Mengejar Cinta Istri

Trigger Warnings: FemDom, Male Sub, BDSM Dynamics, Power Play, Voyeurism,Shibari(Japanese bondage and submission)Humiliation..21+.

“Say it again, Elio.”

Janelle Montrose stood at the bottom of the staircase, glass of water forgotten in her hand, her head cocked toward the barely cracked door at the end of the hall. The soft whimpers echoing through the silence were unmistakable. Breathless. Desperate. Erotic.

And sinful.

Her lips parted as she leaned forward, heart pounding in a slow, heated rhythm.

She heard her name again.

“Janelle…” The boy’s voice was soaked in need, high and trembling. “Please… oh God…”

There was the faint creak of bedsheets. A muffled gasp. The wet sound of skin against skin. Then again…

“Miss Montrose…please, tie me up…please…”

Janelle’s fingers flexed around the cold glass.

The sound pulled a low, surprised laugh from her throat, quiet but dark.

He was moaning her name. Her title. Fantasizing about her. Begging the empty air to be bound and broken by her hands.

The glass of water nearly slipped from her grasp.

She hadn’t come downstairs expecting this. She’d only wanted a drink. But now…

Now she was standing frozen in silk pajamas and bare feet, eyes fixed on the trembling light spilling out from under the door of her live-in housemaid.

Elio Loverose.

The pretty little thing she’d hired six months ago.

Soft-spoken. Too pretty for his own good. Wide, shy eyes and a tendency to stammer every time she walked into the room in a low-cut blouse. He moved like a breeze, gentle and precise, with hands too delicate to scrub grime and a blush too permanent to belong in a house this sinful.

He never met her gaze when she spoke sharply. He trembled when she got close.

And now he was in there, jerking off in the dark, whimpering her name like a prayer.

Janelle's tongue slid over her lower lip.

She should’ve been angry. She should’ve thrown the door open and punished him for violating her name like that.

But instead… her thighs clenched.

She stood there another minute. Listening.

He cried out again.

“Please, Miss… please use me…”

And that was when she turned away, breathing a little heavier than before.

Janelle's bedroom was soaked in the quiet kind of decadence only the powerful could afford…plush rugs, warm lighting, and velvet throws in deep wine red.

But tonight it felt hotter than usual.

She stood by the window, sipping the water she hadn’t wanted, her eyes fixed on the moon beyond the glass. Her skin burned under her silk nightgown.

And she couldn’t stop hearing him.

Her name.

His voice.

That little gasp he made before finishing.

She should’ve walked away.

She should’ve let it go.

But the flush in her chest said otherwise.

She set the glass down and walked to her vanity mirror.

Slowly, deliberately, she slipped the robe off her shoulders, letting it fall.

“Begging for rope,” she murmured to herself with a smirk, admiring the curve of her breasts in the mirror. “You sweet little freak.”

She sat down on the edge of her bed, legs spread just slightly, and let her hand trail lower.

Eyes closed.

She imagined his hands bound in silk, strung from the rig she kept hidden in the private chamber downstairs. She imagined his flushed face, eyes wide and needy, lips parted in a moan that belonged only to her.

“Janelle,” she whispered mockingly, tracing her fingers lower. “Yes, Mistress.”

She imagined him trembling, dangling, whimpering with every strike of her crop. His body soft and pink, begging for permission to come.

And when her orgasm crested…sharp, breathless, intense…she came with a deep growl of satisfaction, her back arched, nails digging into the sheets.

Her laugh afterward was dark and honey-slicked.

She’d give him a taste. Just one.

Let the pretty little maid find out what he’d been asking for.

The next morning.

Elio stood in the main dining room, smoothing down his apron for the fifth time.

He looked like he'd seen a ghost.

Or dreamt one.

He kept glancing around nervously, biting his lip, eyes wide and glassy. He was trying to stay focused…fold the napkins, polish the wine glasses…but his hands trembled just slightly.

Janelle watched from the hallway, arms crossed beneath her breasts, sipping her morning espresso with a wicked glint in her eyes.

She knew exactly why he was so jittery.

And she was going to enjoy every moment of it.

“Elio.”

He jumped at her voice, whirling around. “M-Miss Montrose…!”

She stepped into the room, heels clicking with slow, purposeful grace.

“Did you sleep well?”

He swallowed hard. “Y-Yes, Miss.”

“Funny,” she said, circling the table like a lioness. “I didn’t.”

“I…I’m sorry, I…”

“I was passing by your room,” she said, her voice calm, almost lazy. “Heard… something.”

He froze.

Color drained from his face.

Her lips twitched.

“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

His voice cracked. “I… I…”

She leaned in close, her lips just a whisper from his ear.

“You moan beautifully when you think no one’s listening.”

He whimpered.

“Is that how you really feel about me?” she asked, voice low and deadly sweet. “You want me to tie you up, pretty boy?”

Elio’s knees nearly buckled.

He nodded. Slowly. Helplessly.

“Say it.”

His lips trembled. “Y-Yes, Miss. I… I want you to.”

She smiled.

“Good.”

She stepped back, dragging her finger under his chin as she turned.

“After dinner,” she said. “Bring yourself to the basement. No clothes. No words.”

He stared at her, breathless, shaking.

“Yes, Miss.”

And then she was gone.

Leaving him stunned. Hard. And already aching for what would come next.

"Touch yourself and I swear I’ll tie your wrists above your head and make you beg for hours."

Janelle's voice…low, soft, dangerous…dripped through the dim air like heated honey.

Elio Loverose had frozen the second he stepped through the cracked door of her bedroom. He hadn’t meant to look. He hadn’t meant to linger. But the sight had glued him in place.

Janelle Montrose was on her bed, thighs spread wide, fingers between them. Her head tipped back, lips parted in a soft moan, and she was whispering something…his name.

Elio's knees nearly buckled.

She saw him the moment his breath caught. Smirked like she’d been waiting for this.

"Naughty little thing," she purred. "Why are you so hard already? Did you like seeing me with my fingers deep inside my wet cunt, moaning your name like a needy whore?"

He whimpered, and Janelle slowly lifted her hand…wet, slick, glistening…and dragged two fingers into her mouth.

"Strip."

Elio hesitated.

"I said strip."

He obeyed.

Buttons fumbled. Clothes hit the floor. He was trembling, cock flushed and twitching against his belly, cheeks aflame.

She sat up on the bed, legs folded beneath her, eyes burning into him. She patted the space beside her. "Crawl."

He dropped to his hands and knees, crawling to her like a pet. Her fingers reached to cup his jaw.

"Good boy. But that mistake you made with the vase? You think I forgot?"

His breath hitched.

"Get on the floor. Face down. Arms behind your back."

Elio obeyed without a word, body burning with shame and anticipation. He could hear her moving…the drawer opening, the rustle of ropes.

Shibari ropes.

Moments later, his wrists were bound. Tight. Deliberate. Her fingers danced expertly, the rope snaking up his arms, around his shoulders, over his chest.

"I should punish you for making me touch myself alone," she murmured, dragging her lips along his spine. "But you’re too pretty like this. Too needy."

He whimpered again.

"No touching yourself," she warned. "No coming. Unless I say."

Elio gasped when her tongue flicked along the curve of his lower back.

"You're going to be my pretty toy tonight," she whispered. "Bound. Gagged. Hung up and used. You wanted this, didn't you? You wanted Mommy to ruin you."

He sobbed softly, nodding, every inch of him trembling.

She kissed his bound hands. Then she leaned down to his ear.

"Let's take this to the basement."