The Price of Obedience
I waited for her at the bistro, the steam from my black coffee rising in thin curls. When Elena finally entered, she looked exactly as I had commanded: a short, daring skirt and a tight white blouse. The lack of a bra was evident; her nipples peaked through the fabric, hard and demanding. As she approached, I deliberately dropped my napkin. With a sharp look, I ordered her to retrieve it. She leaned over without bending her knees, allowing her skirt to ride up and expose her bare cheeks to the room. She moved with a slow, agonizing precision, knowing that haste was a sin in my presence.
As she sat, I noticed the slight tension in her posture. My eyes narrowed. “You’re wearing a thong, aren’t you?” I asked, my voice a low rumble. She stammered, explaining that the white skirt was too sheer to go without. I didn’t accept the excuse. I commanded her to remove it right there. Trembling, she slid the silk scrap from her body and attempted to place it on the table. “Not on the table,” I corrected. “In your mouth. You’ll hold it there while I eat.” When the waiter arrived, he paused, glancing at the fabric hanging from her lips. I ordered my meal with a smirk, informing the waiter that Elena’s mouth was currently occupied.
The ride home was silent, the air thick with anticipation. Once inside, the time for games ended. “Strip,” I commanded. “On all fours.” I scattered a bowl of popcorn across the hardwood floor, a playful yet cruel obstacle. I bound her wrists behind her back and gave her one minute to clear the floor using only her mouth. She scrambled, dragging herself across the wood, desperate to please. When time expired, forty pieces remained. Forty strokes of the paddle followed, each one met with a breathless “Thank you, Master,” as her skin bloomed into a deep, burning crimson.
The final session of the day was the most intense. I secured her limbs, adorning her sensitive peaks and heat with weighted clamps. She whimpered, her body slick with arousal, her thighs glistening. I replaced the clamps with the raw heat of my own body, claiming her mouth with a forceful, deep rhythm that left her gasping for air. When I shifted my focus, my fingers found her drenched and ready. I pushed deeper, stretching her limits until she was sobbing with pleasure, a pool of her own desire forming on the floor.
I led her by the hair to her corner, securing her wrists to the wall. I lit a heavy candle, the flame dancing before I tipped it. The first drop of hot wax hit her skin, and she arched her back, a loud moan escaping her lips. As the red and blue wax coated her trembling form, she looked at me with wide, hungry eyes. “More, Master,” she pleaded, her voice a broken whisper. I smiled, knowing I would give her exactly what she deserved.