by Cinzia
A Lousy Day
You’re having a lousy day. Your production assistant forgot to get a permit, and a whole day’s shooting is screwed up. One of your actors can’t seem to remember his lines. And the leading lady is a real bitch.
You’d love to take her across your knees and spank her until she cries, until she begs and promises to behave herself and do anything you say. But the last thing you need right now is a sexual harassment lawsuit, so you curb your temper and resort to more traditional, and less personally satisfying, means of behavior modification.
It’s all right, you tell yourself, as Miss Bitch begins another tirade. I’ll give it to my slave when I get home. It’s been a while since she’s been properly spanked.
The thought of spanking your slave’s sweet little butt cheers you up a bit, then the leading man fucks up another line and another scene is ruined. At lunch time, when you call home to give your slave her orders, your voice is angrier, more terse than you’d intended.
“You’ll have dinner ready when I get home. You’ll be kneeling, facing the door. Wear your collar. Got that?”
You can hear the hurt bewilderment in her voice as she promises you that all will be as you desire. You were loving when you left her that morning; you kissed her, tweaking her nipples playfully, telling her how beautiful she looked with her hair all tousled and her sleepy green eyes. You know she doesn’t understand how she’s displeased you. You know she is anxious.
You are in no mood to reassure her. Let her nervousness grow throughout the day. It will make her delightfully responsive later. You hang up the phone without saying good-bye and, steeling yourself, return to work.
You aren’t any happier by the time you reach your apartment that evening. But when you open the door, there she is, kneeling prettily with her hands behind her back, her large breasts thrust forward, presented, as you taught her to do. She is wearing your favorite lingerie, a short, sheer lace teddy that barely covers her bottom. You can see the dark hair of her bush through the peach-colored lace, and a glint of silver tells you that she is wearing her nipple ring. You know she hates that nipple ring. That she is wearing it voluntarily tells you that she is doing her best to please you. The knot of anger and resentment that’s been growing inside you all day loosens just a little.
“Hello, slave,” you say, lacing your fingers through her silky, clean hair and caressing her cheek with your thumb. “Good evening, sir,” she replies softly, rubbing her cheek against your open hand. She presses her lips against your palm, kissing you ardently, her long eyelashes fluttering against your wrist. You know that she is glad to see you, but still very anxious indeed. You caress her hair again and she leans her face against your leg for a moment. Your cock stirs a little at the proximity of her lips. You know that she loves your cock in her mouth, and you smile. Maybe you’ll give her a little reward later.
She’s worked hard to get things ready for you. The apartment is spotless. Your mail is neatly stacked and sorted on your desk. There are discreet bouquets of fresh flowers, and everywhere, lightly scented white candles. The light is low and warm. Jazz plays softly on the stereo. A bottle of your favorite wine is cooling on the table, and the kitchen emanates enticing smells.
“What did you make for me, slave?” you ask. “All your favorites, sir,” she answers quickly. She is so hoping to please you. You decide that maybe, just maybe, you should be a little merciful. It is not, after all, your habit to take out your frustrations on your slave. And it’s not good for her to worry too much.
You reach down and firmly grasp her nipple ring through the lace of her nightgown. She gasps as you pull her to her feet, but you have trained her well and she keeps her hands behind her back, her legs slightly apart. Her eyes are demurely cast down, her lips a little parted. She has not yet begun to pant, but you know how easily you can make her do that. Your cock perks up a little more as you think about that little sound she makes when she gets excited; she doesn’t even know she does it. You tug on the ring again, forcing her up on her toes, and you pull on it, holding her suspended with that one finger and the force of your will, until she is breathing hard and making that sound in the back of her throat. Then, abruptly, you release her and take her into your arms, kissing her temples and eyes.
She melts against your hard body, all soft and hot and sweet. She smells good. You kiss her some more, your hands lifting and kneading her firm, round buttocks, grinding her against your cock, which is getting more and more interested. You kiss her breathless and then you let her go, spinning her around and giving her a sharp, playful little slap that makes her squeal. “Now get dinner on the table while I take a shower.”
The warm water feels good, but away from the distractions your slave has so carefully prepared, the worries of the day return. You are preoccupied throughout the delicious dinner she serves you, and you snap at her once or twice. You feel bad, seeing her hurt face, but after a day of placating your bitchy leading actress, you’re not in the mood to apologize. And you’re in a bad enough mood to begin to reconsider that spanking as she clears the dishes, flashing her irresistible little bottom from time to time as she gracefully bends to put things away.
