I stepped out of my car into the cool night air and gently shut it behind me. A thrill of excitement ran down my spine, and I shivered slightly. Was it the cold, or was it anticipation of the night ahead? I bit my lip nervously and opened the door. I was always excited, arriving to be used like the fuckslave I am. A week's denial made things worse – I was faced with the slave's dilemma: desperately hoping to cum, yet secretly yearning for Mistress to laugh at my needs, and send me home still wanting.
Inside, I stood in Mistress' entryway and stripped methodically, setting my clothes aside in a neat pile. I had put my collar on before leaving home. As my shirt came off, a leather band was revealed around my left bicep. My pants, removed, revealed a pretty blue lacy thong. Those three items were all the outfit I needed. Thus attired, I knelt on a pillow at the foot of her staircase and awaited her pleasure.
Tonight, Mistress was apparently as keen as I was. I had only been kneeling a minute or so when I heard the slow, sensual clack-clacking of her high heels on the wooden floor above. She wasn't hurrying, knowing that the sound would be driving me crazy, sending my anticipation into overdrive.
She came into view, wearing a hot, hot outfit I had bought her for her birthday. The bustier had a snakeskin look, and showed off her fantastic tits to best advantage. The bottom fastened onto black fishnet stockings, over matching panties. On her feet, my favourite strappy black high heels, and dark, plum coloured toenails. She looked good enough to eat – and I hoped I would shortly be eating her.
Slowly, she descended the staircase until her feet were on the step in front of me. "Good evening, slaveboy," she breathed softly. I licked my lips. "Good evening, Mistress. May I worship you, please?"
Mistress smiled. I wasn't looking at her face, but I could tell she was smiling. "You may." I leaned downwards, keeping my hands behind my back, and softly kissed the tops of her toes, through her stockings. I kissed each toe once, then tried to suck her big toe into my mouth, as best her shoe would let me. "Mmmm," she purred softly. "Nothing quite beats the sight of a pussy licking slaveboy on his knees."
When she had had enough, Mistress leaned down and clipped a leash to my collar. According to one of her newest rules, if I had a leash attached like this, I was not permitted to stand. Without a word she turned, giving me a fantastic view of her amazing ass, and walked up the stairs. I scrambled after her on my knees, ignoring for the moment the fact that they hurt on the hard wooden surface of the staircase and floor. If I didn't keep up, Mistress would be able to hurt me far worse. A short walk later we arrived in her living room – the rug underfoot was welcome! – and she unclipped the leash. I was required to stand, with my hands on my head.
In that position, my arousal and excitement were obvious – my cock was sticking straight out through the panties, which had acquired a large wet spot. Hard-ons without permission were not forbidden, exactly, but Mistress liked to humiliate me anyway. Walking towards me, she picked up a crop and used the end of it to push my cock to and fro, still inside the panties. "What is this, slaveboy?" she asked.
"It's your cock, Mistress," I responded softly.
"My cock?"
"Yes Mistress. It is your cock. You own it. I just carry it for you." This was an old formula, one we had repeated many times. But it made my cheeks burn to acknowledge that she owned my cock ... and she loved hearing me admit it.
"And why is it hard, slaveboy? Do you think it will be allowed to cum tonight?"
