Dominated by My Husband’s Assistant E-Book

Amélie Moigne

• Herausgeber: Ô Plaisir - INT
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 155

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Charline has been married for over seven years.
She has everything to be happy: a job, a loving husband, and a comfortable life. But when her husband’s assistant—and cousin—the handsome Adam, enters her life, she discovers that something was missing…
Follow Charline’s journey into submission, humiliation, and depravity…

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Amélie Moigne has no age—she is a free spirit, a writer of pleasures born from her thoughts. Her novels are the indecent fantasies she shares with delight with her readers...

Leseprobe

Cover

Title page

Prologue

I have a habit of having lunch with my friend Ingrid. She’s much prettier than me: a redhead with generous curves who never misses an opportunity to share her adventures. I don’t envy her—or at least, I’ve more or less convinced myself that I love my life. Still, I must admit that sometimes, I wish I were in her shoes.

Ingrid is single and carefree, with multiple hookups and countless opportunities for fun. Her life is a whirlwind of freedom and sex. Not to mention the parties, handsome men, and extravagant gifts. The complete opposite of me.

But I don’t regret my choices. Not really.

I married my great love. We met on the benches of the university and fell head over heels. I haven’t only been with him sexually, but even before him, I never sought out fun or experimentation. It never really interested me. And after meeting him, why would I have played around? I have everything so many women dream of: a man who adores me and a future that’s all mapped out!

I know, in this day and age, thinking like this is stupid. But honestly… no, I’ve been lucky. As the child of divorced parents, all I ever wanted was a stable relationship.

I’ve been married for seven years, but we still don’t have a baby. Just bad luck, I suppose. We’ve decided to consult a specialist when the time comes. We agreed that by the time we’re thirty, we’ll reassess if nature hasn’t taken its course. I’ll hit that milestone in three months, so we’ll soon be tackling the subject.

Sometimes, I’ll admit, I envy Ingrid. Because I feel a bit lost when she talks about these things: she tells me about obscene and thrilling experiences. She shares all sorts of steamy stories, and I find myself both embarrassed and intrigued. My husband is so reserved that I can only imagine. And when I do—which isn’t often—I scold myself for being some kind of ungrateful woman who should be thanking her lucky stars. I’ll end my life with a man who loves me, not alone like Ingrid probably will.

Yes, it’s a horrible way to think. But at that time, I had a bit of judgment about her depraved lifestyle, which I envied without realizing it. I thought of myself as better and happier. That makes me an ordinary woman, full of self-righteousness and certainties.

Ingrid is beautiful. She always wears clothes that highlight her assets and ensures she’s desirable. She looks so polished and sexy, which isn’t the case for me. I’m reserved—not sloppy—but I don’t feel the need to draw attention to myself. I stay fit by exercising, but I don’t really try to showcase my body, choosing comfort instead.

“Hey, are you even listening, Charline?”

“Huh?”

I had drifted off into my thoughts.

Sitting at the little restaurant across from the office, I got lost in my head, playing with my salad, bored of hearing yet another story about her multiple orgasms with two men the night before.

My cheeks are flushed, probably because I imagined the scene with myself in her place. Sometimes, I really do live her life vicariously in flashes.

“Don’t be so embarrassed! If this keeps up, I won’t tell you anything anymore!”

“I… I’m not embarrassed. I’m just wondering how you do it.”

“Do what?”

“Well, you know, have two… men like that and everything!”

“I just want to have fun! You should try it sometime!”

She says this while spearing a cherry tomato and bringing it to her lips.

Fun! What a strange word!

Chapter 1

As I was saying, I work with Ingrid in an office. We’re employed at a law firm where I’ve become a simple legal advisor. My husband, on the other hand, handles bigger cases and has his office on the important floors. I’m proud of him, even though he works a lot. We’re the model couple of the company; the boss envies us. He always says, “Oh, Charline is so pretty and so simple.”

