Pearls: A Confession by Lady Danika

Pearls

A Confession
by Solen Piper Villota (aka Danika Stonesoul)
http://danismuse.weebly.com/




Corey settled back into the leather arm chair, his bare legs itching against the cracked and broken leather of the seat and his naked balls stretched and dangled between his legs a moment as he lowered himself onto the cold leather.  It had been three days; three very long days.  He'd left the heat on at 64 like she'd instructed... he was still nude... and the welts were still on the back of his legs... and he knew he didn't belong on the furniture.  He had not left the small dingy apartment, per her instructions, but yet she had not returned and he did not understand. Things seemed suddenly so very bleak.
The sun grew wan in the horizon and sifted through the sheer peach curtains of the studio flat, the rays were flitted with tiny dust motes and fell across his legs in dabbled patterns.  He could no longer distinguish the exact hour, but he figured it were sometime after six... and his growling stomach confirmed it.  He looked to the sideboard. The food she'd left and carefully instructed him on how to ration was nearly gone. Oatmeal, bread for toast, peanut butter, raisins, some raw brown sugar for sweetener, instant coffee and some teas.  He sighed and put his hands to the arms of the chair to lift himself out when he heard the rattle of the key in the door.

"Shit."

The word was out of his mouth before he could retract it.

* * *

She pushed the door open and stood in the entry.  She was dressed in her black peacoat. Magnetic, secure, contemplative. She looked around the room briefly and then their eyes met and she arched a brow, surprised to see him sitting on the old arm chair that had once belonged to her father.  His eyes fell immediately to the floor and she noticed that his hands were on the arms of the chair, his biceps pulled into an arrested tension of taut muscle as he'd been just about to lift himself off the piece of furniture. She was carrying a newspaper in her left hand, rolled up and a black hand bag in her right and she pointed the paper at him and her red lips fell open.

"Off, now!"

He practically fell out of the chair, scrambling forward onto his knees and landing with a thud onto the green shag carpeting.

She stepped forward, closing the door behind her with a soft click and then slipped out of her coat. Her eyes never left his face and she saw that he could not meet them and instead sat there, Indian-style, looking at the floor until finally it must have struck him that he should change his posture and and he pulled his knees under his body and opened his palms, spreading them out and open on his thighs.

She had not slept well in the last three nights, if the truth were told.  She was used to sleeping with Corey.... at least most nights.  And usually they curled up after she had pressed her mound into his face, kneading his shoulders like a cat all the while until she had pushed herself to a hard and rowdy orgasm.  She was not an overly sentimental woman, but still she would curl up with him afterward and coo in his ear and tell him what a good boy he was, trailing her fingertips along the outer ridge of his ear as he shuddered and begged for his own release... which, to his relief, she often granted -- probably mostly because hearing him cum often brought her up again.

But now he knelt there, his eyes dropped to the floor and his cock shrunken in its cock cage, a clear enough indication of his acknowledgment of her displeasure.  She watched him carefully and waited, curious if he would be able to control his speech.  She knew he was likely having an inner and redundant dialogue with himself.  Something probably along the lines of "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck," and she smirked despite her irritation that she'd caught him naked on her favorite chair.

But he didn't speak and she was actually pleased. Instead he knelt quietly on the floor in front of her leather arm chair, his palms crinkled and curled in and upturned on his thighs.  She nodded crisply, and pulled off her pea-coat and hung it on the coat rack next to the door. Underneath, she'd been wearing a little black silk number that draped off her body like thickened black ink pulled off a page and around her waist was a thin diamond belt that would have been gaudy except he knew, somehow, it was probably real.

The shabby apartment was a clever ruse... and she seemed to like keeping him in the dark about many things. He wasn't sure what it was she did, but he knew the parties she attended were important. Politics? Theater? The Mob? He didn't question it anymore. He had asked once and she'd slapped him so hard he'd bit his lip and then watched her with abject adoration as she kissed away the drop of blood that her ring had raised on the corner of his mouth.

She moved from the door finally and set her newspaper and her handbag down on the little counter that jutted out from the cabinets. He watched her pull off her gloves with a certain fascination.  Those hands... yes those.  They were forever the implements of his torment and pleasure.  She pressed a forefinger to her teeth, nipped the edge of one black glove and tugged at it until it slipped off in a full sheath, then set it down on the counter next to her handbag.  Off with the second glove, this time, tugged gently with the tips of long, manicured fingernails, painted a deep shade of burgundy.

When she was settled, she turned to him. "Now," she said quietly, "Corey. What -am- I going to do with you?"
She watched his neck tense as he swallowed, and knew that the tension would be rising from his belly to his throat like a fishing bobber suddenly released in water and rushing up to the surface and breaking in waves. She thought he might vomit and didn't really want the mess or smell in the apartment so she moved to the sink and turned on the faucet, reaching for a glass to fill with water and bring back to him. "Drink."  Her word was a clipped command. There was no room for argument in her tone.

