Just Pretend

November 10th, 2009

We’re playing and the scene is one in which he appears to have power but we both know it’s my scene, my power, my plan, my way. I call him “Daddy” and, at first, it sounds awkward. We stumble over our lines and I am incredibly aware that he is not my daddy and these are not our real roles.

“Come here,” here says, beckoning me over and I do trying to act the innocent daughter. I am anything but. He tells me to sit; I do. He launches a conversation about growing up, adolescence and the differences between boys and girls. My head still isn’t in it but I play along anyway. He asks me if I’ve noticed these differences.

“Yes,” I say. “I know I have a penis but you have a vagina, Daddy”. He nods, proud of me. I beam, getting more into the role. I tell him I have seen the pictures in school but they’re cartoony. He nods and looks disappointed, as though public education has failed me. We continue in our roles and he asks if I want to see a real penis, his penis. I am in awe that he cares so much about my knowledge; I nod meekly.

He slowly removes his jeans. I try not to stare as he unbuttons, then unzips. They lie crumpled on the floor and his boxers follow next. I see his penis, standing parallel to the floor. It’s much more detailed than the pictures in school show. I can see the shaft, rigid and straight and the end is bulbous with a funny ridge. He follows my gaze.

“It’s erect,” he explains. “It has filled with blood and increases in size, pointing up. Other times, it is not engorged and hangs limply.” I struggle to stay in the mindset, pretending I don’t already know this, pretending I haven’t seen his cock one hundred, one thousand times before. I try to convince myself I’ve never before seen his cock.

“Does it hurt?” I ask, in amazement. I reach out to touch it before I snatch my hand back, unsure if that would be a mistake. “Can I?” I ask hesitantly and he nods, smiles reassuringly as he explains it doesn’t hurt. It can feel quite good and I wonder how.

I gingerly reach for the head of his cock and he moans. I feel the skin, velvety smooth over the hard shaft. I wrap my fingers around it and he startles me, enclosing his larger hand over my own. He must see it as he puts a finger to my mouth to sooth me, silence me. Together, we stroke his cock. He breathes harder and thrusts his hips toward me. His cock slides in and out of my hand and I stare at it intently.

“Just like that,” he moans and my confidences are mentally boosted. I see the first drop of pre-cum ooze from his penis and ask him what that is.

“That means you are doing a very good job at making Daddy feel good but you know what would really make Daddy feel good?” I shake my head “No” and continue to stroke him.

“Take off your panties,” he tells me. For a minute I am stunned. I didn’t see that one coming at all. I drop my hand from his penis. “Take them off,” he repeats once more and I do, struggling to comply as quickly as possible. He instructs me to lie back on the bed and I listen, afraid of angering him anymore.

He presses his thighs between my legs, spreading them. His fingers travel along my inner thighs and I laugh as it tickles. “Do you like that?” I nod, biting my lower lip as his hands travel further inward. I don’t know what to expect when he reaches the warm area in between my legs. I have touched there before and sometimes it feels good. I am anxious.

His fingers make contact and his touch is gentle. He strokes my skin with one hand, all around my vagina, with his other reaches behind him. I hear something pop but I’m not sure what. I look at him quizzically and he returns my look; something in his expression says everything will be okay. His other hand returns between my legs; he spreads me open and applies something cold, wet against my flesh, inside of me. It feels tight but gets easier as he strokes.

“Don’t mind the cold lube,” he reassures. “Are you ready to make Daddy very happy?” I nod, wanting to please him, knowing my Daddy knows what is best.

I feign pain as the head of his cocks slips into me but we both know it’s fake. I contort my face, trying to look as virginal as possible. “It hurts,” I lie.

“I know but that will pass soon. I promise.” He strokes my cheek as he presses himself into me and I can start to feel him stretching, tearing. It doesn’t feel like he can fit, like he should fit. I let him know, biting my lip in pain.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” he consoles. “Daddy’s almost there.” He lets out an minimalistic groan, the likes of which I have never heard before. The pain, the tearing continues as he slides into me, inch by painful inch. Then it stops, I look down at his body over my tiny frame and I see that he is all the way in me. The hairs around his penis are long and fuzzy, tickle me slightly.

