She was waiting by the door like she always did. She wore black silk stockings with seams, a black lace garter-belt, and black ballet heels that strapped up her legs almost to her knees. The black went well with her coloring, lighting her pale Castilian Spanish skin almost to a glow and it matched her long glorious hair that fell in waves to just above her ass.
Her eyes were emerald green and the only makeup she wore was the crimson lipstick that she knew he loved. She did wear jewelry though. He insisted on that. Four carat emeralds in her ears in platinum and a three strand black pearl choker that had the jet cameo of a kneeling woman on it. His collar.
He came in at his usual time and she helped him pull of his suit jacket and hung it in the closet before taking his briefcase and carrying it to his office. Then she met him in the living room and knelt in front of his recliner after pouring him a double of the forty year old Islay scotch that he also loved. She bowed her head as she offered it up to him in both hands and he took it from her with just one word.
"Mouth," he said gruffly and she smiled to herself as she started undoing his belt and pants. When she had him free she took him between her crimson lips and slowly inhaled him to the root. She knew he didn't want to cum just yet. This was old routine between them. He had had a stressful day at the office and he wanted to relax.
That was what she did best. She relaxed him. He had put her through massage therapy school as well as regular college after he had found her on the streets, and she knew that she could get a much better 'job' anywhere than being his maid and cook. Too bad she loved him.
She sucked him slowly, enjoying the feel of him in her mouth and throat. She had initiated the relationship between them but he had quickly taken it over. He had taught her to please him completely, and she had learned avidly. She wanted to be his. She felt safe that way.
As the stress poured out of him and he sipped the scotch he told her about his day. She listened with half an ear, knowing he might ask her advice, but mostly she just enjoyed sucking him. She liked his flavor and texture and the feel of his pulse in her mouth, and she knew that if she relaxed him enough with her mouth he might tense up enough in other ways to do oh so many wonderful things to her.
She craved those things too. At first it had been a bit humiliating that she had gotten off on some of the sensations he sometimes gave her, but she had learned to deal with it. She knew she was much more free than your average repressed woman when she was begging for him to do anything he wanted to her. Her bondage was love, not repression. Her world was sensuous and sexual and she got to be free to ask anything that any other repressed woman just fantasized about. She was his slave yes, but she was freer than most women.
She got caught daydreaming as she sucked him when he asked her a question that she didn't quite get. He repeated the question of course, and she answered it with a smile. It was a trivial matter anyway, and he had asked her just to hear her voice most probably, but she had been caught. He tensed up again, and this time it was in that special way. She knew he would punish her now, and she looked forward to it.
He cupped the back of her head by the hair and brought her back to his penis and she inhaled him quickly this time. She knew what she was in for this time as he started roughly using her mouth, and her body started reacting out of habit and hope.
He used her mouth for his pleasure now and she denied him nothing. She was almost choked on his size as he went deeper into her throat than he normally did but she just swallowed as much as she could when he let her breathe and went with it. In ten minutes he was ready to pop and she felt him swell in her throat as he erupted and held her down on him. She swallowed easily and quickly, a little sad that he was annoyed enough not to let her taste his seed this time, but there would be other times.
When he let her she licked and sucked him clean and dry then tucked him back in his pants and rebuckled his belt for him. He growled out the word 'cross' and she stood instantly and almost ran up to the playroom. She let herself in with the key above the door then put the key back up and locked the door behind her, knowing he would check.
Then she hurriedly fastened herself onto the St. Andrews cross like he had intimated only leaving her left hand free because she couldn't secure the shackle one handed. Her wrist was by the shackle of course so that he only had to secure it, and she would remain that way no matter how much time he took coming upstairs.
She trembled with excitement as she heard him make his way slowly up the stairs and stop in his bedroom. She knew that he would take a few minutes to change clothes and hoped that he hurried. He didn't though and she got even more excited as her mind went over all the things he might do to her up here. She ran through the various implements in her mind, mentally going through how each would feel on her bare skin and couldn't decide which one she wanted him to use most. Of course there was also the fact that he might not use the implements, but she doubted that. He was pretty annoyed. That usually meant her tender flesh would be raw before the night was over. She hoped so, and she hoped that he would take out his frustration on her too. That was what she was there for anyway.
