Stiletto Dreams

She dreamt of stiletto’s. There must have been more to it than that, since she woke Him up.

“S’up?” she asked, groggy and still caught in the dream-cycle.

“You were talking to me.”

“Wasn’n…” she broke off to yawn, widely. It was pretty convenient to have her lover, Master, Owner, and Husband all in the same bed with her. All in the same body, too. He, as husband, would understand the yawn and cautious stretching of her frustrating, uncooperative body, as she prepared to rise with the day. He would not be offended, as some Master’s could be, by her lack of gentle acceptance of her role as His slave.

Ha. As if.

“Sorry,” she tried to look apologetic, but judging from his Look, failed.  “I don’t remember talking, just walking. Those shoes, Michael.  They were black, suede brushed so fine that they almost shimmered. So soft…but the toes? Were metallic. Pointy. Dangerous.”

“Ah.” He propped up on one elbow to look down at her. The dawn crept into the room, sneaking light under the blinds, and around the curtains, a tumescent glow of soft orange-red. It was going to be another hot one, and if the weather station didn’t foretell it, the red-hued dawn certainly did.

“So the shoes were like your tongue, then?”

She stuck hers out at Him.

“See? Pointy.” Quick as a flash he grabbed the waggling bit of flesh, and pinched it hard between his fingers.

“OUTH!” She protested. He ignored her, and bent closer, checking it out.

“It is pointy. And it’s certainly been dangerous. The guy who stumped for your vote last week looked like you’d sliced him pretty good by the time I got there.  Poor fellow. You need a sign on your wheelchair that says “If you’re a Republican, don’t talk to me,” or even “If you’re a Republican, run, run for your life.”  He paused to laugh.  Then continued” Not to mention those sassy barbs you think you’re sliding past me…”  He released her tongue and she ran it around her mouth. For a moment, she debated sticking it back out at him, but thought the better of it.

She knew there’d be payback. Still, she’d known him, loved him for 20 years or more, and he’d still taken her into his bed, his life. Hell, he’d married her, sassy ass and all! She wondered which of them was more the masochist! Gods knew she gave him more than his fair share of mouth. Obedient little subgirl? Sometimes.  But honestly? She knew he liked her just as she was. And if there was a problem, he could nip it ‘in the butt’, as He called it.

Her eyes slid to the collection of wooden “fans” on the wall.  They were actually paddles, but he’d painted scenes on each one to represent the seasons, and thus, they hung in full view. He’d received many compliments on them, which always made them laugh later.

“You ready to pee?” He interrupted her musing thoughts.  “And don’t think I didn’t notice you looking longingly at Winter.” She rolled her eyes.

She fucking hated Winter.  She threatened to use it to shovel the porch and “lose” it in the snow each year. The one time she’d carried out the threat, he had made a replacement. It was a full 3/4 inch thicker, and he’d carved a series of lines on it so that when it was applied to her ass, it made a pattern.

Rolling out of bed, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bathroom.  She might have protested, might have argued her independence, might have demanded that He put her in the wheelchair and let her take care of herself. The truth was, she didn’t mind being carried once in a while. He was strong, and warm, and boy did she need to pee!

He sat her on the toilet.

“Open your legs wider.”

It embarrassed her when He watched her go potty. The sound of her urine fell like a waterfall in the quiet bathroom. She noted the tent in his boxers. Obviously he got off on it. She felt the blush rise, even after all these years. He took out his cock, and aimed it at her. She looked up at him, uncertain. He wanted a blowjob while she was pissing? The hot stream of his urine struck her almost on her clit. Her mouth opened, shock not allowing any sound to escape.  He smiled down at her, pissing on her pussy, as she looked up at him.

He picked up her lax hand, wiped the dripping head along her palm.

“You ’bout done there, girl? Coz you sure need to wash your hands.” His laughter was robust. She blushed, reaching for the toilet paper, and wiped her hand, then her pussy.  It was surprising that he’d managed to flick her switch on, too. She felt the soft thrum of lust begin to beat between her legs. Her nipples crinkled and rose.

Gently he helped her up off the toilet, holding her by her hips to brace her at the sink. He leaned into her, trailing his tongue along her neck as she wet her hands with water, lathered them up. His fingers reached around and captured the nipples that begged for his touch. Watching him in the mirror, she was transfixed. His hands, strong and thick, squeezed and twisted her nipples. She watched the dance of his fingers, the response of her tits, and moaned.  Eyes half-closed as desire ripped through her, she rinsed the soap from her fingers, and sought the knobs to stop the water. Fumbling for the towel, she dried her hands, then braced herself there as his breath tickled along her neck while he spoke.

“I’m going to help you walk back across the room, and help you back to bed.”

“But Michael…Master…I need to get up, cook breakfast…I need my chair for that…” The list of to-do’s for today ran through her head.

“Not today, slut. Today you will spend the day in bed. You may dream of stiletto’s, but what you need is a hard cock in your mouth. In your pussy. Shoved deeply up your ass. What you need is to follow my directions. And today will be a bed day.”

The to-do list evaporated. The last vestiges of the shiney-toes shoes disappeared. The heat outside would be nothing compared to what would build in their room, in their bed today.

“I’ll even promise to cool you off later,” He said, as if reading her mind. “I’ll make certain that Winter comes and plays on your ass a while.”

His laugh echoed in the bathroom, and bounced into her heart. With a smile, they moved together, past her day-planner, past the wheelchair, and into the day.