This story contains mature themes

* * *

Sam was startled — and annoyed — by the blaring of a car horn while he sat parked along with a thousand other drivers on Interstate 5. What exactly did the genius expect to accomplish by honking here when the logjam was well out of sight, probably several miles ahead? He shook his head. Not a local, that’s for sure, he reflected knowingly. Washingtonians, especially those who lived so close to ultra-polite Canada, only honked in a dire emergency and sometimes not even then.

Shaken from his reverie, he had to set anew to laying out the evening. Sam liked to plan. It was the most important part of any undertaking, he thought. And, just as it was important to organize his activities, it was necessary to work out how he would relate them to the coterie awaiting his report on eKibbitz. He smiled when he reflected on his popularity and prominence on the web site, which was ostensibly for women. Most of them visited the site under the guise of talking to other women when what they really wanted and needed was a man’s insight. His insight. They had come to depend on him, in particular, to tell them about his bedroom adventures with his wife. His tales were fantasy fodder for many, he knew, which secretly pleased him.

If all went as intended — and why shouldn’t it? — tonight’s dispatch would not disappoint.

The evening would begin with a succulent dinner of pork tenderloin in a rosemary-ginger marinade, tiny spears of young asparagus and roasted new potatoes, with raspberry sorbet for dessert. Nothing too heavy, as neither he nor Peggy should feel overly full, not with the activities that awaited them. After the meal was consumed, the day’s events discussed, the dishes done, and the children tucked into bed...the delicate dance would commence.

First he would issue instructions of what he expected in his wife’s preparation for the session. Ever obedient, she would do exactly as he ordered; Peggy never questioned the requirements he designed for her. His excitement grew with his vivid vision of how the scene would then unfold. She would deferentially kneel before him, silently imploring him to use her to sate his lascivious nature. And he would gladly oblige. Directing the ensuing action step by step, he would have his way with her and tease her to the edge again and again only to pull back and deny her the release she desperately craved, until she could no longer stand it.

Sam recognized that the arrangement suited them both: equal partners everywhere except the bedroom, where he was clearly the master. He was more familiar with her body than she herself was; he knew precisely the touch it took to make her ravenous with lust. He was the concertmaster and she his violin, the submissive yin to his dominant yang.

She would obey his command, bend to his will, slake his every urge — always putting his desires above her own — until at last, if she had served him satisfactorily, he would allow her to receive his gift and experience the apex of his magic touch. He was confident she would meet his expectations and was glad it was so since, unlike more callous Doms (or those petty, annoying wannabes so often found online), he didn’t relish the thought of leaving her frustrated and unfulfilled.

He was well into the afterglow portion of the evening when his thoughts were again interrupted by the blasted horn. Even pulled from deep contemplation, Sam knew immediately that he was what had prompted the honking this time. The cars ahead were moving, and as he shifted his foot from the brake to the accelerator, it became apparent he was rather uncomfortably aroused.

Twenty-five minutes later, he was easing his car up Grizzly Niche Drive, the steep and winding road in Sedro-Woolley which led to the comfortable suburban home where he lived with his wife and two children. He headed straightaway to the kitchen, and was pleased to find all the dinner ingredients set out on the counter and the oven preheating, just as he had requested when he’d phoned from the road.

He quickly tied on a black apron and began the final preparations. He loved to cook and was good at it. The rosemary-ginger marinade in which the pork had been resting for the past day and a half was his own concoction, and it smelled heavenly as he lifted the tenderloins into a roasting pan, which then went into a 425°F oven for half an hour. Next he drizzled olive oil over the parboiled potatoes and tossed them lightly in the bowl. He had just stepped out the kitchen door, shears in hand, to go snip some fresh rosemary when he met his wife and daughter returning from the herb garden.

“Daddy!” the girl exclaimed, throwing her arms around his waist.

“Hey, little buddy, how are you?”

As the girl launched into an answer that would continue non-stop for a full eight minutes, Peggy mouthed, “I’ll take care of it,” holding up the sprigs of rosemary she had cut. “Thanks,” Sam mouthed back with a smile.

“So everything’s fine between you and Sarah now?” he finally managed to squeeze in when the story wound down.

