A playful couple engages in an erotic contest, in which they both wind up victorious.

My arms were cuffed over my head. My legs were splayed, and my ankles fastened to the posts of the bed with colorful silken scarves. What time was it? Six p.m. on Friday night. That sounded about right. Wes and I make it through the pressures of the workweek with the goal of Friday-night bondage to keep us moving forward, striving toward that shining shimmering light of kink, bright at the end of our tunnel.

Wes looked up at me, his dark hair combed off his high forehead and his deep gray eyes the color of storm clouds. My heart swelled as I gazed at him, feeling the bold connection we share, that bond between us of pure attraction. The muscles of his arms flexed, and I spied the tattoo on the ridge of his shoulder. I’d been with him when he’d chosen that design, dark green vines that surrounded one word. My name.

He kissed along my inner thighs, and a flurry of emotions broke inside me. Being bound made the soft kisses even more powerful. The slight tickling sensation drove me mad with desire. I wanted more. I wanted him to fuck me, to drive his rod into me with firm, powerful strokes. But I didn’t have anything to say in this matter. He was in charge. He would set the pace. All I could do was relax and bask in the pleasure he was bringing me. Yet that didn’t stop me from testing my bindings, pulling on the cuffs, or tugging on the scarves. Wes grinned at me, understanding exactly what I was doing.

“I’ve got you, girl. You’re not going anywhere. You are mine.”

This week there had been an extra twist to the bargain. We tend to take turns being in charge. Sometimes, my husband chooses to submit to my will. He calls me “Ma’am” or “Mistress,” and he bows to my decadent whims. I love making him work for my approval; I adore making him beg. Other erotic evenings, I follow him on hands and knees, doing my best to obey his carnal commands. We both enjoy playing the roles of dominant and submissive, and we get a thrill out of taking each other to the edge. I think we’re so savvy at sliding into the respective roles because we know how much we enjoy being on either side. I can play a cruel domme, but I can also be a submissive kitten. It’s all about mindset for me — the result being the same type of pleasure, warm and sticky, humming throughout my body.

“I began humping his leg — which was captured between my thighs — as I blew him.”

Yet this week, Wes had suggested a type of contest. “What if I see how many times I can make you come over the next five days?” he asked. He was in a sublime position to make this proposal, situated as he was between my thighs. His full lips were slick with my juices, and I was in that hazy, lazy place of almost reaching climax. In fact, if he stopped talking and went back to licking, I knew I’d come in seconds. But Wes seemed to really want to discuss his idea. He propped himself up on his elbows and stared along the line of my body. I bit my lip, doing my best to focus on what he was saying. My eyelids kept trying to flutter closed. My hips moved against our silk sheets in spite of my telling them to behave.

“What do you mean?” I asked, panting between words. What I wanted to suggest was, “Can we talk about this later? After? Can you go back to making those delicate circles around my throbbing clit?” But I didn’t want to appear rude or crude.

“We could call it a challenge,” he said, pausing to lick a little of my honey from the corner of his mouth, “whoever makes the other come the most times wins.”

“Seems like the person who comes the most would be the winner,” I mused. He was tapping on my clit now with his pointer, even while we were talking, so although I wasn’t receiving the oral stimulation I adore, he hadn’t forgotten my position while we conversed.

“Well, there’s winning and there’s winning,” he agreed. “What if the person who wins is the one who plays the sub this weekend.”

Ah. I saw where he was going. And I started to ruminate on the concept. The lover who provided the most outstanding orgasms would be on the receiving end of the pleasure stick over the weekend. I liked the idea immensely. Of course, there was an added issue. I tensed my thighs. Wes grinned at me.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, and I could hear a low rumble of a laugh in his voice. “You’re going to try not to come, aren’t you?”

Well, damn. I had immediately thought of ways to increase my likelihood of winning. That was the first that had come to mind, as it were.

“Do you worst,” he said. “Or your best.” Then he dipped down once more, stretched me wide open with his palms, and began to eat my pussy in the most seductive, electrifying fashion. He ate from me as if I were a piece of ripe fruit, a succulent delicacy. Every time he slicked his tongue across my clit, he brought forth a fresh rush of more juices. Then he rubbed his cheeks against me, letting me feel the soft tickle of his long hair on my inner thighs. He even wet one finger and began to stroke my asshole while he nipped and sucked at my clit. The results were instantaneously explosive. I couldn’t believe what he was doing. Where had he learned tricks like this? Why had he been holding out on me? This was unfair! Yes, maybe I had the home-court advantage, but Wes was breaking out all sorts of new maneuvers.

