The Making of a Dominant Wife - Part 7 (Patreon)

Click here to read the previous parts of the story.

I met Henry (the man who would become my husband) at a party. A friend introduced us (she was aware of my proclivities where men were concerned).

I remember thinking right off the bat that Henry was the kind of man I could see myself marrying. I know that seems crazy (and it probably was, to be honest), but he was different than most of the guys I’d played with in my life.

Henry didn’t give off the overt vibes of a submissive guy. In fact, at first glance most people would think of him as the prototypical alpha male. He’s tall, good-looking, in exceptionally good shape, and blessed with the kind of confidence that almost all women find irresistible.

I’m immune to the charms of a typical alpha male, but Henry wasn’t the typical alpha male, as I would quickly come to discover.

I wasn’t analyzing the connection at the party, though. I was just enjoying spending time with him. We talked for a few hours that night and we exchanged numbers before going home. I texted him to set up a date that night. He agreed.

I wore a dress for our first date. It was low cut, tight across my breasts, and had a flared bottom that made it bounce and flow a little with every step. I looked great. I know, that’s not particularly modest, but I really did look great.

I still remember the look on Henry’s face when I got out of the cab. He was waiting outside the bar and for a moment he looked utterly enchanted with me. In that moment I felt quite confident that he was mine.

As it turned out, I was right. We found a table in a quiet (relatively speaking) corner of the bar and spent three hours getting to know each other between bouts of flirting. By the time midnight rolled around I was completely confident that Henry was very much into me.

More importantly, I was convinced that Henry was just as submissive as my friend suspected when she introduced us. It wasn’t one piece of overwhelming evidence, but rather several small things that undergirded my belief.

First, Henry was exceptionally attentive to my needs. Not in a cloying way, mind you. It’s more that he was very clearly paying attention to the level of my drink, to whether or not I was comfortable, to whether or not I needed anything at all.

Second, Henry did not initiate contact. It simply wasn’t in his nature to pursue what he wanted. Instead, he clearly preferred to let me initiate contact. He wanted to let me take what I desired.

Third, he talked about struggling to find a woman that he truly connected with. He mentioned feeling like he was never quite able to meet the expectations of the women he’d dated. That could have had a lot of meanings, of course, but I took it to mean that he usually dated women that were interested in the more typical alpha guy (the dominant type, in other words) and that Henry simply wasn’t that type of guy.

I made a bit of a leap in assuming Henry was a genuinely submissive guy, but as it turned out, I was right (obviously, since I ended up marrying him).

I was genuinely attracted to Henry and after a night of flirting and a bit of touching I was horny as hell (yes, women get that way too). I decided that instead of going home to masturbate I was going to have Henry make me cum.

So, just as our evening was coming to a close I looked at Henry and said, “Henry, I want you to eat my pussy.”

He offered a dumbfounded stare that quickly turned into a smile. “Really?” he said.

You had to be there to hear it, but there was a giddiness in his voice that told me that Henry was going to be the submissive I wanted him to be.

“Yes, Henry. Would you be willing to do that for me? Will you eat my pussy and make me cum?” I asked as I reached out and caressed his leg.

He nodded vigorously. “Yes, absolutely,” he said.

“Just to be clear, I’m not offering to make you cum,” I added. “I’m only offering to let you make me cum. That’s all you’ll be getting out of this. You’ll get to taste my pussy and give me an orgasm. Will that be enough for you, Henry?”

Again he nodded. “Absolutely,” he said.

I smiled, took his hand in mine, and stood up. I noticed a bulge in his pants when Henry stood up. I couldn’t help but smile again. He was turned on at the idea of eating my pussy and making me cum. The notion that he wouldn’t be getting an orgasm by my hand didn’t seem to bother him.

I led Henry through the bar and towards the bathrooms. I stepped into the woman’s bathroom, locked the door behind us, and stood against the wall. I pulled up my dress, lifted one leg and held it against the door, and said, “Eat me.”

Henry dropped to his knees and looked up at me. He had a sense of wonder in his eyes that I’d seen before. It was obvious that he was about to do something that thrilled him. It was obvious that he was a submissive being granted permission to do something he found immensely arousing.

“One more thing,” I said as I noticed his hand move between his legs. “No touching your cock. No touching yourself at all. I want you to concentrate all your effort on making me cum. Do you understand?”

Henry nodded.

“Good. You may eat my pussy,” I said while pulling aside my panties.

Henry proved his skill immediately as he went to work. He may have had trouble connecting with previous girlfriends but there was no question he’d pleased them all with his tongue. The man could eat pussy like nobody’s business (and he still can, of course).

“That’s good, Henry,” I said as I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensations of his skilled tongue working my clit. “That’s very good.”

Henry reached up and slipped two fingers inside me. He skillfully rubbed my g-spot, providing an extra dose of pleasure.

I suppressed the loud, lusty moan that wanted to escape my lips and grabbed a handful of Henry’s hair as he worked my pussy. He was doing such an exceptional job that I even considered providing him with an orgasm once he was finished (I didn’t give him one, of course).

“Make me cum, Henry,” I said between heavy breaths. “Make me cum!”

He did so a few minutes later. His work was exceptional and I could actually feel juices gushing out of my pussy as I had an orgasm on his tongue and fingers.

