"What's a girl need to do to get a drink around here?" she said.
"Sorry" he said "I was just finishing the dishes" as he peeled the long rubber gloves off that protected the leather wrist cuffs she insisted he wear at all times.
"It seems it's always about you, doesn't it?" she challenged, as he brought her wine and set it on the table. He turned to go back to the kitchen.
"Stay." she ordered. He froze in his tracks and turned to face her.
"Present." she growled. She had conditioned him over the years to respond without hesitation, relying on the crop to illustrate negative response, and a gentle hand, and a soft touch to reinforce the positive.
Nevertheless, she had to admit; she enjoyed restraining him over the stool, or standing with hands locked over his head and reminding him of her dominion over him with regular whippings.
Now, the current image caused a stirring in her pussy, as she surveyed her male, standing as trained, his cuffed legs spread to allow access to his caged cock and plugged ass, cuffed wrists, and hands clasped behind his head.
The wide purple collar he wore didn't allow him to bow his as deeply as she would have preferred however he bent slightly at the waist to compensate. He remained motionless as he focused his gaze on the carpet in front of him, steeling himself for the sweet torment that was certain to follow.
His cock swelled in its cage, betraying the deep need to submit she had programmed in him. The constant pressure his plug exerted on his prostate served to keep him in a state of semi-arousal at all times, but the prospect of offering his pain to his beautiful wife, for her mere amusement made his imprisoned cock begin to weep.
She sat back, putting her bare feet on the hassock, inches from his tortured member. She swirled her wine, inspecting the amber fluid and cocked an eyebrow.
"You're making a mess, slut," she observed. "I'd have thought you had enough around here to clean." She taunted, "and more than enough work for you tongue."
His cock, now painfully erect in its cage, the locking ring squeezing his balls as his stem extended obscenely from its base, now hung directly over his owners feet. He clenched his abdominals in vain attempt to stop the drip. This only served to push his plug harder into his P- spot, encouraging more weeping.
She watched as another drop of pre-cum slowly made it's way from the tip of the cage. As it hit her instep, she reflected that while she could often make him "cum" from the whip, the best he could do from the strap-on was a pathetic drip of pre-cum like this.
"I was thinking of fucking you tonight." she said "but it looks as though you need a tune up as well. Do you want me to fuck you?" She asked.
He desperately wanted to be whipped and fucked. She'd denied, edged, ruined and milked him to keep him in a constant state of arousal, but no chance of relief. He longed for the sting of the crop and craved replacing the persistent pressure of his plug with the invasive stimulation of her 9" dildo - but he'd also learned to choose his words wisely when responding to a clearly loaded question.
Hoping for the best, "If it would please you, ma'am" he replied.
She laughed at his response. "You are a clever little whore, aren't you!"
"Clean up this mess, then get your butt in the bedroom and prepare yourself," she said, lifting her fluid spattered foot. On cue he dropped to his knees and began to clean her foot with his tongue.
She pushed his face away with her foot. "Furniture and carpet too."
Without a moment's hesitation he turned his attention to the hassock, and then used his tongue to lick the carpet clean. He wasn't certain he'd dripped anything on the carpet, but his desire for some contact with his beautiful wife, no matter how demeaning propelled him, the thrill from the humiliation of licking the floor like an animal to please his master, threatening to make him drip even more.
As he prepared himself, she went to her closet and picked out a pair of black pumps with 4" steel heels. Coupled with her black tights, lace bra and 9" strap-on, she was a submissive's wet dream. Not that she cared much at all about his fantasy, the outfit made her feel powerful, and the shoes, though very sexy, gave her the extra height she needed. She was going to tie him, hands over his head facing the wall, and the extra 4" would give her a better range with her crop, and we she fucked him, just the right attack angle to allow the base of her dildo to stimulate her clitoris. Her rule of thumb for pegging was that she always came.
She smiled to herself as she slipped into her pumps. It was a pair of high heels similar to these that started her down the road to domination and discipline.
He'd always been horny. Before they were married he couldn't keep his hands off her. As they progressed through life with kids, schools and careers they fell into a familiar pattern of regular, uneventful sex that always ended in his cumming and her rolling over to sleep in the wet spot. She and her friends joked about it, everyone seeming to have accepted this was the way it was - but deep down she began to resent, not him, but the routineness, the utilitarianism and lack of intimacy. She needed more from him, but was at a loss of how to approach the subject, or even what a solution looked like.
It was at a retirement party for someone at his work when it twigged. They didn't have much occasion to go out dressed up during those years, he wore a suit and she ran around the neighborhood taking kids to hockey and school. For this occasion she'd decided to update her look and picked up black, fitted pencil skirt, just below the knee, a business like white blouse and a pair of black leather pumps with a high heel.
The effect the outfit had on him was, to her mind, amazing. He literally stammered when she stepped out of the bathroom ready to go. She couldn't help but notice his eyes returning again and again to her feet. He stepped forward her to grab her, but she'd just fixed her hair and make-up. She remembered clearly how she was able to control him with one finger to his lips and said; "not now big boy, we can talk when we get home."
"Yes ma'am." he said. He'd never reacted that way nor said anything remotely like that since they met.
The party was a blur, but importantly, he couldn't keep help but keep a hand on her back, running back and forth with drinks and appys for her, ensuring he introduced her and made sure she was comfortable. He treated her like a princess that night and convinced her to leave early. All the way home in the car he had his hand on her knee and asked questions about the kids and her friends he usually rarely bothered about.
When they got home he literally dragged her the bedroom and sat her on the bed. Kneeling before he took her foot in his hand, and kissed her shoe. She was astonished. She was even more astonished as he kissed the other shoe, and then discarding his coat and tie, he worked up her legs placing kisses along each and pushing her back on the bed, lifted her skirt and began to lick her pussy. He hadn't gone down on her for years, and this was the first orgasm he'd given her since their first child was born. She was amazed.
Over the next few weeks she experimented. Whenever she wore her heels, with jeans, or dresses - or nothing else. The effect on him was the same, and remarkable.
He would drop to his knees, kiss her feet and lick her shoes and eventually worship her to orgasm after orgasm. She felt she'd found the key.
It was sealed one Friday afternoon when he came home from work and the kids were gone. She wore a short sundress with heels. When he came into the kitchen, his eyes immediately dropped to her feet.
"Do you like my shoes?" she said.
"Yes," he breathed.
"Would you like to kiss my shoes?" she asked.
"Yes." he said.
