Alpha Sin (mind control erotica)

Shades of Sin 7

By
Nicolette Allain

Copyright
© 2013
Dominant Other Press

All rights reserved. No part of this book may
be reproduced, in part or in full, without express written consent
from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief
passages in a review.

All characters appearing in this work are
fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is
purely coincidental. All characters depicted are above the age of
eighteen, and all sexual acts depicted are consensual.

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Smashwords Edition

Carlos entered Angela from behind roughly,
the way she liked it. She liked the way his weight felt above her,
pinning her to the satin sheets of her marital bed, the way his
rough stubble felt against her shoulder-blades, the way his scent
-- Old Spice and engine grease, grass clippings and sweat --
overpowered her, surrounded her, entered and filled her.

The broad head of his thick cock pressed into
her with a familiar possessiveness, sliding in with a slight upward
angle as he lay atop her. Calloused hands closed around her
forearms, pinning them to the bed above her head, his legs between
hers, holding them apart, his taut abs, slick with sweat, sliding
against her buttocks. He was on top of her, he was inside her, his
essence was all around her. It was in moments like these that she
could truly let go and let a man take her away, take her control
away.

He pinned her as he thrust, a forearm across
her shoulder-blades, her face pushed down into the mattress. She
turned her face aside to breathe, grunting each time his thick
length entered her, pushing back against him the best she could.
Her half-lidded gaze rested on the sight of his fingers on her
forearm, fixating on the grease under his fingernails. Part of the
thrill, for her, was the dirt, the feeling of defilement, of her
refined and civilized body being taken by someone earthy and
primitive. Carlos didn't give a shit about the finer points of
Paradise Hills savoir-faire. He didn't care about the Homeowner's
Association. He didn't care about politics or taxes or any of that.
At least, while they were together, Carlos only cared about fucking
her, hard, savagely, and she could let the rest of her life's
concerns fall away and let herself rut like an animal.

It was at these moments, when her brain
turned off and her body turned on, that she felt truly alive. She
wished she could share them with her husband.

She'd considered cuckoldry, of course.
Letting Henry know about her affair. She was almost certain that
he'd accept it silently, glumly, like he did everything she forced
upon him. She had no real desire to be cruel to the man, though.
She didn't find the prospect of humiliating him exciting, and knew
he wouldn't get off on other men fucking her. She knew that his
acceptance would only lead to more contempt on her part, and things
between them were difficult enough as it was without her growing to
hate him.

An increase in Carlos's tempo drove thoughts
of Henry from her mind, and the head of his cock started to rub her
inside just right. "Like that," she gasped. "Just like that."

He shifted behind her, propping himself up,
his strong hands pressing her shoulders into the bed. Every thrust
of his hips came harder than the one before, driving her face up
against the headboard. She didn't mind. This was the kind of
alpha-male fucking she needed, without self-consciousness, without
meekness, without hesitation. Each powerful thrust seemed to
penetrate her to her very core, sending waves of sublime pleasure
radiating through her body.

She felt his cock tremble and swell inside
her, and moaned louder as she felt him close in on his orgasm. He
thrust into her one last powerful time, the length of his penis
entirely within. She could feel its heat pulsing as he sent spurt
after spurt of hot cum into her depths.

He lay atop her for a moment, breathing
heavily. She allowed herself seconds of timeless bliss before
giving his flank a quick slap.

Carlos rolled to the slide, his softening
cock dragging as it pulled out of her.

She sat up, grabbing a cigarette from the
bedside table.

"You got a second to talk?" he asked.

She picked her watch up from beside her
Virginia Slims. "Make it quick. Light?"

He sat up and grabbed his jeans off of the
floor, taking a bic from his pocket. "It's kinda important."

"Later," she said, leaning close to let him
light her smoke. "I've got an appointment at Francois's, and you
still have the west rosebushes to trim."

He slipped his jeans on, one leg at a time,
sighing heavily. "Fine. Seems all the time you have for is
fucking."

"It is what it is," Angela said. She had no
real interest in socializing with Carlos beyond their quick fucks.
She didn't talk to the cleaning lady. She didn't talk to the guy
who came by twice a month to touch up the house's trim.

"That's the problem."

She gave him a dirty look. "You only ever
seem to complain after you've cum. Why is that?"

He shot her a wry grin. "Because you're too
cock-hungry before to let me get a word in before you shove my cock
down your throat."

That was it. That wry arrogance. That simple
confidence. That's what turned her on, that's why she was fucking
her gardener.

She smacked his ass as he stood up.

That's what her marriage was missing. That
self-assurance was what her Henry was missing, and no matter how
often she told him that he needed to stand up for himself, that he
needed to be a real man, that he needed to be more forceful, he
never seemed to get it.

She resented him, and a big part of the
reason why was that she needed to step outside their marriage to
get a half-way decent fuck. She resented having to cheat on her
husband to get her sexual needs met.

###

"Do you have your spare glasses packed? Your
mp3 player for the plane?"

"Yes, dear," Henry said.

"You have your boarding pass? A cash tip for
the cab?"

"Yes, dear," Henry said.

"You made your reservations to the Hilton in
Miami?"

"Yes, dear," Henry said.

"Have you double-checked?" Angela put her
hands on her hips. She stood between her husband and the door. "You
remember last time you went to Fargo and the Marriott had screwed
up your reservation, and because you didn't confirm with them you
ended up staying at that horrible motel."

