Loading...As the car idles in front of the school, in line with all the other parents waiting to pick up their children, I take out my phone and call you. “Hi, baby,” you say, the tension in your voice coming through the line clearly. “Do you need something?”
“I was just about to pick up the kids and thought I’d see how your day is going and if you wanted something special for dinner. Is Michaels still breathing down your neck?”
“Yeah. Every time I try to get something done, he’s there handing me a whole new list of bullshit to do. And if it’s not that, I’ve had emergency meetings with three different clients today. I’m going to be late, so you and the kids just go ahead and eat without me.”
“Sweetheart, why don’t I just do something simple, like steak and green beans. Just call when you leave and it’ll be ready for you when you get home, okay?”
“Yeah,” you say with a sigh. You sound so exhausted. “That sounds wonderful.”
“Will you need to work tomorrow?” I ask, knowing that you need a full weekend to recover from the extra workload you’ve been under.
“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure I can catch up on everything urgent if I stay a bit late tonight. Everything else will hold until Monday. Hey, I’ve gotta go, baby. I love you and I’ll see you tonight.”
“I love you, too,” I say before pressing end. As the line of cars begins to move, a plan starts to take shape in my mind. You’ve been too stressed out these last few weeks and it’s past time I did something to help with that. A quick call to my mom doesn’t help. She’s still in Ohio visiting my sister and her family. So I call your mom instead. She gladly agrees to watch the kids for the night. Her sly innuendo and comments about ‘needing time for the two of us’ makes it clear that she knows what I’m planning. Or at least she thinks she does. After a quick trip home to get bags for the kids, we’re soon on our way to your mom’s. Again, she tells me we can take our time coming to pick them up.
With a hug and a kiss and a reminder to be good for grandma, I wave goodbye to our little ones and head back to the house. Going into the kitchen, I do some advance prep for dinner, getting a thick steak out of the fridge and salting it liberally before leaving it on the counter. It’s going to be a light meal tonight as too much food on our stomachs would be a very bad thing for the activities I have in mind. Feeling hungry, I also pull out some cheese and cut a slice off the French loaf I’d picked up that afternoon and have a small snack before checking the time. Five fifteen. Plenty of time, I think, but it wouldn’t hurt to get things ready just in case you don’t have to work as late as you thought.
I go upstairs to our room and undress, tossing my dress in the direction of the hamper in the corner of the room, followed shortly by my panties and bra. I reach into the dresser and pull out a pair of black lace bikini panties and slip them on, making sure the lace waistband lies just so on my hips. I stand in the closet debating what I’m going to wear tonight for a few minutes, struggling to decide between the dark green corset with the black lace or the black brocade, I finally settle on the latter. Years of practice have made me rather competent at putting on a corset alone, though not nearly as quickly as when I have your help. I decide to pair it with the boots that have never failed to make your mouth go dry, soft black leather with a four inch heel that lace all the way up to my smooth, toned thighs.
Now dressed, more or less, I go to the locked cabinet in the back of our closet and open it. I remove the items I think we’ll need and step back into the bedroom, placing some of them on the bed, arranging them for the best visual impact, before going downstairs with the rest of them. I place the remaining items in a neat row on the dining room table, knowing the impact they’ll make on you when you see them, all lined up and waiting for you. All I can do now is wait for you to call so I can start dinner. I turn on some music, a collection of Vivaldi. For some reason, baroque music always feels like the perfect accompaniment to these evenings, something about the light, airy strains of the harpsichord serves as the perfect contrast to what will be happening in just a few hours. As the music is piped through the house, I settle into the couch with a book and wait for your call.
A few hours later, you walk through the door, dropping your keys on the sideboard the metal thunking against the wood. I hear your heels clicking against the floor as you walk towards the kitchen. As you pass through the dining room, you stop, your breath catching in your throat as you see me sitting at the table, an open book and a glass of beer immediately in front of me, the plate of cheese and bread sitting to the side, clearly picked at. Further down, you see the items I laid out, letting you know that I have an interesting night planned.
