8 comments/ 14607 views/ 11 favorites Clear Instructions By: Scheherazade73 His instructions had been very clear and Emma had followed them to the letter. Thomas was gentle and gentlemanly until she disobeyed a request (they were never "demands," always "requests," but it made no difference once they weren't met) and then he shrugged his gentleness off and became the exacting, powerful master she loved. Though he excited her in every incarnation and was a considerate lover, it was when they played these games of power that she was most aroused. Thomas, her mild-mannered, refined, seemingly conservative and slightly older lover was a consistent and important presence in her life, as was "Thomas, Sir," the man he became when they played, the man who reduced her body to a quivering mass and her strong, independent mind to an obedient puppy. Tonight's instructions had begun with an outfit request. Dressing her was a particular pleasure of his, one that included specifics about how she should dress herself and what she should think of as she did, which put her in the proper mindset for what inevitably came later. These ritualized preparations made her feel pampered and cared for rather than controlled, which had come as a surprise to her when they'd begun. She would never forget her indignance the night early on, after they'd first been intimate, when Thomas had whispered in her ear as he was saying goodnight, "Tomorrow I'd like you to be a good girl and wear those black panties you told me you bought the other day." She'd looked at him curiously, not sure what to make of such a request, and frowned slightly. "Thomas, I wore those the next day." He had smiled and gripped her arm with just a bit of pressure and held her to him. "Then wash them tonight, and wear them again tomorrow. I'm looking forward to you honoring my request." And then he had kissed her softly on the corner of her mouth and left her to stew at his arrogance. He had gripped her arm! And told her not only what to wear but also when to do her laundry! Where did the bastard get off making such requests of her? And yet later that night in her bed she had recalled Thomas's firm grip, his deep voice in her ear, his unmistakable scent, spicy and earthy, the prickle of his facial hair against her skin as he had kissed her, and she was flooded and restless. She had stroked herself a bit, hoping to fall asleep, but that had only inflamed her more, and she wound up digging her vibrator out of her drawer and bring herself to several intense orgasms with it, fucking herself hard in the last round and climaxing with it jammed deep inside herself, spasming around the silicone shaft and recalling his controlled, dominant voice telling her to cum for him. When she was spent and finally settled enough to sleep, she padded out to her laundry room, washed the black lace panties, and hung them to dry on the rack before crawling back to her bed to fall into exhausted slumber. That night was her introduction to submission. Her submissive side, which she'd never even thought she had, grew and developed nicely with Thomas, Sir taking her firmly in hand. She had always scoffed at what she thought were the very silly and misogynistic stories she'd heard of Doms and subs, of Masters and Slaves. She'd read The Story of O and 9 ½ Weeks (even watching the movie version and lusting over the young, virile Mickey Rourke) and though some aspects of it were titillating, she never got past the idea that it was all just a way to get a bunch of stupid, impressionable women to do a man's sexual bidding. And, of course, she thought herself above all that. Before. Afterwards she would concede that she'd never cum so hard or so often, that she had a submissive streak a mile wide, that in fact she understood how women could become Slaves, even, because the drive to please him was so strong. Thomas had chuckled at her enthusiastic expounding on the subject one night in bed as they lay in post-coital bliss. They'd had a particular intense session in which she had been physically restrained and he had been practicing orgasm control with her. After bringing her to the brink countless times, he'd finally tipped her over the edge, demanding, "Cum for me, Emma." She had swooped over that peak and avalanched to the bottom, bucking against the wrist restraints that bound her hands and the spreader bar between her knees and the anal plug he had inside her and the vibrator he had touched one final time to her throbbing, aching, oversensitized clitoris. And while she lay collapsed on the bed, he removed every implement and thrust inside her impossibly wet, still spasming depths and coaxed two more climaxes from her while he fucked her, describing the beauty of her submission in exquisite detail as he did so. So began their journey, an experimental