Mr. Bear

We didn’t get together the day before Thanksgiving. In fact, I didn’t call him until Saturday. He picked up the phone and said in a brisk tone, “McCracken. Go.”

“And how is my naughty little bear?” I murmured into the receiver, and heard his breath hitch.

“Ah! Uh… Could you give me an hour and a half to get rid of my houseguests?” he asked me in a breathless rush.

“I wasn’t going to rush over there immediately with a whip in my hand, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I returned dryly, and could have sworn I heard him exhale in relief.

“Listen, it’s not that I don’t want you over here—believe me, I do,” he stressed half under his breath. “It’s just that I’ve got family members over for lunch, and we’re just about to sit down to eat.”

“How about four o’clock, sharp?” I compromised. “That way you’ll have all the way to three-thirty to enjoy their company and send them on their way.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” he murmured in my ear.

“Yes, I know I’m kind and sweet. Don’t forget to remind me how many demerits you still have on your tally when I arrive…and how you’re supposed to properly greet me,” I drawled.

“Of course not, Mi—uh, yeah, that’s right, but I’ll have to get on that after my family leaves; I should be free to go to the office by three-thirty,” he stated quite a bit louder than before. Apparently someone had come within hearing range of the other end of the line. I heard the sound of his hand muffling the receiver, and the murmur of voices as he explained something to whoever was with him. A few moments later, he came back, removing his hand and restoring the sound quality. “Sorry about that. I’ll see you at four sharp?”

“On the dot. And unless you want to be humiliated in front of your family, they’d better be gone,” I warned him. “Because you will greet me naked in the punishment position, when I walk in that door.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he agreed huskily. And then ended the call with a click from the receiver. Grinning, I hung up my own phone and started that most feminine of debates: whatever should I wear?

***************************

All seven feet of delectable, naked, muscular male knelt exactly where he should kneel, one carpeted inch away from the slate tiles lining the entryway. For a bear, my blond sub wasn’t very hairy, but then he’d only been a bear that one time, in that Halloween costume. Still, it was as good a name as any, and reminded him of our first meeting, when I’d caught him drunkenly peeing on the Ladies’ Room floor.

His arms were tucked behind his short-haired head, the collar was buckled around his neck, and his knees were far enough apart that his legs did not touch his meat, but he was slouching forward, not arching his back. Protecting his belly, albeit no doubt unconsciously. He was supposed to be exposing it to me. I turned around, set down the picnic basket, pulled out my notebook, straightened and made sure to lock the door, then turned to face him again. “Greetings, Mr. Bear.”

“Greetings, Mistress. I have five demerits on my tally,” he recited dutifully.

“That is true. But you have forgotten something, and it will earn you five demerits,” I informed him coolly, still clad in my overcoat and gloves.

“What have I forgotten, Mistress?” he asked, straightening up a little.

“That,” I told him, and pointed the end of my pen at his movement. “The punishment position is naked, sitting on your heels with your knees widespread, your hands laced behind your head…and your back straight, or even arched, exposing yourself to me. You’re slouching, Mr. Bear. That’s five demerits for poor posture.”

He immediately straightened his spine, his somewhat flaccid penis thickening slightly at the thought of such extra punishment. His reposturing changed the crunch of those eight-pack abs, smoothing them out a bit and reducing their definition. I was sorry to see such marvelous musculature vanish, but that was alright; they’d be tensing up again soon enough. It was good to hear his penitence expressed, as he murmured, “Sorry, Mistress.”

I marked the demerits on the tally page, then returned it to the basket. Drawing off my gloves, I once more went through the winter ritual of stuffing each one into its own pocket—that way I never lost them, and never fumbled over which glove went on which hand. Then I unbuttoned the plain black trenchcoat and hung it up on the coatrack. The sharp intake of breath behind me let me know how much Mr. Bear was enjoying the brand-new view.

I wore the same black suede heels as before, but this time with fishnet stockings that ran from my toes all the way up under the broad black thong dividing my buttocks. A red satin-and-lace garter circled my left thigh above the knee, a matching bow stitched to the outside, the satin ribbon ends trailing halfway down my calf. As I turned around, he got an eyeful of the red-lace trimmmed bustier supporting my cleavage, and the matching red arm-garter dangling its ribbons from my right bicep. This time, I’d left my curly chestnut hair down, where it fell to mid-back, and curled a couple locks over one shoulder, teasing the curves of my breasts enticingly.

