Emily's Takes Charge of her Marriage (Emily and Jared Pt 1)

I had decided to end my marriage. I no longer felt sexually attracted to my husband, and my therapist helped me realize the underlying cause; I just didn’t respect Jared anymore and felt he didn’t deserve a woman like me.

I had begun to search for lawyers, but my friend Angela reached out to me. “Shouldn’t you try all the options before you break it off for good?” I couldn’t argue with her logic.

I met with her for lunch. Robert, her rich husband, afforded her the best meals at the best places, and she always paid. Angela was a sexy blond woman in her early-40s, who loved to show off her body. I must confess I found my eyes following her curves.

Over the rich meal, Angela explained her unusual philosophy about how to manage men. “First, you have to decide who is in charge. You don’t seem capable of submitting to him, so who does that leave?” Angela asked. It wasn’t until then that I started to wonder why Angela wore a silver key around her neck.

She then gave me the most unusual gift, and advice, I had ever received before wishing me luck. I drove back home wondering if her faith in me might have been misplaced.

***

The key turned in the lock with a sound that felt too loud for the quiet luxury of our home. I stepped inside, the weight of Angela’s words and the secret bag in my hand making my pulse thrum.

Jared was waiting in the living room, a glass of whiskey dangling from his fingers. He didn’t look up from the sports news flickering on the screen. “Out with her again?” His voice was flat, a controlled monotone that I knew masked a simmering dislike.

I placed my purse and the discreet tote bag on the console table. “We had coffee. It’s not a crime, Jared.”

He finally turned, his eyes—once so vibrant—now held a tired, petulant shadow. “That woman fills your head with nonsense. Ideas that aren’t… us.” He stood, his frame still broad but softened by years of complacency. “When do I get my wife back?”

I remembered Angela's words, “Women focus on words, men focus on actions.” Words alone wouldn’t reach Jared. I needed to show him the shift, not just tell him. My heart pounded as I slipped my hand under my skirt, fingers brushing against the lace of my panties. In one swift motion, I tugged them down and off, tossing them onto the floor. Jared stiffened, his eyes widening as I hiked up my skirt, exposing my pussy to him. The air between us crackled with tension as I held his gaze, daring him to look away.

“Would the old Emily do this?” I asked, brandishing my vagina like a picket sign.

He shook his head slowly, his breath shallow. “No,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “She wouldn’t.”

“Good,” I replied, lowering my skirt but leaving it tantalizingly short. “Because the old Emily didn’t know what she truly wanted. But the new Emily does. Let’s talk about her. Let’s talk about the needs of her pussy.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes darting to where my skirt barely covered me before locking onto mine again. “Okay,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. I could see the gears turning in his head, the realization dawning that this wasn’t just a conversation—it was a demand.

“Good,” I murmured, leaning back against the armrest of the couch. “Now, Jared, follow me, and I as I tell you.” He nodded, his body tense but ready to comply. The power dynamic shifted palpably, the room charged with a new energy. Angela was right. Words could only take me so far. Action was the language Jared understood, and I intended to speak it fluently.

I led Jared over to the couch, where I took a seat. He attempted to take a seat next to me, a typical thing to do under the rules of our old marriage, but I wanted to show him that things were different. I held up my hand like a stop sign and gently pushed him away. Jared stood there, uncertain.

“Angela,” I began, my voice calm but laced with something teasing, “she has… ideas. Ways to make things better. Ways to shake things up.” I paused, watching his brow furrow. “She thinks I’ve been too… accommodating. Too quiet.”

Jared stood there awkwardly, his fists tightening on his knees. “What kind of ideas?” The edge in his voice was sharp, defensive.

I tilted my head, letting a small smile play on my lips. “Oh, you wouldn’t like them. They’re a little… unconventional. Maybe even a little scandalous.” I spread my legs to show him my exposed pussy. He stood there staring at it as I continued.

“She thinks I need to take charge. That I’ve been holding back too much. And honestly,” I added, my tone softening but still firm, “I agree with her. I’ve been bottling up a lot of frustration, Jared. And it’s not fair—not to me, not to us.”

