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The Art of Waiting

Category: BDMS
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Long day at work, she thought to herself, taking a swig of diet coke and placing it back into the cupholder.

Road signs, stop lights, and pedestrians blurred past her as she drove home. She was already planning out her evening, starting by taking off her shoes, dropping her bag, and immediately making herself a very tall scotch—on the rocks, of course.

She wondered if she had truly become an introvert, the way her old college pals had said she would. Bars, clubs, friends, boyfriends; these places were for other people, these “friends” were distant, at best. She liked her men rough, but aside from a bi-yearly visit to the sado-masochistic bar in the big city, she kept the men far, far away.

It was about time for one of those visits, if her math was correct. She added as she drove the last few blocks to her house, and by the time she turned up her drive, a half-mile strip of gravel, she was already planning an ensemble for her next visit to the city, maybe next weekend.

But these thoughts flew from her head when she saw the car parked in front of her garage. She knew the car instantly. Six months had passed since that black Explorer had been parked outside her home. He had driven her home tied up in the bed of the truck. By the time they had reached her house, she had soaked the liner with sticky excitement.

Her nipples stood taut beneath her blouse. There was no way anyone could tell, but there they stood, belying the casual way she gathered her things and went to the front door.

When she opened it, the house was dark except for the glow of three candles burning on her dining room table. She dropped her things, slammed the door, and rushed to the candles. A box sat in the middle, wrapped with black paper and red silk ribbon. Next to it was a note.

Remove your shirt and skirt, but nothing else. Put on the gift, get on all fours, and crawl through the house until you find me. I am waiting.

Her breath caught in her throat, and immediately she felt herself go moist. Her fingers trembled as she unwrapped the box and opened it. Inside lay a collar of black leather.

The smell filled her nostrils as she buckled it around her throat. She obeyed the letter, shedding her clothing and immediately falling to her knees. She knew it would be a while before she found him, so she made a quick sweep of the lower level, finding nothing. She cursed herself for buying such a large house.

As she climbed the carpeted stairs, she began to really become excited. He was a master at the art of waiting, of withdrawing or holding back before finally giving her what she most desired. The last time, he had gone in to tour her house, leaving her bound in the bed of his truck for at least twenty minutes. When he finally came to release her, he had fingered her three times before undoing the knots, each time bringing her close to climax, but never letting her achieve it.

Assuming he had gone to her room, she decided to draw out the game by searching the guest rooms, library, bathroom, and patio, saving the bedroom for last. Noises began to reach her ears. Had he brought someone else? Was it not just them? She listened closer as she headed for the closed door. Realization dawned on her. The TV was on.

She rose and opened the door, then fell to her hands again, crawling into the room. He sat on the bed and glanced at her briefly, then returned to the Television, which was playing canned laughter. A sitcom? Wasn’t he eager to begin?

Crawling to his feet, she began to run her hands up his leg. He grabbed her hair.

“Bad girl. Lay at my feet. Do not move or look at me until I tell you. You may call me ‘sir’ or ‘master.’ Do you understand?” He held her hair tightly until she responded.

“Yes, sir.”

He shoved her head down, pressing her chest into the floor. She held herself still until he released her, then repositioned to comfortably bow at his feet. She stared at his bare feet, sorry for beginning their session poorly. She wanted to make it up to him, to please him.

Minutes dragged by. He drank a glass of champagne, and at one point walked away to refill it. When he returned, he patted her head. The show concluded, a happy ending, and the credits rolled on one side as the ads for the next show played on the other. He sighed and stood, turned off the TV, and placed his glass next to its pair and the bottle on the night stand.

Still she bowed there, unsure what would happen next. Her breath caught in her throat as she heard the rustle of his shirt being unbuttoned, then falling to the floor.

“Come here,” he commanded. He stood on the far side of the bed. She crawled to him. “How long has it been since you saw me?” he asked.

“Six months, sir.”

“Did you miss me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I would never, sir.”

He knelt and lifted her chin. “When you saw my truck, what went through your mind?”

Her eyelids fluttered. “I thought of you tying me up in the back, sir.”

“Did that excite you?”

“Phenomenally, sir.”

