0 comments/ 22900 views/ 0 favorites Good Things Come.... By: kittenkinky Jem stared wistfully out of the café window. God, life was boring. She had weighed all her options and was just about to sink her second latte when the door swung open. A frigid wind blasted hell out of the customers and then Krystal St John was beside her, spreading her special brand of heat over everything and everyone. Jem couldn't help but smile. Without looking into the room behind her, she imagined the faces of both men and women seated, hands around their mugs of chai lattes and cappuccinos. Faces of sly excitement and wry grins of recognition, coupled with lashings of damped down desire. No point in getting hot and bothered. It was a known fact that Krystal St John was no ordinary woman and it took an extraordinary person to meet her on her level. She was a woman adored by men and women alike but only women met her special requirements. Her preference lay in women whose body shape emulated that of a boy, rather than of feminine curves. The best of both worlds she often laughed. Jem was the perfect foil for Krystal. She was tall, slender, small hipped, and her feminine attributes lay more in her waifish look of cropped and gelled dark brown hair and pouting lips than in the size of her bra cup and shoes. Krystal was as opposite to Jem as latex is to velvet. She was voluptuously curved with high round buttocks, large firm breasts and Playboy Bunny striking looks of long blonde hair and sleepy green eyes. The eyes lied. There was nothing sleepy about Krystal. Her days as a Playboy Bunny were a few years behind her now but she had taken her hard earned cash and turned it into an empire of exotic underwear, fetish toys and mail order. She had one boutique, as voluptuous as her body. Like the outfits she liked to adorn herself with, the shop was lush and sumptuous. Red velvets, black satins, chandeliers with diamond like crystals that flickered prisms of light across the walls and ceilings. The perfect backdrop for the lingerie that hung like pieces of object d'art on the walls, the crystal embedded whips, the handcuffs wrapped in mink, the ostrich feathered French ticklers. Books were sold there too -- the sensual short stories of Anais Nin, the sexual factual life complacently regurgitated by Catherine Millet, bondage books, books on erotic photography. Several small booths hugged the back wall of the boutique, their thick black velvet curtains inviting the curious eye to peek inside. The interior was a disappointment, unless the customer had plans to make use of the empty booths. Each one had only a peephole in one wall and a plush velvet-covered seat on the opposite wall. A person could simply sit on that seat, or stroke herself, for the pleasure of both the sitter and the observer in the neighbouring booth through whose peephole such pleasures could be viewed. Each booth also had a mirror and the mirrors in each had seen many wonderful visions. Once, a woman had stuffed stolen love balls inside herself, not realizing the shop assistant was on the other side watching. She got a fright when she walked outside the booth and was asked to give them back! Krystal's plump long fingered hand lay over Jem's smaller one. "Darling," she sighed, "I hate to say this, but you look like you are going through a crisis." "A crisis of boredom, Krys. I can't stand it. I can't think of a thing to do that will put a smile on my face. I know I am, God forbid, being boring by saying this, but I just can't get motivated to do anything." "Your problem, my sweet, is that life has been too easy for you. Too much has been handed to you on a platter. While I'm not going to change that for you, I can offer you a slight change in your routine. I wonder if you are free this afternoon. I want to put on a small fashion show in a month's time, just in the boutique, and I think you would be perfect for some of the pieces I want to show off. I am also going to ask Angel because your body shapes are best suited for different things. What do you say? Are you interested?" She smiled lazily. She knew very well that, despite Jem's androgynous appearance, little bits of lace tied up with leather and whips were some of the few things that could inspire her. Jem smiled back. And just for the viewing of the café customers, she leaned over and kissed Krystal on the lips. "Ah,' breathed Krystal, 'Sealed with a kiss, clichéd though that might be." Jem took a last swig of her nearly cold latte, made a small moue of distaste, wrapped her scarf and coat around her, collected her bags from under her chair. She slipped her arm through Krystal's and together the two women swept out of the café, leaving behind them a swirl of perfume and a general frisson of discontent. As Krystal and Jem picked their way along the pavement, Jem reflected on how good she always felt in Krystal's presence. She supposed that was because Krys seemed to get such a charge out of life and when Jem was with her, she seemed to feel that charge, like electricity, buzzing through her body. She was a bit disappointed that Angel was going to be involved in the show, but mainly because she wanted and enjoyed Krys's sole attention. Jealousy she guessed. She'd never admit that to Krys though. That would be a sure way to up-end their friendship. Inwardly she sighed. Friendship -- if only it could be something more than that. But Krystal had been burned at some point by someone unnamed and unknown to her current circle, and it seemed she would never get involved with anyone again. Jem was grateful though that Krys so obviously liked and enjoyed her company. They laughed a lot, told lots of silly jokes, had the same taste in films, food and fast cars (Krystal, her flame red Porsche; Jem, a sleek black Merc convertible given to her recently by her father). They often laughed about that -- the three 'f's. Sometimes, Jem