Tuesday, July 28, 2009


She looked over at him, kneeling by the sofa, knowing he was in pain, that he'd been kneeling there for hours, waiting for her to come home.

She almost took pity on him.


She unbuttoned her jacket, flashed her bare chest at him, saw his eyes widen when he realized she was no longer wearing either the bra or the camisole she had on when she left earlier this evening.

Unfortunately, his look only emboldened her, only made her wish to torment him even more.

She reached behind her, fumbled, found the zipper to her skirt, and deftly stepped out of it, leaving her standing before him in heels and hose, panties, her jacket, gloves, and the smallest of panties.

He gasped again, the hunger plain on his face, need, desire. Hours of waiting for her to come home, kneeling as the sun set, only the mental image of her walking out the door.

"You want to taste me," she said, knowing full well he did.

"Please," he begged softly.

"You want to touch me," she asked, letting a gloved hand drift to the front of her panties, "here?" She sensually reached in, let her fingers find herself, gasped, even as she was in control.

"Yes," he said, almost grunting, trying to keep control, trying to stop from rising without permission, struggling to wait, wait.

She closed her eyes, rubbed. "You might not like what you find," she whispered, gloved fingers inside her, "who you taste."

He gasped again at her implication. She need say no more, she need only mention, toy, tease, that another may have touched her that evening. She need not say she cuckolded him, she needed only to let him infer it, to wonder if it true or not.

He watched her shake, watched her orgasm, watched the wave of self-induced pleasure wash over her.

She opened her eyes, slowly, took her hand from her, held it out, forward. "Taste, lover, taste." He crawled to her, desire overwhelming, placed a hand on each stocking covered leg, moved his head towards the musky scent between her legs.

He stopped when his lips touched her glove, inhaled, savored. He knew this was all he would get this evening, the taste, mixed with the leather of her gloves. Eagerly, he sucked, licked her glove, licked the juice, tasted, whether it hers alone or mixed with another, it did not matter.

He was in paradise, worshiping her, his lover, his everything.


  1. That's so sexy. Ok, here's a challenge/suggestion: now write it as if it were a master instead of a mistress... and find a complementary photo as well.

    Master X

  2. SBMasterX challenged me to write this same story from the perspective of a master instead of a mistress. I can do that. One question, though, should the sub be a man or a woman (or a tv?)