A Fantasy by Soren

A Fantasy

By Soren Outlander

Completed on assignment from Miss Susannah Clary

"And what makes you think you can wear clothes around here?"

The door had opened without my hearing it and she walked in on me. Quick as a whip came a torrent of guilt, as if I had done everything everything wrong (I had, of course). It had been about three months since I started this little once a week assignment at her apartment and not once had she come home. Obviously something was different on this particular Tuesday afternoon.

On hearing her voice I went to my knees and left everything I was doing on the kitchen table. The response almost involuntary by now.

"What is all that fabric still doing on my property?"

Without saying a word, I began unbuttoning my shirt feeling like the word "guilty" was written all over everything inside me. I kind of had to awkwardly lie down to remove my pants, which I'm sure she enjoyed. She immediately collected everything and swatted my bare backside. "Go ahead and continue now until I come back." She knew I couldn't stay very long. We had scheduled this weekly task to fall between two of my standing appointments. I enjoy hers better but my workday also makes demands.

I stood back up and resumed my task, only a little concerned that all my clothes had disappeared from the room a scant twenty minutes before I had to leave for my work meeting. In no time at all the clicking of heels and that tingle along the lower vertebrae told me my Mistress was returning. "Kneel and face me when I enter a room, boy." I turned and lowered myself to the floor once more. (Not many understand that a D/s lifestyle comes with aerobic advantages. )

In any case, there, dangling before my lowered gaze was a long length of thin leather cord. I had seen this particular notion before and knew well the intent. Mistress sat in one of her padded oak kitchen chairs: snappy skirt, aforementioned heels, one leg crossed over the other in that maddening manner that she adopts.

"Allright, stand over here," she indicated a spot before the chair.

"Hands behind your back."

I rose again and stood in the appointed spot wherein Mistress proceeded to meticulously apply that dangley oddment to my loins. With an expertise born of unquenchable passion, she wound it round and round and round, forming specially choreographed circlings of my achy, naked cock and balls. Separating, confining, and constricting all at once, and drawing unheeded gasps and helplessly ejaculated noises from her subject.

A "There," concluded her work (with just a hint of pleasure). "That you'll wear until you're back here tonight." With that she held the delicate package she'd made in one hand and proceeded to slap it with the other - causing sudden unintelligible feelings that nearly doubled me over, squirting noise again from my mouth. "Don't you ever...EVER....wear clothes in this house. Is that absolutely crystal?"

Another harsh slap and I was on the floor - this time gasping for air. "Is that clear?"

The "Yes, Ma'am." from my lips were sounds more intended than actual at that point. My stricken brain eventually sorted out sounds of a faucet running, a glass filling with water. It also made out an infinitely gentler voice say, "Back on your knees when you can, Soren dear." The refrigerator door opened and closed, a few kitchen counter items rearranged themselves. Somehow during this I had managed to climb all the way back to my knees, my efforts rewarded by the sight of her black heels stepping into my oh so submissive view of cold linoleum.

After a moment, I heard the water glass set down on the table and saw the hem of her skirt rise out of view. "Now. I've been wearing these all day, Soren, and I want fresh ones." I looked up to see a somewhat mischievous smile and that beguiling look from her brown eyes that still turns my insides into puddles of want.

This part, at least, was well rehearsed and brought a well welcomed, comforting intimacy. Reaching up, I gently slid my thumbs between her flesh and that silky, coveted treat. Then sifting through every single molecule of air for her scent, I slowly drew Mistress' dirty panties past her sex and then down, down her delicious legs until they eventually became a kind of tawdry, decorative setting around her slave-polished heels.

I waited as first one foot, then the other stepped out and held completely still, a kneeling slave statue stretching used cream colored panties (per ritual). Eventually she shattered the spell with, "I'll have the blue ones now, Soren."

Suddenly I'm standing again at the kitchen table mindlessly lifting Mistress' choice from the ordered piles of freshly laundered underthings that consume the best part of any Tuesday. On the floor again I stretch them wide for her and my film runs in reverse with black heels stepping back into garment gaps, the panties sliding up, up, up delicious legs, passing over her sex as slow as humanly possible, until finally coming to rest. A coverlet for my dreams. After a moment's attention to the proper placement of elastics, Mistress drops her skirt back into place.

"Very good, Soren. That's coming along. Now. Your clothes and things are in your drawer upstairs, where they belong. You may put them on AFTER you put my things away properly."

She then took the dirty panties from the table and wadded them up. "Open wide," was all she had to say. My jaw dropped open and she pushed her dirty, morning panties into my mouth. "Those you'll wash by hand before you leave, boy."

She then gathered up her purse and sunglasses and briskly headed for the front door. "Oh and Soren, be on your best behavior tonight. After this little incident you might find that cock tied to the bedpost again."

Through the dirty, wadded fabric in my mouth came a "Yes, Ma'am." (It's all I ever really need to say.)