The weekend has come, and with it the opportunity to serve My Goddess uninterrupted. I hear her approach the front entrance from outside and I'm there instantly, kneeling naked in the living room before she's made it through the doorway. Hands behind my back, head bowed, knees and insteps touching the wood floor, I await her command, displaying the body I am grateful to call her property.
"Up", she says, and I rise, wordlessly, my eyes averted from hers, but I see she's offered me her hand. I take it, kiss it, press my warm lips against it to show her my respect and submission. With a flick of her fingers she waves my face back, signaling the end of the display. Is she pleased? Are my lips soft against her fingers, do I hold them gently enough in my hand to show my respect? I gather so, or the wave would have become a backhand to the side of my face. She can make a slap sting with seemingly no effort. But not this time.
She reaches down and gives my cock cage a tug. The cage bounces a little as my restrained cock tries in vain to get hard. It's been days--weeks--since she's let me cum, and the dull ache at the root of my shaft has grown to be a constant reminder of her power over me. Constant. Not a waking moment goes by when I can't feel the yearning, even as I try to push it to the back of my mind while I perform the duties she's set out for me.
Even asleep, I dream of wanting her, needing her. In my dreams, my cock is free, but that does me no good. Hers is the only touch that can soothe it, which she declines to bestow upon me, except once when she takes her fingertips and spreads them in a V for Victory, her complete and unconditional Victory over me, and slides them lightly up the shaft, deepening the agony of my denial.
But we are awake now. She walks to the bedroom, and I don't presume to follow until I hear the snap of her fingers. And when I do, I take my place behind her as she spreads her arms out, giving me the signal undress her. And so begins the best part of my week.
I take her coat and scarf and hang them on the stand. I undo her blouse, and gently unhook her bra, letting the straps slide down her shoulders. A sight tells me she feels the motion, she feels them being removed, but she does not feel my hands on her. She has not yet given me permission to touch her body, and I am careful as I take the garments from her and place them in the corner clothes basket. But I can see her shoulders, and smell the aroma of her warm flesh; she doesn't seem inclined to deny me those blessings, and I draw my breath in deeply as I kneel behind her.
She kicks off her heels, undoes the belt and buttons of her slacks, then leaves it to me to unzip and slide them down her smooth, creamy legs. She steps out of them, and hooks her thumbs in the sides of her underwear, letting me finish pulling them off.
"You may look", she says, and as I kneel behind her backside, the soft light of the bedroom plays over the curves, the shadow hiding the tight hole even as she stands, now fully naked before me. She must feel my warm breath on her cheeks, even as I struggle to contain my excitement. I try not to grunt and drool like an animal, but seeing her like this drains all sense and rationality out of me.
"Kiss," she commands, and I start on the left side, pressing my lips against her smooth, round cheek, planting kisses on top of kisses until I move to the right and do the same. And then I alternate between them, slowly moving closer and closer to the center as I gently kiss her backside.
"Stop."
I don't cry--I have no right to protest her commands--but she feels the sharp gasp as I force myself to accept my disappointment. I had wanted to service her asshole with my tongue. I had thought that was where this was headed. But I forget my place. This is about Her, I must remember, not me. Her wants are to be fulfilled. Her needs are to be met. Her desire is the only thing that is important. As the Superior, She owes her subordinate nothing, and we both know that.
"I want a massage," she says, and points to a shelf in the corner, where the body-length towel lies folded up.
"Yes, My Goddess." I understand her meaning and lay it over the bedsheets. She steps onto the bed, the light accentuating her curves as I fetch the basket with the oils and lotions, turn down the lights, start up the soft music she likes to hear.
I warm the oil in my palms, and then she feels my hands slather it on her, rubbing up and down her back with a push-pull motion, ever so slightly stretching the muscles in her back. She doesn't have to tell me she enjoys a litte tease as well, and the fingertip touch over her skin is just a taste of what's to come. A deep breath, and a light "hmmmmm..." tell me I am doing well, and my heart swells to know she is enjoying my efforts.
And then I start the massage proper, digging in with my thumbs in her shoulders, pressing, pushing, twisting the stress out of her limbs. Her neck and shoulders first, then down her back. Down one arm, then the other. She has shown me how to feel and respond to her needs, and every knead, every rub, every slide of my hands over her is a token of my gratitude for her training me.
Halfway through the hour, she places a finger in her pussy, and slowly slides it in and out, riding it over her clit and plunging it between her cunt lips. My cock cage stirs, as its prisoner, isolated from the pleasure of touch, tries in vain to stand up, and stretch to its full length. But I have more important things to worry about than my petty wants, so I work both hands down her left leg, releasing all the pent-up stress from the week.
When I reach her foot, she grunts, takes in a quick breath, lets out a faint cry, and I know she's cum. I return to the top of her other leg and notice her finger is still there. I can barely see it, but I can tell it's rubbing in little circles, so as I work my way down her leg, I can tell she is building to another climax. I slow down enough, listening to her breathing, until she cums again, this time while I twist and rub her toes between my slippery fingertips.
Does she know what it does to me, does it ever occur to her to wonder how I feel as I see and hear her cum while I service her? The mix of emotions: the joy, at knowing I've helped bring her to her pleasure; the envy, as my cock reminds me for the thousandth time today how long it's been since I have felt that pleasure; the shame, as I remember I have no right to expect anything from her, and remind myself of the privilege I enjoy to be in her presence at all, much less during such an intimate moment.
If she does, she shows no sign of it, nor do I expect one from her. Instead, she pulls her finger out of her cunt, and, still face down, raises her hand slightly behind her, palm up, wiggling her first two fingers. I understand the signal, slide my lips slide around them, my tongue lapping up the wetness from her pussy.
She overlooks or ignores my indulgence when I grunt with the pleasure of smelling and tasting her pussy on her fingers. I suck them clean, and relinquish my claim to them as soon as I finish cleaning them.
