by Kyoko Church
He hadn’t had a forced-orgasm scene with her in a long while, and he made a mental note to remedy that as soon as possible. In the meantime, his dear pet was quivering with exhaustion and sensory overload, and her plastic wrapping was damp and covered with drips of wax. He pulled the vibrator away from her and turned it off, then pulled her mask up and stroked her face, gently.
‘Maria. Come back to me, sweetheart.’ She was deep in subspace, her eyes vague and unfocused. ‘I need you to stand. Can you do that?’ She nodded as if in a trance and got up unsteadily, but she stood unsupported once he’d helped her to her feet. He grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the plastic cleanly up the front of her body. As soon as it fell away, he wrapped her in the large towel and scrubbed at her skin, drying the sweat that had gathered beneath the plastic. She might not realise it, but the plastic had been trapping heat that her body was desperate to release. Removing the wrap would feel like a dunk into cold water.
Sure enough, she started to shiver. He tossed the towel away, got her into her robe with careful efficiency, tossed back the covers and slid her into bed. When he climbed in beside her, she curled against his side. He smiled as he pulled her close. Definitely worth missing dinner.
* * *
Maria cuddled close and sighed, her mind still lost in the fog of subspace. She’d gone from warm to freezing, but she was quickly warming up again, and there was no better place to get cosy than against Miles’s hard body, when she was tucked beneath his protective arm.
She pressed even closer, feeling almost drunk with the experience, and slid one leg over his. Her thigh brushed against a raging erection, and Maria smiled, delighted that she had pleased him. She nudged her leg harder against his erection and listened happily as he took a deep breath, enjoying her touch.
She slid her hand down his chest, reached for the bulge in his trousers and, when she found it, teased her fingers over the fabric, squeezing and rubbing. Miles gave a lazy moan. ‘What are you up to?’ he asked.
In answer, she tilted her head back and kissed him, opening her mouth beneath his to invite him deeper into the embrace. He sighed into her mouth and shifted onto his side to take a more active role in kissing her, and she whimpered, happy to have enticed him. He reached around and dragged the robe up enough to dig his short nails into her sensitive, reddened ass, and the pleasure of the pain was like a drug. She captured his leg between her thighs and rubbed up against him.
Miles chuckled and pulled away and she released him, mindful of her obedience, as she usually tried to be. He pulled off his shirt and then got out of bed to kick off his trousers and underwear as well, and Maria drank in the sight of him, filled with her usual lust at the sight of his naked body.
She was expecting him to continue to take charge, so it surprised her when he only slid into the bed beside her again. She curled up against him, purring in pleasure at the feel of his naked skin against hers. He put his arms behind his head, relaxed, and she climbed half on top of him, rubbing herself against him as she moved.
Miles chuckled. ‘You just came,’ he reminded her.
‘You feel so good.’ Maria kissed his neck and jaw as she continued to grind her clit against his thigh. So close … so good …
He exploded into movement, rolling her over onto her back and putting one hand over her mouth and nose. She instinctively tried to gasp, but he’d cut her air off completely. Her pussy throbbed with the delayed orgasm and with arousal at this particular form of torture – one that she loved almost as much as she hated. She lay still for a moment but, before the urge to struggle could overtake her, Miles gave her that sexy smile and sent his other hand between her legs.
He didn’t bother with finesse, just ground the base of his hand into her clit. It was all she needed. Thrilled and excited by the breath play, aroused and so close to orgasm already, as sensitive as he had trained her to be, Maria felt her body obey his unspoken command, releasing a rush of ecstasy that was all the sweeter as she fought to cry out or to inhale. The spicy with the sweet – the cinnamon and sugar of their life.
She trembled with the after-effects of the orgasm but, instead of calming, her thrashing grew even wilder as her body willed her to find a way to breathe. Her chest burned even as her cunt throbbed, and her eyes watered with the need for air. Air!
And then she had it. He pulled his hand away and she gasped it down like it was the first time, sucking it deep inside her. She was almost afraid to exhale, but for the next breath she had to. The breath came spilling out of her, and then her greatest fear and desire came upon her as he clapped his hand over her face again. This time she fought him immediately, but he shifted onto her, pinning her with his weight and pressing his hand into her face.
Then he took a deep breath, moved his hand to uncover her mouth without unpinching her nose, and immediately sealed her lips with his. She opened her mouth beneath his, and his breath rushed into her, hot and moist and sweet. He let up when she had taken it all, and she lay gasping beneath him, her body hotter and readier than ever, rising yet again to desire. He knew how to push every single one of her buttons.
She whimpered as soon as she had the air to do it, and arched her back to press into him, raising her hips in an attempt to rub against him. ‘You’re like a cat in heat,’ he said, but she could see that he was pleased. And that he would reward her desire.
‘I want you, Master,’ she said. She reached for him, pulled him tight against her and dared to take hold of his cock, trying to direct it to the fire that burned between her legs.
‘That’s not your decision to make,’ he said, his voice stern.
‘Yes, Master.’ She let go even as he drew away, realising she’d gone too far but still too aroused to care much, though she knew she’d feel bad about it later.