Finally, he simply slurped my clit into his mouth and began to suck hard, as if working a lollipop, and I climaxed before I knew I was coming. Sometimes the simplest moves are the best. Fuck holding out. Fuck going slow. I dragged my fingers along his shoulders, searching for purchase, and I lifted my hips up off the mattress, sealing myself to his mouth as I creamed. That was a climax for the history books, one of those earth-shattering moments you know you’ll never forget. I saw gold stars in my vision. I saw bright lights.

“Jesus,” I sighed as I floated back down to earth. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Winning.”

Oh, the sly fox! I couldn’t have that! We’d only just kicked off the contest, and already we were one to zero. I’m a competitive person. Wes knows that full well. When we play a game, I play to win. No pouting or trilling about being a girl. On the racquetball court I’m a menace. When we sit to play cards, I always have an ace up my sleeve.

Now, I pounced, switching positions with him, forcing him down on his back on the mattress before he could stop me. Eating me had gotten him turned on. His dick was as erect as a cock could be, his rod at full mast, the head thick and glossy with pre-come. Delicious, slippery pre-come. I licked him slowly at first, drawing out the satisfying initial moments of filling my mouth with his taste. Wes and I have been lovers for years, but I’ve never gotten over how sweet his skin is, how his semen tantalizes my taste buds. His flavor is salty and rich, and I always crave more. His reward is in that way my reward.

Wes started to moan, low and sexy, letting me know I was hitting the right pattern of swirling my tongue and then sucking him in deep. I settled comfortably into a rousing rhythm, employing all of the moves that I know he adores. Wes started to murmur under his breath, spurring me on with whispered encouragements. We were going to be one to one in no time, I decided. Yes, he’d made me come right at the start, but I was going to even the score.

The problem was my own fierce libido. Simply put, I couldn’t help myself. Sucking Wes’s dick always turns me on. So even though I’d already experienced one intense orgasm, I began humping his leg — which was captured between my thighs — as I blew him. This worked to my advantage in one way. He stimulated my already sensitive clitoris as I sucked his cock to the root. The petal-like lips of my pussy were splayed against his muscular thigh. My wanton wetness made for a well-lubed ride.

Only too late did I realize what I’d done. As I brought Wes to climax, feeling ridiculously proud of myself for my oral prowess, I triggered my own satisfying orgasm. Wes basked in the glow of his release, quiet for several moments as his breathing returned to normal, but he started to laugh as soon as he caught his breath. I was red-cheeked from a combination of passion plus embarrassment. Yeah, I’d made him come, filling my mouth with his seed, but I’d come, too, so he was still ahead even after I’d given him head.

Suddenly, I realized how difficult a week this was going to be. If I wanted a shot at winning, I had to learn some control quickly — and I had to up my game. I wondered if Wes could see the plans already gyrating through my mind.

That night, we nestled in each other’s arms. Was Wes was already envisioning the week? He’s a powerful adversary. Would he try anything tricky on me in the a.m.? I could imagine him building intricate plots, waking me with a little early morning oral, attempting to seal his lead. That wasn’t going to happen. I kissed him innocently, then waited until he fell asleep to set the alarm on my phone.

All is fair in love and war, right?

I woke up extra early and wriggled around on the mattress to welcome Wes into the second day of the workweek. I wished I could have seen his eyes open as I slid my lips around his dick. But I was burrowed under the covers, working his pole like a pro, licking and tonguing him until I was sure that not only his member was awake — but that the whole great beast of him was, as well. He stretched as I tugged at his tip, and he groaned as I did my best to deep-throat him. Wes is blessed with a powerfully long penis, but I worked damn hard to take in all eight inches.

He petted my head and called out my name, his voice still thick with sleep. I wondered if he was thinking about the contest. If he was remembering the stakes. Taking a quick breath, I nuzzled his balls, then flicked the tip of my tongue right behind them to stimulate that special spot. He didn’t seem to be trying not to come. In fact, I was swallowing his spunk in record time. I wondered if he would attempt to return the favor — we were two to two right now. But he simply kissed me good morning, gave me a wry little grin, and then headed to the shower. The score was even. I was pleased. That is, until I got on the subway and began receiving the filthiest texts from him that I’d ever seen before. That’s how he was going to play? I could decide not to read them, of course, but after the first several, I was hooked.

