She's glad to be his slave. She's just not too crazy about being his housekeeper and maid, at least not these days. When they first moved in together, he used to make her strip before she vacuumed the carpets or washed the floors. He'd watch her, sitting in the wing-backed chair that they bought together at the garage sale, as she strutted around in her collar and high heels, pushing the mop in front of her.
"Arch your back," he'd order. "Stick out your butt."
She'd struggle to keep her balance as she obeyed, her pussy liquefying as it always did at the sound of his voice. She could feel his eyes on her buttocks like a physical caress. He wouldn't miss the signs, the flush on her face, the taut nipples, the musky scent that wafted through the apartment. When he was paying attention, his powers of observation were astounding. Not to mention his powers of seduction.
She loved housework in those early months. Of course, it wasn't often that she got the chance to finish her household tasks. She would get hotter and more frustrated, while he would be increasingly amused. Finally, he would take pity on her.
"Go get the rug-beater, Elizabeth," he'd order, and she'd scamper off to the closet to find that wicked implement of twisted rattan that she both hated and loved. Or else he'd pat his lap and say, "Get your slutty little ass over here" and she'd be there in flash, draped over his knee, shivering in anticipation, triumphant as she felt his hard-on through his trousers.
Since he lost his job, though, household chores were just that. He spent most of his time slumped on the couch watching TV, or at the computer playing videogames. He complained about everything she did, it seemed, but not in the old tone of the beneficent, omnipotent Dom chastising his sub. No, he was just whining.
Meanwhile, his formerly prodigious interest in sex had dwindled almost to non-existence. Maybe once a week, he'd wake her in the middle of the night, fuck her, then fall back into near-comatose sleep. He wasn't cruel or rough – she could have borne that, would have welcomed it. It was like a reflex for him, like sneezing or scratching an itch. He might murmur her name as he came, but the old connection just wasn't there.
And he hadn't beaten her or tried out any kinky new ideas, in more than a month. She wanted to cry with frustration.
She tried everything she could think of, to cheer him up, to get his attention. She ordered outrageous costumes from Frederick's and wore them as she worked around the apartment. He barely looked up from the monsters he was blasting on the screen.
She left various paraphernalia lying around suggestively, draping the flogger over seat of his chair, leaning the crop against his computer monitor, carefully arranging her custom-made leather cuffs and butt plug on his pillow. He simply pushed the toys out of the way with a weary sigh.
She tried directly disobeying his orders. The trouble was, lately he hardly gave her any orders. He walked around like a zombie. The zombie Dom.
More than once, she considered removing her collar. Would he notice that? Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to that point. The collar defined her, defined their intense and magical relationship. She didn't want to repudiate that relationship, not at all. She wanted it back.
She let the housework go, trying to annoy him to the point where he'd say something, get mad, chastise her in the old way. After a few days, though, the dirt and disarray began to bother her, and she just had to do some cleaning.
So today, she was finally vacuuming the living room rug, after more than a week, too disgusted by the dust bunnies and the scattered crumbs scattered to put it off any longer. She was wearing a baggy teeshirt and shorts; her feet were bare and her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail.
He was at his computer, staring at the screen. She moved closer, running the carpet attachment under his desk. He looked so lost, so sad. Deliberately, she brushed her breast against his shoulder. The touch sent a thrill through her body that settled wetly between her legs. He just shrugged absently, barely knowing she was there.
Something snapped. Her anger and frustration finally boiled over. He wouldn't pay attention to her? She'd make him pay attention. It was time for her to take control of the situation.
She turned off the vacuum cleaner. The sudden silence seemed ominous to her. He still didn't look up.
In the bedroom, she stripped off her work clothes. She was a bit sweaty from her exertions around the apartment, but that was ok; she didn't want to be so hygienic that he couldn't smell her. Actually, she could smell herself, the excitement that was taking over from her anger as she moved to put her plan into action.
She laced herself into the black satin corset he had bought her for her last birthday, not bothering with the matching thong. She dug around in the closet until she found a pair of black PVC boots with the four inch heels. They hurt, but for what she was about to do, she needed whatever stature she could muster.
