Reunion

He saw her first; she recognized him staring. Parallel memories reprised when she had loved him, possessed him, and, ultimately, discarded him. His tie removed, she saw the leather band beneath his collar that showed he was bound. That and his stunned look of worship woke something inside her. Pushing her carry-on bag to him, she turned to walk towards the parking lot shuttle. He followed.

A decade earlier, she had been more angry and demanding and less confident and self-aware. She had luxuriated in his tribute, subservience, and pain. Today, she was happy with the less-extreme adoration of her husband, who no doubt waited with flowers and the kids asleep to relieve the stress of this business trip.

Only after years of debasement did he recover. His mistress now provided the structure he needed. He was eager to recount the moderate success of this trip, but mostly to return to the comfort of her control. Those intentions were derailed when he saw her. As if by a deep, post-hypnotic trigger, he fell under her spell.

She stepped off the bus and he grabbed their bags, the wheels noisy on the asphalt. Her glance made him pick up and carry them. A successful businesswoman, employees and vendors strived to fulfill her expectations. Yet the power she wielded over this one man aroused her. Planlessly, she led him to her car.

He knew he should have ignored her in the terminal. He knew he should turn and walk away now. He saw possibilities: begging her to take him back, delivering her bag and departing, rushing home to confess the incident, and multiplying variations. Considering them all overwhelmed him, leaving only the strongest compulsion—to do whatever she wished.

In the darkness, bright puddles formed beneath regularly spaced lights. There were surveillance cameras. A car or another traveler or a circling bus might arrive at any moment. The flash of a phone could end her career and marriage. She popped the trunk and he stowed her bag. When he reached to open the door for her, she locked it, then began unbuttoning his shirt.

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He shuddered as she touched him; her familiar perfume was like a time machine. In shadow, his eyes fixed on the reflected light in hers, screaming his neverending love and devotion, searching for any sign that she would accept his obeisance once more.

Like many of her decisions, it had arrived without deliberation; her intuition made what seemed like whims into resolute actions. Removing his suit coat and shirt, she dragged a finger along the choker. She squatted in front of him and yanked his pants and underwear to his ankles.

This was wrong! In the entangling web of possibilities he had imagined, this was not one. Through their years together, she would never have done this. His dick was swollen from the excitement of seeing her and the fantasy that she might reclaim him; it sprang to stiffness when exposed to the night air, inches from her mouth. He wanted to shout his protest, but her face looking up at him invoked his well-trained silence.

She wrapped her fingers around his cock, throbbing as it expanded. Pulling upward, she nibbled his balls, sucking each walnut into her mouth and licking it like a jawbreaker. Soon satisfied with his rigidity, she tongue-painted up his shaft, lingering below the bulb until she extracted a moan. Kissing the opening, she relished the expected accumulation of precum before taking the tip between her lips, swirling it with her tongue.

He remembered his last blowjob—with dismay. In the dark time after she disowned him, he had resumed his addictions. A woman had sucked him for some pills. To him, unfettered gratification was associated with degradation. He needed to be owned, limited to edges, ruins, and denials. The wet heat of her tongue seared his sensitive flesh, resurrecting best-buried memories. Fruitless squirming was all the escape he was able to attempt.

Hands on his ass, she slowly consumed him, making him slick with each deeper bob. When the knob reached the back of her mouth, she swallowed him into her throat, holding tight as his knees buckled. Inhaling his scent, she marked the difference from her husband. It spurred her to complete this demonstration. She sucked hard as she retreated to the head before descending again, each time faster, lips tight, tongue firm against the underside.

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Whimpering and groaning as sparks of pleasure spread through him, he closed his eyes, trying to gainsay who it was and what she was doing to him. But knowing that impossible truth drove him to unreachable heights. Despite praying for the frustration he had learned to expect, the lust she unleashed overtook him. So he surrendered to her will, as he always did, and erupted into her throat. Her suckling and his rapture continued even after his copious stockpile was drained.

The gush surprised her for a moment, but she was able to swallow her gag. Eager to taste his fluid, she partially withdrew as he pumped, slurping and savoring, inflicting the full measure of ecstasy that his collar proscribed. She usurped its authority while simultaneously cuckolding her husband; the exhilaration of her supremacy flooded through her like an orgasm. When she had siphoned his last drop, she shoved him away with the door as she got in the car and drove off.

The flash of headlights from a roaming bus roused him from his euphoric stupor. As he drove south, he replayed every intense moment that he would confess before he reported on the trip. Mistress would teach him what he had done wrong and sternly lock the genie back in the bottle.

Driving north across the bridge, she filed the memory as an unexpected epilogue to that era of her life. She had no desire to hurt her husband with it. When his tongue would discover her stickiness, he would revel in the thought that it was from her anticipation of his service.

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Updated: September 11, 2021 — 3:52 pm
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