It’s always daunting starting something like this. It’s something I want share though….something I need to share. It’s something sublimely pleasurable, painful, humiliating, uplifting, tortuous and self-affirming in one sweet maelstrom of delicious submission.
Well one has to dive in somewhere and this is as good a place as any. Alistair my husband and master has just returned from work and I am in the kitchen preparing his supper as usual. I’m wearing nothing special, just the usual day wear as demanded- a simple blue shift dress, matching high heels, gloss tan stockings- and as he steps purposefully into the kitchen I am overwhelmed by the need to sink to my knees before him and wordless I do so. He doesn’t say a word, he doesn’t need to, as I pull down the zipper of his trousers and his already hard cock springs out and I waste no time in enveloping it with my lips and mouth and it’s there where it should be, firm in mouth. His hand are in my think, permed hair and this is bliss, this is how it should be, as he shoots into my mouth and, gratefully, I swallow my masters come. His seed, my nourishment.
I expect more later. Maybe bent over the back of the sofa he will fuck me till I scream, perhaps he will drag me out to the summer house and bind me then defile me, or maybe he will do nothing but sit in his study and ignore me, watching me squirm, enjoying my anxiety, my own frustration at being neglected, my own needs rejected…
…yet still there is pleasure in being denied. And of not being certain what he will do. The unexpected has a fascination of it’s very own and if it means I must at the end of the day pleasure myself with my fingers instead of enjoying being impaled on his hard cock then so be it. Because there’s always tomorrow.
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