“Oh, Mistress…” escaped Mr. Bear’s lips, his expression amazed as his gaze darted everywhere. The semi-turgid state of his cock changed, lengthening and thickening perceptibly in little jerks and twitches of visually stimulated desire. If this was all it took to get him hard, he was almost disappointingly easy to please—this wasn’t even my fanciest Domina outfit! …Then again, I always liked getting a rise out of my men, and some types of standing ovation were better than others.

“Do you like what you see, Mr. Bear?” I inquired politely.

“Oh, yes, Mistress!” he swore fervently, abdomen muscles tensing, just as I’d predicted.

I made a leg daintily, staying close to the door. “Come show me your appreciation, then.”

Breaking out of the punishment position, he crawled across the floor, sinuously, with every muscle flexing and bunching with determined, masculine grace. Reaching my foot, he dipped his body and laved it with licks and kisses, fervent adulation that I could feel straight through the webbing of the fishnet and the suede of the shoe. I let him worship all that he could reach, for as long as he wanted, then when he started to work his way up past my ankle, shifted my feet and offered him the other one. Still in a modified push-up position, he worshipped that one with affection, too.

When I’d had enough, I retracted my foot and stepped around him, crossing to the carpeted area. “Resume the position, Mr. Bear. I must check to make sure your house is clean enough for my visit, before we begin our session.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I heard him murmur behind me, and kept going, checking on those rooms that were open to my view on the ground floor, then mounting the carpeted steps to have a gander at the upstairs rooms.

Everything was reasonably clean, proving that once again he’d probably had a cleaning service drop by. Just as I was about to inspect the bathroom nook in the master bedroom in more detail, I heard a shout from downstairs. Kicking off my heels—since the damned carpet was too thick and lush to run on—I rushed for the stairs and hurried down them, hearing a female voice castigating my sub.

“—Put some clothes on! Or at least cover yourself, for godssake! I’m your *sister*! Ugh!”

Hurrying around the corner that hid the stairwell from the front door, I strode straight for the dark blond woman scowling down in disgust at her brother, keys in her hand. He, I noticed with some shock and a definite twinge of pride, was still kneeling in the punishment position, though from the tension in his naked back, I could tell he was fighting the urge to cover himself, versus the displeasure of my finding out he did so without an order.

“Cover yourself,” I ordered him, speaking as calmly as I could manage as I approached the pair. His sister, whoever she was, looked up sharply at me, blinking as I stepped firmly between her and her brother. “Did you forget something, earlier?”

“I…uh… What the hell is going on, here?” she demanded, frowning at me, glancing down over my dominatrix outfit and back up again. “Who are you, and what are the two of you doing in here?”

“I’m a guest in Craig’s home, and what we are doing is by mutual consent…which therefore makes it none of your business. Is there a reason why you’re here, after he sent you home?” I questioned firmly, cocking my head slightly.

“I left my letter from Uncle Barry here.” She started to move around us, then paused and flicked her gaze over the two of us. I shifted to keep myself between her and my sub, again giving him my protection, as I had done at the end of our first meeting. “He said he had to go work at the office, and wanted us all out of here by three-thirty! I’d heard the rumors about Halloween, but I’d no idea he was actually dabbling in this sort of stuff!”

“Whatever he chooses to do in the privacy of his home is none of your business. Now, where did you leave this letter?” I asked, dragging the topic firmly back to her reason for being here.

“On one of the end tables in the living room.” Again, she started past us, then paused. This time, she only shook her head and blinked again before moving on, into the room in question. I followed, still keeping myself between her and her brother. She spotted the letter, fetched it, and returned to the entryway as I backed up. Once more, I was treated to a look that said I’d sewn a second head onto her brother's shoulders. Expecting her to revile me, I braced myself for a parting comment. She shook her head again, and gave it, but not the one I expected. “I am *so* not mentioning this to anyone else… Craig, the next time you want to play like this, I suggest you get a chain for the door. Mom also has a key to the house, remember? You’re just lucky it was me!”

One last you’re-bizarre look, and she took herself out the door, shutting it firmly behind her. Crossing to the panel, I snapped the deadbolt shut, then turned around. Mr. Bear was hunched over his closed knees, hiding his groin behind his folded arms.

