Page 101 of Prince of Control

He picks me up with his forearm underneath my ass and carries me back into the depths of the closet. “Uh uh. No way you’re going downstairs in that. Nobody sees my wife in this but me.”

My back hits an inner closet wall, and he presses me against it, pulling my legs around to straddle his hips.

I laugh again. “I was going to wear a bathrobe.”

“A bathrobe?” He drags his open mouth across my exposed collarbone to my shoulder. “Nope. No. Huh uh. Nobody sees you in a bathrobe, either.” He takes the tiny ribboned strap in his teeth and pulls it down my shoulder. “They’ll just imagine you naked beneath it. I’m the only guy who gets to imagine you naked.”

“I’m not sure you have control over what other people imagine.”

He grinds the bulge of his cock in the notch between my legs. “I have all the control. I’m the fucking prince of control,” he claims.

Heat flushes my body. My clit pulses in a slow thrum. I love when he gets intense like this.

He boosts me a little higher to get his lips around my nipple, which he exposed when he dragged the shoulder ribbon down with his teeth. His tongue swirls around it first, then he sucks, hard.

I gasp at the corresponding tug in my core.

“So you like it?” I fish for a compliment even though he’s obviously thrilled with the outfit.

“Like it,” he growls, tearing the bodice down to my waist. “I fucking love it.”

He suddenly drops me to my feet, spins me around, and presses my hands against the wall. “You look so hot, malyshka.” He slips a finger under the edge of my panties at the top of my ass and traces it to the cleft of my ass. “I’m losing my mind.” He lightly slaps my right buttcheek.

“I need to fuck you now,” he says abruptly, kicking my feet wider. “Otherwise, I’m going to tear this pretty thing off you, and you’ll be sad that I ruined your pretty new outfit.”

He slaps my left butt cheek. “This is a new outfit, right?”

I love the tinge of jealous paranoia in his voice. “It’s new,” I gasp, as he grips my waist and pulls my ass backward. “I bought it for you.”

“You’re killing me.” He tugs the G-string from between my cheeks and pulls it to the side with one hand, then uses the other to stroke between my legs.

I’m wet for him, my juices slick, my flesh plump and swollen with blood flow.

He buries his face in my hair with his lips pressed against my neck. “Malyshka, I love how wet your pussy gets for me.” I hear the scrape of his zipper.

His narration about my juices makes me gush more arousal.

He rubs the head of his cock against my slit, and I moan.

“Arch that back for me,” he orders.

I hollow my lower back, and he pushes in.

“That’s right. Just like that, baby. Take it like a good girl.” He eases in. As always, his dommy talk is tough, but he’s paying attention, going slow. Making sure I’m ready to take him.

I love it. I feel sexy and beautiful and utterly claimed by him. He makes me feel like the center of the Universe, and nothing could make me give up my position.

“You bought this sexy little outfit for me, malyshka?” He fills me and retreats, fills me again.

I’m beyond the capability of words now, so I just moan, “Uh huh.”

“Did you know what it was going to do to me?” He grips my hips, thrusting in faster.

I’m moaning now.

“Hmm?”

“Mmm…”