"Yes, dear," Henry said, in the same quiet
tone.

"You need to make sure of these things,
Henry. You know how forgetful you are. Maybe you should check
again."

To Angela's quiet disgust Henry pulled out
his phone, checked his mail, and sent off a quick note to the hotel
he'd be staying at. She hadn't wanted him to actually check, she'd
wanted him to lose his temper. To tell her he had it covered. To
react. To do something besides take her nagging. To be a real man
for once. God, he was aggravating.

"It's confirmed, dear," he said, shoulders
sagged.

She hated the way he stood like a broken man.
"Kiss?"

Henry stepped forward for a kiss, and she
turned and offered him her cheek. He pecked it obediently.

"Okay. Go on, then, you'll be late."

He nodded, picked up his suitcase, and headed
out the door.

Half the reason she was cheating on Henry was
to sex-starve him into aggressive action. They hadn't had sex in
months, though she'd started fucking Carlos shortly after they'd
hired him. The sex-famine was for Henry's benefit; why should she
starve too? She had, for a woman in her thirties, a strong sex
drive. She had needs, needs Henry didn't seem to acknowledge or
respect, no matter how often she told him that he needed to be more
of a man, no matter how often she belittled his ability to satisfy
her. What was wrong with him?

She needed a nice hard cock to fuck the
disappointment right out of her head. She picked up the kitchen
phone and called Carlos.

"Come over," she said. "I need you."

She could hear him hesitate.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't feel right about this, Mrs. Fondham.
Your husband... he doesn't deserve this. Maybe if he beat you or
neglected you... but I was having a beer with him last night and
he's a pretty cool guy."

Her lips drew tight. "Henry is not a 'cool
guy.' He's a wimp, Carlos. That's why I need you to show me what a
real man is."

"Yeah, no, I don't think I can do this
anymore. Not after I get to know him."

Angela stared at the phone in rage and
disbelief before returning the headset to her ear. "He is not your
friend, Carlos. He is your employer. I am your employer. How do you
think he's going to feel if I tell him what you've been doing to
his wife? In his bed? Do you think he'll still want to 'have a
beer' with you?"

"He'll be hurt. But you do what you gotta do,
Mrs. Fordham, and I don't do what I gotta not do."

"Fuck you, you piece of shit," Angela said.
"Don't bother coming in Saturday. You're fired!"

She slammed the phone down into the receiver,
then slammed it a few more times for good measure. Who the fuck did
he think he was, some fucking gardener breaking up with her? Didn't
he know how important she was?

She was married to Henry fucking Fordham, one
of the oldest and most respected families in Paradise Hills. She
was on the school board.. She was a member of the Daughters of
Lilith, for Christ's sake.

The Daughters were a social club of Paradise
Hills' most influential and powerful women. Business owners, local
politicians, corporate executives, and their wives and daughters.
Her first impulse was to use her connections there to strike out at
Carlos, to ask Susan, head of the Homeowner's Association to
blacklist, or Alice, a sheriff's deputy, to boot his work truck.
Maybe have Susan, who worked for the chamber of commerce, to revoke
his business license.

Then she remembered the Daughters'... other
asset.

The Daughters of Lilith, while being a social
club, also had shades of pagan mystery cult overtones. Angela had
always thought it harmless bullshit, until the last meeting had
resulted in the summoning of an actual pagan god. This god --
Cernunnos -- had offered the Daughters a bargain: should they
summon it with the masturbatory ritual it taught, it would offer
them a service. A boon.

Thoughts of magical revenge quickly flickered
through Angela's head, but she was a practical girl. She knew of a
much greater favor to ask of this god.

#

"έλα με γαμήσεις," Angela moaned, rubbing her
clit furiously. "έλα με γαμήσεις!"

Despite her high sex drive, she didn't
masturbate very often. The remnants of religious guilt and her
mother's stern scolding. This was a special occasion though. She
was masturbating to summon a pagan sex god. She doubted her mother
would have approved, but it was for a good cause.

You have called,
a voice echoed in her
head, and she could feel His presence suffusing the master bedroom.
I have answered. What boon would you ask of me?

Her eyes snapped open and she sat up in bed,
eyes looking for any sign of Cernunnos's presence. "It's my
husband. He's too... passive. I want him to be a real man.

So you want--

"I'm sick and tired of his wishy-washy
attitude. I want him to be more... forceful. More confident. More
of a man, you know?"

Do you mean--

"A real man just takes what he wants!" she
said. "My father was a mechanic. Never asked questions. Just
assumed he knew best, and other people fell in line."

Your husband--

"I want to be married to a man I can be proud
of! A man I'm not ashamed to be seen with--"

ENOUGH.
The mental volume stunned
Angela into silence.
I get the gist. Do you want a new man, or
do you want me to alter your current husband?

"Oh, make Henry better if you can," Angela
said. "I mean, I love him. I don't know that there's any hope for
the man, but if you think you can fix him--"

So mote it be,
the voice echoed in her
head.
Your husband has been altered.

"Just like that?" Angela said. "How will I
know?"

There was silence in her head, and she
realized that the presence had departed.

"That was easy," Angela smiled. If it had
worked.

#

She had her doubts. Angela didn't know that
even an ancient pagan sex god could make a man out of Henry. If
Cernunnos failed, and Henry was still a wimp, would she get a
refund? Would she get another boon? Could she ask for a new
husband? She'd just have to try summoning him again if it didn't
work.