and amazing five months ago, and Thomas, Sir could now make her cum just by telling her to, so strong was their bond and her desire to please him and her body's response to him. Tonight's outfit request was a favorite dress of Thomas's, a deep purple wrap-style dress that accentuated her firm breasts and rounded buttocks. He had requested that she wear under it a champagne-colored push-up bra with matching thong, which was a very feminine set, all lace and shimmering satin. He had also requested her most favorite (and least comfortable, she noted wryly) black strappy sandals, which wound around her ankles and gave the appearance of caging her feet. He had also made one strange request – that she not shave her bikini area. This was the fourth time this week he'd made such a request, and she was a little unnerved having so much growth. She was dark-haired and her body hair grew densely if not checked; normally she shaved every day, trimming her bikini line and keeping her plump pussy lips hairless and smooth with a neatly manicured bush up top. With no shaving all week there were tiny hairs spilling from the edges of her panties and causing a great deal of itching on the insides of her thighs with the prickly regrowth. She hoped all this had a point, though she imagined it was just another way to test her and make her do something she didn't want to do. She had been willful lately and knew Thomas, Sir had a long memory for insubordinate behavior. She had agreed to meet him at his apartment early. He said he had some things to take care of before dinner and would like her to come by and have a drink before they headed around the corner to their favorite sushi restaurant, which was a quick walk or even quicker cab ride from his apartment. When she arrived he was puttering distractedly, his sleeves rolled up and his hair mussed and that slightly stressed look he had that let her know that when Thomas, Sir took charge she was going to be in for quite an evening. She knew Thomas well enough to know that Thomas, Sir was an outlet for him as much as her submissive side was an outlet for her. It was a way they both sorted things out, and for two people who compartmentalized as well as they did, it was a great way for them to meet their individual needs in a very mutual and pleasurable manner. Once she had tried to explain to it to a girlfriend, and her friend (an open-minded girl, or so she had thought) had recoiled from the very notion. "So is it, like, a Jekyll and Hyde thing?" she asked in horror. "He changes like that? Emma, that's not sexy; that's schizophrenic!" And Emma had tried to explain to her that he didn't turn into a different person, or anything, it was a way of speaking and both verbal and nonverbal cues that they had developed, based on many long conversations and lots of communication of needs and wants. It was more a manner of attitude than anything else; he loved to dominate and she loved to submit to his dominance. But Stacia hadn't understood at all. She bought into the idea that Emma was doing something anti-feminist, degrading, potentially harmful, and altogether sick. Emma never got a chance to explain to Stacia how beautiful it was to have someone know and accept her, all of her, the way Thomas did; how lovely it was to trust someone in such an intimate and vulnerable way. She couldn't explain to her friend how being challenged and stretched was helping her grow in her sexuality. Stacia wasn't buying it, and fear of facing that kind of reaction again kept Emma from discussing it with anyone but a few online sub friends. Thomas kissed her and as she pressed into him she felt how warm he was, nearly sweating. He was indeed tense, and in her mind she made herself still and kept herself in the space in which she needed to be. She knew his control would focus him and in turn focus her. And during these times, when he was moody or tense, their time together was like a reset button. At the other side of it he was restored to his most perfect self again, and she was calm and fulfilled, and their connection was deeper. "You look beautiful," he murmured. "This dress is my favorite." "I know how much you like it, Thomas, Sir. It was my pleasure to wear it for you." He smiled. "It makes me happy when you wear things that I choose for you. Those sandals are especially gorgeous." He paused. "Are they comfortable?" This was a test. He insisted on honesty but would not brook complaints. Her response had to be perfectly phrased. "They're not my most comfortable pair, Sir, but they are beautiful, and I love wearing them for you." A gentle squeeze of her buttocks told her that she had passed that test with flying colors. "I have a request," he began, leading her to his bedroom and gesturing for her to sit on the bed. "And it would please me very much if