She took the rubber band off her ponytail, and brushed her chestnut hair till it shone like burnished copper. Then she swept it up into a severely elegant twist, secured with black lacquered chopsticks.
Finally, she retrieved the restraint cuffs from their toy drawer. Her nipples tightened to aching points as she touched the supple black leather. She couldn't help it. The cuffs evoked such memories.
He had designed them and had them fabricated to order. Just for her. They worked like handcuffs. The two cuffs were connected by a strong chain, and they could be fastened and locked almost instantaneously. However, hers were much more comfortable than the police model, the lovely leather lined with quilted satin.
Silently, she slipped back into the living room. In a moment, she was standing behind him. He gave no indication that he knew she was there.
Nervousness almost undid her. She had never tried to dominate him before, though they had often discussed his fantasies in this area. Shyly, he had shared his desire to be topped by a powerful woman, who would test his devotion and compel him to sexual service. Elizabeth felt inadequate and guilty, but it seemed that there was no way she could bring these fantasies to life. His presence was normally so commanding, so compelling, that she couldn't imagine doing anything but gratefully submitting.
These days, though ... he was a wimp, pathetic, just asking to be whipped into shape. At least this is what she told herself. She didn't quite believe it.
Gently, she reached for his arm, which was resting on his thigh. He didn't resist. In one swift motion, she fastened one cuff to his wrist.
"What the hell...?" he sputtered, finally startled out of his gloomy reverie. He didn't react quickly enough, though, to prevent her from capturing his other wrist in the leather bonds, so that his arms were linked behind the back of the chair.
"Elizabeth, what are you doing?" His voice sounded irritated, but when she looked at his face, she saw uncertainty, fear, and definitely, the beginnings of arousal.
She swiveled his chair around to face her, lifted his chin with one finger and tried to stare him down. "You know exactly what I'm doing. I'm taking control, since you seem to have given up in that regard."
"Elizabeth..."
Before she even knew that she was going to do it, she slapped his face.
"Silence, slave. No complaints. No excuses. You need this, I know you do." A splotch of red bloomed in the shape of her palm.
He shut his mouth, but his eyes moved over her, finally registering her costume, and her exposed cunt below it. He licked his lips. She noticed a stirring in his crotch.
"I didn't say you could look at me, did I?"
He shook his head, obeying her command not to speak.
"Eyes down." He complied. She felt euphoria rising in her chest, bubbling through her veins. She could do this. In fact it felt easy, almost natural.
"And for the rest of the afternoon, at least, you will address me as 'Mistress'? Understood?"
Head bowed, he nodded.
"Let me hear you say it."
"Yes, Mistress." His voice was gruff, as if he had a difficult time forcing the words out. But the bulge in his trousers continued to grow.
"Now," she said, "it's about time you did something useful. All this silly computer stuff." Rolling his chair away from the desk, she pushed his monitor and keyboard back toward the wall and moved aside the piles of CDs and papers jumbled about on either side. Then she hoisted herself up to sit on the edge of the surface, and spread her legs.
"Turn around," she ordered.
He used his feet to roll the chair back to face her. His eyes widened at the site of her ruddy pussy, drooling only inches away from him. Then he remembered, and lowered his gaze, before she could remind him.
Good. He was more pliant that she had expected.
She watched him for a moment, full of love and some other feeling, something with a nasty edge. His erection looked distinctly uncomfortable, trapped in his trousers. All the better.
She saw his nostrils flare as he took in her scent, noticed the pulse in his temple, beating fast. His breathing was quick and shallow. Clearly he was was beginning to wake up, to enjoy playing this game.
She felt suddenly giddy, drunk with her own powers. But she couldn't allow him to see this; she must still play the role of the harsh, angry mistress.
Splaying her thighs even wider, she put one booted foot on each arm of his chair. Her hungry, swollen cunt gaped at him. "Eat me," she commanded.
Eagerly anticipating her instructions, he began to lean towards her even before she finished speaking. She stopped him with the spike of her heel, pressing it against his still-inflamed cheek.
"And if you don't do a good job," she murmured, putting a little sugar in her voice to counteract the violent gesture, "you know that I'll make you very sorry."
"Yes, Mistress," he mumbled, his mouth already full of her flesh.
