A Day in the Life

I wake up late, and he has gone.

Must not have wanted to awaken me. I pout. He could have at least spilled his come in my mouth so I'd have it to console me when I woke up.

He doesn't like to do that, though. He says it's no fun for him when I'm not awake and aware and wanting and enjoying what he does to me, but if that's the case, why didn't he just wake me up and fuck me hard before he left for work? Master can be so silly sometimes!

I glance at the clock and see that it's half-past nine. That

is

pretty late; I guess it's time to get started on the daily routine. I roll over to the center of the bed, where we made love last night. In the space between the pillows, I can smell his sweat and mine, commingled. It's getting me hot, and I know that I'm supposed to get started on the day, but I also know that my fuckhole is meant for coming, so I take my pleasure with gentle pressure of my clit on the bed. I think about last night, and the fact that my crotch is rubbing against the same spot where we climaxed together last night makes my nipples sparkle with excitement. My face is buried in the mattress, and I slide my palms onto my nipples, and the heat of them there is enough to make me come on the next thrust of my pelvis.

Whew! That felt goooood.

"Thank you, Master," I say under my breath. I head for the shower, now, smiling.

The shower is hot and relaxing as it strikes my skin with hissing droplets, and I sigh as my eyes close in contentment. There's a lot of housework to do today, and I'd like to stay sheltered here for as long as it's feasible. The soap smell is pungent, and it helps me to shake my drowsiness. I shampoo my hair, then touch up my legs—my hair there grows very slowly, but I don't want to take any chances. Prickly legs aren't sexy. Then it's on to my pubic hair, which is shaved except for a small strip right above my pussy. I prefer to be completely clean-shaven for him, but Master says a completely bare cunt makes him think of twelve year-olds, and he's

not

a pedophile. Sigh. He can be so picky! And it feels like such a nice tickle when his beard touches me there!

All this thought of tickles is exciting, but I try to restrain myself so I can finish washing. I use a spray bottle to clean out all my parts; I want Master to use all of my holes, but he's all about hygiene. A clean slut is a good slut, he always says, and always makes for a better Dirty Slut. The ass-cleaning, I will admit, is just stimulating enough to turn me on, and I spend a lot of time "cleaning". Gotta use two hands, though, as all this fun is making my pussy greedy again, and I need to speak Master's name some more times so I can....

uhhhhhhh...

... come!

Well, I feel much cleaner, now. Shut off the faucet and sink myself into one of those navy blue full-body towels he bought for me. He's so considerate, and the puffy terrycloth is soooo comfy. My nipples appreciate it. I want to play with them and come again, but I do have lots of errands to get to, so I successfully resist the temptation. It's been hard, learning to control my urges, but Master has been very patient with me. I love him so much.

I head for the kitchen to fix myself a little something. Toast, lightly buttered, and maybe a bowl of cereal. Trix (

are for kids!

) are my guilty pleasure, but I know they're not really very healthy for me, so I push them out of the way and grab some granola instead.

In the breakfast nook is a note from my Master:

Dearest Nikki,

I'm sorry you couldn't take me in your mouth this morning, but I have an early meeting and I woke up a tad late, and I didn't have the time to give it to you properly.

Silly Master!I think.

Just your cock on my tongue is "proper" enough for me.

There's more to read, though.

I'm having Stu over for drinks tonight after work, so you'll need to have the house tidied and some snacks for him. Nothing fancy, but make sure it's tasty. I'm sure you will think of something.

I have some ideas, but it means I will need to go grocery shopping this afternoon.

After your appointment with Dr. Beston, I'd like you to go over and see Penny. She's been lonely since Ted left her, and I hate for her to be so sad all of the time. Bring her some happiness, okay?

My pleasure.Penny is a very close friend of ours who just went through a particularly nasty divorce. I will help her feel better. My pussy moistens in anticipation.

I see from the paper that Fredericks is having a sale today, so you might want to check it out. We've been a bit rough on some of your undies, lately, and you could use some replacements. Remember, classy, not trashy.

Darn it.

That's no fun. My fingers are in my slit right now, one brushing my clitoris, the other pushing inside my hole rhythmically, thinking of what I will buy. He ripped my silk thong in half last week when he fucked me in the alley behind the club, so maybe I should buy a replacement.

I'd like to see you in black tonight, my dear. Don't disappoint me.

