Authors: Vivienne Harris-Scott
I
am not saying she created a monster, but sometimes, as I think about my sexual
needs, I wonder.
I
simply didn
’
t
know I had the need to truly possess someone until I met her. It was strange;
the intensity of our first night took us both by surprise. We
’
ve discussed it actually on our 2
nd
night together. Her, because she realized she needed to be possessed, dominated
and accepted in her entirety. Me, because I truly
needed
to possess her.
No other woman has ever had this effect on me. I
’
ve slept with plenty, but not once, ever,
experienced the possessiveness my wife elicits in me.
It
’
s
messing with my head. Fuck.
I
don
’
t
know. I dominate her more often than not, but she is in complete control of our
sex life, because she surrenders, she lets me do whatever I want, only because
she wants it. Sometimes, I would get high just by pressing her wrist,
whispering in her ear,
“
Say
it
”
,
watching her respond to my words, fuelling my own need. Her body would tense up
as if becoming electrically wired, her breasts would swell and distend whatever
piece of garment she would be wearing, her legs would slight part as well as
her lips, regardless of where we would be, her eyes become glassy with raw need
and she would look at me with what became
‘
the look
’
between us. The look that said,
“
I
’
m yours. Always. Always. Now, please take
me
”
.
I wouldn
’
t
touch her until she said the words, but in truth, I was the one surrendering to
her commands. Because, once I touched her, I was hers, and I can
’
t count how many times she brought me to
the brink of losing my sanity. How many times, I have been the one, giving her
‘
the look
’
, the one saying the words, until she
finally touched me, or allowed me touch her.
The
first time we had sex in public cemented my need of her, I knew from then on,
no one else would ever accept me in my entirety, in my complexities like she
did.
It
was on our 3
rd
‘
date
’
, three weeks after our first night. I had
flown to Geneva, and had gone to the UN headquarters to pick her up on a Friday
night and as the elevator was descending, with people around us, I pressed my
body against her back, slowly caressing her wrist, whispering to her ear how
much I wanted her and was looking forward to make her mine. She had surprised
me, by saying out loud to no one in particular,
“
Can you please press L4?
”
all the while, her hand reached her back,
slid down my zipper and she had started to fondle my manhood. I had been almost
paralysed. As most people got off on the ground floor and then the first
parking levels, she hadn
’
t
turned, nor stopped. When the door opened on the final level of the parking
garage and we were the only ones left, she had pulled my zipper back up and
exited the cabin without a single glance back. She had marched on to the corner
of the garage where she had removed her stiletto heels, climbed on the hood of
a parked car, and pulled her business pencil skirt up. I was mesmerized. Her
white panties were visible, her garter belt and stockings showcasing her
treasured triangle; she had slightly parted her legs, her eyes never leaving
mine, and had said one single word,
“
Yours.
”
The
message was clear. She was mine. I could take her, anytime, anywhere. As she
was standing there, her eyes sparkling, challenging me, I simply forgot where
we were, my all-consuming need of her took over, and I ripped the panties off,
eager to quench my thirst for her. As I placed her legs on top of my shoulders,
held her waist and started to feverish drink from her, all I could think was: I
would never, ever, get my fill of this woman.
I
still haven
’
t
,
in spite of our current circumstances. She can still drive me crazy with want
.
Later,
as I guided my aching cock into her wet core, her body bent over the hood of
the very same car, I was on fire and at every stroke, asked her,
“
Who
’
s fucking you?
“
and I would torture her by holding still
until she panted my name,
“
Who
’
s pussy am I fucking?
”
I kept on,
“
Yours
”
she chanted,
“
Who do you belong to?
“
I asked, as I began bucking like a wild
animal, fucking her with an uncontrollable lust and passion I had never felt
for anyone,
“
You.
”
she had cried out.
“
Mine
”
our voices had said at the same time, as
I emptied my seed in her, finally collapsing against her back, in the public
garage.
As
we had walked out of the parking lot and the attendant gave us a knowing grin,
she had returned his gaze, unapologetic.
I
told her I loved her for the first time that night. I was staying at the
Richemond
, overlooking the lake, and as we were having
dinner on the terrace, I looked at her and undoubtedly knew, she was The
One
.