you would agree to honor this request without first hearing what it is." Her heart pounded and she swallowed hard. "You know it is my deepest desire to please you..." She looked at the floor and waited, her stomach cramping with nervous anticipation. "I'd like to skip dinner. Well, not skip dinner. Just skip the restaurant. I'll order in. I'm just not feeling up to crowds tonight. Would that be okay with you?" She looked at him through her lashes. "Certainly, Sir, whatever you wish," she said softly. "But that's not the request, of course." "Oh..." she started, and then recovered. "Sir, whatever you have planned for me this evening, I'm sure I will enjoy it immensely, as you know your pleasure is my only goal." It was a lengthy "yes," but sometimes these things just poured from her, this desire to please so strong in her that she nearly babbled in her need to communicate it. He smiled, understanding her completely. "Would you like a drink?" he asked softly. She nodded and he went to the kitchen to pour her something to help her relax. And she took in her surroundings, appreciating not for the first time his fastidiously kept apartment, with its minimalist décor and masculine air. She enjoyed his place, how much of him was in it; she could see him in every item in his home. He was a man who gave very careful thought to every single thing he did and said, and it showed in every facet of his life. Where other people had general clutter or the odd stack of receipts or unopened mail or a pair of running shoes kicked carelessly into a corner, Thomas had no such blemishes in his pristine home. His sense of order was absolute. He returned to the bedroom with a glass of wine, and he handed it to her carefully and then went to his closet. Her stomach flip-flopped in anticipation, as she knew he was in his special drawer, the drawer from which many surprises came and many memories had been made between the two of them. When he returned he had his favorite blindfold, a simple black silk scarf that he loved to use on her, despite the fact that he also had several other mask-type blindfolds. He laid it carefully on the bed next to her, folded neatly in half, and went back into the closet again. It was a favorite piece of the game for him to take his time laying out the evening's implements so that she could have time to get herself in a proper place of question and arousal and complete and utter submission. Usually by the time he even began using his toys she was a puddle of desire. After bringing out some restraints and a towel, he asked her to undress for him and leave the shoes on, while he watched from the bed, so she obliged, first unwrapping the dress slowly and letting it fall open in the front, revealing her creamy breasts, and then shrugging it off her shoulders until it slid down around her hips and she draped it neatly on a nearby chair. Then she reached around to unhook her lacy bra, setting her beautiful tits free. She smiled and reached for her panties, pulling them down slowly, inch by inch, over her hips and down her pelvis, over the patch of fur and the rogue prickles, down her thighs and past her knees until the dropped at her ankles and she stepped neatly out of them. She swiped them off the floor and offered them to him, and he took the lacy handful from her and brought it to his nose, closing his eyes as he inhaled the scent of her, causing her pussy to seep as she watched him taking pleasure in her aroma. She stood before him completely nude except for her sandal-bound feet. He smiled at her and set the panties on the bed, picking up the scarf and rising to approach her. Her heart pounded as he pulled the scarf taut in front of her and walked around behind her, placing the folded silk carefully over her eyes. She sighed as he adjusted it a bit and then pulled it tight, tying it in a large bow behind her head. She felt his lips brush over her shoulder, and she quivered a bit as he slid his lips across to her shoulder blade and then the top of her spine. "God, you are beautiful like this," he breathed. She stood perfectly still, forcing herself not to sway on the impossibly high sandals, only the slightest imperceptible tremor betraying her nervous excitement. With her sight gone, her other senses slowly began to compensate. She could hear his breathing and the soft rustling of his clothing as he moved about. He held the wine glass to her lips and she drank deeply, the taste and aroma and even texture of the wine intensified. He licked the last drop of wine delicately from her bottom lip and she fought not to swoon. When he moved from her it was almost painful. She wanted him closer and he was walking away, going to the next room. The minutes turned into interminable seconds and her legs began to ache, both from the height of the heels and the