“Are you okay?” He asks, commending my bravery and performance. I nod, try to smile through the pain as it slowly fades. He begins to thrust his hips, pumping into me and I feel the head of his penis stroking against the different sensitive parts of me, inside of me. I think about how I hadn’t even known those parts existed and, in my mind, it’s like this is my first time.

He grunts, moans and grips my hips. I feel him fill me up and I’m not even sure how it’s possible. I look up at him and he leans down to kiss me hard. It hurts but it also feels.. good, somehow. The way he feels inside me feels differently, too. There’s less resistance and he thrusts come easier. It’s like my body is accepting him now and, without thinking, my hips thrust back toward his.

“That’s a good girl.” His words are muffled my my body as he nestles his face against my shoulder. A sound escapes my lips like none I have made before and I cut it off sharply.

“No, go ahead. Daddy wants you to feel good, too.” He reaches down, his fingers caressing around my vagina. His fingers press between the curves of my flesh and he begins to stroke that special button. “Do you like this, when I touch your clit?” I do and I let him know. He continues to stroke, to twist, to flick and the pain is long forgotten. I am moaning with him and, every time I do, it seems to elicit a moan from him.

He thrusts harder now, pressing against my clit harder. I feel the change begin to grow inside me. I’m not sure but I don’t have much time to think about it. Suddenly, his penis is no longer in me and I gasp. As I look down, I feel his erection rubbing between my thighs, against my clit. It looks silly; although, I’m not sure it should.

As quickly as he exited, he slams back into me and I wonder if I will even be able to walk after this. his fingers return to where they were playing with me and that strange feeling builds again. Something is going to happen but I’m not sure what.

Seemingly out of nowhere, I feel the muscles around my vagina, surrounding his cock spasm. They clench and release in quick successions. It’s only a few seconds but they are mesmerizing. I never knew I could do that. Apparently, Daddy is also surprised. He gasps as his own body shudders and he slumps down, weighing more heavily on him. Still supported by his arms, I look up at him, wondering what just happened to the both of us.

As he slowly withdraws from my body, I see his penis shrinking, losing its erection. I think I understand its anatomy more but I am jolted from my thoughts by the warm gush from between my legs. I wonder where it comes from as he stands beside the bed.

“Be a good girl and go clean up in the bathroom. You made Daddy cum hard.” So it’s normal, I assume, and he likes it. I beam once more, glad to have pleased him and head to the bathroom, my legs warm and sticky. I clean myself slowly as I consider what just happened. I know it must be good. We both felt good, very good and I know my Daddy would never do anything wrong. I smile, feeling on top of the world.

As I exit the bathroom to climb back in bed, I see him leaning against the doorway, once more in his boxers. He puts his fingers to his lips, still in the role. We know to keep it a secret. I smile knowingly, not just in character anymore and crawl between the sheets, exhausted, and motion him to join me. He lies beside me, presses his body close and we wish eachother good night, our game over for now.

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Categories: Stories

His Hands

October 4th, 2009

Before, they would wander and grasp desperately for any sort of positive reinforcement but I couldn’t offer it. There was no sensitive spots screaming or even whispering “Yes” for me to echo. Now, I crave them more than any other part. If I said I don’t know what happened, I would be lying. What happened is that I have come alive, experiencing sensations like never before. Now, I find myself wanting his hands more than ever. I desire the pressure, stronger than his tongue or cock. The way his fingers can curl this way or that and the variety in their touch.

Their sheer fuckability, the way they compliment the movement of my hips. There is something absolutely taboo about fucking his hand, his fingers. It’s such a purposeful action; there is no mistaking the intent. I love being able to grasp his arm, his wrist, to pull him into me, to keep him inside me. I can control his hand easier than any other part. His hand is like a sex toy created for solely for me.

And so, his hands have become the part of his body I most covet.

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Categories: Stories

The Bad News

September 23rd, 2009

It has almost been 3 years since I was delivered the news. Bad news. The bad news. Despite the passage of time, my stomach still curls if I think too intently about it; it’s curling now. So I breathe and I move on.

The bad news was delivered from my husband and it was unexpected. The news? He had cheated on me. Unexpected, in fact, might not be a powerful enough word. I may have to resort for a cliche, here. My apologies. I was stunned. I was bowled over. I was blinded like a deer in the headlights and I probably looked like one, too. My surprise was two-fold, on the one hand, I had no idea where this had come from. Why didn’t I know something was wrong? On the other hand, I had placed my entire faith in my husband, not ever imagining he could commit an offense like that. I had thought him, me, us invulnerable to such a human flaw. He, I, we – were not.

