It had been a busy week, for both of us. I was buried under an audit deadline and his biggest client was in town. We'd hardly done more than share a shower in the morning, or make inane conversation about bills and the weather over hastily prepared dinners eaten amongst a sea of papers, or exchange an absent kiss goodnight at 2am before dropping into an exhausted sleep.
Tonight, the waiting was finally over. I was slicing carrots for the salad when he got home, humming as he jogged up the stairs and into the kitchen. He draped his jacket on the banister over mine and wandered into the kitchen, peering over my shoulder.
"I'm going to get a drink. Want one, too?"
I nodded and he came back with a glass of wine for me, and his usual scotch on the rocks. He dropped a kiss on my hair, surveyed the dinner-in-progress, and smiled.
"Smells good."
I preened. I love to cook for him. I know it's so cliché, but I do. His compliments are the fuel that keeps me burning. His large, warm hand petted my hair then fisted in the curls, pulling my bun free and spilling my hair down my back. He tightened his grip, using my hair to tilt my face back up to his.
He kissed me hard, devouring my mouth. His tongue swept in, claimed mine, teasing and tormenting. I would have melted against him, if not for the punishing grasp of his hand buried in my hair. He drank me in until I was pliant, then lifted his head, smiling that cool little smile that always warns me he's up to something.
"I'll be in the library," he said, and sauntered off.
He knows I hate it when he does that--and I love it, too. I think sometimes he likes driving me crazy. I put the finishing touches on dinner and went to the library to find him sitting in his favorite overstuffed leather chair, absently reading the paper. I couldn't help but smile as his barely loosened tie; the slight mussing of his hair told me he'd already raked his fingers through it.
He saw me in the doorway and beckoned, setting the paper aside. I knelt as gracefully as possible, hampered by the snug skirt of my suit, wiggling a little between his thighs. I looked up at him with a slow, teasing smile, licking my lips. He sat back and watched me with lazy, hooded eyes. My fingers itched to comb through his hair, to pull his mouth back to mine. Instead, they crept up the starched linen of his white shirt, tugged gently at the knot of his tie.
I tugged it free, unbuttoning his collar, pressing one brief kiss to the hollow of his throat. Pressing teasing kisses to each of the buttons on his shirt, I wiggled my way down his body. I rubbed my cheek against his thigh, brushed my lips against the growing bulge in his pants. He sat up and looked down at me with those liquid dark eyes, one hand lightly stroking my cheek. Suddenly, he grabbed the front of my blouse and tugged, hard. Buttons popped and pinged onto the floor.
"You," he said, caressing one of the lacy cups of my bra, the swell of my breast, "have on way too many clothes." His hands pushed the blouse off my shoulders, trapping my hands behind me. He drank me in with his eyes, my hiked-up skirt exposing the lacy tops of my stockings, the straps of my garters, but not much higher. I could almost see the question in his eyes before his fingers probed between my legs.
His low chuckle told me he was surprised to find me pantiless. He certainly didn't order it that morning. But there was, after all, a reason I hurried home from work, and cooking dinner was definitely not it. His fingers teased and stroked my cunt lips, until I whimpered and tried to wiggle closer, arching against his hand.
"You are such a slut," he said with a smile. "Have you been flashing my pussy--" His fingers pressed harder into my wet folds for emphasis, his thumb briefly brushing my clit. "--around your office all day long?"
"No," I said breathlessly. "I took off my panties when I got home."
"Hopeful little slut, aren't you?" he asked, amusement creeping into his voice. I allowed myself a small sigh of relief. For an instant, I had thought he might be displeased with my little surprise.
He pulled his fingers away, and held them to my lips. With one fingertip, he traced the outline of my mouth, painting my lips with my own wetness. I parted my lips for him, and he thrust two fingers into my mouth. I curled my tongue around them, licking and sucking his fingers clean.
"That's it," he said, humming a little in pleasure. "Lick my fingers clean; suck them. Show me just how much you want to suck my cock." He caught my eyes, and smiled wider. "Oh, I know you want it, slut. Show me how much."