efforts to remain still. She heard him clinking about in the bathroom and setting up something on the dresser, but her concentration was on remaining motionless and calm. She was new enough to this still that sometimes she got a bit nervous if she allowed her mind to wander off task. She did not want to be nervous tonight. Excited, yes – another anticipatory cramp ripped through her as she wondered what new pleasure he would inflict upon her – but not scared. She trusted him, when it really came down to it, which is what made it so satisfying. But she nevertheless struggled with that trust from time to time. A tingle in her left foot made her shift her weight and she prayed he hadn't seen. But he had, though he was not displeased. "My good girl," he crooned. "You've stood such a long time in those shoes. Would you like to sit on the bed now?" "Only if it pleases you, Sir," she said as calmly as she could. And then he was leading her to the bed and sitting her at the edge of it. "Go ahead and relax, my sweet. Enjoy it, because I'm not sure how comfortable you will be in a short while." His voice was velvet, but she knew if he was promising discomfort, there would be discomfort. She lay back on the bed, her knees bent and heels dug slightly into the mattress. Her feet were swelling in the stupid sandals, but she didn't dare ask to remove them. She could feel immediate relief now that she was on her back, but she didn't know for how long she would be allowed to lie down or what was coming next. She heard more clinking. And then she heard the unmistakable sound of Thomas undressing. He liked to strip down to his boxers while they played. He liked to have just that much clothing on while he restrained and teased her, and then he liked for her to remove that last barrier of clothing before sex, when there was sex – sometimes with her hands, sometimes with her teeth. She was a little taken aback that he hadn't asked her to this time, but assumed it was because he wanted things a little... different this time. She felt his fingers circle around her wrist and expertly twist his special tie around it, drawing her arm back carefully until it was stretched to the headboard, where he fastened it to one of the posts. He did the same with the opposite wrist and she felt the slow roiling in her brain, the splendid reaction of being bound limb by limb. Then he took hold of her right calf, running his hand from her Achilles tendon to the swell of her calf muscles, then along the sensitive back of her knee, up to the middle of her thigh. She thought she was going to be bound at the ankles, spread-eagle, but he surprised her and instead tied each calf to its thigh, so that her legs were forced open and back, her sex on display for him. Before she registered what was happening she was bound fast. The position she was tied in was slightly uncomfortable, but more than that, it was utterly degrading. Thomas smiled at her as she struggled to get comfortable, helpless on the bed, and took in the gorgeous sight of her. She imagined how she must look: her long dark hair spilling over the tops of her full breasts, her chest heaving, arms outstretched and wrists bound, her long fingers curled helplessly into fists. Her legs were bound in such a way that her breasts were pressed between her knees, and her creamy thighs spread. Her feet pointed down helplessly, even as she pointed her toes and tried to gain purchase on the bed she realized she could not. She wriggled around, but the only thing that happened was the ties at her wrists just dug into her skin. She tried to make her mind quiet, because it was as frantic as a trapped rabbit, telling her to make him stop, to get herself out of this ridiculous mess. To say no. To use her safeword, which she had never used and had told him she would never use, while he had smiled at her with that damned calm, self-assured smile and arched his eyebrows and annoyed her so much that she'd been forced to do what she never did, which was attack him with his kryptonite. He was unusually sensitive to oral sex and reduced to a puddle when he was in her mouth, and he hardly ever let her take him that way for just that reason, but that time he hadn't stopped her - perhaps to make the very idea of a safeword more palatable. Perhaps to say, "We all have our weaknesses, and that's okay." But stupid, proud girl that she was - she'd sworn she wouldn't use it and that oath came to her now, trussed up like a goddamned holiday turkey. She fought herself not to say it. If she said it, he would untie her in a second, and this would all be over. He would make love to her and she would be more than satisfied, and then they would eat sushi and proceed with their evening. Maybe watch a movie. Maybe she would sleep over and they would make love again as they were trying