I just wanted to thank everyone for reading the original of this story. I've taken the time to give it a massive overhaul and I hope everyone likes it. Enjoy.
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In the dimly lit dining room, John sipped his wine. His eyes went from the front door down the hall to the clock, a thousand thoughts running through his mind. Where was she? Who was she with? What was she doing? Absentmindedly, he filled his glass with the dark merlot again. He sat silently, staring at the clock, sipping his glass empty without another thought. Time passed and so did another glass, which did nothing for John's temper. Anger began to enrage his senses, and he shattered his fragile wine glass with one firm squeeze.
"Shit!" he growled, glaring at the door, "she will be punished for making me wait." The up until now, lifeless panel of wood shook weakly as a soft fist hammered it from the other side.
"You're late!" he howled down the hall. John stormed down the hall and tore the door wide open, almost breaking it off its hinges. He took one look at the alluring figure in his doorway and melted into her eyes. "Well, come in," he spoke, half-sternly. No matter how angry she made him, John loved her too much to stay so angry.
"My deepest apologies, Sir," Samantha muttered.
He watched as the carnal figure swept in, then closed and locked the door. The air seemed to flow with her every movement down the hallway to the dining room. Each strand of her long hair swayed freely as her slender, yet curvy physique enticed him to follow her. John particularly liked her dress, this evening. It was long and raven black, the same as her hair, with a long slit going the full length from high above the hip to the ankle on her left leg. He could just barely see her waist at the cusp of the slit and it drove him wild. Then, he noticed her shoulders. Samantha looked back for only a moment over her left shoulder. Her lips parted and she dropped her coat lewdly down her arms. She spread her fingers through her hair, pulling it up, deliberately exposing her neck. She knew he loved her neck the most; so tender and aching to be bitten. Samantha continued to play her little game, teasing him and driving him even hotter with lust. With gradual, languid movements she raised her left foot onto the chair and meticulously slid her hands up her thigh, pulling her dress up to completely expose her leg. Samantha could feel his eyes burning on her skin as she unclasped her six inch heel and kicked it to the floor. As much as she loved toying with John's mind and libido, she knew her role. "Why are you late," he spoke in a stern, steady tone.
Her lips trembled immediately in response to his voice. Samantha knew she would be punished, and a whimper of panic and desire slipped from her lips. Deep inside, she loved when he punished her, but hated it when she had to be. She loved John with all of her heart, mind, and body. She wanted nothing more than to make him happy and do as he asked, but sometimes disappointing him was unavoidable. To every other woman, he must have been the tall, dark, and handsome stereotype, but she knew differently. He was hers as she was his. He was so much more than his businessman facade. "It was traffic, Sir. Am I to be punished?" Samantha asked nervously as she unfastened her other heel.
He looked into his beloved's eyes with a genial smile and struggled to read her thoughts. "I see no reason to punish you for heavy traffic. It's something outside your control, and I am not so unfair as to punish you for something outside your control." John glanced at the table and nodded, signaling a command Samantha already knew.
She understood completely. It was going to be like last month when he tied her to the table for the first time. She sighed with an overeager anticipation and cleared the table of the broken glass and wine bottle. As she folded up the table cloth, enthusiasm drained from her expression as she slowly came to terms with the new dining room table. Samantha mewled in awe at what was once the dining room table. An altar was hidden beneath the cloth, rather than the table she cleaned off after dinner the night before. The altar was primarily made of solid oak with an ornate grapevine design around the base. It looked much like a casket would if the lid couldn't come off. Instead of a curved, solid lid, there was a bed of sorts inset into the top. It was just a feathered mattress, with a red velvet slip cover, but impressive nonetheless. At each corner, there was a heavy iron shackle, bound to the frame by only one link. Samantha's body trembled under the implications of the new altar, and her sex began to fill with heat.
"Th... thi.. this. is," she stammered.
"Yes, I had it brought in, today," John said with a proud smile. "Its design is based on your measurements, of course and the shackles were shipped in from a metalworker somewhere in Russia. Do you like it? Oh, of course you do," he replied confidently. "I can tell, just by looking at you."
Samantha's body betrayed her. At first, John was a bit concerned about her reaction, but the sweet aroma of her waking sex eased his thoughts. He looked leisurely up and down her body, admiring her every curve and characteristic. What John loved the most about Samantha, was her response to a stimulus. Inwardly, he ached to see her react to his. The way her lips parted with every breath, the way her breasts heaved under her dress, the way her fingers twitched with excitement, and the way her eyes filled with longing for what would soon come all drove him wild. He couldn't blame her for staring at the altar. He stared too when it was first brought in.
Samantha had to brace herself on the altar to keep from falling. To think, she would be bound to this, only to serve him. She struggled to fight her rising thirst, but it was something she had never been able to control. The mons began to throb and moisten as her heart rate rose higher and higher. Passion consumed her, as her ache for him became almost unbearable. For the first time, she was scared of what would happen. Why was he waiting? Why was he just watching her? Why doesn't he just take her and ease both their suffering? Why doesn't he give her the instructions he knows she's waiting for? John wanted her as much as she did and she knew it, but this game he was playing was just cruel.
Worried, John walked behind Samantha and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against his body. "Are you okay, my love," he interrogated, "you don't look well."
"I'm okay, Sir," Samantha whispered reassuringly, "I was just surprised."
Carefully, John guided her onto the altar bed, and laid her onto her back. Without resistance, she let him lift her ankles to the foot of it. With a smile of confidence, he looked over her in her weakened state, perhaps enjoying it a bit too much. He caressed up and down her left calf and brought her delicate state back down. John knew she needed this sort of attention every now and again, and he was more than happy to give it to her. Her sigh of relief and her steadied breathing comforted him greatly as he continued to her other calf. Watching her eyes intently, John grazed his finger tips up her right thigh, the heat of her sex bathing his right hand as it reached her pelvis. Pretending not to notice her heightened state of arousal, he leaned down over her and began kissing the inside of her left thigh. The game continuing, John caressed more firmly down her left leg and shackled her ankle to the altar.
