The Crimson Armchair by Lady Clarissa

The phone rang at 7 pm. « Ready ? ». “Yes, My Lady. Ready for you”. “Fine… I like that. I’ll be here within half an hour my lil one”.

Half an hour waiting. Thirty minutes to tug at his shirt, verify everything is in place. One thousand eight hundred seconds listening to the loud beats of his heart, feeling the waves passing through his belly.

Respecting her will, he went in the countryside earlier in the afternoon, to gathered yielding branches on different diameters. When doing that, he felt excited, thinking of what for they were.

Coming back home, he prepared himself, slowly. At first, he undressed, made some fire and had a warm cup of tea, sitting naked on the carpet, facing the fireplace leaning back against a big red armchair. Within few hours, she will sit in it. Wrapped around her feet, he will suck her toes slowly, will climb up the leg sensually, licking her skin with the tip of the tongue. A light hit of the crop on his shoulder will indicate him to cross hands back. Only his mouth to please the Mistress. Eyes half closed, lips on-the-jar, he already imagined his mouth on her crotch, the taste of her pleasure. His reward for having been obedient ; he was proud of it.

He loved to keep his mouth on her for a long time, after she climaxed, licking her  clit, playing with his tongue  between her soft lips. At this right moment, she is as flimsy and weak as a puppet on a string. He feels powerful, taking daintily care of her. He loves that short moment, while she is combing his hair with her fingers.

“come closer, sweetie”

Like a snake, he crawls along her body till his head reaches her lap. He wrapps his arms around her, she puts her mouth on his head. He  moans something like “mmhhmm”. That means “I feel comfortable, keep me in your arms, kiss me, I love you”.

All that in a merely “mmhmm”.

He shook the head to come back to reality … No time to lose to be pretty ready … He had thought for a long time about what to wear, and did not really manage to decide between the tight jeans or the leather trousers, .

And what’s about the breast ? The blue shirt or the black striped Tee shirt ? A garment which is to be slowly unbuttoned or which quickly comes out over the head ? What will her desire be for that ? Best would be to choose in the last minute … he had thus left there his clothing wanderings to dedicate himself to the shower, the gumming, the removal of hair of his intimacy. Every time he so stripped off for her, the excitement gained him. He did that to obey, because she is her Mistress, because he is her subslut… The thought of these words was enough to arouse his belly. He slided a hand between his thighs, pressed slightly the flat of the palm, thought of that hand of her, soon … He felt he was becoming hard, some heat drenched him, the desire grew… But he removed the hand to remain wise till evening, hottie for his Mistress. He smiled thinking that he would tell it to her.

Coming out off the bathroom, wrapped in a bathrobe, he had a little rest in the big red armchair. The fire always crackled and spread a sweet heat. On the table, everything was ready according to her desires: the long blue rope, the black scarf, the crop and the branches picked up earlier, three clamps and the plug.

She hadn’t said something about it, but he had taken out his notebook of punishments. Had read it again… Two unpunished disobediences were left, of which a serious. During their first time together, he had resisted for a long time before prostrating himself and kissing her feet. He ignored why he had not been punished at once the next time, why this wait, but something was telling him the branches were going to answer party of his questions …

He always felt in wait of her, imagined her besides him… Feeling her glance put on him, he opens legs, lifts them up to spread each one on an armrest of the imposing crimson armchair. He burns so desire that automatically he slides a hand on his cock and balls, slightly pressing it.  He is hard. He casts a quick look at the clock. No time to lose. He quickly closes the legs, throwing away the temptation to touch himself, even only a little …

At first, the cream for the body, to make the skin supple, sweet and fragrant. Finally he chooses the blue shirt and the leather trousers. But before slipping it, he takes a tube of gel and presses a hazelnut on his major.

The finger slides between his soft globes, made for the spanking. It settles on his narrow ring and begins to coat it slightly, turns all around, pressing slowly in the entrance. It tries to force it little by little. He reminds the words of his Mistress : “Before dressing, you will prepare your attractive bottom and will grease it abundantly before you set the plug in place". He obeys, takes another hazelnut of gel and pushes the finger. He thinks that she is going to take him that way, probably standing tilted forward over the armchair, the hands taking support on the armrests; certainly after having been spanked and punished, with no doubt tied up too. He thinks that he is going to delightfully  feel her hands opening his buttocks unceremoniously, removing brutally the plug and coming to replace it with the strap-on, softly, but up to the bottom. She will still give him certainly some slaps onto each of the already very red cheeks and he will like that, terribly. Each time, he will say "thank you Mistress".

He will want more. he would like to cry for her. To cry the pain of his pleasure by shouting "thank you, Mistress", to kiss the hand which treats harshly him, and to thank her still and still for keeping him as hers. The plug slides without any trouble in the path of his buttcocks. He heaves a sigh of pleasure "it is so good”…

He gets up, slips into the grey boxer, the blue shirt and wisely sits down on the armchair, slightly rolling his hips from time to time to better feel the plug deep-set in his butt. He mentally sees his check list again  , verifies one thousand times when he forgot nothing of her orders, when everything is ready to receive her… He craves to see her, flows of desire and lets fly away his fantasies. Eyes half closed, he sinks in a beneficial torpor, fed by the heat of the fire and his deep inside bubbling … he offers himself by the thought when the bell of the telephone drags him from that sexy daydream… It is already seven o’clock …