Sally and David

I knelt there, my mouth parched and tongue heavy, every time I thought I had done enough, the tap of the crop would come again. It was a relentless rhythm, a cruel metronome keeping time with my submission. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she tapped me on the head, a signal to cease my futile efforts.

“You see how easy it is to be a good boy, David,” she cooed, her voice laced with mocking sweetness. “It was such a little thing to do, and you made such a fuss.”

I remained on my knees, my gaze fixed on the ground, unwilling to let her see the seething hatred in my eyes. The floor was a safe haven, a place where I could hide my true feelings, at least for now.

“Now we need to talk about your work,” she said, addressing the top of my head as if I were a disobedient child. “Well, I’ll talk, and you’ll listen,” she continued, a chuckle escaping her lips, a sound that sent shivers down my spine.

This caught my attention, and I dared to look up, a flicker of hope igniting within me. “Ha,” I thought to myself, “I’ll need to make some calls for work. She’ll have to turn this thing off.” A smug satisfaction washed over me; she hadn’t thought this through.

But, of course, I was wrong.

“I did you a favor and sent a message, telling your boss that you have to go out of town. On personal business for a week or two,” she said, inspecting her perfectly manicured nails with feigned nonchalance. “He is a very understanding boss, you know, not the arsehole you made him out to be. Anyway, I just had to send your latest project to them, and they said somebody else could finish it off for him.”

She paused, her eyes meeting mine with a cold, calculating gaze. “I hope I sent in the right files. You have so many on your computer, some very unsavory, I might add. I do hope I didn’t mix any up.”

The implication hung heavy in the air, a threat laced with the promise of exposure and humiliation. I was at her mercy, and she knew it, her control over me now extending far beyond the confines of this room and into the very fabric of my professional life.

"So now you have all this time on your hands, I would hope you’ll be doing some soul searching on how you can start making things up to me." Sally's voice was low and menacing, her eyes gleaming with a predatory intensity. I couldn’t believe she was smiling when she was talking this shit, her lips curled into a smirk that promised nothing but trouble.

"I’ve created a list of projects I would like to take on around the house, you know, the ones you’ve always said you're ‘too busy to do.’" She mimicked quotation marks with her fingers, her tone dripping with sarcasm and contempt. "I will also expect this house to be kept up to a certain standard; you’ll not need to leave dirty dishes around all day."

I’d had just about enough of this bullshit, and I stood up, glaring at her with a mix of anger and defiance. I went to walk out of the kitchen, but she had other plans. Before I could reach the threshold, I was on my knees, my hands gripping the collar, trying to ease the pain.

"David," she said, her voice calm but laced with an authority that brooked no argument, "We are not finished here yet. I will tell you when you are dismissed." She crouched beside me, her touch firm and possessive as she stroked my hair, a mockery of comfort. "I know this is difficult for you, David. It’s an adjustment, I know, but I hope you’ll see it’s for the best soon." Her words hung in the air, a promise of more to come, leaving no room for argument or escape.

She stood and gently tapped my butt with the crop, the leather whispering against my skin. "Well, this has been a long day for both of us," she cooed, her voice a mix of sweetness and menace. "But all this excitement, and seeing you in your sexy new toys, has got me all worked up." She gently rubbed the crop up and down my back, the sensation both soothing and threatening. "Please follow me into the lounge. I’ve got a little service for you to perform."

I went to stand, but she pushed the crop firmly on my back, her strength unyielding. "No, David, I don’t trust you to stand. Follow me like that." Her command left no room for argument.

She walked down the hallway to the lounge without looking back, her confidence in my obedience palpable. I followed, the chain between my legs clanking with each awkward stride. As I crawled through the doorway, she was pouring herself a glass of her favorite red, the liquid swirling. She walked to the center of the room, turned to face me, and without a word, slid her skirt down and stepped out of it. She stood there in stockings and a blouse, her bare pussy a tantalizing sight, her confidence a force.

She looked me in the eye and tapped her leg with the crop, a silent order. "Here, David." Her voice was a low purr, laced with authority. And God damn it, I crawled toward her, my body responding to her command despite the humiliation and discomfort.

She put her wine down, her movements slow and deliberate. She stroked her pussy lips, a sigh escaping her as she did so. "Look how excited you’ve made me, David, you naughty boy," she said, her fingers glistening with her arousal. She pushed her fingers towards my mouth, wiping them across my lips, marking me with her desire. Her touch was a brand, a claim of ownership that left me both ashamed and aroused.

My arousal created another problem: the cage around my cock was doing its job in curtailing any hope of a full erection. I winced, the discomfort a stark reminder of my subjugation. The bitch noticed and smiled knowingly, her eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and cruelty.

“Come closer, David, come and smell your master,” she commanded, her voice dripping with dominance. I complied, drawn by the allure of her arousal, a scent I had always found intoxicating. I tried to ignore the way she referred to herself as master, but the title hung heavy in the air, a reminder of my place.

“Take a nice deep breath, David. I want you to remember how it smells when you get me all excited like this,” she instructed, her tone leaving no room for disobedience. I obeyed, inhaling deeply, the pungent aroma of her arousal filling my senses, a heady mix of power and submission.

She held the crop in both hands, placing it behind my head, and pulled me forward, ramming my nose between her legs. I was held there for what felt like an eternity, the scent and feel of her overwhelming my senses. Finally, she released me, turning to walk toward the sofa where she sat with her legs open, beckoning me with a hook of her finger. The indication was clear: I was to crawl between her legs.

I moved my hands up to explore her sex, but she tapped them away with the crop, a sharp sting reminding me of my boundaries. “No hands, put them behind your back,” she ordered, her voice leaving no room for argument. I adjusted my position, careful not to topple into her, and put my head forward, kissing her waiting pussy lightly, as if it were a gentle kiss of love. But this was far from love; it was raw, animal instinct driving me, my ego fueling a desire to make her cry out and beg for more, to show her who was truly in charge.

Her hands grabbed my hair, using it to direct my movements, a clear indication of who held the power. It wasn’t me. I licked and kissed, my tongue delving deep, exploring every edge and fold. She moaned and groaned with pleasure, her hands digging into my scalp, her grip tightening as her ecstasy built. My tongue and jaw ached from the exertion, but I continued, driven by a mix of duty and a perverse sense of satisfaction.

She gave one final, brutal pull at my hair, holding my face tightly against her cunt as she reached her climax. I could feel her twitch and throb against my mouth, her body quivering with release. “Oh, you fucking bitch,” she shouted, her voice a guttural cry of pleasure and triumph.

She kicked me away, and I had to catch myself to keep from falling. “On your back now, bitch,” she ordered, her tone leaving no room for disobedience. I wasn’t keen on her calling me a bitch, but I lay down in front of her, my body tense with a mix of anger and anticipation.

She stood and stepped over me, straddling my chest with her legs on either side, looking directly into my eyes. She placed one foot on my chest, her heel pressing into my flesh, a physical claim of her dominance. “Are you getting it now? You are my bitch. You will live by my rules. I’m taking your freedom, and there’s nothing you can do about it,” she declared, her voice a cold, unyielding statement of fact.

I looked up at her, mustering as much disdain as I could, thinking to myself, “We’ll see about that.” My defiance was a small, internal rebellion, a flicker of resistance against her overwhelming control.

She stepped off my chest, turned around, and sat on my face, pulling her ass cheeks aside and trapping my face under her buttocks. “Lick,” she commanded, her voice muffled by the position, but no less authoritative. I complied, my tongue exploring her most intimate place, a final, humiliating act of submission to her will.