[Jayne Greye]

The Reluctant Domme is out on Smashwords (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B093TCKV2Q
Copy Cover:
My fingers ran up across the newly risen bricks of my abdominals before slowly tracing the deep line down the middle. “More,” he insisted as his tongue swept his lips seductively, his watchful eyes vigilant. My fingers spread, gliding across the arching slope of my chest. He devoured my performance as if he was ravenous. Suddenly there was only him. The restaurant became a blur as if the heavy fog of his need for my muscles swept everything else away. This show was for him. I was for him. My downcast eyes watched his legs cross, his excitement surge in his pants. He was lost in me as well. I cooed suggestively, playing the feeling up further for him. His excessive desire caused my heart to skip a beat. The cadence of our shallow halting breathing met in harmony. I needed him. Badly…

A revealing evening shows Dani her unquenchable urges to submit to her husband’s wishes. Jack holds parallel desires in the bedroom with a fetish for strong, dominating, muscular women. Seeking to please him, Dani undergoes a journey to become the woman of Jack’s fantasies with bondage and role-play as guides. Can they work out their competing needs to reach the sexual fulfillment they both crave?

—

“How?”

“Do you really want me to show you, Dani?” His eyebrow arched up as if I didn’t quite understand what the consequences of my assent might be. A ripple of fear shivered through me. The way his candidly observant hazel eyes reflected the brilliance of the firelight only enhanced my wariness. Goosebumps immediately lined the torso of my nude frame as if a field of wheat had miraculously germinated. One benefit of the seemingly ceaseless rain that winter was that all the extra time spent at home seemed to inevitably evolve into extracurricular activities.

Lips pressed together, tongues investigating, hands caressing, our lithe, sweaty bodies met each evening. Drowning out the thunder outside, we made love by the firelight on our bedroom floor area rug under a twisted lump of blankets. Other times we’d graduate to the bed itself, where we fondled each other’s firm bodies before we ‘did the deed.’ Recently our lovemaking had become a bit staid and predictable, but we still performed and fell asleep with our bodies intertwined.

But that night, he wanted something different. Trying to shake up the monotony, he’d asked me on more than one occasion to play the more aggressive partner when we coupled. A dominatrix, he’d called it. Try as I might, the not-so-subtle programming by society to be submissive had set in and made the task an impossible one. The subconsciously whispered refrain to wear makeup, look pretty, have good manners translated into discomfort bordering on outright anguish when it came time to take charge. Performing as a dominatrix in the bedroom only increased the discomfort tenfold. Almost every time I’d tried it previously, it had ended up with me laughing or asking for inane things which inevitably turned him off.

I nodded, not exactly sure of what I was agreeing to. Jack, my husband for five years, was everything I dreamed of in a man. He was a laundry list of ‘must haves’ for women seeking a mate; loving, intelligent, supportive, hard-working, rugged, sculpted, and well-off financially. His olive complexion, dark hair, and bright smile, which he was quick to flash, catered to my taste in men as well. He had a great family which meant I had no in-law issues.

From the start, his Mom had considered me a ‘good catch.’ She was a feminist ahead of her time, so it wasn’t because people considered me good-looking. Sure, I had blue eyes, blonde hair, long legs, a bright smile, and what guys would call ‘firm tits’ (not that his mom took stock of this). One of my college roommates affectionately called me “your basic nightmare” because my looks shamed others. God, I hate even admitting that. But it wasn’t how I looked that impressed his Mom. It was the fact that I said what I wanted, didn’t wear much makeup, and stood up to Jack when I needed to that set me apart.

Now that I think about it, that sassiness is probably why Jack was attracted to me in the first place. Even then he wanted to be told what to do. Why hadn’t I seen that before? Jack was absolutely devoted to me and showed his trust in me by sharing a secret that he’d never dared tell another soul.

It was the day after our engagement and we were relaxing on the couch watching television. If memory serves me, it was Seinfeld. Thursday nights meant the trifecta; Friends, Seinfeld, and E.R., and the evening was always topped off by pizza and beer. Yet that night his usual caustic comments and fun jibes at the shows were replaced by fidgeting so pronounced I’d finally asked “What’s wrong?” in frustration.

