The Punishment
A Short Story of Love
By DocSavage656 ©
Copyright 2014
Thanks for giving this story a chance. I love reading good, romantic stories involving two women and thought I'd try one myself. I wholeheartedly agree that most lesbian stories written by men do not do women of any orientation proper justice. I have tried to avoid that, and honestly hope this piece is respectful to all.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarities with persons living or dead are strictly coincidental.
My eyes flutter open to patterns of reflected light dancing on the ceiling as the late afternoon sun bounces off the cool water of the swimming pool. My mind drifts lazily as the multi colored light show plays out above me and a television commercial drones on in the background. I stretch and wonder just how long I've been asleep.
The beep of someone setting a car alarm snaps me back to reality. That sounded close..., wait a minute, it was close. I squint my bleary eyes and try to make out the hands on the mantle clock..., 5:20, SHIT!
Dammit! I must have dozed all afternoon! I spring from the couch, pulling off the robe that covers my bare body, and sprint through the house towards the guestroom. SHIT, SHIT, SHIT! The TV! Running back to hit the off button on the remote, I hear keys unlock the deadbolt.
She enters the kitchen from the garage just as I make it to the guestroom and silently close the door. I toss the robe under the bed and lock the chrome handcuff back on my wrist. Straining to reach the glass of water she left just barely within my reach, I take a sip in an attempt to calm myself and catch my breath.
I'm too old for this bullshit.
One last quick check of the room, SHIT! The handcuff key is right there, in plain view on the floor. Oh my god! I can't reach it! Extending my leg as far as it will go, I just manage to brush it to me with my toe and toss it under the dresser. Fuck it, I'll get it later.
I assume the position she likes to see me in; on my knees, head bowed to the floor, my right hand manacled to the steel bed frame.
Calming myself, I breathe deeply and try to relax. She can't know I was loose today. I don't know if my poor 58 year old body can take another night like last night, right now. Everything is still a little sore from the punishment she gave me.
It was my own fault. I know it. I was a bad girl and touched myself when she had clearly told me not to. I had to be punished, and I was. The thought almost makes me giggle.
Listen to me, will you. A bad girl. Huh! At my age. A retired school teacher, being treated like some sex slave slut by her captor. Running my fat ass through the house, our house, afraid of being caught. It makes me feel... naughty; like I used to feel when I was younger and sneaked peeks at the pretty girls in my daddy's dirty magazines.
It really is my own fault. It was my idea; this whole thing. I made the appointment. I saw the story on the internet about how sex therapists can save relationships by helping couples explore the more kinky side of their sex lives. But I had no idea it would be this fun. Okay, I said it. Yes, fun. I like it, and I like how much she likes it. There!
After 36 years together (that's like 250 dog years, and 400 in lesbian relationship years) this whole mistress/pet thing has brought us so much closer together in a lot of new and fun ways. We plan play-time together, and surprise each other with nasty little scenarios that we never would have done before. Like today when she "Put me on the floor," as she likes to call it, this afternoon at lunch; it was... well, it was HOT!!!
She plops her briefcase down hard on the kitchen table just to make sure I know she's home. The bitch is bating me; wanting me to cry out and beg for her to set me free. But I am NOT going to give her the satisfaction.
The carpet nearly hides the sound of her high heels as she comes down the hallway. I hear a doorknob turn and a door quietly push open. A little twinge of fear shoots through me. With my nose pressed to the floor, it takes a second to realize that she's gone into our bedroom and not coming in here; not yet, anyway, so I relax a little.
Bang! I jump as she slams the lid down on the clothes hamper in our closet. Is she changing her clothes? That bitch: How long does she plan on making me wait here? I'm getting a cramp!
A few long moments pass. It's quiet, too quiet. She's listening at the door, I know it.
The guest room door finally squeaks open and I shiver; scared or thrilled, I'm not sure. Maybe both.
Head down on the carpet, I try not to make any movements, but the handcuff is really starting to hurt. Through my peripheral vision I see her bare feet as she walks in and stops in front of me. I can feel her staring at me, and deep down I know what she's thinking: She's amazed at what I'll do for us... for our relationship. So am I.
She turns and moves toward the other side of the room and I catch a quick glimpse of a power cord she's dragging behind her. The pressed sheets make a crisp sound as she throws them to the foot of the bed, and I feel the bed shift as she gets on and slides over. I know she scooted over to this side, lying right above me, watching.
A few more quiet moments, then the click of a switch and a low buzz. I know that sound well. Our wand massager. That bitch is going to masturbate herself and make me listen. FUCK! That's not fair, dammit! She's going too far, now.
The buzzing changes pitch, back and forth; the familiar sound of her rubbing the wand's bulbous head slowly over her pussy in a circular motion. The bed moves, slightly. She's spreading her legs wider, opening herself completely to the vibrations of the machine.
Her breathing becomes deeper, raspier, with each passing minute. She's going to make herself cum, that bitch! The switch makes another click, and the buzzing gets louder. She moans and sucks in air. Now, I can smell her; her sex. Her arousal fills the air. I'm getting so wet. Oh fuck, this isn't fair!
I can tell she's pressing it directly to her clit, now. My minds eye sees the engorged nub being swirled and tortured by the toy. She's exhaling in short bursts as she pleasures herself. My own wetness is creeping down my legs as I press them tightly together.
Her heavy breathing turns to grunts as she rubs the wand against her clit. She must have really gotten herself all worked up on the ride home; thinking of me, here, like this, waiting for her.
"Ohh. Oooohhhhh," she yells out.
She's close, now, I know it. I've brought her to this point so many times over the years, and it's pure torture that it's not my lips, my tongue, my fingers about to drive her over the edge into her orgasm. I need to touch myself badly. But I won't. Not after last night.
"Aahhh..., aahh..., arrrrggghhh!!!" Her grunts tell it all. She's cumming; hard. Although I don't dare look, I can only imagine the sight. On her back, her twitching legs are spread wide and her heals are lifted off the bed; toes curled toward the ceiling, one hand pulling on a nipple as the other holds the massager, now jammed into her pussy as it spasms uncontrollably through her orgasm.
"Ohh, ohh. Oooohhhh, gawd," she finally grunts as her release peaks, every muscle in her body clenched tightly as she gets herself off.
The bed jerks a few times, then nothing; only the sound of her breathing, and the vibe buzzing away on the bed.
So, I wait.
"Whew!" She breaths out, finally regaining some composure, but it's another minute or so before she musters the strength to turn the buzzing off.
Hello!!! I'm on the floor here...
