The black Camaro was sitting in the driveway when he pulled up to the house. He rushed to the door, thankful to be home. When he didn't see her seated at the table or on the couch he immediately went into the bathroom, stripped and got in the shower. Even though he never thought at his age he would have a routine to follow, it was comforting knowing what was expected of him. He had become more confident in independently following her unspoken orders and longed for the praise she always provided when he did. After he toweled off he went to his room and knelt down on the floor to wait for her.
"Good boy," her voice came from the doorway. She walked to where he was and stood in front of him to buckle the collar around his neck.
His eyes wandered over her slacks, and he wondered what the punishment would be if he reached up and pulled them down then buried his face between her legs. But he didn't have permission to taste her, no matter how much he craved having her thighs trembling by his ears.
He followed her to the kitchen, grabbed their plates off the counter then set one on the table for her and sat down at her feet with his.
"From now on it is your responsibility to wake me up in the morning," she said, running her hand through his hair. "I expect to be woken up at six thirty, and I expect to be woken up by your mouth."
He paused with his fork halfway to his lips, processing the semantics of her request.
"If you wake me up with the sound of your chains, you will be punished," she continued. "I expect to come at least once by seven. If you make me late for work, you will be punished. On weekends, I expect to come more than once, but still expect to come once by seven."
"Yes, Mistress," he said, trying to calculate the specifics in his mind.
After she was finished her fingers ran through his hair one more time before she headed down the hallway. The increasingly familiar daze started to seep into his head from where her hand had touched. He shoveled the rest of his food into his mouth then went to rinse the dishes. He had just shut the dishwasher when she came back in holding two familiar bottles in her hand.
"Come," she directed, sitting down on her normal spot on the couch and patting her lap.
He lay across her, pressing his hips into her thighs and his cheek against the couch. Blood rushed between his legs in anticipation of her hands massaging his healing wounds. Even though it had been a few days, the residual reminder of her authority still scorched through him every time he sat down.
She began rubbing the soothing balm into his skin and he sucked in a breath when she lightly squeezed his thigh.
"Good boy," she praised, the haze around his head thickening the more she rubbed.
The ache from several days of denial was throbbing, and he groaned softly into the leather cushion when she rubbed the lotion into it. He took another deep breath when her fingers pushed inside him and instinctively started rubbing himself against her lap.
"No," she scolded, bringing her hand down hard on his battered skin.
The sound of the slap made him jump and pain shot up his body from where it landed. But when her fingers slid into him again, he couldn't help himself.
"No." Her hand came down again, the loud slap echoing in his head. But this time he was prepared for the punishment and embraced it.
"Floor."
He rolled off her onto his knees, clasping his hands together in his lap.
She unzipped her pants, exposing her flesh colored strap-on. "Do you like my cock?" she asked, running her hand down it.
"Yes, Mistress," he replied, though the words sounded slurred. He wanted her inside of him, owning him.
"Come worship it, then," she said, still stroking it with her hand.
His lips brushed against the tip then he ran his tongue lightly down the side.
"You can do better than that," she scolded. "You're a man. You should know exactly what my cock wants."
It had been awhile, but he knew what he would want if he was the one sitting on the couch. He wrapped his hand around it and covered the tip with his mouth, sucking lightly before sliding down it. When he pulled his head back he dragged it gently through his teeth.
"Good boy," she praised, and he ran his mouth down it again. Her hand grasped his hair, pushing him down to the base. He gagged when the tip hit the back of his throat, quickly pulling his head back only to be pushed down on it again.
"Do you think only half my cock deserves to be worshipped?" she asked.
He shook his head, unable to speak with her filling his mouth. The saliva dripped down his chin, falling into his lap.
"Then stop fighting."
She was right. She owned his mouth now. It was hers to use as she pleased. He forced himself to relax his jaw and neck so she could use his mouth as she saw fit. Then it became easier, and when she let go of his hair he continued on his own, doing his best to earn the privilege of having her inside of him.
"Enough," she said, breaking his stroke. "Turn around and bend over."
His cheek pressed into the hardwood floor, and he groaned when her slick fingers pushed into him. But he wanted more. He wanted to be filled and stretched and reminded he was owned. When her tip ran over his entrance he wanted to beg and plead for her to stop teasing and let him feel her penetrating through him.
He flinched when she pushed through his muscles, the feeling still unfamiliar. Then he relaxed and closed his eyes so he could focus on every inch of her slowly stretching him.
"Good boy." Her fingernails gently scraped over the wounds on the backs of his thighs, and he let out a breath when her hips pressed into his. She held her place inside him and he clenched down, memorizing how it felt to be filled by her.
A half moan, half whimper escaped his lips when she started to move. Her hips connected with his at every thrust, reigniting the burn from his marks. His hand wrapped around his length but he paused his stroke so he could revel in the rhythm of her ownership.
When the warmth started he knew the end was near but was desperate to prolong the feel of her ownership as long as his body would allow.
"Please, Mistress? Please can I come?" he begged when the burn tore through him.
"Yes."
He was already dripping when the word came from her mouth and within seconds the intense heat was ripping through his body, scorching his muscles until they were limp and quivering.
He dreaded the feeling of her pulling out, leaving him empty and hollow. It was a feeling he hated, and his hand moved to his collar. The cool leather was soothing, reminding him he was still owned.
**************************
Soft buzzing woke him out of a sound sleep, and he lay staring up at the ceiling trying to figure out what it was. The grogginess drained from his body when he realized it was the alarm on his phone. He had set it to vibrate at six twenty so he wouldn't be late for his new task. He scooted as close as he could to the nightstand then sat up and bent down over it so he could turn it off with his chained hand.
After the buzzing ceased he sat running his hand up and down the small amount of slack she had left in his chain, thinking about how he would get where he needed to be without waking her. At six twenty-five he got up and moved quietly down the hallway to her room. He paused at her cracked open door and grabbed his chain in his hands to keep it from clinking or running through the cuffs.
Though he had been living in her house for over a month he had never been in her bedroom. Soft sunlight filtered through the cracks in the blinds, illuminating the space enough for him to see her closed eyes and the outline of her body beneath the white covers.