Black,I think.

I know just the thing.

Now I'm circling my hot little pearl with one finger, and it feels sooooo good.

You may come for me now, fuckwhore.

Your Loving Master

Mmmmm.... As soon as I read "fuckwhore", I am coming into my hands, making the kitchen chair slippery with my moisture. When I open my eyes again, I notice that there's a postscript:

P.S. Well, maybe a little trashy. xoxo, Me.

Awwww...I smile. He really loves me, and lets me know in all kinds of considerate little ways.

* * *

After licking the chair clean (and almost getting distracted enough to fuck myself again), I head back to the bedroom to get dressed for the day.

I love my walk-in closet. Before Master, I'd never lived in such luxury, but he makes a very good living and some of our storage spaces are bigger than the actual rooms in my old life. The closet in our bedroom is no exception. It houses all of my fancy clothes, and my slutty clothes, and my lingerie takes up at least a quarter of the space. I select a comfortable white satiny bra and a matching six-strap garter-belt. Panties or not is a tricky question, today, as Master has left me no specific instructions. I am feeling particularly horny, though, and it just wouldn't do to ruin my nice expensive dress with fuckjuice stains, so I get something white and minimal but which will at least hold in my wetness until I can reach a suitable spot to take care of it.

The hosiery armoire is where I head next. As always, I sigh at the light smell of nylon when I open it. It makes me think of Master, and how much he loves my legs, and how much he loves me to wear stockings. I select the Gio full-fashioned tan ones I bought in Paris last year for his birthday, and rub them briefly against my cheek as I sigh in memory.

The cushy bench is going to need cleaning again,

I think as I sit down on it.

Maybe I'd better put on the panties first.

When the back of the thong is riding properly up my ass, I wrap the garter-belt around my waist and then start on the stockings, dampening the panties (not for the last time today, assuredly) as I do so. I roll the stockings over my toes and heel, where they fit snugly and comfortably, and then slowly, luxuriantly, as if I can feel His eyes on me, draw the thin material up my calves to the knee. A quick check to make sure the seam is straight, then I round the shapely bend and proceed up my smooth thighs.

I am wet as a sponge from this.

I've always enjoyed fancy lingerie, and even wore stockings sometimes, before I met Master. But never did I get so horny from wearing them until he told me how sexy they were.

"I find stockings fascinating," he'd said. "The way they accent a woman's leg, the curves of the thigh where they meet the welt of the hose... it's just sensual and sexy in an amazing way. I could never get tired of them—they intrigue me in the same way that women's legs, in general, have intrigued me for years: I never stop trying to peer up skirts to see the whole expanse of thigh. Doesn't matter if it's a mysterious stranger or it's my own personal whore and I know exactly what's under there: I still look. Stockings are the same way, for me. I'll still be intrigued, still look, no matter how 'routine' they become."

He told me this while my nylon-encased legs were wrapped around his neck, though I don't know how he remained coherent enough to describe all this while fucking my slut-cunt. I know I wasn't. I came, then, and the words were burned into my brain.

Since then, I have always gotten hot even from merely

contemplating

dressing my legs for his gaze. I can't go to lingerie shops to buy my hose; I got kicked out of the local boutique when the old bat who runs the store figured out I was masturbating in the dressing room while trying her wares on. She had no right to complain, as I had planned on purchasing every single pair I ran over my nether lips and sucked clean, but for some reason she decided I was not the kind of customer she wanted to serve. So I buy online, and when I surf the web for hosiery I'm touching my pussy with my other hand. Contemplating my Master watching me put them on, looking at me with that hungry stare that gives me a tickle in all the right places. Imagining crossing and uncrossing my legs slowly for him, shifting them across one another, pressing my thighs together in need while I stare into his eyes, knowing that he's nearly mad with desire...

For me...

Now I'm standing with my back to the mirror, looking over my shoulder as I fasten the back strap near the keyhole loop at the top of the welt. The seam is straight and, this small job done, I watch myself as my wrist crosses my panty line and my finger enters my hungry, slick hole once more. These panties are too brief to fit my whole hand, and my outer fingers are splayed lewdly out the sides in order to give me better access with the two fingers that are inside. I can see my ass cheeks spread around the fabric, and it's so hot to look into my wet drippy snatch through the part of my thighs. I'm rubbing a little rough, now, intensely, as I look at the play of the nylon, damp with sweat, now, up my leg from heel to thigh, the fully-fashioned seams like arrows pointing to where I feel the best. I look damn sexy and I know it, and that gets me over the edge of building fire and straight into another orgasmic juicing. My knees go weak, and I can't see my ass and legs anymore because my eyes are closed and my animal grunts shoot forth from between my teeth.

