by CreamyLady ©
I have been sitting very still for the past two hours. The music is very soothing; He has put on my favorite compact disc, of Chopin nocturnes. It helps me to focus, to remain still. I have passed the point of pleasure and irritation.
This is His test, to prove to myself how well I obey Him, without bonds. This time, I am not tied, nor did He touch me in any way. He gave me the instructions, and I followed them, willingly.
I was to undress completely. I did so, standing naked in the sunny room. All the draperies were open, even the sheer coverings, and the windows as well. The room is chilly in the early morning, but the sun should soon warm the room. My nipples are hard pebbles because of the cold.
I was to then insert the anal plug. It was his choice, not the thickest, but one of the longest. I did so. It stung, as I was doing this cold, with no preparation. He was so matter of fact; not one hint of eroticism crept into His instructions. I was then to push in the dildo; also not the thickest, but long and stiff.
It hurt, because I wasn't prepared. But I followed instructions.
Then I was to sit on the hard chair, still, until He called me and told me to rise.
I heard Him go into his office, and start working. I sat on the chair, feeling the intrusions. They were irritating, then I got used to them and they began to feel pleasurable. Then they were irritating again. Finally, I just feel them. They are there, not stretching me in any way, but intrusive, stiff, alien.
"This is how it is supposed to be," He told me. "Anything in your body that I do not put there is alien. You must recognize it as such." I do, I want to tell Him. I know now. Nothing will go into my body but what You put there. I have been enjoined to silence, however, and must wait for Him to release me.
Before, He tied me to the chair. He tied me in such a way that I was fully exposed, my most private areas displayed for anyone to see. They could see the toys, as well. I remember Him talking to me as the gardeners trimmed the roses outside the room; He told me about what I would feel, what He was doing to me, and I could see the expression on the gardeners' faces as they looked into the room, as they stared. They made comments about me, and I burned with humiliation. He let them in the room, so they could see me more closely, but He didn't let them touch me. He let them watch as he touched me, gave me an orgasm. I writhed in front of them, my private areas wet and scented with sex, trapped by my bonds and my love.
After they left, he positioned me in front of the window so that the cool air blew on my genitals. The breeze made me come again.
Today I sit, my arms hooked back behind me, over the back of the chair, so my breasts thrust forth and my back arches. I look out the window at the walkway to the front door, past that to the sidewalk. People walk back and forth. I know they have to be close to see within, but I hope no one comes up the front walk. They will look in and see me, my knees apart, a dildo in my vagina and my naked breasts thrust forward, unmoving and silent.
His telephone call is finished, and He comes to the living room. He stands before me, and seems pleased. "You have learned well," He tells me, taking my left nipple in his long fingers and twisting it. He applies more pressure, and the pain starts. Tears start to my eyes, but I hold his gaze.
"You are going to have a visitor," He says, smiling and twisting my right nipple as well. By now, the pain has communicated itself into my very confused brain, and it tells me that I am aroused. I am; the wetness, the musky aroma, are becoming pronounced. "You will continue to sit in the chair throughout the visit," He tells me. "You will allow the visitor to do anything with you he or she likes. I will be here, as well," His voice becomes stern. "You will be punished severely for protesting."
I nod, still silent. He smiles at me, and, bending, kisses each nipple. His tenderness overwhelms me, but I do not say anything. I just smile at Him, and bow my head. He pleases me.
He leaves the room, briefly, and I hold my position. Now that I am aroused, it becomes very hard. I want to wriggle, to agitate the two intruders, to touch my clitoris, to feel the moisture with my fingers.
Instead, I stay still, listening to the music. It begins to soothe me again, and I am almost dreaming when I hear a knock at the door. I look up, and am horror-stricken. It is Elaine Hardt, the very proper woman who lives up the street. She was going to see me at some point about donations for the silent auction at church, and it must have been today . . . she is dressed for a meeting, flowered dress, hat and gloves, and I am here, naked, with intruding toys and a very wet sex.
I am scarlet when He opens the door, speaks with her, and then motions for her to come in. She stops short when she sees me.
"My wife has been tested this morning," He says, in a conversational tone. "She has done well to this point. Now is the final moment," He says, smiling down at Mrs. Hardt. "You may do what you like to her -- within reason, of course; I'll be here -- and she may not stop you. She may not move, or speak."
