Good Boy

Smoke twirls around the study like a dancer, mixing with the dark colors of book spines, conversing with the scent of old pages. In the corner of the room a record player spins out Russian jazz, a thick sound, full with hard consonants and endlessly stretching vowels, strident from the wail of the balalaika.

A woman stretches back in her armchair, clad in a rich smoking jacket the color of red wine. It's the end of the day; she's exhausted from her work. It's hard to be the breadwinner, but at least it makes her feel entitled to a nice cigar and some alone time at the end of the day. With every puff she takes she sinks further into the chair, her jacket coming loose, just barely revealing her black undergarments.

She's just about to put her feet up on the desk when she hears footsteps on the polished oak of the hallway. Her maid. A raw, exhilarating prospect wells within her from the mere sound of his heels.

"Finally decided to do your job, huh?" She gets out of her chair and crosses the room to meet him, nylon stockings gliding against the smooth wood.

"Yes ma'am," he says obediently. He's the same height as her, an inch taller from his shoes, but she carries every inch higher than he. Her maid slouches ever so slightly in her presence in a natural state of submission.

"Good, it's taken you long enough to get down here. Can't imagine doing the dishes would take that long." The image of her maid scrubbing plates with vigor, skirt bouncing with the effort of his movements, causes heat and energy to bubble within her.

"Yes, sorry ma'am, I'm here to dust your shelves now." His eyes can barely rise to meet hers, but if they did they would stun her, as they held an incredible power over her, like the airy pull of an impending storm.

She watches wordlessly as he fights to put on a show for her: toned, hairless calves shapely in his heels, the little grunts when he dusts the topmost shelves, the tent in his skirt glaringly obvious. Her mind reels with the need to take and have.

"Lower."

Her maid scrambles to dust the bottom shelves, knees cold on the wooden silk of the floor. He's on all fours, skirt riding up to reveal a pink thong.

She takes a fistful of his hair and pulls.

"Seems to me like you were born to be in this position." She slides her stocking-clad foot along the curve of his back, watching him shiver.

"Stupid slut," she muses. Her foot gently taps the bulge at the front of his skirt. "So hard for me, and all you're doing is dusting shelves."

He gasps, a sharp, narrow intake of breath that spurs her on.

"I wish you could see yourself right now," she begins. "Your tiny ass in the air for me, pathetic cock standing at attention in that little dress..."

He shakes visibly, struggling to hold back his whines.

"It's alright, slut. Go ahead and moan for me. It's not like you can humiliate yourself even more than you already are." She regards him with eyes narrowed and pupils dilated, feeling a rich sense of pride and delight at his suffering.

Her arm reels back like a pitcher's and slaps his ass with force, the sound of her hand meeting his skin sharp in the echoing chasm of the office.

She continues her abuse, his initial shout breaking into staccatoed whimpers as she breaks him. The repeated spanks make his ass glow an angry red, his soft pale skin warm under the smallness of her hand.

"Too hard for you, slut? I can't imagine it would be. You're such a fucking pain whore. You want it harder, don't you? You want bruises, baby? I'll give them to you. I'm going to make it hurt so bad you think of me every time you sit down."

The power of her own words thrills her, the confidence they bring make it easier for her to dominate him even more.

She teases him now, tracing his abused ass with her finger, slowly and gently, then withdraws her hand quickly as if to spank him again. She watches his body contract in anticipation of the blow, but it does not come, instead she continues to rub his ass with soft movements. Once he's used to the calm pleasure of it, she whacks him again, the hardest strike yet. Tears well in the corner of his eyes.

"Ma'am! Ma'am, it hurts!"

"That's the idea, you stupid slut. I guess all the blood in your brain went to your pathetic little dick instead." She swats at it and he whimpers in pain.

Her hand begins to work his balls, squeezing them tightly, roughly stroking his dick in the other.

"Do you wish you were rutting into the mattress instead, slave? Wish you were ruining those expensive panties I bought you with your sticky, useless come?"

He murmurs ever so slightly, not really an answer, just a bubbling sound from his throat. She spanks his ass savagely, ready to mount him with aggression. Her hand leaves his dripping cock to prod at his asshole.

"Jesus Christ, you've already worked yourself open for me, you've been waiting for this, haven't you, bitch? What were you doing, fingering yourself while you were doing the dishes? You're fucking disgusting."

He watches her stick two fingers in her mouth to wet them, and then shove them into his tight ass with no semblance of control, pumping her manicured red nails in and out of him with force.

"Doesn't that feel good, angel? Feeling my fingers in your ass, you dirty boy?"

