… later …

“I’ll be late.”

The text sent a pang of pure sorrow to her heart.

“Okay. I’ll miss you. Like…a lot.”


That was it, the exchange over, His attention taken away from her, or put back on whatever project was keeping Him from showing up on time.

She needed.

She was horny, wanton, desiring of nothing more than sitting at His feet and sucking His cock.

That wasn’t really true, though.

She wanted Him to stride through the door, kick it shut, grab her by the hair, and toss her across the nearest piece of furniture and fuck her like a whore. She wanted it rough and violent, a reclaiming of what was His to fuck and hurt and take.

It put her in her place.

It felt so damn good, to be used for her ultimate purpose. She’d sing songs to the sky molecules as he pummeled her into space, she’d float among the star-dust as He filled her, she’d come back to her achingly tender body, full of His seed, sated by His body.

“Nipple clamps at 9.”

Her heart raced. It wasn’t *that* long until 9. And she had busy work to do. The toilet to scrub, the dishwasher to load,  a bed to fold down.

“Yes, Sir. Which pair, Sir?”

“You know.”

The hurty ones. The ones that made her wince as He flexed the silver mouth open and closed. Small of clamp end, but fierce of bite, they made her tits hurt like hellfire, and her cunt run like a river.

“Yes Sir.”

She did her chores, found the clamps, put them on the bed where she could look at them. She had no idea when He’d come home, but hoped it wouldn’t be long after 9. These things hurt like fuck-fire. The more she looked at them, the more she dreaded the quick sweep of the second hand, the relentless pacing of the minute hand.

“Are they on?”

“Yes Sir. Hurt.”

“Well, I should hope so!”

“Are You…i mean…Sir?”


“May i ask Sir a question?”

“Isnt’ that a question? *insert laugh* Yes, slut, proceed.”

She thought for a moment. He rarely let her ask two in a row. Had to make this one count.

“Will You be removing these Yourself, Sir?”

“When you put things on or off or into your body by My words, are you not acting with My hand?”

“Yes Sir.”

Tricky bastard. He didn’t answer the question exactly as she had hoped.

“… later tonight, they will be removed. At my command.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Go outside. The night air will cool the fire in your tits.”

She didn’t want to go outside naked. She didn’t want to move. Every jostle of her tits hurt. Traces of fiery pain licked from her nipples, encasing her tits in an invisible bra of pain. That she felt an answering heat from between her legs didn’t improve her mood. In pain and incredibly aroused, she walked carefully downstairs and out the back door.

Fireflies winked on at the perimeter of the yard, a dog barked in the distance, and the faint yet sharply pungent scent of skunk rode the wind. She shivered as the wind caressed the burning ache that was her bosom.

Shit, she’d forgotten her phone.

And double shit.

She’d forgotten to ask how long to stay outside. She looked up at their bedroom window, as another gust of wind shivered along her skin. Goosebumps rose, pulling on her clamps as her nipples drew tighter in response.

She needed to stay out, but she needed to go in, too.

“Come in slut. Whatever are you doing outside in the cold?”

His voice, filled with humor, called to her from the kitchen.  He was home! He’d tricked her after all.  Quickly she moved into the house, her pussy so wet that her thighs slid across one another as she walked.

He stood, beer in one hand, tie loosened, an erection tenting out the front of His work pants. Khakis and hard-on’s were a delightful combination.

“It’s later…”

His voice was a drawl of amusement. He pointed to the slick silver gleam on her thighs with the beer bottle.

“Did your pussy think I was going to miss the party?”

“no Sir!” Her voice was a fragile wisp of sound, her sudden longing squeezing her vocal chords tight making her quiet. Her submission fell upon her in a wave more intense than the pain of her tits.

“Upstairs. I need to fuck my slut.”

“Sir, the windows, the door….” she waved at the open portals, the curtains doing a twirling dance in the wind blowing through their little house. A twirl echoed by the lust coiling from her pussy to her tits to her head.

Grabbing a fistful of her hair, He tugged her relentlessly upstairs, just as she’d fantasized about.