He sat in his favorite chair, a nice, decent-sized plush affair that he liked so much he managed to carry and push it across two avenues and six city blocks rather than wait for the following day to buy it, when it would have been gone. Nice big arms, comfortable cushion, the perfect chair to sit and read in, to lean back (it didn't recline, he hated those lazy-boys, which made him feel like his grandfather) and nap, to type and write in his computer. It was still a new purchase, and he was still finding the best ways to utilize it and see what the best things were to be done in it.

It was this particular thought that was crossing his mind when he saw her pass by the doorway across the room.

Katy was, in his mind (and most likely everyone else's), the perfect dichotomy between sweet as honey and hot as a piece of iron left lying in the hot Texas sun. A schoolteacher by trade, she was also the type of schoolteacher, the type of woman, who set heads turning and eyes wandering. Men would find their hand and fingers moving towards an itch, a scratch near their waist, and those less subtle would simply go so far as to straighten their underwear from the increased pressure brought on by watching her walk. Women would watch with a mixed appreciation and envy. A smallish 5'3" with a thin stomach and a waist and chest that made mathematicians question the perfect curve, dark hair and a smile to brighten the coldest winter. She had a love for students and family, an adorable voice that never spoke an ill word about anyone that, um, didn't deserve it. She was, he knew, the type of girl that mothers wished their boys would bring home.

Because, he smiled, they didn't know her like he did.

"Katy." He said, not above speaking tone, but with enough direction to cut right through to her in the next room. She came back to the doorway, across the room from the chair. She seemed to be in the middle of some manner of chore, holding a folder and a pencil.

"Yes?" She returned, looking at him.

For the briefest instant, he wondered if he should let her continue what she was doing. Then he realized he didn't want to.

"All fours," he said. "Now."

"Tim, I'm-

"Now, Katherine." He switched to her formal name.

She made a face completely indistinguishable between a smile and a frown, turned her head for one instant, opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it, and put down the folder. She was wearing jeans and a loose white t-shirt, the sorts of clothes those who were paid to be beautiful wouldn't be caught dead in, yet somehow she made look like expensive lingerie. He watched as she slowly breathed deeply, set herself, and got down on all fours. Which made him smile. She raised her eyebrows in question, wondering what was next, it seemed.

"To me. Now."

She knew what that meant.

She began to crawl to him across the floor, and he loved watching how simply those 20 feet changed her. When the movement began, she was just moving, like someone who needed to stay down to get where they were going. Halfway to him, she had started to sway her hips a bit, and breathe deeply. And when she was only 5 feet away, he could see her eyes glaze over a bit as she looked up at him. She almost slithered those last few feet, and when she got to his legs, she began to crawl up his legs, smiling, her hand only inches from his crotch, to use as an anchor.

When he moved, quickly and almost violently.

Sliding his hand behind her head, almost gently if it hadn't been so fast, with his right hand he grabbed her hair and stood up. His movement would have pushed her off him, out of the chair, if his pulling hadn't made her yelp and get to her feet, quickly. He made a point to turn her head, and her body, and they were both standing now, with her facing away from him as he stood in front of the chair, her head back, gasping for air with shock.

"Ti-" was all she managed to get out before he sat back down again, pulling her with him, backwards. He sank into the chair, but used his left hand to keep her from sitting on his lap.. She began to moan, softly, as he kept her head pulled back, and her off-balance. Finally, he let her recline slowly back onto him, and he kissed her neck, then, with a HARD yanked from his right hand, he brought her head to the side.

"Aaaaaaahhhhhhwwwww.... Please, no, ahhhh." she howled, and as he pulled her head off the side of the arm chair to his right, and her legs pushed her back to lessen the pull on her hair. "OW, fuck, owwww – "

"QUIET!" He raised his voice for the first time. Nearly a shout.

She stopped struggling, her face contorted as he held her head back off the arm of the chair. Her back was arched so that her chest was directly over the arm of the chair, sticking up and out. He leaned over her, and whispered in her ear.