He exhaled sharply, but his eyes never left my vagina. “So what are you saying? What does taking charge mean?”

I let the question hang in the air for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest. “It means I want to try something different. Something that might seem… extreme at first. But Angela thinks it could help us. Help me.” I met his eyes, my gaze steady. “Are you willing to listen?”

He hesitated, his face a mix of confusion and apprehension. Finally, he nodded slowly. “Yeah. I guess I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“Not if you want to see this pussy again” I said softly, feeling a flicker of excitement ignite within me. “I want a dynamic shift, in the bedroom and elsewhere.”

I could feel my cheeks flush, but it was with a strange, thrilling heat. “I’m tired of our routine. I’m tired of surrendering my body when I feel you haven’t earned the privilege. I want to make sex about my desires. About you submitting to them.”

He stared at me, conflict warring in his eyes—fear, pride, and a desperate need to fix this. “Submit?” he echoed.

“Yes. If you’re truly committed to making this work.” I held his gaze, letting the ultimatum hang between us.

A long pause. Then, a barely perceptible nod. “I am. If this is what you need… I’ll try it.”

The agreement, timid as it was, sent a jolt straight to my core. My pussy, which had been a dormant knot of frustration, gave a sudden, slick throb. This is real.
“Fetch me a glass of wine,” I commanded, my voice cool and dismissive. “White wine. Chilled.”

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze darting from my eyes to my spread legs, before nodding silently and shuffling toward the kitchen. I watched him go, his movements filled with a purpose I had not seen from him in years. When he returned, holding the glass of wine with trembling hands, I took it from him without a word, savoring the crisp, cool liquid as it slid down my throat.

“Kneel,” I ordered, setting the glass down on the coffee table. He obeyed instantly, sinking to his knees before me, his eyes locked on my pussy once more. “You can look,” I said, my voice dripping with condescension, “but don’t touch. Not until I say so.” His gasped softly, and I could see the conflict in his eyes—the shame, the arousal, the desperation. He wanted to touch me, to taste me, but he knew better than to defy me.

I leaned back, spreading my legs wider, letting him see everything. The slickness between my thighs, the way my folds glistened with my own arousal, the faint pink flush of my skin. His gaze was rapt, hungry, and I reveled in the control it gave me. “This is what you’ll worship,” I murmured, my voice low and sultry. “This is what you’ll serve. Do you understand?”

He nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I understand.”

“Good,” I purred, picking up my wine glass again. “Now stand and take off your clothes. You’ll get your turn soon enough.” He obeyed, his eyes never leaving my pussy as I sipped my wine, savoring the taste and the power.

No words disturbed the sound of his clothes hitting the floor room, the faint clink of glass against my lips and his shallow, uneven breaths. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled his polo shirt over his head, revealing the soft swell of his stomach. He fumbled with his belt, his khakis, his boxers, until he stood naked before me, vulnerable and exposed in our perfectly appointed living room. The sight unspooled something deep inside me. Power. It was a heady, intoxicating sip.

“Get back on your knees,” I instructed.

He sank to his knees on the plush rug, his eyes downcast. The submission in his posture made my breath catch. Since my panties were off, and my crotch at his eye level, I spread my legs. His eyes became riveted to my crotch.

"Look at you," I said, my voice steady and commanding as I looked down at Jared, kneeling naked before me. His eyes were glued to my pussy, wide and hungry, like he was seeing it for the first time. I let my thighs part slightly, teasing him, reveling in the way he I held his attention. You’ve just submitted to me. How does it feel?"

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggled to find words. "I… I don’t know," he stammered, his voice trembling. "It’s… different. Strange. But—" He hesitated, his gaze flickering up to mine for a moment before returning to my pussy. "But I think I like it."

A thrill shot through me, hot and electric. I leaned forward slightly, resting my hands on my knees, and watched as his eyes followed the movement with rapt attention. "You think you like it?" I repeated, my tone teasing but firm. "Or you know you like it?"

"I know I like it," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I like… looking at you like this. It’s… it’s intoxicating."

I smiled, a slow, satisfied curve of my lips. "Good," I purred. "Because this is just the beginning. If you’re truly ready to submit to me, we can take this much further. But I need to know—are you ready?"

