It’s Friday.  It’s been a rough week.  The balance sheet between victories and near disasters is balanced at 0.  Not even a payday.  Oh well.

 

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Friday Night

Author: Velvet Stallion

Filed in: femdom, anal play, F/m, roleplay, verbal humiliation



It’s Friday.  It’s been a rough week.  The balance sheet between victories and near disasters is balanced at 0.  Not even a payday.  Oh well.

 

I stop by the store and pick up a six-pack of beer.  I don’t drink much anymore, partly for fitness reasons and partly because I’m literally socking away every penny I can to recover from poor choices earlier in life.  That adds to my funk, as I would ordinarily be working my part-time job as a bartender.  Fridays are usually great for tips, as are Saturdays.  The other nights are good, but better for meeting people than making money.  Unfortunately, other bartenders know this as well and I don’t have enough pull to name my shifts.

 

I get to my apartment around 6 and put the beer in the fridge, then open my first and down half of it before I make it the few steps to my bedroom.  I take off my clothes, put them in the hamper, shoes in the closet and head to the bathroom.  One of the very few ‘joys’ of being single – no one laughs when you walk around naked.  I decide to put on some music before I hit the shower.  A longer than usual shower under the hot water, coupled with a beer on a mostly empty stomach gets me quite relaxed.  As I step out of the shower and start toweling off, the noises from the kitchen instantly replace my calm with a wave of unease.

 

Now, in the movies, depending on the leading man’s ass, the hero would just non-chalantly walk out, gun in hand, and confront whomever.  My problem: no camera, no director, no gun.

 

I wrap the towel around my waist and decide it must just be that I need another beer because who would be in my kitchen besides me?  I finish the last swig, momentarily thinking I could use the bottle as a weapon, then realizing that anything with a trigger beats a bottle, I go to the kitchen.

 

And there you are.  I must look really stupid, standing there, my mouth open, towel wrapped around me, empty bottle in hand.  It’s been days since I’ve heard from you.  I’m pretty used to that by now.  Regularity would be more expected if I could afford to make your beemer payments or even move into a 1 bedroom apartment instead of a studio, but the reality is that working two jobs and still trying to maintain some connection with my daughter doesn’t really leave me any time.  I’m not complaining, because me having more time wouldn’t mean you’d have more time for me.  That’s also why I try to stay busy.  Less time to think about how much I miss you.

 

“Uh…hi.  To what do I owe the pleasure?”, I stutter. 

 

You look, as you always do, like a vision.  When you aren’t around, I can convince myself that you aren’t all that.  Not every man feels like I do when he sees you.  I know this.  And then, I see you in person and my heart skips a beat and my chest contracts and I have to consciously think about drawing a breath so my autonomic nervous system will kick back in.  I could consume you.  Breathe you in.  Eat you whole.  Die in your arms. 

None of this affects you and while it feels like an hour, it’s only a moment from me saying ‘hi’ and moving towards the refrigerator like this is nothing new and getting another beer.

 

“I’m ‘out with friends’ tonight and wanted to have dinner with you,” you say as if we had met by mutual agreement at a café.  My joy at seeing you totally drowns out the voice of complaint that nags at me about your situation.  You are the worst kind of addiction.  No amount of money I can muster will get you to be with me daily, and yet even when you go days without a word, rather than breaking my addiction, I’m just that much more susceptible to your appearance.  A coffee here, ‘out with friends’ there… but always I know where you’ll go after you leave me.  I try to convince myself that it’s not a lack of self respect, but just a habit I can’t break.  Maybe someday my numbers will come in….

 

“Great.  I’ll just get dressed and we’ll see what we can whip up,” I say as I turn to go get dressed.

 

“I’d rather you didn’t.” I turn back in time to see you smiling.

 

And I know I’m in trouble.

 
 

For the first time, I really look at you.  You always look so good to me that unless I make the cognizant effort to evaluate your apparel, I’m not aware of the finer details. 

