The sight of her husband, Jacob, reduced to scrubbing the tires of her lover's expensive truck had been intoxicating. It wasn't just the obedience; it was the sheer, degrading utility of his servitude. Now, as the task was finished, Sophia found the need for a final, public humiliation.
She paused at the door of the truck, her lover watching with a satisfied, cool gaze. Then, with casual dominance, she planted the high-heeled leather boot of her right leg squarely on the small of Brian's back, using him as a stepping block to climb into the cab.
The act of pressing her full weight down upon his body, of reducing his six-foot frame and all his muscle to a piece of furniture, sent a wave of electric arousal through her. She felt the powerful surge of the latent self demanding more.
Instead of climbing in, she turned on the spot, her boot still firmly planted on Brian's spine. She reached up, pulling her lover toward her, her gloved hands cupping his face. The kiss was immediate, deep, and utterly possessive. It was a searing, triumphant declaration of their infidelity and their dominance, performed directly upon the crumpled body of the man who owned the house, but owned nothing else.
Brian, pinned and utterly helpless beneath the weight of her boot, could only feel the vibrations of their intimate laughter and the cold press of her heel, the ultimate proof that he was now nothing more than the ground she walked upon.
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