His eyes darkened with a mix of fear and desire, his body shifting almost imperceptibly closer. "I am," he said, his voice gaining a little strength. "I’m ready."

"Prove it," I said, leaning back and spreading my legs wider. "Tell me what you want to do. What you need to do to show me you’re serious."

He hesitated, his gaze locked on my pussy, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "I… I want to taste you," he murmured, his voice husky with need. "I want to prove to you that I’m yours." And with that, he leaned in, his breath hot against my skin as he began to worship me exactly as I deserved. The game had begun, and I was already winning.

“Kiss my feet,” I commanded, wanting to build the anticipation before the main event.

He hesitated, a flush of shame creeping up his neck. But he leaned forward, pressing his lips to the glossy leather of my red high-heeled shoes. A soft, subservient kiss. Then another. A strange, charged energy filled the room. My gaze drifted down, and I noticed the way his flaccid penis began to stir, gradually growing firm as it rose against his belly. He’s getting off on this, too. The realization made my own wetness seep through my panties, the slick heat pooling between my thighs almost unbearable. Submit, I thought, the word echoing in my mind like a command. And he was.

"Taste me," I commanded, settling back against the cushions and guiding his face to my dripping pussy. He held his breath as I pressed him closer, the warmth of his tentative exhale sending a shiver through me. I felt a thrill of power course through my veins, sharp and intoxicating. This is what I’ve been missing, I thought, my fingers curling into the fabric of the couch as his tongue finally made contact with my slick folds. The first tentative lick was cautious, almost reverent, and I felt a flicker of satisfaction bloom deep within me. He’s finally where he belongs.

As he continued, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate line along my slit, I felt my confidence surge. The wet heat of his mouth, the way his breath quickened as he tasted me—it was all fuel to the fire that had been smoldering inside me for so long. "Listen," I began, my voice steady but laced with authority. The words came easier now, buoyed by the undeniable control I held over him. "You’ve disappointed me, Jared. You let your career stall. You let me carry this household." His tongue flicked against my clit, and I gasped, but I didn’t let it derail me. Instead, I leaned into the pleasure, using it to amplify my voice, to drive my point home.

His hands gripped my thighs for balance, but I didn’t miss the way his fingers trembled against my skin. He’s scared, I realized, and the thought sent a jolt of power straight to my core. "You let yourself go," I continued, my tone sharper now, my voice carrying the weight of years of frustration. "You stopped trying. You stopped being the man I married." His lips closed around my clit, and I moaned softly, my hips arching into his face. The sensation was electric, but it wasn’t enough to silence me. If anything, it made me bolder.

"You became lazy," I said, my voice low and cutting. "Complacent. And I let you, because I didn’t know how to fix it. But now I do." His tongue worked faster now, desperate and searching, and I felt my own wetness pooling, slick and hot against his lips. My breath quickened, but I forced myself to stay focused, to keep pushing. "This—what you’re doing right now—this is where you belong. Serving me. Admitting your failures." My fingers tangled in his hair, guiding him, controlling him. "Do you understand?"

He nodded against me, his mouth still busy, still eager. The desperation in his movements, the way he clung to me—it was all so satisfying. This is power, I thought, my body trembling with the force of it. This is control. And I’m not letting go.

"Good," I murmured, my voice soft but firm. "Now keep going. Show me you’re serious. Show me you’re ready to change." His tongue obeyed, and I let myself sink into the sensations, my thoughts swirling with a newfound clarity. This is just the beginning, I thought, my fingers tightening in his hair. And I’m going to make sure he never forgets it.

A sharp gasp escaped me. Oh, god. His tongue was clumsy, but the sheer act of him serving me, combined with the venom of my confession, was an aphrodisiac. “You don’t get to question my friends,” I continued, my voice growing husky. “You don’t get to police my time with Angela. That power is mine now.”

He moaned against me, the vibration sending sparks through my clit. His tongue grew more insistent, lapping at my folds, circling the sensitive bud. I tangled my hands in his hair, not guiding, just claiming. The words kept tumbling out, each frustration fueling the fire in my belly. “You failed. As a partner. As a man. And this… this is your penance.”

