(The first part of this started here. After the part about Celebrations.)
He left her simmering for 5 minutes, alone in the kitchen, naked, on her knees.
When she heard his footsteps, she looked up, so eager and hopeful she couldn’t help it.
He grinned, and said, “There’s my good girl.” He said it casually, as if he said it every day, but it undid her. A knot in her chest loosened for the first time in a long time, the tears welled up fiercely. For a second she couldn’t breathe, and then it turned into a sob. In a flash, she was full out crying.
There was a time when he would have panicked to see her shoulders shake, the tears rolling down her face. But he wasn’t surprised by this reaction. He stepped closer to her, put one hand on her head, drawing her to him so she was leaning against his leg. She wrapped her arms around his leg, presssed her check to his thigh, and sobbed, while he stroked her hair.
She clung to him, releasing all the misery she had been holding back for so long. The pleasure of being ‘his good girl’ had been withheld and it had almost broken her. She had always known he cared about her, loved her, even appreciated her, but this particular pleasure had been denied her.
His handkerchief in hand, he wiped the tears from her face as the sobs slowed and were replaced by sniffles. Wordlessly, he handed her tissue to blow her nose. “You are my good girl,” he said, and this time she smiled in response, her heart filled with joy.
“Now,” he said, catching her hair at the nape of her neck and tugging a bit, “Now we’re going to move to the living room. Come.”
He stepped back and she rose, trembling a bit. He pulled her close, holding her against him, his hand firmly grasped in one hand. When he felt her grow more steady, he stepped back, releasing her. Turned and led the way to the living room.
She saw that the fireplace was going, warming the room with a cosy glow. His chair, the big rocking, recliner faced the fire. In front of his chair, was a low stool. There was a cushion for kneeling near by. Beside him was the little table with his teacup. She knew that he kept his toys in a drawer and the small cabinet in the bottom of the side table.
He settled himself in the chair. She waited, unsure of what he wanted.
“Sit, please,” he said, gesturing to the stool. She lowered herself onto it, realizing it was so low that her legs were uncomfortable, and she had to arrange them spread wide apart to accommodate their length. Then she realized that it had been a long time since she had shaved or even trimmed between her legs and she blushed, embarrassed.
“I want to reclaim you,” he said. To re-establish our roles as Dominant and submissive. This will involve training and practice. Discipline. I’ll expect you to please me. You’ll be punished when you don’t. I’ll expect you to obey me, even when you don’t want to.” He paused.
Her heart was pounding, her nipples tingled, and there was a low throbbing sensation between her legs. She waited.
“Your time will be divided into three categories. You’ll have work time, when you’ll make your own decisions and be,” he smilled, “be the captain of your ship. You’ll have mundane time, when you do all the things you’ve been doing – overseeing the house, making sure our lives go smoothly. I’ll respect your judgement in those areas, although I will be more involved than I have been, and may make some decisions. Then there will be submissive time. That’s when I expect you to serve and please me, to obey me completely and submit fully.”
He reached for his tea and drank.
“Do you agree to this?” he asked. “To submit to your will to mine, to obey and accept discipline, to be used as I see fit?”
Her mouth was so dry, she wasn’t sure she could talk.
But, “Yes, Sir, I agree,” she said.
She had not noticed that he had a couple of bottles of water on the floor at his feet until he handed her one. “Drink,” he said, and she did, relieved to have the cool water.
Then, “Come here,” he said, holding out his arms. She went to him. Climbing into his lap felt like coming home, and he held her close, caressing a nipple with one thumb with his other hand resting between her thighs. He tugged gently at the hair, making her moan.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “You have a waxing appointment. She’s coming to the house to do it. I want to watch.” He grinned. “Be prepared to be under my scrutiny all weekend.”
She took a deep breath, and snuggled closer to him. “Yes, Sir,” she said, feeling happiness deep in her bones.
He switched nipples, toying with the other one now. The hand between her legs moved further down, fingers penetrated her. She lifted her hips a bit to give him easier access.
“We’ll do training all weekend,” he said. “Tomorrow afternoon, we’ll go to the dungeon. We’ve been invited to a meeting that Lucas has set up. I want to stay and play, we’ll spend the night in one of the apartments too. You remember Lucas and Sophia, right?”
She nodded, barely remembering to say, “yes, sir,” she was so distracted by his hands exploring her. She was becoming so aroused, she thought she might cum any minute and was only vaguely worried that orgasms without permission might not be allowed.
In fairness, once that possibility occurred to her, she was quick to ask, “Sir, am I allowed – do I need permission to cum?”
He laughed, and pinched her nipple. Hard. “Silly girl,” he said, “Of course you need permission. I wouldn’t expect an orgasm at all tonight if I were you.”
“Yes, Sir,” she sighed. But he didn’t stop caressing her and that was worrisome. Quickly, she was struggling to think of things that would help her not cum. Her pussy was hot and wet and his fingers filled her so nicely, she began to moan and move her hips up to meet him. It had been so long, and she was getting closer and closer.
“Sir,” she gasped, “Sir, please, Sir, may I cum?”
“Absolutely not!” he said, withdrawing the fingers abruptly. She cried out in disappointment.
“Turn,” he said, shifting her body, “Turn so you’re leaning back against me. That’s it – now open your legs. Wide. There, yes, put your legs on top of mine.”
Held open like that, she suspected what was coming, and so she wasn’t surprised when he smacked the inside of one thigh, hard, then the other. She moved as if to pull her legs together, isntictively trying to escape the blows. His hands moved to her nipples, tugging each one gently at first then more firmly.
“Wrap your feet behind my legs,” he said. “That will help you keep those legs wide open.” It took her a minute understand what he meant, but then she got it. Pinning her feet behind his legs allowed her to squirm with out bringing her legs together.
“Good girl,” he said, and while she was lost in those words, he began smacking her inner thighs again, alternating sides steadily. It hurt, there was no doubt that it hurt, but she discovered that she craved it too. As soon as she had absorbed a blow, she was ready for one on the other side.
“Good, good girl,” he murmurred, while he played her inner thighs like a drum. He paused for a moment, opening a drawer in the side table with one hand, retrieving two paint sticks With a paint stick in each hand, he resumed the rhythmic blows. This hurt much more, and yet she was warmed up enough that she didn’t try to evade him, crying out softly and keeping her legs widespread.
When he paused again, he fumbled in the drawer and pulled out nipple clamps. He tugged on her nipples til they were nicely elongated, making her moan with pleasure. Clipped the clamps on, first one nipple then the other, and she moaned again, tossed her head a bit. “Easy, girl,” he whispered to her, “you can take it, my good girl.”
He parted her nether lips, stroked her clit for a moment, and she settled, accepting the pinch and pull on her nipples. Feeling her relax into the pain, he picked up the paint sticks again, settled into a rhythm.
She was overwhelmed with sensation. Her nipples ached, her thighs were stinging. Her pussy throbbed, begging for attention. She moaned now with a low keening sound, she had no words, only sensation and longing.