felt like throwing in a fourth 'f' but was often discouraged by the thought that Krystal might think that too personal. She was a funny creature, difficult to make out at times. She could talk about sex and love and relationships all night, but only as long as none of it touched her personally. Jem marveled at how Krystal walked, straight backed, in four inch heels, never faltering. A path seemed to open up through the crowds of people tacking back and forth along the pavements, filtering in and out of shops. Even when someone stopped in the middle of the path, they always moved just as Krystal came upon them. It was extraordinary but, Jem thought, Krystal is extraordinary. Those heels of hers never seemed to touch the ground. As if aware of Jem's thoughts, Krystal squeezed her hand. Jem looked at her face and saw a secret smile there. She was really beautiful, despite the fact that she was no longer a young woman. She wore maturity so well, her body ripe and warm looking, striding along as though she owned the world. Jem felt like a little girl beside her and not just because of the age difference. Krystal was everything she wasn't and once had wanted to be. Curvy, beautiful, blonde, desired and the apogee of all people's fantasies. She didn't want that so much anymore. She wanted Krystal instead. She knew Krystal's predilection was for girls with lean straight bodies and she was finally grateful for her inherited shape. If only she could get Krystal to go one step beyond just talking, eating and driving like a maniac in her company. She pulled a rueful face. Get over it, she thought. There are plenty more fish in the sea as her mother always said to her. Or mermaids. The two women reached the boutique. Its sign heralded 'Krystal St John' in a simple but striking gold curlicue that was an exact copy of Krys's signature. Actually, it was her formal signature, the one she used on legal documents. Normally, she just signed with a rather voluptuous 'K', being too lazy to write long hand. She pushed open the door and they entered Pandora's box. Even in the middle of the day, albeit a winter's day, the interior was suitably dim. Not too dim that one couldn't delight in the beautiful lingerie, but enough so that the crystals in the whips and the chandeliers refracted and momentarily held the imagination of the customer. Tamara was holding fort with a male customer who was obviously intrigued by a butt plug, although that might have been just because Tamara was holding it in her long supple fingers, her pouty red lips discussing in great depth what pleasures one could derive from such an article. Krystal blew her a kiss. Tamara returned same while not stopping the flow of words from her amazing mouth. Jem had always believed that she had had cosmetic surgery but Krys had assured her it was all natural. Krystal took up Jem's hand again and led her to the back of the boutique. She pulled open the heavy curtain of one of the booths. "My plan is to have you in one booth, Angel in the other. You will both have a number of outfits and accessories and you will change into them, modeling them, while the customer can watch through the peephole. I want to put on a proper peepshow. Naturally, only a select number of people are being invited to this soiree. I will provide champagne and canapés and the show, of which you two will be the desserts, so to speak. What do you think?" "Wow, it's a great idea. But only two people will get to see us at a time. How will that work?" "I will give them each a number with their invitation. That number allows them an allotted amount of time to view. One of the numbers will also be a prize number." "What's the prize?" Krystal's look turned naughty. "One of you girls, of course, darling. For dinner only though -- don't want the guests thinking this is usual fare." Jem felt disappointment flush through her body. How could Krystal do that? Assume she could treat her in that way, as though she was another item of luxury clothing. Her feelings radiated outwards and her body curled in on itself. Krystal, watching closely, saw the body's reaction. She reached out to Jem, put her arms around her and laughingly said "I'm teasing, sweetheart. Actually Angel is the prize. She's already agreed to it." Jem still felt uncertain, her body unbending. Krystal took her chin in her hand. "Look at me, darling. That's right. I'm teasing, you know I am. I wouldn't do that to you, sweetheart." Jem's relief was explosive and with that so was her emotion. "Krystal, if you only knew how I felt." She didn't, couldn't, say anymore. Krystal would think she was referring to being used in that fashion, as a prize. She felt like crying. She pulled a slight face and said, "Ok, that's all fine with me. I'll do it, of course. Let me know when you want to rehearse." She turned to leave. Krystal stopped her, putting her arm around her waist. "Sweetheart, don't leave me like that. Please. I am sorry if I hurt you, even if just momentarily." She took a deep breath. "Jem, I would never do that to you. I promise. You mean so much more to me than just a model and someone I can use because I am paying them." Jem turned to look at her. Krystal's eyes were fathomless. Jem's gaze fastened on her mouth. Luscious lips, no lipstick, just a clear wet liquid to plump them up further. She felt her heart begin to race and her skin prickle with anticipation. Krystal continued to look at her. Then, when Jem felt she could stand still no longer, Krystal took her hand and led her back into the booth. She dropped the curtain back into place, hiding them from the rest of the boutique. ******************** The booth was warm, and dark. A red light illuminated the ceiling, casting a soft glow on the black walls and the thick carpet beneath the women's feet. Krystal slipped off her high heels, gently rubbed her feet, and sank down onto the