We were just supposed to be cleaning the bedroom.

Sunlight spilled through the windows, catching in the dust motes like sparks, while soft music played in the background. The room was half-organized chaos—pillows in the wrong places, laundry half-folded—but our focus had already shifted.

We weren’t really cleaning.

We’d been flirting all day—brushing past each other, playful teasing, touches that lingered longer than they should. My wife would lean over just a little too far, smirking over her shoulder when she knew I was watching. The tension between us wasn’t subtle. It was simmering.

Then the song changed.

Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” came on. That slow, hypnotic rhythm wrapped around us like smoke. I looked at her, and she looked at me—no more teasing, no more pretending. Something shifted in the air, and I knew.

I walked over to her and pulled her in.

We kissed—soft at first, then deeper, slower, hotter. Her lips parted under mine, and her hands slid around my neck while mine explored her waist, up beneath her shirt, fingers finding warm skin and a familiar, dangerous curve of her back.

Without a word, I turned her around and bent her over the edge of the bed.

Her ass was a perfect offering, even through her jeans. My hands roamed over her—gripping, caressing, appreciating her with reverence and hunger. I slid my hands beneath her shirt, running them up her spine, savoring the feel of her softness. I squeezed her ass hard and leaned over her, lips brushing against her ear.

“You’ve been teasing me all day,” I whispered. “Now I get to tease you.”

She whimpered in response, and it lit me up.

I brought my hand down on her ass—sharp, rhythmic, controlled. She moaned. I kissed the spot. Spanked again. Another moan.

I kept going, syncing my movements with the beat of the music—slow, commanding. She melted beneath me, her body writhing with every strike and kiss. I could feel her pushing back into me, hungry for more.

I pressed my hips against her, grinding slowly, letting her feel my cock—hard, pulsing—through my pants. She gasped. We moved together, hips rolling in time with the song, her body warm and inviting against me. My breathing was heavy. So was hers.

Then… she flipped the script.

With a confident twist, my goddess turned and pushed me down onto the bed, face-first. Before I could say anything, she straddled me and pressed down with her weight, making it clear who was in control now.

I started to turn my head, but her hand pressed my cheek firmly into the mattress.

“Don’t you dare move,” she said, voice low and sultry. “It’s my turn.”

Every nerve in my body lit up.

She climbed off me, and I heard her walk across the room. The ceiling fan stirred the air over my bare skin, making me shiver with anticipation. Then came the sounds—straps, a zipper, the gentle shift of something being secured into place.

Then silence.

Then her.

She returned, her presence behind me powerful and intentional. She lifted my hips and slowly peeled my pants and underwear the rest of the way off, leaving me completely exposed and vulnerable.

Then I felt it—a single drop of something cold on my ass.

Another on my hole.

More.

Then her fingers, slick and skilled, massaging the lube in slow, deliberate circles. Teasing. Stretching. Opening me. I moaned into the bed, my body completely hers.

I knew what was coming.

And I wanted it with every fiber of my being.

Then I felt it—the head of her cock, shaped perfectly, just like a real one. Smooth, firm, thick. She pressed it gently against me, letting it settle, making me feel every bit of her intent.

And then she entered me.

Slow. Steady. Patient.

I gasped, my body tensing and then melting around her. She moved back and forth, inching in deeper with each controlled thrust, her hands tight on my hips, grounding me, guiding me.

My moans were raw. I had never felt anything like it.

She fucked me like I’d fucked her so many times—loving and dominant, intense and rhythmic. Her hips smacked against me, her cock plunging deep, each thrust making me lose a little more of my sanity in the best possible way.

Then she moved me.

She guided me into a new position—chest down, ass up, fully presenting for her. She knelt behind me, straddling me like a queen claiming her prize. Her hands gripped my hips tight, fingers digging in like she never wanted to let go.

She started again—harder, deeper, unrelenting.

And I loved every goddamn second of it.

The way she owned me. The way she pulled me back into her. The way my body responded to hers like we were made for this exact moment.

And then it happened.

Her rhythm changed.

Her breath caught.

Her body trembled above mine.

She came—hard. Her pussy shuddered, and I felt it—her release soaking my ass, spilling onto the bed, pouring out in waves of ecstasy. She groaned, still moving, still claiming me through every aftershock. She pressed deep one last time before collapsing on top of me, both of us breathless, trembling, glowing.

We laid there together in the messy, beautiful aftermath. Her arms wrapped around me, holding me close. Her chest against my back. Her lips soft against my shoulder.

And in that moment… everything made sense.

She’s my dom. I’m her sub. And I love when she takes control. That night with her changed me.

We didn’t just discover something new—we unlocked a whole new level of intimacy, passion, and play. Kashmir was more than a soundtrack. It was the signal. The initiation. The gateway.

Since then, we’ve explored, experimented, evolved.

But that night?

That was our awakening.

And I’ll never forget the moment my queen claimed her throne—on top of me.

J.