“Come here slut.”
It was the first time he had spoken to her in 4 hours. Praises be, perhaps her punishment would finally be lifted. She had been silent all fucking day, 12 hours with nothing except long, yearning looks.
Which He had largely ignored. Occasionally He would raise one eyebrow in that sardonic expression that she both loved and hated. He was so fucking cute when He was mean. Damn the Man!
She came to where He sat in the overstuffed chair He favored when He was home, knelt at His feet like a good subbie.
“Stand up.” She complied instantly.
“Take off your shirt.” She pulled the tee-shirt up over her head. She was naked but for her thong panties.
“Spread that shirt over the arm of My chair,” He directed. Again she complied.
“Give Me your slutty little panties.” She slid them down, then handed them to Him in a little wadded bundle. He took them, sniffing the crotch deeply, then put it into his breast pocket. Why this embarrassed her after all this time was incomprehensible to her. And fuck-all, how wet it made her!
“Straddle the arm of the chair. Snug that pussy right over it.” He watched as she sat on the tee-shirt covered arm of the chair. It was an ungainly position, one leg extended to the floor, the other bent and pressed between his thigh and the inside arm of the chair.
“Wider. I want that slutty cunt of yours pressed hard down on that arm.” She shifted, adjusting her position. She flushed when He leaned back, peering at her pussy, then more heat as His finger probed between her splayed legs, pulling her pussy lips apart and spreading them wide. Her inner lips were now pressed tight to the cotton of her tee-shirt.
“Fuck it.” She stared at Him a moment. He sighed. That little sigh that meant He was enjoying her confusion.
“Fuck the arm of the chair, slut. Hump it hard. Slide that wet pussy of yours back and forth. But no cumming. Not yet.”
She nodded, and began undulating her hips. At first it was good, so good to have the friction on her pussy. She began to get into it. Grinding a bit, skidding her wetness across and back, and rolling her hips to occasionally get her clit into the action.
He rose from the chair, came behind her. He grasped her hips and increased her tempo. Pleasure turned to pain as the fabric rubbed and rubbed on her sensitive inner flesh.
“You like humping things when I’m away at work, do you slut? Love pressing that little honeybox against the washer to circumvent my “no vibe this week” rule? ”
She opened her mouth to speak, but remembered in the nick of time to keep silent. She did moan as his hands pressed her deeper into the chair arm, building a friction-heat that was unrelated to sexual release. It fucking HURT!
“Fuck it like that slut. HARD!” His hands released her hips, but she continued to grind down, take her punishment. He started slapping at her hips, her bucking ass, and she took it, built on it, and felt the climb begin.
Her head was soaring when He pulled her off the arm of the chair, bent her over it and fucked her hard from behind. When He was done, when He had allowed her to cum with Him, He pulled her upright, and gruffly ordered her to redress in the tee-shirt.
Front and center was a long, wet smear that would dry to a white, crusty mark.
He collapsed into His chair, smiling that wicked smile that told her He wasn’t quite done yet.
He gestured to the shirt with one finger.
“Tomorrow? Wear that.”
He grinned at the look of shock on her face.
Tomorrow was marketing day.