Little Drummer Boy

How to talk about nothing?

When she lay back on the pillows, leaving me looking up at her through the red lace of her nightwear, I thought she was joking, although she's been acting weird since this started. First all giggly and singing. Now hardly able to keep her eyes open. But after a few minutes I feel her breathing slow down, and a time later, a gentle snoring. She really is going to just leave me to stew.

There follows a cycle...

She's turned my face into the gusset of her panties, and there's nothing I can do about it. I'm stuck here completely. The realisation hits me like a velvet wrapped brick, and I get hard. I rub myself against the sheets.

Then I notice how uncomfortable I'm starting to feel. How sore and stiff my arms and body are getting. How my cock is chafing, despite the silkiness of the sheets. The blood drains out of my poor sore deprived manhood, and I just lie there, frustrated and bored.

After this, I drift away. If I don't actually, doze, then I' m somewhere else mentally. Then Wham! I snap back to awareness again and the process starts over.

Why? Sometimes just because. Sometimes because of some physical discomfort. Sometimes because she is making some noise - an intestinal gurgle, a particularly loud and abrupt snore followed by dead silence Or she moves in some way.

For she is not sleeping soundly.

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She is riding a horse along a trail in a rugged mountain landscape. The sky seems very close and the world is spread out beneath her. Exhilarated, she urges her steed into a canter. And it's all effortless and magnificent. The horse moves beneath her, sending her bottom up and down on the saddle. Up and down, up and down.

Then she notices that she is naked. She feels no cold, despite her the thin-ness of the air

"Where is my nightdress?" she asks herself. Then she smiles at herself. "Silly." She says. "I left it on the train of course" She doesn't waste too much time on the problem, for she now sees that the saddle has a face, and it's his face, and she's riding his face; Pushing the horse to ever greater effort while her body moves in harmony.

She is flying!

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I'm not sure if she wants me to participate here. She's shoving herself into me over and over. Then I hear a snore. She's asleep. I just lie there and let my face go where she takes it.

I try to waggle my elbows and move my shoulders up and down and round and lift my abdomen to give my cock some respite.

She surfaces enough to grumpily command me to "Keep still." before slipping back into dreamland. I look up at her, and at motes of dust drifting in a chink of light coming through a small gap at the top of the curtains. The sun is shining outside, though in here it's very quiet and still. I wonder how long I have been here, and what will happen next. The patch of sunlight now falls on her forehead, close to one eye. She screws that eye a little tighter closed, then turns her head to one side. A hand comes up and covers her eyes.

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She walks along an aisle of a busy supermarket. People walk past with trolleys and baskets full of cornflakes and cabbages, whiskey and washing powder. She is looking for something, but cannot remember what. She will know it when she sees it.

Now she passes shelves full of cartons of milk, and a sour organic smell makes her wrinkle her nostrils. She looks around for signs of a spill, and wonders why the staff haven't noticed and sent someone with a mop and some bleach.

Once again, suddenly, she realises she is naked, but this time, she doesn't feel an exhilarated freedom. She is deeply embarrassed. She tries to cover herself against the view of the shoppers who somehow seem oblivious to her nakedness. She looks around wildly, but can see no means of escape.

Then someone comes from behind and throws a cloak over her shoulders. Her benefactor takes her hand and leads her through the open doors of an elevator.

Inside, the space is sumptuous. Thick, richly patterned carpet makes every step a treat. The wallpaper is textured, with a gold trim that catches the light from gold ormolu lamps. The place is scattered with cushions and the roof is a canopy of fabric which hangs in graceful curves, obscuring what ever lies beyond. There are no sign of lift buttons, but this is no longer a lift.

It's a boudoir. A harem. She is still wearing the cloak, and the person who gave it to her is standing behind her.This shadowy figure, face hidden by a hood, reaches up and covers her eyes, prompting her to close them, Then the hands withdraw, and she is being kissed, passionately. The same, faceless woman that had occupied her fantasies earlier. They entwine now. Arms, legs, lips, noses, breasts, groins. All a sliding sensual stream of soft silky touches and fierce clasping.

