She stood just inside the doorway of his kitchen. Far from her perception of a dom, he was busy preparing food for them. She’d thought that being a submissive was all about service, kind of like a maid, she guessed.
Watching him as he moved around his kitchen was a definite turn-on. Her eyes were drawn again to the tight black tee shirt, the play of muscles in his back as he worked. His arms were strong, his hands, dexterous. She felt herself salivating over him. Gods, this was weird. Well…she’d wanted to explore being with a “dom”…and it looked like she was really getting a full-on experience with Sir Bill.
She wondered if she should offer to help. As if reading her mind, He pointed to a cushion on the floor beside a table, and said “sit”. Silently she crossed the kitchen, and sat. Her head just missed brushing the lower-than-average table, and she knew it was made for him to wheel his chair under.
He poured wine, one glass, and sipped from it. After seeming to ignore her for a few minutes, he wheeled over to her and granted her one tiny taste. Leaning down, he kissed her deeply and thoroughly, so all that remained in her mouth was the memory of wine, and the taste of him. He moved back to what he had been doing before shutting off her brain with that kiss.
She’d seen from the outside that his house was modern. From the inside, it was apparent that it had been designed for him, as the appliances were all within his reach. Even the sink had been designed to be used by someone in a chair. Cabinets were lower, with wire shelving that pulled out, and down. Even the oven was modified, opening from the side, like a microwave. He pulled a pizza from the oven with ease, sliding it onto the the shelf below the oven to slice it.
She’d been here, on a pillow on the floor for-fucking-ever, it felt. She shifted again, trying to restore feeling to her left foot. She was being attentive to what he was saying, but still, she wasn’t five anymore. Sitting on a cushion on the floor was well outside of her “normal”. She was learning, from his conversation as he worked, that things happened at his whim. Or plan. Or whatever. If he wanted her to sit, then sit she would. The idea of him treating her like a kid, or a …she shied away from the thought. She wasn’t a thing.
Still, sitting here and just being, in a way that focused her on the present and not the past nor future was surprisingly erotic. His voice broke into her musing.
“come here, slut.”
It was the first time that he’d called her that, and it gave her a funny feeling in her belly. A bit of humiliation, with a side of sexual punch. Her pussy pulsed back to life, after laying quiescent. She started to push up off the pillow, to stand, but he forestalled that.
“No, on your knees is fine.” He patted the side of his leg. “come here, Melody, come crawl to your Sir.”
He’d slid them both into a scene as easily as he’d slid that pan onto the counter. She was caught up with him now, with what would come next. The smell of food made her mouth water. The sight of him, and what he was making her do made her pussy wet.
Crawling across the floor to him, she knelt at his side. He offered her another sip of wine from his cup, then kissed it away again. She felt her head spin as her pussy began leaking copiously. Moaning into his mouth, she braced her hand on his thigh. His hand took hers, pulling it around to the small of her back, even as he deepened the kiss. His mouth sucked on her tongue, fiercely, until she felt as if he was attempting to pull it from her mouth. Her moans became whimpers, and still he sucked. Her fingers curled around his hand, his hand pulled her closer. Her shoulder ached from the unfamiliar pose, hand behind her back, tugged upwards as he pulled her forward, harder into the assault on her mouth. She barely noticed-she was drowning in sensations. When he broke the kiss, he gently slapped her cheek with his free hand.
When he released her, she felt…liquid. As if her bones had melted. As if she was a giant orgasm poised on the brink of explosion. Trembling, she gazed up at him, beginning to understand the power, and the draw of submitting. No one had ever made her feel this way before, not from a few burning kisses.
She collapsed more than sat, still watching him carefully. He took a slice of pizza, and a healthy bite. She sat, watching him eat the entire piece. She felt quizzical. Wasn’t he supposed to give her some? The wine was an echo of flavor in her mouth, and her stomach rumbled as he ate two more pieces, seeming to ignore her presence beside him. She thought about pointing out to him that he wasn’t alone, that she was sitting here and starving, but some restraint kept her silent, and focused.
She swallowed when he did, her mouth pooled with saliva as he chewed carefully. The smell of melted cheese and warm sauce wafted to her, and her tummy grumbled in protest.
He glanced down at her.
And went back to eating. The bastard. Of all the fucking nerve. She felt both indignant…and horny. The dichotomy was annoying. Puzzling. Frustrating!
He took another piece. Tipping back his head, he opened his mouth wide, and glanced down at her.
“You look mad as a wet hen,” he said, laying the pizza on his plate. And laughed again. She stayed quiet, something that her co-workers would find amazing. She was never quiet when she was outraged. He dragged his finger across the top of the slice. A bit of oil, a dash of sauce caught on the pad of his finger.
“Close your mouth.”
He painted her lips with the mixture, then turned back to the table. And ate the fucking pizza slice. She sat, fuming, as the teasing smell wafted to her nose. The urge to lick was nearly overwhelming. He turned to her with the wineglass once more.
She sipped, leaving a smear of sauce on the rim of the glass. She moaned in frustration.
“So close, and yet so far,” he murmured, before taking a fistful of hair and her mouth. He bit her lips, licking them clean, then sucked her mouth dry. Her head spun. She was alive, full of sensations. Without realizing, she wound her arms around his neck; he pulled her easily off the floor and onto his lap.
His fingers slid under her skirt, pushing aside the wet crotch of her panties as he probed the wet folds. She felt the push of them against her pussy, the intrusion of them into her cunt, and whimpered into his mouth. He finger-fucked her hard, not breaking the kiss as he worked her body, top and bottom. She came, hard, into his hand, whimpering and moaning against his lips.
“Good girl, good girl,” he murmured against her hair. She felt his hand leaving her, leaving her feeling empty, and drained.
“Here’s your dinner, slut.” He lifted his fingers, wet from her pussy, to her mouth.