I lean against the bench, now, panting, but satiated enough to be able to finish attaching the rest of the garter straps to the hose without suffering another loss of control at how sexy I feel.

Master wants me to be a sexual being at all times. Since his vision (and the vision of all right-thinking males, of course) of sexual includes stockings, I want to wear them all the time because I want to be perceived as sexual by him (by others, too, generally, but he is most important to me) at all times.

Now, I say "all times", but there can be practical reasons for wearing shorts, or pantyhose, or even going naked. I recognize that, but I'd like to think of those as the exception rather than the rule. Master likes it when I dress to the nines, but even when I'm only dressed for a shopping trip, or dinner at home, I like to dress at least "to the fives". Which to me means elegant hosiery every day. Master has expressed his approval of this attitude in his little slut, and that's good enough for me.

* * *

"Hi, Mrs. Chambers," says Bethany, Dr. Beston's perky receptionist, as I come in the door and make for the lounger and a copy of Cosmo.

"Hello, Bethany," I reply. She is a pretty, though not beautiful, girl, and her smile is one of God's precious gifts. "Is Elaine's schedule running on time today, or will I have to wait a while?" Because the feeling of the taut nylons sliding up and down my legs as I walked from the car has made me long for a session in the little girls' room. And the fact that Bethany is looking at my calves in an inquisitive fashion is not helping.

"No," she replies, "Dr. Beston will be ready for you any second now." Her eyes are still not on my face, and I reward her by crossing my legs and pretending not to notice the hiking of my skirt and its blatant revelation of what's underneath.

I almost hope Elaine is late for the appointment, and start to squeeze my thighs together firmly. This stimulates my clit in a delightful way, and I've been known to come from just this action alone. My ankle is moving in little circles, now, as my leg bounces in reaction to my more fervent motions, and I'm looking directly at Bethany's face as I—

The door opens, startling both the receptionist and I from our... waiting... and Elaine, dressed smartly in a business suit, steps out to greet me. I'm red-faced, and her expression makes me wonder if she somehow knows what I was doing as I stand up and take her hand. "Nikki, it's so good to see you," she says, with a mild glance up and down my body, checking out my dress. "It's been so long."

"Hi, Elaine," I reply as I stand up. My panties are soaked to the point where I

may

be dripping down my thigh. "Are you ready for me, now?"

"Am I ever!" she exclaims, with a smile on her face. "You must tell me how you've been."

I accept her arm as she escorts me into the back hall, and glance back to notice that Bethany is gone. Off to the ladies' room, I hope. Wish I could join her, there. I'm still fucking horny.

We enter her office, which is comfortably dim, and Elaine offers me a glass of water as I lay back on the couch. When I have it in my hand, she goes back around her desk and sits down.

We chat a bit about life, and Master, and I tell her about last month's dinner party and how stressful it was. She wonders aloud how I dealt with the stress, and I confess happily that I fucked my way into relaxation. She laughs, at this, and says, "Good! A healthy sex life solves most problems. I wish more patients would realize that, as you have, darling." A pause, then, as she contemplates something. "Nikki, shall we begin?"

I am a bit awkward about this, as I am still not fully trusting about people playing with my mind. But I know it's for the best, this reinforcement of who I am, so I nod, if somewhat uncertainly. Her eyes light up, or do I just imagine that?

"Nikki, you will go very deep for me, now," she says, and the darkness clouds my mind as my eyelids slam shut.

* * *

I awake feeling refreshed and happy. I look over toward her desk, and see that Elaine is now leaning back on the desktop with both hands somewhat wearily, as she observes me. I don't blame her—my sessions last for a couple hours, and I'm sure she gets sick of sitting for that long. I lift my head up from the couch, and realize that I should have dried my hair better this morning. The leather of the couch is damp, as are my ears. Come to think of it, I thought I'd washed up after smearing cunt on my face this morning, but I realize now that I must have forgotten, because my face smells of woman, though the application of my makeup has apparently given it a somewhat not-me aroma. It would ordinarily make me extremely hot and wet to know that my cheeks and chin smell like a two-dollar-whore, but I realize with a start that I'm already dripping through my skirt and onto the couch.