“You’re late,” I say, my voice deceptively soft.
“I’m sorry, I told you…”
I slap the table with a black riding crop, the sharp slapping sound reverberating off the walls. “Did I ask for your pathetic excuses?”
“No.”
I stand up and you notice for the first time what I’m wearing, the corset hugging my curves, pushing my breasts up and together. I slowly walk around the table to where you stand. I see your throat flex as you swallow against your suddenly dry mouth. I walk up to you, towering over your five and half feet, tapping the crop against my thigh in time with the concerto playing softly in the background. I run my left hand up your chest and over your throat, finally cupping your chin.
“No, what?” I whisper in your ear, my voice hard and my fingers squeezing your jaw.
I hear you gulp, desperately trying to get saliva into your dry mouth. “No, mistress,” you manage to say.
“That’s better,” I say, patting your cheek. “What’s our word?”
“Cayenne, mistress,” you say, your brown eyes sliding shut in surrender, only to shoot open as I swiftly step back.
“Good, pet. Now, strip,” I command, and watch, my eyes hooded as you slowly begin to undo the buttons of your blouse with shaking fingers. I lash out with the crop, striking your thigh. “When I give you an order, I want it obeyed quickly.” Your fingers move faster and soon the blue silk falls from your shoulders. With a quick zip, your skirt joins it on the floor. In seconds, your bra follows, a faint red line remaining under your breasts from the underwire.
As you reach down to begin unclasping your garters, I slap your hand sharply with the crop. You flinch back and lock your eyes on mine. “Leave them on. Panties off, though.”
You shift nervously and I notice that you wore your panties UNDER your belt. This is going to be fun. I reach up and pinch the bridge of my nose, sighing deeply. “You stupid girl. Everything I do for you and all I ask is that you obey a few simple, easily remembered rules. And yet you constantly disappoint me. Bend over the table.”
You step forward and bend at the waist, placing your hands on the table, your long, delicate fingers flexing against the cold, dark wood. I walk behind you, your eyes following me nervously. I slap your ass hard with the crop, a faint red welt rising on your smooth, pale skin. “Eyes forward. Bend more.” Your hands stretch out in front of you, your breasts just barely touching the table. Let’s make this a bit more interesting. “Hands behind your back.” Between your heels and how far you were already leaning, there’s no way you can do anything except lie on the table without the use of your hands. You turn your head so your cheek is pressed against the cool surface and look at me out of the corner of your eye.
I pick up the length of rope sitting on the table and run it through my hands before swiftly and with a practiced touch tying your wrists together. I tie off the excess around your waist. I lean over, the rough material of my corset rubbing against your skin. “Keep those legs straight,” I whisper in your ear before turning and walking into the kitchen. I fill a glass with ice water and grab a straw, as well as the foil covered plate sitting on the counter, a knife, and fork.
As I walk back into the dining room, I smile at the sight of your ass in the air, framed by your garter and stockings, the welt from earlier now shining proudly. I walk around the table and sit in the chair directly across from you. I make a show of setting the knife down in front of you, relishing the mingled fear, helplessness, and curiosity in your eyes. I peel the foil back from the plate, the smell of the steak and green beans filling the air between us. I slowly and deliberately take the knife and begin to cut the steak into bite sized pieces, your stomach emitting an audible growl as you see and smell the dark pink, almost red flesh.
I eat slowly, taking my time to chew each bite, occasionally moaning as I enjoy the rich flavor of my meal. Once the steak and beans are half gone, I finally deign to notice you. “Drink,” I order, placing the straw of the water glass in your mouth. I let you take a handful of sips before I pull the glass away and pick up one of the green beans with my fingers. “Open.” We go on like this, silent, feeding you by hand until the plate has been cleared. “Are you still hungry, pet?” I ask, more than ready to move on to the next phase of our evening. Even more, I don’t know how you’re still standing there. This is the longest I’ve made you stay in such an awkward position and I can see your legs shaking with the strain.