His method of message relay was cruel and hurtful, spiteful and immature. He told me to hurt me and, perhaps a bit because he hadn’t wanted to keep the secret but even if he wanted to come clean, his motives were all about him, not us. In my shattered state, I experienced a range of emotions like never before. I was hurt, confused and angry, of course. For a minute, I didn’t believe it but he forwarded me their e-mails and I knew better. I was also, I am still slightly ashamed to admit, a bit aroused by the thought of my husband and another woman. Of course, not like that. Never like that.

He misunderstood when I asked for details. He told me how frustrated he’d been. I didn’t understand. Why hadn’t he told me? We’d just seen eachother for a few weeks, after he’d been to Afghanistan and now he was stationed a world away from me, once more. Things hadn’t been as wonderful as he hoped but I had no idea they were that bad, to him. He’d found someone online, invited her over, had sex. Only once. He’d only replied to say he didn’t want nothing more to do with her. He was a dick to everyone.

He’d broken our vows. I didn’t understand why. Couldn’t grasp why he didn’t tell me. Couldn’t grasp why he’d do this and even if I could understand that, I didn’t understand the timing. The timing! It couldn’t have been worse. I was less than a month away from flying across the world to live with him. I was literally days away from packing my stuff, vacating my apartment, and staying with my mother for a few short weeks. My family was driving 4 hours to help me, renting a U-haul, driving 4 hours back. They would help me move everything down 4 flights of stairs into a truck and back out into my grandmother’s basement. How could he this now?

I didn’t have nearly enough time to decide what to do, to think it over. I had already booked my flight. I had backed out of my best friend’s wedding. I was supposed to be her matron of honour but, instead, I was supposed to be flying out of the country the day before her wedding. Our friendship would be rocky for some time after because of it and he had the balls to do this?

No, it wasn’t balls at all. It wasn’t manly or masculine or mature or brave. Even in my confusion, I could see that. Even in my state I could see, as clear as anything, that it was the wrong thing to do, the wrong path to take. It was stupid. He should have talked to me, been honest. He should have communicated all along. He shouldn’t have cheated. It was a mistake. A terrible mistake and a mistake that I ultimately had less than a week to decide whether or not to forgive (but perhaps never forget).

It wasn’t much time. Not much time at all. Certainly not enough time to make a life altering decision but that really didn’t matter. I had to do it anyway. I didn’t have time to live in denial or even stagnate. I had barely enough time to move on, it seemed. Time was finite, was money, was of the essence but, most of all, time was certainly not on my side.

Did I want to stay or go? Could I forgive this indiscretion? For that matter, did he want me to stay or go? I don’t know what I wanted for the future. I didn’t want the future. I wanted the past. I wanted everything to return to how it had been. I wanted to pretend nothing had changed. NO! I wanted nothing to have changed. It didn’t matter what I wanted. I couldn’t change the past. Still can’t. Maybe I wouldn’t, knowing what I know now. Maybe I would. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Like it didn’t matter that I felt like I couldn’t handle this turn of events, I did anyway.

I’m not sure you could really call it handling. What followed in the next few days were many tear filled conversations to a country in another continent. We were worlds apart in more ways than we ever had been. Many of those conversations ended with the click of the phone as one of us hung up on the other. Most of those conversations went nowhere as we hurled insults, as one of us pulled away as the other of us clung to the remnants of a marriage (well, maybe it never was much of one) as surely as it was a life preserver.

As I type, “Love is a Killer” starts playing. I want to laugh because I am so sick of crying. Deep breaths. In. Out.

More often than not, I was the one who clung. In spite of everything, my desire for everything to return to “normal” made me reluctant to let go of something I had worked so hard for. Many phone calls, but not many days, later I had convinced him that I would still fly over there and we’d give it “just one more shot” (this was my angle in many a conversation). We’d been married for over a year but had yet to live with eachother. I was convinced that it was the distance, the circumstances. We’d be better off together. We couldn’t call it quits without actually trying. What we had been doing wasn’t trying.

