Lilly was waiting for me when I came home from work, still in the sexy office ensemble she had left the house with in the morning. 

Only now, she had accessorized it with her favorite single-tailed whip, the one she lovingly called "Black Betty."  

"I've had a bad day," she softly said.  

"I can see that," I replied. 

She was leaning against the kitchen wall, her lovely Asian-American face showing little emotion. The cool, dark look in her eyes was enhanced by the black leather pencil skirt, the delicate white blouse, the smoky hose and stunning stiletto heels. 

I had already discarded my coat and tie in the car, but now I calmly shed the rest of my clothes. With the appearance of the whip, I knew what was expected of me. 

Without another word, we started down the stairs to our basement. I knew what my woman needed from me this evening, and I was going to accommodate her.  

She used the rolled-up whip as a prodding device on my back. 

It was the same slab of flesh that had felt this devilish device just a few days before, applied within the confines of the sex-haven we called "The Playroom,” in the house that we shared. 

Before we entered it, though, Lilly slapped a blindfold on me.  

This was unusual; we generally loved to look at each other’s toned and sweaty bodies during our BDSM games.  

Once inside, Lilly wasted no time in buckling leather cuffs onto my wrists and ankles and attaching them to pillars on either side of me. Soon I was standing spread-eagle in the middle of the room, limbs stretched wide apart. 

The sounds of a zipper indicated that she was discarding her tight skirt; probably so that she could assume a wider stance for her attack on my body.  

From the rustling of other fabrics, I assumed the blouse and the bra were also removed so that there would be nothing above the waist to hamper her swinging motions with Black Betty.  

From the click of her heels, though, I could tell she was keeping her stilettos on, which, given their inherent instability, was not the wisest choice of footwear.  

Still, from experience, I knew they allowed her to stand a bit taller than I, especially as I was currently positioned, with my legs spread wide apart in bondage.  

She used that psychological advantage when she pressed up to me and “towered” above me by about an inch. I could feel her hard nipples on my chest.  

I was right about the bra. 

She grabbed my balls and kissed me hard, ramming her tongue deep into my mouth like she was an army invading my territory. I figured penetrations of other orifices might be in the offing tonight. Lilly also loved her dildos. 

I took it in stride, for I knew that I would have my chance later to retaliate for her “abuse.”  

Lilly and I were equal-opportunity switches, trading off as Dom and sub in our BDSM games, which were generally restricted to the weekends, given the wear and tear on our bodies. 

However, Lilly was taking an extra turn here as a Dom on this Wednesday evening. This impromptu session meant that I would get two shots in a row at her in the next few days.  

(Being taller and stronger than Lilly, my Dominance sessions tended less toward flagellation, and more toward things like stressful bondage positions—my gal is wonderfully flexible—and electric “stimulation” equipment.) 

After she was done fucking my tonsils, Lilly pulled back and softly repeated her earlier line while twisting my testicles: 

“I’ve had a bad day.” 

“I know you have,” I replied.  

“I fucking know you know I have,” she snarled back. “You were there, Martin, when they picked that busty slut Rachel Jones for that promotion over me. You were on the promotion panel that approved it.” 

“I was only one vote, Lilly . . .” 

“It was unanimous, I heard.” 

Though I was not her boss at the large company we worked for, we generally kept office politics apart from what we did here. Still, I had to address this: 

“Jonesy deserves the job and you know it, Lilly. She has seniority on you, previous management experience, and she knows the territory. You’ll get the next opening, love.”  

Hoping to lighten the charged atmosphere so that I didn’t have to use my safe word to stop a session that could get out of hand, I added, “And by the way, Jonesy may be busty, but I don’t believe she’s a slut, Lilly.” 

“Actually, I kinda am,” replied a voice from behind me.  

Cripes! There was another woman in the room. A first for us. What the fuck? 

It took me a moment to place the somewhat deep, husky voice. It was the lady we were discussing. Jonesy continued explaining, “Lilly has been telling me all about your little dungeon down here. My hubby left me to pursue a younger model last year, and I haven’t had a man’s cock to play with for a long time. Lilly offered me yours.”  

The auburn-haired MILF knelt down before me and started licking my shaft. Beautifully. 

“And it’s a very nice one, Martin,” she cooed.  

Lilly came up behind me, rubbed the whip against my back, and whispered. 

“This is perfect, Martin. Jonesy gets to celebrate her promotion, I get to work out my frustration, and you get a lovely blowjob from a sizzling bitch that I know you’ve always had the hots for. A bitch who might be persuaded to come back and share our bed."

Lilly stepped back and took a deep breath.  

Within seconds, I was receiving pain from behind and pleasure from in front.  

A win-win. 

And if Jonesy was as kinky as I thought, we two could gang up on my conniving wife this coming weekend and blow her mind down here in the Playroom.

A win-win-win.