He stammered momentarily, then finally managed with his voice little more than a whisper, “Look, I love you more than anyone, but…” he stood up and paced back and forth behind our couch.

“But what?”

“I…” His jerky movements showed a level of agitation I hadn’t seen in him before, so I didn’t interrupt again and silently willed him the confidence to continue.

He stopped and looked at me, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. My eyes implored him to continue. “You have the most expressive eyes,” he muttered.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what you wanted to say. Don’t worry. It’s okay. I love you.”

“I love you too. It’s just that I have… this thing.” Not the most descriptive thing, I thought. “And I… I have to let you know something before you commit to me. I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed unless you have a dead body in the basement. “It wouldn’t be fair unless I shared my dark side with you.” For a moment I thought he was kidding, but the expression on his face said otherwise.

My skin crawled as we walked down the creaky wooden stairs into his poorly lit, concrete-floored basement. The stale smell of the air and the frigid temperature only contributed to my gloomy feeling about what would come next. Under the stairs, he pointed to a stack of boxes and a purple Converse duffle bag sitting atop.

“What?” I asked, not really wanting his ‘dirty secret’ revealed, but asking nonetheless. At least it’s too small for a dead body.

“Open them and see how weird I am before deciding I’m what you really want.” My face winced in confusion. What was this dark secret he was hiding? With trepidation, I slid past him and reached for the bag as if it might bite. It was so quiet, with him watching motionless, that the zipper sounded piercing as I opened the bag. Looking inside with confusion, there wasn’t a gun or something horrific as I’d begun to fear, only a number of haphazard VHS tapes. I picked a few up, still trying to grasp what was going on. They were labeled with confusing terms like WPW 34, Ms. Int 1989, or Debbie while others remained blank. “What, what are these?” I asked, still not getting the point.

“Put one in,” he responded, motioning to a 6” old-fashioned VCR/TV combo unit that screamed technology of a bygone era. The secret was killing me — his demeanor was so unlike him, unsure and mysterious. As I grabbed the one labeled Ms. Int 1989 and put the tape in the player, I heard his nervous, raspy breath increasing to a feverish pitch. The once familiar hum of the VCR tape whirled into action and the screen lit up.

A tanned woman raced onto a brightly lit stage in a pink swimsuit, placed her palm to her forehead, bent down, pointed one foot behind her, and froze in position until some music began. Her arm swelled like I envisioned a strong man’s might, her bent leg bulging with lines carved as if in concrete, and her pointed foot revealed a calf split in two, thick with muscle. I stared in awe. I’d heard of female bodybuilders, but never really given them much notice.

Bright lights poured down on her from above as she hit pose after pose. Her brawny build and honed physique suggested not only an incredible level of strength but an intensity to her diet; while her pert breasts strained upwards, defying gravity. I almost chortled when I saw her proud, taut nipples which looked as if she had teased them backstage before she’d run out to perform. Giving the boys an extra show was bound to help her score, I thought.

But I didn’t laugh. There was something about this he wanted me to see and, despite my confusion, the video was somehow oddly erotic. So I watched quietly instead, sensing growing tension from Jack. His hoarse breathing accelerated and when I cast him a subtle glance, he was chewing nervously on a fingernail.

The woman on the screen, however, pranced on with utter confidence. Her skin glistened under the intense lights, muscles roiling as she danced across the stage. Her blonde curly locks bounced, breasts pointed proudly, and a permanent grin remained glued to her face. She was just curves, muscles, and silky skin. Again and again, she struck poses while I watched the muscles rise, thick grooves in her abs playfully shimmer, and her honed muscular body dance. I didn’t comment on the video, still perplexed by the meaning of what I’d seen.

Instead, I turned and asked, “Wha…”

“Now look in the boxes,” he’d said flatly, ignoring my question. As She Drives Me Crazy continued blaring in the background and the woman in the pink suit extended her routine, I pried open a box lid. I was greeted by dozens of muscle magazines. I opened another container and saw more of the same. Flipping through them, I noticed that WPW must have referred to Women’s Physique Worlds, which were in a box neatly ordered by date. One cover, adorned by a golden tanned brunette in a skin-tight purple dress, caught my attention. The outfit looked like it was sprayed on, and the woman turned sideways, proudly displaying bulging biceps. She was bigger than the pink bikini blonde, and more attractive, as well.

