Prêt À Manger

The sound of an incoming message sends a thrill through me, as always. Even after almost a year (god, has it really been that long?), I'm still helplessly excited by you. Luckily, I seem to have a similar effect on you, so I don't feel like quite as much of a fool.

I eagerly scoop up my phone to see what you've said. It's short, almost terse: "Behind at work. Home in 15 for dinner. Pls have something on the table, won't have long. 😘"

My heart sinks a little, disappointed. Your job is my only rival, but it sometimes feels like it's winning. I firmly close that line of thought, and quickly scan my mental inventory of our larder. 15 minutes isn't much time, it'll have to be something simple, easy. Then I remember the try-mes I picked up the last time I went shopping: a couple of those "everything you need included", "pretend you know what you're doing" things. That should be perfect! I scrape my hair into a quick ponytail, wash my hands, and head to the kitchen.

You'll be home any minute, and I hurry to put the finishing touches on your dinner. I want everything to be perfect - they say the first bite is with the eye. Satisfied that everything is in place, I settle down to wait for you. Just in time, it turns out! Not two minutes later I hear your key in the lock, and my heart leaps in anticipation. It's silly how eager I am to see you, but I'm not ashamed of it. I love you and you make me happy, there's nothing wrong with that.

I hear you drop your keys and bag, your footsteps approach the kitchen/dining nook. I hold my breath as your steps slow, then stop. There's a moment of silence, then you blurt "Fuckin' hell." Your voice sounds strained, and my belly tightens as I imagine the look that must be on your face right now.

I hear your footsteps coming nearer behind me, and I try to picture what you're seeing: thigh-high black suede boots, black lace g-string peeking out beneath the black suede miniskirt that hugs my full curves. As you step closer the rest of me comes into view - the criss-crossed laces of my black suede halter-top corset, just a hint of the swell of my breast visible the way I'm bent over the dining table. My arms are out to the sides, flat on the table, palms up. Around each wrist is a black leather cuff with a sturdy buckle, a black satin tie knotted to each one, with the remaining length loosely draped in each hand.

You move partway around the table, still silent. A tiny tremor of nervousness kindles in my belly. Why are you so quiet? The familiar insecurities try to make themselves heard, but I resolutely push them down and focus on listening to you. Surely there will be *some* reaction soon, right? I hear you come even with the center of the table, where my cheek rests on a small black satin pillow, my face pointed toward you. I finally hear you groan softly, though I can't see you through the thick padded sleep mask covering my eyes, black satin, of course.

I stay still, though my heart is pounding and I'm breathing quicker. I feel a gush of wetness begin soaking my panties, which almost makes me moan. I feel the slight vibration through the table as you slide the black leather strap on its short handle from its position above my head. My nipples tighten almost painfully as I hear your breath hiss between your teeth, the almost inaudible rasp of skin on leather - you must be running your hand over the strap. Goosebumps prickle my skin and for the first time I feel a touch of fear. You step close to my side and I can feel your presence as you lean down closer to my ear. Your hand gently brushes my hair out of my face, smoothing it behind my ear with a caress. Your breath tickles my ear and I feel myself flush as you whisper "Holy fuck, babe. I've never seen a spread like this. It looks fucking delicious."

You move behind me, the prominent bulge in your trousers brushing my ass as you bend over me briefly. Then the satin ties are in your hands, they're pulled taut, and my wrists are swiftly pulled behind my back. I hear your voice, you're muttering something or maybe just grunting, doing something to my wrists. Then you finish whatever it is, and you step away, leaving me tingling with anticipation.

There's a beat of silence. I imagine you're surveying your handiwork, or admiring the view, and another surge of fluid floods my pussy. I can feel it beginning to seep out of my now-soaked panties - soon it will be visibly dripping down my thighs. The thought wrings a whimper from me and I hear your breath catch. Then my bound-together wrists are being pulled upward, not far enough to hurt my shoulders, but far enough to make me freeze, breath going shallow. You caress the curve of my hip and ass with the small whip, the leather dragging with a scrape reminiscent of fingernails. I barely hear you murmur "Delicious" again. It makes my knees weak and I'm glad the table is there.

I hear your quick intake of breath, then the strap hits my ass with a SMACK, the skin tight skirt amplifying the sound but not protecting me from the sting. I gasp, a small shocked cry slipping out. You grate "Oh, fuck, yes," through gritted teeth, hand smoothing over the tingling spot you struck. I can't help writhing at your touch, pain and pleasure combining into a buzzing tension in my pelvis that is eased slightly when I roll my hips.

Another quick intake of breath from behind me, another stinging SMACK, this time on the other cheek, harder, making me yelp. Another soothing stroke of your hand over the hurt. And another, farther down the back of my thigh. Then the other thigh. The jolts of pain and rushes of pleasure are indistinguishable now, nerves overwhelmed. My body confused by the conflicting signals so suddenly all I feel is pleasure. The next SMACK, this one across both cheeks, grazing my pussy where the lips protrude slightly, makes me cry out in unmistakable passion, my hips rolling, thrusting against the table. When your hand follows to ease the sting, you feel the heat from my pussy, how wet I am, and your stroke falters, lingers. I moan and arch my back, pushing my pussy into your hand, whimpering as your hand cups me and another surge of fluid soaks your fingers. You groan in what sounds like pain "God..."

