Content: Includes BDSM and consensual non-consent, without consent specifically given.

Emma counted her steps to the front door, not because she needed to know or had a sudden urge to measure the distance from the car to the front step, but rather to clear her head before entering. She stood on the welcome mat, her eyes tracing the faded letters slowly, as she breathed in and out.

She hated to bring work home, even just in thought, but it was difficult. There were little rituals she relied on to help her shift gears. Counting steps, tracing letters, breathing in and out…that was just the beginning.

Key in the lock, Emma twisted the knob, opened the door, and entered the foyer. She dropped her bag, kicked one shoe off and then the other, then turned to lock the door behind her.

From the dark, his deep voice rose, “You’re late.”

Emma jumped, involuntarily, “Shit, Michael, you sacred the crap out of me!”

He turned on the lamp, revealing himself reclined in an easy chair, shoulders slightly slumped, whiskey in hand. Though still dressed in work attire, his hair was now disheveled, and his facial hair cast a soft shadow along his jaw. His lids hung lower than normal, and it was obvious to Emma that he was not only tired, but stressed, as well.

There was a glass of wine already waiting for her on the coffee table.

Removing her blazer and un-tucking her blouse, Emma padded across the carpet to the couch. She sat down at the end closest to Michael, tucking her still-stockinged feet under her, and took a quick sip of the wine.

“Hard day?” she inquired.

“The hardest,” he responded.

“Wanna tell me about it?”

“Not right now…I’d really just like to get my mind off of all of it. Have some dinner. Maybe watch a movie.”

She noticed a little twitch at the corner of his left eye, as he pressed his lips together and breathed in, letting the air out in a long, drawn out sigh. That twitch told her a lot, and she tucked it away.

“So what sounds good? I could whip up a salad or we could order in?” she looked at him inquisitively.

“I’m really just craving pizza and beer.”

She was watching her diet pretty carefully, but she surrendered to his need for comfort and said, “That actually sounds really good. We haven’t splurged on junk in awhile. It’s gonna taste like fucking sin on a silver platter.”

Emma headed to the entryway to retriever her phone from her bag. She called in the order and then padded back to the living room.

“Why don’t you let me rub your shoulders? It might make you feel better…”

The corners of his mouth turned down, and the circles beneath his eyes seemed to darken by the soft light of the lamp. He’d been working too hard for too long, and it was obviously taking a toll on his body.

“Come here…sit right here…”

She indicated the space in front of her, and in response, Michael put his glass on the table and stood up. He wasn’t big on massages, but this was more about appeasing her, and she knew it.

“Take it off…” she smirked and looked up at him through her lashes, and he obliged, groaning and rolling his eyes. He unbuttoned his shirt, removed it, threw it in his chair, and then pulled his undershirt over his head, adding that to the pile.

“Pants, too…”


“Don’t argue…just do it…”

Emma wasn’t the in-charge type at home, so whatever Michael did at her behest was only because he wanted to and because he wanted to make her happy. Her commands held power only because he let them. And right now, he was letting them. Emma could tell he needed to let them.

Standing there, handsomely half-naked in his black boxer briefs and socks, he looked sweetly vulnerable and humbly needy. It wasn’t a common look for him. He owned his company and spent the majority of his time in command and in control.

“Stay….” she drew out her playful command while she stood and hiked up her skirt enough to remove her stockings and re-situated herself on the couch.

“Okay…now down…” Emma nodded to the patch of carpeted floor in front of her.

Michael rolled his eyes, but followed her instructions. He crossed his legs and slumped a bit, but Emma coaxed him upright with the pressure of her hands on his shoulders.

“I know what you need, Mike. And I’m gonna need you to let me do this for you.”

Michael tensed, the muscles in his neck, shoulders, and back accentuating. She knew it made him uncomfortable, and it wasn’t often that she referenced it. But she felt confident that pushing him in this direction was was would help him the most. She had an intimate understanding of his psyche, and even more of his body.


“Mike…for me…if not for you…”

Emma took her stockings and wrapped them around the front of his neck. She wrapped both ends securely around each of her hands and balled her hands into tight fists. Michael uncrossed his legs, rose to his knees, and pulled his boxers down around his thighs. He wrapped his hand around the base of his slowly awakening cock.

“There’s lube in the coffee table drawer,” Emma reminded him.

He reached into the drawer, pulled out the bottle, and drizzled a line of clear, warming liquid along the length of his shaft. Tossing the bottle aside, he stroked himself slowly, coating his cock and finding his early rhythm.

His shoulders immediately began to relax, and Emma knew it was already beginning to work. He was surrendering to her offer, and she felt both gratitude and lust.

Michael continued to stroke himself, and from behind, Emma appreciated the sculpt of his back and periodically clenched buttocks. She also paid close attention to the hitch of his inhales, and the depth of his exhales. The faster they came, the closer she knew he was getting, and the more important her roll would become. She shifted onto her knees and re-established her grip on the stockings.

Michael’s posture straightened, his breath stopped momentarily, and his muscles became rigid. In response, Emma, sensing this was the moment, pulled back on the stockings, restricting his airway completely. Michael’s arm continued to move, the pace suddenly frantic, until his body completely stopped moving, every part of him stiff as stone.

And then he began to jolt, and Emma began to count in her head. The timing had to be perfect. Just long enough. She had to let go before he blacked out completely.

The doorbell rang, and Emma jumped. The pizza! She’d forgotten. She loosened her grip slowly and let Michael slump forward. He put his arms out to catch himself, but he remained on all fours catching his breath and recovering from the orgasm.

Emma threw a blanket over him and scurried to the door. Beer and pizza would be the perfect cherry on top to this evening.

Michael would be right as rain in the morning.


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