"Don't you think that when I tell you to come to me, I expect a little more care in your movement, toy? Shouldn't you crawl across that floor in a particular way, a way I've tried to train you and tell you and encourage you to follow, hmm?" With each verb he twisted and pulled just a little harder, making her gasp the more. "Have I wasted my time with you, Katherine? Are you simply not going to do as I've told you to?" He pulled even harder now, pulling her head down over the edge of the chair. "Let's start with something basic, cunt. What are you?" he asked.

She didn't even hesitate for an instant, despite the position she was in. She loved this game.

"Your fucktoy, Timothy."

He placed his left hand on her stomach; exposed now from the stretching and uncomfortable position he had her in. She moaned again from the touch, and he slid his fingers, JUST the tips from one side of her ribs to the other. She gasped for breath and he traced lower down her stomach ("playing you like the most sublime instrument in existence", he would always tell her) waiting to see what sounds would come from that mouth.

"You seem a little excitable, toy. In fact," he took a deep breath, "what is that I smell?"

She thought for only a few seconds. Knowing him, she knew that he required her to think before she answered, that she should know a bit what he was thinking. He never stopped tracing his fingers over her stomach as she answered, making her aware of each square inch of her exposed skin.

"You smell me, Timothy, my cunt is wet, is dripping."

"And when did that start to happen?"

"When you grabbed my head, and stood me up, and dragged me over the side of the chair by my hair."

"Why is my toy's cunt - why is MY cunt so wet? Tell me."


He waited.

"Because it wants to be fucked, Timothy. It wants your inside it, and it is absolutely fucking dying to be fucked hard, and fast, and deep. Your toy wants your cock, Timothy, and wants it so bad that you holding her here by her hair helpless, makes her simply want to cum for you right now. Your toy wants to cum, please let me cum for you, please, owwwww oh please my pussy wants to be opened – I'm squeezing the muscles but there's nothing to squeeze inside me and that's what I want, to squeeze your cock, or your fingers, or your tongue, anything right now, PLEASE Timothy."

He smiled at her desperation, which he knew from experience was not feigned or a show. This was the girl the mothers didn't know he had in his grasp, the girl they wanted for their sons.

They did not know anything about her.

"Remember this position, toy. You're going to see more of it later. Now stand up and walk back over where you started. When you get back to the doorway, you should have absolutely nothing on , not even your wet thong. Then, turn around, get on all fours, and try crawling over to me properly, like someone who wants to get fucked.

"Yes, Timothy."

She smiled with her head pulled back, and he let her hair go. With not a shred of awkwardness from the position she was in, she put one hand on each arm of the chair, slid down his body so her feet could touch the ground and pushed herself up to standing.

He always marveled at what her body could do.

She took a second to breathe, her back to him, before she started walking. This was one thing he loved about having her as his slave, his toy and partner - her ability to not be ill-at-ease with anything that was going on. She didn't rush like a little girl to follow orders, she was never desperate or unsure when in his presence. She knew exactly how to comport herself, and knew what she was. This sort of thing was so sexy it was a revelation each time he saw it.

She began to walk.

Two steps forward, and stopped.

Slowly but not deliberately teasingly, not looking at him, she unbuttoned her jeans. She could have crouched down, stepped out of them, but by now she knew what he liked. And after the treatment she had just received from him, she seemed to realize nothing but her best behavior would do. She bent over, crossed her legs at the ankles as she stood, and as she did, lowered the jeans around her ass, peeking back at him as she did so, a half-smile on her face. He sat there and shook his head in a chuckle. It was a big tease between them that he had never seen THE bdsm mainstream film, "Secretary", and she took it upon herself to offer him this position from the poster both because he loved her ass and because he simply had no interest in seeing the movie. But he definitely did have plenty of interest in seeing her ass. He loved her shape from this angle and all angles. She kidded him at times that no one who happened upon them knew they were a couple because most men only ogled women who WEREN'T their girlfriends.