 

Your skirt is shorter than you would ordinarily wear.  For a moment I wonder if you wore that out the door or if you changed somewhere so that he wouldn’t ask you questions.  The sight of your smooth skin and the knowledge of where your legs join renders the thought moot.  Your silk blouse allows your perfect, erect nipples to demand my attention and again I wonder how you managed to leave the house looking like that, but it doesn’t require a genius to figure out you simply slipped off your bra at some point or wore pads that you could remove.  The thought of you in some open cup bra makes me feel feverish. 

 

I know that depending on your mood, the only chance I’ll have to maintain any composure tonight will be the few brief moments before I acknowledge that I’m game for whatever you want.  You know this as well.  I wonder if you ever thought that I might decline for some reason.  I suspect you don’t give this any thought now.  I’m like a pair of shoes or a preferred piece of jewelry you bring out at your whim and you know your shoes and jewelry don’t decline your whim, why would I? 

 

One of the better points of our relationship is that we’ve agreed on signs so that we don’t lose any of the precious little time we have together with warm-up dancing around the subject of what mood you’re in.  A bracelet on your left ankle and you want me to lead, on your right, I’m to be your slave, none at all and you just want company and maybe a movie or cards or just to snuggle.  Clear, simple, brilliant.  If more relationships would make these arrangements I suspect the divorce rate would be impacted positively.  Tonight, the bracelet on your right ankle twinkles like it’s glowing.

You know I’ve seen it and now my choices are to accept, decline (like I would know how to do that) or try to compromise.  I’ve only ever accepted.  It’s too easy for you to walk away from me or ‘disappear’ for a few extra days, so I’ve never even entertained the thought of not agreeing.  Truthfully, it seems as though no matter what your mood or desire, I am in synch with you, so it feels almost as though you read my mind.

 

“As you wish,” I say and bow my head slightly.

 

“Come here,” you reply, your tone is clear, but there is none of the mock aggression that you sometimes have or may even develop as the game progresses should I prove to be slow in responding or miss an obvious cue…. or if I purposely provoke you, as I sometimes do.

 

I step up to face you, eyes down.

 

“Kneel.”

 

I kneel before you and you slip a collar on me.  I’m always impressed by how you have it handy without me noticing, as if you’re prepared for me to decline the game and don’t want it to be a distracter if we do something else.  You are always so subtle until the game begins….

 

“Go and tidy the bathroom and then come back to me quickly.”

 

I hurry off to make sure the bathroom is neat, should you check it, and while it seems like half an hour, I know it is only 3 or 4 minutes at most.  I return to the kitchen wearing nothing but your collar, my cock fully erect, it being impossible for me to be around you without that occurring.  As I walk in the room, I see you sitting at the table, the silk blouse gone and an amazing open cup bustier now visible.  This accentuates your perfect breasts and I can’t help but admire them.

 

“Come here!”

 

I come and kneel in front of you, head down.  You put your hand under my chin and bring my face up and then a sharp slap across my face as you say, “Do not take liberties with admiring my body.  Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, mistress.”  My cock is now throbbing.

 

“Scrambled eggs and toast, slave.  And coffee.”

 

“Yes, mistress,” I say and set about the tasks.

 

When your food is ready, I place the plate in front of you, where it joins your coffee.

 

“Anything else, Mistress?” I ask.

“You may have a single piece of dry toast and coffee as you choose,” you reply dismissively as you pick up your utensils and begin to eat.  I put in my single slice of bread and wait for it to toast.  When it comes out, I put it on a plate, but before I can move to table, you speak again.

 

“Come here and turn around.”

 

I stand in front of you but facing away.

 

“Bend over and grab your ankles.”

 

I assume the commanded position and hear what sounds like you putting on a rubber glove.  Then the familiar sound of a lube bottle being opened and then the cold shock of you lubing my asshole.  You slip a finger in, gently at first, making sure the lubricant is evenly distributed, and then you push your finger in fully, hitting my prostate and making me gasp.  You stimulate me like this for several seconds before withdrawing your finger and just as I suspect you’re about to tell me to stand up, I feel the tip of a lube injector at my asshole and you provide a generous amount of lube in my anus.

 

“Get your dinner and take a seat.”

 

I hear you peeling off the latex glove as I get my plate and walk to the table.  I pull out the chair and am confronted with the sight of the large, black silicone butt plug positioned like an impaling spike.  Although I give only the slightest hesitation, you give a calm but firm command to “Sit!”.