to fall asleep, a comfortable cuddle turning into something more as he reached for her and found her more than willing; aching, in fact... Aching because she was still unsatisfied, aching because no matter how many times he made love to her and no matter how generous he was ensuring her pleasure, in the end it all came down to this: she wanted it this way. She wanted him to tie her, to tease her, to make her body and mind uncomfortable. She hated it and loved hating it. Loved hating him. Loved hating the way Thomas, Sir peered into her soul and pulled out the things that put her most on edge and tamed her with them. Against her will. And totally in line with her desires. Clear Instructions There was more clinking and then she smelled his shaving soap, the spicy scent of the lather, and she suddenly realized what he was about to do. She heard the brush knocking against the side of the shaving mug several times, each little clink like a secret touch between her legs. She moaned softly. And then she felt him slide a plush towel under her, and heard him place a few things on the night stand. When the bristles and foam kissed her, she went limp. It was ecstasy, the soft brush, the way it smoothed over everything and buried her pussy in a layer of soft lather. He circled the brush around again on her secret flesh. "You were very obedient," he observed. "I don't think you shaved this cunt all week, did you?" She shook her head. "This is just how I wanted it," Thomas sighed, close enough to her that she could feel the heat of his breath on her thigh as he closely observed his handiwork. She wanted the brushing to go on forever. It was gorgeous, and she was relaxing into her bonds, relaxing into the pleasure. And then the cold blade licked at her cunt, deftly whispering away the fine, dark hairs that had grown in the few days it had been since she'd trimmed. Her calm was wrenched from her and she began to whimper. Pleasurable tension suffused her groin even as she strained helplessly against her ties. It was as if she felt the blade on each individual hair, so sensitive was she to the touch of the cool steel against her lips. Her flesh seemed to rise to meet the blade, to welcome it, and she began to sweat in earnest thinking about the logistics of the blade in such a sensitive area. The blade was gentle now, but she knew from her own experience that it could be mean, it could bite, and as her uneasiness grew, so did her arousal. And then the brush again, the maddeningly soft bristles lathering her, the unnecessary sweeping again over her labia, which she could feel parted and swollen and blushing between her widespread thighs. She moaned softly against the gag, breathing shallowly as the badger bristles teased her. She quivered, immobile and bound like a twisted gift, while the brush swept and circled and lathered and swept again. As the foam lathered her, she felt her own juices begin to seep from between the fleshy folds, trickling down to the puckered entrance of her ass. She moaned again, low and long and desperate. When his knuckle grazed her sensitive clit, she cried deep in her throat, muffled by the gag but insistent. She heard a low chuckle and then felt a lighter touch, maddeningly lighter than before. She wanted that pressure back. She tried to make her mind go anywhere else, but all of her focus was on her exposed and eager cunt. Just when she felt she could no longer bear the sensation of the slick foam and the stroke of the brush, Thomas pressed a hot wash cloth between her legs and gently wiped away the foam, careful to wipe slowly so that the heat of the cloth added yet another layer of sensation. With the blade gone she writhed against his hand, trying to rub herself off against him and sate her craving. After letting her try and withdrawing his hand multiple times, he slid just the tip of his thumb through her slick entrance. "Christ, that's fucking wet," he murmured to himself. "What a beautifully wet cunt that is." His thumb slid deeper, and she clutched at it, desperate for penetration. But just as quickly, he withdrew it. "You're very greedy all of the sudden. And what do we say about greedy little sluts?" He caressed her face, tipping her chin up as if he were looking into her eyes and not the blindfold. She made her face, her body, her entire demeanor the very picture of obedience and patience. But no use. "That's right," he mused, a darker tone creeping into his voice, "They have to learn to wait." She sobbed behind her gag. Now he would really tease her, and who knew for how long. Her pussy pouted, needing the thumb back to suckle, or anything firm at this point. She thought about what items she would reject penetration from at this point and could not think of any that would not ease her ache. And then she heard Thomas rustling about