by Paul Jensi
"The loser has to do anything sexual the winner wants."
In Galette du Roi, the French game Rex was talking about, the one who finds a tiny, porcelain figurine inside a pastry becomes the King.
King Rex-- my husband-- you've got to love him. Got to, so I do, I guess. Honestly, he's all right. My friends compliment me on those puppy dog eyes beneath the sandy hair he keeps just a little shaggy, and I can understand their jealousy about most aspects of our relationship -- he is an attentive and caring man. But frankly, and his idea of the game proves my point, in bed I found him a bit juvenile.
As a young lady, I had always imagined sex should be like a novel, long and epic with foreplay for exposition and then a great deal of action and romance leading to a climax, followed by a literal denouement. Not that sex had to be on a grand scale every time. I also imagined sex with the intensity of a short story, or even still a poem, long and languid without direction or form, just a sweet abandon to exploration of the senses. But sex with Rex read like a bad joke: short, shallow, and funny only to the person who gets it.
You see, Rex definitely dictated the rules, but when it came to sexual matters he abdicated, often adopting a dirty little boy demeanor which belied his lack of self-confidence. The Galette du Roi was his way of getting what he wanted from me without having to ask.
Still, I said ok. I agreed out of a combined sense of duty and pity, but to be honest, curiosity provoked much of my acceptance. I savored the delicious mystery of what being at his mercy would bring.
Rex cut the small cake in two and offered me the choice of halves. After making my selection, we began eating like children for we ate with anticipation, which has no taste. We ate without removing our eyes from the other's plate, each eating more slowly as our portions became smaller, until we each had only a few bites left. Suddenly, I bit down on something hard. Rex must have read the surprise on my face, for he gulped loudly, still incredulous as I picked the prize off my tongue with my fingertips.
"So," he said, his tone as low as his spirits, "what do you want me to do?"
I felt trapped in the kind of snare only a husband can set. I feared hurting him if I flaunted my victory by actually asking him to do something. Yet, on the other hand, he would be angry if I insisted on quitting the game in which he had invested so much expectation. I settled on a compromise.
"Ok, give me a kiss."
"I won and you have to do what I say. I command you to kiss me."
At my use of the word "command," he came over and planted a peck on my lips.
"No, a real kiss. I order you to be romantic."
As I drew him to me like a breath, his smile mirrored the one he'd worn when seeing me for the first time. I remembered his shyness on our first night, when I'd had to take his hand because he was too nervous to reach for mine, and I found myself enjoying the taste of romance I'd insisted on. His kiss dripped past my lips and into my body, where his embrace became a warm wave of arousal.
"This time with your tongue," I said, his eyes full of my desire. Our heat ignited like the fire of two flames licking each other, fueling our passion and intensifying the fever burning me. The demure housewife evaporated. The hungry beast lurking inside me awoke and prowled through me, looking for meat.
"Take off your shirt," I whispered over our kiss.
His fingers fumbled with the buttons as fast as his clumsy urgency would allow. Even before he had finished, I'd worked my hands into the folds of his clothing to graze his skin with my fingertips, bite his flesh with my grip and swallow him whole with my fists.
"Unbutton your pants."
Like a dog that detects a new sound in his master's voice, Rex jerked his head at my tone. He cocked his head to the side, obliging but inquisitive. My blood rose as his trousers fell.
He stood in his underwear and I admired his body, still pleasant to behold after our years of marriage. I no longer saw him as my husband, however, but as my pet.
"Push your underwear down to your thighs."
He freed his cock and to my surprise I found it nodding hello when I had expected to find it hanging its head.
"Can't you do any better than that, Rex?" I teased. His half erection twitched under my gaze. "Much better. I think I'm beginning to like your cock better than I like you. At least it cums when called." I salivated at the word 'cock.' Too prig to say the word before, the confidence I found in his acceptance gave me the strength I needed to cross the borders of my self control.
"Shake, Rex. Shake hands with your dick." Here he balked, but I scolded his dawdling.