“No, mistress.”
“Then there’s the matter of your disobedience.” I pick up the knife and make a show of wiping it clean, the juices from the steak leaving pink stains on the white linen napkin. Thank god for bleach. “I want those panties off and I want the stockings to stay on.” I stand up, moving behind you. I place my hands on your soft shoulders and order you to stand, helping you up. I turn you to face me and stand inches in front of you. I reach behind you and pick the knife back up, slowly raising it to place it against your flushed cheek, carefully angling it so that the edge doesn’t touch your delicate skin. “How do you suggest I do that?”
You gulp, the muscles of your throat flexing under your skin, the fear evident in your eyes. We’ve never added a knife to our play before, particularly one so sharp. There’s nothing more worthless than a dull knife and you know I would never allow one in my kitchen. “I don’t know, mistress,” you whisper.
“So once again, you prove to be completely useless,” I say, running the heel of the cold steel down over your throat towards your breasts. I step behind you and set the knife on the table. You exhale, your shoulders sagging with relief as I slide my hands down your sides over the garter belt to the tops of your thighs then back up over your ass, sliding my fingers under the straps holding up your stockings and I grab the lace waistband of your thong. With a few quick tugs, first one side then the other is shredded. I grab the back and slowly pull it up through your ass and off of you, your low moan as the rough lace drags your overheated pussy making my own throb in sympathy.
“Turn around,” I whisper. You turn to face me and I cup your chin with one hand, pressing against your cheeks to force open your mouth before shoving the destroyed, wadded up lace between your lips. You’re breathing heavily through your nose now, your breasts rising and falling with each inhale and exhale, your skin flushed and beaded with sweat, your eyes black with lust. I take the free length of rope from where I’d tucked it under and begin to wrap it around your breasts, guiding you to turn as needed and pulling the soft hemp tight around your breasts, causing them to engorge with blood.
I walk around you, trailing my fingers over the taut rope and your hot skin, confirming that you are fine in the ropes. I pick up the soft, well worn leather collar from the table. Its black surface had lost some of the reflective luster it had when we bought it, and the notch used to buckle it around your throat had developed a slight crease through much use, but it still served its purpose perfectly. I gather your hair in my hands and gently drape it over your shoulder as I buckle the collar in place. You make a noise that’s not a moan or a whimper, but something in between. My pussy is throbbing now and I feel a surge of heat rush through my body.
Picking up the last item from the table, I clip the leash to the D ring on your collar. “Come along, pet, it’s time for you to be punished for forgetting the rules.”
I slowly lead you toward the bedroom, going behind you on the staircase and keeping a hand on your back to help you with your balance. “Kneel, pet,” I order once we’re in our room. Seeing the surrender and arousal in your expression, I decide I’ve earned a small reward and slide my finger under my panties and through my slick folds. I sigh as I tease myself briefly, making sure that my fingers are fully coated in my wetness. I withdraw my hand and pull the panties from your mouth, tossing them aside. I hold my hand in front of your lips and order you to clean my fingers. Your eyes slide closed and an expression of bliss comes over your face as you moan around my fingers, taking your time in sucking every bit of my essence clean.
I pull my hand away and with a few quick tugs of the rope, I untie you. Your overly sensitized breasts, the blood now freely circulating, become targets, each receiving a sharp slap from the flogger I had picked up off the bed before I pick up the nipple clamps and place them on you, delighting in your gasps and whimpers. “Now pet, I don’t care how you do it, but I want you in plow pose. And you’re going to be there for a little while. Would you like a pillow for your shoulders?”
“Yes, please, mistress.”
I pull one of the pillows off the bed and set it on the floor. I watch as you maneuver your lithe, lean body in the pose, your shoulders and head resting on the pillow, your torso pointing towards the ceiling, arms straight out behind you with your fingers locked together, and your legs straight and at an angle to your body, your toes, still in your pumps, just barely touching the floor. The glorious sight makes me thank whatever fortune was smiling on me the day we met at yoga class.