He drank, and she was careful as she tipped the glass not to spill to much at once, and he did not choke or sputter. It was a kindness... a gentle act, and she reached out her naked hand to brush the back of her knuckles against his cheek. "You see, she said, "I have this problem with you sitting in that chair. You knew the furniture was off limits without permission anyway, but that chair in particular presents me with a problem."

He looked up now as she stood over him and she took the glass away. His lips felt dry despite the droplets of moisture that still clung to them from the water he'd just drank. He nodded numbly, unsure if he should speak, but finally managed, "Yes, Mistress."

She sighed and moved around to the sink again and set the half empty glass down on the counter and then brought her hands up from her sides to her temples to smooth her hair back. She had a headache.  The dinner had not gone well and what just a few hours before had seemed like only an inopportune work challenge to be met full on with zeal and haste now suddenly felt like a problem of Brobdingnagian proportions...

The truth was, she'd intended to come back from this business trip, find Corey home and waiting and hopefully anxious to see her; and she'd curl up with him on the couch and watch The Hobbit for the... what, fourth, maybe fifth time? Then they'd talk, take a bath, and she'd let him massage her legs. They'd have sex and fall asleep, and hopefully she'd wake with a fresh outlook so that she could resolve the issue... and instead she'd found him in her father's chair.

Her brow furrowed. "My pearls. On the nightstand. Go get them."

"Your pearls?" he asked.

"It's Just a strand of pearls."

It was just a strand of pearls or so she told him... but he knew there was more to it than that as she stood there and gave him -that- look... yes that one... the one through the corner of her exotic slanted gray green eyes. "Just a strand of pearls," she said.

He swallowed thickly and felt his Adam's apple roll against the flesh of his throat as she tugged his head back to kiss his neck and the skin pulled taut. She could be Promethean when she wanted to be and he knew this. "Just a strand of pearls, Mistress?"

She nodded.

He stood then from where he knelt, moved lithely up from the carpet to go to her nightstand.  The pearls were there, laid out, luminescent and slightly pink, folded against each other... each like a tiny hungry mouth on the strand. He lifted them and the strand was longer than he expected and it sifted against his rough calloused palms like silk as he brought them back to her.

She sat on the edge of the chair now, the chair he was not supposed to sit in... and she took them and held them out and motioned for him to turn around, circling her small right hand in the air like a tiny white bird and he did not dare to hesitate... for that would mean her further displeasure. "Spread your legs and give me your hands."

He did so.

He did not struggle... even as he felt her use the pearls to wrap his wrists in a make-shift binding.  But when she reached between his legs to take a hold of his testicles he flinched. "Hold still and lean back."  His hesitation earned him a sharp slap to the ass and she hissed through her teeth before he complied and she wrapped the other end of the pearls around his ball sack and turned him around, tied hand to balls, as it were. When he faced her he was hard as rock and his face was flushed red with the heat of embarrassment.
"If you break my strand of pearls... you won't be allowed to cum for a month," she said simply. And he believed her.  With that, she leaned forward and pressed her warm lips to his abdomen, planting kisses along the trail of hair that led ever lower, a grin playing across her lips as he groaned and struggled to stay still with the fine pearls hanging in the balance as her small mouth came nearer its target.

She licked around the ridge of his head through his cage, letting the cold metal tickle her tongue and nearly instantly he was at attention, his cock straining and the metal biting into the engorged member. "Well that didn't take long..." she said softly. And she pressed her mouth to ball sac, kissing and nipping while he groaned and struggled to stay standing straight.  She smiled against the silken skin when she heard his sharp intake of breath as her tongue lapped around the pearls.

"Mistress please..."

She could feel him tense. Saw his muscles straining. He was tiring, working to stand upright and lean slightly back, to stay still, to not jerk forward. And she looked up. His eyes were shut tight, crinkled at the corners and his lips were white at the edge. He rasped again. "Mistress, Please... I'm trying..."

She shook her head and licked around the cage again letting her tongue dart around the metal to touch the throbbing silk of skin that now pulsed through the grates.  He groaned and shifted his weight just slightly, but held his ground. "Don't!" Just when she thought he would break the pearls he stopped, flexed his biceps slightly and exhaled, moaning. "Please... Mistress..."

She sat back, reached up between his legs and unwound the strand.  He was panting softly but she didn't plan to let him cum. Instead she sat back in the chair and spread her legs. She wasn't wearing panties beneath the little black dress and when he knelt down again, he was able to glimpse the glistening silk of her folds. He swallowed hard and watched her face, waiting. She nodded and he moved forward, burying his nose in that soft bed, moaning and lapping and pressing his tongue out in thanks.