His wife is a caricature of a desperate housewife—somewhat haughty and frankly cold—but she pretends to be pleasant to fit in with the associations and wealthy groups she frequents. That’s not my world. Even though my husband earns a lot, we’re discreet about it and don’t feel comfortable in that universe. We leave that sort of thing to our New York colleagues, and I’m happy to live quietly, as is he.

Ingrid and I always have lunch at the little restaurant across from the office, and we only leave the business district when our workday is over. I handle the simple clients, as they’re called. Meaning: those who aren’t rolling in money but have enough to afford our services. That suits me just fine.

In any case, life is perfectly smooth, and I don’t feel bad about it.

Ingrid just left me; she has an appointment, and I’m taking my time finishing my dessert. A sweet tooth at heart, I enjoy the sugary touch at the end of my meals and wouldn’t miss finishing my café liégeois for anything. Sitting alone, I’m idly scrolling through my phone, not paying much attention to anything. Savoring my treat, my brown eyes lift when I hear the entrance door chime softly. It’s a routine sound. But for once, I look up.

A man has entered. Tall, with tanned skin, he exudes a powerful charisma that hits me like a freight train. For a moment, I sit there, like a deer in headlights, staring at him. His golden complexion, piercing blue eyes, perfectly groomed three-day stubble, and slicked-back black hair… he shows self-control and confidence. Handsome, undeniably so, and he knows it.

His muscular build is evident but not overdone beneath his expensive suit, and I can’t tear my gaze away from his flawless body. I feel my cheeks flush, my breath catches, and I finally swallow hard as he steps away from the door and enters.

I’m not the type to fantasize about the first man I see, not at nearly thirty. I consider myself above that. As Ingrid puts it, I’m too uptight for such things. But I don’t know who I am. I’ve convinced myself, as I’ve said, that I’m lucky in life, so I can’t stoop to such lows. So many people would love to have a kind husband, a pleasant life, and everything they need to be happy, like me.

I’m fortunate, I believe, and that sometimes makes me sound condescending in my judgments…

Yet, I can’t seem to look away from his perfect profile. The man must be around our age, with a wonderfully sculpted nose, slightly long and straight. In my head, I hear Ingrid’s voice saying, “So he must have a nice length down there…” and I do everything I can to banish such absurd thoughts.

When he smiles at the waitress, I feel myself melt. Dimples appear on his cheeks, a perfect set of teeth, a full mouth. His nonchalance is disarming, I admit, and he acts as if he owns the place. This kind of man is Ingrid’s favorite dish!

If she had been here…

I quickly bury my nose in my dessert when, after placing his order, he turns to scan the room. One arm resting on the counter, the other surveying the surroundings, I fear he’ll notice my lingering gaze, so I keep my face down, focused on my phone. But the urge to glance up is stronger than me; the unequal struggle feels unfair, and I steal a few glances. Not exactly discreet.

I can feel him looking at me. I don’t know how, but I just know. And when I cautiously peek, I accidentally meet his gaze. He smiles at me, amused, and seems to decide to approach me.

His confidence and his determined stride, make me panic!

I don’t consider myself desirable. I think my sporty, fit body is utterly average. My chest is generous, though less so than Ingrid’s perfect apples. My breasts are pear-shaped, which I find less appealing. No one would know unless I were naked, but that’s how I feel. In my opinion, I’m too tall at five-foot-eight, with hips that are too pronounced. I’m not a petite bombshell or a charming little woman; I’m just a woman. Tall, curvy, and above all, ordinary. Hazel eyes, a button nose, a well-shaped mouth but not overly full. I’ve never found anything extraordinary about myself. And let’s not even talk about my straight-as-a-board chestnut hair, which I usually tie up in a respectable bun.

“Hello! I’m sorry to bother you, but I feel like I know you!”

Honestly, I couldn’t have looked more ridiculous in that moment. His deep, gravelly voice sends a shiver down my spine. I stare at him, wide-eyed like a startled fish, unsure of what to say.

“No… I… I don’t think so, sorry.”

“Ah. It’ll come to me, hold on!”