I let my foot fall to the floor and helped Henry to his feet afterwards. His lips and chin were wet with my juices.

I offered a deep, passionate kiss. I tasted myself on his lips. I sucked on his tongue before pushing mine into his mouth. He moaned. I felt his erection pressing into my stomach. It was all quite splendid.

“That was wonderful, Henry,” I said afterwards. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he replied.

We left the bathroom and left the bar. I gave him another kiss on the sidewalk and then hopped into a cab and headed home.

I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text a few minutes after getting into the cab: “I want you to masturbate when you get home, Henry. I want you to masturbate while thinking about how good my pussy tasted.”

I hit send and smiled as I thought about how good Henry was with his tongue and fingers. I was giddy. I’d just been on a date with a man I could genuinely see falling in love with.

Henry texted back: “I’m hard just thinking about it. I’ll happily do as you requested.”

I was feeling naughty when I got back to my apartment so I stripped, hopped into bed, and texted Henry again. “I’m naked in my bed and thinking about you. Are you home yet, Henry? Are you naked? Are you thinking about me?”

He texted a minute later: “I’m naked. I’m in my bed. I’m thinking about you. I’m hard.”

“Are you masturbating for me, Henry?” I texted.

“I am,” he replied.

“Are you thinking about my pussy, Henry? Are you thinking about how good it felt to make me cum?”

“I am,” he texted. “I loved making you cum.”

I played with my pussy. I couldn’t help myself. I was still so turned on. I loved that Henry was back at his place masturbating while thinking about me. I loved that he’d be so willing to give me pleasure in the bar and that he hadn’t once complained or tried to get me to jerk him off, blow him, etc.

“My pussy is still so wet, Henry. I’m playing with it. I’m playing with my clit while I think about you going down on me. I’m thinking about your talented tongue, Henry. Are you going to cum for me?” I texted.

“Yes,” he replied. “Yes, I’m going to cum for you.”

I played with my pussy and waited. A minute later I got a text: “I came. What an incredible orgasm. Thank you.”

I came soon after. Of course I did. I was out of my mind with desire.

“I came too, Henry,” I texted. “I want to see you next weekend.”

“It would be my pleasure,” he replied. “Just tell me when and where.”

That made me smile. We hadn’t talked about it. We hadn’t agreed that I was dominant and Henry was submissive. He seemed to understand it though. He wasn’t going to plan the date. He wasn’t going to suggest where we go. He would have done so if I’d told him I wanted him to plan the date, of course, but he wasn’t going to do it unless I wanted it. It was yet another piece of evidence that Henry and I were made for each other.

“Do you think you can go a week without cumming?” I texted Henry the next morning.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Good. I’d like you to refrain from cumming this week,” I texted back. “We’ll go out Saturday night.”

“I wish I didn’t have to wait a week to see you,” he replied. “I won’t cum. I promise.”

I made him wait all week to see me but I found great pleasure in teasing him. I sent him naughty texts. I told him how I was masturbating as I thought about him eating my pussy. I asked him if he thought about how I tasted and how much fun it had been to make me cum.

On Friday I went so far as to send him a picture of my pussy. I didn’t include my face so even if Henry was an asshole and put it online it wouldn’t have mattered. I couldn’t help myself. I got so turned on sending him naughty texts that I wanted to send a picture. I was soaking wet and you could actually see it in the image. It was incredible.

“Does my pussy turn you on?” I asked.

“More than you can possibly imagine,” he texted back.

“What does it make you want to do, Henry?” I asked. “Does it make you want to eat my pussy? Does it make you want to fuck me, Henry?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I want to fuck you. I want to be inside your perfect, wet pussy. I want to taste it too. I want to eat your pussy. I want to finger you. I want to fuck you. Most of all, I want to make you cum. I want to make you cum so hard.”

I masturbated as I read his text. I knew I wasn’t going to let him fuck me, but I was almost certainly going to let him make me cum.

“If you’re good tomorrow I’ll let you make me cum,” I texted back. “If you’re very good I might even let you cum.”

“I’ll be good,” he replied. “I promise. I’ll be good for you.”

“Are you hard, Henry? Does looking at my pussy make you hard?” I texted.

“Yes,” he replied. “I haven’t masturbated all week. I’m going a little bit crazy.”

I liked the idea of Henry sitting in his apartment with a rock hard cock. I liked that he wasn’t touching himself because I’d told him not to. Obviously, I really like being in control.

“I like that you haven’t played with your cock all week, Henry. I like that a lot. It makes me wet, in fact. It’s going to help me cum,” I texted.

“That makes me so happy,” he replied. “It really does.”

As my orgasm approached I felt a sense of joy. I felt like I’d found someone that fit what I’d been looking for in a man. Henry felt like someone I could build a life with, not just someone I could have fun with.

I came as I thought about the fun I was going to have with Henry on our date. I smiled as I imagined him between my legs, eating my pussy and hoping that I would wrap my fingers around his cock and jerk him off. I came as I thought about the tall, handsome, muscular man giving me control of his orgasm on our second date.

“I came, Henry. Thank you for helping me orgasm,” I texted him.

“It was my pleasure. I hope you’ll let me help tomorrow, too,” he replied.

“If you’re good I will,” I texted.

Henry sent back three smiley face emojis.

Next time I’ll tell you if he was a good boy.