“Yes, Daddy, weren’t you listening?” Faith asked with a roll of her eyes.

“Of course I was, I just wanted to make sure I had it all straight,” he said. “Hey, can you do me a favor and go tell your brother that dinner will be ready in ten minutes, please?”

“He’s not here.”

“Luke is spending the night with Ben,” Peggy explained over her shoulder as she worked at the stove.

“Oh, I see...” Sam began to consider the possibilities with the child population reduced by half. “Okay then,” he said to his daughter, “you go get washed up, and be back here in fifteen minutes.”

“But Daddy, you said ten minutes.”

“That’s because Luke is always five minutes late. Now scoot.”

He waited for the slam of the door to the upstairs bathroom before he slipped his arms around his wife’s waist from behind and began to nuzzle her neck.

“Does it mean I’m a horrible parent that I’m glad the one who’s here tonight is the sound sleeper?”

Peggy chuckled. “If it does, I guess I’m a horrible parent too,” she said, turning her head to meet his lips in a lingering and tender kiss. She allowed him to cup her left breast but swatted away his right hand as it pushed at the waistband of her slacks. “Dinner before dessert,” she admonished.

Right. Dinner before dessert.

The meal was delicious, just as he had envisaged it, and Peggy’s addition of marjoram and red pepper flakes to the rosemary and garlic he’d planned had made the potatoes even better than he’d imagined they would be. It was nothing, however, compared with the spice they would soon be enjoying. Time crept forward as he eagerly awaited the ambrosial banquet. The evening would have been pleasant if not for the agonizing interlude, but as it was, having primed himself during the drive home, he found himself needing to concentrate on sports statistics more than once in order to stifle the unavoidable result of the thoughts he would rather have been entertaining.

As much to keep his own reaction in check as to tantalize his online followers, the message he posted on eKibbitz about the upcoming encounter was deliberately coy: “I have something special planned for my angel tonight. I can’t say anything more right now, but it will be well worth the wait, especially for her! ;o)”

Hours later, adult playtime was at last approaching. He found Peggy doing the last of the kitchen cleanup when he came downstairs after checking on their sleeping daughter.

“She’s out like a light,” he said. “You go on up and get ready, I’ll take care of this.”

“You know, I’m going to take you up on that offer. I just realized how tired I am.” She let out a huge yawn, as if to illustrate her point.

“Not too tired, are you?” He’d experienced a moment of panic at the announcement of her exhaustion, but tried to keep his tone nonchalant.

“No, not too tired,” she said with a laugh. Pausing at the doorway, she added, “But don’t be long, Sweetie, I really am tired.”

Sam knew his timing had to be perfect: He needed to give Peggy enough time to prepare, but not so much that she fell asleep. He finished loading the dishwasher and set it to run, hand-washed the only pan she hadn’t gotten to, and wiped down the stove top and counters before checking his watch. Nine minutes. Good, he’d be able to stop in the guest bathroom for a cursory cleanup before entering the master suite.

The shower shut off just as he closed the bedroom door, so he hastily changed into pajama pants and a tee shirt, and settled himself on the bed for the final stretch of his long wait. He listened with amusement to her post-cleansing preening routine as she readied herself per his instructions. At last she emerged, wearing a silk camisole and matching panties — different than the set he’d imagined during the drive home, but stunning nonetheless.

“What a day! It was one thing after another, all...” Spying something on the floor, she stopped short and knelt to pick up a button that had popped off in his rush to undress. “Uh-oh, I’ll sew this back on for you tomorrow since I know you can’t do it yourself. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, you know what I’d really like?...”

Indeed, my pet, I know exactly what you’d like. You want to give yourself to me to use however I see fit. You want me to tease you beyond the point where you thought you could stand to be teased. You want me to push your boundaries, expand your horizons...

“...I’d like a back rub. More of a shoulder and neck rub, actually, but I wouldn’t complain if you ventured to other parts,” she said playfully. “I’ll give you one too, if you want.”

“Oh, I think you’ll be able to find another way to relieve my tension.” He patted the mattress and made space for her in front of him.