He applied himself to his task with commendable diligence. His tongue slithered snake-like among her folds, swimming in her juices. He sucked and licked, nibbled at her clit, plunged his nose as deep into her cleft as it would go.
With her arms behind to brace herself, she pressed her pelvis forward, forcing his face into her cunt, as if to smother him. Or perhaps drown him would be more appropriate. Between his saliva and her own secretions, there was quite a puddle growing on his desk.
He certainly didn't seem to mind.
With his arms fastened behind the chair, he was in a bit of an awkward position. He had to bend forward from the waist and lean over at what must have been an uncomfortable angle. She felt a brief pang of sympathy; she hated for him to suffer. But this was what he needed, what he wanted. Wasn't it? She hiked herself up further on the desk, away from him, so that he had to work even harder to keep his mouth on her sex.
"More," she said. "Harder."
She had a difficult time, normally, orgasming from oral sex. Even with him, who seemed to understand her sexual needs better than anyone she had ever known. Now, though, she could feel herself losing control, feel the gathering tremors deep in her belly. She was very tempted to let go and come all over his face. Maybe she should let her bladder go, too. That thought almost overwhelmed her.
But no. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She wasn't finished with him yet, and she wanted him to understand how deeply he had hurt and frustrated her with his lack of attention.
"Enough!" Reluctantly, he pulled away from her snatch, his eyes searching her face. His chin and nose glistened from her wetness. "Is that the best you can do? I deserve better than that feeble attempt at cunnilingus, and you know it."
He looked surprised, and wounded. She relented slightly. "Perhaps I'll give you another chance, later. Right now, though, I'm going to punish you."
His cock twitched, visible even through his khaki trousers.
"Stand up."
With some difficulty, he managed to follow her instructions, slipping his bound wrists over the back of the chair as he raised himself off the seat.
She brushed her fingernails over the lump between his thighs. "You see, I was right. You want this, as much as I do."
Amazingly, he blushed. Her unflappable, outrageous Dom, for whom no suggestion was too extreme or obscene! Who had eaten olives from her cunt, fucked her with the ornament unscrewed from a hotel bedpost, made her kneel and suck him in the middle of a crowded airport!
Roughly, she unfastened his belt and pulled down his fly. "Don't think you're going to get any relief," she warned. "I'm sure you know how angry I will be if you come without permission."
He nodded, a bit desperately.
"I just need your ass bare so that I can chastise you properly."
She grabbed his pants and undershorts and pulled them down to his ankles. Without needing to be prompted, he stepped out of them. He looked delicious and ridiculous, standing there in his shirt and socks, with his swollen penis angling hopefully toward the ceiling. She desperately wanted to kneel and kiss the slippery head.
Instead, she laughed. She watched his face, noting his responses to her mockery: first anger, then shame, and finally, despite the shame, increased arousal. His cock strained forward, almost vertical.
"Silly, silly boy. You don't appreciate me. I love you. I support you. I care for you, cook and clean for you, give myself to you body and soul. And what to you do? You neglect me. Ignore me. How dare you?"
She reached forward suddenly and pinched his glans, hard. He gasped. "But you want me, now, don't you?"
"Yes, Mistress," he murmured. "I want you. Please, forgive me."
"Perhaps. But not until after you've been punished."
"But what would be an appropriate punishment for a selfish, inattentive master like you?" She cast her eyes around the room, seeking inspiration. Then her eyes fell on the vacuum cleaner she had abandoned in the middle of the room.
Fresh lubrication gushed from her cunt at the outrageous idea. Her nipples felt as though they were wound with tight rubber bands. (She knew what this felt like, of course. Just one of his many little experiments.)
"Don't move," she said. She strutted off to the bedroom, swinging her hips, knowing his eyes were glued to her naked, swaying buttocks.
She returned in a moment, a towel draped around her neck, a bottle of rubbing alcohol in one hand, a tube of Astro-Glide in the other.
She pulled the brush attachment off the vacuum. She poured some alcohol on the towel. Then she picked up the plastic extension wand and began wiping the black tube of plastic inside and out.
He watched her every move.
"Sterilization," she said cheerfully.
"No!" His anguished cry interrupted her.