 

“Yes, mistress.”

 

I sit down on the anal toy, your previous training making it only slightly uncomfortable at first.  I do have to ease down gently and the strain on my thighs as I balance must make me red in the face.  I know you’re observing me, but I’m not sure if you ever look directly at me or if your experience with me allows you to see me without looking at me.  It takes me perhaps 3 minutes to be able to sit fully, the large plug filling me.

 

“You are a complete anal whore, aren’t you,” you say.

 

“Yes, mistress.”

 

“And how do you like my gift?”

 

“All your gifts give me pleasure I don’t deserve, mistress.”

 

“You may eat the crust of your toast,” you say as though you were offering me a feast.

 

“Thank you, mistress,” I respond, and pick up my knife and fork and begin to carefully cut away the crust and eat.  It’s not just fear of dropping a crumb or some other crime that might bring reprimand from you, but the large plug in my ass is somewhat distracting even as I begin to enjoy the fullness and the possibility that you might have even more delicious things in mind.

 

Having served you so much sooner, you finish your meal just as I put the last bit of crust in my mouth and wash it down with coffee.

 

“Come here and make sure the plug stays in place when you get up.”

 

“Yes, mistress,” as I carefully stand, keeping the plug ‘secure’.  I come over and kneel.

 

“Present your chest, slave,” you say, again your tone is neutral but with authority.  I bring myself up and look at the ceiling so as not to draw any ire from you and I feel your fingers on my nipples.  You give them a very firm pinch that makes me draw breath and a small sound escapes me.

 

“I do love your pretty noises and how sensitive your nipples are!” you say with a real tone of glee.  Even as you are saying this you are pinching and twisting my nipples, making me twitch with pleasure and pain.  You release them and then remove the nipple clamps from your purse, putting them on carefully, slowly, to maximize the placement and because you enjoy my reactions.  Once they are in place, you tug on the chain and tell me to stand.  I do so with all proper courtesy.  Once I am standing in front of you, you begin to stroke my cock and ever so gently put pressure on the chain in little jerking motions.

 

“My, that makes your cock so hard!  Hold out your right hand.” 

 

I do this without hesitating and you squeeze a dollop of gel lube in my palm.

 

“I wouldn’t want you to choke on that dry toast, so why don’t you put your man-jelly on it so it slides down your throat easier.”  There is no question at all here.

 

“Yes, mistress.”  I walk back to my place and begin to stroke my cock above my plate.  You watch this for several moments before getting up and moving behind me.  You reach around and jingle the chain of the nipple clamps and then I hear you behind me doing something…. the click of your lighter… then your hand on my shoulder, guiding me to bend forward slightly.  This makes my ass stick out a bit and as I continue stroking my cock, you move your hand from my shoulder to the plug and give it a slight push.  Then, I feel the hot wax start to drip on my ass.  The shock nearly makes me cum.  You continue to drip the wax and tease the plug and in short order my semen is spilt on the toast and a moan escapes me. 

 

You blow out the candle and move back to your seat, commanding me as you go to sit down and eat my dinner.  I finish my meal and you tell me to lick my plate clean, which I do.  When I’ve finished, you get up from the table, walk over to me and take the chain of the nipple clamps, pulling firmly, you tell me, “Clean up the kitchen, then come back to the bedroom, and make sure you approach me correctly.”

 

“Yes, mistress.”

 

You remove the nipple clamps, which I know means you intend to enjoy them again at length once I am in the bedroom.  I clean up the dishes and then get on my hands and knees to head back to the bedroom.  I can take no chance that you won’t be watching from the doorway.  As I enter the room, you are standing, watching me and I’m glad for my choice.  I come up to you, stopping at your feet, and you speak to me.

 

“Since you were such a good boy and ate all your dinner, you can have a little desert.”  I watch your feet as you turn your back to me.  “Lick my ass,” you say and I am almost instantly inserting my tongue in your tight, sweet asshole, massaging your sphincter and applying all my attention as thought it were the sweetest piece of fruit.  You register your approval by wiggling your hips slightly and making approving noises.  You begin to finger your pussy and make me work for several minutes until you bring yourself to orgasm.  You stand up and turn around, my head instantly dropping to avoid any correction.  You pat my head like a dog, and say, “Good boy!” and then more sternly, “Stand up and bend over the bed.” 