He released her jaw, and she let it fall, facing his feet. “Sir, I’m sorry for my behavior.”

“What? When?”

“When I first came in, sir.”

“It’s forgotten, pet,” he cooed. He touched her side, tracing a line from the bottom of her bra to her panty line. She gasped at the contact. “So sensitive. I’d forgotten. Let’s see how sensitive you are.” He unclasped her bra with ease, then pulled the straps from her shoulders. The garment fell to the floor, her hands still inside the wide circles. “Stand,” he told her.

She slowly stood, balancing on her high heels. Free of her bra, she felt awkward. Her arms dangled at her side. From this angle, she saw he had more items on the night stand. He turned and took a pair of wrist cuffs. “Turn around.”

He bound her wrists behind her, held together by two clips. He could easily unclip them from each other. “Turn again, now.”

With her arms back, her breasts pushed forward pleasantly. He stroked below the right one with the end of his finger, a look of calm eagerness on his face. Now her nipple was erect, waiting for attention. Softly, he traced a wide circle around her right breast, each time coming closer to the center. She wobbled in her heels.

He reached her nipple, grabbed and twisted, then quickly released. She nearly fell forward into him. He thrust a hand behind her, pulling on the back of her collar. “Stay on your feet, woman. I’m not going to catch you,” he said gruffly, never breaking his gaze with her nipple. He stooped and tasted her, clamping down on her tiny bud.

She exclaimed in pleasure. “Thank you, sir,” she sighed, trying not to tumble. He held her nipple tightly, running his tongue and teeth over it with timed precision. When he pulled away, she swayed again, but steadied as he pulled her close to perform the same service to her left breast.

When he stood, he maintained a firm grip. She longed to feel him in her arms, but they were still held tight behind her. She surrendered as he pressed his lips to hers, lapsing into a deep, hypnotic kiss that left her with no doubts that he was enjoying himself. Against her hip she could feel a stiff bulge, most assuredly all him.

His hands groped her flesh, working their way down to the waistband of her black pantyhose. He slid his hands beneath them and kneaded her buttocks while they kissed, enjoying the writhing she was beginning to make against his groin. He longed to feel her pussy, to know how wet she was, but even more he wished to prolong their suffering. It made the end result so exquisite.

He withdrew his hands, then his body, ending the kiss. She had her eyes closed, focusing on standing and nothing else.

He surveyed her stance. “Turn to the right, facing the bed.” She complied. The bed was high; she still harbored a secret fantasy that taller beds were for royalty. Her bed and her sheets were the most expensive things in the house. For a split second she wondered if she could share them with someone, finally. Maybe him? After all, was he so bad?

Her thoughts were literally pushed from her consciousness as he pushed her forward, so that her torso fell onto the bed. Her ass was now slightly up in the air, and her legs looked stunning in the heels. He caressed her ass for a moment as she wriggled slightly, trying to get comfortable.

She sensed him return to the night table and pour himself some more champagne. He put the glass back down and picked up another item from the table. No wait, two items. A small gasp escaped her as the cold metal of a pair of silver scissors rested between her shoulder blades. He leaned next to her with the second item. “Lift your head. Look down at the bed.”

He forced open her mouth with a ball gag, then closed it tightly around her head. Oh, he loved the sight of a woman in a ball gag. “Now look at me. Say thank you.”

She could barely make the sound necessary and he knew it, but he savored the moment as she released a muffled “thank you, sir.”

He lifted himself to standing. “Now turn your head toward the TV. I’m going to go sit in the chair next to it, you see? I want to see that pretty pink ball in your mouth. And no matter what I do, you are not to move or stand or whine. Understood?”

She mumbled a “yes, sir” as he moved away.

She watched him sit and look tranquilly at her. Her body quivered slightly, but she didn’t think he noticed from the distance. The shake reminded her of the shears still balanced on her back. The metal implement was warming on her skin. She relaxed her mind, trying to avoid any more movement. She felt for the contours of the blades, the circles of the handles. It was still much cooler than her flushed skin.

Just as her mind started to wander from the handles, he moved again. Slowly, he began stroking between his legs, over his clothes. She snapped back to attention, locking eyes with him. He kept all his effort on keeping his eyes from betraying how good it felt, the friction, the bound and gagged sight before him, how she was remaining still just to please him.