The climax built not as a wave but as a sudden, violent detonation. My back arched off the couch as a raw, guttural cry was torn from my throat. Pleasure, white-hot and vicious, electrocuted me from core to fingertips. I ground myself against his face, milking the ecstasy, watching him struggle to breathe through it. This is mine. All mine.

When the tremors subsided, I pushed his head away, breathless. “Bedroom. On the bed. Naked. Now.”

He scrambled up, his cock leaking, and hurried down the hall. I took my time. I washed my face, cooled my skin. Then I opened Angela’s bag. The harness was black leather, severe and professional. The dildo was large, veined, and a intimidating shade of deep purple. My hands shook as I fastened it around my hips, the weight of it foreign and profoundly powerful. I looked in the mirror. A stranger stared back—a woman in control.

I found him on his back, his body rigid, shoulders taut against the mattress. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, and his hands gripped the edges of the sheet like they were his only lifeline. When he saw me, his eyes widened, pupils dilating in panic. His jaw tightened, and he swallowed hard, the visible lump in his throat betraying his fear.

The sight of the strap-on made him flinch, his legs instinctively drawing up slightly, as if trying to shield himself. His cock, which moments ago had been straining with arousal, now softened visibly, a telltale sign of his rising dread.

“Emily,” he stammered, his voice trembling, “no… I can’t. That’s… I’m not—” His words trailed off into a choked whisper, and he shook his head, his gaze darting between my face and the intimidating purple dildo. His knuckles whitened as he clenched the sheets tighter, his whole body recoiling slightly, though he didn’t dare move from the bed.

I could see the battle raging within him—the fear of what was about to happen, the shame of his own arousal, the desperate need to please me warring with his instinct to flee. His chest heaved, and his breath hitched, a barely audible whimper escaping his lips.

He was frozen, terrified, and yet he stayed. The sight of his vulnerability sent a sharp thrill through me, my pussy tingling with anticipation. This was power—raw, undeniable, and utterly intoxicating.

“Is your submission that shallow?” I said, my voice cold. “This is for the best. It’s an acknowledgment. Of the truth.”

His protest died in his throat. He looked from my face to the faux cock and back, terror and a horrifying fascination in his eyes. That fear made my pussy clench with fresh, slick need.

“Suck it,” I commanded, stepping to the bedside. “Get it wet for your ass.”

Shame painted Jared’s features crimson, but he obeyed, leaning forward with trembling shoulders. His hands gripped the edge of the bed like it was the only thing grounding him as he opened his mouth and tentatively took the silicone head into it. His lips quivered, his jaw trembling as he tried to accommodate the size, but it was too much, too fast. He gagged immediately, his throat tightening as tears sprang to his eyes. A muffled whimper escaped him, his body jerking involuntarily as he pulled back, coughing and gasping for air.

The sound of his struggle, the sight of his humiliation—his mouth stretched wide, saliva glistening on his lips, his eyes watering with fear—sent a fresh pulse of wet heat between my legs. I could feel my pussy throbbing, slick with arousal, as I watched him falter. This is power, I thought, reveling in the way his body betrayed his submission. This is control.

“Again,” I commanded, my voice cold and firm.

He hesitated, his chest heaving with shallow breaths, his eyes darting to mine in silent pleading. But when I didn’t relent, he leaned forward once more, his movements stiff and reluctant. This time, he managed to take more of the silicone into his mouth, his tongue working clumsily against the surface. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he gagged again, his body convulsing with the force of it. The sound was raw, desperate, and utterly thrilling.

I let him struggle as I watched his humiliation unfold. His hands clutched the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white, and his legs twitched, as if part of him wanted to flee but he couldn’t bring himself to disobey. Finally, when I’d had enough of his torment, I pulled the dildo away, leaving him gasping and trembling on the bed.

His fear was palpable, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts as I turned toward the nightstand. I opened the drawer slowly, deliberately, and withdrew a bottle of lube. The plastic crinkled in my hand as I held it up, letting the light catch the label. Jared’s eyes widened, his breath catching as he realized what was coming next.

