The last day and going home

I woke early, the room still dim with the first light of morning. Mark lay beside me, his chest rising and falling in that deep, steady rhythm I had come to know so well. I watched him for a moment, his face relaxed in sleep, and I felt a sudden urge to touch him, to feel the weight of him in my hands. Slowly, I slid my hand beneath the sheets, my fingers brushing against his cock, already half-hard even in his sleep. The warmth of him sent a shiver through me as I wrapped my fingers around him, gripping him gently, starting to stroke him with a slow, steady rhythm.

With my other hand, I reached down and cupped his balls, rolling them softly in my palm, feeling the way they tightened in response to my touch. His body stirred, a low groan escaping his lips as he woke to the sensation of my hands working him. He watched me as I kept my movements slow, and deliberate, enjoying the way his cock hardened fully in my grasp, the heat of him pulsing against my palm.

Mark’s breath hitched, his hips shifting slightly as I picked up the pace, my fingers tightening around the base of his cock. His muscles tensed beneath my touch, and I knew he was close. I could feel the tension building in his body, his breath coming faster as I pushed him closer to the edge.

A few more strokes, and I felt him release—thick, warm spurts of cum spilling onto his stomach, then the rest dripping slowly down the length of his cock and over my fingers. The sight of it, the heat of his release, sent a thrill through me. I couldn’t resist.

Leaning down, I let my tongue trace the trail of cum on his stomach, lapping up the salty stream, licking it clean, then I worked my way down to his cock. The taste of him filled my senses, salty and warm, as I slowly licked every drop from his skin. I wrapped my lips around the head of his cock, sucking gently, making sure I didn’t miss a single bit of his release. Mark groaned softly, his hand resting on the back of my head, and I felt a deep satisfaction knowing I had pleased him.

Mark’s eyes met mine, and in that moment, the world around us seemed to disappear. He pulled me gently toward him. The room felt smaller, and quieter, as if everything outside had faded into the background. My heart raced as he leaned in, his lips brushing against mine in a slow, tender kiss. It wasn’t like the heated, urgent kisses we had shared before—this one felt different. Softer. Deeper.

I closed my eyes, sinking into the moment, the warmth of his mouth moving against mine sending shivers down my spine. His hand slid up my back, pulling me even closer, and I could feel the steady beat of his heart against my chest. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breath warm and soft.

“I admire you, Rachel,” Mark murmured, his voice low and full of something I hadn’t expected—something almost ****. “More than you know. You’ve become so much more than I ever imagined.”

His words caught me off guard, a warmth spreading through my chest at the sincerity in his voice. He wasn’t just talking about the way I had submitted to him or how I had followed his every command. This was different. There was a depth to his admiration, a respect that went beyond our physical connection.

“I see you,” he continued, his thumb gently tracing the line of my jaw. “The way you’ve embraced everything… the way you give yourself so completely. It’s not just about the control, Rachel. It’s you. Who you are, your strength, your vulnerability… it amazes me.”

I blinked, feeling the weight of his words settle over me. There was something in the way he spoke, something I hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just about dominance, about him taking what he wanted. It was about seeing me for who I truly was, the parts of me that even I had been afraid to confront. And he admired it.

I opened my mouth to say something, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I leaned forward and kissed him again, this time more deeply, feeling the connection between us, the rawness of it. His hands tightened on my waist, and I knew that this wasn’t just about power anymore. It was about something deeper, something more intimate.

When we finally pulled apart, Mark’s eyes softened, his hand cupping my cheek as he looked at me with that familiar, intense gaze. “You amaze me, Rachel,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet reverence. "You have no idea how much."

And in that moment, I felt it too—the admiration, the connection, the raw truth of who we were together.

Mark kissed me one last time, slow and tender, before pulling back with a deep sigh. His fingers lingered on my skin, tracing my cheek as though he didn’t want to leave. But we both knew he had to. The retreat wasn’t just about us, and as much as we had claimed these secret moments, we had to be careful.

"I should go," he murmured, his voice low and ****. "I can’t risk anyone seeing us together."

I nodded, understanding, but a small part of me hated the moment when he’d slip away, leaving me alone in the stillness of the cabin. It felt wrong like something was being torn away too soon. But we both knew the reality of our situation. He couldn’t stay—not now.

Mark stood, glancing toward the door, his expression shifting back to that careful, calculated look he always wore in public. The intimate, raw side of him slipped away, replaced by the cool, composed version everyone else saw. He bent down, kissing my forehead gently, and then he was gone, leaving the door clicking softly shut behind him.

