Showtime with Mrs & Mr Smith
*****
After such a long time after my last story I wanted to write something different and I can't remember ever coming across a story with a similar storyline. I hope you enjoy reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
*****
I pulled the hood over my head. Slowly. Inhaling the intoxicating smell of the leather. I straightened the hood, making sure I could see, that the mouth was in position with the zip open, and being able to breathe through my nose, if necessary. I reached behind my head and carefully pulled the zip all the way down, taking great care not to catch my wavy black hair as I had done when I had first begun wearing the hood. I didn't hear her coming up behind me, her heels cushioned by the lush carpet. It was only when she put her hand on my shoulder and reached around my muscular body with her other hand to take hold of my long, and flaccid, manhood.
"You're beautiful," she whispered, in my ear.
"I know," I replied, modestly.
She couldn't see my smile, hidden by the mask, but she could tell by my voice it was there.
"You are such a modest fucking bastard! But maybe that's why I love you."
"And I thought it was because of my mouth and asshole. But not necessarily in that order."
"I'll put your collar on." She wrapped the soft leather collar around my neck, buckled it, and then attached the shiny metal chain.
"Showtime," she said. "Time to give the customers what they want."
I turned and followed her, led willingly by the chain, and being given my first glimpse of the outfit she was wearing today. As always, whatever her outfit, my manhood reacted. The way her hips swayed would entice any red blooded person. Even more so when she was naked except for a pair of '
fuck me
' shoes such as the pair she was wearing today. There's something about any woman in spiked stilettos which gets me hard, without any conscious thought on my part, but I don't think I'm the only man affected that way. I assume a certain type of woman finds herself getting wet in similar circumstances.
This evening she was wearing a red wig with long, straight hair which fell on to her shoulders. Smooth, silky and gleaming which contrasted with her ebony skin. She always kept her real hair cut very short, almost a buzz cut, which gave her an androgynous look. A dangerous look. A '
don't mess with me
' look. A '
you don't fuck me I'll fuck you"
look. Not the prime reason I fell in love with her. Just one of many.
She was wearing one of my white dress shirts, sleeves rolled up on her forearms, sufficient buttons undone to reveal the cleft between her breasts and a tantalising glimpse of them which showed she wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts are ample but not obscenely plasticised as with so many women nowadays. A short red leather skirt. The leather so soft you could scrunch it in your hand. She was also wearing a suspender belt and nylons which always had the same effect on me as her shoes. I could feel my cock starting to wake up despite my attempting to control it. Not yet, my mind ordered. Not yet.
"Everything ready?" she asked, knowing full well my answer.
"Of course it is. Lighting is on and the cameras are rolling. Just waiting for our entrance. Your entrance. You ask me if everything is ready before every performance. I've doubled checked everything, including the backup, as usual." I always try and keep calm but sometimes she really does try my patience.
"Sorry, darling. But you know I always worry. I think I'm a born worrier. Once we get started I'll be okay."
"You'll be more than okay," I smiled. "You'll be sensational. As always."
We'd reached the door to the studio, she stopped, gave me a twirl, and asked the usual question.
"Do I look okay, darling? Makeup okay?"
"You're fine." Why my wife, looking as she does, is always so nervous beforehand I've no idea.
We entered the room, stopped momentarily while I checked everything with a quick glance around. She strode forward confidently, head held high, imperious but holding casually onto my leash, as she always did in front of the cameras. All doubts gone, she was now the goddess they wanted to see and in full control mode. She switched on her seductive smile and spoke into the camera.
"Hello once more, you perverted voyeurs. It's 'Showtime with Mrs and Mr Smith.' Sit up straight while we have a
fucking
good time. Well, myself and Mr Smith will have a good time fucking while you perverts will have to be satisfied with wanking your cocks or fingering your pussies."
Every time she went into dominant bitch mode I found it hard to believe the loving, caring woman I knew was able to change herself into her alter ego at the drop of a hat.
"Up against the cross, Mr Smith," she ordered. "Fasten yourself in position."
I faced the cross and began to fasten myself as I alway did when we used the cross. We didn't always use it and hadn't for the last four sessions. Spreading my legs, I fastened both ankles with the press studded cuffs and then fastened my left hand to the top of the cross. All the time I could hear the noise of her slapping the crop she'd picked up against the palm of her hand. I obviously couldn't fasten the other cuff myself. I slipped my hand inside it and she stepped forward to complete my being restrained.
I could feel her against me. Nylons rubbing against the back of my legs, her groin pushing into me, the feel of her breasts against my back. Her perfume capturing my senses. The warmth of her breath as she whispered in my ear but loud enough for the microphone fixed to the cross to pick up clearly.
