My Mistress

She watched as he slipped the glossy black leather carefully over her foot, his progress painfully slow as her shimmering nails disappeared beneath the final strap. She sensed the tremor in his hands, wondered at his control. She allowed a quick glance at the clock, saw there was plenty of time, and smiled to herself. He would fail, she decided.

She flexed her foot slightly and he froze. She relaxed, touched his bowed head. “Time is short, my slave..”

He continued. Was his head hanging lower still? She couldn’t be sure, but thought so. The thought brought another smile to her full lips. Her nails emerged from beneath the strap. He paused again as they came in to view. His muscles tensed and she traced their lines with her eyes. Along his forearm, over his bicep where the vein stood out and pulsed with his heart, over his shoulders, up his neck to his face. He showed no emotion, only continued sliding the shoe on to her dangling foot.

She touched him on the shoulder and he froze again. “Do you not see, my slave?” She spoke gently, but the force in her voice was unmistakable. He was motionless and did not respond. Good boy, she thought. She let her the tip of her index finger trail along his shoulder, over his neck, pausing to feel his heart racing there, then along under his chin. She lifted his head toward her slowly. He faced her, diverting his eyes automatically. “You may speak, dear. I asked you a question.”

“Yes, my Mistress. I see.”

“Yet you continued.”

He did not speak, only lowered his head slightly.

“Would you have Mistress go out imperfect?” She stood suddenly, towered over him. Raising her voice now, she continued. “Perhaps you would like your Mistress embarrassed in public this evening? Is that your desire, slave? To wait here, knowing Mistress is out in this state?! THIS WOULD GIVE YOU PLEASURE, SLAVE?!!”

She watched from above as he trembled, head lower still. He would not cry, she knew. She taught him very early, very harshly, how she felt about tears from a man. Still, despite his absence of tears, she knew how her words stung him. She knew his feelings for her perhaps better than he knew them himself. She stood over him, letting the silence that followed her bitter words speak to him.

Sternly now…”Answer my question, slave.”

He whispered harshly through pressed lips, still looking at the floor. “No my Mistress. Never. Never.”

She lowered herself to her seat again, crossed her legs so that her foot, the shoe dangling from her toes, was before his face. She watched him closely, could see the urge rise in him. She wondered again at his self-control. Speaking softly again…”What pleases you then, slave?” She knew the answer before he even spoke it, but still the words made her own heart race.

“Your pleasure, my Mistress. Only your pleasure pleases me.”

She gripped the edge of the chair with her hand in hopes of controlling her own voice. He would not hear his effect on her. “Again, my slave. Gather your things and be quick. Time is short.”

He rose before her, nodded to her and backed away slowly, never turning his back on her. He gathered the polish remover, cotton, and polish and returned to his knees before her.

She watched as he removed the shoe, then took her foot in his hands and began to remove the polish he’d applied earlier that evening. She focused on the third toe, the small blemish barely visible on an otherwise glassy surface. Just a smudge really, and not something anyone would ever notice otherwise. He applied the remover then, and it was gone. She checked the clock and knew that his next attempt would find success. She sighed to herself, sorry in a way. Still, she should enjoy the moment, his soft and gentle touch as he applied a fresh coat of lacquer. Yes, she would let him finish this time and look forward to the rest of the evening she had planned.

She read a magazine as he worked, but found it hard to focus on the articles. The familiar stirring in her mid-section kept her thoughts drifting to the evening ahead. She remembered this same feeling from her childhood, waiting in line to ride the boardwalk roller coasters or lying in bed the night before a big trip. Later in her life, this feeling had disappeared entirely. She was frightened when she first felt it again, just over a year ago. The first time he visited her. She’d considered fleeing from the feeling, forbidding him to come anymore. Instead, she confronted her fear. Later still, she embraced it. She’d made him hers, and now she reveled in this feeling almost daily.

She realized he’d finished and was waiting for her. Lost in her thoughts, she did not know how long he’d been waiting. She paused a moment longer, then lowered the magazine and leaned to consider his work. She checked carefully, knowing they would be perfect and finding them so. “Yes, darling. Proceed.”

His next action surprised her, touched her. He raised the shoe, but instead of putting it on her, he wet a swab with remover and cleaned inside the strap that she’d touched her toe to earlier. The slightest touch of red polish removed from it, he dried it with another swab and then slipped it over her foot. She watched his speed. Too quickly would show that he knew he would succeed and be cause for action. But no, of course. Instead, he proceeded even more cautiously than the last time. Slowly, he laced the strap around her ankle. She noticed the tremor in his fingertips. A small reward for him was in order for his attention, she knew. Perhaps a small reward for herself as well.

She rose, touched him gently. “Wait on the couch, dear. I will call when you are needed.” She watched as he stood, eyes never leaving the floor. He nodded, whispered “as you wish, my Mistress.” and backed around the corner to the living room.