At one point, we’d actually decided to separate. I felt relief and, for once, I slept. I awoke, early morning, to a phone call and he pleaded with me that he’d make a mistake, that he couldn’t end it like this. Me? I was tired. I wanted to go back to sleep where none of this was happening so I agreed. And went back to sleep.

I justified and I denied and through those excuses and warped views I decided I would fly over. My world had flown out from beneath my feet. Everything had revolved around us for so long, all I could do to keep my head above water was to justify and deny. Justify and deny. It was like fighting paranoia when you know someone is actually following you. There was no way out. No one to turn to. The only thing I could do was move forward because, like it or not, I had no other option.

My path took an unexpected turn. I had never imagined I would even think about forgiving someone who would cheat on me, let alone trying to do it. I saw the world in black and white, not budging from my ideals, until it happened to me. The world became grey in confusion (and maybe a bit because it was so bleak). Yet, here I am, where my path has taken me. Still married. For better, for worse.

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Categories: Stories

Three

June 13th, 2009

My legs are spread, knees bent, feet planted flat on the bed as she knees between them. One hand probes inside, fingers curling upward to caress that sacred spot. She does it well, evoking sensations I didn’t even know existed. I think she may know my body better than I ever will. Her tongue dances across my clit, a touch much lighter than I am accustomed to, much lighter than I would usually want. From any other person, this attention would only be teasing and I would find myself frustrated but she is a pro and the pleasure she gives dwarfs that of pleasure I’ve had in the past. I know now, it’s only the tip of an iceberg.

I restrain myself, with a bit of caution, from grinding against her face. Not knowing what her reaction might be to such demand. I couldn’t if I wanted to, anyway. His body is leaning over mine, his familiar weight and smell and skin gracing my senses. There is little room for my escape, not that I want it.

His tongue joins hers, lavishing my clit. Teeth gently pull at my lip; I’m sucked into a mouth. His, I assume. The touch is rougher than she has been so far. He knows I like strong sensations. For a moment, I wonder if their eyes are meeting, or closed or awkwardly avoiding eachother. I wonder where his hand, the one not supporting himself on the bed, is. I think to myself that it’s probably traveled to her ass and crack a smile. There is a sound, guttural and heavy. I realize it must be me, moaning.

My back arches off the mattress as I push my hips toward their hungry mouths. I am wet. My pussy is wet. My clit is wet. The aromas of arousal and spit mingle, and fill the air. It is not an entirely pleasant smell but I turn my attention away and run my hand across his skin. It’s also so smooth and nearly hairless. I’ve always liked that and my hand glides effortlessly down his chest, his stomach and light to the tip of his cock. He moans in response, his cock long sprung to life and I wrap my finger around his erection. He feels so silky in my hand. I have been constantly bewildered by the erect penis. Soft on the outside, hard within. It boggles my mind yet I love it.

I slowly stroke his shaft, following my hand with my eyes. In my position it’s difficult to look at much else besides his body. Precum has already decided to make an appearance, sliding from the head of his cock and I rub my thumb over the droplet, spreading it over his flesh to leave his cock glistening.

I haven’t forgotten about the mouths on my cunt. Who could? She still works her magic on me, diligently. She still knows exactly what buttons to press. That’s what they say about fucking a member of your own gender, isn’t it? That they know how to opperate the equipment best. He has trailed kisses up and down my thigh, interspersed with licks. His other hand makes its presence known, sliding beneath my ass and squeezing it tightly. He lingers there for a moment before adjusting position so that he is kneeling besides me. His hand moves toward my crack and, before I can respond, he is inside me. I don’t always love anal play. Maybe it’s the situation. Maybe it’s her tongue expertly breaking down my defenses but I don’t mind, not this time. In fact, I nearly cum. Not yet.

I feel her breasts brushing against my thighs as she works. Her nipples are erect, easy to feel against me. I reach for his cock, once more, stroking the shaft as it reaches toward the sky, tinted red from the blood coursing through his veins. Simultaneously, she is stroking me, bringing me closer and closer to orgasm. Very close now.

And then it hits, waves of pleasure crashing inside me, muscles spasming and hips bucking and she licks and strokes, he still fucking my ass with his hand. As I cum, I reach for his hand, sucking his fingers into my mouth so I am completely filled. I feel heat wash over my pussy, and I am wetter but not as unbelievably wet like in porn.