 

Coming up from all fours makes it impossible for me to not see that you are wearing the harness and dildo.  I bend over the bed.  I again hear the click of your lighter and tense, expecting more wax on my ass and back.  Instead, you begin to play with the large plug still in my ass, twisting it, applying pressure, then twisting it some more before finally gently pulling it out of my ass.  Almost immediately, I feel the head of your dildo at my ass and my prepped and lubricated asshole offers only the perfect amount of resistance.

 

“You have such a willing man-pussy!” you say.

 

“Only for you, mistress,” I hoarsely whisper as you begin to pump your “cock” in and out of my limber ass.  I’ve forgotten the sound of the lighter as you fuck me until I again am shocked by the first drops of hot wax on my ass.  The reaction of my tensing increases the resistance on the dildo.  This was of course your plan as it increases the pressure required and thereby increases your pleasure as the harness rubs your clit. 

 

Drip…drip…drip….pause…first on my ass, then on my back, then back on my ass, timed and placed perfectly to make my asshole tighten up just as you please.  Finally, you abandon the candle and grab my hips so you can simply fuck me hard until you cum.  Once you do cum, you slap my ass and say, “Suck it!”

 

I turn and drop to my knees and suck your rubber cock as you shower me with obscenities… “Suck my cock, you fucker…. you’re a good little cock-sucking anal whore aren’t you?....finger my pussy while you eat that cock.”  I slip my fingers into your very wet pussy and finger-fuck you while continue sucking the dildo.  After a few minutes you come again.  You pull away from me and say, “Go wash that disgusting mouth.”

I go and brush my teeth and rinse my mouth.  When I come back to the bedroom, you’re holding the nipple clamps and the flogger.  You clamp me, give a tug, and then the command, “Face down, across the bed.”

 

As soon as I’m in position, you begin to give me light strokes with the flogger, but this doesn’t last long before you begin to strike me with increasing fervor until you begin to break a sweat.  Some of the welts are quite pronounced and you run your fingers admiringly over them.  I’m not aware of how long this treatment lasted but once you are satisfied, you have me turn over on my back.  You take the chain of the clamps in your hand and begin to suck on my cock and stroke me with the other.  This isn’t anything more than to make sure I am as aroused and frustrated as possible.  When I am as aroused as you wish, you climb on top of me and begin to ride my cock, and pull on the chain like the bridle of a horse.

 

“Rub my clit,” you command.

 

“Yes, Mistress.”

 

You ride me like this for what seems like only moments on the one hand and yet my desire to cum inside you makes it feel like an eternity.  You enjoy a couple of orgasms, all the while keeping me from any release until you finally decide it’s time.  You begin to ride me in a very rhythmic way, you reach back and get a big full finger of our sex and feed it to me, knowing this will drive me wild and could easily trigger my orgasm.  As I start to come you pull on the nipple clamp chain until I am completely drained inside you.  You remove the clamps and rub my nipples which nearly makes me pass out from the extreme sensation.  You allow me only the briefest moment of recovery before you climb up on my face so that I can suck my cum from your perfect womanhood.

 

You ride my face expertly, keeping yourself just at the pinnacle, knowing my mouth will serve you for as long as you desire.  Finally, you allow yourself the pleasure of orgasm.

 

You dismount my face and lie next to me, now gently stroking me and holding me, cooing your approval and telling me how much you enjoyed me, how much I please you.  I am completely spent, totally exhausted.  I’m only mildly shocked that it’s nearly midnight. 

 

“Let’s share a glass of wine,” you say.  This will allow you to relax and give you just the right scent so that your story of going out with friends won’t be questioned.  I fetch the wine and we enjoy the next half hour in quiet embrace, just enjoying each others flesh touching, the heat and smell of our sex and love.

 

As always happens, you must leave and I am left to wonder when I will be visited again, when will I hear from you next.  Will there be a next time?

 

-         End….? –



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