But when she is done, she comes to kneel beside you, kissing your hands again, sucking a little and nipping gently at your fingertips. “Sir, let me give you a massage,” she begs.
That sounds appealing. You allow her to lead you into the bedroom and strip off your robe, and you direct her to strip as well. She obeys, blushing just a little as she always does when commanded to present herself, naked, before you. You don’t know why this is, since you’ve seen every inch of her plump, ripe body many times. But you still find it charming.
You lie down on the bed and she straddles you. The shock of her hot, wet pussy spreading itself open on your buttocks sends a jolt of electricity through your cock, so that you have to adjust yourself before she can continue. Then her strong fingers dig into the muscles of your shoulders, and sexual ecstasy becomes entirely secondary to the ecstasy of tension relieved.
The jazz album has ended, and she sings softly to you as she works out the knots. It’s a aria of hers that you particularly like, the French aria that speaks of how a woman’s heart opens at the sound of her lover’s voice like a flower at the kiss of dawn, as she begs him to fill her with tenderness and intoxication.
Her voice and her fingers soothe and relax you. She asks you to turn over and works on your chest and legs, her breasts and hair leaving trails of pleasant chills as they lightly brush your skin. You think, drowsily, that at some point you should grab her and fuck her ’til she screams. Any moment now, you’ll do it. Any moment, as soon as this languor passes…
You’re not sure when you become aware that something is wrong. You must have dozed off, giving yourself up to the ministrations of your sweet slave. Now you realize that she’s stopped singing, she’s not touching you at all. She is not even in the room. You raise your head to see where she is, and find that the little bitch has tied your wrists to the headboard with a scarf. Your ankles are pulled apart and bound in a similar manner.
You are not amused. Not at all amused. “Goddammit, Annie! You get your ass in here and untie me!” you shout. After a few long moments, she appears in the doorway. She has put her robe on, hiding her body from you, which she is never, never permitted to do without your express permission, and she is sipping your good brandy. She lounges against the door and admires you, a saucy smile on her lips.
“This is not funny, do you hear me, slave? You’ll get over here and untie me, if you know what’s good for you,” you growl. She takes another sip of brandy. “It doesn’t look like you’re in a position to give orders, does it, boy?” she says insolently.
You are infuriated. This is not your game and she knows it. Her ass is going to be raw when you’re through with her. You tell her so.
She arches an eyebrow in mock fear, and saunters over to the bed. “You just might want to reconsider your tone of voice, boy.” She tilts the brandy snifter, splashing a few drops over the tip of your cock. It burns, and you can’t help yelping and wriggling a little. She laughs and curls her fingers around the shaft, digging in her fingernails just enough to hurt. Bending over, she licks the tip of your cock as if it were an ice cream cone, swirling her tongue around it and stabbing at it with the pointed tip. She gives you just enough with her hot brandy mouth to get you good and hard, and then she ties off your writhing cock with a little strip of leather and gives it a playful slap. “There. Now you’re presentable, boy.”
“I’m going to tell you this one more time, slave,” you begin in your most dangerous, quit-fucking-with-me-or-else voice. She interrupts you with another slap, and this one hurts. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll gag you,” she tells you pleasantly. “Let me tell you something, boy. I’ve had it with your attitude. You’ve been a son of a bitch all day, and now you’re going to pay.” She takes one of your nipples in each hand and twists, hard. It hurts. You clench your teeth. “Yeah,” she says. She tugs on them, hard, nearly lifting you off the bed, and you can’t help a short cry of pain. “That’s more like it, isn’t it, boy?”
The phone rings as you lay there, glowering and plotting revenge. She gives you a wink. “I’ll be back, boy, and then we can really have some fun” she promises, and saunters into the living room to answer it.
You’ve never seen this side of your slave before, and you are intrigued. Unfortunately for her, you are also genuinely pissed off. Equally unfortunate for her is the fact that she is an inexperienced domme. You have no difficulty escaping her inexpertly tied bonds. When she struts back in to the living room, you are standing by the bed, waiting for her.
The look on her face is priceless. Her hauteur vanishes instantly. She lets out a little squeal of dismay and, foolishly, runs.