She looks up at Him, and back at me. I cannot meet her eyes; I am ashamed, and embarrassed. I can almost hear the gossip, and I want to cringe. Instead, I hold my position, arousal and embarrassment and shame boiling inside my body. I am still aroused.
She looks at me still, her eyes changing from shock to recognition to warmth. She takes off her hat, and places it on a table with her handbag. She leaves her gloves on, however, soft pink kid gloves. She reaches out and touches my nipple.
Her fingers are warm and the glove is soft. I can feel the touch in every cell of my body; she tweaks the nipple, twisting and pinching. Her hand, in that soft, warm glove, caresses my breast, squeezing and stroking, and I try not to shudder, to move. The scent of my sex is very strong now.
She touches my face, running her gloved finger along my jaw, running both hands lightly along my shoulders, suddenly gripping my breasts with her gloved hands. I bite back a moan; she is squeezing, hard, and I can see the marks of her fingers. The palms of her gloved hands rasp against my nipples, and I will myself to stay still, no matter what. She then stands up straight, and begins to unbutton her shirtwaist dress and step out of it.
Underneath, she is wearing a camisole and slip. She steps out of those, carefully folding each, and stands before me in a corset -- a full corset, with garters and stockings -- and panties. She steps out of the panties, as well, and walks to me. Thrusting her crotch in my face, she tells me to eat her.
I can smell her scent, her sex, and, looking at Him and getting permission, I lean forward and place my mouth on her sex. I push my tongue through her curls, to the very wet center of her, and I lick, lick hard, circling her clitoris, thrusting my tongue further into her vagina. All I can smell is her, all I can feel and taste and see is her sex, and all I can hear is her moaning and screaming as I bring her to orgasm.
She pushes my head back, and steps away from me. "I want to spank her," she tells Him. He nods, and comes to me, giving me the command to stand. I do so, clenching hard so that the toys do not fall out.
Mrs. Hardt sits on the chair, and He positions me over her knees. She smacks my bottom with stinging slaps, many of them, hard and hurting. My nipples are being pinched by her legs and the chair bottom, and every time she slaps me, I can feel the anal plug; it seems as if it is biting me. I keep silent, and I keep still, as much as possible. Finally, the slapping stops.
"Would you like a switch or paddle?" He asks her.
"I have something in my bag, if you'd fetch it for me," she says. He brings her the handbag, and she opens it. She pulls out a braided rope of suede, separated into nine long strands at the bottom, each with a knot. He nods approvingly, and she begins to whip my bottom.
My bottom is on fire, and the plug is now at its most arousing. Moisture is streaming from my body, and He takes pity on me. "She has earned this," he tells Mrs. Hardt. "I think we should allow her to move, to talk, to come."
Mrs. Hardt agrees, and removes both toys at once. I gasp; I have been full, now I am empty and wanting. She tells me to stand, and I do, shakily. He has removed his trousers and is seated on the chair. Mrs. Hardt helps me straddle his lap, and pushes me down on his sex.
She, herself, inserts a gloved finger in my bottom.
At last I can move, at last I can make a sound. I scream -- I scream with pleasure and pain and gratitude that I met Him, that He loves me. I scream with gratitude to Mrs. Hardt, who has inflamed my passions. I scream with agony, as he bites my nipple so hard that it bleeds; I scream with release.
Afterward, I am allowed to go into the bathroom and bathe. I go the bedroom, and find my clothes laid out: underwear, stockings, a flowered dress and my bone pumps. I go into the kitchen, and prepare a tea tray, bringing it into the living room, where Mrs. Hardt has finished dressing and He has finished straightening His clothing.
I serve the tea, and we discuss what we could donate to the silent auction, benefitting the church. We all agree that the Duncan Phyffe dining room set, left to Him by his aunt, should fetch a good sum, and I ask if perhaps the Wedgwood jasperware, left to me by my grandmother, could also be donated. That is agreed to as well.
We donated other items as well, to a very silent auction. He donated my toys; Mrs. Hardt donated her gloves and discipline, and I donated myself. With the proceeds, He is doing over the basement, with advice from Mrs. Hardt and the other bidders. I have personally tested all the restraints, though He agrees that I don't really need them. I have been tested, and I passed.
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