She quickly laps as my juices, cleaning up my orgasm. He moves in but she has made quick work of it. Instead he kisses her and there is a twinge of guilt which is quickly overcome by the sheet naughtiness of them sharing the taste of me. I fall back onto the bed, tension suddenly rushing from my body, overcome with weakness.

To be continued..

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Categories: Stories

Clarity

April 18th, 2009

My hair is matted to my face with sweat. In the movies, it would swirl around my face in perfect waves but this is not a movie. It’s messy and tangled and it suddenly dawns on me how erotic that is.

I am covered in sweat, the sheets beneath me are warm with it. I always sweat more when I masturbate than during sex. I could say I don’t know why but I would be lying. It’s not because you do all the work, either. It’s because during masturbation, I feel it so entirely. I move my entire body. My back and hips lift from the bed. Some might use words like “gyrate” to describe the movement but I prefer “hump.”

I’ve always wondered if it’s the same for other women. Or am I unique in the way I pleasure myself? It’s a constant increase in effort. It’s a lot of work and it’s not explosive when I get off. It’s almost angry in a sense, as though my body were screaming.

I’ve masturbated so hard my arms and wrists have hurt for days. Sometimes I cannot help but laugh when I remember why I hurt. I moan and sigh and blood rushes to place no one else has experienced. No one but you.

Without fail, my fantasies turn to you. Sometimes things we have done. Sometimes things we have yet to do. In my mind, we’re fucking. In reality, my legs spread to let even the thought of you penetrate me.

I try to remember the last time we had sex. It’s been too long and I don’t know the date anyway. I can never remember how frequently we hace sex. Is it once a day or once a week? I remember, the orgasm though. I remember your body, slick with sweat, atop mine. I remember my fingers working furiously at my clit and feeling my orgasm. I remember looking up at you and commanding you.

“Look at me. Look at me!”

And you did. You looked at me as I came, your cock thrusting into my pussy and I worked it for all I was worth. It was the first time I ever really let the orgasm take control. My hips bucked beneath you and it just kept coming, my pussy contracting around your cock. I don’t know if it was the longest orgasm I have yet to experience or simply what can be only be called a clusterfuck of orgasms. But I know I came and my face was intent on yours as I did.

It was a bold move on my part, commanding your attention. It took so much, more than any other time I ventured to try something new. For years, I had avoided eye contact. Eye contact, I thought, showed vulnerability and I could not afford that. I remember you, early on, lying in my bed and wanting to look me in the eye but I simply stared at the ceiling instead.

It changed. Somewhere along the way, it was okay to be vulnerable with you, to look you in the eye, to cry when the need arose. Isn’t that a testament to our bond? But it still took years to break the barrier that prevented me from making eye contact during sex. How could we been having sex, been married for years without ever doing this? Why didn’t I push for it earlier? Had I known..

Had I known how deeply I would feel my orgasm. Had I known how deeply connected I would feel to you. Had I known how it would make you orgasm with me. We should have been doing this all along. I should have let myself experience this all along. I should have let us.

My revelation is short lived. You’re not here to share now and my heart feels heavy, my pussy shockingly empty. I can’t count the days until your return, either. It’s like I’m stuck in limbo.

And so I return to fantasizing about you. It’s like I have been rewired and every erogenous zone, every lustful thought connects straight to you. I imagine making up lost time. I throw myself into our love making, in my mind, straddling, kissing, stroking, touching you. Loving you. I don’t have to imagine to know that nothing has ever come so naturally to me. There were times I wanted to fight it with every fiber of my being yet I can’t imagine why. I can’t imagine fighting it anymore. Ever again.

I fantasize about you. See your body, hear your voice, feel your skin in my mind. I moan your name aloud as I cum, as though you are there with me. You’re not but I promise you all of my fantasies – and more – when I see you again, love. I don’t need to close my eyes to you anymore.

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Categories: Stories

Tense and Tension

April 8th, 2009

When he gets home, I’ll throw my arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, our bodies pressed close together. The blood will rush straight to my pussy, my mind ever aware of the searing heat between my legs as our lips meet, our tongues dance against eachother, our bodies straining to be closer. I’ll feel his cock grow, urging to be free of its restraints, lusting to be in me.

