It was mundane as hell. The dishwasher was full, she was emptying it. Simple. Mind bogglingly simple. When she was finished with the dishwasher, there was sorting washing from machine to dryer and putting a new load on. Then she was done. A scandal rag was waiting for her in the loo, she would read of fat celebs who could easily fit twice over into her clothes as she emptied her bowels in the peace of an empty house. A beauty night beckoned, the tiresome tasks a lover appreciated but preferred not to witness. Removal of hair from face, pits, groin and legs, nails to tend, hair to condition, a merciless task akin to weed removal.
Beyond the lighted window, he watched as she moved around the kitchen. He skulked in the shadows. His time for centre stage was close.
His attention never wavered from the woman in his gaze. She was casual, her face naked of colour, hair rudely tied into a messy tail. And still, she was lithe, her limbs held with an aristocratic poise she did not know she had. Her breasts were loose, and their movement betrayed this, but they remained high and full. As she reached to the cupboard her T-shirt rose, and he was heartened by sight of her waist, of her small rounded belly, the base of her spine as it disappeared into the hint of her buttocks. The back door opened, a tumble dryer vent appeared. In a flurry of action, the kitchen light was extinguished and the garden beyond reverted to darkness. Many nights had found him here, her dark sentinel, watching without blinking.
He waited, then he acted. He moved into the house with the practised ease of a thief. She was in the loo, her guard could not be less effective. Stealthily he climbed the stairs. The bedroom was dim and to his concern, she was nowhere to be seen.
When he reflected on the events he could only say that he had no idea, it happened too fast. All at once he was kneeling, hands handcuffed behind him. A blindfold sealed him into his vista of confusion. One word, sotto voce "Bitch" she said. His ear was wet with her breath.
The confusion ebbed, and he began to struggle, attempt to rise to his feet. Immediately his efforts were staunched with a fearsome kick to his balls and, sick balling in his stomach, he folded into defence.
A sharpness pierced his neck beneath his ear, a blood red line was scratched from neck to ear, bumping across his day old whisker lumps. He yelped, a small boy noise, for which he was rewarded, a vaguely damp rag filled his mouth. The taste was familiar. It drank his spit greedily. Tape sealed it in, he was almost mute but for the grunts of a lower primate.
By sharpened point he was forced to his feet, and backed against a wall. She pinched his nose and he realised quickly he could not breathe. Before the burn in his lungs became too unbearable he shook his head, a rabid dog dislodging invisible flies. He heard her laugh.
Quickly, his t-shirt was ripped from belly to neck and the solid flesh of his pectorals seized between teeth. She bit him hard, she bit him more than once, she bit him deep. She made his eyes roll beneath his blindfold. The teeth found neck, and the tenderness of belly, and as she reached the top of his jeans, he tensed and his cock was roused against his will. She undid his belt, then button by button she revealed a man who lived commando. And as she removed his jeans and socks, he helped her by raising his legs because he wasn't sure his ego was too damaged any more.
The pointed blade ran down from his neck to his chest to his belly to the inside of his thighs and back again. It paused, as if considering, then suddenly, movement. He was pushed to the bed, where he lay, spanking position. His face was buried in eiderdown, his mouth was full, breathing was a struggle. She rubbed his ass firmly, enjoying its fluffy hardness. She rubbed her fingers down the warm wet crack and toyed with his anus, his ball sack. Coldness heralded the arrival of lube and she drizzled it down the valley of his arse. As it reached his anus it contracted involuntarily, and sucked the fluid in a tiny way.
"Pah, this icon of masculinity, this paragon of machismo, this bastion of supremacy, listen to him squeal like the women he preys on, virgin boy, virgin ass, feel the act of penetration and know how powerful it is to be passive".
His poor ass seared with white hot pain as it was filled and he shouted into his cotton rag gag.
He felt water, he was rubbed, he didn't know....and then he did. She was shaving his ass. Then she shaved the back of his legs. Then she lay him on the bed, deftly adjusting his cuffs from aft to fore, suspended now in the air above him. She shaved the front of his legs, she shaved his groin, she shaved his chest. She shaved his face too. She bade him kneel on the bed and she brushed his hair, gelling it back. He felt the bed bounce as she crawled around him, surveying her work. He knelt quietly, almost proudly.
