Dripping Wet

I'd just returned home to my new apartment. It was September, but chilly, and had been pouring. I left my boots on and traipsed to the kitchen to start putting my groceries away. Ding! I looked at my phone. Normally, I would've just let the message go until later, but it was him.

I picked it up and swiped it open to read, "I'm here." It was from the man I'd been exchanging messages with for a few months. My life as a grad student in the middle of a divorce had not yet allowed proper time for us to meet, but he had remained patient and not pushy. How could he possibly be at my place!? I hadn't told him where I moved to! I panicked a bit, slightly terror stricken, but mostly just shocked. I knew he would never hurt me, and he had joked many times about showing up unexpectedly, but he couldn't possibly be at my place. Could he?

I crept over to my front door and peered through the peep hole. There he was. I backed up. I glanced at myself in the mirror above the foyer table. I looked terrible, wet hair matted to my face, mascara running down my cheeks from the rain. I hadn't eaten properly in days nor had a decent night's sleep in weeks. The stress of my semester and impending divorce showed heavily on my face. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't let him just stand there. I knew he had no intentions of harming me, I just didn't expect this. I took a deep breath, and reluctantly opened the door.

"Well, hello. Would you like to come in then? The place looks like a bomb went off, sorry." He was standing there, as wet as I was, intently staring through my eyes. He said nothing, but put his hand on my shoulder and led me back inside. He closed the door behind him, but didn't lock it. That relieved me quite a bit. I removed my soaking wet pea coat and hung it up, kicking some boxes out of the way. "Can I take your coat for you?"

He took it off, but instead folded it over the top of the bar stool at my counter-"Don't worry, I won't be here long."

"How did you ev-" He put his finger up to my lips. He looked at me sternly, then said, "Take your shirt off." Sensing my hesitation, he looked me square in the eye and said, "Now, please."

I started to peel my wet shirt up, but he stopped me as soon as it was over my face. He grabbed my crossed wrists and put his hand on the side of my ribcage, right over the band of my bra. His thumb was rocking back and forth on my skin above it, threatening to move into my armpit. He knows I'm incredibly ticklish. It's what drives him. He's a methodical practitioner of sensory exploration.

He moved his thumb up further. I was squirming. He released my wrists. I felt his fingertips across the top of my breasts, dancing along the curvature and crevice. Then, nothing. I stood there with my wet shirt over my face, unable to see, arms bound by the fabric. I was unable to see, but I heard everything as clear as a bell.

I heard the clinking of his belt buckle, and the sound of his zipper. "You may finish taking it off now." I raised my shirt above my face and there it was...dripping, glistening with cum, protruding through the hole in his pants. I was salivating, biting the corner of my bottom lip. "Get over here and take care of this, now." I started getting down in front of him and he grabbed my hair to halt me as soon as I was on one knee. He lifted my chin with one finger and narrowed his eyes at me. "Did I or did I not say that you were to be barefoot in front of me at all times?" I was three inches away from his throbbing, taunting cock and I couldn't think. "Didn't I also instruct you to acknowledge me with 'yes, Sir' each time I speak to you?" I stammered, "I, I...I'm sorry, Sir."

"Sorry is for naughty girls who deserve punishment." He walked over to the couch and instructed, "Strip, then I want you bent over the end here." Defeated, I unsnapped my bra and fought with peeling my sopping wet jeans, socks, and boots off. I felt so vulnerable. I couldn't look him in the eye as I walked over toward him. I leaned over and offered my nakedness to him.

He stood behind me, and I could feel his hardness pressing into the back of my thigh. I was anxious, but excited for what was coming next. I felt his hands on my sides, right under my arms, threatening the same place he did earlier. I giggled. He tapped lightly on my cold, clammy skin as he made his way down to my hips, where he dug his fingers into my flesh and squeezed. I wanted so badly to feel him inside of me, for him to claim his property. Then he backed up. My face fell.

"One for each boot, one for each sock, two because I had to remind you, two for not addressing me properly, and one for your hesitation earlier. Fuck it, let's make it an even ten for making me wait all of this time."

I felt the sting of his strong hand as it landed on my right, then left ass cheek. It stung especially hard on my damp skin. I slipped inside the mental space I enter when receiving pain, which magically translates it into pleasure. I could feel my wetness as my pussy lips rubbed together while I squirmed in an attempt to escape the blows. I yelped into the cushion, my lips curling into a smile as I felt my skin grow hotter with each smack. I knew it was bright pink already.

When the last of my punishment was administered, I felt him back on top of me, a fistful of hair yanking me backward, as he pressed the tip of his cock into my wetness. I raised up on my toes, begging to feel him closer and cried out in desperation. I needed him in me, taking over my body, using me. He whispered into my ear, "You know better and you will be my good girl from now on, won't you slut?"

"Yes, Sir!" I moaned.

"Good. NOW get on your knees and clean yourself off of my cock. You'll be rewarded if you've done well."

I wasted not one second, crawling to my knees below him, gripping the base of his throbbing erection and working it from the tip to the bottom into my mouth, to make it wet enough to slide into the back of my throat. I moaned appreciatively as I tasted his precum mixed with my pussy.

He had one hand wrapped in my wet hair, pulling me into him at the slightest hint of me moving too far backward. I reached one hand upward, digging into his ass cheek with my sharp nails and cupped his balls with the other. He was intent on keeping his throbbing cock as deep into me as possible, slowly fucking it in and out of my mouth. He looked down at me as my nose was pressed into his stomach, feasting his eyes on his long lusted after submissive taking his cock all the way down her throat. My teary eyes pleaded with him for his cum.

As soon as he made eye contact with me, I moaned quite loudly, stifled by his length filling my throat. There was nothing between us but his need to explode into me and my need to receive it. He gripped my hair even tighter and pulled me into him, then threw his head back and released his reward into my throat. I was struggling against him to breathe, but as soon as I tasted it, an immediate calm came over me. I reveled in the moment, knowing I had completely pleased my Dom.

I sat there quietly, not wanting to take him out of my mouth. Months of buildup, sexual tension, discussions about power exchange, the thrill of our dirty little secret were all released in that moment and I wanted it to last forever.

He must've sensed it too, because he cupped my face in his hand and stroked my cheek with his thumb. "You're such a good girl."

I released him from my mouth and sat back watching him while he pulled himself together.

He picked up his coat from the chair, and gazed upon me, naked on the floor. Barefoot, on my knees, wet hair matted to my face and stained with mascara from the rain and the face fucking I'd just been granted.

He cracked the door open and said, "I'll see you soon, my slut." Then he was gone.