He’ll push me against the wall as his hands slip beneath my clothes. Or I’ll do the same, my hands working at the buttons and zippers between us. Maybe we’ll make it to the bedroom. Probably not. Maybe we’ll move to the couch, hands groping and grasping frantically at each other. Maybe we won’t make it anywhere and pants and shirts will come off in record time, landing haphazardly where they may.

He skin will be salty against my tongue when I drag it across his skin. I’ll make note of his taste amidst the thoughts spin dizzyingly around my head. Suddenly, the floor is beneath us. He’ll lean back, his hands supporting him as mine travel up his chest, across his shoulders, down his back. My kisses will move from his face to his jaw down his neck, slowly transforming into gentle sucking along the way.

I’ll kneel, straddling him, pressing my hips against his, able to see his cock, feel it through the thin fabric of his boxers and my panties. My arousal will build until I am barely able to contain it, my pussy hot and wet for him. I’ll grind against him, listening to his breathing grow heavier, the way it does when he wants me. He’ll kiss me, my neck, my shoulders, leaving marks upon my flesh. His hands will roam my body, one finally settling against my breast, caressing and squeezing, playing with my nipple. The other will move to grasp my ass, pulling me into him, squeezing gently, the way he loves.

He’ll lean back further, arching his back and pushing his hips up further. My hand reaches to his shoulder, fingers grabbing, pressing into his skin deeply as my hips grind harder, faster against him. My panties will be wet and my skin flushed. I’ll tip my head back, run my hand through my hair, tugging on it as my lips part, breathily moaning. His name will escape my mouth as I work myself into a frenzy, hips grinding, pussy pulsing, heart pounding as I rub myself against him.

Then it will begin to build, my orgasm. The tension builds in my body, in the air, an explosion just waiting for the perfectly still moment to release. I’ll lean forward over him, my breasts brushing his mouth and he’ll strain to lick, to suck, to bite my nipples growing erect as he does. In turn, I’ll chew on my lower lip, grinding myself harder and faster yet, my erect clit rubbing against his erect cock.

Then it will happen. The fervor is too much. The bomb goes off. My muscles contracting and expanding in quick succession. My pussy spasms. He can feel it against his cock, if he pays close enough attention, and I think he will. My body will be flooded with heat, with hormones, with ecstasy. My orgasm will roll over me quickly but not so quick that I don’t have time to grasp the back of his neck, pulling him close for a passionate, heated kiss. Our tongues entwine and I will hold my hips against him as I cum, moaning into his mouth.

Somewhere along the way, the sky has grown dusky. I’ll part from his lips, smiling at his silhouette in the dimming light, my breath still ragged as my orgasm subsides and I pull away from the peak.

“Welcome home.”

And now it’s time for the fun to begin.

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Categories: Stories

Come

April 4th, 2009

“Come.”

With one finger, I slowly motion her forward. She moves, unsure at first but then quickly makes up the time, fearing my wrath. Head low, ass high. My eyes trace the curve of naked flesh along her back. Thin fabric traces the crack of her ass, dividing it into two perfectly round cheeks silhouetted against the dark background behind her. She moves fluidly, sliding one leg in front of the other, stretching one arm out and then the other. She keeps her palms flat against the ground as I request.

In between her movements, I see the roundness of her breasts sway beneath her body. She is beautiful but it is more than that. She moves sensually. She emits sexuality. Is that a drop I see, already forming on her skin? It slips silently to the floor, unnoticed by my slave as she inches nearer. The sight of her nervousness, her fear, he desire sends a shudder down my spine. I suppress shivering but can’t help the blood from rushing between my legs. My clit tingles as it grows hard and I entertain fantasies of her in my mind.

I keep careful eye on her hair, she knows I don’t like when it’s touched the ground. She is careful but there has been a time or two when she has forgotten. Sometimes she is too anxious too approach – or too fearful – and she forgets. It’s times like those when I lash her wrists to the wall and lash her flesh with a flogger. Rarely, do I make her bleed but I have and I will, when it’s necessary. It won’t be necessary now. I can tell she is concentrating.

She reaches the ground in front of me. Cold concrete to remind her that she is the one on the floor, not I. She remains with her head down, her hair floats just above the ground and I reach down to pull it over her one shoulder. I drag a nail over her now bare shoulder and it leaves a welt but I do not break the skin. With her hands placed against the ground, I reach for a shackle built into the leg of my chair. My hair falls around her as I do, tickling her skin but she knows better than to make a sound. Were she allowed to look up, she would see my breasts pushing against my bra as I lean forward. But she is not, does not.