I sucked desperately on his fingers, twining my tongue around each one. Licking and flicking and teasing with my tongue, I continued until he slowly pulled his fingers out of my mouth. "Strip," he said with a slow smile, leaning back in his chair. I stood hastily, eager to comply. "Slowly," he added. "I want to watch."
I nodded, shrugging back into my blouse as I stood. I held it closed teasingly, flashing him a peek at first one lace-covered breast, then the other before letting it slip down my shoulders and puddle on the floor behind me. I stroked my hands up over my almost-flat stomach, crossing my arms over my breasts as if to hide them. I turned slowly, to silent music, undulating my hips.
I reached behind myself to unzip my skirt, hooking my thumbs in the waistband to slide it off, adding a little shimmy of my hips to help it fall to the floor. I removed my bra with the same unhurried teasing, slipping off first one strap then the other, peeking over my shoulder at him, then unhooking the back clasp, negligently letting the lacy garment fall to the floor from my fingertips.
Unsnapping the garters was trickier, but I managed, turning sideways and propping each leg up on the arm of his chair and giving him a good look at the rounded curves of my ass under the garter belt, and brief flashes of my bare pussy. I sauntered back to the center of the library and peeled the lacy belt down my hips, giving him a stripper's glance from between my spread legs. Stepping out of the little scrap of lace, I turned back to face him, crossing my hands over my breasts coyly. He smiled as I strutted closer, playing the role of sexy stripper to the hilt, putting a seductive sway in my walk as I closed the distance between us.
I dropped to my knees between his thighs, a little breathless from excitement, not exertion. He just watched me with those hot, dark eyes, as I reached boldly for his belt, unbuckling it quickly, tugging it from the loops. I started to set it aside, but he took it from my hands, doubled it over, and cracked it to get my attention. I paused my fumbling with the button of his trousers, and looked up quickly.
"Greedy slut," he chuckled fondly, stroking the belt lightly along my shoulder, following the faint outlines of the muscles in my arm. He continued across my stomach, just under my breasts, then back up my other arm. The leather was cool and smooth against my cheek, stroking over my lips. I pressed a fond kiss against the folded material, and he nodded approvingly. Without warning, he popped the folded belt against my right nipple, then my left. The pain was sharp enough to take my breath away, but brief.
"That was for failing to ask permission." He held me close with one hand, tracing the belt lightly down my spine. I shuddered, rubbing my stinging nipples against his chest. The belt cracked against my ass, striking firmly across both cheeks. "And that was for being a good girl, and reminding me that you needed a spanking." He chuckled.
I savored the warmth spreading across my ass, and the opportunity to cuddle against his chest. I toyed with the loose ends of his tie, tugging it gently from his collar. I watched his eyes flare as I wrapped the silken tie around my wrists, as tightly as I could, holding my loosely bound hands out to him like an offering. He tugged the ends tighter briefly, until the bones in my wrists ground together and a tiny whimper crept out.
He drew me up, across his lap, draping me over the arm of the chair. I tried to relax and breathe slowly, the leather chair and the faint papery scent of books filling my nostrils. The arm of the chair raised my ass to meet the blows of the belt, the first warmth dulled quickly to stinging pain, and then to deeper burning. I tried to be still, his hand on my lower back holding me in place, but the pain and the thrill of my exposed position were almost unbearably arousing.
"Your ass looks good in stripes, slut." He set the belt aside for a moment, on the tiny end table beside his chair, and stroked one hand over the burning skin of my ass. He opened a drawer and removed something small, then resumed his caresses, teasing me until I ached to spread my legs further. "But I think it needs a little additional decoration."
He smacked me hard, once, across my right buttock, making me gasp involuntarily. Then I felt something cool, tickling where his hand had just spanked me. I tried to look back over my shoulder, but he held me down, finished what he was doing, and set the marker on the table. After he finished, he allowed me raise my head, and though it was difficult to see, he'd clearly written something on my buttock. He traced the markings lightly.
"Do you know what this says, slut?"
"No, Master," I said curiously, shaking my head.