“Close your eyes, pet.” I move to the nightstand and listen to your steady breathing as I select the toy I want, a smooth, heavy steel plug. I squirt lube on my fingers and slowly begin to prep your puckered asshole, clearly displayed to me by the position you’re in. Your breaths become moans as my finger easily slips inside you. I pump in and out a few times before adding another finger. You whimper as I pull my fingers free from your ass, missing the feeling of fullness. I squirt a bit more lube on the plug then press it against your flexing asshole, sliding it inside easily to the accompaniment of another throaty moan.
“Don’t move,” I order as I stand and move to the en suite to wash my hand. I have plans for your pussy still and I don’t take any chances with my possessions. I take a quick look in the mirror and note with satisfaction that apart from the flush of arousal covering my cheeks and chest, I still appear completely cool and collected. I walk back into the bedroom, my heel clicking against the tile for a few steps before sinking silently into the carpet. You’re still exactly as I left you, ass pointed toward the sky, the silver flange sticking out, appearing to glow in the soft light.
Stepping around you to the bed, I pick up the flogger, my pussy throbbing with the anticipation of bringing the heavy elk hide straps down against your soft, pale skin over and over again. I listen to your slow deep breaths, noting the occasional hitch in the otherwise steady pattern as you struggle to control your arousal.
“You’ve disappointed me tonight, pet. First you were late. I think that deserves ten lashes. Speaking without my permission, trying to explain your mistake warrants another five. Then there’s the matter of the panties. Ten lashes for disregarding my orders.” I pause for a moment, idly slapping the heavy straps against the side of my leg, “And another five for making me destroy an otherwise perfectly good pair of panties.”
Your body tenses in anticipation and I hear you take an extra deep breath to prepare yourself. Normally, for so many lashes, I’d have you tied to something to support you, or simply have you bent over the bed. Stepping over to your side, I swiftly draw my arm back and bring it down hard, the straps thudding against your ass, the glancing contact against the plug making you flinch and cry out in a scream of mingled pleasure and pain. “Open your eyes,” I say, squatting down next to your head and lovingly caressing your face, staring into your eyes. Seeing the love and surrender in them, I place a gentle kiss against your cheek and whisper, “Don’t forget to count, pet.”
As I stand, I hear you gasp out, “One, mistress.” I deliver the next few blows in a slow deliberate manner, waiting a silent five count between each one. I take care to alternate the lashes from one cheek to the other, making sure that the full brunt of the strike doesn’t come down on the piece of steel rising from the cleft of your ass. Until the sixth stroke. I’m more gentle than I have been so far, but I aim directly for the plug. You cry out, an animalistic scream of pain and lust and flinch with your entire body before you remember yourself, taking a few gasping breaths to reestablish control and stretch your arms and legs back out to where they were before. “Six, mistress,” you pant.
We continue, your ability to stay still and keep the count while being so terribly aroused makes me so proud of you. With each blow, you become wetter and wetter, your juices dripping out and sliding down toward your abs and coating the insides of your thighs. The smell of your arousal is overwhelming in our room. It takes every bit of willpower I possess to continue your punishment instead of simply bending down and plunging my tongue as far as I can get it into that fountain of ambrosia.
But continue I shall. The strike targeting the plug continue randomly, but with an increasing frequency. The last five all aim for the shining target, standing out coldly against the bright red skin surrounding it. The count comes now not as gasps, but as cries and sobs.
“Thirty, mistress!” you cry, your voice rough and ragged. “Please, mistress,” you beg incoherently. Tired of denying both of us, I answer your plea, rolling you forward out of the pose you’ve held so long and pushing you down on your back, the carpet scratching your flushed skin.