You catch her at the door, slamming her against it hard enough to knock the breath out of her, and pin her there with your body. You tear off her robe and grind your hips against her soft bottom to let her know what’s coming. “Are you having fun now, little girl?” She moans as you press her hard, wrapping a hand in her long hair. You pull her head back all the way against your shoulder and growl into her ear. “You are about to be one sorry little slave girl.” She whimpers as you rub your cock between the bare cheeks of her ass. You tighten your grip on her hair. Her lips open, she wants to speak. You give her a little shake. “Not … one … word,” you hiss.
With your free hand, you open her tight little anus and stuff three fingers inside, fucking her with your hand. Her face is pressed against the door, her eyes screwed shut, and she is panting already. You can feel her heart pounding, as yours is pounding, and you growl again in her ear. “Did you think you could top me, little girl? Do you think I’m not man enough to master you?”
“Nosir,” she whimpers, as your fingers thrust harder. “Whose ass is this, little girl?” you demand. You can feel the wetness from her pussy as you work her tight asshole, and you begin to gather some of that wetness into her ass. “Who does this ass belong to?” “To you, sir!” she cries. “That’s right, slave. It belongs to me. And I’m going to use it now, and whenever it pleases me, and you’re going to take it, do you hear me? Do you HEAR ME?” Not waiting for her sobbed reply, you pull your fingers from her ass and position your cock. “And it’s going to be one sore and sorry little ass tonight.” Panicked, she clenches her hole tightly, trying to lock you out. You give her bottom a few resounding smacks. “How dare you try to close yourself to me? HOW DARE YOU?” You force her cheeks apart. “You open this ass right now. Don’t you dare try to lock me out. I’ll force it if I have to, and you won’t like that. Will you, slave?” She wails out loud as you thrust yourself inside her, but she is open for you. She is so tight, so hot. You pin her wrists above her head as you grind her, and she is moaning and tossing her head. “Be still,” you order. You’re not ready to come yet and you don’t want her to, either. You have a good, long night planned for both of you.
You bring her wrists down and wrap an arm around her waist, twisting the other hand in her hair. Still inside her, you walk her through the living room. She is a little shorter than you, and this forces her on her toes, impaled on your throbbing cock. You propel her into the bedroom and jerk out of her, throwing her face down onto the bed. She is angry now. She doesn’t like it when you get really rough. She rolls over and tries to get up, but you grab her arms and end up in a wrestling match. She has never been this wild, struggling and kicking and crying out angrily. Somehow you get her across your lap, holding her wrists tightly in one hand. You raise your free hand and plant a loud, resounding smack on her helpless buttocks. “You bastard!” she screams.
All the anger and frustration of the day well up inside of you, and you spank her writhing bottom harder and harder until she is crying and screaming and doing her best to get away. “You will – never! never! do! that! again!” you warn, punctuating each word with a slap. You remember that bitchy actress, and you wallop your slave a few times for her, too. You have never spanked her this long or this hard before. She bucks beneath your hand. Both of you are wild; your leg is soaked from her pussy and your cock stabs against the soft skin of her belly. Harder and harder you spank her, the blows falling faster and faster, until her buttocks are scarlet. Your hand is finally getting tired and you realize that she is no longer resisting you, only writhing at each blow, and sobbing into the pillow.
You stop spanking her and spread your hand across her red, hot buttocks, feeling the heat you put there. Both of you are breathless. You are quiet for a moment, caressing her lightly, listening to your breathing, to her sobs. Then you gather her up in your lap, her burning bottom scalding your leg, and you kiss her over and over, her breasts and lips and neck. She kisses you back and she is still crying, still frantic, but for something else now.
You lay her on her back, on the bed, and cover her. She pulls you eagerly to her as you thrust your iron-hard cock into her dripping pussy. She cries out with each thrust and raises her hips to meet you, and you thrust your tongue into her mouth in a matching rhythm. She comes wildly, tossing and bucking beneath you, and her violence brings you over so that you explode inside her. When you try to pull out, she holds you, begging you to stay with little moan and kisses.
You roll onto your side, wrapping her in your arms, kissing her as she snuggles and tucks her head under your chin. A little sob still escapes her now and then; she is still trembling a little. “Good girl,” you whisper, gentling her. “My good, sweet little girl.” Gradually, she becomes still.
As you hold and stroke your sweet armful of slave, you realize that your tension and anger are gone. You are calm, happy, relaxed. And just before you drift off to sleep, you look down at her sleeping face. There is a curious little smile of satisfaction on her lips. And you realize that she planned every moment of this evening. Your slave planned it for you.