It took him ten minutes to make his way into the playroom. She knew better than to turn and look back over her shoulder at him and watch him approach. That made the pain painful and not sensual. That was not allowed. She had only made that mistake twice, and both times had been when she was first learning her place as his slave.
She heard him go to the armoire where the implements were stored and almost cried for joy. She was ready for him always, but when he used the implements he pulled something out of her that she just couldn't get to on her own. He brought out the wanton woman in her. The slut. He made her his in the most special way possible.
He took his time selecting whatever implement he chose. She counted out five minutes before she heard the armoire close and his almost silent footsteps coming toward her. God! Her senses went on high alert when he did this to her. Her sense of smell noted that he was wearing the Obsession today even when he was still several feet away even though he used it sparingly. Her sense of hearing heard not only her own trembling breath but she swore she could hear both his and her own pulses as well.
And her sense of touch was incredible. She could feel the leather at her wrists of course, and also the metal and mahogany of the cross itself. She could also feel all the hairs on the back of her neck as if they were radar dishes pointing straight at him. She reveled in the feelings and senses and waited as patiently as she could.
"Interesting," he murmured and she shuddered in anticipation. She heard him set something in the recliner and turn it so that it was facing the cross, and then he stepped toward her again and she felt his hands fasten her left wrist into the shackle. He didn't say anything other than that, but she knew then. He was in a good mood, and this was just a game. Of course she would still be punished, but it wouldn't be real pain like it could have been. It would just be what both of them needed to make it a special night. She started to relax and then stopped herself. She had made assumptions like that before and been totally wrong.
He left her hanging on the cross, on her tiptoes with the only support for her upper body coming from her toes and her wrists for another ten minutes as she heard him sipping what was probably another double. She let her senses run wild as he did this, listening and sniffing occasionally for any clue as to his intentions. Just as always she merely heard his soft breathing and smelled leather and Obsession.
Then she heard him set down the glass and stand. She went on alert then, anticipating anything. Sometimes he got right into it and sometimes he didn't. She waited, juices dripping down her thighs as he walked up behind her again.
She felt him gather her long hair and he put it over her right shoulder. That meant that he probably had a flogger. Those and the cane could be used somewhat safely all the way down the back. At least he could use them safely all the way down her back. Then she moaned in need as he slipped his hand between her legs and slid his index finger along her left labia.
"Oh really," he chuckled, and she blushed. She always did and he thought it was cute. "It looks like you're ready for something pretty one," he whispered from right beside her left ear. I think you need a little more stimulation though. What do you say to that?"
She knew better than to say anything, but she knew he was right. She wasn't quite ready for him the way he wanted her to be. She thought about wiggling against his hand since he was still touching her, but that would cause real pain. She had to be patient. This was his game, and he was most definitely in charge.
"Not going to answer huh?" he said in a chuckle and stepped back from her. She almost cried out at the loss of his touch, but she knew better. She wasn't ready to do that just yet. She would be, but not just yet. He had to bring it out in her still.
Then she felt the first blow and almost cried out again. He had chosen the thuddie flogger, and it left a burning path against the tops of her shoulder blades except where her hair went over her shoulder. She tensed up thinking the second blow would fall quickly, but he was in a good mood. She actually had time to relax a little before the second blow caught her just barely below the first. The pain was intense, but she didn't cry out. She didn't dare. Not just two strokes into it. If she were going to cry out at all it wouldn't be until he got really into it and wanted her to. Not till he made her.
He regulated his blows precisely, randomly timing them but making sure each blow hit just a little below the last. He worked his way down her back then, stopping occasionally to run a warm, rough hand over what he had done to her so far. He said nothing as he did this, and his hand was never on her long enough for her, but he did it. Like an artist surveying his work.
She lost track of time as he punished her. She always did. All she was was senses now as she felt each blow. As she listened to the flogger fly through the air and strike her. As she smelled the leather and the warm skin. She closed her eyes and tried to picture her back from his point of view but it was useless. All she knew was that he had gotten down to her short ribs now and was still going. She let go then and reveled in the feeling of her tingling skin and the warmth of where he had struck before. She sagged in the restraints, hanging from her wrists for a moment to give her sore toes a break, then going up on her toes to give her wrists the same.