chair. Jem looked at the pale feet before her. She dropped to her knees in front of Krys and taking both feet in her hands she drew them up onto her thighs. She stroked them both, then she took one in her hand and began to massage it, stroking the sole, stretching the toes, rubbing the ankle. She heard Krys sigh and looked up. Her friend's eyes were half closed but the half light found its way under the lids and the shine showed she was watching. Jem felt her lips twitch slightly. She couldn't help herself. She felt inexplicably happy, a sort of pure emotion that she hadn't felt for a long time. In fact probably not since the beginning of their friendship when she thought there was a possibility that this moment now would happen then. She continued to look at Krys's face, particularly her mouth, wanting to see if the full lips would betray her calm, peaceful exterior. The beautiful face remained expressionless, only the eye shine giving any indication that Krys was alive to what was happening. Although, Jem thought, what was happening? She was horny as anything, wanted desperately to slide her hands up Krys's long legs, feel her way over the flesh which she knew would be firm and smooth and more than anything, warm. Oh! To feel her warmth against her body. The years spent wanting that feeling.... And against her own desire to stay in control, she let out a deep sigh that came from her very centre. She put her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes and tightened her vaginal muscles. This is ridiculous, she thought, I'm so desperate for Krys I'm close to making a fool of myself. I can't. Get up, she ordered herself. She gently lifted Krys's feet off her thighs and placed them on the carpet. Krys opened her eyes then. She watched Jem rise to her feet and seem to shake herself all over. "Darling', she breathed, 'Are you alright?" "Yep," Jem said brusquely. "I've gotta go, Krys. I just remembered that I promised Mother I'd visit her and Dad tonight and I have to get home and pick up stuff I said I'd take over." "Ok, sweetheart, but I thought you said you were bored and you had no plans." Krys watched her friend. What had happened she wondered. Some little upset by the look of it and she felt sure she knew what. She stood up and stepped closer to Jem. Without the heels Krystal was a little shorter and this felt unusual and somehow comforting. Despite her height, Jem looked so sweet and lost and sad. Without thinking, Krys put her arms around her and drew her body into hers. She felt Jem resist slightly, her body tighten and then as quickly, in a fluid motion, Jem's arms were around her body and her face was buried in her neck. "Krys, what am I going to do?" she whispered. "I love you, I want you, I'm going demented. The only reason I'm bored with my life is because you aren't in it. Or at least only sporadically. I just want to be with you." This last came out as a child's plea and seemed to shake Jem out of the mental space she was currently occupying. She pushed herself away from Krys, reached down for her bag and coat, dumped unceremoniously on the floor when they first came into the booth, and turned to go. Krys put her hand on Jem's arm. "Don't go, Jem. Come back here -- to me." Jem told her later it was those last two words that made her turn back. They were so personal, and seemed to come from the heart, that she couldn't have refused her even if she had felt it was the worst thing in the world for her to do. As it turned out, of course, it wasn't. ************************* Krys stood over Jem, her breath gusting out of her at irregular intervals. She had swapped her lilac chiffon suit for a red latex under corset, latex suspenders, black rubber stockings and 6 inch heeled black pumps. Her breasts were full and ripe over the top of the corset, her nipples hard, and Jem could see the fullness of Krys's pussy lips. She'd spent some little time stroking their juicy plumpness and she was being rewarded by the moisture gathering in the folds around her clit. She leant forward and this time instead of her fingers, she poked her tongue out and gave the lips a lick, gentle and soft, so that Krys could feel her breath on her flesh rather than the wetness of her tongue. Krys shuddered, and a tiny moan escaped her lips. She pulled her hips back slightly. Jem put both hands on the curves of Krys's full bottom and moved her body towards her face again. She snaked her tongue out again and licked Krys's clit. She felt a shudder run through the exquisite body in front of her and then two hands were on her shoulders and a warm sweet smelling pussy was rubbing itself on her mouth. She sucked the clit into her mouth, teasing it with her tongue, nibbling at it. She swept her tongue around the inside of Krys's vagina, pushing it in and pulling it out. She slipped her index finger inside and then her middle finger, opening the vagina up, drinking in Krys's fragrance. She thrust the two fingers in and out of the warm hole, sucking the clit, feeling Krys's body loosen up, her legs begin to move more and more apart, she could feel her lover's legs begin to shake as she began to move up and down on Jem's fingers. Her breath was coming faster now, Jem looked up and saw the tightly closed eyes as Krys concentrated on the fingers and tongue fucking her. Her own pussy was getting wet, she wanted to put her hand down there, to feel the moistness but didn't want to take her free hand off Krys's buttocks. She needed to hold the very mobile body stable as much as possible. Then, above her, she heard Krys's husky voice call out her name, "Oh, Jem, I'm coming, God, I'm coming, noooooo......", those words all lovers long to hear, and a river flooded out of her and over Jem's fingers and face. She kept her tongue and fingers working until Krys collapsed over her, no longer able to stand up on her stiletto heels. Jem slowly stood