Dominating my husband. Chapter 7.
Karen Young	Karen12613@aol.com
My husband learns it isn't a good idea to lie to me.

This story contains violence and sexually explicit material and should 
only be read by adults who are not offended by such. 

This is the story of how I came to dominate my husband. It, for the most 
part, describes real events in our lives. 


This is the most recent adventure I've had with my husband. We've 
basically gone beyond the wrestling as it offers little in the way of 
suspense. I still enjoy putting him in holds and punishing him from time 
to time, but we haven't really had many all out matches. 

It started when I was working out in our basement. This past summer, I'd 
set up a little exercise area. I set up a weight bench, with some free 
weights. I also have some mats spread about and a punching bag. I've 
been into boxing lately. Its really added to the conditioning and toning 
of my arm muscles. I'd spent about 15 minutes on the bag, and about 
another 15 minutes on the mat doing calesthenics. Now, I'm on the bench, 
doing reps with my usual 160 pounds. 

People who know me know I am not what you'd call promosicious. I don't 
flaunt my body with revealing clothes. In fact, girlfriends are 
constantly riding me about my conservative wardrobe. I can't help it, 
its just how I am. When I workout, however, I do wear revealing clothes. 
Again, not to show off, but because its actually good for you. I don't 
want to be restricted in any movement. That's why I like the basement. I 
can be as revealing and comfortable as I want to be. Today, I had on an 
old pair of cotton shorts. They've shrunk some, over the years, and now 
barely cover my hard buttocks. My muscled thighs are fully exposed as 
the shorts tend to ride up. On top, I'm wearing my skimpiest t-shirt. 
It's really a half shirt, showing my entire tight midsection from below 
my belly button to just below my sports bra. Its not sleevless, but the 
sleeves barely stretch around my hard shoulders. It accents the muscles 
in my upper arms nicely, if I do say so myself. When I am completely 
honest, I must admit to admiring my form sometimes, in the full length 
mirror I've hung. I like to watch my muscles flex when I power through a 
lift. The tightening of a biceps muscle, to me, is one of the sexiest 
things on earth. On a woman or a man. 

Anyway, I'm doing the bench press, and I return the bar after ten reps. 
I sit up, to towel off some perspiration and I catch movement on the top 
of the stairs. Its Mike, and he's acting like he's just come in. I know 
I did not hear the door open. He'd been watching me the whole time. 
Inside, I'm thrilled that he enjoys seeing me this way. Lots of men say 
they like athletic woman, but most, I find, get too intimidated to 
really appreciate one. Mike has gotten over his intimidation and has 
really started enjoying me for who I am. The fact that he left his 
precious computers to watch me like this is very exciting. Of course, I 
can't let him know this. Its been a while since we've had some fun. I 
quickly have a plan. 

"Just what are you doing?" I challenge him. 

"I need some manuals." He answers as he tries to causually walk down the 
stairs. It was almost funny. He's walking, and he's purposly trying not 
to stare at me. I'm straddling the bench, my muscles are definatly 
pumped. My shorts and shirt are soaked, and clinging to my body. I know 
he's turned on by this, but he's trying to hide it. 

"Don't lie to me Michael." I stand and saunter over to him. "You were 
sitting there the whole time, watching me workout." 

"I was not." 

"You like to watch me, don't you Michael." I put my are around him, and 
gently pull him from his stack of manuals. "You like to watch me work my 
girl muscles." I give him a one arm flex and he blushes. "I know you 
much you like them." I'm walking him toward the bench. 

"Stop it Karen." 

"Michael. We've talked about being honest with each other. Its no use 
denying it. You were watching me. You were watching me because deep 
down, your a voyer, and like to watch women. I understand. I just wish 
you were more honest about it." I was getting turned on now. I always 
get turned on when I speak to him like he's a child. "I'm going to teach 
you a little leason, so you wont forget." 

He senses what's coming and quickly pulls out of my grasp. He runs for 
the stairs. I chase him down and tackle him, just as he's reaching the 
bottom step. He falls hard and I hook my leg under him. He lands and I 
am sort of straddling him on his side. I'm completely loose from the 
workout and have no trouble getting physical with him. Like I said, we 
haven't wrestled much. It just isn't competitive enough. I've become 
much stronger than him, and it really makes it less exciting. Still, a 
leson is a leson. 