The shackle is around her wrist. I know she can see its origin. They’re a recent addition to my throne and if she is surprised, she makes no sound. I spot the smallest movement form her, however. I grin. She has not grown complacent yet. Good. I lean to my other side, fastening the second cuff around her wrist. Fine dark brown leather, worked with gold filigree. Neither are colours I would normally choose but something about this combination pulled at me. The leather is still stiff and I know it will prove to have an extra bite. I may have been a little slack lately. She deserves no special treatment now.

With both wrists secure, I lean back in chair, slide my hips forward. I’m sure she hears the movement which I follow by lifting one leg over her shoulder. Bending it at the knee, I rest the heel of my boot on her ass. The point sinks into her flesh and I smile. At last she emits a soft sound, barely audible, but I know the heel is biting her flesh. At this distance, I see the thong cutting into her hips. I often gift her items that are too small. The gift reminds her of me and the discomfort reminds her of her place in life, just as the silver collar around her neck does both.

With my leg lifted my pussy is exposed. She has surely been aware of this, the cunt slut that she is. I instruct her curtly.

“Eat, girl.”

Slowly, she raises her body up so that her mouth is level with my cunt. I stifle a gasp as her tongue flits between my lips from between her pouty, red lips. She has such a beautiful mouth, so perfect for her current duty. And she does it well. My heat pounds faster as her tongue travels down my lips and back up, around my clit. But she won’t stay for long. She knows what happens if she teases. That’s my job not sure.

I sink my heel further into her ass as she puts her expert skills to good use. Her mouth surrounds my clit as her tongue darts this way and back. She begins to suck on my clit and it’s all I can do to keep my composure. I love to surprise her when I come, to squirt all over her face unexpectedly. She always makes such faces, so unglorified, so unladylike. She thinks of herself as elegant, classy even, but I love putting her in positions she can’t control, to force those natural reactions that she would eradicate had she the power to change human nature. Of course there’s nothing like seeing your slut, covered in your own cum. It always gives me such satisfaction.

I bite my lip harshly as her tongue probes inside, but not for long. She knows where I like the focus and she returns to my clit, licking from the base to the lip in a slow, unbroken motion. I swear, with just one movement she has made my clit grow. Involuntarily, I’ve begun to grind my hips against her face. So much for opacity. She moans at my reaction and, instinctively, I shoot up, reaching behind her to smack her ass. Hard. And again. Her skin is bright red after only making contact twice. I have hit her harder than I intended but she knows better, now.

“Shut up, slut.”

I think I feel a slight nod as she continues, never breaking her mouth from my pussy despite the spanking. She’s pushing her tongue against my clit roughly now, just how I like it. Rather than returning my heel to her ass, I drape my leg over the arm of the chair, spreading my pussy open for all the see. She moves forward, having more access now. She is not accustomed to not being able to use her hands but you wouldn’t. know the difference.

Her tongue dances talented across my clit, around my lips. She even licks down my mons, following the thin strip of hair I let grow down to my clit once again. This time she works with a fervor, as though her life depends on my orgasm. I let her think it just may. I chuckle to myself.

And then I feel it. Building up deep within, my orgasm builds. I’m not even sure there is an ounce of blood left in any part of my body. My clit so impossibly hard as she works her magic. It’s coming fast, faster than I prepared for. Soon, my orgasm is barreling through my body like a train. Nothing can stop this force. My hips buck involuntarily and I grab the back of her head, tangling my fingers in her hair. My orgasm rolls over my body and I feel the contractions of my cunt, each one separate and strong yet all part of the same. I finally let go as I come, moaning and fucking her face as I push a stream of cum against her face. I feel it dripping down my cunt. Like a good girl, she has never stopped and my pleasure keeps coming.

As my orgasm subsides I pull my hips away. My cum is streaming down her face. Hair has plastered to her skin. She looks entirely ungraceful, now. She looks like my slut. She is my slut. I stand.

“Come,” I direct her. And she does, pulling at the shackles around her wrists. I can hear her moan as her body responds to my demand, even as I walk away.

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