Wednesday night was film night, a tradition they had started months ago, and stuck to as closely as they could. It gave them time just for each other, without the expectations of their busy social calendars, and usually ended with both some pretty great sex (ranging from an aggressive, animal fuck bent over the desk, to almost tantrically slow lovemaking, dependent on the sort of film) and a well needed mid-week early night. Today though was the third day of their new game, their longest 'scene' yet, if one can still call them scenes. They had decided that he would be her
master
for a week; in the past they've done this for an hour or two, sometimes a whole afternoon, and once a scene that lasted through the night until the next morning.
She had liked waking up as
his property
, tied up to the bed, and expected immediately to satisfy his morning wood. So, they agreed a week. The first two days had gone well, a slow start, nothing new, still enjoying their usual fun with ropes and gags and blindfolds. There was a learning curve. Scenes of an hour or two had similar trajectories: tying her up, spanking her, edging her, finishing on her breasts or her face. They built up to her orgasm, eventually granted, and ended with lots of cuddles. This week was different. He was having to find ways of providing aftercare whilst still in the roleplay, and she was expected to work much harder, be stronger, and have more willpower.
They had spent the first night together, but the second night apart. She woke up in the harness he had made her put on before she slept. Her orders had been to video herself masturbating, but stopping just before climaxing, and then take off the harness and dress in the clothes he had allotted for the day. She did all of this. Being edged by him had been hard, but edging herself, knowing that there was nothing to stop her disobeying him but her own willpower, was excruciatingly hard. But she knew how greatly she'd be punished is she disobeyed, and she was saving that sort of thing for the end of the week. She had thought about finishing secretly, wondered if she could do it, on camera, without him noticing, and pretend she had followed orders, but doubted she'd be able to hide it. Faking an orgasm was on thing, but doing the opposite likely impossible.
Having dressed and sent master the video, she breakfasted and left the house. There would be no more orders until tonight. She could merely wait, trying desperately to concentrate on her work as she imagined what cruel things he might be planning only a few miles away.
*
He had woken a little later, to the ping of her video coming through on WhatsApp. He watched it and stroked himself: his orgasm made only the better watching her not receive the same. Her face as she stops, getting as close as she dared, knowing he would edge her properly tonight if she did not do so now. On the notes page of his phone he prepared a text for later, her instructions text. He would revise it over the course of the day, make sure it was perfectly worded, before sending it at 5:05, as she caught the bus home. He wanted her to have to read it in public, to have to reply 'yes sir' in public, and then to have to wait the entire bus journey home before completing its tasks. By the end of the day, this was the result:
Film night slut! Very good show this morning - lots more of that later. I will arrive at 6, and let myself in. I expect to see your room tidy, with the desk completely clear, aside from the rope, the dildo and plug (cleaned thoroughly), and the cat-o'-nine-tails. You will wear a skirt (you may choose which: the better the skirt the less I'll use that cat-o'-nine-tails on you), the blindfold, and the ball-gag. The curtains and window will be left open, and the bed made. You will kneel facing the window, back to the door, your hands on top of your feet, and under your arse. Your legs will be open.
She received it whilst still at the bus stop; the bus was late. She would not have long to do these things before he arrived. She hurriedly replied: 'Yes master, thank you master, I love you master x' Overly obedient, he noticed; he wondered if she was worried about disobeying her. He enjoyed this power. He was desperate now to go over but didn't want to arrive early. To be a good master he must be fair.
She arrived home at 5:40, and immediately began prepping. She must have tried on five or six skirts before finally sticking with one, a small black number; it was sleek; he had fucked her in it before, in her car. Another time she had been wearing it to the cinema, and he had gone down on her afterwards with her still in it. It was a skirt with memories. She hoped he would appreciate that.
At 5:50 she received another text: 'Put on the nipple clamps too, nice and tight. Make sure you're hard before you do, if they fall off, I will use clothes pegs instead, and you will sleep in them. And that won't even be the punishment for disobedience. See you in exactly ten minutes. I love you too, whore.'
At 5:59 the room was perfectly prepared; she put the blindfold on, the ball-gag in and kneeled as instructed, waiting for him to arrive. It was at 6:00 exactly that she realized she was still wearing knickers. She couldn't prance around the flat naked, so had worn her work clothes with the skirt as she prepared, and undressed last, but she'd forgotten one thing. As she stood up to quickly correct this the door opened. She fell onto her knees again immediately and whimpered realising the gravity of her various errors. His anger, and the effects of it flashed before her eyes. She pre-emptively clenched her buttocks imagining the cat-o'-nine-tails whipping them.
The nipple clamps hit the floor with a thud. Her heart sank.
"No nipple clamps, and not on your knees. Failed on two accounts. Is that all, slut?"
She shook her head.
"NO!" He walked forward, knelt behind her. Over her left shoulder she felt his left hand take her left nipple between his fingers, and on her right side she felt his right hand move round her waist and go between her legs. "What else have - ... I see. Stand up and face me."
