Page 2 of The Shame Game

Anticipation sang in his blood. “You’re taking big chances.”

A flicker of unease crossed her face before she smoothed it away. “You don’t worry me,” she called back, and only he would’ve heard the nerves in it.

“Oh, yes I do.” He let his grin turn feral, loving the way her body tensed even as she sneered. “Because you know if I get up there and find you touching what’s mine without permission, there will be consequences.”

Her laugh was full of anticipation and apprehension, a heady mix that had him going rock hard in his jeans. “By the time you manage to drag your old bones up here, I’ll have had two orgasms, a shower, and will already be asleep.”

She gave a little toss of her head, sending her short sweep of dark hair flying. “Don’t forget to start the laundry,” she said, then disappeared down the hall.

James waited until the bedroom door slammed before he started up the stairs. He took his time, going first to the second-floor laundry room to drop off the bags. He set them on top of the washing machine where she couldn’t miss them, then continued on to his home office. He’d told his clients he was taking the week off for the holidays, so there was nothing pressing waiting for him. Still, he checked his voicemail, and glanced at a set of blueprints that had been delivered just before Christmas. He frowned over them for a moment, jotting down a few ideas for his meeting with the engineer next week and making a note to ask his assistant to check that the soil testing at the site had been completed.

Then he set down his pen, shut off the lights, and walked down the hall to the bedroom.

The double doors were shut, the room beyond silent. He thought about giving her a few more minutes, to make sure she’d had enough time to get started, then shrugged. If she hadn’t already begun to masturbate—strictly prohibited without permission, as she well knew—then he’d punish her for the threat of it.

Though their D/s dynamic was fairly flexible, and almost everything was open to negotiation, rules were rules. She liked to push from time to time, as though testing to make sure those rules were ironclad, and he liked to remind her that they were. He didn’t mind her pushing—in fact, he’d be disappointed if she didn’t. Just as she’d be disappointed if he didn’t hold to the line they’d agreed on and punish her appropriately for crossing it.

He did so hate to disappoint his wife.

He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck, loosening muscles that had grown tight on the long drive. There was always a chance he’d have to wrestle her down, and Amanda was much stronger than she looked. After three days of enforced celibacy, he was almost hoping she’d run.

He pushed open the doors.

The room was brightly lit, both bedside lamps and the chandelier above the bed glowing, banishing the shadows of twilight to the far corners of the room and spotlighting the woman on the king-sized bed.

She’d propped herself up, a pile of pillows at her back so she sat almost upright. Her clothes were scattered across the foot of the bed and the floor beside it, leaving her bare against the bright blue of the duvet beneath her.

He took a moment to drink in the sight of her, his beloved. Soft breasts, their weight resting gently on her ribcage, her reclining position widening the space between them so he could clearly see the small scar over her breastbone. Her nipples were still soft, pale brown puffs that would pucker and tighten as her arousal grew, and looked their best, in his opinion, when they were pinched in a set of clamps and glowing bright red.

Her belly was a soft curve, round hips flowing to firm thighs that he loved to dig his fingers into when he fucked her. The harder the better, so she’d see the bruises left behind the next day and preen a little in the mirror.

She spread her legs, revealing the soft skin of her inner thighs with their pale stretch marks and the tuft of dark hair at the top of her sex. She would have preferred to completely wax her pubis, but he liked having something to get his fingers into, so they compromised. She left the hair on her mound alone, the dark curls a wild tangle for him to play with, but her pussy below was stripped bare of hair. The soft pink flesh glistened in the bright lights, already slick with her own arousal and probably some lube, because she likely wouldn’t have been able to get the huge purple dildo wedged all the way inside her cunt so quickly without it.

He stared at the offending object for a moment, to increase both her unease and his control, then raised his gaze to hers. She was biting her lip, nibbling at it the way she did when she was unsure but was trying hard not to be, and her nipples were already hardening.

Aroused, and a little scared. Perfect.

“I thought I told you not to touch what’s mine without permission.”

She shrugged, a smirk on her pretty face despite the growing anxiety in her eyes. “Oops.”

He had to fight to keep his lips from twitching. “Oops? You’re going with oops?”

“Oopsie-daisy?”

He forced himself to frown. “Being cute won’t save you.”

“No?” She shrugged again, her tits bouncing enticingly with the movement. “I might as well enjoy myself, then.”

She lifted her hands to her breasts, her short red fingernails gleaming against her skin. Her breasts were delightfully responsive, the nipples puckering and lengthening at her touch. She pulled them with her fingertips, her breath hitching at the contact, and he grew even harder.

“This might take a while,” she said, her voice thin and tight with arousal. “I used the Velvet Swing.”

His gaze darted to the bedside table, and the distinctive bottle that sat there. Velvet Swing—or the good lube, as they sometimes called it—was a cannabis-based lubricant sold by their local pot shop. Infused with both THC and CBD, it increased blood flow and intensified arousal, and often triggered Amanda into multiple orgasms. They tended to save it for those times when they wanted a long play session, as it required about forty minutes after application to reach full potency.

Apparently, Amanda wanted to play hard tonight.

“You have until the count of three to stop touching my property, Amanda,” he warned her. “One.”

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