up, holding Krystal against her, waiting for the older woman's shaking to stop. She kissed the long neck, where the vein throbbed, imagining the heart beating hard beneath the full breast; she kissed the round soft shoulder that gently heaved; she kissed the now closed eyelids, feeling the thick lashes against her lips. Eventually Krystal shook herself and, slightly stumbling on her heels, she stepped back from her lover. "Oh, my, Jem. What fun we have ahead of us," and she laughed, a low throaty noise that came from deep inside her. © KittenKinky (Lulu C.) 2007 Good Things Come All names have been changed to protect the (not so) innocent. But this is for my 'Nick', who knows who he is. * I wait. The room is dim, warm, clean; comfortable. The only light comes from the fire which dances in the stone hearth behind me. The smell of incense and old books mingles with woodsmoke. And I wait. Beneath my kneeling form is a deep rug; soft as kittens' fur. Directly in front of me is a high-backed leather chair with a generous seat and widely spread armrests. It is well made and well worn; a dark shade of cherry which almost matches my hair. A small black iron table stands beside the chair, supporting a bottle of single malt, a heavy crystal whisky glass and an obsidian ashtray And I wait. The clock on the wall to my right claims that it's 9.25. It is the kind you might have found in a small village train station in the 1920s: all black Roman numerals and elaborately designed hands. It is this clock that ticks off my waiting seconds. However, there is no real time here. This room is outside time; outside day to day normality. You will find no television in this room; no computer, no phone. It is a haven, a safe place hidden away from the rest of the world. A place just for me... and Him. The heavy wooden door opens. I do not turn my head; I do not need to. On the other side of that door, in the room beyond, is an ordinary looking wall. If you didn't know there was a room here, you could be standing right in front of that wall - leaning against it, even - and never be any the wiser. Only two people know this room exists. One of those people is me; the other has just walked through the door. I hear His bare feet pad across the hardwood floor; then whisper over the rug. A scent of cinnamon mixed with tobacco reaches me from behind: His scent. I bow my head and smile. A cool hand, strong and refined, settles on the back of my neck: 'You know why you're here, my sweet' His voice is deep and warm; His accent RP. He was educated at the English boarding school to which some might refer as 'The other place', but it was a late 1980s and 90s education. No cold, draughty dorms or beating of unruly boys; more like rooms plastered with Guns n Roses posters and classes in Personal Development. His voice, however, conveys tradition, culture and discipline. It is a voice which makes my stomach flip and my skin tingle. 'Yes, Sir.' I know why I'm here, alright. I don't mean in this room; this is a special place for us to spend quiet time together away from the pressures of the outside world. This is no dungeon, no 'Room of Pain'. No, I mean here: kneeling in contrition on the rug in front of His armchair; head bowed, hands behind my back, knees held primly together as if I were praying. That's what He meant when He said 'here'. 'Well?' His hand moves to my hair, taking a fistful and pulling my head back so I'm looking up at Him. From my upside down perspective, I see He has one eyebrow raised and His head cocked to one side, questioning. 'For being a brat, Sir,' I say. He laughs at that: a rich, deep sound that rolls outwards from His chest and throat, His smile making His blue-green eyes crinkle at the corners. God, I love those eyes! Sometimes, I swear I can see galaxies of stars swirling in them. For now, though, I see shadows in them the firelight doesn't reach, and a sternness that belies His laughter. 'For being a brat,' He says, chuckling. 'Yes, that about sums it up. Concise as ever, my darling.' From the pocket of His skinny black jeans, He removes a scrap of silken material which He fastens around my eyes, plunging me into darkness. I do not move. I trust Him completely. I would trust Him to the end of the world. He moves to the armchair and settles Himself down. I hear the gurgle as He pours Himself a whisky, and the clunk-flick-clunk of His Zippo. A moment later, cigarette smoke blends with the other scents in the room. He knows I worry about His health because of this habit, and has tried to quit several times, if only to please me. But it seems it's the one thing over which He has no control. He exhales smoke with a long sigh and, in my mind's eye, I see Him leaning back in the chair, crossing His long legs and swirling His whisky around in its glass while He watches me with that intense, scolding look. I am so glad to be blindfolded because I know that look well, and I know how it burns. I imagine Him holding His cigarette between His lips while He runs His hand through His golden-red waves of hair, contemplating His next move. 'Patience, Violet,' He says, 'is a virtue. How many times have I told you that?' 'I don't know, Sir, about a thousand?' SLAP! His palm strikes my face and I struggle to keep my balance. It was a stupid thing to say, I know. Smartmouthing Him while I'm already in trouble is a bad idea, but sometimes it's like my brain shuts down and my tongue flaps away all by itself. I feel the heat of the slap on my right cheek, and another, more insistent heat begins to build between my legs. 'Don't think you're joking your way out of this, slut!' He says, keeping His voice low and firm. I have never heard Him raise His voice in anger. He doesn't need to, He's commanding enough already. 'I'm sorry, Sir.' And I mean it. I bow my head again. 