She walked to the bathroom, paused to check herself in the full mirror. Her long, black hair hung loosely over her shoulders, touched her pale skin between her shoulder blades. Dark eye shadow, mascara, applied perfectly, lovingly. Her crimson lips stood out, matched the freshly painted nails on her hands and feet. Her nipples showed sparingly through the black lace bra. Her eyes glided over her stomach to her panties, matching black lace, her tightly trimmed pubic mound almost imperceptible beneath them. She breathed deeply, her breasts swelling, and smelled the powder he’d applied last. Yes, he’d done well. He would be rewarded.

She lowered her panties and was not surprised to find them damp. Her anticipation of Saturday evenings seemed to begin earlier and earlier in the week, and she spent the whole of Saturday indulging in fantasies of the night that lie ahead. Sitting on the toilet, she peed into the bowl, flexing herself to control the flow. Satisfied with her control, she relaxed and let her bladder spill its contents entirely. Reaching back to flush, feeling the cool rush of air between her legs, she waited for the water to stop running.

“Slave.” She did not raise her voice. She knew he would be listening for her. He appeared in the doorway quickly, eyes on the floor and hands crossed before his thighs. She could see his cock pulsing in his pants and smiled.

“Slave, you have done well this evening.” She awaited his response to her compliment, one of the few times he could speak without prompt.

“Thank you, my Mistress.”

“Yes, my dear. Very well. As I am kind and giving, I will overlook your earlier mistakes. You shall be rewarded. Do you wish to choose your reward, my slave?”

A wordless shake of his head was his only response.

“Of course not. Well then…you may clean Mistress…”

He lowered himself slowly to his knees, then further to all fours. He proceeded slowly across the cold tile floor toward her, tremors visible in his taught muscles. She raised one flexible leg, resting her 6-inch spiked heel on the edge of the seat as he approached. Her labia closed tightly around her, a tight slit in her otherwise smooth white skin. Drops of her urine glistened there.

He paused before her. She worked to steady her voice. “Yes, my slave.”

His tongue felt like fire on her skin. He worked carefully, slowly, savoring his reward. Her mind spun as she watched him, his tongue lighting on each drop, drawing it between his lips. He was careful not to violate her. A small moan escaped his lips as he drew in the last drop. He began to withdraw, but she placed her hand on his head and held him there. She lowered her lips to his ear, breathed in to it softly…”on your back, slave…”

She released his head and he obeyed her, lying before the toilet. She smiled down at him, rose, and lowered herself over his face. She hovered there, inches above him, and let him wait for a minute. She felt his hot breath on her and was excited by it. Reaching out with one hand, she pulled his black t-shirt from his pants and exposed his stomach. She let her fingertips glide over his tight skin for a moment before speaking again. “you may taste your Mistress, slave.”

His tongue pressed against her slit again, this time more forcefully, parting her labia and exposing the delicate pink skin beneath. He licked her delicately, the tip of his tongue progressing along her slit. She fought the urge to quiver above him, pressed her nails in to his stomach in her fight for control. Finally, giving in to her desire, she whispered to him…”Please me, slave. Please your Mistress…”

She pressed down on his face as she spoke, catching the low moan from his lips. It vibrated her clit, seemed to penetrate her body, and she shook involuntarily. She smothered his face with herself, holding her clit to his mouth. He responded in kind, caressing it with is tongue, nipping at it, finally sucking it between his lips. The wave crashed over her suddenly and she fell to one knee for balance. She felt the rush of warm liquid escape her, heard it splash to the tile around his head. He swallowed loudly, thirstily, before continuing on her clit, slowing his tongue to small, caressing circles. She felt warm wetness beneath her hand and looked at her fingers. Her nails had bitten him again, and his blood was smeared over his stomach in streaks beneath her fingers. She let them slip in to the blood pooling in the crescent shaped wounds, felt his warmth, then raised them to her lips and tasted him. He moaned beneath her again. She stayed in place, looked at his wounds and the collection of small scars surrounding the area. Her marks.

She stood abruptly, her heels clicking loudly on the tile. “Kneel.” she commanded. He did so. She lowered herself before him, eyes locked on his. He avoided her gaze respectfully. Her lips passed over his, almost touching. She breathed in her scent on him. Testing him, she lit her tongue on his lips, tasting herself on him. He shivered but remained otherwise still. Her tongue touched the small scar on his lower lip. Her mark, again. She let it linger there, then withdrew it. Eyes still on him, she remained close to him, so close that a deep breath would bring their bodies together. The millimeter of air between them was thick with tension. She wondered for a moment whose desire was stronger.

Finished with him for now, she rose and settled against the sink. Wordlessly, he picked up her panties and slid them over her ankles, then pulled them on to her. She let him kneel before her for a moment, gazing down at him. Finally tracing his cheekbone with a long red nail, she whispered “Thank you, Thomas.” His eyes filled, but no tears spilled out. She stood finally. Turning on him, she spoke. “Clean the floor, slave, and then fetch my dress.”

Walking out of the bathroom, she tried to sense his eyes on her. She felt nothing and wondered once more at his amazing control…

Continued…