The Mafia’s Obsession

32



Alessio

When I wake up the next morning, Ayla pretends to still be asleep in bed next to me. I’m guessing she’s embarrassed to follow me out to the living room and be present when I read whatever fantasy she wrote.

That makes me excited. That means she wrote somethinggood. I make myself a bowl of cereal in the kitchen, bring it to the living room, and sit down. On the table in front of me is the paper from the night before, now covered in Ayla’s neat handwriting.

Fantasy: you hunt me on a private island.

Istare at the first line, blinking, and then a laugh escapes me. Okay. Wow. She wenthilariouslyhard with the prompt I gave her. More over-the-top than I could have expected, by a factor of like 10. I keep reading, my amusement giving way to interest and then arousal as the fantasy continues:

Details: I don’t know any of the specifics. You just whisk me away. I wake up alone on the beach and use my wits to escape you for as long as I can. When (if!;) you catch me, I get to fight back as much as I want, and you have to physically subdue me. Then you keep me restrained while using me in whatever way you want as your little sex doll.

I let out a deep breath. Jesus. That is easily as dirty as anything I could have come up with. Not even to mention the logistics involved. How long did it take her to come up with this? And I haven’t even read all of what she wrote.

Allowed:

Bondage (obviously)

Spanking/punishment

Rough treatment (Iwantyou to be rough)

Anal

Consensual nonconsent (you overpower me and don’t stop unless I use my safeword)

Not allowed:

Piss/shit/blood/vomit

General notes:

Ideally, this experience would last several days.

IF you can catch me, you get to make me your whore for as long as I stay caught.

What turns me on is you completely taking charge and making me helpless. I want to be totally at your mercy.

Have funnnn! 😉

I keep looking at the paper, reading it over and over again. I knew my girl had a dirty mind. The enthusiasm with which she’s taken to our blooming dom/sub dynamic has made that perfectly clear. But this? This is another level. Putting aside the expense, the insanelevel of kinkiness… This requires a lot of trust. Trust that, apparently, I’ve earned from her.

The thought satisfies me deeply. I want her to trust me, to feel safe with me. But also… I mean, fuck. That’s a level of intimacy with my wife I didn’t expect to reach. Certainly not this quickly.

Or at all.

Ayla became my obsession the moment I laid eyes on her. But when I pictured her being my plaything, I never imagined the closeness that would come along with it. I never imagined that earning her trust would melt me like this.

I didn’t realize I would care.

Behind me, I hear her footsteps coming from the bedroom. I look up as she enters, wearing nothing but her underwear and one of my shirts. She stops in the middle of the living room as she sees me reading her note.

“I guess you found it.”

Picking the note off the coffee table, I fold it and put it in my pocket. “I did.”

“And?”

I grin. “That’s quite a fantasy.”

She giggles. “I was mostly joking. I know it’s not realistic to-”

“Are you joking because you don’t actually want that, or because you think it’s not realistic?”

“Oh, the second one. I would definitely want that. You know, in a perfect-”

“Done.”

She stares at me. “Done?”

“Done.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I told you that you would get to experience whatever fantasy you wrote down on that paper, and you will.”

“But that’s crazy. I mean… really?”

“I was about to start making arrangements. Should I not?”

“What kind of arrangements?”

“You said you didn’t want to know any of the specifics.”

Ayla opens her mouth, then closes it. “… Fair enough.”

I pat the seat next to me, indicating that she should sit down. “Did I just call your bluff? It’s not too late to back out.”

She shakes her head, looking amazed. “No, I… This is crazy. There’s no way you can pull that off.”

“Try me.”

My wife stares at me, eyebrows raised, as though waiting for me to tell her I’m just kidding. When I don’t, she nods. “Okay. Okay. I’m not backing out. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

***

I spend the whole afternoon making plans, mostly in my office so Ayla won’t see anything. When evening hits, I find her in the living room.

She pauses the show she’s watching and looks up at me excitedly. “So? How’s the search for a private island going?”

I don’t answer her question. More fun to keep the mystery. “Okay, well, there’s more than one way to do this. But I think the best one is what I’m about to suggest.”

She frowns, confused. “Okay? Do what?”

I hold out my hand, containing a single small white pill. “What if I said you could take this pill, and when you wake up, your fantasy will be true?”

She snorts. “I’d say it sounds like you’re trying to convert me into a suicide cult.”

Goddamn, she makes me laugh. We both break into chuckles for a moment.

“Anyway,” Ayla prompts me as our laughter fades. “You were offering me a suicide pill or something?”

“It’s a goddamn sedative,” I say, throwing back my head. “I would never give you anything that would hurt you. Do you trust me when I say that?”

She pauses, and her face gets more serious. “Yeah. I do.”

“Do you want to take this? Otherwise, you can wear a blindfold and earmuffs as we travel to our destination.”

“Travel to our destination… Wow, you’re really not kidding about this.” Ayla eyes the little white orb in my hand. “Well, I usually just take an edible for plane rides. But hey, what the fuck.” She takes the pill from me and swallows it without water. “How long until it kicks in?”

“Within the next hour.”

Her whole body gives this adorable, excited little shake. “Damn. I still can’t believe it. Are…” She looks mischievous now. “Are you going to… you know, play with mewhile I’m out?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Do you want me to?”

She looks down, and there’s something guilty in her voice. “Maybe a little.”

“I want to hear a yes or a no,” I growl.

“Yes,” she tells me, not meeting my eyes.

20 minutes later, she’s unconscious.Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

90 minutes later, we’re on a plane.


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