'Stand for a moment, please, Violet.' Although this sounds like a request, I know better. My Nick doesn't make requests in this mood; He gives orders. After being in a kneeling position for at least half an hour, my legs are stiff and I'm a little awkward in getting to my feet. I feel the blood rush back into my limbs and wobble a bit on my high heels. I keep my hands clasped behind my back and my legs together. He stands in front of me, still nearly a foot taller than I am, even in bare feet, and tips my chin upwards to take a slow, soft kiss from my mouth. As He breaks away, He takes my bottom lip in His teeth and bites gently, drawing a needy moan from me. I move my head further forward, aching for more, trying to find him in the darkness of my blindfold but He steps back and puts one hand on my shoulder, warning me not to go any further. 'Patience is something you have to learn. That's why I kept you waiting this evening. And that's why I've had you dress as you are.' The corset I'm wearing, a black brocade underbust with a delicate spray of crystals, is testament to my lack of patience. I had seen it in my favourite lingerie boutique around three weeks ago, when I was buying the rest of tonight's ensemble (a ridiculously expensive black and purple bra, French knickers and garter belt set I had fallen in love with on sight). I showed it to Nick for a second opinion and he agreed it was very beautiful. 'Tell you what, darling,' he had said, squeezing me around the waist and resting his chin on my shoulder, 'why don't I buy it as part of your birthday present. It'll save you the money and you can wear it on our weekend away.' I had agreed at the time, and happily. The problem was, my birthday weekend was still nearly two months away and I wanted to wear the corset now. Nick had carefully packed the corset away in the box from the shop, wrapped in tissue paper and beautifully curled and coloured ribbon. He didn't hide it from me, but put it in his wardrobe, nestled in with his shoes and belts. When I had pouted, he laughed and said: 'Patience is a virtue, sweetheart. Wait for your birthday.' And I had tried. I had really, really tried. But last night, getting ready to go out, I couldn't find anything suitable to wear. I had a dress, but wanted a corset to go over the top; something to give it a little va-va-voom. And maybe get Nick's engine running a little hot, too. I stood in front of my wardrobe mirror, discarded corsets piling up around me, growing more and more frustrated, when I remembered the exquisite garment in Nick's cupboard. It would go perfectly with my dress, and give it just the right amount of sparkle without looking tacky or cheap. I reasoned with myself that Nick would enjoy seeing me in it, and also that he would rather I opened it early than make us late for our reservation. So I slid open his wardrobe door, taking a moment as always to inhale his gorgeous cinnamon scent. I smiled when I saw his shirts and trousers and suits and jumpers and jackets hanging there. Even just the sight of his clothes gives me butterflies. The beautifully wrapped box was lying on the shelf where he keeps his shoes and I sat on the bed to open it, determined not to damage the paper so I could rewrap it later. After all, it wasn't a surprise gift; it wouldn't matter if I wore it this once. After I had laced myself into the corset, my breasts hoisted up proudly and my already small waist cinched in tight, I ran my hands over my accentuated curves and down my stocking clad legs, feeling that slow, familiar pulse deep in my pussy. I looked incredible and I knew it. There was no way Nick would be able to get through the whole of dinner and a two hour play without dragging me into some dark corner to fuck me senseless against the wall. I sashayed into the living room; my swaying hips exaggerated by the rigid corset, and presented myself to my man with a twirl. He smiled and said I looked lovely, but wasn't I supposed to wait for my birthday to wear that? 'I just couldn't wait, darling. It's the only thing that goes with this dress. Thank you so much for buying it for me!' I stood on tiptoe and reached up to him. He kissed me gently; then helped me into my wrap, ready to leave. All that evening, he was his usual perfect gentleman self: funny, sweet, charming, intelligent and warm. I'm His slut, that is true, but I'm also his lady, his girl and his love, and that's how he treats me in our general life. He's a wonderful man and we love each other very much. All through dinner we flirted like teenagers, playing footsie under the table, stealing glances at each other over the rims of our wine glasses, holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes. But Nick made no move to drag me into the powder room at the restaurant, or up the alley at the side of the theatre, and I was beginning to think he had a plan up his sleeve. After the performance, we went across the street to the place where a small after party was being held. While I was chatting with a group of friends, I glanced across the room and saw Nick surrounded by people as usual. 'Even when he's not in the sodding show, he's still centre of attention,' I thought, rolling my eyes. 'Bloody actors!' He stood with his legs slightly parted, feet firmly planted on the ground and his body leaning back just a little. One hand held a glass of whisky, with which he was gesturing as he held the group of (mostly female) listeners rapt over some oh-so-hilarious joke or anecdote, and the other was deep in the pocket of his suit trousers. He wore no tie and the first two buttons of his crisp, midnight blue shirt were undone. I caught his eye and he winked, sending a bolt of lust through me with more force than a crossbow bolt. I needed him. Now! I excused myself from the chattering group and headed over to where he stood. I had missed the end of the story, but it had clearly amused everyone in the 'audience', judging by their raucous laughter. I slipped an arm around Nick's slim waist and snuggled up to him, pushing my body against him with just enough pressure to signal my desire. He looked down at me with a grin, and tapped the end of my nose with a slender finger. 