Old 07-08-2020, 12:35 PM   #1
MrCorruptor
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Join Date: Jan 2019
Location: London, UK
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Default Anticipation

A short story I had the idea for getting in from work one day. I have tried to avoid describing the character physically so that there are fewer limitations on imagining yourself in this position. This story is in one single part. As always, please do excuse typos and grammar errors, and comments are very welcome.
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6:32pm. Friday. Your phone, perched on the wireless charger sat by your side, vibrates gently. You turn your face away from your screen for a moment and read my reply.

“I am on my way now. 15 minutes.”

For a moment you are full of trepidation; but, as quickly as you notice it, is swept away by the joy that the weekend is approaching. Turning back to your screen, you close the document you were working on and push yourself away from your desk. The wheels of your chair glide gently over the plush carpet. You stand.

“Pin dropped”.

The mobile vibrates again and announces that I have started sharing my location. Taking your phone from the charger, you unlock and observe my progress.

“Newman Street.”

While a brisk walk, 15 minutes is probably about right. You realise you need to be quick in preparing yourself. You survey the room: a small office adjoining the lounge, it has a solid black desk with an equally solid chair. The bookcase, an eclectic mix of reference books, autobiographies and throwaway novels, stands by the door. Next to the book case is a side table with a white Anglepoise lamp illuminating a small white marble bust. The bust is plain, befitting of your minimalist office room. Lacking any features save for the vague outline of a woman’s head and shoulders, it sparkles slightly in the lamplight. Adorning the bust is a thin black leather collar held together with a smart silver clasp.

You look at the collar for the moment and let your mind wander. The collar is the switch in our relationship. It indicates the dynamic in the house. When the collar is wrapped around the bust, our life is vanilla. When it is wrapped around your neck, our life is less so; from partners to master and slave with the addition of one band of leather. A simple way of showing whether you want to submit.

Today, you want to submit.

You remove the collar from the bust and wrap it around your neck, feeling it rub slightly as you close the clasp under your hair. You feel another moment of trepidation wash over you, starting at your head and swimming down your neck to your core. You feel a slight but familiar wetness between your legs.

“Cleveland Street.”

The vibrating of your phone rouses you from your daze. You quickly stride through the lounge and up the stairs to our bedroom. With a singular focus you enter the wardrobe and kneel before the oak chest of drawers. Carefully opening the lowest one first, you are greeted by a selection of shiny metal anal plugs.

The plugs range in size from miniature to massive. Each has a different coloured gem in the end, beginning at green and ending in an onyx-like black. It is rare you touch green now; those having been used to train you in the early days of our relationship. Instead you take the plug with a rose quartz end and press it into your palm. You have been stung using these plugs without warming them before.

“New Cavendish Street.”

Your phone vibrates again, pressing you to move faster. While waiting for the plug to warm you pull the next drawer and look at the wide range of lubes available. You arsehole twitches slightly as you think about the best way to lodge the metal plug inside yourself. A slight pounding begins in your ears as you notice that your heart-rate spikes monetarily.

You eventually reach in among the bottles and pick one with a deep purple label. Asstroglide. You remember the last time I used this lube on you: working from a thin strand anal beads up to a rough and vigorous pounding. You nod, contemplating your choice, and shift from your knees onto your back. You lift your white cotton skirt and reveal your underwear.

While noticeably lacking in coverage, the design of your thong is relatively understated. You consider for a moment whether to simply pull the string to the side for the insertion, but decide against it. Easier access for later. Your pull it down and notice glistening strings of juice run from your pussy. You yearn to touch it but remember your rules:

“4) You must always have master’s permission to touch your cunt.”

You look down at your pubic mound and sigh slightly. While you do not regret the control I have over your body, you still wish that, sometimes, it would be your choice whether to masturbate.

Resolving that the plug is now warm enough, you open the Asstroglide and lube the first inch of your index and middle finger. You feel the silky texture of the silicone lube as your rub the two fingers together. Then, still on your back, you reach under yourself and begin to rub the tips of both fingers against your arsehole.

Your response to this stimulation is immediate. You feel your heart jump into your mouth and let out a gentle but noticeable sigh. You close both eyes and imagine me rubbing your hole, purring that you are a “good girl”. You feel your nipples begin to harden, the resistance against your fingers decreasing in tandem. You push and, with an almost imperceptible ‘schlik’, your fingers slip an inch inside of you. Feeling emboldened you wiggle the fingers slightly as you feel pleasure begin to radiate throughout.

“Great Portland Street.”