He got up and rooted around on the floor. She nearly started to cry with frustration – was he going to just get dressed and leave her there? – but when he straightened up he was holding not a pair of pants but a strip of the plastic wrap.
She gasped, not sure what he planned to do with it. Miles just smiled at her discomfiture and moved back onto the bed. ‘Hands up,’ he said, and she raised her hands over her head almost before she’d processed the words. He wrapped the plastic around them, not so tightly as to cut off her circulation but enough to be sure she wouldn’t just slip out of it. Then he put her arms over the bedpost, grabbed her hips and pulled her down the bed until her arms were stretched tight.
Maria moaned as her arms were pulled high over her head. Her triceps were stretched and her wrists pinched by the plastic, and she felt her shoulders warm in what she knew would turn into a burning sensation in a surprisingly short time. She could get out of the bond by herself, but only if she scooted up towards the headboard.
Miles grinned down at her as she arched her back and sighed. She was already falling into the sensation. The feeling of being bound sent her mind swirling into a place of submission and desire, where pleasure and pain mingled and exchanged places. Her breathing became shallow and fast, and she spread her legs wide, pleased when the robe fell open to reveal her pussy to the open air.
She rocked her hips as if fucking the air, and indeed every stray movement of the air currents against her skin seemed charged. Miles laughed, and his cock twitched as he knelt over her and watched her writhe. It was almost as if she could feel his eyes on her skin.
‘What am I going to do with you?’ he asked her. ‘My beautiful slave who doesn’t seem to know her place.’
‘Fuck me. Oh, please, please fuck me!’
‘Somehow I don’t think rewarding you is going to solve the problem,’ he said dryly. He moved like a cobra, his hand shooting out faster than she could think, and he slapped her breast, hard. The sting travelled straight to her pussy and she moaned with the pleasure of it. ‘But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Even punishment is a reward. I could whip your pussy and you’d still probably beg for more.’
She whimpered at the though
t, terrified at the idea of a whip that close to the most sensitive part of her body, but she left her legs spread wide, inviting him in. She was almost completely sure that he wouldn’t actually do that.
‘How –’ he punctuated the word with a slap across her breast ‘– to punish –’ slap ‘– a masochist?’ This time he grabbed her nipples, pinched them hard and pulled on them until her breasts stood up like two cones. The pain was searing, and she cried out, her hips still rolling. All she needed was a touch, just one little touch on her clit, and she knew she could come. She moved to squeeze her legs together, but he caught her and shifted to plant his leg between her knees. ‘You see what I mean?’ he asked her, releasing her nipples.
Of course, punishing her was really quite easy. All he ever had to do was tell her that she had failed him – had failed in the submission to which she had dedicated herself – but this wasn’t really about punishment. If it was, he never would have reached between her legs and pressed his thumb against her clit. He ground it against her like he was grinding out a cigarette, but it didn’t matter. She screamed in gratitude, thanking him in a choked voice even as she came. The pleasure rushed through her, shaking her from her head to her toes and back again, and she let herself be lost to it for a long time.
He waited until she was done before he picked her up and rolled her over, forcing her to cross her arms at the wrists, the bonds stretching uncomfortably tight. He lay on top of her and spread her legs with one hand, his touch hot and hard the way that she knew he got when he wanted her more than anything else.
She spread her legs for him, her face pressed tight into one arm as she opened desperately for his cock. A moment later he speared her, forcing her clit into the sheets and making her cry out, not quite coming yet, but … there, when he thrust again, the pressure was enough. Too much, even! She cried out in pleasure and pain as her overwhelmed body let loose yet another flood of endorphins, but each time he pounded into her it drove her into the mattress again and again. Her body cried out under the onslaught and she sobbed and bucked beneath him until it was as if she had been possessed by the spirit of Orgasm. The pleasure rode her instead of the other way around, and all she could do was dig her fingers desperately into the sheets and pray she survived.
His cock slammed into her again and again, and she had resigned herself to dying of sheer pleasure when he finally buried himself inside of her and grabbed her by the shoulder blades, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh as he came, growling fiercely with the pleasure of it.
He moved away from her more quickly than he usually did, and pulled and pushed her limp, panting form until she was on her back, her hands released from the headboard though still tied together. He considered her that way, and she watched him through glazed eyes, her mind still swimming in the after-effects of the intense pleasure.
‘Can you cook like that?’ he asked.
She wiggled her hands and considered her bonds. ‘If you take things out of the oven for me,’ she said, dreading the idea of finishing her cooking with her hands tied together.
‘Good. Then do it. I think someone needs a little reminder of her place.’ She got up off the bed, her body flushed and raw and still tingling delightfully, and Miles slapped her on the ass as she moved past him. ‘Nice appetiser, though.’
The Demands of Mistress Miranda
Michael Hemmingson
I knocked on the Beverly Hills mansion door, nervous about my return to Mistress Miranda because I had failed her before. The door was answered by a maid dressed in a typical French maid’s uniform, black with a white apron; she was quite pretty, five foot three with short black hair and a pale complexion.
‘Mr Morton?’ she asked in a soft voice.