When the jeans reached her ankles, she stepped her back foot out of them and went forward one, then two steps. She bent back over, legs now apart, and took her hands, encircling her right thigh with both hands she slowly slid them down her leg, as if she was taking off stockings she wasn't wearing, drawing attention to another one of his favorite features on her (on any woman, she often always reminded him), her legs. Watching her caress her own legs brought his hand to his crotch, and he lightly and deliberately pressed into his cock, sighing, watching her. When her hands got down to her sock, she simply slid it off, lifting her foot and stepping forward. Now, legs open even further, she did the same to her back leg, and saw the effect she was having on his hands..

She smiled.

Again, she stepped forward once, and stopped. She wrapped her arms around her body, placing her palms on the opposite hips, hand on skin. Then, rather than gripping her shirt on each side and simply taking it off, she slid her hands, her palms up her sides, pushing - not pulling - the shirt up her body until it reached her shoulders. Only then did she finally hold the shirt to lift it off her arms. He knew, explicitly, oh so explicitly, what he liked. And he very much liked her touching her own body. Just in the two actions of removing her sock and her shirt was she able to completely show how good and attentive a toy she was. And it was this thought, rather than the views of her naked legs and back that he so desired, that truly made him hard as a rock.

She finally reached the doorway, and still facing away from him, she gracefully lowered her self to her knees, then to all fours, her absolutely beautiful ass framed by the entranceway she was now in. Then, she hesitated just long enough so he could tell she was thinking, and she lowered her face and chest to the floor, keeping her ass nice and high and her legs a bit apart. He watched, utterly hypnotized and fascinated by her actions and her body as she slid her hands back along her body from this position, and hooked her fingers under her thong, and slid it over her ass cheeks. He saw, and could even hear the whisper of fabric as it peeled away from her cunt, the thong soaked through completely by now. He heard her inhale sharply from the feeling, but he knew at that moment it wasn't just the sensation of the fabric allowing her cunt to feel the air. From this position, he could hear her breathing slightly harder than normal. She pulled the thong down to her knees, lifted them up and then all the way to her ankles, taking them off in a show of concentration that was damned impressive. And with each passing second as the thong was removed, her breathing got a heavier. And he knew why. Face down, hands occupied, legs together, she knew she was helpless at that moment, utterly vulnerable.

And he knew it was what she lived for.

When her thong was off, she slowly turned around in the doorway, and the look on her face was a pure smile, she could not, would not hide how happy the last 20 minutes had made her. She was on all fours, her legs apart, her boy staring at her, obviously hard and she told him more than once in the past that it was her definition of a perfect evening. She was not giggling but completely lascivious. Her smile, he often thought, even when there was nothing sexual inspiring it, came from right between her legs. It was the hottest feature of her face, and he told her time and again that whenever she smiled it made him want to fuck her right then and there. And each time she smiled from then on brought that image to her mind. She had never forgotten it.

She waited, naked, for his instruction.

"Okay," he said, "let's try again. To me, cunt. Now."

She physically shuddered, and slowly began. And the difference was apparent from the very start. He had told her to crawl to him like she wanted to be fucked, and she made a point to do exactly that, he could see. Her legs were kept apart behind her and she moved with such deliberation. Her torso, low to the floor, her body moving like a cat or a snake. Her hips moved down and up as if she WAS being fucked. A third of the way to him he nearly forgot to tell her to stop. NEARLY forgot.

"Stop, fucktoy."

She stopped moving, that instant. He smiled.

"Are you wet?"

"Yes, very."

"Show me." Knowing what would come next from her, he headed her question off at the pass. "You have permission to get your fingers and hand as wet as you can, from sliding them all over your lips and opening. You can even touch your clit - that is what you can count as your reward for stripping down and crawling so well for me."

"Oh, thank you, Timothy," she said, and started to reach between her legs.


She froze.