“Here,” I said, tossing the bottle onto the bed beside him. His gaze darted to it, then back to me, a mixture of dread and resignation in his eyes. “Get it ready.”

He stared at the bottle for a moment, his hands trembling as he reached for it. The cap clicked as he unscrewed it, his movements slow and hesitant, as if he was hoping time might stop altogether. But when it didn’t, he squeezed a glob of lube onto his fingers, his breath hitching as he began to smear it over the silicone shaft. The slick sound of his trembling hands sliding over the dildo was almost too much—his fear, his submission, his utter vulnerability—it was all pouring out of him, and I was drinking it in.

The sight of his own erection, twitching and leaking precum pathetically against his stomach, only heightened his humiliation. His movements were clumsy, his shame palpable, and I couldn’t help but smirk at the submission he was showing. My heart raced with anticipation, my pussy clenching with every stroke of his hand on the toy that would soon claim him.

“Good,” I murmured, watching him work. This is what you deserve, I thought, my pussy aching with anticipation. This is where you belong.

I climbed onto the bed, my movements deliberate and commanding, positioning myself between his spread legs. The leather harness hugged my hips snugly, the weight of the dildo a constant reminder of the power I now held. I pressed the broad, cool head of the strap-on against his tight, clenched hole, feeling the resistance instantly. He whimpered, his body instinctively tensing, but I didn’t relent. I leaned down, my voice low and dripping with dominance. “Relax,” I commanded, pressing harder against him. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To make me happy?”

His breath paused, and he nodded weakly, tears welling in his eyes. The vulnerability in his expression sent a shiver of excitement down my spine. I could see the conflict within him—the mix of dread and desire—and it only fueled my arousal. Without breaking eye contact, I applied more pressure, the tip of the dildo beginning to breach his tight entrance. A strangled moan escaped his lips, his hands gripping the sheets for dear life. “Please,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’s too much.”

I paused, letting the pressure linger, savoring the way his body fought against the intrusion. “Beg for it,” I taunted, my voice dripping with malice. “You know you need this. It’s the only way forward.” His face contorted with a mix of pain and submission, his cock twitching in spite of himself.

Finally, he cracked, his voice breaking as he whispered, “Please… take me.”

Satisfied with his plea, I began to push deeper, inch by agonizing inch. The resistance was immense, his body fighting every bit of the way, but I didn’t stop. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through me as I watched him unravel before my eyes. “This is your place now,” I murmured, my voice a mix of disdain and triumph. “You’re mine to use, to dominate. And you’ll take every inch like the submissive you are.” His whimpers turned into soft cries of surrender as I pushed deeper, claiming him completely.

“Beg for it,” I taunted, rolling the tip against him. “Beg for my cock.”

“Please,” he whispered, voice broken. “Please, Emily.”

“Louder.”

“Please fuck me!” he cried, the words full of utter degradation.

I pushed. Slowly. The resistance was immense, his body fighting the invasion. A low, pained groan spilled from his lips, but his hand flew to his own cock, stroking frantically. He’s aroused. By this. The revelation was a triumph.

“This is what you are now,” I hissed, sinking deeper inch by inch. “You’re not my husband. You’re my disappointment. My bitch.” With a final, firm thrust, I buried the entire length inside him. He cried out, a sound of pain and shocking pleasure. I began to move, a slow, grinding rhythm that filled him completely.

“I’ll never see you as a man again,” I panted, my voice low and dripping with disdain. My hips moved with deliberate, rhythmic thrusts, driving the thick strap-on deeper into him with every stroke. Jared whimpered beneath me, his body trembling as he struggled to adjust to the relentless intrusion. His hands clawed at the sheets, his knuckles white, but then his fingers crept down to his own cock—hard and leaking despite his shame.

I watched him with narrowed eyes, my lips curling into a cruel smile as he began to touch himself. His strokes were erratic, desperate, as if he couldn’t control the need coursing through him. The sight was intoxicating. His submission, his vulnerability—it was all mine. My pussy pulsed with arousal, the harness rubbing against my clit with every thrust, sending jolts of pleasure up my spine.