‘Yes.’
‘Mistress is downstairs. I will show you to her.’
I followed the maid to the recreation room that I had failed Miranda in. She was sitting on the same sofa, dressed this time in a totally black, form-fitting dress that almost took my breath away. She seemed more beautiful than I remembered her.
‘Thank you, Jennifer,’ she said.
Jennifer turned and went back upstairs.
Miranda looked me up and down like I was mud on her heels. ‘Mr Morton. I trust this time things will be different.’
‘I hope so,’ I replied.
‘Mr Morton, you were dismissed last week because you felt a need to disobey me. You must understand that when I tell you to do something … anything … anything at all, it will be done without question, without hesitation. The second I feel you are incapable of that requirement, you will once more be asked to leave, and you will never be welcome here again. Is that understood?’
I said, ‘Yes.’
‘Good. Now come closer to me.’
I moved towards her. She was like a magnet. I was drawn to her as I had never been drawn to any woman. Had she cast some kind of spell on me? It was almost uncanny.
She looked at my crotch.
‘Take it out,’ she said with a firm voice.
My mind raced for a fleeting moment, wondering why she would do this with her maid in another room.
I lowered my fly. I said, ‘It’s not hard yet, Mistress Miranda.’
‘That is fine. I like to watch a cock get hard. I am sure we can achieve that state in just a few moments. And, Mr Morton, until you are told otherwise, you are to address me as “Mistress”.’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
I took my cock out. She watched as it hung limply.
She said, ‘You have a gorgeous cock, Mr Morton.’
She stared at it while my face turned a thousand shades of red.
‘You may make it hard now, Mr Morton.’
I reached down and slowly stroked myself into an erection. It was surprisingly easy. I stood in front of her, stroking myself, while she watched intently.
‘Very nice,’ she said with approval. ‘I like your cock very much. I think we can find some interesting things to do with it. Bring it closer and take your hand away.’
I stepped towards her as she leaned forward, my penis only inches from her face.
She reached inside my underpants and gathered my testicles. Gently, she extracted them from their confines and drew them outside into the night air. Her touch was electric and my cock gained in stature.
‘There is too much hair on your balls, Mr Morton. We will have to shave them, sooner rather than later.’
She grasped my cock and squeezed it, lightly at first, and then quite firmly. Almost too tightly. But I endured, taking a deep breath. She ran her thumb alongside the urethra, pressing inwards and upwards, forcing clear pre-come to emerge like a moist worm from the ground.
‘Very nice texture,’ she said with her Beverly Hills accent. ‘Except for the balls, I think everything is quite in order.’
I wanted to thank her, but thought better of it. She began to stroke me lightly for a few moments and I tilted my head back, enjoying the feeling. I could feel the urge building inside me.
‘One of my rules, Mr Morton, is that you are not permitted to come unless I give you permission. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘Have you ever been whipped?’ she asked out of the blue.
The word ‘whipped’ buzzed around my head for a moment like a bee in a bottle. I bit my lower lip.
‘No, Mistress.’
‘You shall be, of course. Turn around and let me examine the target area.’
She released my cock and I turned away from her.
‘Drop your trousers,’ she ordered.
I opened my belt, undid the button and let my trousers drop to a circle around my feet.
‘The underpants too.’
The underpants followed.
‘Bend over, hands on your knees.’
I bent over and she pushed my shirt halfway up my back to give herself an unobstructed view of my naked ass. I felt her eyes on me, yet, despite the obvious embarrassment, I somehow liked the feelin
g of being under this woman’s power.
Her fingertips searched the surface of my skin and then, without warning, she used her thumbs to pry the cheeks apart, exposing my most private of places.
She said, ‘Very nice anus, too. Very fuckable.’
I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. I had never thought of my asshole as fuckable.
‘The first evening, Mr Morton, is always the easiest. Kind of a test to determine your predisposition to events that will follow. If you have potential for growth, then I am sure we will have many pleasant evenings together.’
Still prying my ass cheeks apart, she ran the nail of her index finger across my anus. It actually felt good. Surprisingly good.
‘But, as I said, the hairs on your genitals must be removed. Jennifer will take care of that in a few moments and then prepare you.’
She called Jennifer. There I was, my backside exposed to the wind, and a maid I had barely met was standing next to me.
‘Yes, Mistress?’
So she called her ‘Mistress’ too.
‘Mr Morton requires his genitals to be shaved. When you are done, bring him to the Pleasure Room and prepare him for a little whipping.’
‘At your service, ma’am. Mr Morton, please follow me.’
I pulled up my clothes and followed Jennifer to a rather large, beautifully tiled bathroom, large enough to accommodate an eight-foot table that had bath towels lying across it.
‘You will get completely undressed and lie down on the table,’ the maid told me in a soft yet firm voice.
‘Completely?’ I asked.
She didn’t answer me. Her stern look was all that was necessary. And I didn’t want word to get back to Miranda that I had hesitated even in the slightest.
I disrobed down to my birthday suit, my cock now limp as a noodle, and eased my back onto the table. Jennifer seemed unaware of my predicament as she moved about the bathroom, basically ignoring me.