He hugs himself in the dark. An inky black, no room to stand. The wood floor unrelenting on the soles of his feet. After a while he sits down, a chill ascending his lower half as his ass makes contact with the cold surface. The discomfort – he loves this part. The waiting. Knowing she is stretching out time, delaying her own pleasure.
Time seems to stop – wait for her.
A noise at the other end of the house, indiscernible. Crackling, like paper but softer. Even these tiny vibrations lift the hair on his arms. Just detecting her results in all kinds of carnal electricity inside him.
While he waits, he recounts his own desires and wonders if any of them will be gifted today. Will he be required to offer up his “sweet little hole” for her to penetrate? Will she have him curl under her desk in case she would like her toes sucked? In the dark, his desire coalesces with that of his Mistress.
The back wall of the closet and his spine touch. He presses his shoulders one at time against the wall, occasionally reaching down to stroke his semi- hard cock. Wanting to stay pliable, but always wanting to be ready.
Footfalls come closer and his attention spikes higher. She’s in the room, now on the other side of the door. Silence. Delicious silence. Footfalls retreat.
She could have been checking his patience, no fidgeting. Or she changed her mind, not ready to let him out. Every possibility is like food to him.
In his hunger for stimulus at all, he pictures her in all her variants: her hair a-tangle clipped and wispy with jeans and a soft old tee shirt, her hands laced with dirt while she presses seeds into the earth. Her work suits with the flash of bright colored stockings and retro heels. The ample, porcelain curves of her back and waist framed by the low cut seams of her navy evening dress. And his favorite: the sight of her contained in her velvet corset, her latex pencil skirt that hikes up her ass just so, still barefoot while she applies her lipstick.
Neon images swim before him in the blackness.
Again, she’s at the door. This time her hand is on the knob. It rattles just barely before it slowly, achingly rotates. Wood on wood squawks in the doorframe a split second before a crack of light bursts in, casting a bright line across his face. The daylight expands and with it, a warm rush of air. His pupils retract and he closes his eyes.
“I have something for you, pet.” The sound of her voice melts the chill away, his heart spasms. She is squatting as his eyes slowly adjust. The faint fragrance of her cunt wafts, causes him to lick his lips. A hand on the back of his neck pulls him forward.
And then, another scent: new leather. Oh my god, he thinks.
He looks up at his Mistress’ face, the bow of her lips flexing into a pleased smile, her eyes wide with vivacious anticipation. The relief he feels as the light filters down over him, her hands coming around his neck, affixing the new collar with the gentle click of the hardware. He gasps at being truly owned, the band encircling his neck just an extension of her hands, her heart. His jaw quakes and his eyes spill over with joy.
“You’ve been such a good boy,” she soothes his riled up state before she tugs him out of the dark. She backs toward the bed holding his leash and he stands slowly to follow her, his full form coming into view. She sits down and scoots back, her eyes boring into his and he hesitates.
Confusion overwhelms him. She has never been on her back like this.
“Yes pet, on top.” Her knees separate and languid thighs flower open. He is rattled but obedient as his hips pause over her’s. As one of her hands takes up the slack of the leash, the other encompasses his cock and balls. His eyelids shutter and pop back open with this lovely feeling of being contained.
An inharmonious mix of emotions morph and compete for action in his head. She watches him, interested, relishing his disorientation. She adjusts the collar so that the ring is on the back of his neck, trailing the leash down his spine and tucking it into his crack. For a moment, she relishes the tactile contrast of the buttery leather rasping against his stretched out hole, sawing the strap back and forth along his gully before she reaches under him, drawing the loop up and wrapping it around his cock and balls.
“There we are. Now you are all tacked up,” she strokes his belly, looking up at him. He gulps down his questions. “It’s time to go to work, pet,” the command affirms his task and he readies himself to penetrate his Mistress.
He is out of his depth. The irony is not lost on him: missionary. None of his training translates. When penetration had occurred, he was always immobilized, a fuck toy for his Mistress to do with as she pleased. This is a new demand and it’s alien.
He can tell by her expression that she is enjoying his unease immensely. Her fingers run back and forth along the leather strap that glides between his cheeks and tethers his unit.
His ferocious cock springs into her hand and she points his fat head at her opening. He drips precum onto her finger before she inserts him inside and then tastes the little glistening bead of his essence.
He had long ago abandoned his own ideas about what he thought women want and instead subjugated himself to their commands. This was his safe place. He has only one option: to improvise.
She looks up at him and says simply, “fuck me.”
He begins his grind while he watches his Mistress for signs that she is pleased. She softens as he curls his pelvis into her’s and his cockhead taps against her cervix. Encouraged by her purring, he persists. His motions lift his Mistress toward her orgasm. She moans and tells him how nasty he is, what a perfect slut he turned out to be, how proud she is that he works so selflessly. His face burns hot with these shameful compliments. A wail starts its ascent and he juts into her bubbling pussy, basting himself with her juices as she lurches over the apex.
He watches her limbs erratic and taut with exertion, pinning back the surge of blood in his loins. She ebbs and opens her mouth expectantly.
He catches his breath, relieved that he was able to serve her, his heart yammers as another wave of love passes over him. He knows what is expected of him now.
He exits her and climbs further up and she consumes his turgid cock in one swoop, her fingers grappling his tight testes, urging his cum out of him while he fights release as long as he can, tempering his instructions with the euphoric feeling of his Mistress slurping away at his joint. The leash tickles his most sensitive places, creating a tug-of-war between his cock and his head. He braces himself against the wall as her mouth clamps down and her throat opens. Just when he cannot keep his ejaculate at bay any longer, his Mistress pulls at the leash, easing the pressure on his junk and further restricting his throat. He holds his air as he cums, projecting a blast of salty lava into his Mistress’ hungry mouth. She swishes it around his head, lathering him before taking several voracious gulps and letting go of the leash.
A welcome breath returns to his lungs and white dots speckle the corners of his vision, but he remains where he is. She slips the loop off his cock before she taps his ass to make him dismount. He climbs down onto the floor where he belongs and then gently, with the greatest of care, she wipes him down, gathers the leash, and leads him back into his place.
The door closes once again and he finds his spot, his bare, now sweaty ass sticking to the cold wood floor. He is humming with elation, brimming with love, grateful to remain there until she wants him again.
(image is CC, photo unattributed)