“Back into the position,” I directed him coolly, glad the unexpected little interlude was over. Watching him straighten up and tuck his hands slowly behind his head, I made an interesting discovery. His penis was at full, and I mean full, salute! There was even a drop of precum beading at the tip. Arching my brow, I strolled toward him on silent, fishnetted feet. “Well, well, well… No wonder you didn’t cover yourself up when your sister came in the door—you LIKED the humiliation aspect of her arrival, don’t you?”

“I, uh, didn’t want to disobey you, when you’d told me to get into the punishment position, Mistress,” he countered with a quick swallow and a husky tone.

He didn’t fool me. I stooped and fetched my notebook from the top of the picnic basket, then faced him and deliberately made my entry out loud. “’Day Two. Mr. Bear was visited unexpectedly by his sister while I was exploring the house and he was still waiting in the entryway in the punishment position… Mr. Bear now sports an enormous erection, and clearly likes the humiliation of public exposure, even if it’s to his own family members.’”

“I never—!” he started to snap.

“—Ten demerits for denying the truth!” I snapped back, cutting him off. Flicking the page, I turned it to the tally sheet and marked them down. “How many demerits are on your tally now, Mr. Bear?”

“…Twenty demerits, Mistress,” he recited grudgingly as I waited patiently for him to reply.

“I am disappointed the number has grown so high in such a short time after walking through this door. When do you think I should punish you, Mr. Bear?” I asked him coolly, studying him as he remained erect in front of me, in both posture and desire.

“Whenever it pleases you, Mistress,” he murmured.

“Two merits, for realizing that the choice of timing is mine,” I praised him, marking that on the tally sheet. “How do you think I should punish you, Mr. Bear?”

“However it pleases you, Mistress,” he returned, a little firmer than before.

“Two more merits. But no more than two. Crawl over here,” I commanded him. Lowering his hands, he complied. Without my telling him to, he bent his head and kissed the top of my nearest foot. I put up with it for a moment. “Stop. Lift up the basket, so that it rests at a comfortable height for me to get into.”

Without a word, he sat back on his heels and lifted the woven container until the lid was waist-high on me. Considering how average-sized I was, and how above-average-sized he was, that wasn’t too high for him, either. Opening the lid, I drew out the leash. Pushing the basket down out of my way, I leaned over and clipped it onto the D-ring on his collar. As soon as I straightened, he lifted the basket back up into place again. Good little bear.

Leash in hand, I moved around him. “You may walk, Mr. Bear.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” Rising to his feet, he padded after me, carefully carrying the pick-a-nick basket just like a good little bear should.

When we doorway into his room, I paused, looked back at him, and held out my hand. “Basket.”

He handed it over obediently, giving me a questioning look, but otherwise not saying a word.

“Crawl,” I directed him, and he got down onto his hands and knees and shuffled after me as we crossed the threshold. I brought him to the edge of the nook, set the picnic basket down, then unclipped the lead. “Furniture.”

He hesitated a moment, almost reared up onto his knees, then dropped back down onto his hands and crawled over to the same white-cushioned chair I had used on my last visit here. Picking it up, he shuffled back to me on his knees, carrying it easily with those toned arms. Setting it down on the tile next to the edge of the carpet, he adjusted it a couple inches, then sat back on his heels, widening his knees and lacing his hands behind his head.

“…The rest of it?” I prompted him. At his blank look, added, “Or do you want to endure the coming session with nothing between you and the cold, hard floor?”

His lips formed a silent “oh”, and he crawled off to the walk-in closet. Within a few moments, he came back with a pair of bathsheet towels, and had flicked them out, one on top of the other, on the floor. He started to kneel on the dual layer, then shuffled over to where I had abandoned my shoes. Picking them up, he hobbled over to me, semi-erect dick waving and flapping with each kneelength step, and offered them to me. “Would my Mistress like to wear her lovely shoes again?”

Sometimes it was good to indulge a sub. Seating myself on the chair, I crossed my legs and stuck out my upper foot. “Worship it, first.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

It was a good thing my feet weren’t feeling ticklish, today; in the waning daylight slanting in through the windows, he laved and sucked my fishnet-clad foot, each nibble and caress shooting tingling stars of pleasure up my legs to where they impacted on my groin. I wiggled my toes impatiently after a couple minutes, and he slipped the correct shoe on, then waited for me to cross my other leg and offer my now jealous left foot for his adulation.