“Go on,” I taunted, leaning forward to press my palm against his chest, pinning him to the mattress. “Touch yourself like the pathetic submissive you are. Prove to me this is where you belong.” His breath hitched, his hips jerking involuntarily as he stroked himself faster, his cock slick with precum. His eyes were wide, glazed with a mix of pain and pleasure, and I reveled in the power I held over him.

I adjusted my angle, driving the dildo deeper, hitting a spot that made him cry out. His back arched, his thighs trembling as he tried to endure the sensation. “You feel that, don’t you?” I hissed, my voice sharp with malice. “That’s the truth, Jared. That’s what you’ve become—a toy for my pleasure, a vessel for my dominance.” His moan was ragged, broken, but he didn’t stop stroking himself, his fist moving faster, more urgently.

I picked up speed, my thrusts becoming harder, more punishing. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by his choked whimpers and my own ragged breaths. This is it, I thought, my body burning with power and arousal. This is what I’ve been craving.

“Tell me,” I demanded, my voice icy and commanding. “Tell me you agree. Tell me you’re nothing but my bitch now.” His eyes met mine, filled with desperation and something eerily like acceptance. “I—I agree,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “I’m your bitch, Emily. I’m yours.”

The confession sent a thrill through me, my pussy clenching with pleasure as I drove the strap-on deeper, harder, forcing him to feel every inch of his submission. His hand moved frantically now, his breaths coming in short, frantic gasps as he teetered on the edge of release. “Say it again,” I growled, my voice raw with dominance.

“I’m your bitch,” he moaned, louder this time, the words spilling from his lips like a prayer. “I’m yours. I’m nothing without you.”

Satisfaction surged through me, hot and electric, as I continued to fuck him, my thrusts unrelenting. His body writhed beneath me, his cock twitching in his hand as he brought himself closer to orgasm. I could feel my own climax building, the friction of the harness against my clit driving me toward the edge.

“Come for me,” I commanded, my voice sharp and final. And he did, his body convulsing as he spilled over his hand, his cock pulsing with every spurt. His cry was raw, guttural, filled with shame and release.

His body convulsed violently, muscles tightening as if electrified. A guttural cry tore from his throat, raw and unfiltered, as ropes of cum erupted from his cock, painting streaks across his stomach and chest. The sight was pitiful, yet exhilarating. His face twisted in a mix of shame and ecstasy, his mouth hanging open as he gasped for air. I watched, transfixed, as his orgasm claimed him completely, a tangible symbol of my control over even the most primal part of him.

I didn’t stop thrusting, pushing him through the waves of his orgasm until he was gasping, trembling, completely spent. Only then did I slow, my own breath ragged, my body thrumming with power. I leaned over him, my lips brushing his ear as I whispered, “Remember this moment, Jared. This is who you are now. Mine.” His nod was faint, his eyes glazed with exhaustion and submission. I pulled out, the slick sound of the strap-on leaving his body echoing in the silence.

He lay there, broken and panting, a puddle of sweat and shame. And I stood above him, towering in my victory, a queen claiming her throne. “Look at you,” I purred, my voice dripping with scorn and satisfaction. “Pathetic. And yet, so perfect this way.”

With deliberate slowness, I dipped my fingers into the sticky mess cooling on his chest. The warmth of his release clung to my skin as I gathered it, savoring the humiliation etched into his face. I held my glistening fingers before his lips, my gaze locking onto his with unwavering authority. “Go on,” I commanded, my tone sharp and unyielding. “Take it. You earned this.”

His eyes flickered with a mix of disgust and obedience. Reluctantly, he opened his mouth, his tongue trembling slightly as it peeked out. I pushed my fingers in, coating his tongue with his own cum. The act was debasing, a final act of submission that left no question about who was in charge. “Swallow,” I ordered, my voice low and firm. “Every drop.”

He obeyed, his throat bobbing as he complied with my demand. The sight sent a fresh wave of arousal coursing through me, a reminder of how deeply I had taken control. As he finished, I withdrew my fingers and wiped them clean on his cheek, leaving a streak that marked him as mine.

This is just the beginning, I thought, my confidence surging. Jared wasn’t just my husband anymore—he was my submissive, my plaything, a vessel for my dominance. And I was only just getting started.