'Are you ready to head home, my love?' he had asked; eyebrows raised and almost supernaturally beautiful eyes glittering. He was playing with me. He knew damn well I was ready for more than that. I was ready to be pounded into submission by his big, hard cock. Puzzled, and more than a little annoyed, I nodded and took his hand. But he was in no hurry. Instead of a quick, polite cheerio to our friends, he went round everyone in the room, shaking hands, slapping backs and kissing cheeks. We got through another three 'one for the road' drinks each by the time we made it to the door. In the cab, finally on the way home, I had started to whisper all the things I know Nick loves. Keeping my lips close to his ear so the driver couldn't overhear, I told him how much I needed him inside me, how wet my cunt was for him and how I wanted to taste his cum as he fucked my mouth and pulled my hair. He groaned and closed his eyes when I nuzzled into his neck, nibbling gently and running my hands down his body to feel the growing hardness at the centre of him. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close, kissing me roughly and with heated urgency: 'God, Violet,' he had murmured into my mouth, 'you are so fucking sexy.' By the time we got back to the apartment, my head was swimming. His touch, his smell, his voice... I had wanted him desperately all night, and now my need grew even fiercer as we stumbled upstairs to the bedroom, kissing and groping each other all the way. I pulled off his jacket while he unpinned my hair, letting it tumble in coconut scented waves around my face and plunging both hands into its auburn fire. His eyes held a dangerous, almost feral, look and I could feel his erection straining to break free from his trousers. I pushed him back onto the bed and straddled him; his hips between my knees. That's when he did it. His big hands grasped my waist and he lifted me off him as if I weighed nothing. Depositing me gently on the other side of the bed, he sat up, laughing in that deep, foggy rumble that sends my pulse rate skyrocketing. 'Oh, no no no, wee lassie,' he had said, mimicking my Scottish accent with a shake of his head and a playful wag of his finger. 'It's time you were taught a little lesson in how to be patient. I'm very disappointed in you for opening your present early, and I think I'm going to make you wait for what you want.' I thought he was joking at first, but then his smile faded and I saw that he meant it. 'You bastard!' I slammed my fist down onto the mattress, 'You utter, complete, teasing bastard! You want it, too. I can see that from the bulge in the front of your trousers.' He stretched; yawned and bent down to remove his shoes and socks: 'Now that's true, but the difference is... I have patience.' He flashed me another grin, undoing the links from His shirt cuffs as He got up from the bed: 'Oh, and don't let me catch you touching yourself or putting a vibrator anywhere near that hot little cunt tonight, slut. You're in enough fucking trouble.' With that, He had wandered off to the bathroom to get ready for bed, leaving me to carelessly discard my clothing in a sulky heap on the floor, swipe my make up off in a haphazard fashion and follow after Him to give my teeth and hair a furious brushing at the bathroom sink. This morning, when I woke from a sleep filled with sexually frustrated dreams and regret, I had turned over to Nick's side of the bed expecting to see that lovely tangle of amber waves poking out from under the duvet. Instead, there was a tidy pile of lingerie on the pillow with a note resting on top: 'I didn't want to wake you. Early call. I'll be back at nine. Don't worry about dinner, I'll grab something out. Be ready in the study for when I get home. We still need to discuss your lack of patience. I love you. N xx' I blinked at the piece of paper covered in His expressive, spiky handwriting for a moment, before picking up the underwear He had placed so carefully next to me. There was the new black and purple set, black seamed stockings and, of course, that damned corset. I sighed, but my tummy fluttered with anticipation as I jumped out of bed to begin my day... He is behind me now; carefully running His hands over every line and curve of my body, gently nipping my earlobe with His teeth, whispering that I am His and I will learn that again tonight. I stand very still, my heart pounding like a speed metal drummer and feeling the rush of blood in my ears. My skin tingles; every nerve awakened to His touch. No man has ever made me feel like He makes me feel. No man has ever been able to earn my trust and submission like He has. It's true: I am His and His alone. And that's all I want to be. Again, He sits in the armchair and instructs me to kneel. I obey instantly and He gathers my small hands His large ones and brings them to His mouth. A soft kiss; then He cups my face to take the same from my lips. 'Because of your impatience last night, slut, I was denied taking any pleasure from you. I think we need to address that now.' I hear Him move in the chair; the whisper of friction as he removes His belt from His jeans and the rustle of His clothing. He takes my hand and places it in His lap. I can't help but gasp a little as I feel how hard He is; how hot and throbbing. His cock twitches as I move my hand up and down the shaft, stroking the velvety skin and feeling the iron hardness pulse in my grasp. I use my other hand to cup His balls and He moans quietly before saying just one word: 'Mouth.' I move my head down to cover His cockhead with gentle kisses and flicks of my tongue, tasting His precum and clean skin. I swirl the flat of my tongue around His shaft and head; then duck down to take as much of His length in my mouth and throat as I can. He whispers to me that I'm such a good little cocksucker; that my mouth was made to take His rod and I belong to Him. I suck Him wetly, enjoying the feel of His velvet wrapped marble filling my mouth and His magnificent taste on my tongue. Hollowing my cheeks and tightening my lips, I plunge my head up and down, varying the depth and rhythm of my strokes and now and then turning my attention to His balls; sucking and licking them while wanking Him with my hands. 