"What was that?" she asked sharply, brandishing the wand like a sword. "Did I give you permission to speak?"
Misery on his face, he shook his head.
"You may speak."
"Please, Mistress, don't..."
"Don't what?"
"Don't use the vacuum on me."
"No? I thought you might find it quite pleasant, having your cock stuffed into the hose."
He looked pained, but his erection twitched and pulsed as if it had a mind of its own. "See, just the thought is nearly enough to make you come."
"But actually, I had other ideas." She held up the lube. His face was grim. "I was planning on sticking the extension wand up your ass, then turning on the vacuum."
He actually groaned.
"It might be a bit messy, of course. But now that you've woken up to who is boss, I don't suppose you'll mind cleaning up. I've certainly done enough cleaning up after you."
"Please, no..."
"Maybe if I gave you an enema first?" He often talked about doing this to her, but so far hadn't made good on this threat. Looking at his face, she could see that the notion evoked the same queasy/excited feeling in him that it did in her.
He was silent. Deep down, did he really want her to take him in this outrageous way? It was very tempting. Her heart pounded and her pussy throbbed at the thought. She wasn't sure, though, that she wouldn't hurt him. She's hardly an expert at this sort of thing.
"Go to the chair and kneel down, with your chest on the seat." As he obeyed, his wrists still clasped awkwardly behind his back, she let him see that she was greasing up the extension rod. He flinched, but he didn't rebel.
"Be still, and think. Think about how badly you've treated me. Think about all the things I'm going to do to you."
She returned a few moments later with other implements of domestic order: the feather duster, the toilet brush, and the rug beater. For a long moment she stood behind him, breathing in the scent of his sweat, watching his breath rise and fall.
"Spread your thighs," she ordered. With difficulty, he complied. "Wider." He'd have carpet burns on his knees tomorrow, but he managed to create a gap at least a foot wide. Now she could see his balls, pulled tight and hard against his body.
She leaned forward and trailed the feather duster over their hairy surface. He jumped and stifled a small cry.
"Don't you dare come," she reminded him. She used the duster on the sensitive insides his thighs, just barely touching the tips of the feathers to his skin. She could see his muscles tighten as he tried to maintain control.
His anus was clearly visible, too, a pink knot rimmed in coarse hair. Once or twice he had ordered her to lick him there. Remembering the dark, funky taste made her shiver with lust. She swished the duster across that spot. His whole body jerked in response.
"Enough of this teasing," she finally announced. "Time for something more rigorous." She held the bristle end of the toilet brush above his ass and poured the rubbing alcohol over it. Chill drops of the liquid ran over his bare flesh and down between his legs. He squirmed, despite his obvious determination to remain in control. She responded with a swift smack on his fleshy butt cheeks.
"Be still! I would have expected that a Dom as accomplished as you think you are would have more self-discipline!"
Next she grazed the now-sterilized brush over the pale skin of his ass. Even this relatively gentle contact left behind a network of pink lines that took minutes to fade.
"Do you know what this is?" The question was rhetorical. "This is the toilet brush. I'm going to whip you with it, and then, I'm going to stick the handle up your asshole."
A groan arose from deep in his throat. His balls twitched. She stood there for a long moment, letting the suspense build. Did she really dare to beat him?
No going back now, she thought, and brought the brush down on the fullest part of his butt in a rasping blow.
"Ow!" he wailed. "That hurts."
"Of course it hurts. Punishment is supposed to hurt!" She tried again, this time working to give the stroke a more elastic quality, so that it would bounce off his flesh while still marking him with the bristles. It landed exactly as she planned on his left cheek. He gasped and pulled away. She rewarded him with a symmetrical stroke on the right, then moved back to left without giving him time for a breath.
His skin was crisscrossed with fiery lines, as though it had been lying on a barbecue grill. He had stopped struggling. She reached between his legs to check his cock. It was like iron.
"Do you want me to stop?" she murmured in his ear. "You know that if you want me to stop, I will. Your safeword is 'goddess'. Just say it, and I'll unfasten you and let you alone."
He was silent.
"Had enough, then? Want me to stop?"
