Please(ing) Sir

I stand on the balcony, my hands wrapped around the wrought-iron rails. The sun is setting low over the houses on the horizon, painting everything in watercolour purples and oranges and blues. It is a beautiful night.

You're not home yet, but you texted me fifteen minutes ago to tell me you were leaving work. You should be home any moment, and I've got a surprise for you.

I hear one of the cats mewl when the front door is hurriedly open, then shut. I turn, and through the thick pane of the glass door, I see you. You wave, like you always do, because this doesn't seem like an unusual night. I point at you and do a curling motion with my finger to get you to come over; for a brief second, I smirk at the thought of making you come with that same motion.

You drop your bags by the door, shedding your sweater and shoes and walking oh-so-obediently to me. I've had you for so long that you don't even bother protesting when I demand something of you.

I think you see the look in my eye, because you immediately lower your gaze to our feet on the balcony, your head bowed.

"Hello, baby girl," I mumble, carding my fingers through your golden hair and pressing a firm kiss to the back of your neck.

"Hello, Sir."

There's nothing else that needs to be said, because, after all, we're both in dom/sub space right now. Without even asking, that's how easy this has become. Almost like breathing.

I wind my fingers in your hair and start to pull you off the balcony, tugging just a little too hard when you're not going quickly enough. You whimper every time it hurts. We go to the bedroom, and I shut the door behind us to avoid the cats coming in and spoiling everything. You stand in a quiet submission while you wait for an order or a touch, still fixing your eyes hard on your bare feet.

"I got you a new collar," I say, reaching for the winding leather strip and its cool steel buckle. You seem to stiffen a little, hesitant, because we have so many collars that I know you love. "Look at this one, baby. It just screamed your name when I saw it."

Gingerly, you raise your eyes, zeroing in on the collar in my hands. It's black leather, like all of our favourites, and lined with silk. That's not what makes it stand out - it's the white roses studded in the leather every two centimetres, a piece that could not be better for you if I'd custom-ordered it myself. It has an accompanying leash, and I see your tongue meet your lip when you notice.

"It's beautiful, Sir."

"Manners?"

"Oh, um, thank you, Sir."

"Good girl," I croon, grabbing you by the hair again and forcing your head down so I can buckle the collar behind your neck. You gasp when I pull it just a little too tight, making your neck flush.

When the collar's fastened, I clip the leash to its shiny ring and jerk you forward to the bed. You look nervous.

"Baby, I love you," I mumble, beginning to unbutton your blouse. Your breasts rise in the purple lace of your bra, and I toss your blouse to the floor as I dive my face into your chest. It's incredibly comforting, and I sigh when I feel your heaving chest against my cheek. I reach behind you and unfasten the bra, letting it drop away.

Your nipples are hard and I can't help but push my lips against one, tugging between my teeth until I hear a gasp and feel one of your hands on my shoulder. I pause to wind your leash around my wrist, and begin again. The next time you touch me, I tug sharply on the leash.

I am not yours to touch. You are all. Fucking. Mine.

I don't take even a second before I release your chest from my attention and work you out of your skirt, sliding it over your smooth legs and kissing you on one knee. Then, I slip my fingers underneath those lace panties of yours and slide them to your ankles.

Your pussy glistens, and for a second I'm enticed by how absolutely fucking wet you are for me. A little heavy petting and a collar, and you're dripping.

I decide to blindfold you, on a whim. You sit patiently while I do so, shielding your perfect blue eyes from my brown ones. I tie your leash to the bedpost, and pull the underbed restraints up to fasten your arms and legs down.

I start to feel warm and wet between my legs. God, you look delectable like this.

I lose my clothes, now that you're blindfolded, knowing full well you'll hate hearing me lower my zipper without being able to see. You even so much as open your mouth in protest, "Sir, please, I want to see-"

"You do not get to make demands," I growl, frustrated by your lack of respect. You are the slave, you are my goddamn slut. You don't get to choose what you see or what pleasures you receive.

I work up enough frustration to consider flogging you or getting you with the paddle, but instead decide to shut your mouth for now. I take a moment to rifle through our box of inappropriate goodies to find a rarely-used gem - the ring gag.

The ring gag is useful because it keeps your mouth wide open for anything I'd like to shove in there. Once, it was my clit-dick, rising proud between my legs, and another time it was a dildo, which I shoved into your mouth hard enough to make you choke.

You struggle a little when you realize you're being gagged, but resign to whimpering when I pull your lips apart to fasten the gag between them.

I step back and admire my work, the beautiful fucking woman on the bed in front of me. Your legs, spread wide, your hands indisposed. Your mouth at my attention, your pert breasts ready for my whim. Your beautiful, beautiful pussy, hot and wet for me to do with what I please.

I decide on a vibrator, and retrieve it. It's easily the strongest one we have, molded to fit inside you while putting all the pressure on your clit. It makes you come so hard. You're wet enough that I don't need love to insert it, and a strangled moan can be heard when I ruthlessly shove it in. Then, without so much as a warning, I put it on high.

The moans start immediately, rattling through you as the vibrator hums away between your legs. Deciding it's my turn to be pleased, I move up the bed and crouch above your head, listening to your delicious moans.

"Stick your tongue out," I demand, and you do, your tongue straining out of the ring gag. I lower myself down on that tongue, and you get to work, moving it quickly over my dick.

I see you pull against the restraints, breathing heavy moans against my dick, your tongue slowing its motions. I dig my nails into your collarbone, and you whimper, your whole body freezing.

"Keep fucking licking. I'm not turning the vibrator off until you make me come. I don't care how many orgasms you have."

You whimper again, and I marvel at the little half-moon shapes my nails have left in dark red on your chest. You arch your back, almost screaming, but your tongue moves surely. I know you've come once, because now the vibrator is making you whimper with newfound torture. I smile, and allow myself to sink into the pleasure of your tongue swirling wet circles around my dick, ignoring your frenzied gasps and moans and letting the pressure from your goddamned tongue build up in my abdomen until I, too, moan, my hands clenching into tight fists. I manage to slip off your blindfold as I ride through my orgasm on your face.

You sound dangerously close to crying and your eyes are pleading that I take the vibe away, so I reach to turn it off and slip it out. There's a wet spot on the comforter.

And then cleanup happens, both of us folding and packing away, until we're both just naked people, no dominant, no submissive, with our hearts on our sleeves. I pull you to me, hot skin against hot skin, and we fall into a beautiful, peaceful sleep.