'Oh, God! You teasing little whore,' He pants. 'Give me your hands.' I know exactly what this means and obediently rest my hands, palms up, on either side of the chair. He grasps my wrists and pins them to the armrests. 'Now you're my cocksucking little bitch. Fucking take it!' He moves His hips, thrusting His dick into my throat while I keep a steady pace with my mouth and tongue. He lets go of my wrists and grabs my hair in both hands, pulling fiercely and controlling my movements. I grab His hips and try to match His furious rhythm, but I'm choking on His cock and have to concentrate on breathing as much I can. He's fucking my mouth now. My scalp is singing in pain and my eyes are tearing up, making my mascara run under my blindfold and travel in dirty streaks down my face. I'm groaning in a mix of pleasure and fear, while He grunts and shudders with each thrust. I feel His cock pulse and swell in my mouth and I know He's close. I cup His balls in one hand and feel them move upwards, signalling His orgasm. One more thrust, coupled with a gentle squeeze to His testicles, and He's coming down my throat. Spurt after spurt of hot, musky cream is pumped into my mouth, and I swallow it all down; licking Him clean as His cock slowly softens and retreats. His breath is coming in short, ragged gasps. His hands relax in my hair and I feel Him slump back in the armchair. I return my hands to their clasped position behind me and bow my head again, waiting. Slowly, slowly, in the darkness I hear His breathing return to normal and the movement as He stands once more, gathering Himself together and readjusting His clothing. I am still, silent; patient. I feel His touch on my cheek and lift my chin when He runs a thumb over the dried black tracks of mascara on my face. 'Looks like you're learning already, but I think we need to make sure.' He helps me to my feet and guides me behind the chair, bending me over the back. I have to rise onto tiptoe to arrange myself into the familiar position, my lower abdomen pressing against the chair back and my forearms barely reaching the seat, still warm from Him. My calf muscles stretch and grumble in protest and the corset pushes my breasts up even further. It's very hard to bend wearing this thing; it digs into my ribs and hips, and I suspect I'm going to be aching much more by the time we're finished here. He moves behind me and hooks His thumbs under the waistband of my knickers, sliding them down my legs and off. He crouches down to pull them over my shoes and, on His way back up, leaves a trail of slow, sweet kisses from my ankles to my thighs before landing a stinging slap on my arse. Good Things Come I hear Him cross the room. He's going to the chest in the corner where we keep our secrets; our toys and rope and shackles and all kinds of sexual treasure. I stay absolutely still, breathing in the scent of the old leather chair and my own vanilla perfume. I am patient, but my tingling, twitching cunt is not. The heat and throb that began in my sex now spreads like a blush all over my body, bringing me out in goosebumps, making my breasts ache to be squeezed; my lips to be bruised by harsh kisses. My breathing quickens and I fight every instinct to put my hand between my legs to the little hard gem that is my clit and satisfy my need. I want to submit to His will. I want to learn this lesson. I want to be patient for Him. He crouches at my feet again, this time lifting them by the ankle and placing them inside loops of fabric; left first, then right. It feels almost like He's putting my panties back on me, but I know what this is: The Orchid. The Orchid is a remotely controlled clitoral vibrator. It is attached to a harness and boasts dozens of tiny vibrating buds on the inside of its flower shaped base. On its highest setting, it's capable of turning me into a gibbering wreck by forcing orgasm after orgasm out of me. On its lowest, however, it does nothing but tease and frustrate. He slips a finger up inside me and gathers some of my wetness, rubbing my clit lightly before fixing the toy in place and tightening the straps around each of my trembling thighs. 'Now,' He says, 'I'm going to punish you for your behaviour last night. If at any time, you want me to increase the intensity of the vibrator, tell me and I'll do it. But I'll also increase the intensity of your punishment. Do you understand?' 'Yes, Sir.' 'Good. Keep your legs together until I say otherwise.' He turns the vibrator on. A hundred tiny fingers start buzzing on my most sensitive spot. It's heavenly at first and I whimper with pleasure, but the frustration soon builds as it's obvious it's not enough to make me peak. I writhe against the chair and push my bottom out further. I want to spread my legs. I want Him to slam His cock into me from behind and rip me apart. I must remain patient. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! His hand comes down hard on my ass three times, the noise of flesh on flesh absorbed by the walls. I jerk with each slap and my backside starts to burn and sting. He begins to spank me with a slow, steady rhythm; hard enough to make it clear He's not playing, but not raining down harsh blows fast enough to knock the breath from my lungs as He sometimes does. Each slap gets me more aroused. The buzzing between my legs is making me crazy with lust. Now He does the worst thing He can possibly do to drive me even further towards the edge: He starts lecturing me, emphasising His words with vicious slaps. 