No sound from him. No movement. She knew only too well what he was feeling. There was the pain, yes, the humiliation, his fear of what she might do next. But then, there would be that strange desire for more – more pain, more testing of his will and his devotion. That desire was the most shameful and the most exciting thing of all.
"Well?"
He shook his head slowly, his coarse black hair hanging in his eyes.
"Speak up. Tell me, slave."
"No, Mistress."
"No what?" She brought the brush down on his butt again in mock annoyance. He cringed in response.
"No, I don't want you to stop, Mistress." His voice was nearly inaudible. She understood how much this admission cost him.
"You want more, more pain, more punishment?"
He nodded, unable to force out the words. She leaned over and planted a kiss on his inflamed buttocks.
"Good boy," she purred. "Of course, I'll give you what you want. How about the rug beater now?"
She knew this weapon far better than the brush; he had used it on she often enough. Though she had never wielded it herself, she seemed to have an intuitive feeling for how to make it swish through the air and land with the best effect. Soon his butt cheeks were scarlet. At that point, she went to work on the backs of his thighs.
The afternoon seemed to stretch into infinity. Tireless, full of grace and power, she lashed at him again and again, her pussy weeping in sympathy with his agony and his lust. The only sounds were the whoosh of the rattan as it sang through the air and the thwack as it landed, oh so painfully, on his poor punished ass.
All at once, she heard something else. The sound of him sobbing. She stopped immediately, turned his head to the side so that she could see his tear-stained face. "Enough?" she murmured.
Slowly, reluctantly, he nodded. "Say it then. Tell me your safeword."
"Goddess," he whispered, closing his eye in shame and relief.
"Good boy," she said, and tossed the carpet beater away. "Want another chance to make me come?"
His face brightened immediately.
"Get up, then. On your knees, facing the chair."
He was surprisingly agile for such a big man. She seated myself on the upholstered seat and draped her legs over the arms. Her cunt was spread wide before him. He licked his lips, and the ghost of a smile crossed his face. She didn't have the heart to be stern.
"Do it, slave."
Oh, if he was good before, now he was marvelous! His mouth was a machine with a thousand different speeds and settings. Delicate and slow, rough and fast, circling and probing, nipping and thrusting.
I should have made him submit months ago, she thought vaguely, her mind fogged with lust. He had always liked to eat pussy, but she'd never been so thoroughly, so blissfully serviced.
She let herself go, dropped her dominant personna and allowed herself writhe and groan under the assault of his lips and tongue. "Harder," she begged, teetering on the edge. "Deeper, more, oh please, more..."
It was the 'please', she supposed later, that shifted things. An admission of weakness, of ungovernable desire. In an instant, he was off his knees, between her legs, his swollen cock already half inside her.
"No," she cried, trying to regain the advantage. "I didn't give you permission..." He stopped her protests by fastening his sticky mouth on hers, as he slid into her entirely and took her over.
She felt his flesh pulse, swell and burst deep in her womb. The heat of his coming was the spark that ignited hers, a fierce conflagration that raced through her, sucking away breath and thought. In the heart of the blaze, she thought she heard his voice, melodious and controlled as ever, singing her name.
Afterwards, they curled up together in the chair. He stroked her hair and planted feathery kisses on her lips. She stroked his raw buttocks and smiled when he winced.
"Thank you, Elizabeth," he said, finally. "You were right. I needed something to shake me out of my funk. I apologize for ignoring you. You deserve better."
She snuggled against his chest like a contented cat.
Suddenly, he flipped her over, so that she was sprawled on his lap. She was too surprised to struggle.
"On the other hand, I hope you don't think you're going to get away with behavior like that," His palm landed sharply on her ass, leaving a delicious stinging echo behind. Her clit throbbed as though he'd reached between her legs and pinched it.
"You know I'm going to have to punish you." Another slap, hard enough that she squirmed despite herself. "I can't have my slave thinking she can take control whenever she feels like it."
With his left hand he rained painful spanks down on her poor butt. Then he dabbled the fingers of his right in her soaked cunt.
He stopped only long enough to kiss her. "I can't, can I, Elizabeth?"
"Of course not, Master," she replied meekly, struggling to keep the grin off her face. She relaxed into his blows, back where she wanted to be, letting him take her wherever he thought that they should go.