She did, trembling. She couldn't see him. She flinched, sensing his hand raised.
"Lift up your skirt."
He wanted to talk to her. He undid the gag and rested the strap on her shoulder. Then he walked over to her desk drawer, picked up a pair of nail scissors, walked back and pressed their closed blades against her front.
"You feel that?". She nodded and murmured.
"You feel that?", he said louder. She was always to answer him properly if she could. On Monday when they started to lay down the rules, made her write them down and put them in her purse to carry around with her. '3. Unless gagged or with master's cock in my mouth, I must always address master formally, as he is my better.'
"Sorry, master. Yes, master. Those are my scissors, master." She spoke quickly. He could hear the fear at the back of her throat.
He was about to cut off her knickers when he thought of a better idea. He took off her blindfold, put the scissors into her hand, and said, "Cut them off. Cut your knickers off."
They were the pair he had instructed her to wear for work. She'd bought them as part of a set, for him really, ages ago. She felt humiliated by her mistake. She thought of the matching bra that she had taken off, carefully folded, and put in wardrobe.
Why could she not have done this with the knickers? Was she really that much of a stupid slut?
She cut them off. A small snip on the left, then another of the right. He placed his hand on the inside of her thigh, prompting her to part her legs a little, and they fell to the floor. Her favourite knickers; now just a rag of useless, yet so beautiful fabric.
"Put them on the table. No, put
it
on the table."
He knew she would understand this small correction. Language was so important in scenes like these. With only words he could make her happy, horny, and dutiful, or he could make her humiliated, embarrassed and sorry.
With that he walked out of the door, saying nothing. As it slammed, she panicked.
Was he going home? Was that it for today?
Her phone buzzed. She darted across the room and smiled to see: 'I will be back in five minutes. Leave the knickers on the table. This time follow my orders. The punishment can be moderate, or awful. Your choice.'
Five minutes later she was perfectly in position, ready for his arrival, and excited for the evening. He had touched her, only for a moment, and she was desperate for more, certain this time that she would be obedient. She could still feel his hands on her left nipple, her right leg, and the blade on her stomach. If he spanked her hard it would show red for hours, but if he caressed her, it would still mark her, even if only he saw it.
She had taken three minutes to get into position and put on her blindfold after four. He was late, she could not be sure but how much, but he was. She understood what he was doing. This was part of the punishment. She made him wait, by not following his orders, so he would make her wait. But how long. Once before, when they'd done a whole afternoon. He had tied her up to the bed with vibrator in, on a slow setting, and gone for a walk. It had been hell, but an amazing hell. He told her she was allowed to finish. But he knew that she wouldn't be able to. She needed just that bit more, and all her limbs were connected to different corners of the large double bed. The more she had thought about sex the worse it had been. She started thinking about other things.
Do you know how hard it is to write a shopping list with a vibrator slowly buzzing in your cunt?
She told her that night he'd been gone too long; that it was fun but too long, and that she'd rather he didn't leave the flat. She'd told him this after she'd finished of course. After his hand on her clit had finally given her release, and she'd released it all over her bedding.
He had promised not to leave her like that again.
*
After fifteen minutes, he started to get bored. He was just sitting in her kitchen, twiddling his thumbs. He'd played a game of chess on his phone, had a glass of water, talked awkwardly to one of her flatmates, told her he was 'waiting for Em', and now was just staring at cobwebs in corners of the ceiling.
He walked back into the room. She had followed all his instructions this time, and she knew it. She sat there is confidence, sort of. She couldn't remember if he'd been wearing a belt when he came in before, and now all she could think of was the thwack of his belt meeting her flesh.
"Good. See, that was easy, wasn't it?"
She nodded. He heard two sounds from her, which he took for a 'yes sir' mumbled through the ball-gag. The more she moved her mouth the more it salivated, and her spit was dripping down her chin now, just like it did when he fucked her throat.
He walked round to look at her front, knelt down and placed his hand on her cheek. He saw the spit and grabbed something to wipe it away. She could feel the soft fabric of her ruined underwear, used as a rag for cleaning her spit. She had so loved those knickers. She would erase the thought from her mind. She could always buy more. She loved him more than she loved them: of course she did. And she wanted to enjoy their quiet evening alone together.
He placed the knickers back on the table. He would make her use them to wipe the cum off her later, he thought. He could have almost done an evil laugh, like a bond villain. He hoped this was what she wanted, fun for both of them. He often worried about going too far with things and made sure to ask afterwards what had worked and what didn't. He wondered how long that conversation would have to be on Sunday night. A whole week to analyse, and so many new things tried out. The first new things of the week had been the scissors, which was interesting as he hadn't even planned that, it just came to him suddenly. He hadn't thought she'd be wearing knickers of course. As much as a surprise to him as to her.