I hook my arm around his neck and turn him onto his stomach in sort of a 
reverse half nelson. He's been in this position before and actually 
appears to have learned something. He continues to roll over, hoping to 
use my momentum and through me off. I anticipate this, however, and 
stick out my leg to stop myself. I reach under him and pull his arm up 
and painfully behind him. I release his neck and grab his other arm 
behind him. I then sit flush on his lower back pinning his arms to his 
back. 

He's struggling to free himself, but his puny muscles are clearly no 
match for me.  Its almost sad to see how easily I can dominate him. "Now 
Michael. I'm going to give you some time alone here, to think about what 
happened here. How it is wrong for you to try and lie to me. How, if 
you'd just accept my superiority and freely admit your sinful lust, 
you'd be much better off." I look around and am too far to get my hands 
on anything. I could probably drag him where I want him to be, but I 
want to get on with my workout. I get up plant one knee onto his back, 
pinning one are there. With my free hand, I take off my shirt. I switch 
hands to remove my other arm. My body is covered in perpiration. I 
straddle his upper back pinning both of his arms so both of my hands are 
free. I spin the wet T-shirt tightly from the sleeves, like you'd do if 
you were going to snap it at someone. I scoot back down and tie his 
wrists with the wound up T-shirt. I wrap each wrist securly and hold the 
loose end in my tight grip. 

I stand up and I help him up. He's been tied dozens of times, but never 
with my favorite T-shirt. He's as obediant as can be. I escort him to my 
bench and position him to sit, with his back to the barbell. I reach 
down, and pull the laces from his left sneaker. I tie the lace around 
his arms, just above the elbows in a secure knot. I tie the loose end of 
the T-shirt around the cord stretched between his elbows. I take the 
lace from his right show and tie it around the stretched T-shirt and tie 
the other end tightly to the barbell. I add a fifty pound weight to each 
side of the bar, making the total 260 pounds. He wasn't going anywhere. 

I stand infront of him. "I'm going for my run now, Michael, and I want 
you to consider your actions today." In a very demure way, I shimmy out 
of my shorts. My panties are soaking wet, and have risen up deeply into 
my cracks. I have to peal them off of me. They are filthy at both ends 
and have a real game odor. I hold them up for him to see. Then I ball 
them up and tell him to open. He obeys. I place them on his tongue. I 
use my sweat rag to tie around his head and over his mouth, securing the 
panties in place. I walk as slow as I can when I leave the room, feeling 
his fleeting eyes on my perfectly toned ass. 

I throw on a warm up suit and go for my run. I usually run five miles 
and it takes about 30 minutes. Today, I'm feeling so good, I decide to 
go for ten miles. The whole time, I'm feeling my muscles pump, feeling 
the sweat pour down my limbs. The whole time, with each stride, feeling 
the strength of 16 months of intense workouts. The whole time, knowing 
my husband was bound and gagged, waiting for me. Knowing he was at this 
very moment breathing and tasting the sweetest and fowlest orders my 
hard body could deliver. Knowing he was there because I put him there, 
for no other reason than that it pleased me, gratified me. Knowing he 
had no choice but to endure what I put him through. It was the best run 
I'd had in a long time. 

I returned home, tired and sweaty. I was breathing hard. I took my time. 
I grabbed a large drink out of the fridge and slumped at the kitchen 
table. After several minutes, I went down stairs. He was, of course, 
exactly as I left him, except that he was sweaty and tired as well. Most 
people don't realize that being put in bondage is physically and 
mentally exhaustive. Michael has told me it is very stressful for him. 
I've discussed this with others and concluded that being in bondage 
causes the victem to tighten all of his or her muscles, thus, strapping 
the victem of any strength. I was gone a little over an hour, and 
Michael looked like he'd worked harder than I did. 

I seductively walked over to him. I stepped out of my warmup suit, and 
removed my bra. I was completely naked, dripping with sweat, when I 
removed his gag. I straddled the bench, standing above him. "Now taste 
the real thing Michael." I thrust myself onto his mouth and immediately 
came. My juice flowed liberally onto his face and it was the best I'd 
felt in a long time. 

After two more very satisfying orgasms, I removed his pants and impaled 
myself on him, allowing him his moment of gratification, which came 
almost instantly. When he was through, I remained on him, with my arms 
loosly on his shoulders, his hands still secured to the bar. We talked 
for more than an hour, when I decided I'd retire for the night. At the 
last minute, I decided he'd stay right where he was for now. If I woke 
later, I'd be down to release him. 

He obediently allowed me to return the gag in place. Such a good boy.