and soon the sweet leather fingers of the flogger were caressing her face, tracing from her forehead to her cheek to her lips, across her other cheek and down the side of her neck. Across the hollow of her collarbone, down one arm. And then a little dull slap as the thin strips struck her nipple, startling her and arousing the stiff pink peak. He sighed deeply and slapped again and she arched her back to meet the kiss of the leather, her nipple a pretty pebble under the flick of the straps. He drew it softly across to the other nipple and struck this one harder, one, two, three times in rapid succession, and it was like he'd struck her between the legs. She felt the shock deep in her womb and her pussy clutched at nothing. Her breath was coming faster now, she was pulling against her bindings, and he flicked it again on the opposite nipple. The left, the right, the left again, the right again, and then she heard the thwack against his hand but felt it between her legs, and Thomas chuckled as the sound made her body quiver. She cried and moaned and willed him with her mind: Thomas, Sir, please, please, I'll do anything, but please...please...let me cum... He responded to her wasted wishes by stroking the leather down the insides of her thigh, feather-light, telling her how beautiful and soft her skin was and how he'd love his tongue to be there. "Pretend that's my tongue," he said softly. "My tongue is tracing down your thigh, and I can smell your delicious pussy juices." The leather drew a lazy trail down her thigh and back up, drifting into the crease, where it lingered as she wriggled against it. "You're spreading your thighs wider for me, wide enough to allow my face between them, and you want me there, you want me to lick you and suck you and eat you." The leather was moving again, and she spread her thighs as far apart as they would go. "You want me to make you cum with my mouth. You want my tongue in your hot, wet pussy when you climax so I can lick you clean." And then the leather bit where the razor had not, the little straps attacking her all at once. He flicked and they smacked at her cunt, then they softly caressed her moist, secret flesh. He flicked once more and a bolt of need ripped through her. He flicked again and she felt herself creeping to the edge, the torturous pleasure blooming in color behind the blindfold. She could think only of her proximity to gratification. She could taste it, she could see it, and she shook as he stopped striking and returned to dragging the flogger across her quivering flesh. And then he stopped. Abruptly it was over, though her tender flesh still prickled where it had been lashed. He climbed on the bed next to her and she heard and felt him remove his silk boxers. They rustled quietly to the floor, and gently he removed her blindfold. He stroked her cheek and gently untied the gag. The words tumbled out of her so quickly that she felt like she was babbling in some unintelligible language. She begged him to let her cum, pleaded for his tongue, his fingers, his cock, the handle of the flogger, anything to relieve her. He silenced her by pressing the head of his cock against her bottom lip until she fell silent, nursing the tip for a moment and then swallowing his cock feverishly. She took him all the way, the head of his cock nudging the back of her throat, her hot, busy mouth working at him. He unbound her as she blew him, loosening her arms to free her hands and then unlacing her legs. She flexed them as she feasted on him, moaning from the sensation of pins and needles that flashed through her limbs and turned them to jelly as her busy mouth kept its ambitious pace. He threaded his fingers through her hair, clutching her crown as she devoured his cock. A groan escaped him as she applied more pressure with her tongue, building exquisite suction, her hands clutching at his ass as she bore down on him with delightful enthusiasm. Her own pleasure temporarily forgotten, she licked and sucked him until he clutched at her face and bade her to stop. She knew it meant he was close, and she also knew he would see to her pleasure first. No matter how much he teased and tormented her, he was a gentleman in the end and always let her climax at least once before he did. She looked up at him obediently, her mouth swollen from ministering to his cock. "This look," he whispered. "That's what I love. What a good girl." He kissed her and she yielded to him, sighing and sagging against him, her whole body simultaneously alight with need and exhausted from the tension. "Sshhhh..." he crooned, cradling her head and stroking her hair for a moment, carrying her through the brief emotional meltdown that always followed being released from bondage. Then he spread her out on the bed and she kept still until he had her posed the way