I made love to her slowly and languorously, embedding in my mind every pore of
her. We only had known each other for 3 weeks and been on 3
‘
dates
’
, but I knew with certainty, I could not
and would not spend the rest of my life without her. I would be relentless
until she was officially mine. In truth, no other woman had me feel the way she
does. Even now.
She
completes me as much as I complete her. I still don
’
t how she can be so assertive and dominant
and at the same time so submissive. I guess the same question could be asked
about me. Privately, she used to call me her special alpha male, the only one
she chose to submit to, I guess, she is my alpha female.
This
situation is simply agonizing.
His
mind is drifting to the way she feels, the way she looks, the way she taste and
the sounds coming from her mouth.
The
woman is simply driving me crazy
…
Sex
was an essential and complex part of our relationship and I won
’
t lie, I missed it. Terribly.
Making
love to her isn't just about the pleasure, and it is very pleasurable; it is
more. One of those few moments when we are still totally connected; body, soul
and mind.
It
is an incredible turn on yes, but it is also a release. It is communication,
our secret code. I am hers and she is mine. Regardless of what goes on outside
of these moments.
She
is the only woman who has made me cry during sex, and I don
’
t mean sobs, but tears of pure pleasure
and joy, as I take her to her climax or she takes me to mine. She is the only
woman who has seen my dark side, embraced and craved for it. The only one for
whom I accept to relinquish power to, to please her. The only one I can show my
true self to.
She
is my yang. Still.
She
is mine as much as I am hers, and that
’
s why this situation was slowly but surely
becoming unbearable.
I
was growing increasingly frustrated. I couldn't and didn
’
t want to start another affair. I was the
Premier, I wouldn't take the chance; and I refused to use high-class
prostitutes as some of my colleagues did.
I
wanted my wife.
I
couldn't have her.
I
started drinking more than usual to relieve the stress.
December
came and went. Yet another month without being able to have her.
Our
3rd anniversary was around the corner, a few weeks away.
I
was her husband.
I
was the Premier.
I
had waited over a year. It was time.
((~~!~~))
The week leading to the night that changed
our relationship forever was filled with both anticipation and anger.
I
hadn't forgotten our anniversary. I had a 5 kilos box of Hediard chocolates
sitting on my desk just for her and would be taking it with me tonight. A
necklace and earrings set from
Chopard
would be
delivered to the house in the morning as we would be having breakfast and
starting out another year as a married couple. I had it all planned
out.
I
knew Vic had cleared my schedule with my assistant for our dinner
rendezvous at Centrepoint that night. I was looking forward to it, but I
was also scared she would deny me once more, chocolates notwithstanding,
because I knew, I simply would not take it. Not anymore. I had become
angry with her in the past few weeks wondering how much longer I was supposed
to play eunuch for her.
I
started to drink at the American Club at 6:00 p.m. that evening. I knew I was
supposed to meet her at 8 p.m. at the restaurant as she had requested, and I
figured, I had time to loosen up a bit. I was eager to see her but also
apprehensive.
I
continued to drink as acquaintances would stop by to chat, and before I
realized, I was quite intoxicated and the clock showed 8:30 p.m. I knew she
probably had tried to ring me, but I had turned my mobile phone off upon
leaving the office with the box of chocolate in hand, ordering my staff
not to disturb me under any circumstances that evening.
9:30
p.m. came, and still at my chair, I knew she would be furious. Probably angry,
and worried sick. I simply could not force myself to move, even though the
Centrepoint building was only a five minutes
’
walk away. I was in a buzz.
By
midnight, I had polished
¾
of a bottle of
Glenfiddish
30 years-old
reserve that the waiter had left in front of me as I had instructed
him to bring it over after the 6
th
drink.
I
was drunk, and I was horny.
I
decided to go and look for my wife.
I
was yearning for her, she was mine, and I would no longer be denied.
I
don't know what time it was when I finally made it home.
I
went straight to her bedroom where I knew she would have fallen asleep.
I
opened the door, and the dim bedside lamp on the nightstand was still on,
allowing me to look at her.
She
was breathing softly, he head resting on the pillow, her face surrounded by her
lovely curls.