He sits down. I wish Ingrid were here. A red alert blares in my head, pounding in time with his presence, and I don’t know what to say. Sitting across from him, he smiles, and I sit there dumbly. Finally clearing my throat, I’m about to speak when he says,

“Charlie, right?”

“-Line… Charline.”

I correct him, a bit too quickly. I feel cornered. He has a strange effect on me; one I hadn’t anticipated. I find him attractive—too attractive—and handsome. Nothing unusual so far, but beyond that, I find him genuinely charismatic, and everything about him makes me feel off balance. Like a girl in a novel who’s already on fire under the hero’s gaze!

This guy is just an ordinary dude, and I’m just an average woman. Nothing like the protagonists of some fictional story!

I’m about to ask how he knows my name, because honestly, I don’t know him from Adam, but a very familiar voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

“Adam, I bet you’re teasing Charline…”

The playful reproach snaps me out of my daze, and I look up to see my husband, cheerful and smiling. For a few moments, I don’t know what to say or do and just sit there. I haven’t done anything wrong, but the mere thought of being captivated by a stranger bothers me.

Paul, my husband, is a handsome man with a more understated presence but a charm that’s still very much intact. He keeps in shape like I do, regularly hitting the gym, and has very dark eyes behind his metal-framed glasses. I think he has a slight resemblance to Keanu Reeves, especially when he has a beard, though he shaves too often for that.

“Hey, sweetheart, I see you’ve met Adam, my new assistant.”

He leans in to kiss my cheek, and I smile. His cologne sends shivers down my spine; I love the way my husband smells. He usually wears a musky Yves Saint Laurent fragrance whose name I can never remember because it’s new. Before, he was hooked on Bleu de Chanel, but now…

Shyly, I blush and smile as he approaches, letting him slide a hand around my waist. I forget about the intriguing stranger.

“I was wondering how he knew me.”

“You know him; he was at our wedding, though he was a bit scrawnier back then.”

At my surprised expression, both men laugh. The mystery is quickly cleared up. Adam Brown is the son of a distant cousin, making him part of Paul’s family. He landed the job as a legal assistant at the firm after a stellar interview. My husband had mentioned it briefly, but I’d forgotten; it wasn’t exactly earth-shattering news. Since Paul hadn’t made a big deal of it, neither had I.

It’s funny how I barely recognize any resemblance between the two men. Well, maybe I’m being unfair—they do share a certain sparkle in their eyes. But Adam’s presence overshadows Paul’s, which unsettles me. Maybe that’s why I cling a little closer to him, or maybe it’s because I’m afraid of what I feel when I look at Adam. I’m not the type to believe in being swept away by a single glance, yet I can’t stop noticing the sharp line of his jaw when he laughs or the way his dimple deepens when he smiles.

And sometimes, I catch myself staring at his hands with longing…

Chapter 2

I often go shopping with Ingrid, usually when she has a new target in mind and wants fresh lingerie—which is quite often. I love buying lingerie, even if I don’t always use it. My sex life with Paul is fairly ordinary; I don’t dare much, and when I do, he doesn’t see beyond the obvious.

I’ve often fantasized about wild things, about him having sudden masculine urges, but he’s gentle, considerate, and attentive to me. While he wasn’t my first, we’ve built most of our sexual experiences together. Still, I often fail to convey what I want to him. Then again, not knowing what I want myself makes it complicated.

Ingrid is browsing the racks at Victoria’s Secret. Of course, after meeting Paul, she’s set her sights on him. But strangely, he hasn’t given her a second glance. I’ve never seen Ingrid strike out like this. I know her—it must irritate her and fuel her predatory instincts. Yet she hasn’t complained about it.

“This one would look amazing on you!”

She points to a laced bodysuit with an open crotch. I look at it, smile, and my response is pathetic.

“Paul isn’t really into that kind of thing. He prefers babydoll-style nighties.”

“And you prefer this—I know it!”