“Arms straight out over your head, pet,” I order, waiting for you to move them, surprised by the speed of your obedience before kneeling between your spread thighs. I take a deep breath, your scent filling my nostrils. I’ve always found this aroma to be more pleasing than the finest perfume and more appetizing than a deliciously fragrant meal. I’m no better than Pavlov’s dogs, I think with a grin as I lower my watering mouth to clean all around your open, swollen vulva with my tongue, moving in slow, flat strokes, trying to draw every drop of the thick, succulent fluid into my mouth. Your hips begin to thrust involuntarily, tempting me to come closer to where you need me. I wrap my left arm around your right thigh and throw my forearm over your hips, my hand pressing down firmly to still your movements.
I look up at your red face, covered in beads of sweat, your normally perfectly styled hair totally disheveled from your thrashing. “Patience, my pet,” I say in a firm voice. You groan and try to thrust against my grip a few more times before your writhing subsides and I hear you whisper, “Yes, mistress,” in a shaky voice.
After a few more licks, I’m satisfied that you’re as on edge as you can be. I quickly swipe my tongue over you, starting with a broad flat stroke but ending with a hard pointed flick to your clit. You cry out, an incoherent outburst of pleasure as you come hard and fast, your hips jerking up and your shoulders curling up off the floor. I’m pleased to note, though, that while they bend slightly, your arms stay more or less where I want them.
I give you a few seconds to recover before diving back in, using my tongue to manipulate your entire vulva, from top to bottom. I take my time, the first one was easy, a treat for being such a good pet during your punishment, but the next orgasm would be yours only when I was good and ready to give it to you. In the years we’ve been together, I’ve learned your signals. I know which spot to touch that feels so very good, but not quite good enough. I know that focusing on a spot just a few millimeters above and left of your clit will make you come within seconds. And I know that you can’t come when I press my thumb firmly against your urethra. Using all the knowledge of your body I’ve earned through the years I push you right to the edge and keep you there until you’ve turned into a quivering, sobbing mass of flesh and bone, your pussy clenching helplessly around my fingers pressed against your g-spot, your pulse pounding against my tongue, and your hips struggling uselessly against the firm grip I have around you. Finally, I lift my thumb, suck your clit into my mouth, pinching it between my lips, and curl my fingers hard against your g-spot, feeling another orgasm rip through your body. You completely lose control and your hand flies to tangle in my hair, holding my head against you. I slowly ease the pressure of my ministrations and withdraw from you gradually, inch by inch.
Your hands fall away and your body goes limp. Through your gasps for breath, I can hear the repeated mantra of “I love you, I love you…” being whispered over and over. “Open your eyes, pet,” I say, standing up. Once your eyes are open and fixed on mine, I slowly draw the fingers of my right hand into my mouth, making a show of licking the digits clean. I can feel your juices coating my face and wipe my chin with my thumb, licking it clean again. I hold out my hand to you and help you to your shaky feet. I guide you over to the bed and lay you down, your legs hanging over the edge.
I reach down and silently pull your shoes off your feet, your legs completely limp in my grasp as I do so. Placing the shoes back in our closet, I come back to the bed and unclip the garters from your stockings before rolling them down your legs and off, setting them aside. “Move up the bed, pet, and lie on your stomach,” I say softly. Once you’re settled on your stomach, I undo the hooks on the back of your garter belt and lift your hips so I can pull it out from under you. I sit next to you on the bed and look over my handiwork, taking particular pride in your bright red ass, the plug still barely peeking through between your round cheeks.
I pick up the glass of ice water and press the end of the straw to your lips. “Drink, pet. You did very, very well, but we’re not through just yet,” I say, brushing your hair back from your face. You drain the glass and I set it aside before taking the bottle of lotion sitting on the nightstand. Pouring some out into my hands, I rub them together to warm the creamy liquid before gently applying it to your tender ass. You hiss at the first touch but slowly relax into the soothing motion as I rub the salve in, adding more lotion until your skin has absorbed as much as it can. I turn my attentions next to your limp, exhausted limbs applying some of the lotion to the already fading impressions left by the rope. I roll you over and do the same on your chest and tender breasts.