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It's hard to tell exactly when she wakes up, because she was obviously having some seriously sexy dreams, and she woke with an itch that just had to be scratched.

She reaches down, and pulls the panties down a little. She unsticks the panty liner and holds it by one edge, between her finger and thumb.

"Ugh!" she says, looking at the sodden thing with a mixture of distaste and fascination. After a moment, she flings it away into a corner of the room.. She pulls the panties back snugly to her crotch. She's not messing around with blindfolds and headphones this time. She puts her hands behind my head and pulls me into her, as she pushes herself up and forward. I work to the rhythm she sets, and she quickly reaches a climax.

Then, as soon as she is done, she is pulling her legs up, pulling the panties down over her knees, then off her feet. She sits up on the edge of the bed while I move my shoulders and arch my back and wiggle my elbows.

"It's definately time to do some laundry." She says.

She takes the leash, and with some help, I get from supine to standing next to the bed. She takes the leash and leads me to the bathroom.

"Do you need the toilet?" she asks. I nod, and she pulls down my boxer shorts and helps me position myself. While I pee, she fills the sink with hot water, to which she adds a cup of laundry detergent. She then gets me to stand, pulls my shorts back up and uses the leash to hold my head on the edge of the sink. After wrapping the end of it aound the base of the mixer tap a final few times, she leaves the bathroom. I stay where I have been placed. She returns a few minutes later with a plastic basket full of clothes.

"No point filling the sink full of hot waterjust for one thing." She tells me pragmatically. "So I sorted out what might need a delicate handwash. She gestures at the basket. "The thing is," she adds, picking up a pair of panties and scrutinising the gusset, "Some of these things could really use a pre-wash."

So now I'm moistening these stained and crusted rectangles of cloth with my tongue. She has warned me that if I don't get them wet enough, she will dip them in the water instead, and then I'd pick up detergent on my tongue. So I repeatedly have to bring my tongue back into my mouth to pick up more moisture. Then, when she is satisfied, the panties go into the water, to join a growing collection of bras, tights, socks, bodysuits, and panties.

Eventually, the basket is empty, and she dons a pair of gloves and scrubs the various wet and soapy garments, before throwing them back into the basket. She drains the water, then refills the sink, this time adding shampoo. My mouth is held just on the waterline and she kneads and scrubs the fabric and rubs my face with a washcloth. Finally, she sticks my toothbrush into my mouth and brushes my teeth.

The bathroom, with its tiled floor, was the ideal place to put an indoor washing line. It's mounted on the ceiling, and is winched up and down by a mechanism on the wall with a long handle. She winds the line down to head height, and pegs me to the line. She fastens the leash over the line so that if I defeat the pegs, it will be for nothing. Then she pegs the rest of the washing and winches the contraption up until the panties are stretched above my head.

I have a half cup bra as my next door neighbour. Pegged by one strap, it sways gently to and fro. On the other side is the silky red nightdress. On the next line along, in front of my face, I can see several pairs of thongs, two hold up stockings, and a sexy white lace bodysuit. They drip gently onto the floor. A dribble of water runs down my chin before dripping, mainly onto the front of my tshirt.

Meanwhile, she is taking a shower. The room fills with a mist of water vapour. She must have spent fifteen minutes in there before I hear the shower stop and I see her emerge, dripping.

"Ah! That is sooooo much better!" She says, with feeling. She grabs a towel and dries her hair, then another, which she uses to dry her body. She drapes both towels over an unused part of line. Now she slips the negligee back on and inspects the washing. It's not dry yet so she leaves it to drip some more while she busies herself elsewhere. I hear her moving around. Tidying things.

I have no way of knowing but she's changing the sheets on the bed, and refilling her wine glass, and relighting candles ready for the last bit.

I'll tell you about that in the final episode.