Ingrid often scolds me for only thinking about what my husband would like. I know, in today’s world, that’s not a good thing, and people judge quickly. Women aren’t kind to each other anyway; a feminist will be judged by a more conservative woman, and vice versa. Personally, I know this because I don’t hesitate to pass silent judgments on Ingrid. She, on the other hand, doesn’t hold back from saying them out loud.

“Maybe if you dared, he’d like it too!”

A valid point, though I’ve tried before. Paul didn’t change his behavior; he was sweet and a bit concerned. He didn’t want me to go overboard just to please him because, according to him, I’m not his object. I thought that wouldn’t bother me, but I didn’t say it out loud.

I know, you must think I’m silly, that I should speak up and take risks, but I also know Paul doesn’t like that kind of woman. He’s modest and reserved. He doesn’t dislike sex, but it’s not constantly on his mind, and we’ve previously discussed how vulgar certain things can be. I don’t want him to think I’m perverse or to change how he sees me, so I hold back.

That’s not healthy, apparently—it leads to frustration. But I don’t realize it. I’ve convinced myself that everything is fine, so naturally… naturally, I’m not going to change everything all at once. Or at least want to.

“Look at this one…”

She holds up a black strappy bodysuit, the kind that covers a lot while leaving plenty of skin exposed. It’s stunning. The cage effect is sexy, and I imagine my pear-shaped breasts hidden beneath it. I bite my lip as Ingrid continues to tempt me, waving it in front of my face.

I finally give in, a sudden impulse—I have to at least try it on. I take a deep breath, hesitate, and then go for it!

As I undress in the fitting room, my heart races. I feel nervous, but as I start putting on the bodysuit—over my other clothes, for hygiene reasons—I’m moved. Yes, it looks good on me. I look at myself in the mirror. If I let my hair down and put on a bit more makeup…

Spinning around, my backside looks full of promise in this thong. I imagine it might actually be sexy. Maybe Paul will have a sudden urge!

Ingrid hands me a little lace cat-ear headband.

“You have to stay cute, and this will make you mega-cute.”

“You have the strangest ideas!”

“Put it on and let me see!”

She’s already poked her head in without waiting. Blushing furiously, I show her. Her expression leaves me puzzled. She finally lets out a pleased sign.

“Oh, if Paul doesn’t ravage you in this…”

“Ingrid!”

Honestly, we’re going to make a scene in the store. She finds it hilarious. She squeezes into the fitting room.

I adore Ingrid. She’s like a sister to me, even though I judge her and envy her. I truly love her. She helps me break out of my shell a little or gives me more confidence in what I do. Without her, I’d fade into the background. Paul finds her too flashy, but I’ve known her since college. She’s always been there for me, and vice versa. When I was obsessed with the idea of having a baby, she calmed me down. She also teaches me to be less harsh on myself.

Ingrid is important to me.

I put on the headband, and we see the result in the mirror. I find myself attractive and sexy. I’d even say I feel like a real woman. Still tall and flawed, of course. Ingrid is slightly taller than me, but she’s wearing her usual sky-high heels.

“Perfect!” she tells me…

Chapter 3

Tonight, Paul is coming home a little later, a meeting with the big boss… I don’t mind, I’m not the type to make a fuss over nothing. I’ve prepared my surprise for him, it might not be the perfect timing, but it’s now or never, otherwise, I’d never dare.

I gave in and bought the bodysuit; my breasts look great, everything is perfect. To complete the look, I’m wearing a pair of high heels and a pretty silk robe as I wander around the house. I don’t even look like myself, with my dark hair cascading over my shoulders and my makeup. I’ve accentuated my cat-like eyes and painted my lips a bold red.

I won’t lie, as the evening progresses, I can’t help but imagine how things might unfold. I let my mind wander for fun, weaving all the potential scenarios in my head. Sometimes, my body pulses with fantasy, and I press my thighs together, trying not to blush furiously or get too carried away. Do I wonder if I might be disappointed? A little, but I also tell myself that this is it, the big moment is finally here!