Playtime
All day you'd been thinking about sex. You tried to concentrate, but you couldn't keep your mind on your Physics lecture. You lost your way in the completely familiar hallways and was late to Women's Lit. You were caught gazing out the window in Calculus. "Are you with us today?" your professor had teased you. You scowled and buried your face in your notebook as you classmates tittered.
What was worse — your nearly constant state of arousal kept your panties wet and you pussy lips sticky. You went to the ladies room to pee and you wanted some quick relief, but you didn't have time. And it must have been pheromones or something but guys turned their heads as you walked by. Strangers tried to flirt. It was flattering, actually, but you weren't in the mood.
When your last class was done, you ran out the door into the blustery cold. Your friends hailed you — "Hey! we're going to the pub..." "Can't! Late!" You waved as you trotted down the hill.
You strode through the gate, around the front drive, up the front porch stairs. You stepped over the threshold, the chimes on the tall old door jangling. You threw your backpack on the bench, tore off your sheepskin jacket. Miss Brooks came scampering and skidding across the polished floor and you scooped her up, cuddling her as she licked your face. You could hear me tuning the piano in the living room.
"I need Daddy," you said to the the puppy. "I need him bad." You giggled.
You kicked off your boots and hurried down the short hallway and around the corner through the chestnut woodwork archway. I was peering into the front of the piano, my right hand on the tuning wrench. The afternoon light sifted through the glass of the tall windows on either side of the fireplace. The chandelier was glowing high above. There were your books opened on the sofa where you'd left them. The piano top was wide open. My laptop was perched on the edge.
You stood for a few seconds, drinking it in. You watched me make an imperceptible adjustment, gently bumping the wrench with the butt of my palm. I looked up from my work and smiled.
"Sir! Oh, Sir." You crossed the large oriental rug and came to me around the front of the piano. You cradled Miss Brooks in your left arm as you stood on your toes to kiss me.
My right hand slid up your back and into your curly hair. I gripped it. It was a gentle but firm gesture. You knew that it was instinctive on my part — an expression of affection and passion. But to you, given your propensities, it also translated into an expression of my dominance. That I hadn't really intended it in that way made it all the more profound somehow. You felt safe and secure. You melted into your role as my submissive. Our lips met. You were instantly on fire.
I felt you shudder. After a lingering kiss, I said softly, "I love you, Little Girl."
"I love you too, Sir"
"I'll be done in a little while."
"I'll wait right here," and you sat down with Miss Brooks on the sofa.
From your shudder, I knew you were excited and I knew our love-making had begun. I already had a special evening in mind. I smiled. I knew you well — how to please you. "Good girl," I said, and turned back to my task.
We sat in silence for a while. The only sound was my playing the piano notes one at a tine, moving the stops from set of string to set of strings. Mostly, they didn't need adjustment at all, but every so often, I'd glance at the laptop screen and fit the wrench to a string's pin and make a change.
You'd seen me at this task before. I'd explained that by making just the right adjustments to accommodate the strings' inharmonicity, the instrument could be made to "sparkle." Although the changes in pitch were usually imperceptible to you, you could hear the "beats" of the strings' frequency phases and you had come to hear what I meant by "sparkle." It was an undeniable property of the freshly tuned instrument.
As I worked, you played with Miss Brooks, but you were aroused. I knew it. And what was particularly delicious for you was that you knew I knew it. You knew I was making love to you. It was subtle and gentle, but I was asserting my dominance by making you wait. You unconsciously shifted. I could see from the corner of my eye.
"You will take your panties off and put them on the table here," I said without looking up from my work.
"Yes, Sir," you said, putting Miss Brooks beside you on the couch. You slowly lifted your pleated black watch tartan skirt and slid your panties down your legs, over your forest green thick wool socks. You slyly and seductively revealed your pussy as you did so. Had I noticed? I gave no sign.
You stood. You walked the few steps to the table and placed your panties by the celadon vase. You turned and walked back to sit down. I continued working.
"Good Girl," I said casually. "Now, my pet, you will slowly remove your blouse."
"Yes, Sir."
You slowly unbuttoned your cotton blouse. You slid it off your arms.
"Fold it carefully and place it on the table."
"Yes, Sir." I still hadn't looked up. You stood again and walked to the table. You folded the blouse with particular care.
"Now the camisole. Face me."
