Samantha "Sam" Wassermann sat at her table impatiently twitching her leg. She also smoked a cancer stick while she stared at the clock. To shake things up, she would stare at the clock while she smoked a cancer stick.
Her cigarette was a thinner than the standard type, much as she wasn't. Your write is not implying that Sam was overweight. Only a typical guy would think that. Her figure would match that of any other woman who took reasonable care of herself, rather than starve in the name of fitting into a smaller cocktail dress.
Her long blonde confessed its true nature by the faint darker roots, a condition just at the beginnings of being sexy rather than crass. Red paint covered her artificial nails, which extended length of her fingers again to the point of attraction. Her makeup, further, complimented her appearance, a sign of definite skill at the craft.
Her tight black leather outfit just topped off her look.
It was a simple ensemble. The boots reached to her midthigh and were a tad loose around the upper leg rather than the super tight style that would zip up the side. Her slightly too large for her frame tits strained against the slight restriction of her bra, a simple device of three leather straps and two triangles on soft glove leather. Each had the circle above the nipple removed to allow access to the sensitive skin beneath. The bottom was a simple pair of panties.
The effect was that of a leather bathing suit. As accent pieces she wore studded cuffs around her wrists with a matching collar. A D-ring hung from the collar.
As we had ogled her, Sam had finished her smoke. As her hand reached toward the pack next to her ashtray, she heard the sound of a key struggling with a lock and a hand fighting and uppity knob. She quickly ran to the door as fast as her four inch heels would let her. She thus had a moment to settle into a kneeling position with her head held down and arms relaxed to her sides.
A man entered the house. He was about a head shorter than the prostrated woman would have stood in her boots. He held a briefcase and wore a brown suit in need of a light steam press. With his free hand, Milton J Wassermann, AKA Wass, combed his thinning, graying hair back with its fingers. He stood and surveyed his not that bad looking wife and sex- slave. He put down his briefcase by releasing the handle and letting it fall to the floor.
"You're late, master." Sam told her husband.
"Sorry, dear."
"It is play night, master. This pitiful excuse for a woman is your slave not your dear, master."
"Sorry, my slave."
With this the woman stood up and took Wass's hand. With her head still down she took him into the dinning room. The lights were down low and candles burned brightly on the table. Already, there was a covered plate in front of the single place sitting.
"I have already eaten, master," explained Sam as Wass took his seat in front of his meal. "I had it ready for you when you were suppose to be home. I wanted it ready for you when you were suppose to arrive."
Wass lifted the lid to dinner, as Sam knelt next to him to beg for a treat or two. He silently ate his dinner as she talked about her day, which had consisted mostly of oiling whips and preparing the dungeon for the evenings activities. When he had started to push away his plate, she stopped him.
"Eat your Brussel sprouts, master. You know that Dr. Spin told you needed to eat more vegetables, master."
"Yes, my slave," replied Wass in a monotone as he brought his plate back in front of him.
Once his veggies were all bye-bye, and the plate safely pushed away, Wass shoved back his chair and stood up.
"Master, I laid out your things in the bedroom. I will meet you downstairs."
"Yes, my slave."
A short moment later, Wass slouched into the basement/dungeon wearing black, leather pants and a white shirt with buttons removed from the navel and up. Each step fell onto the wooden steps with a thump, followed by another thump. At the bottom of the steps, Sam knelt waiting for him.
"It took you long enough, master."
"Sorry, my slave."
"Well, hurry up and tie me up," she commanded as she stood and went to the table in the middle of the moody room. "We haven't got all night, and I have been a naughty girl. I need to be punished."
"Yes, my slave."
Wass went to a cabinet and open it taking out several lengths of rope, while his wife stood next to the table. He used on of the longer lengths to tie a quick harness around the woman as she commented on the skill of the dom in fashioning the binding. First, he took the rope around the back of neck and brought it around through the D-ring. He tied a hitch into the rope and left a loose loop around her neck.
Once anchored, his practiced hands twisted the two ends together down to the standing woman's crotch. Each of the strands went to the sides of her swollen vulva, and around the outside perimeter of her buttock. He brought them back together just above the ass crack. Then, he began to tie loops into them as it went up her back. Again, the rope was brought over her shoulders and gently tied to the collar's D-ring.
"Shall I lay down, master?"
"Yes, my slave."
The woman lay down on the table, so her back was exposed. Carefully, he used separate ropes to tie each side of the harness and her arms to the table. A third rope secured her legs down as well.
"Give me the lash, master."
"Yes, my slave," agreed Wass as went back to the cabinet and brought out a small, homemade cat-o'nine-tails with ten inch long whips at the business end. He carried it to the table and presented it to the bound woman.
"No, not that one. The big one, master." She growled at him. "I have been very naughty."
"Sorry, my slave."
A moment later, he presented another cat-o'nail-tails to his captive which she announced her approval of. After she kissed the top of the handle, he pulled it away from her and walked behind her. Slowly, he brought the leather lashed against her back near one and then another of her shoulder blades.
For a few moments, Sam quietly squirmed beneath the falling whip, held mostly in place however by the bindings. Finally, she cried out, "Damn it, master. Will you put some backbone into it. I'm not made of porcelain, you know."
"Sorry, dear."
"And I'm not your dear right now; I'm your sex slave. Could you please remember that, master."
"Yes, my slave," replied Wass as he began to quicken the pacing and harden the strengths of blows. "Sorry, my slave."
"And move down my back, master. At least use a little imagination with what you are doing. I can guess where each of your blows are going to land."
"Yes, my slave."
A moment passed with only the sound of leather against skin. Or sometimes against leather, as the whip landed on the panties covering the slave's ass. Then, two moments passed as the lashing moved to her thighs. Finally, the silence was broken.
"Is that as hard as you can hit me, master?"
"No, my slave."
"Well, damn it master, hit me harder. I'm almost there."
The sounds of each strike became louder with that. Sam's moans after them became audible, as well. Wass just silently stood as the whip came down against his woman. His expression just numb.
"Beat me, master. Beat me. You know where, master. Beat me there; I'm about to cum!" Sam shouted at the top of her lungs. Wass moved his aim to the spot on the leather panties right where the thighs met. He brought down one stroke. And then another. And still another.
Finally, one more blow struck the woman against her sex, with only a few millimeters of glove leather to armour the against the sting. With that blow she began to shriek in pleasure. The ropes fought bravely against the thrashing of her body as it lost control to its pleasure.
Wass stood and watched, impassively.
At last, Sam held still. She took her breaths in panting gulps. Sweat ran across her turned forehead. With effort she turned her head from one side, to lay her cheek against the other side of the table, so as to get a better look at her husband.
"That was good, master. Did you enjoy it."
"Yes, my slave."
"Would you like a blow job as a reward."
"Yes, my slave."
"Come here," said Sam with a smile.
She shifted so her chin rested on the table. Wass moved in front of her and lowered his pants. Sam's tongue reached out and began to lick at his flaccid member. It began to rise with her efforts and at last grew to a stiff five inches.
"Fuck my mouth, master."
"Yes, my slave."
Wass began to pump at her mouth and in twenty-two strokes dibbles on water fluid began to pool in Sam's mouth. She swallowed with the appropriate yummy noises as Wass pulled away and brought the zipper up.
"Are you ready for bed now, master."
"Yes, my slave."
"So am I. Untie me master and let's go upstairs."
"Yes, my slave."
"I love you, Wass. Do you love me?"
"Yes, dear."
© 2002 Kenny N Gamera