footbuoy
01-10-2005, 2:03 AM
I've finished my morning chores in good time, so I have time to shower before I get going on the afternoon's labours, and get ready for Mistress to arrive home from work.
I remove my collar, then shower carefully, wincing when the soap stings where Mistress' whip cut into my back last night. Once I'm fresh and clean, how Mistress likes me, I towel myself off, being sure not to use Mistress' towel and risk getting blood on the fluffy white sheet. My own dark blue towel scrapes the water off with the gentle caress of sandpaper.
Brush teeth, antiperspirant, and lastly I put my collar back on; being sure that it's on good and tight before clicking the padlock which Mistress has the only key for, into place.
With the house already tidied, hoovering and washing up done, the next task is the washing. Less arduous than it could be - Mistress rarely permits me to wear clothes, and I did the handwashing yesterday.
I collect the laundry basket on my way out of the bathroom, and set it down next to the washing machine, where I sort through Mistress' socks until I find the dirtiest, smelliest pair.
I set these aside, and set the rest of the laundry going before taking a brief rest to inhale the scent of Mistress' dirty socks. Today's are rainbow striped knee highs - she wore them for a week, including her jog this morning, and the dark imprints of her toes are clearly visible.
As usual, I wedge them into my mouth, before sealing them in with tape. I'm not permitted to speak, eat, or drink, from now until Mistress decides to remove the tape. She'll be home in an hour, so I need to get a move on.
I set out a bottle of red, and a glass to await her.
Upstairs to the bedroom, and I lay out the things she'll want handy when she returns: black marker, candles, cigarettes, lighter, cane, feather.
Now I sit on the bed, and fasten the manacles round my ankles, spreading my legs on the white duvet cover. Next is the left hand, stretched up to the bedpost. Now the blindfold, always difficult with one hand; and finally after several minutes of blind fumbling I feel the right manacle click against my wrist.
I'm ready for Mistress to arrive, blindfolded, naked, and strapped to the bed. She'll be home in twenty minutes.
She's home in ten, its lucky I finished the morning chores early.
I hear the door slam, and after a few minutes the creak of the stairs as she ascends.
I never see her like this, but I imagine it; glass of red wine in hand, tired and irritable from a day of listening to people's troubles and losses.
The door shuts. I can almost feel her, standing with her back to it, smirking at me, and the thought twitches my cock into life.
Silently she's coming towards me, and I feel the groink of the bedsprings as she clambers up. Her fingers are cold as they trace up my thighs, then she runs her tongue up my chest, making me shiver and my cock strain.
The springs creak and the mattress shifts under me as she changes position, I feel the warm weight of her soft bottom press into my stomach, and I can feel her feet, still in her preferred work sneakers hovering above my face.
One by one, she slips the shoes off, letting them bounce off my face and onto the bed.
"Sorry my pet, but you're in for a rough afternoon. I had a bad day." she says softly, in a half gentle, half mocking tone. I feel her lean forward, feet still suspended above my face, and the slap knocks my head aside, a rosetta of fire burning in my cheek.
"Poor thing, let me rub it better..." she says, and the so desired moment arrives. Her socked feet descend onto my face, still warm and moist from hours in the sneakers, and she softly rubs them against my face, before pressing one set of toes over my nose so that my world consists of her dirty socks against my tongue, she feel of her warm feet against my face, and the smell of her sweaty socks.
"There my pet, isn't that nice?" she asks, raking her nails down my chest. I know my prick pushing against the small of her back is answer enough.
....
Any more for anymore?
I remove my collar, then shower carefully, wincing when the soap stings where Mistress' whip cut into my back last night. Once I'm fresh and clean, how Mistress likes me, I towel myself off, being sure not to use Mistress' towel and risk getting blood on the fluffy white sheet. My own dark blue towel scrapes the water off with the gentle caress of sandpaper.
Brush teeth, antiperspirant, and lastly I put my collar back on; being sure that it's on good and tight before clicking the padlock which Mistress has the only key for, into place.
With the house already tidied, hoovering and washing up done, the next task is the washing. Less arduous than it could be - Mistress rarely permits me to wear clothes, and I did the handwashing yesterday.
I collect the laundry basket on my way out of the bathroom, and set it down next to the washing machine, where I sort through Mistress' socks until I find the dirtiest, smelliest pair.
I set these aside, and set the rest of the laundry going before taking a brief rest to inhale the scent of Mistress' dirty socks. Today's are rainbow striped knee highs - she wore them for a week, including her jog this morning, and the dark imprints of her toes are clearly visible.
As usual, I wedge them into my mouth, before sealing them in with tape. I'm not permitted to speak, eat, or drink, from now until Mistress decides to remove the tape. She'll be home in an hour, so I need to get a move on.
I set out a bottle of red, and a glass to await her.
Upstairs to the bedroom, and I lay out the things she'll want handy when she returns: black marker, candles, cigarettes, lighter, cane, feather.
Now I sit on the bed, and fasten the manacles round my ankles, spreading my legs on the white duvet cover. Next is the left hand, stretched up to the bedpost. Now the blindfold, always difficult with one hand; and finally after several minutes of blind fumbling I feel the right manacle click against my wrist.
I'm ready for Mistress to arrive, blindfolded, naked, and strapped to the bed. She'll be home in twenty minutes.
She's home in ten, its lucky I finished the morning chores early.
I hear the door slam, and after a few minutes the creak of the stairs as she ascends.
I never see her like this, but I imagine it; glass of red wine in hand, tired and irritable from a day of listening to people's troubles and losses.
The door shuts. I can almost feel her, standing with her back to it, smirking at me, and the thought twitches my cock into life.
Silently she's coming towards me, and I feel the groink of the bedsprings as she clambers up. Her fingers are cold as they trace up my thighs, then she runs her tongue up my chest, making me shiver and my cock strain.
The springs creak and the mattress shifts under me as she changes position, I feel the warm weight of her soft bottom press into my stomach, and I can feel her feet, still in her preferred work sneakers hovering above my face.
One by one, she slips the shoes off, letting them bounce off my face and onto the bed.
"Sorry my pet, but you're in for a rough afternoon. I had a bad day." she says softly, in a half gentle, half mocking tone. I feel her lean forward, feet still suspended above my face, and the slap knocks my head aside, a rosetta of fire burning in my cheek.
"Poor thing, let me rub it better..." she says, and the so desired moment arrives. Her socked feet descend onto my face, still warm and moist from hours in the sneakers, and she softly rubs them against my face, before pressing one set of toes over my nose so that my world consists of her dirty socks against my tongue, she feel of her warm feet against my face, and the smell of her sweaty socks.
"There my pet, isn't that nice?" she asks, raking her nails down my chest. I know my prick pushing against the small of her back is answer enough.
....
Any more for anymore?