His Return Home

She'd been in position for hours. Never knowing from one day to the next what time He would be home, she always made sure she was where He expected her to be when he walked through the door. She'd missed one day. Just one. And her arse cheeks clenched and her pussy wanted to curl up inside her at just the thought of the punishment session she'd endured for that infraction.

Her knees had long ago gone numb after what felt like hours of agonising pain shooting through them. Her nose was squashed to the floor, her shoulders cramping at the unnatural position her hands were forced into behind her back. She was ready to worship at His feet the moment He stepped through the door.

Her pussy was dripping after her prescribed number of edges-twenty-one today-and she longed for the touch of His hand she was almost certain He would deny her. Her place was at his feet, her only focus His pleasure. He would have thrashed her for the mere thought of her own selfish pleasure, had He had access to her thoughts.

Her eyes were beginning to shed tears that had been gathering for a good half an hour when she heard the rattling of a key in the lock, and all she could do was hold her position and hope it was Him and He hadn't decided to give out His keys to random friends and tradesmen like He had in the past, simply to humiliate her.

She heard the door swing open, her eyes focused intently on the hard wooden floor that had been torturing her knees for so long. She wouldn't lift her eyes. She wouldn't even allow the smallest twitch of her muscles. He expected her silent, still and displaying the appropriate level of humility for a simple plaything. All thoughts should be of Him. His pleasure, His comfort, His convenience. That fact had been soundly thrashed into her long ago.

The click of the lock as the door closed softly sent her mind spiralling into the submissive attitude He expected of her as slow footsteps approached. Gone were her fears of humiliation at the hands of strangers. She would have known those footsteps anywhere. She'd heard them every single day for the last five years-slow, confident and menacing. They paused and she could feel His scrutiny, those sharp blue eyes she was never allowed to look at, measuring her posture, checking every curve and every angle, the position of each muscle a yard stick with which to measure her obedience.

Her breath left her lungs in a gasping whoosh as His dress shoe made contact with the aching chasm between her legs. It had been so long since He'd touched her there in any way other than to punish her that she feared the simple contact would send her screaming over the edge that was strictly forbidden.

"So wet for me, little slave. Have you been a good girl today?"

She waited, biting her tongue.

"You may answer, pet."

Letting out a hesitant breath, she whispered, "I think so, Master." She knew better than to answer confidently in the affirmative. The more assured she sounded, the harder He worked to find something she'd failed to complete to His satisfaction.

"You better know so, little slave, or you won't like the consequences."

She whimpered internally, just hoping that what she'd done had been enough. She loved this man with all her heart, and wanted nothing more than to please Him with her every breath. Her fear of his punishments, though, was real. They HURT!

"You made a mess on my shoe, you dirty little slut," he growled, his feet slapping against the floor rhythmically as he moved around her prone form, coming to a stop by her face. "You know what to do."

She couldn't see Him, didn't dare look up, but she could picture Him well enough, His powerful body forced into a sharp suit that would have people falling at his feet in a far less literal sense than she was expected to do. His arms would be crossed over His broad chest, intense eyes boring holes in her skin as He waited for her compliance, with no doubt whatsoever in His mind that He would have it.

Sighing inaudibly, she lifted her nose finally from the floor, feeling a sting as the blood rushed back into it. Swinging her hair forward, she moved to use it to wipe away her pussy juices from His shoe, stalling abruptly when the foot lifted unexpectedly and crushed her face back to the floor, her cheek squishing against the hard wood painfully. She let out a pained cry, confusion ripping through her as she tried to figure out what she'd done wrong.

"Tongue," He ordered simply, His tone brooking absolutely no argument whatsoever.

She hated it when He ordered her to lick His feet after a long day at work, pounding the dirty streets where dogs and cats had done their business. But arguing wasn't allowed. Immediate obedience was not just expected but swiftly enforced when necessary, and she really didn't want to give Him reason to force her.

Sucking down a sigh, she lifted her head once more when the pressure from His foot disappeared, reluctantly sticking out her tongue and using it to slowly and methodically remove her juices from His smart shoe. Rushing would only earn her punishment, something she was keen to avoid. He expected her to worship His feet, taking the time to minister to them properly, removing not just her own mess but the dirt of the day, as well.

"That's enough, little slave," He finally said, when her tongue was tiring and felt like sandpaper. "Corner."

Nobody would ever have believed her, but this was the worst part of her day. Each day, on His arrival home, after inspecting her, He would do a full inventory of the house, fine tooth combing every room to make sure all her jobs were done and done to His exacting standards. While He went round from room to room, humming noncommittally to Himself, she was forced to stand in the corner, her nose holding His belt to the wall by the buckle, awaiting her fate. Nothing but perfection would be tolerated, and any failure on her part would be soundly punished in maddening and agonising ways.