Eventually, I wiggled my toes, he put my remaining shoe on, and waddled back onto the towels layered on the floor. Arranging himself carefully, knees splayed, fingers laced, back straight and buttocks resting on his heels, he awaited my next command.

I reached into the picnic basket beside me and pulled out two items. A zippo lighter—they were always very reliable, so long as one remembered to keep them filled with fluid—and a short red taper candle. Leaning forward, I held them out.

“Hold these for me.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he agreed, eyeing them a little hesitantly but reaching for them all the same. While he held them, I reached into the picnic basket, and drew out a scrap of padded black satin. Getting up from the chair, I carried the sleeping mask around to his back, bent over, and tied it over his face. Again, I heard his breath hitch unsteadily, and smiled in pleasure at what was about to commence. How I remembered my old sub days, when the satin sleeping mask caressed my cheeks, sheltering me from what had been about to happen, even as it had heightened my apprehension and suspense.

Moving around to the front, I plucked candle and lighter from his fingers, lit the candle, and tossed the zippo back into the basket. The soft squeak of the woven lid closing made him twitch his head slightly, trying to use his ears to prepare him for what I was about to do. I smiled even wider, giving in to the urge to grin now that he couldn’t see me taking pleasure in his own apprehension and suspense.

I stepped forward just hard enough to make a firm ca-clack of heel and toe hitting the floor. Ca-clack, my other shoe snapped against the floor. Ca-clack, cla-clack, cla-clack ca-clack, I walked around him in a tight circle, waiting for the wax to pool as I held the candle as upright and jostle-free as possible.

“I am going to punish you, Mr. Bear; I want a clean slate, and I will get one. We will do this in slow, measured counts—and do count properly, Mr. Bear,” I reminded him. “Widen your knees as far as they’ll go, and lean back as far as you can.”

He wiggled a little, obeying. That made his abdomen tighten again, and since there was no paunchy waistline to obscure the view, once again I had a good look at his full, washboarded eight-pack, and not just the six-pack jeans or slacks would have revealed. His penis was quite erect once again, pleasing me as a trickle of wax beaded over the rim of the candle top, dripping all the way onto my hand. I ignored the sudden heat, and brought the candle close to his stomach, swerving it around his genitals.

"Begin counting, Mr. Bear..." A tip of my wrist, and the remaining liquid poured out of the cup-shaped depression.

Mr. Bear gasped, panted to control the painful heat, and managed, “Thank you, Mistress, that was one!”

Candle righted, I waited for the flame to burn and melt more of the red paraffin. When I judged it sufficient, I tipped it again, this time shifting my aim slightly to the right, closer to the left side of his stomach.

“Ahhah! …Thank you, Mistress, that was two!”

His penis twitched and jumped as I applied dribble number three, and was almost as red at the tip as the wax itself, even though we were only up to coating number four. He certainly liked this one! I continued up through seven, watching the precum welling up through the little slit, only to trickle down the side of his long cock like the wax escaping from the rim of my candle. I wanted to fuck it, good and hard. Candle or cock, it didn’t matter; both were turning me on. I refrained, however. Instead, for application number eight, I aimed for the juncture of skin at the base of his cock, where it grew up out of his groin.

The gasp that escaped him was almost a scream, it rasped out of his throat that roughly, but he twitched and wriggled his hips, clearly wanting more. “Thank you, Mistress, that was eight!”

I waited, and waited, and did it again, this time slightly to the side. Wax dripped down through the lightly haired crease between thigh and balls as he choked from the pain, and it took him several seconds to get out the appropriately worded count, number nine left him panting so hard. He subsided, knees still splayed, back still arched, and waited. And waited, as I let the next batch drip onto the palm of my free hand before I brushed off the cooling wax.

It was worth the wait, as I’d gauged, for by the time the second puddle was ready, he was biting his lower lip in anticipation. Bathed in the golden, final rays of the chilly autumn sunset, pouring in through one of the side windows, he was a masterpiece of apprehensive anticipation. Just looking at him, I was getting wet. Slowly, deliberately, I tipped the candle over the other crease at the edge of his groin.