I lay there for a few minutes longer, listening to the silence that settled over the room, still feeling the warmth of his lips on mine. But I knew I wouldn’t have to wait long to see him again.

I got up, slipped into my gym clothes, and headed out for a workout. The resort was still quiet, It was the last day of the retreat and we were heading home after breakfast,. But I knew where I’d find him.

When I entered the gym, Mark was already there. He stood near the weights, casually lifting as though he hadn’t just been in my bed hours ago. As I walked in, his eyes met mine, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. No one else was around yet, but we both kept our distance for appearance’s sake.

"Good morning," he said softly, his voice just low enough that only I could hear as I approached.

I smiled, feeling that familiar rush of excitement that always came when I was near him. "Morning."

Without another word, Mark reached into his gym bag and pulled out my sports bottle. But as soon as I took it from him, I felt the familiar weight, the heat of it. My heart skipped a beat as I unscrewed the cap, already knowing what was inside before I even lifted it to my lips.

" for your workout," he said with that dark glint in his eyes, watching me closely.

I swallowed hard, the taste of his command mingling with the bitter scent of the warm liquid in the bottle. There was no hesitation, no question in my mind about what I was expected to do. I raised the bottle to my lips, the familiar salty tang hitting my tongue as I began to drink, slowly at first, but then more confidently as I felt his gaze burn into me.

With each swallow, I felt a surge of heat spread through me. It was a reminder of his control, of who I belonged to. The piss was warm, sliding down my throat, and I drank it all, just as he commanded, feeling the weight of his dominance even in this small act.

When I finished, I wiped my lips and looked up at him, feeling a strange sense of pride for having obeyed him so completely. Mark’s eyes darkened with approval as he leaned in, his voice low but commanding.

"Good girl," he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear before stepping back, and returning to his workout like nothing had happened.

But we both knew it had. As I continued my own workout, the taste of him still lingering on my tongue, I knew that no matter how much time passed, how many times he slipped away, he would always come back. And I would always be ready. Once my workout was over I hit the shower and let the hot water spill over my body, invigorating me, I left the shower and got dry, put on my clothes for the ride home, went back to my cabin, and packed my stuff into my suitcase and headed out.

The drive back home after the retreat felt long, my mind replaying everything that had happened over the past few days. Mark’s words, his touch, the dark, thrilling moments we had shared. It felt like another world, one I didn’t want to leave behind. But as I turned onto our quiet suburban street, reality settled in. I had to shift gears and return to the life I shared with Andrew—a life that felt more and more distant with every passing day.

When I stepped through the front door, Andrew was there, waiting in the kitchen with a warm smile and the familiar scent of dinner in the air. His attempt at normalcy hit me like a wave, and I could sense he was trying—trying to bridge the growing gap between us, trying to be the husband he thought I still wanted.

"Hey," he said brightly, setting down a glass of wine for me. "You’re back. How was the retreat? You must be exhausted." There was a softness in his voice, a sincerity that only added to the gnawing feeling of guilt buried deep inside me.

I **** a smile, playing my part. "It was… good. You know, just the usual work stuff. Team-building, meetings, nothing too exciting." I lied easily now, the truth of what had happened at the retreat buried beneath layers of rehearsed pleasantries. I didn’t let my gaze linger on him for too long, afraid that he might sense the distance that had grown between us during my time away.

Andrew reached out and touched my arm lightly, his expression gentle. "I’m glad you’re home. I missed you." He was trying so hard to connect, to make things feel normal again, and I felt a pang of something close to regret. But not enough to change anything.

"I missed you too," I replied, the words automatic, though I could barely feel their weight anymore. I took a sip of the wine he had poured, keeping the peace, doing what I had to do to keep the cracks in our marriage from becoming too obvious. The taste was bland compared to what I had been used to over the past few days—the salty, thrilling bitterness of Mark’s control still lingering on my tongue.

Andrew sat down at the table, motioning for me to join him as he continued talking about his week, his job, and the normal routine of our lives. I nodded along, answering when I needed to, pretending I wasn’t replaying the moments at the retreat when I was on my knees when I was truly alive. But Andrew didn’t notice, didn’t see the disconnect between us, and for that, I was grateful.

The conversation drifted, and I let him talk, let him think that everything was okay. It was easier that way—easier to keep the peace, to pretend that I hadn’t changed, that I wasn’t slipping further and further into the dark, intoxicating world I shared with Mark. But even as I sat there, nodding and smiling, I knew that part of me had already left this life behind.

Andrew might never know the truth, and that was fine. It was a secret I was more than willing to keep.