Author's Notes: This is my first attempt at writing for Literotica, and it's as much warm happy fuzziness as it is sex, so please do leave a comment and tell me whether or not I should do this again! xxx
All characters in this story are over 18.
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Very, very slowly, my mind emerges from the dreamworld it was wandering in and comes up to the surface. I whimper slightly, not wanting to let my dream go; I already can't remember it, but I think it involved a lot of people with whips. It's a hopeless endeavour, despite how soaked my thighs are. Sleepily, my eyes open and I smile as I realise where I am - it's far better than my dream.
There are few things in life which make me more content than waking up in Master's arms, one of his hands fastened in my hair, another thrust between my legs with fingers wrapped around my ass. Even with the stripes from last night, his fingers are gentle enough not to hurt, and his grip on my head ensures I stays nestled against his shoulder. His shoulder is safety and warmth, a good place to be. More than that, waking up like this tells me that even in his sleep, he knows he owns me and he wants me close.
What could make a humble pet happier?
I glance over at the alarm clock. It's half an hour before Master likes to rise, which is just the time I've been trained to wake up. Despite how consistently it works, it always gives me a shiver of pride to know that even my sleep schedule pleases him.
Now I face a challenge. Slowly, gently, I slide one arm out from under Master's head and lift the other from its place on his hip. I lift my hands and unwind my hair from his fingers, tugging at a few strands to yank them out of his grip. His hand slides off my head and onto the pillow and I breathe a sigh of relief. Waking Master up improperly would not be a good start to my day.
I lift my hips and pull away and Master's hand trails from my ass to my slit, my movement pulling his thumb lightly over my clit. My whole body shivers slightly at the touch and I fight the urge to press my thighs together or wriggle against his hand. I have the awful suspicion that if I came without permission, he'd wake up, or somehow know about it even in his sleep. Besides, I'm a good pet. Good pets don't shudder and writhe helplessly for anyone except their Master, even themselves. I know better.
For a moment, Master's breathing changes and I freeze, halfway through setting his hand gently down on the mattress. He tugs his hand from me and rolls over to face the other way, but he appears to still be sleeping, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Quickly, I slide off the bed, staggering slightly as I stand up in my heels. They're only three-inch heels, but the rule where I have my stilettos locked on all the time is new, and I almost fall back onto the bed before grabbing onto the bedside table and righting myself. My nipples quickly sharpen in the cold outside Master's bed, and the feeling of the jewelled piercings shifting inside them as they shrink sends another few drops sliding down the inside of my thigh. I bite my lip hard. Must not tempt myself. Must not come.
I open the bedroom door and come face-to-face with the mirror. I smile delightedly at the beauty in the mirror. I'm short, with mousy brown hair and too narrow hips for proper curves, but I know I'm utterly delightful. Master says so - and the black leather collar, adorned with purple lace and slave bells, wrapped around my neck proves that his is the only opinion that matters. Thin, elegant chains drape down from my collar, wrapped around my arms and hips so as to accentuate what curves I do have and the toned muscle of my arms and stomach. Another purple slave bell hangs from my clit piercing, never allowing me to forget just what I am here for.
My blue eyes smile back at me, then drift downwards, glancing over my body. I twist to see my marks from last night. In the mirror in the grey dawn light, the welts across my ass are a rainbow of every shade from pale red to deep rich purple. Where they intersect with slightly older bruises on my inner thighs, the skin is an odd green colour. I know Master will avoid that area with his cane for a bit. I also know he'll still drill into me just as relentlessly, and that thought makes my pussy clench slightly.
Well that's settled then. First thing I'll be doing today is begging for more. But only once I've done my morning routine properly.
I teeter downstairs, clutching the banister. It is so too early for stilettos. Clicking on the tile floors of the kitchen, I fetch a saucepan from the cupboard, eggs from the larder and bacon from the fridge. I'm allowed to make Master almost anything I like, from pancakes to jam on toast, but somehow I always feel inspired to make him his favourite when I've been properly worked over. My lord is so very good to me, and it just makes me feel warm and fuzzy to serve him well in return.