he liked her, her hair fanning out, her arms flung wide, and a pillow tucked under her hips. She felt herself dripping onto the pillow and her nipples, which had never relaxed attention, jutted up proudly from the relaxed swells of her creamy tits. Her thighs fell open, her cunt on vivid display. She held still. He was finally satisfied with the way she looked, and now he touched her, stroking her everywhere, looking into her eyes to watch her internal struggle. She bit her lip but remained still, and he laughed softly and crouched over her, his knees between her thighs but his hands on either side of her body. "Do you need a proper fucking?" he asked in a conversational tone, as if he were offering her a glass of water. "Yes!" she cried, her cheeks flushed. "Yes, Thomas, Sir, I need a proper fucking." "With?" he looked at her expectantly, his hips close to hers, his cock nudging against the inside of her thigh, leaving a glistening trail of pre-cum where it touched. "With your big, hard, beautiful cock," she whimpered, looking up at him through her lashes. "Sir." "Do you need anything else?" he prompted. "First, before I fuck that hot little pussy of yours and make you scream my name, is there anything you want first?" "Only..." she breathed, and then caught herself. "Oh, Sir, only whatever you want..." Inside she was silently willing his mouth on her cunt, the beautiful release she could get from his lips and tongue. But she dared not ask. He pretended to give it some consideration while she pouted up at him, her eyes heavy-lidded with need. And without a word he began nibbling his way down her neck, tasting every hollow at her collarbone with his tongue before he dragged his mouth around the underside of her soft tit, closing over her sensitive nipple, suckling her until she shivered and then repeating it on the other side. She made little cooing noises in her throat as he trailed his mouth down, tasting her navel and her taut tummy before pressing his face into his smooth masterpiece. She shuddered as he blew softly on her lips until they blossomed open, and then he lapped at each delicate inner lip, from the apex on up to the sensitive nub of her clit, delving his tongue in time and again to taste her nectar. He held her thighs open and buried his face in her, his tongue picking up rhythm as he licked and thrusted his tongue inside her and rubbed his nose against the hard bud, making her gasp. "Oh, Thomas...Oh, Sir...that feels so good... Sir, I want to cum for you..." She was panting and clutching the sheets, bucking her hips into his face as he held her and devoured her sweet cunt. She wailed as he slid a finger inside her, finding her g-spot easily and working his finger in tandem with his tongue, flicking at her clit and then closing around it and suckling it as he rubbed her inside. "Oh, fuck...Oh, Sir...Yes! ..Right there! I'm... I'm...cumming..." She writhed and squealed unintelligibly and then grabbed his head and closed her thighs around him and sobbed as her climax wracked her. He carefully withdrew his finger and kissed her freshly shaven mound as he slid back up her body. Her eyes were closed and she was panting and flushed, but when he slid easily into her she smiled weakly and wrapped her legs around him. He didn't wait for her to recover and it was merely a few thrusts before he whispered urgently, "Cum for me, Emma!" and she came again, pressing her mouth against his shoulder in a silent scream as he buried himself in her to the hilt and rode her through her spasms. Then he pulled out of her and flipped her over with ease, drawing her hips up and diving into her from behind, his balls slapping against her as he pounded her. She moaned his name and he fucked her harder, twining his hand in her hair and holding it like reins as he rode her closer to his own orgasm. "I'm gonna cum..." he huffed. "I'm gonna cum in this cunt of yours... Take it, Emma... Take it, you fucking slut!" She was meeting every stroke, her ass thrusting back at him, clutching the sheets and panting raggedly. He gripped her and held her hips tightly as he thrust a final time and exploded deep within her. She let out a quiet, grateful moan and milked him gently from the inside until he slipped out of her. After a moment of rest he checked her all over as he usually did, making sure there were no marks on her skin, asking how this part and that part of her felt. "Taking inventory," he called it, which made her feel a bit like something for sale, a not altogether unpleasant notion. And then he kissed her and told her she was beautiful and fetched the sushi menu. "Just to be clear, I intend to eat dinner off your naked body," he said matter-of-factly. She looked at him to see if he was kidding. He was not. "Yes, Sir," she replied, looking up at him through her lashes.