"I will remember you were unable to wait until I was done instructing you. That will be for later. But for now, this is what I need from you, if you aren't too impatient to let me finish, cunt?" She shook her head. "Good girl. I want you to get your hand nice and wet with your juices, as wet as you are and as badly as you want to be fucked right now. Then you are to slide your fingers, your hand, your juices all over your face, your lips. Coat it for me. Show me how wet you get for me. At no time should your tongue come out of your mouth to taste it, and at no time allow your eyes to leave mine. I want to see my slut gazing at me so she knows whose orders she follows. Understood, fucktoy?"

"Yes, Timothy."

"Good girl."

He waited, looking her in the eye from across the room. She stared back at him, not defiantly, but expectantly. He nodded.

She started, and as soon as her hand reached her pussy, she gasped and bit her lip.

"Been waiting for that, Katherine?" He asked her, smiling.

"Oh fuck yes, Timothy, thank you, thank you," she whispered, gazing into his eyes, her face twitching with each bit of contact with her clit.

She continued for a minute or so, but knowing that too much would garner her punishment, she moved her hand to her face. It was glistening from her fluids, and his OWN breathing became deeper now as he watched her, almost light-headed from his own lust at the image she provided. She knew it, from looking at him, and slid it across her face in a show, on her lips and a wide swath from her chin to one cheekbone, making her face wet, shining with her own desire. She moved it around her mouth again, and as the moved from her fingers to her face, He watched and true to form, he headed off her questions.

"Again. More."

She obliged with actual speed this time, and he knew she was getting hotter by the second. This time her hand was on her cunt even less, although she moaned even louder while staring at him. She brought it again up to her face, wiping herself on her cheekbone so her face was becoming truly coated. Her eyes began to glaze over as she stared at him. He loved that look, knowing what it meant.

"Now – crawl."

She let the hint of a pout pass over her face as she started to move again, and now the movement was deliberately slow, the legs far apart, her breath nearly gasps.


She did, now two-thirds the ways across the room.

"Again – more this time. In fact, I'd take this opportunity to get your juices from out of your cunt by burying those two middle fingers in there. But – I don't need to tell you not to even think of cumming, right?"

She made a face so hungry he wasn't even sure if it was a smile or moan.

"No, Timothy, no, I won't." She paused. "And thank you for letting me fuck myself, thank you very much, your cunt needs it so fucking bad, god she does. Your cunt loves to be fucked."

"You're welcome, toy. Now."

She slid her hand down there and stared at him, now literally gasping for breath. He could see her body tense up, the muscles in her back shake at the moment her fingers wen into her, and from that moment on, he knew she was fighting to keep from cumming, and she wanted to, badly. She finally let her fingers out, and again slid them over her face, looking at him, and almost unable to breath by this point, actual heaves of breath.

"Again. Deeper."

She was now almost an animal about it, going faster than he thought she would, and giving her cunt one almost swift uncontrolled thrust that jerked her body forward. Then she stopped, dead, completely. Didn't move, didn't breathe. Then, as if she was sleepwalking, she again brought her face to her lips. Slid them just there, nowhere else.


"Yes, pet?"

Her eyes had still not left him.

"I was so close, God I wanted to cum so bad I thought I was going to weep there – I never ever thought I would be able to stop. I'm fucking dying to be fucked now, and I want to cum, please, can I cum please Timothy, look how good a job I've done. My face is so wet, and I'm your cunt, my face is yours, my legs are yours. I want to cum for you, I want to lick my juices off my face, show you who's fucking whore I am. My cunt held my fingers, begging for your cock to be there instead. Please Timothy, please let me cum, please, I...."

The begging seemed to make her hotter, if that was possible, and I held her gaze in mine.

"Who's cunt are you?"

"Yours, Timothy, all yours, I'm your cunt, your cocksucker."

"Who tells you when to cum?"

She swallowed.

"You, Timothy, you do."

"Then I'm telling you now: No. Now, put your two fingers back in your cunt, very slowly, as far as possible, and crawl the rest of the way over here with your cunt full like the slut you are. And you'll see what has to happen before I let you cum."

She took a deep breath, and slid the fingers as I told her – the sound that came from her face was lovely.

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