Light suddenly blinds me as you pull the blindfold off, and I hear the flogger hit the floor while I'm blinking to clear my vision. I hear the flick of your pocket knife, and before I have time to worry the strain eases from my wrists, and then they're freed from behind my back. I start to push myself up off the table, but you force me back down, growling "Don't you fucking move."

You step behind me and crouch down, pressing your face into my ass for a moment and inhaling deeply. I arch my back and wriggle just a little, rubbing against your face. You moan helplessly and I feel the slight vibration against my swollen pussy lips, eliciting a moan of my own. You run your hands up my legs, starting low, over the skintight leather. I hear your breath catch when you reach the skin of my thighs, slipping under my skirt and continuing upward so it ends up bunched at my waist. You softly caress my ass. From the flickers of pain, there must be some impressive marks from the flogger. I hear you sigh as you stroke my skin, the pain fading in the heat of your touch. The respite doesn't last, though, and I feel more than see you pull back your arm. I don't even have time to flinch, much less object, before your hand cracks against my bare skin with a force that makes you grunt and me scream. The pain is sharp and hot, then subsides to a throb that eclipses other sensations briefly.

The cold kiss of metal against my skin snaps my attention back to you. I open my mouth to protest, but the words die on my tongue as you swiftly cut both side straps of my panties. Your breath is hot on the small of my back as you bend down and take the thin fabric in your teeth, pulling back so your knife can slip between it and my skin safely. You continue pulling, drawing the soaking wet fabric out from between my legs until cool air caresses my bare pussy. I wish I could see the look on your face, with my ruined g-string dangling from your teeth.

The knife hits the floor and skitters away as you kick it, then your foot is between mine, nudging my legs wider, your thigh forcing mine apart. The fabric of your trousers feels rough against my skin as you unfasten them and begin rubbing the head of your rock hard cock up and down the crack of my ass. It finally dips low enough to meet the slick wetness seeping from me, and you're suddenly insistent, prodding urgently. You thrust again and again, blindly searching for the tight opening you know is there. I feel your frustration and desperation mounting, matching my own rising need.

You're muttering, fragments of words, pleas, curses, "Fuck. I need- god, please give it- FUCK." I cock my hips the tiny bit that lines you up properly, and with the next thrust you're suddenly balls deep in my aching cunt, tearing cries from both of us. For a fraction of a second the shock stills your movements, then you grab my hips, digging your fingers into my flesh. My whimpered "Ow-" turns into "Oh god, baby, YES!" as you pull back then plunge into me again.

You grunt rhythmically as you fuck me, long, hard, deep strokes. You pull my hips back to meet each thrust with a slap of flesh as your thighs hit my ass. You're big enough that despite how wet I am it's a tight fit, and long enough to press hard against my g-spot with each stroke. Every time you pull back, the suction pulls on my clit, sucking it in counterpoint to your cock's relentless invasion. I brace my hands on the table so I can push back into you, my voice joining yours as we both reach the point of no return and all semblance of control is lost.

You're pounding your cock into my greedy cunt, slamming against my ass over and over. I've gone almost limp in your grasp as I surrender to the overwhelming sensation. I feel my orgasm building, my thighs and belly growing tense. It breaks over me slowly, and I dimly hear my own voice repeating "I'm coming...I'm coming..." as your thrusts become frantic and your rhythm falters. It feels like minutes that I'm poised on the edge, my pussy clenching, belly spasming, and then the wave of orgasmic pleasure crashes over me just as you rise up on your toes, forcing yourself deeper as your cock jerks and you come buried to the hilt in my pulsing cunt.

I have no idea how long it actually lasts, but it seems like a very long time, my muscles squeezing you, you flexing inside me, wave after wave of irresistible pleasure echoing between us. My ears are ringing, but I feel the groan in your belly as you flex once more, completely emptying yourself into me, and collapse onto me slightly, one hand on the edge of the table to brace yourself. My pussy pulses another time or two, making you twitch and whimper, and you slowly slide out of me with one last soft moan. I sigh in complete satisfaction, still sprawled across our dining table. I feel your come start to leak out of me, down the insides of my thighs. I start trying to get up, not wanting my boots to end up a casualty, then you're bent over my back, hugging me fiercely, tucking a soft towel between my legs. I murmur an approximation of gratitude, too spent to form actual words. You squeeze me tighter, nuzzling my neck and kissing my head and cheek. Every part of me feels warm and safe, I suspect I might be "glowing", as your soft voice fills my ear. "God, I fuckin' love you, babe."

I manage a weak "You better," our ritual, with a satisfied grin.

I just lie there, blissfully bent over our table, as you bustle about, finding your knife, grabbing something from the fridge to actually eat. Before you head back to work you give me a thorough kiss, helping me back upright. You send me off to get cleaned up, your playful slap on my ass surprisingly painful, which calls our attention to the bright red, crisply defined handprint on my ass. "Holy shit!" I blurt, impressed. You breath on your nails and buff them against your shirt, cocking one eyebrow at me, and we both laugh, trailing off as our eyes meet. We just stare for a long moment, lost in each other, words unnecessary. Then you break the spell with a slight shake, grinning at me and heading for the door. You pause with your hand on the knob and look back at me, your eyes sparkling, and say "Best dinner I've ever had, babe! Don't lose that recipe, ok?" Then you're out the door, leaving me grinning to an empty room. I laugh to myself as I go to clean up, thinking it's even better than you're aware: I don't have to do any dishes, either!