Her eyes wandered downward to his crotch, and he smiled. He unbuttoned, then unzipped his pants. He pulled the fabric down, along with the boxers beneath, just enough to pull out the throbbing member. Again, he began to stroke, slowly. He wanted so badly to give into the sensation, let his head drift back, call her to him. But he stared into her eyes, followed the contour of her jaw wrapped around that tiny ball. Her jaw would look the same if she had his dick in her mouth, and that was the appeal.

He couldn’t think about it anymore. The trick to waiting was to keep changing the game. He stood, held his clothes from dropping to the floor, and approached the bed. He lay down to her left, so that she was facing away. “Don’t move your head. Don’t move at all,” he told her. Their arms touched, and she quivered slightly at the contact. He grasped his tool again with the arm touching hers.

She could feel his muscles flexing as he pleased himself, and wanted so badly to do it for him. Everything in her wanted to writhe, to be touched, to grasp and lick and suck and choke. How much longer could she be still?

His head was level with her ass. He couldn’t continue stroking himself. Even at the slow pace he maintained, he could feel the pressure of orgasm building. He turned on his side, gazing at her rear, allowing his penis to poke at her shoulder and neck as he moved. He began once again to explore her covered flesh, this time staying outside. Nursing a hunch, he felt for her pussy, and he was right. Through her panties and the stockings, she was soaked.

Once again he stood, walking in front of her field of vision and then out again. The pressure of the scissors lifted, then she felt a cool line of metal at her waistband. Snip snip snip, he freed her slowly, cutting down one leg and then the other. The fabric fell in tatters to her feet. He knelt and removed her heels, seeing the lines they had made across her toes. She was now completely bare and bent over, her wrists bound.

His fingers invaded her, feeling her moisture. Her breath caught loudly around the rubber ball planted between her teeth. With one hand still exploring her entrance, he pulled her head back sharply by her hair. “Don’t move,” he said again. When he released her, she remained bent backward. He removed her ball gag. She had lines where the leather had dug into her face, too. He pushed her face back onto the bed.

His clothes were falling off his frame now, and he didn’t bother pulling them back up. They fell as he worked her nether region, soaking his fingers with her juices. She smelled sweaty and sweet, and he longed to taste her, but first he’d make her clean him off. Grasping the back of the collar he’d given her, he pulled her to standing. She wobbled, trying to find her balance while gasping to retrieve her breath.

He stared at her, lifting his wet hand to her face. “See this? This is yours. Clean it off, immediately.”

Hungrily, she opened her mouth and took his index finger in. Her tongue flicked against his digit as she sucked her own taste from his finger. He’d forgotten her skill; he hardened again, his tool pressing into her pubic region. She licked his other fingers, the back of his hand and his palm, eager to remove every drop. The moment she finished, he kissed her again, hard, driving his cock between her legs, feeling the moisture clinging to her lips. She gasped and her shoulders swayed; she wanted so badly to press him into her. He reached behind her and unclipped the restraints; she dug her hands into his lower back, arching her pelvis forward.

He drove against her, stepping her backward until they hit a wall. The frame of one of her pictures dug into her shoulder, but she didn’t notice. She slid her legs up and wrapped them around his hips as he thrust his cock against her labia, but refusing to enter.

“Please, fuck me,” she whispered between frantic kisses, “Oh, God, please? Sir?”

He stopped thrusting. He held her there, deciding what to do. With sudden force, he spun her and dropped her to the bed. “Did I tell you to talk?” he questioned sternly, “No, I didn’t.” He grabbed her legs and flipped her face down on the bed again. Then he pulled her back, so she was bent over the foot of the bed. He smacked her roughly.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” he asked.

She was breathing heavily, poised for the next blow. He knew she was eager for it. “I’m sorry, sir. I was caught up in the moment.”

Smack. “You certainly were. You deserve this punishment, don’t you?”

Smack. “Yes, sir. I’ve been a very poor servant.”

“Just tonight? Or have you done anything else I should punish you for?”

She paused. The mood had shifted. His last question had not been part of the game. Not totally. She searched his inflection. Finally, she realized. He had missed her.

