The Japanese Stonemason

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A fairy tale with a BDSM twist about wishing for power.
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AzuO
AzuO
46 Followers

Every day made her more dissatisfied with her dull housewife life. Every morning saw her wake up, not at all eager, not curious about the events this day might bring her, because she knew already.

Ah yes, there were some variations. Not every day started with her husband mounting her to take advantage of his morning erection; sometimes she managed to get up before he grabbed her half awake. And frankly, when she thought of it, it happened less often over the years. Very likely he had some willing assistant at the office. Well, she could not care less.

She would make him his breakfast: a boiled egg, two toasts, two coffees and wave him off. Then she would do the household chores according to the schedule he had made with her (well, with her .. he had dictated and she had written it down), make lunch, eat lunch, do some shopping, read the books he had told her were worth reading, watch the programs he had told her were worth watching, cook their dinner, pour him a whiskey so it would be ready for him when he stepped in at 6pm sharp, eat dinner together in the silence he seemed to appreciate, fill the dishwasher, make coffee, watch the programs together that he liked, go to bed, be mounted again two times a week, sometimes three times, close her eyes , hear him snore and finally doze off.

It was not a bad life as such; his wages were good and they could afford a fair amount of luxury. There were no doubt millions of women on this world who would envy her, as material safety and security went. But, but ... she told herself every night again, before she closed her eyes and went through the uneventful proceedings of the past day ... life can't be just about safety and security, can it? And then she pressed her lips together and told herself to stop whining and just accept that yes, that is all there is.

But it turned out that it wasn't.

One afternoon she had started reading a story in a book about Indonesia in the 19th century, Max Havelaar, a story about a Japanese stonemason who was as dissatisfied with his life as she was and at the point where the Japanese emperor drove by and the stonemason wished he could be him and lo and behold, a ghost fulfilled his wish, she looked up and thought, "Oh, I wished things could be different that easily! That I just could wish to be who I want to be! Well, I know who I'd want to be!"

And before she knew it she had said it out loud and whole-heartedly, "I wished I was my husband!"

If there happened to be a helpful ghost around or not we will never really know, but there she was sitting in her husband's office, behind his desk, wearing his suit. In short, she was her husband.

It took her a while to get accustomed to her drastically changed circumstances. But one thing was certain: she quite enjoyed sitting there, going over the papers on her desk and actually understanding what they were about too and when there was a knock on her door, she looked up in eager expectation.

In came her secretary with her coffee, as pretty, flirtatious and attentive as she had always imagined her to be, but to her utter amazement she totally ignored her secretary's advances and just nodded her out again, barely looking up from her desk.

What the hell did that mean? Wasn't her husband interested at all in his cute assistant? For she was certainly worth a second look, and a third and a fourth as well. No way could she imagine it was faithfulness to his dull wife that kept him from giving his secretary the attention she so obviously deserved.

A second entry made her understand why the long legs, short skirt and ample breasts of her secretary had failed to have an effect. In came her boss. And what a boss she was, this uh ... ah yes, miss Tracy! She even knew her first name: Belle, an apt name if ever there was one. A gorgeous woman, this Belle, her freckled face adorned with a cascade of long ginger curls, all the curves in the right places, legs that just did not seem to end, all of this packed in a stern black women's suit that somehow only made her more alluring.

Now she did pay attention alright! Her member reacted in a heartbeat ... oh, what a delicious feeling it was to have one, to feel this throbbing, this tingling, this ... this hardness! Now she could completely understand her husband's urge to do something about it right away every morning ... she wanted to do something about it too, now, at once and stick this hard staff into this dazzling woman.

But there seemed to be no chance this would happen. This gorgeous boss behaved as stern, cool and arrogant as her suit indicated and she made the erection disappear rather quickly in quite a different way, by lecturing her about her shortcomings in reeling in a big fish in particular and in sales in general.