I was so focused on my thoughts that his voice startled me. “The thing you need to know before you marry me… The thing you have the right to know is that I have a muscle fetish — for women. I’m not gay.”

“I see.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“But I’m not asking you to train or be like that… It’s… I’m sorry… I’ve never told anyone before.”

“It’s okay. Tell me.” I pleaded, turning toward him and taking his hands in my own, trying to convey a sense of safety.

“That I have a hard time shutting it off. I don’t want it to be a big awkward thing between us, and I thought I needed to be honest and tell you.”

“But you don’t want me to look this way?” His pause told me everything.

“I’m not going to tell you I wouldn’t like it. That would be lying, but I don’t expect you to try and look like they do. And don’t get me wrong, you obviously turn me on.”

“It’s okay.” I cut him off. “Thank you for telling me.” I had a lot to think about.

[Vince]

Hey all,

I finished the book, I wrote a review if you are interested.
Have a good day

What if you could reveal to your fiancée your darkest fantasies?What if she was accepting of them?What if a game turned into something real and much more than expected?What if your wife had the will and the means to make your wildest fantasy come true?How would you then live a new status quo….?The new story by Richard Greye depicts the life of a young couple, Dani & Jack, whom are deeply in love. Jack looks to reveal his darkest fantasy to his fiancée, to be upfront before they marry. This revelation leads to several events, which neither of them could have expected. One of them is the introduction of female muscle and domination in the couple’s relationship. Initially reluctant and having difficulties playing  the role, Dani learns about it and enhances her persona and physique to make it more realistic for Jack. Doing it out of love, she gets more and more into it, triggering events into their lives that readjust their reality.The story draws you into a relationship, where open communication and a sharing of fantasies is the norm. Mixed with domination and female muscle, it depicts this lovely couple’s life, their struggles to adjust to the situations and it might even give you ideas for your own relationship.

[Jayne Greye]

Thank you Qbikk. Here is another section. The book is now available in paperback on Amazon as well.
—-
It took a few years, but eventually, we fought through the worst of the embarrassment regarding his feelings, but his revelation was hard on me as well. I felt the pressure to get bigger, and there was nobody for me to talk to about Jack’s feelings regarding muscular women. It was so intensely personal for him, and he’d entrusted his secret with me, so I held it close to the vest.

For the next few years, after we married, I maintained a rigorous workout routine, trying to build the body of his dreams. I didn’t mind lifting weights and working out — I actually found it rewarding. Initially, I made great strides and as my body changed he became more open with me, sharing his feelings about muscle. It was a gradual progression and I think as I developed, his feelings changed as well. As I grew, so did his hopes for what I might become. The line between hope and fantasy became blurred and I remembered his comment “I have a hard time shutting it off.”

We began to arm wrestle and play fight and eventually I think he realized he not only wanted a woman who looked a certain way, but who used her strength in a certain way, too. It took me a while to see this transition in his feelings, but it was laid bare that night we were sat on comfortable blankets in front of the fire and played a new card game that he’d bought entitled, Learn, Laugh, Love, Fuck.

The game elicited answers to a series of relationship questions, beginning with fun trips down memory lane before we met, and ending with the deepest sexual fantasies. At the start, each of us drew five reward cards that ranged from doing the household chores for a day to rough sex that the other partner had to perform. From my five I had selected a rather mundane card which proposed that Jack would have to plan a romantic evening out, buy an outfit for me, and do his best impression of Richard Gere from Pretty Woman.

The questions in the game were mostly a set of uncomfortable topics designed to open communication on issues and feelings not typically discussed in a relationship. Others were more akin to dares and foreplay. We had made an evening out of it incorporating whipped cream, champagne, and blackberries as the foreplay ratcheted up. Looking back, I’m convinced that Jack stacked the deck, as a number of questions he read for me were about strength or dominant behavior.

My dismal luck in moving on the board reinforced the feeling that the cards had been set up, but since I was enjoying the foreplay, stroking, and kissing mixed with a healthy dose of champagne, I didn’t complain. There was plenty of laughing and the combination of alcohol and the cards created a romantic mood which progressed as we shed our inhibitions – and our clothing. Then came the victory card he read aloud to me:

“Have your partner become the dom/domme, assert their dominance physically and verbally, and order you to pleasure them. He/She should not leave character while you become either a naughty or pliant submissive.” He looked over at me and winked. “Looks like you’re going to have to play for real tonight, Dani.”