“I should be punished for not calling you,” she said quietly. His hand had been poised for another slap, but instead it fell to his side.


She pushed herself up, standing naked before him. He searched her face. This was unlike any game he had ever played. “I should have called,” she whispered.

He pulled her close, wrapped her in his arms. “Waiting is something I do well. You know that.” There was silence. Then, “Now that we know what you’ve done wrong, what do you intend to do to make it right?”

The game had resumed. She looked into his eyes as she knelt before him, taking his glorious organ into her mouth. It was just like she had remembered. It was salty and warm, and it fit perfectly inside her mouth. She sucked it with all her skill, listening to him gasp and moan, enjoying his fingers as he dug them into her hair. He pushed her head close, closer, to his body, until her nose was buried in his pubic hair. She waited until he released her, then climbed slowly back up, playing with the head while he bucked on his feet.

“Let me sit,” he gasped, resting on the edge of the bed. He pulled her head up and bent to kiss her, tasting himself on her lips. “Continue,” he commanded, and she returned to his groin, eager to make up for lost time. Her hands worked his shaft, played with his sac, tickled his thighs. He began to thrust as she fell on the shaft, simulating sex. He was moaning and breathing heavily; he was close. He had to stop her. He pulled on her hair, bringing her face to his for another kiss. They fell backward onto the bed. He rolled over to put her underneath him, holding her wrists down. He kissed her neck and her chest, playfully torturing her nipples. Their feet dangled off the bed.

“Scoot up, grab the headboard,” he told her. Her fingers grasped the middle pole. There was something wrapped around it. He clipped her wrists to the something. Her hands were bound above her head. “Now be good,” he told her, and dove downward. She felt his breath against her right breast, then her stomach.

She gasped as he buried his face in her pussy, licking and shaking his head. He closed his teeth around her clit, humming deeply. The vibrations sent her whole body rocking. His tongue went deep, and she heard and felt him sucking at her labia. He always returned to her clit, flicking his tongue over the tiny pearl. Her pelvis bucked involuntarily as he brought her to the brink of orgasm, then pushed her over. She screamed as her body writhed, releasing fresh juices that he eagerly lapped up.

But she was nowhere near dry, that was for sure. He rose to kiss her, his face covered in wetness. She smiled and licked at it, and they shared the taste as he positioned between her legs. Her fists tightened as they ceased kissing and just stared at each other. His member was right at her entrance, hesitant to come in. They felt each other’s hot breath on their faces. She once again hugged his hips with her legs.

“Ask me to. Beg me to. Tell me. Speak,” he commanded quietly.

“Oh, sir, please get inside me. I want to feel you pressed up in me so badly. I want you to plunge into me, please please.”

He eased into her about an inch. “Good enough?”

She panted, “No, sir. Further. Please bury yourself inside me. More, further, please, sir, please!”

He entered another two inches, looking at her expectantly.

“Sir, further. I need you inside me, now. All you’ve got, I want it inside.”

Two more inches.

“Like that, sir, but a little bit more. I want you to feel my walls.” She lifted her lips to his ear. “Please, sir. Fuck me.”

That was what he had been waiting for. He forced himself in the rest of the way, practically impaling her with his force. She let out a scream, then took in a breath. “Thank you, sir.”

He retreated and pounded her again, over and over. She begged him to continue, go faster, fuck her. She used ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ like a well-behaved child. She clung to the headboard, pushing against him so that he penetrated her deeper than ever. He knocked the wind from her with slower strokes, but longed to finish, to truly claim her.

He was pumping hard, slamming into her with might and speed he didn’t know he had. She trembled beneath him, shuddering as wave after wave of orgasm crashed upon her, each one sending her gasping for air. “Please, sir,” she gasped, “Cum inside me! Please, I want you to spill in me, please sir.”

Spasms shot up and down as he released his own juices deep inside her. He fell against her, all his weight resting on hers. She could take it. He was still inside her, spent but still engorged. They would wait until he was flaccid to move.

He lifted himself up long enough to release her hands from the headboard. “May I stay the night?” he requested.

“Stay forever, if you like,” she whispered, kissing his nose, “I’m tired of waiting.”

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