Your breath has become slow and shallow and your eyes are taking longer and longer to open after every blink. I feel a surge of tenderness go through me as your eyes focus on mine and your lips shift into a small, shy smile. I lean down and kiss you gently, pulling away to the sound of your contented sigh. “You rest for a few minutes, pet, but don’t think I’m finished with you yet.”
“Yes, mistress,” you sigh, rolling back onto your belly and hugging the pillow, your eyes sliding peacefully closed. I sit there for a few moments, running my hand up and down the soft expanse of tour back, before going back to the dining room and cleaning up the mess from dinner. It only takes me a few minutes to get everything cleaned up. I take another beer out of the fridge and refill my glass. I lean against the island, sipping my beer and trying to ignore the persistent, aching throb between my legs. It will feel so much better if I wait and make you pleasure me. But I pushed your limits and you need a chance to recover before diving back in.
I drain the last of my beer, rinse the glass and take a couple bottles of water from the fridge before heading back to the room. I step through the door, ready to order you to your knees, slightly surprised to see you already kneeling, your ass resting on your heels, the leash still clipped to your collar and hanging down between your breasts. I bend over and pick it up, dragging the backs of my fingers over your swollen vulva, up your stomach, and between your breasts. Pass the end of the leash to my left hand, with my right I grip the leather just below the clasp and give it a sharp upward tug.
“Up, pet. On your feet.” Once you’re standing, I unclip the leash and set it aside, picking up a small pair of weighted nipple clamps, the weight dangling from the end of a chain about 3 inches long. I cup your breasts and run my thumb gently over your tender nipples, giving a firm flick to reach of them. Your body tenses as I lift the first clamp to your nipple, gently holding your breast while I firmly attach the clamp. Once it’s on, I drop it, pulling my hand away rapidly, hearing you gasp as the small weight pulls your nipple down with a sharp tug. In spite of that, you don’t follow the weight to the ground like the first time we did this. I smile at the obvious struggle you’re going through, your teeth clenched and your hands balled into fists at your side.
As you try to regain control of your breathing, I swiftly repeat the process on your other nipple. This time the gasp is a cry and your deep breaths come more rapidly. I pick the rope back up from where I had dropped it earlier and with swift, sure movements soon have you in a body harness, with a knot resting right over your mons. I pull a small vibrator out of the nightstand and twist it into the harness and turn it on, the vibrations being transmitted by the rope all over your body, and particularly to the knots pressing against your pussy and the plug still in your ass. Taking another length of rope, I retie your arms behind your back and guide you to the bed, giving you a hard shove to make you fall onto the soft surface covered by rumpled sheets. The effect of lying on your belly on the bed negates the weights and somewhat dulls the vibration through the ropes, but doesn’t completely erase them. I take yet one more piece of rope and tie your legs at the ankles, leaving your knees spread slightly, then bend your knees to attach the rope to your wrists.
“Are you comfortable, pet?” I ask, stepping back to look over the enticing vision you present.
“Yes, mistress,” you answer, your voice slightly muffled by your cheek being pressed into the bed.
“Good,” I say as I strip off my panties and climb onto the bed. I prop up some pillows against the headboard and lean back, spreading my legs and scooting down until my soaked pussy is on an inch from your face. “You’ve been very good tonight, my dear,” I reach down and brush your hair out of your face. “Time to enjoy your reward.”
You lift your head and eagerly wriggle forward a few inches, wincing as the chains tug on your nipples. You look at me, your eyes clearly reflecting your desire and adoration. “Thank you, mistress,” you whisper, your voice thick with lust, before lowering your head and putting your mouth to a much better use than mere speech. You press your slightly opened lips to my vulva and your tongue darts out to caress me. You moan at the flavor of my thick juices as you suck, pulling my labia into your mouth. I reach down with my right hand and let my fingers tangle in your hair, putting the slightest bit of pressure on you. Not enough to pull you closer, but enough to keep you from pulling back.