After her boss was done she felt quite tiny and as she watched those gorgeous hips and magnificent ass sway out, she muttered some whole-hearted curses under her breath. Ah, to see this every day and crave so hard -- hard! -- and never, ever have a chance to pin this sublime creature down and ravage her until she'd totally surrender to his supremacy, uh ... to her supremacy of course! What good was it to be her husband if he was, in fact, so powerless!

"I wish," she thought and that was all it took, she was her, her magnificent boss.

She was on her way to Belle's own boss and not a second was the employee she had just given a hard time in her mind. There was no room for that, because this delicious creature that she was now had her mind filled with quite something else. She could not precisely lay her finger on it, it was more like vague worries and a general feeling of apprehension, but the minute she entered her boss's office it was totally clear where they came from.

It was him, that sturdy man behind the desk, handsome as hell in his tight grey suit ... ooh, she would fall in love instantly if she was still the housewife, used to nothing exciting outside the walls of her house. But being Belle, things seemed to be different. There was attraction, absolutely, pheromones were whirling around the room like a tornado, threatening to knock her off her feet and sweep her up ... But there was also awe, reverence , even something like, well, submission was the word that came to her mind, which seemed the most appropriate for what she felt.

He had not looked up from his papers when she came in and she just stood there, wiggling nervously on her impossibly high heels, until he finally deigned to acknowledge her presence. Behind the heavy rimmed glasses his eyes were of the most inconceivable blue she had ever seen in her life and they were seizing her up coolly and at the same time they were piercing her with a flash of lightning that went right through, all the way to her toes.

"Why is it you are standing there, girl?" he asked her in a low, cool, but oh so sensual voice that made her feel wet instantly. "Haven't I trained you well enough? Were all those hours misspent on you, you little unworthy bitch?"

Immediately she sank down on her knees, crossed her arms on her back and bowed down her head.

"I am sorry, my Master," she whispered and looked up at him when he was not answering right away.

A faint smirk curled his lips and she shivered when she saw his eyebrow raised. Not a good sign ... not a good sign at all. All that moved on him was his beckoning finger and she knew what was coming. Yet she did not move until he snarled at her.

"Up with you, my little slut, up and here, right now."

She was at his side in a heartbeat, glancing at his belt anxiously ... would he think her misdemeanor serious enough for that, or would his hands do? Unceremoniously he grabbed her and bent her down on his knees, and pulled up her skirt high enough to expose her buttocks in the fancy sheer panties she was wearing today. Above her she heard him growl and she dared a swift glance up at his face. He was smiling down on her, but it was not a pleasant smile.

"Panties?" he said in a deceptively pleasant voice, "panties, little one? Have we forgotten what we said about wearing panties at work?'"

"Nn .. no," she squeaked.

"No?" Now both his eyebrows were raised and his voice was no longer pleasant. "No, you said? You can't mean.. . no, I'm sure it was never your intention to deliberately disobey me, was it, girl? So, relax, I'm not going to hurt you ... yet, and you tell me why it is you are wearing these against my strict orders."

Frantically her mind was racing through acceptable explanations, but the only thing it came up with sounded rather feeble in her own ears as well as, no doubt in his.

"I ... I just bought these and I liked them so much, my Master ... I just wanted to show them to you."

"Show them to me," he laughed, but it was not a merry laugh. "Well, let me show you what I think of finery you want to show off with, you little conceited prig. Obviously I spoiled you way too much, so from this day on you will wear spinster clothes, until I tell you otherwise, you slut."

And with that he ripped of her panties and started spanking her hard, alternately rubbing her stinging butt and letting his hands land on her skin, on spots she knew he was meticulously aiming at.

His other hand was fingering her and every slap made itself felt deep into her cunt. She knew she was dripping and she relished this harsh treatment of her ass, but at the same time what he just told her kept echoing through her mind, as loud as his slaps echoed through the room.

He wanted her to dress like a spinster, like a spinster! And she knew he meant it and he would make her do it, he had that much power over her and she resented the thought of being made to look unattractive in every bone of her body.

So much she did resent it that after a blow so hard that it that almost propelled her off his lap, she hissed through her teeth, "Just wait, just wait what I'd do to you if I were in your place, I wished ... oh, I wished!"