I am embarrassed, and look to Elaine to tell her so, to apologize, but she reminds me of what she's said before: being under hypnosis can be arousing to some women, and she likes to just let it run its course. "Do you need to masturbate, dear?"

"I... I think so, Doctor."

"Well, don't hold yourself back on my account, Nikki. I'm a doctor. I've seen it all before."

And that's all the permission I need, really. I hike up the skirt and (I thought for sure I was wearing panties!) start to apply my manicured fingers to their task. I've got two fingers of one hand doing an imitation fucking motion into my cunt, and the other hand is caressing my clit in a slow circular motion. I turn my head away from the ceiling, slightly self-conscious at doing this in front of a trained psychiatrist, but she's just watching professionally, like she might be taking notes. Somehow, this gets me going even more, and my high heels are digging into the couch (oops) as I raise my legs for traction and begin pushing back against my fingers. I tweak my clit to the side once, twice, and then I am jamming my whole mound up into the air, trying to get my fingers deeper, and looking at Elaine the whole time I am coming.

My sighs are loud, and I feel sure that Bethany can hear them (good!), and when they've died down, I see that Elaine's nipples are hard through her blouse and her eyes are sort of glazed over. After clearing her throat, she says, "Very good, Nikki. I can see that you're getting much less inhibited. Our session is pretty much over now, but first... Let's discuss the matter of payment."

With that phrase, I'm across the room and on my knees in front of her, jerking her tight skirt up to get at her snatch. I push the sopping-yet-oddly-familiar white thong out of the way and lap at her, spilling not a drop, as she wraps my hair in her fist and moves my head in the way she likes. "Oh you fucking slut," she moans, and I hope she'll call me by that name, the favorite of all my names, several more times. I could come from just that alone, but since she's lost any semblance of human speech right now, my hands are rubbing my mound through my skirt in order to relieve the needy fuckhole lurking beneath the fabric. I don't come, can't come, until her pussy is satiated, so I dig deeper into her with my chin while at the same time nibbling at her clitoris with just my lips, and alternately tasting its underside with my tongue. Her breath catches, and I hear her squeal, and I can shudder in my climax as she attains hers and washes my mouth with her delicious flavor.

"Mmmmmm..." she hums as I look up at her glowing face, her bush an obscene moustache on my lips. She cradles my head in her hands, now, the urgency which made her pull my hair all relaxed away, her eyes filled with tears of exertion and joy. "Baby, you are one wonderful cuntlicker."

I'm thrilled by the praise, as I am thrilled when Master compliments me, and I ask if she would like more "payment".

She sighs, but indicates she's already late for her next appointment. She shakes her head as if to free it from some annoying thought, and then strokes my hair and says, "Black as night, Nikki." And I'm gone again.

* * *

There was a time, years ago, when I inquired aloud what in the

world

I'd do if I hadn't found Master, if I hadn't been his slave-slut. He looked a bit uncomfortable then, and asked if I

really

wanted to know. "No," I replied, at the look on his face, which may have been guilt. "No."

But the damage had already been done. My Master looked away for a while, struggling with something, and then he turned back to me. "Nikki, my darling, I love you so much. Know that what I do, what I have always done, has been for you. Do you understand this?"

I nodded meekly. Terrified.

"Come here, then." I complied. "Look at me." And then he spoke words I didn't catch then and hope I never hear again.

My world

changed.

And I hated it.

First of all, I resented him. Resented making me feel this way. Empty.

But I resented much more. And I remembered

everything.

For the past six years, he had used me like a personal toy, like a goddamned

thing,

in the most demeaning of ways. Dressed like a hooker, in those short, tight outfits he liked so much, showing myself casually to all the world like a shameless bimbo. Not a day going by without my fingers between my thighs, without my own filthy juices in my own mouth. Saying the most unnaturally worshipful things about him, about his cock, about what I wanted to do for him and to him. Fucking any woman for him, sometimes just because he wanted it—not because I wanted her, particularly, then or ever! Feeling no jealousy whatsoever when he took these women on our bed because my brain was so fucked-up on lust for her tongue and desire to please him.