Your phone warns you that I am approaching. You sense yourself begin to slip deeply into subspace, aroused and pliant in equal measure. You stretch yourself and try to ensure that you are ready for the sizeable plug. Momentarily doubting, you wonder whether you should have gone for a smaller plug, but stop and recite another rule:

“2) Be the best submissive you that you can be.”

You know you need to push to please me. So: one, Asstroglide; two, lube up the plug; three hold the plug against your arsehole; and, four, push. You immediately feel your arsehole open and envelope the plug. You let out a deep and guttural sigh. Feeling full, you enjoy the completeness you gain from having one of your slots filled.

A few moments pass. You look around the wardrobe and spot yourself in the dressing mirror. Rear pointing outwards, the rose gem glints gloriously in your stretched hole. You also spot the smudged remains of “slut” written in dark marker above your pubic mound. You lift the white shirt you are wearing and stare down at it, wondering whether you should touch it up so I can read it better.

“Devonshire Street.”

Maybe later – now there is little time to waste. You decide against adorning yourself further, and also reject binding yourself. While your breasts do look a glorious deep purple when in roped bondage, five minutes is really insufficient time to do a good job. And better to be not tied at all than tied badly and face a punishment.

You stand. The edge of the plug rubs against the inside of your buttocks. You reach around and adjust yourself slightly. Every touch on the plug sends ripples of pleasure up your spine, exploding in your head like a lone firework. You settle it flush against your skin and look at the bust that sits atop dressing table.

While marble like the one downstairs, and illuminated by a similar lamp, the similarities are few. It has a woman’s face and long flowing locks. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is open; it is filled with a ruby red ball gag. You reach and unclasp the rear of the gag, gently removing it from the bust. You chuckle slightly, and wonder whether the artist who made this would have expected it to be used as a mount for an implement of bondage.

Reaching behind your head, you gently clasp the gag under your hair. You pull out the hair that gets trapped. With both your mouth and arse filled, you feel your face prickle slightly as your face flushes. You are excited, growing more aroused by the moment.

Once again, your mind wanders slightly. You think about all the sensual things that might happen this evening. Might I fill each of your holes in turn and use you as “my personal cocksocket”? Might I administer a brutal beating on your bound breasts, butt and body? Might I clamp the most sensitive parts of you – squeezing your nipples and now engorged clit and labia? Or, you realise with a slight panic, might I inflict a crueller punishment? Might I walk in and simply ignore you? You intake breath slightly but feel your pussy gush, enjoying the sense of humiliation hiding deep at the back of your mind.

No, it has been a long week for both of us. You think that, whatever else happens this weekend, we will both need some release this evening. You will beg if you have to; beg that I use you. Beg that I exhaust the ravenous spirit that has today grown inside you.

You walk down the stairs and check your phone. I am at the crossing of Harley Street and Devonshire Street. You realise I am, at most, two minutes away.

“11) Greet master properly when he returns home.”

You stand on the cold tiled floor in the hall and stare at the door for a moment. And then, slowly, you descend onto your hands and knees. This floor is cold and you gasp slightly, but your mind is elsewhere. Like the hundreds of times you have assumed “the position” before, you are now a tightly wound erotic spring; ready to give your submissive soul to your master. You are soaking wet.

You turn so you are facing away from the door. You then lower your torso so it is pushed against the cold tiles. While you can feel the cold creep through your bra, you enjoy the feeling of pressure on your erect nipples. You grind into the ground, catching them against the gaps in the tiles and feel a sensuous mixture of pleasure and pain.

“Devonshire Place.”

Anticipation swells within you as you. You reach behind yourself, chest and forehead resting on the ground and lift your white skirt. You rest your hands on the floor beside yourself and wait.

A few seconds pass and you feel the plug inside you. Filling you deeply. Making your arsehole feel stretched and pleasantly filled.

A few more seconds pass and you feel wetness against your thighs. You shift your legs slightly to better expose your cunt.

A few more seconds pass.

Then a few more.

Then… click.

You lift your arms and firmly plant the palms of your hands onto your arse cheeks. You pull apart, and feel the pressure relax slowly on the plug as you expose your filled arsehole. You feel your labia initially stick together from the wetness but, eventually, part. You feel arousal swell inside of you, like a wave crashing against you.

Your anticipation reaches a fever pitch.
__________________
28/M/dom/UK

Loves: anal, bondage (primarily breasts), clitoral torture, degradation, denial, insertion, humiliation, nipple torture, punishment, rules, spanking, stretching, toys, TPE.
Exploring: hidden/semi-public, messy, petplay, watersports.
Likes: pretty much everything else.
Limit: blood, illegal, permanent, social suicide.

Kik: MrCorruptor
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