And before she knew it, she was spanking this gorgeous creature on her knees, slapping those nicely reddening cheeks so hard that it echoed through the room.

She relished it, oh, how she relished it, this power she had over that moaning, squeaking, wailing girl and to see her lose all arrogance and dignity, until she was just this squirming, wriggling bitch, begging for mercy and begging to let her cum.

And to make things totally perfect there was this deliciously pressing bulge in her pants again and the certainty she just could command this shivering slut on her knees to make an end to the pressure in the most satisfying way she could think of.

Hmm, would she fuck this whining bitch in her cunt or punish those stinging cheeks some more by taking her up her ass? But the little whore would enjoy that as much as she did, she knew that all too well. And although being a Dominant meant of course having the responsibility to propel your slut into subspace in the most delightful way possible, today she just felt a tad, well, selfish.

So she shoved this lovely burden off her lap and ordered the girl between her knees. Smirking mischievously she pointed at her zipper.

"You know what to do, don't you, my dirty slut, my fuck toy! No fucking for you today, you have not deserved it. You will serve your Master in the way you have been trained, so show me you learned at least something during all these hours I spent to make you the little whore you are. Now suck!"

And oh, how good that felt, her cock filling that gorgeous mouth, pounding deep into that throat until she gagged and coughed and drooled over her pants and on the floor. Never mind, she would make her wipe that clean alright.

Firmly she grabbed the girl's hair and stabbed her cock in even deeper, keeping that bobbing head in position so she had no other choice than to take this magic staff all in.

Had she known it felt this good she might have obliged her husband! The poor man, she never had done him the favor and he had never asked.

In bewildered shock - but what a sensation it was! - she felt her balls explode and the cum rise in her shaft and with a long "aaaah" she felt her seed shoot at the girls tonsils, filling her mouth with cream.

"Take that cum, you dirty bitch!" she screamed and slapped her face when she saw some of that precious cum dripping out. "And don't you dare spill a drop!"

Her bitch obliged and drank it all, looking up at her with those big, sultry eyes and she knew the little cunt was waiting for her turn to cum, but she decided the lesson had not ended just yet. So she pulled her up her feet and pointed at the door.

"Now out with you. You will be back here in," she looked at her watch, "exactly two hours. Not a minute earlier, not a second later."

And with a slow smile she stuffed the offensive panties in her breast pocket and bent over the papers on her desk again. Her slut still stood beside her, looking down.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

"But," she whispered, hardly audible. "But, my Master ... didn't I serve you well?"

In what she hoped was a convincing absent minded way she looked up from the papers on her desk.

"Tolerably," she said. "Why?"

"Because, well, I wondered ..."

As stern as she could she looked up at her stammering girl. "You ... wondered."

"Yes, my Master, I wondered ... I mean, I did everything you asked ..."

"Asked?" she said in the most disdainful tone she could manage. "Asked, did you say? Is that a word that fits the kind of verbal communications I have with you, girl?"

"No, but ... "

"But? But?" Now she made her voice boom through the room and pointed first at her watch, then at the door. "Now it's four hours, you dirty piece of meat. You brought it on yourself!"

Her sub went out, but not without throwing her a rather sulky look over her shoulder, which brought her near to the real rage she knew she should not condone as a Dom.

She took a deep breath. Hmm. Things were not quite right. That girl of hers seemed a bit too keen to be punished, lately, provoking her in every way she could. The wave of rage that had had been rushing upon her made way for feelings of doubt. Unsettling thoughts were creeping up on her. Was she treating this bitch the right way? Did she miss any important signals? Should she fuck her more and talk less? Or talk more and fuck less? Did she really know what her girl needed?

So disquieting were, in fact, these doubts and thoughts that she could not really focus on her work. Arrgh! Life of a Dom was not easy, not at all! All that responsibility on your shoulders! And those subs ... aah! Those subs just led their easy life and let their Masters do all the thinking about handling every whim of theirs! She bet that girl of hers was brewing a new act of resistance right this minute, just for the fun of it.

Oh, she wished!