“Jack, I don’t know. Isn’t there another card you’d like?” Face etched with disappointment, his eyes dropped to the floor. I tried to explain, “It’s just that…I don’t know, I don’t think I’ll be any good. I mean, it’s such a stretch. I wouldn’t know where to start…”

“Do you want me to show you?” he mumbled, his voice tinged with disappointment.

“Um, yeah, and I could be the submissive for you.” I offered.

“Do you really want me to show you, Dani?” he growled menacingly.

His offer to demonstrate how to act like the dominant one both intrigued and disconcerted me. I hadn’t realized there was more to his fantasies than being with a muscular woman. I suspected there would be a certain level of muscle worship, like when he squeezed my muscles when we had sex. Now a new truth dawned on me. He wanted to be submissive in the presence of a muscular woman. Or, I should say, to me. I was already faking one thing, I didn’t know how I could do another.

He ached for me to be the dominant muscle woman of his dreams. I guess I should have been flattered but, instead, I suddenly felt even more pressure to get bigger, stronger, in order to play the part. I knew what a dominant person might do, and I wanted to be that woman. The feminist in me immediately questioned why I felt I couldn’t. Irritated with myself, I thought, maybe.

“Ye… yes,” I nodded.

Without warning, he launched into character.

“Didn’t I tell you to get stronger than me, bitch?” It was a tone I’d never heard from him and it startled me. I looked at him trying to read his face and judged it to be part of the role play, so I went along with it. It was hard to take him seriously, at least at first.

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Very sorry.” Suddenly he reached behind me and a thwapp resounded in the air and intense pain flared through my butt. He’d slapped my naked ass so hard tears welled up in my eyes. I saw a brief flinch and a look of panic flash across his face before I blinked to let him know I was alright. A mixture of annoyance and resolve washed over me and I steeled myself against another strike.

“Sorry, Master.” He emphasized the second word. “Do not again forget to end each statement by saying the name of the light of your existence, ‘Master.’” I almost rolled my eyes with the silliness of his statement but stayed in character.

“Sorry, Master. I will get stronger than you soon. I promise, Master.”

“I expect you will. Now, turn over, do twenty-five pushups, and then apologize to me.” I quickly flipped over and started in. I felt his eyes boring through my naked body so I went deep, focusing on proper form.

Eight reps in he called out, disapproval ringing in his voice, “Start again. Make sure your nipples touch the floor. You will get stronger than me.”

“Sorry Master,” I grunted, beginning again and pushing deep with each rep, focusing on my nipples as they brushed across the floor. He stood, towering over me and watching me like a hawk, focusing, I was sure, on his favorite part of my body: my wide, cut back. Straining through the last few reps, my nipples stiffened as they brushed the floor, and an odd sense of arousal shot through me. I finished and got to my knees, looking up at him earnestly, waiting for the next instruction.

“Get up and stand in front of me.” I found myself oddly turned on as I followed his command, slipping easily into the role. If nothing else, the evening had been a welcome change from our usual sexual routine. He noticed my visible excitement and it seemed to give him even more confidence in his new persona.

“You will do three sets of those each day from now on until you can beat my record of sixty-three. You will get stronger than me.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Now tease your nipples and finger fuck yourself while I watch.” I was typically shy about such things, but I followed his bidding without hesitation. This was a whole new level of submission and it fit like a leather glove.

“Come closer,” he whispered. I inched closer and he began fondling my legs as I masturbated, intense flames of desire shooting through me. I flexed, my sweet muscles bulging under his grip, and I perceived a strong sense of approval flash across his face. The idea that I was pleasuring him while I pleasured myself brought me near the edge.

Suddenly, he commanded, “stop!” Every fiber of my being wanted to continue, but I froze, actually scared by his overwhelming authority.

“Yes, Master,” I whispered, trying not to let the disappointment seep into my voice.

“You never get to cum before I do,” he hissed “Pleasure my cock.” His hard, ruddy pink, throbbing cock stood at attention. It was something that I rarely did, lacking both confidence and practice, but I slid to my knees and began to give him a blow job.

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