You keep your eyes on mine as you slide your tongue between my lips, parting them and exposing my hard, throbbing clit. I’ve been on edge all night and I know it won’t take much, just the slightest touch in the right spot to make me come. But I want to draw this out longer, enjoy the building sensations, hover right on the edge of that pleasurable abyss. “Slow down, pet,” I whisper huskily, “I want this to last.” I see your eyes sparkle mischievously, like you’re thinking about ignoring my order and make me come hard right then, but a sharp tug on your hair reminds you who’s in charge and your tongue pulls back from right beneath my clit, moving lower, stroking my labia and moving closer to my opening.
Your tongue pushes into me and I close my eyes and moan in bliss. You are so talented and know just how I like to be touched. “That’s it, pet, just like that.” I run my left hand over my breasts, dipping my fingers below the top of my corset to play with my nipples, aching with need. I ride the swell of arousal, your tongue alternating between plunging inside me and stroking my labia, your lips working me expertly, drawing me ever closer to the edge. “Now, pet,” I whisper through my moans, my grip on your head tightening as your tongue begins its attack on my clit. After a few flicks you suck me into your mouth and pinch the base of my clit between your lips, fluttering your tongue against the tip.
My left hand joins my right in pressing you tight against me, your nose pressed against me and cutting off your breath. My back flies off the pillows and my head goes back as I emit a primal cry of pleasure, the waves of euphoria flowing out from my pussy to surge through my entire body. You continue gently licking and sucking me, trying to get as much of my essence into you as you can, but aware that I’m slightly too sensitive for your full efforts. I relax, enjoying the attention as I catch my breath. I sit up, loosening my grasp on your head and whisper, “Stop, pet.”
With a soft whimper of protest, you lift your head, licking your lips clean of the fluids still clinging to your face. I scoot back and throw one leg over you to join the other before sliding off the bed. I stand and reach behind me, untying the laces in the middle of my back, loosening them enough to unclasp the busk. With the corset off, I stretch my back a little bit and take a few deep breaths before I turn and bend over to unlace my boots. I make a point to turn my back to you and stand so I’m just barely in your field of vision as I bend at the waist, smiling as I hear you let out a pitiful noise of longing at the sight of my ass exposed to you like this. Once I get the first boot unlaced, I stand up and step out of it before repeating the process with the other foot.
Now completely naked, I get back on the bed and spread my legs for you again. I reach down and, instead of grabbing your head as you expect, I begin to run my fingers over myself. Your eyes keep flicking back and forth between my vulva, inches away, and my face, looking for an indication that I want you to resume licking. “Patience, pet,” I say through an exaggerated moan. “Do you want my pussy?”
“Yes, mistress,” you say, licking your suddenly dry lips. “Please let me worship your pussy, mistress.” In reply I press my fingers against your lips, which readily open and begin sucking, your tongue desperately trying to pull every bit of liquid off them. After a few seconds, I pull my fingers out to a loud ‘pop’ and tangle my fingers, wet with your saliva, into your hair, pushing your eager mouth against me. The attention you give me is intense and overwhelming. In almost no time at all, I’m arching my back, my hips thrusting against your mouth. “You may want to slow down pet. You’re going to be down there for quite a while, so don’t wear yourself out yet.”
You pull back an inch or so and look up at me. “Yes, mistress,” you say, the simple words seeming incredibly erotic with my juices dripping off your chin, before resuming your efforts, slower this time. Over the next thirty minutes, you take me over the edge three more times, though none are as strong as the first two, they all leave me gasping for breath. I can tell that we’re coming close to the limits of your stamina as you pull back to stretch your aching jaw every few minutes and your tongue moves slower and slower, sucking on my clit becoming your dominant way of pleasuring me. As I bask in the afterglow of my fifth orgasm, I contentedly sigh, “Stop now, pet.”