Well, no, she found out, after she landed in that gorgeous body again. Her thoughts were as unsettling as her Master's had been. Spinster clothes, she kept thinking. Would he really demand that of her? While he knew how unhappy it would make her? Did her Master - she hardly dared let that thought reach consciousness, but there it was after all - did her Master really know her as well as she thought he did? As he should? Could she - and this was an extremely alarming thought, but she just had to acknowledge its presence - could she really trust him?

Lately these doubts had been in her mind a lot, way too much. So much in fact that she really, really wondered sometimes, if this was indeed the Master for her. But - and this was even worse - she also knew she had left Masters before for exactly the same reason. Could it be, could it really be that the problem lay not with him, but with her?

This was the most disturbing thought of all, but she just had to face it: was she really a sub? If she truly was a sub, why couldn't she just obey? Why couldn't she simply accept the fact that he, her Master, knew her well enough to know exactly what he was doing! That she needed to be humiliated, to be punished, that she in fact craved for it, like he told her so often.

After smoking a cigarette -- something he did not approve of -- and even a second cig for good measure, she straightened herself and mentally shook off all these misgivings. In four hours ... she looked at her watch, no, even less, in three hours and 45 minutes she would see him again and then she'd lay these doubts at his feet, where they belonged.

They would talk about it. And meanwhile she would pay a visit to that admirer of hers, that office stud that so openly swooned in her presence. There would be some balm for her injured self-esteem alright!

So she marched into his office, without even knocking. As absent-mindedly as her Master had looked up from his papers before, he looked up from his. That was not the look he usually greeted her with, but the man had probably been up to his neck in attempts to repair his shortcomings and to please her.

A frontal approach would be best, she decided. Her ego demanded a swift repair. So she sat on his desk, beside him and crossed her long legs, flashing her lashes at him. As she never had done this before, he could not be but beside himself with joy.

His reaction was just a bit beneath what was to be expected, though. Surely the poor man was just overwhelmed, she told herself. Of course he could not believe this was actually happening to him, after the deprecatory way she had always treated him.

Maybe a bit less frontal approach would be preferable. But she could not get herself to that. Instant gratification was what she needed now. So she dangled one glossy stockinged high heel right in front of his nose and let out an affected sigh.

"Oh, my feet are killing me, those heels are lovely, but try to walk in them all day! How are your massage skills, John?"

He looked up in surprise; she wasn't quite sure though if it was an altogether pleasant surprise.

"Well?" she maintained, still in an uncharacteristically velvet voice, but with a hint of edginess. "It's not every day I ask you to assist me in this particular way, John. Better grab your chance before I change my mind."

As he was fidgeting on his chair, he looked down again.

"Uh ... of course I would do anything you'd like me to do, miss. It's just that, ah well, what am I saying!"

And with that he grabbed her foot, unceremoniously took of her shoe and rather firmly began to knead her sole. It was not quite the kind of massage she would have expected, but for the moment she'd just take that for granted. No idea what his massage skills really were: they never had practiced those at home.

"You like that, don't you, John," she purred and after uncrossing her legs, she spread them a bit wider than strictly warranted.

To her satisfaction his cheeks reddened alright, when he was offered such an unexpected sight, right into her uncovered groin, but action-wise the effect was rather unsatisfying. All that emerged from the state of agitation she was sure he was in was a rather clumsy pulling of her toes. That was it. Abruptly she pulled back her foot and stood up.

"Let's just hope you are better in sales than in giving a proper massage, John, because this was the most lousy foot job I ever had."

And fumingly she sailed out. She saw him look helplessly at her dramatic departure, but he did not say a thing.

After slamming the door with a most satisfactory bang, she leaned against it to catch her breath. God, what was that guy thinking! Always drooling at her and now that he had the chance ... So angry was she on being turned down like that, because it was an experience she never had before in her life, that all the thoughts that had pained her mind before were now completely replaced by a new obsession: this guy, and how, and why! That a lowlife like him had the power to make her feel so rejected!

AzuO
AzuO
46 Followers
12