Butter goes in the frying pan first, then piece by piece the entire packet of bacon. I add lemon juice and paprika, home inventions - not for everyone, but I know Master likes it. The eggs go in a separate saucepan, and I stand back to admire my work and the hissing sound of frying for a moment, then find a plate for him and butter some bread. I pick up my silk brocade collar, lying on the surface, and buckle it around one of my chains to take upstairs. He usually changes me into it when we're done playing. We must not have been bothered last night... not that I can remember much of it; I was perfectly sober, but subspace tends to leave everything a little blurry.
I glance at the sheets lying on the surface, complicated equations scrawled on them. It's the final year of my mathematics degree, something I'm not sure I would've gotten through without having this safe space at home where I never have to solve problems, never have to take the lead. Master will make sure I finish them later, and so with a great sense of satisfaction I decide that I can ignore them. I don't have to stress; he's my focus, and he won't let me be too lazy.
By the time I head back upstairs, plates and a mug of coffee on a tray, it's almost eight o'clock - unacceptably late on a weekday, perfect on a cold November Saturday. Love fills me as I re-enter the bedroom and gaze down at Master's sleeping form. He is generous enough to allow my fingers to rake through his hair when I kiss him, and the morning after it is unbelievably messy. It reminds me to grab the hairbrush from the bedside table as I set the tray down and run it through my own hair. He is Master, and has the privilege of looking however he wants; I am slave, and do not.
Still, I can't help find the mess of his ginger hair unbelievably handsome, dashing and swashbuckling in its way, especially knowing what caused it. He rolls to face me in his sleep, long eyelashes fluttering and lips moving slightly as he mutters something. I don't have particularly long before he wakes, and it has been impressed upon me firmly how Master is to wake up every day. Quickly, I kneel on the bed and crawl between his thighs, pushing my head between his knees and letting my hair fall across his thighs. Wrapping both hands around the base of his cock, I lower my mouth to its head and wrap my soft lips around it.
I flick my tongue gently against it, swirling around the underneath, before plunging my head down, swallowing hard to get it down my throat. One of my hands starts caressing his balls gently while the other creeps up between his legs, across his stomach and comes to rest flat on his ribcage in a pleading, worshipping gesture. I hum, knowing the vibrations in my throat feel good to him, and rub the tip of my tongue hard into the underside of the base of his cock. I can feel his fluids seeping into my mouth, mixing with my saliva, and he tastes so very good.
A hand lands atop my head, then starts scratching at the back of my neck and behind my ears, making me moan in bliss.
"You are the best fucking alarm clock in the entire world," Master murmurs at me, his breath catching in such a way that I know I'm doing well. I suck a little harder, pulling out just a little as he hardens to iron in my mouth and I suddenly find that I can't breathe. He growls and forces my head back down, my nose buried in coarse ginger hair, and I whimper and wriggle at my lack of oxygen. He holds me there for a moment, his hips shifting under me, and then my mouth fills with hot sticky satisfaction and he lets me go.
As I pull off his cock, he flicks my nose gently. "Swallow," he orders, and I do, before carefully cleaning the rest of his cum from him. The tone of dominance in his voice, the knowledge that he doesn't have a single doubt that I will obey, sets my stomach fluttering and need once more dripping from my pussy.
"Such a good girl," he murmurs at me. My limbs turn to jelly. I flop onto the bed, my head resting on his hip, absolutely blissful in the knowledge that I have pleased Master.
Master beckons me and I rise to my hands and knees. I carefully step my hands over his leg and crawl a few paces up the bed to the pillow, where I face him and kneel, my forehead touching the mattress below his shoulder. I am intensely aware of the way my breasts move sinuously as I crawl, and the way they bulge up towards him as I trap them between the mattress and my ribs in the catlick position. I stretch my hand out again, laying it on his collarbone, beseeching him. I feel his fingers in my hair again and rub against his hand, kittenlike, and dare to raise my shoulders so I can gaze up at him with my best big-innocent-blue-eyes look.