“You have the sexiest smile,” read the initial text, innocently enough.

Then things got good.

“Especially right after you blow me. That look of wicked pleasure makes me want to do the dirtiest things to you.”

“He began to lick my clit to the pace I set sucking on the tip of his dick.”

My pussy grew wetter as I read his words. I told myself to stop. I could check the texts later. I slid the phone into my purse. But I’ve never been adept at withholding pleasure from myself. I peeked at the phone.

“Your mouth is pure heaven. I lose track of time and space when I feel your warm lips surround me.”

He was penning naughty poetry. I couldn’t figure out what to do. It was obvious what I should do: save the texts for later. The thought of Wes on his own train, texting me these words while surrounded by fellow commuters, only upped the arousal coursing through my body. Ultimately, I gave in, as he must have known I would. I hungrily devoured every word he typed, and I did my best not to breathe too deeply or flush too pink.

By the time I arrived at work, I was practically out of my head. I was close to taking a personal day and hurrying to Wes’s office to drag him back home. But that would have let him know what his words had done to me. I’m too much of a competitor for that. Still, I had to do something. He’d written specifically about the way he wished he could take care of me. The way he’d lick my pussy, then lick my asshole. How hard his cock was.

I rushed like a madwoman to the bathroom and rubbed out a quick climax in the corner stall. Damn, Wes. He was one ahead. Worse than that, his words had amped me up so high I couldn’t stop at one. I thrust my sopping fingers deep into my snatch, eking out a second orgasm, and then a third. I didn’t see the tiled walls around me. In my head, I was in our bed and Wes was taking care of me exactly as he’d written. The mind is an amazing place. Mine let me envision each and every sensual step of the ride.

When I regained some sense of decorum, I realized where I was: standing with my legs apart in the bathroom stall at work. My fingers smelled like pussy. My thighs were slick with my juices. Down, girl, I thought. Control yourself. You’ve got work to do!

Of course, I didn’t have to tell Wes what I’d done. There was no way he’d know the effect of his words. But that’s not the way I play games. If I win, I want to win fair and square. No cheating. No cutting corners. No hiding climaxes. Resigned, I sent him a text: “You: 2. Me: 5.”

“Bad girl,” he wrote back.

“You have no idea,” I responded. “I just came three times in the ladies’ room!”

He sent me a string of emoticons for that one.

I probably ought to admit defeat, I thought by lunch. To my surprise, Wes sent me an afternoon text that told me he was going through a similar form of pleasurable hell. At the thought of me jerking off in the bathroom, he’d done the same, coming fiercely in the stall. I was trailing, but not by much.

We spent the whole week like that. One of us gaining the upper hand and the other chasing after. He was up one. I was up two. Then Friday morning, I pulled out all the stops. When he woke up, I was wearing his favorite erotic lingerie. My whole body was covered in a fine fishnet bodysuit, one with holes for my holes. His three climaxes before work sealed my fate.

Which is how I found myself tied to the bed on Friday night, awaiting the bliss that had been promised to me as the winner of the week. Wes made good by me. He put clamps on my nipples and a plug in my butthole. I was higher than I could ever remember. The whole week’s worth of climaxes felt as if they’d been mere warmups for this event. My body was in tune with Wes’s. I could see his cock hard against his thigh as he bound me and prepared me for what was next on the agenda.

How suitable that what was next was his tongue. He’d trussed me up in order to treat me the way the whole week had started: with him in between my thighs, licking my split, and me trying my best not to come. Staving off my orgasm. But for a different reason entirely this time.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed. “Don’t you dare come without permission.”

Yes, now I was his sub, his plaything. He might be about to make me come, but climaxing without his approval would win me punishment instead of pleasure. I shut my eyes and hummed under my breath. Wes suddenly surprised me with a trick I hadn’t expected because all at once, there was a cock in my face. He’d swiveled around into a 69, so that his comely cockhead was nudging my lips. I wanted to suck him. I was raring to go. But I needed to hear his words first. If I started to blow him before he told me to do so, that wouldn’t be acting the part of the sub.

“You may,” he said magnanimously.

I opened my mouth and drew him in. He began to lick my clit to the pace I set sucking on the tip of his dick. We were beautifully linked, perfectly in tandem. And when we came, together, I realized what I ought to have guessed at the start, what I should have known from the beginning. Whenever Wes and I make love — however we choose to do the deed — we’re both winners in this game.