You pull back and collapse down on the mattress, your back muscles exhausted from holding the same position for so long. I lie there relaxing for a few moments, letting out a soft, happy laugh when you shift so that your head is pillowed on my thigh. I gently run my fingers through your matted, sweat soaked hair before getting up. I stretch briefly then go about untying you, gently rubbing the newly exposed skin, the red impressions left by the ropes snaking across your beautiful skin.
I give you a brief, gentle massage, working out muscles stiff from going so long without moving. I slide off the bed again and hold out my hand to you. With a grunt of protest, you get to your feet and I lead you to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, I let the water warm up and turn to face you. I place my hands on your hips and pull you against me. You loosely wrap your arms around my waist and nuzzle the top of my chest, sighing contentedly. I tilt your head up with a finger under your chin and place a soft kiss on your sore lips. “Come on pet, let’s get cleaned up.”
I pull back and reach up to your throat, undoing the clasp on your collar and setting it aside. I step into the shower, pulling you along behind me. We stand under the water, exchanging soft kisses and caresses. I slide my hands down your back and grip your ass. I give it a brief squeeze before ordering you to turn around and lean against the shower wall. I grasp the flange of the plug and tell you relax as I begin to pull it out, your muscles still gripping it. As I slowly pull, you push and let out a sigh of relief, your body readjusting to the absence of the heavy intrusion.
I rinse it off and set it aside before telling you to stand back up. I grab the puff and our body wash and work up a lather. I take my time washing you, making sure to gently and thoroughly clean every inch of you. I direct you to stand under the water and rinse while I wash myself. Next, I take up the shampoo bottle and pour out a small amount into my hand. You lean against my chest as I slowly and tenderly work my fingers over your scalp, washing out the sweat and tangles that filled your hair. You move back under the water to rinse before leaning back for me to put on conditioner. You’re practically purring as my fingers run through your hair, applying the product to ever inch. After doing the same to my own hair, while you lean heavily against me, fighting to stay awake, we both rinse and share a few more kisses.
I turn off the water and reach out for a towel. I softly pat you dry before drying your hair. I direct you to sit on the closed toilet while I dry myself off. Once I towel myself off, I take up the brush and blow dryer and proceed to slowly work through your hair, leaving it completely dry and full. “Go change the sheets, pet,” I order, pressing a kiss to your cheek before drying my own hair. Once my shorter hair is dry, a prospect considerably less time consuming compared to your locks, which hang halfway down your back, I step into the bedroom and see you tucking in the last corner on the fitted sheet. I go around the room and pick up all the toys we used, either putting them back in their place or setting them aside to be cleaned. I leave the room and go downstairs, making sure everything is in order and turned off. Pressing the power switch on the stereo, the lilting sound of the harpsichord that had filled the house this evening fell silent.
I walk up the stairs after turning off the lights and double checking the doors. In our bedroom, I see you in the dim candle light, lying on your side on the freshly made bed, your knees bent and your head resting on the pillow.
“Lie flat on your back, pet,” I say softly and smile as you lazily roll over. Taking up the lotion again, I proceed to give you a full body massage, working out every knot and kink in your body. I spend a long time on your shoulders, making sure that the knots that chronically plague them are gone, at least for the time being. Finally done, I pull the covers over your limp, relaxed body and climb in behind you.
You roll over to face me and curl up against me, your head tucked under my chin. “Cayenne,” I whisper, gently rubbing circles on your back, bringing our night to an end.
“God,” you say, the sleep creeping into your voice. “I needed that so bad. Thank you, baby.”
“I could tell when I called this afternoon.”
“I suppose I should ask where the kids are, but I’m honestly too worn out to really care. Your mom’s, I’m guessing?”
“Yours, actually. Mine’s still visiting Greg and Valerie.”
“Ah,” you say, your eyelashes fluttering against my skin as you drift off, your breathing slowing and deepening, your body going limp in my arms. I kiss the top of your head again, taking time to inhale the particular fragrance that’s uniquely yours. “I love you, sweetheart, more than I can say. Sleep tight.” I tighten my grip around you and close my eyes, shortly joining you in blissful sleep.