'You will learn your lesson, you impatient little brat. When I tell you to wait for something, you will wait. Don't you ever disobey me like that again, slut. You do what I say when I say it. Do you understand?' I try to answer Him but I can barely think. My senses are being bombarded on all sides: the constriction of the corset, His voice, His thrashing hand, my raging lust and frustration, all the sweet smells melting together in the room, the blackness behind my blindfold; they roll through and over me like blood and water and time and fire all crashing down in one enormous wave of feeling and all I can do is make a primal, base sound somewhere in the back of my throat. He pauses in His assault to grab me by the hair and hiss in my ear: 'I asked you a question, you horny little bitch.' I use the short respite to sob out 'Yes, Sir, I understand. Please, Sir, I need...' 'What do you need, my slut? Tell me.' He's gentler now, giving me a chance to check in, maybe even use my safeword if needs be. It's just Nick being Nick; no matter what, he's always ready at the utterance of one special word to revert back to the sweet, charming gentleman he is. But I don't want that. I want to be owned by Him, punished and taken. 'More, Sir. Please, I need more.' He cranks the remote up to the next level and my hips buck and thrust involuntarily in response. The pressure is building now. Layer upon layer of need and sexual hunger is piling on top of me. My pussy is so wet that I'm sure my juice would run down my thighs were I to open my legs. My clit is sore and numb at the same time, but still begging for release. The sharp crack of leather on skin takes me by surprise. I hear His strike before I feel it; a white hot sting followed by a deep, burning ache across my ass. His belt, He's using His belt on me. Each blow brings with it a heightening of feeling. He deliberately changes speed and rhythm so I don't know when or where the next strike will land. He tells me I'm His; that I deserve to be punished, that I need to learn. His words wash over me and His voice makes me think of stars and spinning worlds. My whole body has become one shivering mass of pain and pleasure and need. Then, there is nothing. He has stopped it all and it's taken me a moment to notice. I whine a little from the sudden loss of the sensations, and grind against the chair, seeking more, gasping out 'Please, Sir, Please, Sir...' but unable to form a coherent sentence. His hand is cool on my skin as He strokes my tangled hair away from my face and places a kiss on my cheekbone. I feel His jeans rub against my punished buttocks and He cups my aching cunt in His palm, feeling my heat and wetness. I am so ready for Him. 'What would you like to say, Violet?' His voice is soft now, but authority is still very much present in every word. Our little game is not over yet. I choke back a sob. 'I'm sorry for being an impatient brat, Sir. I've learned my lesson. Thank you for teaching me.' His hands go to my thighs and he pushes them apart. I know better than to move now, and that's OK, because I am His to control. I feel His rigid cock slide between my labia; nudging at my hot, tight cunt. I know He's testing me, seeing if I really have learned to wait for what I want. I keep my breathing slow and steady, determined not to push back as every nerve in my being is begging me to. 'Do want this cock, slut?' Is that a trick fucking question, you bastard? 'Yes, Sir, if... if you want to give it to me' He laughs at that; then drives forward, thrusting Himself into me until He bottoms out. At the same time, He switches the vibrator to its highest setting. I am not prepared for the assault on my body and my hips buck like I've been electrocuted. He holds me steady, giving me time to adjust, before pulling almost all the way out of my pussy and slamming back in again, pounding me against the chair. Our bodies pick up each other's rhythms and we fuck like wild animals. I feel like I'm about to turn inside out and there is Him and there is me and there is nothing else and I am His and He is mine and we belong together and there is only the pain and pleasure in the pain and the submission and the freedom of the submission and the need for release so huge it terrifies me and the small regret that release is coming because this will be over and we'll be two separate people again and there is white heat where our bodies join and white light in my head and oh God oh God oh God! My body goes rigid for a long moment before the orgasm crashes over me, through me and out of me all at the same time. I scream His name and my head swims with bright points of light and swirling heat. I jerk and shudder while the muscles in my cunt clench around His cock again and again. And somewhere in there, I feel Him swell and hear Him cry out as He thrusts deeply, grasping my hips in a deathgrip and pumping His sticky, hot cum into me. He falls across my back and we slump together, trembling and panting. I feel Nick's penis slip out of me and, as usual, it gives me a small feeling of loss; of something special being removed from my spirit. He helps me straighten and gathers me in his arms, wrapping himself around me as we collapse together into the comfortable armchair. Soon, he will light a cigarette and I'll scold him for smoking. Soon, we will shower together before cuddling down in our bed for the night. But for now, there is afterglow and a space that is just for us. He removes my blindfold and chuckles as I blink stupidly in the now dying firelight. The first things that come into focus are his eyes, and I swear I see nebulae swimming in those sparkling blue-green pools.