Tommy sent me shopping this afternoon without him. Knowing how I feel about shopping, I hope he didn’t have hopes of being too long alone. I looked at most of the stuff in the antique mall at least once, returned to haggle over a piece I might want, and went home almost empty handed. If it doesn’t pierce me to my soul or isn’t a tremendous bargain, the shops get to keep their merchandise.
I wonder why he wanted me out of the house. Probably one of his surprises. I wonder what he’s got in store for me this time. We made our lists of things we wanted to do with each other over the months of our enforced separation. This man has brought such joy to my life; I feel excited by his merest presence. A look from him, a word and my world begins to throb beginning between my legs.
Home at last! I toss the packages on the desk and collect my “welcome home” kiss and we embrace. He smells wonderful. There is a scent about him that drives me to distraction – soap, and shaving lotion, and ....... him. He whispers in my ear, “Ann has a surprise waiting for her.”
I tense at the name. Ann. It presages what I am wont to call “fun” and he “excitement.” Whatever it is, I’m never disappointed. I step away and look into his eyes, at his face for a clue. Nothing beyond the smile so slight that it is almost imperceptible to anyone but me. But there’s a glint in his eye that tells me..... the game’s afoot.
He says, smiling more broadly, “You must go to the bedroom and all will be clear.” He’s an imp.
I look at him, questioningly, wondering what he has in mind. What in the world can it be?
“Go now, Ann, and prepare.” Those words bring joy to my soul, to my depths. I smile hugely and head for the bedroom. Tommy is at my heels and stops in the doorway.
On our bed is a black bustier (odd, he does not care particularly about dress, unless we’re role playing). And with it there is a note. The door closes behind me as I read. Glancing up, I see I am alone. The note reads: “Shower, and dress in these clothes. Then wait here for your Master to direct you.”
My clothes come off and are tossed in the hamper. My panties are already damp and the anticipation is building. I run the water in the shower, hot, hot – steam rises as I step in. I begin my ritual – arms, neck, back, legs all receive adequate scrubbing. Then a more deluxe tour of my front – my eyes slide shut and my hands become his, slipping over my abdomen, lifting and cupping my breast, fingers teasing the nipples to hard points. Umm, feels so good. Taking the slick gel for the “sensitive areas,” I slowly wash my pussy, checking to see that no stubble mars its clean, slick surface. My fingers dance through the part, and feel my clit hardening. “No, no. Mustn’t play now,” I think. A breath of cool air then nothing when I look. Oh well. I step out and busy myself drying and adding a body lotion that has flecks of mica in it to catch and reflect the light. Subtle, not garish. Besides it smells of sweet cranberry.
Hanging up the towel, I fix my hair and face, and pad into the bedroom. He’s sitting on the bed. I jump a little, startled. He’s wearing black leather pants and a vest – I could jump his bones right now, he looks so sexy!! Oops! It’s Master. I drop to the floor, hands behind my hips, heels up, knees spread, eyes down. “What does my Master wish?” I ask.
“Arise and come to me,” his master’s voice. Well, I’ll try to tempt him quickly. I’m needful and getting more so by the moment. I walk toward him slowly, letting my weight settle on each leg, shifting the hip outward in a gentle sway. I stand before him, begging his touch. My nipples harden as I think of how his hands feel.
“Put your hands upon your head and turn around slowly,” he says. It’s always a difficult maneuver so that one does not end looking clumsy and pigeon toed. I rise on tip toes, cross my feet at the ankles, and slowly unwind before him. My hands on my head leave breasts pointed directly at him. They’re beginning to ache.
“Have you washed, thoroughly?”
“Yes, Master,” I reply.
“Everywhere?”
“Yes, Master,” I pout. I feel a flush creeping down my neck. I would give anything to feel his touch, his tongue, his lips on that skin.
Facing him, his eyes devour me. As if he were supping after a long journey, I feel his eyes draw me into his being – as if he didn’t see me every day. I marvel at this delight that he is. His hand moves to my breast, lifting it, stroking one then the other. I shiver, inhale and arch my back into the touch of his hands. It is a feeling beyond wonderful. That touch that joins us is now the center of my being. He taps the nipple lightly. I gasp. Each tap sends jolts of pleasure through my body to reside in my pussy. My clit is hard, I can sense it between my nether lips, pushing for attention.
His hand slides, barely touching, over my side to my hip and then to my mons. He knows my excitement, my lust. His hand slides between my legs, parting the lips with his finger. I gasp again. My hips press forward onto his hand. Begging this tease to progress to more, more. He strokes me softly front to back to front. I feel the moisture of my desire moving under his fingers, painting me. A moan issues unbidden from my throat. It is a moan born of wanting this man. His finger parts my lips and catches at the opening .... and stops! I need him. My knees bend to invite his entry, my chest is red with excitement and need for him. But he is still. Completely still. Then withdraws his hand.
“Soon,” he says. “Put on the bustier now.”
I reach across him, practically dragging my nipple across his lips. And he doesn’t take my bait. Damn! I buckle the black lingerie around me and adjust my breasts on its shelf.
“You may squeeze your nipples now,” he smiles.