"I've got big plans for you today,
my little white bitch boy
. Big plans. I'm sure you'll enjoy them," She chuckled. " I know I will and, as we know, what you think doesn't matter."
Her calling me '
little white bitch boy
' wasn't entirely correct. I was six feet three and, although she wasn't small, even wearing her stilettos her head was only just above my shoulder. But our subscribers seemed to like her calling me that judging by the times it was mentioned in the numerous emails we received. She stepped back and I heard the swishing of the crop. I knew, although she wasn't speaking, she was looking at the camera, her eyes gleaming and wearing a cruel smile. Staring at the enraptured faces of our unseen audience as they waited expectantly for what was to come next.
"Today I'm not going to gag him. I want to hear him scream," she said, a vicious and malevolent tone to her voice.
She knew they wanted to hear me scream and I'd make sure I came up with a performance to satisfy their hunger. Without anything further she made the first strike and I cried out, as usual, and with each further strike of the crop I cried out. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty. By the time she got to twenty I wasn't pretending. Today she wasn't holding back and it hurt. She hadn't warned me in advance and my startled reaction for the camera focused on my face was real. I knew, as she was attacking my ass she was switching her gaze between me and each of the cameras. Giving them what they wanted and with the sadistic grin she did so well. She may have been acting for them, over acting for them, but she knew I actually did enjoy her beating me. The dominance of it excited both of us. I also knew she wouldn't take it too far. No way would she intentionally injure me.
As I hung on the cross I thought of how nice it was going to feel as she applied the cool anaesthetic cream after the session.
She switched to the signal whip, the one with the purple handle and red and black braided tail, and proceeded to give my back the full treatment for, by my estimation, a good ten minutes. I loved this type of whip and she often used a similar one when it was just the two of us but today she was using the one we had had made specially. This one was just for our camera sessions and was for the benefit of our audience and wasn't as bad as it seemed. She made it look as if she was putting a lot of effort into it but it was a deception honed by many hours of practice. It did sting, but nothing like how it should have felt, as it contacted my skin. I was marked but the skin would be healed in a couple of day's time. The blood made it look worse but it wasn't actually blood it was a red dye concealed within it, matching the colour of the braid. It was an illusory effect we were very proud of and it deceived our audience every time.
We had to be conscious of the time and needed to move on. I heard the whip fall as she tossed it aside, then silence, and it was a full thirty seconds before I heard the sound of her heels as she stepped up to me, her hardened nipples pressing into my back and feel her rubbing up against the cleft in my cheeks. I could feel the slickness of her cock and automatically lifted slightly. She read my mind.
"I had the lube ready for as soon as I finished with the whip. Tell me how
much
you want me to fuck you. Tell me how much you enjoy the feel of my cock as it enters you and squeezes all the way into your tight ass. Tell me how much you want to feel my cum pouring into you. Begging for my cock."
"I need it, Mistress. There's nothing I like more than feeling you inside me and your cum coating my insides. Fuck me, please. Fuck me hard." I was really pleased with myself in respect of the whining tone I managed to get into my voice today. I hope it was impressing our viewers as much as it was me.
She'd opened up my ass so often in the past her cock didn't need to be fully erect for her to penetrate me, and it didn't seem to matter to our audience if she wasn't at full stretch as long as they
saw
her slide inside me. My cock is only five inches when flaccid but when hard it's nearly twice that length, and thick, very thick. She was above average in both length and thickness but still almost two inches shorter than me and not as thick. We knew, from the messages we received, that her taming a man who was bigger than her, stronger than her, and with a bigger cock than her, was a real turn on for many of our followers.
Give the public what they want and rake in their money.
"Stick your ass out,
bitch
. Make it easy for me. You should know what to do by now," she commanded.
I did know what to do. There was only one other position I preferred more than leaning up against a wall, with my ass stuck out, pushing back on her as she pushed into me. I couldn't count the number of times I'd come with her cock in me and not even stimulation by her hand.
"Look at this," she said, to the camera, as she removed herself. "He's so eager his little pucker is calling to me to fuck him."
I'd perfected the technique of pushing my sphincter muscles out and then relaxing them to bring it back in so that it looked as if my hole was begging to be fucked. Which it was!
She bent her knees to give her her a better stance to put her cock in the best position to make us both happy. Within a second she was fully inside, with her cock rubbing against my prostate. Steady, rhythmical strokes, slowly increasing in intensity as she fucked me harder and harder until she was ramming me up against the timber frame. My mind had lost the battle with my willpower and the blood flowed to my cock. My fully hard manhood pointed upwards sandwiched between skin cross.
"Who do you belong to,
white boy
? Who
owns
this ass? she shouted, in a voice loud enough to wake the neighbours. Not that we had any. That's why we'd chosen this house. No one lived nearby.
