I had a dinner party this past weekend and true to form this chic was feeling beheaded by midafternoon on the day of the party. The menu was fairly simple: pan seared duck with a chipolte apricot glaze, roasted garlic mashed potatoes, mixed green salad (with avocado, cucumber, grilled onions, and blue cheese in a balsamic vinaigrette), and for dessert Mango and Strawberry Cobbler, but things kept happening that kept me from getting my butt in the kitchen where it needed to be. One of my neighbors dogs got out and she was panicking (okay, so was i) so we went on a frantic dog search. By the time we found the dog my florist was closed and i hadn’t picked up the arrangements for the party. My mom called crying over a fight with my aunt and so it went, problem after problem. That’s why i didn’t answer my phone when he called me later that afternoon. Then he called again…
Him: Why haven’t you answered me little one?
me: i’m busy! I am just learning how to treat this new caller of mine. he is my master, and actually it quite turns me on!
Him: excuse me?
me: i’m sorry i was short with You, but i am busy washing vegetables and i had to put down cucumbers and dry my hands to text just now and things are out of control and nothing is going right and i. am. freaking. out.
Him: Are you alone?
me: yes Sir, i am now.
Him: Grab a cucumber, go to your room and get naked.
Less than two minutes later my phone rang again. Gulp. My heart started galloping and my tummy began filling with butterflies. My problems were already starting to fade away into the background when i dropped to my knees and answered with a quiet, “hello.” He wasted no time with idle chit chat.
“You are mine georgia. MINE.”
The words had an immediate effect on me. My pussy contracted around the words as if they were fucking me with the depth of their meaning and the butterflies in my tummy took flight. i was his right now and nothing else mattered.
“Your lips are mine. Touch my lips.”
“Your breasts are mine. Slap my breasts. Harder. i want to hear it.”
“Your nipples are mine. Pinch my nipples. Harder. Make it hurt.”
“Your pussy is mine. Fuck my pussy. Use two fingers and fuck it. Faster slave. Faster.”
And so it went until i was breathless and begging to cum. He tells me it takes most women a long time to reach an orgasm, but i’ve never been one for marathons and my pussy feels the same way…sprinting to the finish is just her style. He granted permission for me to cum without even making me beg and then before i’d had a chance to catch my breath he ordered me to cum again.
i was all a-tremble, the dinner party a forgotten nuisance when he spoke again, “clean your fingers like you clean my cock.” i slid my fingers out of my pussy and put them in my mouth, sucking them clean and moaning as i imagined sucking my cum off of him.
“Do you like that little one?” he asked, and i mumbled a “yeth thir” around the fingers in my mouth. “Good girl. You do taste good. So good in fact that I think we should share. Take the cucumber and slide it deep inside your pussy.” i took the large, cold cucumber from the floor beside me did as he ordered. My pussy clenched around it convulsively, still wanting to fuck, but he had other plans.
“Now pull it out, get dressed and go finish your salad. Do NOT wash the cucumber off. Do you understand me?”
i knelt there in shocked silence. Surely he didn’t mean for me to serve a cum soaked cucumber to my friends. No. He coudn’t mean that. He wouldn’t…
“Did you understand me slave?” he asked again in a tone that told me he did in fact expect me to serve my cum with dinner.
“Yes Sir,” i managed to whisper past the sudden lump in my throat and after a simple ‘good girl’ he hung up the phone.
The rest of the afternoon went by in a blur. No longer did i worry about the recipes i cooked, or about the dress i was wearing or the way my hair turned out or about my make-up or what music to play. All i could think about was the little chunks of cucumber in the salad that wore my cum as their dressing.
Dinner went off without a hitch and everyone had a lovely time. i blushed while they ate the salad, amazed that they remained unaware that they were munching on the proof of my slavery, but then they didn’t need to be reminded of what i was…
but i did. And so do you guys. Call me and let me be your little bitch tonight. I will do whatever you say.
Even after my years in cities I still get a buzz from stepping into a taxi, instructing the driver and being taken where I want to go. There’s a subtle erotic pleasure in submitting to the confinement, being conducted through the traffic, and the possibility that this car could be going anywhere.
