I would never say that life was routine with Mistress Monica. She kept me on my toes—or, more literally, on my heels—at least around the house. On days when I got home from my law office before she got home from her corporate job, I would immediately take off my suit and tie and put on one of the frilly aprons Mistress preferred me to wear at home, and a pair of heels to match the bra, panty, and garter set that she had chosen for me to wear under my business suit that day. Then I would set about to prepare her dinner.
There was little variation on our daily ritual. She would text me when she was leaving her office. Even though it was a ten minute drive, she required me to kneel in waiting for her in the hallway as soon as I received her text. I would present myself, in whatever lingerie she had required me to wear that day, near the door holding a glass of wine balanced on a small silver tray. When she walked in from the garage she would most often ignore me at first, sometimes smirking at my condition, especially if I had an (uncontrolled and unauthorized of course) erection making a small dent in the front of my panties. Then she would give me a once-over, pat me on the head like the little pet I am to her, take her glass of wine, make a display of her first sip, and then ceremoniously turn and lift her skirt for me to kiss her panty-covered ass. She would either then dismiss me to complete her dinner or give me further instructions, and I would thank her, once again, for being my Mistress.
On days when she preceded me home I most often would find her seated in her easy chair, heels off, feet on her ottoman, with her glass of wine already in hand. On such days that I was expected to hurriedly strip off my business clothes down to my lingerie and then wordlessly go to her. If she presented her feet to me I was to massage and worship them. If she hiked up her skirt and opened her crotch to me I was to place my face between her legs and stay there until she instructed me otherwise. Sometimes she would read or make phone calls while I took in her scent from the moist gusset of her panties for up to an hour.
What I am going to tell you about started with one of those evenings. I came home to find Monica's car in the garage. A bit early, I thought. I had imagined that I'd be the first home and that I'd soon be standing in the kitchen in one of my lace aprons preparing her dinner. I saw her briefcase in the hallway when I came in through the garage. I pulled off my shoes and slacks, took off my suit coat and shirt and tie, slipped on my white mules from the hall closet, and checked my matching peach bra, panty, and garter set (with tan nylon stockings) in the mirror before going to my Mistress. She was reading a magazine and did not look up. She took her feet from the ottoman, scooted forward on her chair, and spread her legs, exposing the crotch of her nylon leopard print panties to me. I knelt and buried my face in her scent. My cock immediately responded by growing to its full three and five eighths and pushed against the front of my panties.
She rocked ever so slightly against the nub of my nose and moaned, continuing to otherwise ignore me. I wanted to tear her panties aside and bury my tongue in her, but I knew better. I wanted to fuck that pussy, but I hadn't been allowed to do that in years. I'd only been allowed to orally pleasure her, and only when she granted such privilege. Sometimes she allowed me to watch her fuck herself with a nine inch dildo while she humiliated me for what I could never provide her. She'd make me stand in front of her and masturbate while she pleasured herself, denying me ejaculation while she orgasmed multiple times. Pushing those thoughts aside, I enjoyed the moment—the scent of her pussy filled me.
After some time I felt her hand near my head. Her fingers slipped to the side of her gusset and pulled it aside. With her other hand she grabbed the hair at the back of my head and pulled it back, "Look at it, Tom, do you like what you see?"
"Yes, Mistress, very much, Thank you for allowing me to see your pussy, Mistress."
"Would you like to worship my pussy, Tom?
"Yes, Mistress."
"Would you like to be allowed to fuck me, Tom?
"Yes, Mistress, yes, yes, yes..."
"Poor Tom, you know what I've told you, I do not desire small cocks, so until you grow beyond six inches, at the very least, it will be only your tongue that will enjoy such pleasure. Sissies don't fuck women, Tom, they serve them. What are you, my love?"
"I am a sissy, Mistress, your sissy."
"That's right, Tom, my sissy. Now would you like to worship my pussy, my womanhood, that special warm juicy tight hole, that pussy where you'd like to put your pathetic little cock? Would you like to worship it, Tom, while you imagine what it would be like for your cock to slide in and out of it, while you fantasize about what it would feel like to fuck a real pussy and cum inside a woman instead of losing your load inside of your panties?"
By then I could hardly speak. The front of my panties was wet with pre-cum. "Yes, Mistress. Please, please, let me worship your pussy."
"Just one thing first, Tom. I've been recording this. Turn around. See the video camera on the TV stand. I'm recording this as a demonstration for the Domme Club. I just need your permission to use it for my friends as a training video. I'm sure that you don't object, now do you?"
I turned my head and saw the camera. My cock began to shrivel just a bit. These were the same women who had seen me on display, who had seen my small penis, who saw me around town, who already knew I wore panties and a bra every day, who already knew that Monica dominated me. They knew who I was, but I had no idea who they were. Any of the women I encountered any day already knew the truth about me, and now would see, on video, just how desperate I was for Monica's pussy. I turned back and looked at Monica. She was beautiful. She smiled, comforting me, reassuring me, seducing me... Her breasts...were...huge. Her pussy was...exposed...wet...waiting... inviting...
"Do you want to worship my womanhood, Tom, the place that you are not allowed to fuck because your cock is inadequate?"
"Yes, Mistress!"
"Then it is understood that I will use this tape as a training video for the Domme Club?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Then eat me, Tom, but silently, slowly. I have some things to tell you."
I put my face back between her legs. I extended my tongue, tasting her for the first time. My body started to quiver and tense. Feeling this, she grabbed my head with both hands and abruptly pulled me away from her crotch. "Do not ejaculate in your panties. I want you to stay aroused and hard."
I focused, licked, concentrated on satisfying her, my cock still throbbing with excitement.
"You know, Tom, there is a new Domme in the club. She rides her husband like he is a horse—calls it equestrian training—because he is such a stallion. Although he's very, very submissive, he has a nine inch cock. Nine inches, Tom, nine inches. Just think of that next to yours."