"What are you waiting for? I told you to shake your cock. Faster, and don't stop until I tell you." He followed my instructions mechanically at first, but I understood from the way his breathing weakened his knees that we were both enjoying his obedience.
"Are you going to cum?" I asked.
He grunted an affirmation as the tip of his dick disappeared into the hollow of his fist, only to reappear slick with the liquid he squeezed with his grip.
"So stop foaming at the cock. You can't do anything until I give you the permission and you're forbidden to cum until it's on my command."
He ceased immediately, if reluctantly, but I distracted him by spreading my legs and raising my skirt enough to show him the crotch of my underwear. The hungry smile that came across his face showed me my cotton patch must have been sopping. With one hand inside my shirt, I put the other between my legs and pulled my panties to one side so he could see my sex shine.
"Feel like chasing a pussy, Rex?"
He whimpered and nodded his head while his tongue wagged.
"Do you actually think I'd let you put your thing inside my regal cunt? Get on your knees," I commanded. He obeyed. "Crawl here like the dog you are." He moved on all fours, his shiny red prick dangling between his legs.
"Good dog. Now, stick out your tongue."
He did, panting.
His head moved closer to the throbbing between my legs, which increased when I saw his lips part with mine. My pussy opened as wide as flood gates releasing the juices trickling down to my ass. Rex nuzzled his face into my crotch with a randomness that frustrated me with its imprecision, for his rooting heightened my arousal without even the whisper of a promise of fulfillment.
"Fuck me with your tongue, Rex," I said, fisting his ears and thrusting his face into my sex. I twitched my hips to better relish the roughness of his tongue as he slurped at my clitoris. "Lick me. Come on. Stick it inside me. All the way. Good boy." Power bore through me when I looked down and saw my husband on his hands and knees like my fuck dog. Dominance encircled me like a fist, licked at me like a whip in my own hands. I felt Rex's obedience spread through me, as though each lap at my lap added to my authority and the enormity filled me like electricity tickling me. My strength grew, pushing to the point I could no longer contain my force and when my control controlled me, ecstasy spilled over my edges, flowing out of my pussy in pulses like the beats of my wild heart.
As my orgasm ebbed and I came to my senses, I slowly released the grip I had on my husband's head. He backed away, sat back on his ankles and looked up to me as if asking for scraps.
"Poor Rex," I said, anxious to give him a taste. "What's the matter boy? Momma didn't let you cum? It's ok, one of the nice things about being a dog is you can lick your own balls, right? Go ahead, boy. Show your master how you lick yourself."
He bent over to demonstrate that I was asking the impossible.
"Does Momma need to show you how? Roll over, Rex."
He lay flat on his back.
"Good boy. Now lift your legs up over your head and prop your lower back up with your hands."
His legs went straight up into the air and I grabbed his ankles, pulling his feet back towards his head so that I folded him in half. I stood over him with my feet at his head, and pulled his legs back and pushed them down until the tip of his cock lowered to his lips. The position looked uncomfortable, but he accepted the pose without any complaint more vocal than a few belabored breaths. His lips parted and his tongue darted out, lapping at the tip until his erection strengthened and lengthened enough to reach his mouth. He enclosed the head with his pucker and, without releasing his legs, I knelt down to observe close up the sight of my husband sucking his own cock. In doing so, I discovered that by applying and releasing pressure on his legs, I controlled how much of his cock fit in his mouth. I began pumping his legs and as his prick dipped in and out of his mouth, strings of his semen stretched between the tip and his lips so I increased the speed and whispered encouragement.
"Suck yourself off, Rex. Speak, bark like a dog. Cum in your mouth, you bitch. Suck you fucker, shoot your cum and swallow it."
His body tensed and, as though I really had been pumping him, sperm spurted into his mouth in gobs, a quantity too much for him to swallow, so while his throat danced and he drank what he could the rest spilled out of the corner of his smile, a smile which told me I had won in more ways than one that day.