ve got this. Yes, I will come find you when I have time today. Don’t worry about it.”
My expression goes flat “You…UHG…you *ass*hole.” I respond and stomp down the hall. I need to clean something. Dick.
It’s an hour later and you come walking down the hall, stretching your arms above your head. I’m standing in the living room folding laundry. A towel drops from my hand and back into the pile.
“Do you have a break?” I ask without hiding an ounce of my eagerness. You see that I’m about ready to jump out of my skin with anticipation. Something evil turns on inside you.
“Yeah. I have a break. I’ve got about fifteen minutes to….I dunno. Snack. Stretch. Check the news?”
You’re watching me intently as you speak, enjoying the reaction that is spreading through all of my body language. I am losing it.
“Honey.” I say with a strained smile. “Honey? Honey. Come on. You’re kidding, right? Fifteen minutes? That’s all I need. Heck, we only need six minutes. I’ll do that thing you like, and, ta-da! We’ll be done and you’ll have nine minutes leftover to get a snack. Sound good? Let’s go.” I grip your shirt and turn to tug you down the hall to the bedroom.
But you don’t budge. Not an inch. It feels like I’m tugging at a house rather than my average build husband. I turn to look at you with surprise. Everything about you has changed. Your expression is stony, your eyes are dark, you are silently staring down at where my fist grips your shirt.
Without a word and with impossible speed, your hands trap my wrists firmly in front of me.
“Sweetheart.” Uh oh. “You have taken this too far. You need to let go of what you cannot control. Including my shirt. And The Plan. And everything else you’re trying to micromanage. And I’m going to help you.” You are staring directly into my eyes, having stooped to get on my short-ish level.
“Sweetheart” is a name reserved for making me feel small and reminding me of who is in charge if need be. You only ever use it when we have slipped into a Dom-ish/sub-ish play space in the bedroom. Which we only do every so often. You have never used it to speak to me in “real life”. It has the desired effect. I’m all ears and wondering what you think you’re going to do to reel me back in from my Type-A spiral.
“Today, my dear, you’re going to be at *my* beck and call, not the other way around. And when I call on you, you’re going to do exactly as I say, you’re going to accept exactly what happens, and you’re going to trust that everything will work out in the end.” You’re looking into my eyes intently as you speak. Your tone firm. Your grip tight. “Got that? Are we in agreement?”
My eyes are wide. “Uh yeah, sure, yeah. But-” you cut me off with a hand firmly over my mouth.
“Nope. No buts. You agreed.”
I nod, but there are no fewer than a thousand questions flooding my mind. And a nagging anxiety about getting this show on the road, taking advantage of the fertile window, not missing a chance.
You turn me around by my shoulders and push me toward the living room wall.
My chest and cheek are pressed against the cool wall now. I. Am. Living. For. This. What is going *on* with me? What is it about being told I’m not in charge anymore that is making me weak in the knees? I’m not this person. Or am I?
You bring my hands behind my back and hold both wrists in a vice grip while your other hand starts tugging down at my pajama shorts. It’s summertime, I’m a teacher, I don’t get dressed unless I have to during the day.
The waistband is around my knees now and your hand is pulling aside one cheek of my underwear. I can feel your hand against my lower back, fumbling with your button and fly and without ceremony your cock is out of your pants — fully erect — and you are sliding the glistening tip between my vulva, pressing deeper to part my labia, and gliding oh-so-smoothly into me.
“Goddamn. *Goddamn*, you are so wet for me.” You groan into the back of my neck as you thrust deeper and pick up a rhythm. You let go of my wrists and I brace my palms against the wall, offering resistance to your thrusts, tilting my pelvis to raise my ass to a more favorable angle for entering me deeply. I’m moaning against the wall, relishing the predicament that I’ve gotten myself into. I love feeling a little bit trapped…the wall and your body acting as a delicious version of a rock and a hard place. I love that your hands are now firmly gripping my waist, your fingers digging as you pull me back against you. I love this.
You are entering into a familiar pace that usually indicates you’re about to finish. Your breathing is beginning to catch and your thrusts are getting slightly erratic. I cannot wait. My excitement rises to impossible levels as I imagine the feeling of your cock throbbing as it shoots a hot load of sperm into me… and then the feeling of it as it drips out of me for hours and hours afterwards….I shiver all over and I wait for my prize.
And then you stop. You pull your creamy cock out of me slowly and let it rest against my ass. Your hands are on the wall now, on either side of me, effectively caging me in.
“W-what…what’s wrong? Is something wrong? Are you hurt?” I ask as I am ripped from my reverie. You’re pressing into me closely enough that I can’t turn around.
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just doing things the way I want to, remember?”
I’m at a loss.
“Today am going to decide when I cum inside you. And you are going to be okay with that. Today, I’m going to decide how I’d like to get there, how long I want to take, and what I want to do in order to achieve that ejaculation.” Your voice is practically a growl now. “Today, you are my edging toy and I will finish when I damn well please.”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/owvvd6/the_plan_part_1_breedingimpregnation_edging
Damn that’s hot.