Yes, Sir." You stood by the table facing me and lifted the white silk camisole over your head. I turned and watched you. You weren't wearing a brazier and so your perfect breasts were revealed. Small. Perfectly curved. You folded the camisole and put it on the pile of clothing. You smiled at me and I smiled back.
My smile was that of a teacher pleased with a child's lesson. You wanted more. You wanted me to want you.
"Very good girl, I said warmly. "Now the socks"
So one by one you took off your socks while I watched. You lifted your legs so I would catch a glimpse of your pussy. I continued to smile approvingly, but dispassionately.
"Good girl. Now the skirt."
To your mild chagrin, I turned back to the piano, closing down my laptop and putting away my tools. You were hoping that Margaret and Louise wouldn't come into the room as you slid your skirt down. But you wanted me to look. And your frustration was fueling you abject horniness.
You had glanced down as you took off your skirt, so as you stood back up, I surprised you as I took you firmly around the waist with my right arm and suddenly, roughly pulled you to me, kissing you hard on the mouth. You gasped. I took your hair in my left hand. I pulled your head back and bit your neck just under your right ear. I felt you shudder. "Oh, Shujin. I love you."
"I love you too, Little Girl. You are so beautiful."
I held your head back by your hair. I slipped my arm from around your waist and slowly pushed my hand down between your legs. "Spread." I commanded.
You complied. You were rewarded by my fingers opening your pussy lips and stroking your clitoris. You were desperate to come but I was expertly keeping you just on the edge. After a minute you squealed in frustration. I withdrew my hand.
"No!" you said involuntarily.
"Silence!" I said sharply and loudly.
Miss Brookes, startled by my tone, skittled off to the kitchen.
"Oh my God! Shujin! I'm so sorry."
I let go my grasp of your hair. I took you roughly by the wrist. I led you quickly through the house. To the basement door. I opened it. Quickly down the dark steps.
You were thrilled. You were frightened. You knew you were safe with me, but my reaction and the speed of my movement — it was different — you were surprised and — yes — a little frightened.
I was leading you to your "playroom." The basement air was cool and it teased your skin, making your nipples erect. The smells and the feeling of the basement were fraught with erotic meaning. You couldn't help but be excited by it and so, your whole day of sexual need, your frustration at my erotic teasing, your slight fear, and our approach to your playroom — they all added up to a state of heady arousal. Your pussy gushed. It was actually dripping.
I threw the heavy door of your playroom open. Inside, it was lit by the warm glow of dozens of candles. And there in the middle of the room was something new.
It was a heavy wooden structure with red velvet padding. It was like a bench or strange high backed reclining chair with supports for each leg — or maybe like a table. The supports had heavy leather straps with large buckles. The short seat was rather high off the ground. It had no arms, but there was a padded appendage on each side also with heavy leather straps that extended up and away from the structure. I quickly led you to it.
Your red leather wrist and ankle restraint bracelets were there — and your red collar. I pointed, "Put them on."
Your hands were trembling as you put on your ankle bracelets, buckling them snugly. You put on your wrist bracelets too, but you picked up your collar and held it out to me. You gave me your warmest little girl look. I couldn't help but smile — not that I was really angry anyway. I slowly and tenderly put the collar around your neck — not too tight at all, just enough so you could feel it. "Thank you, Sir."
"Good girl. Now get up," I said firmly as I helped you onto the step in front of the bench and then turned you around, facing me. You clamored back onto its seat. You felt small and naked perched on the massive wooden contraption.
The seat was very short — a few inches — barely enough to sit on. The padding was firm, but not uncomfortable. The velvet was luxuriously soft.
"Good Girl," I said, and smiled. You felt relieved and you smiled. But you were nervous I could tell.
"Thank you, Daddy," you said in the naughtiest and most manipulative little girl tone you could muster.
"Legs up here," I stated matter-of-factly, and pointed to the supports. You lifted each leg — resting them where they clearly were intended to go. "Now lie back, Little Girl." You reclined onto the slanted back of the structure. You found that it was angled so as you rested your head back, it was perfectly supported on a firm velvet pillow and you could see down over your torso — you could watch everything I was doing. It was exciting and extremely erotic to watch me working. You were actually quite comfortable.
There was a heavy strap, a few inches wide, that went around your waist and buckled slightly to the side. It was crafted of thick belt leather — a natural, unstained color. There was a strap for each calf — just below your knee; as I fitted these around your legs, I didn't tighten them all the way — and your red ankle bracelets clipped into a ring — one for each ankle — one by one.