“I’m sure I will at that.” She gave him a quick kiss before sliding onto the bed, her back to his chest.

He began massaging her shoulders and immediately felt the tension her busy day had caused. She let out a low moan as the tightest kink relaxed after he had worked in earnest on the knots in her shoulder muscles for a few minutes. At that sign he eagerly expanded his exploration as she had suggested earlier.

They paused to take off what remained of their clothing before resuming their increasingly fervent quest. She invited him to touch her intimately, and gasped with delight as he did so.

“I want you, now!” she whispered moments later, her voice husky with concupiscence. Sam didn’t need to be told twice.

After their union, Peggy let out a deep, contented sigh. “I really needed that, even more than I knew,” she said.

“So it was good for you?”

“Yes, it was good for me. Very good. I think I felt that one in my toenails.”

Sam beamed internally.

Reluctantly they rose to clean up and dress for bed. He donned the tee shirt and pajama pants that had hardly been worn and she put on a fresh cotton nightie. They both lay on their right side, her back to him, and Sam draped his left arm over her.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you, too, Sweetie,” came the sleepy reply as she snuggled closer to him.

Within minutes, he heard the familiar deep breathing that signaled she was already slumbering soundly. Conversely, he was wide awake and itching to post his online report. He carefully lifted his arm and rolled to his left side as quietly as possible so as not to disturb her, then tiptoed from the bedroom and downstairs to his home office.

His notebook computer was in its docking station, ready for use, and in fact was already logged into eKibbitz. All he needed to do was type the password required when the computer awoke from its hibernation state, and the site appeared on his screen with its neighborly greeting: “Welcome, Bellingham Sam!” The name had a nicer ring to it than “Sedro-Woolley Sam,” and it helped protect his privacy. He quickly navigated to the message he had posted earlier in the evening, eager to read any responses it might have received. His devotees hadn’t let him down; several replies clamored for details, and one expressed envy at the good luck of his angel. The latter brought a smug smile to his face as he stared at the screen while working out the final details of his message. Pressing “Post a Reply,” he commenced:

“It’s not often I’d consider myself lucky to be stuck in traffic, but a complete standstill on the interstate during the drive home gave me the perfect opportunity to work out what I was going to do with my angel tonight. My plan involved dominance (mine), submission (hers), lots and lots of teasing, and certain acts that are still illegal in some states.

“After dinner, I stopped her kitchen cleaning in its tracks with firm instructions to go upstairs and prepare. When the time I had allotted for her to attend to her ablutions was up, I entered our bedroom, seconds before she exited the ensuite. Her timing was perfect. With eyes cast to the floor she knelt, a supplicant before me, and humbly offered to attend to my needs. I indicated for her to approach the bed, and guided her into position.

“Many of you are aware of my fondness for floggers. A good one becomes an extension of the user’s hand and arm, and in time the mere sight of it leaves the receiver breathless with anticipation of what is to come. Need I describe in depth the reaction that the ministrations doled out by a high quality flogger in the hands of a skilled practitioner can elicit? No, I think not: At times one must simply pull a curtain over the most intimate of details.

“It shall suffice to say my touch left my angel aching for more, and got her kink level where it needed to be in order for the rest of the session to play out. I continued teasing her to a fevered pitch before using her to satisfy myself. Since she had served me well — and since I'm a nice guy ;o) — I allowed her climax, and she told me later that she ‘felt that one in my toenails.’ Wow, she felt it in her toenails!?

“He shoots, he scores! ;o)”

Yes. That should do it. Sam pressed “Preview,” reread his message and nodded approvingly as it was rounded out by his signature line — “Bellingham Sam, Lord and Master of his Domain * Just Say NO to Vanilla Sex!” Satisfied that everything was just right, he posted it. As the refreshed screen uploaded and brought his message into sight, he sighed. Fatigue overcame him, and wearily, he wondered if any of his lady friends were online, eager to devour the particulars of his exploits. Much as he craved their approbation and praise, however, it would have to wait until he could get back to them tomorrow. For now, he was exhausted by the evening’s events, and his masterful recounting of them.

It could never be said that Bellingham Sam didn’t know how to weave a good tale.