Pet

She sat at her desk, chatting to some wannabe slave online. He sat in the corner, waiting. He was naked except for the ball gag in his mouth and the cage locked around his cock. He knew that she wouldn't need another slave, not as long as she had him. She was just playing with the others.

She rang the bell. He crawled over, ever obedient. She gestured for him to crawl under the desk. He obeyed. He sat between her legs as she took a strip of black fabric from her desk drawer and covered his eyes, knotting it tightly behind his head. She removed the gag from his mouth, and slid her skirt a little higher.

"Make me come," she ordered. He obeyed eagerly, crawling further between her legs, closer to the place where she needed him. His tongue reached for her, only to be met with fabric. She was wearing underwear, which she never did. His body responded before his head had the chance to tell him what it was. Silk.

She was cruel, to torture him like this. She saw his body stiffen and laughed. She knew how excruciating it would be for him to come face to face with the feel of his fetish. She also knew that it would be torture for him, with every cell in his body telling his cock to get hard, when he couldn't. She watched the look of desperation on his face as he ran his tongue over the silk. The first stroke. She watched as his cock attempted to get hard. She laughed.

He felt helpless. She was using his fetish for silk against him, and he couldn't even get hard, no matter how hard his body wanted to respond. He knew she'd be enjoying every minute of making him suffer.

He licked at the fabric again, feeling her body responding to the strokes of his tongue. He was aching and swollen, but he knew she didn't care. A few more strokes and she moved the fabric aside. Part of him felt desperation, and part of him felt relieved. Now, perhaps he could concentrate. She was such a tease.

He devoured her. She responded, arching her back, moaning softly. He wanted to please her, he lived to please her. He knew she'd have him on a countdown. He flicked his tongue over her swollen clit, tasting the metal of her piercing, savouring the sounds of her pleasure.

Her sucked on her clit as hard as he could. He knew that got her every time. He wished he could see her. He knew already the way her body moved in pleasure. She felt the varying strokes, the pleasure that burned deeply and then spiked. She grabbed his hair and forced him closer. He knew the message. Harder. Faster. Make me come.

He obeyed the unspoken order. Her body arched, her moans became louder as the pleasure built to its peak and exploded. He continued to lick at her clit until she told him to stop.

She removed the blindfold and half smiled at him. "Three minutes," she said. "I think that's a new record." He smiled back at her, happy that she was pleased with him, and glad that she'd trained him so well. He knew exactly what to do, where to go, to make her come.

She flipped her long black hair off her face. "I need a cigarette."

He took a cigarette from her case, still kneeling, he put it to her lips and lit it for her. She inhaled, and blew a thin stream of smoke in his face. "Down."

He moved next to her, palm flattened and held towards her. She began to type again on her keyboard. He didn't dare look at her screen, he knew his place. He sat silently. Occasionally she noticed the ash growing on her cigarette and ashed it in his hand. The smoke filled his nostrils, tickling him, and then the panic rose as he realised what was going to happen. He couldn't control it. He sneezed.

He looked up to see first the look of disgust on her face, and then the grey ash covering her black clothes. He had blown it all back at her. He quickly moved back into position, knowing punishment would be coming. "Sorry Mistress," he said quietly. She looked at him, and he saw the hint of a smile that played at her lips for just a split second before she put the half-smoked cigarette out on his bare palm. It burned his flesh, and he had to bite his lip to keep from calling out.

"That should teach you to be more careful," she said, as she lit another cigarette. "You've ruined my relaxation. Let's try this again, shall we?"

"Yes, Mistress. I'm very sorry, Mistress." He wasn't lying. He deserved the stinging pain in his palm. He knew he should have been more careful, he shouldn't have got in the way.

"Thank you." At least she allowed him that, and the brief smile that followed. She wasn't entirely cruel, she had her moments of kindness, and he'd never wish for another Owner.

Later, when she'd finished her second cigarette with no mishaps, she put the gag back in his mouth, checked on his cage, and then carefully dressed the burn on his palm. She laughed that it looked as though he'd been crucified.

"That'll teach you, won't it, pet?"