"Yes, ma'am, fuck yes, I feel so full--"

"Excuse me, what did you just say?"

"Nothing, ma'am, I didn't say anything--"

She withdraws her fingers with no warning, leaving him shivering with the sudden emptiness.

"You know exactly what you said, slut. Who the fuck told you that you can cuss like that?" She lands a tough blow on his cherry red ass. "Words like that are for me to degrade you with. Not for you to throw around whenever you feel like it. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'm so sorry, I won't do it again."

"You better not be doing this on purpose. You know how I treat you when you act like a brat."

He shivers to recall the days he's spent without her touch to pay for his transgressions, tied up in bed, anxiously waiting for her to get home.

"Alright, time to pay up then."

She reclines back into her plush office chair again, nylon stockings hanging over the arms. Her burgundy smoking jacket swings open, revealing the swell of her breasts held in tightly by a black lace bra.

"What are you waiting for, slut? Get to work."

She takes a fistfull of soft tawny hair and forces his face to her pussy, glistening with slick. His tongue flicks restlessly on her clit at an anxious place and he pushes a finger inside her to curl in tight, just the way he knows she likes.

"Good boy," she breathes, fighting to keep her decorum at his ministrations. "God, slut, you eat pussy so well. Can't believe I have such a talented personal whore."

Her grip on his hair tightens, she can feel his moans reverberate against her core. She speeds up the pace, bucking her hips against his face.

When she gets close, she pushes him off her, and regards him with glorious wonder and respect. His hair sticks up at the back from her harsh tugs, his cheeks bright with excitement, lips plump and red with her slick.

"God fucking damn it, I wish you could see yourself right now, so worked up for me, you look so fucking wrecked already, baby, and I haven't even put my cock inside you."

She slides open the bottom desk drawer and rummages underneath stacks of bills to reveal a long, red dildo and harness.

"Thank you ma'am, thank you so much, I can't wait for you to put it inside me."

"Me either, baby," she purrs, and slides in the tip, letting him adjust to the stretch of the huge artificial cock. "Fuck yeah, you're already taking it so good for me. You can't just be a normal man and get off by fucking me, can you? Instead you have to ride your wife's plastic dick like a paid cock whore."

She begins to rock her hips fully, cock pressed fully inside him. He cries out with every stroke she makes, his whimpers and the slapping of skin mixing thickly in the room.

The chill of the air combined with the heat of their bodies makes goosebumps prickle on his light skin. The toy fills him up completely, its head prodding at his prostate makes his cock twitch.

"Ma'am, please talk to me," he begs.

"Jesus, it's hard to deny you like this. You look so fucking good underneath me, clenching around this cock, shaking with how good you feel, your little pink panties pushed aside for me to fuck you...your skirt bouncing with every movement, you're doing such a great job taking this cock, slut. Wish I could fuck you everywhere in the house like this. On the kitchen table, against the dryer, outside on the back porch, I want to take you whenever and wherever I feel like it, 'cause you're mine, I can use you and fuck you and love you however I want."

Her words begin to slur near the end, her hips fucking into him ragged as the vibrations of the strap-on bring her to a stuttering orgasm that he feels by the deep thrust of the toy inside him. The static strokes abuse his prostate, and he feels an orgasm rippling at the surface of his skin, building from deep within.

"Don't--don't stop! Please..."

His voice halts suddenly, trailing off into a symphony of moans and whines as she fucks them both through another orgasm. Ropes of come shoot onto the expensive wood floor, his cock twitching with violent pulses of his orgasm. His back arches high, toes curling within the confines of the too-small heels, chest heaving against the tight underwire of the bra underneath his dress.

She stills inside him, giving them both a moment to catch their breath. Then, there's the slow, slick feeling as she pulls out of him inch by inch, his asshole clenching around nothing but the open air, craving the full feeling again already.

"You made a mess, maid, aren't you going to clean it up?" Her words are playful, but there's an edge daring him, enough to make him obey without question. He leans down and she presses his face to the floor with her foot, forcing him to lick his come off the cold wood.

"Why the hesitation, slave? You cleaned it. It should be perfect, right?" She sneers down at him from above, fully into the scene, lucid enough to hide her softness to please her sub.

If it tastes bad, he's too braindead from the scene and his orgasm to notice. He licks up the come as readily as if it was her pussy. His tongue leaves stripes on the freshly cleaned floor.

"What a good boy. So eager to do every single thing I say, even something as depraved as that."

Her eyes follow him as she removes her foot, watching him rise to face her. A beautiful, beautiful mess, a glowing one, soft lidded eyes, dark eyelashes a fluttering fan with every shy blink of his baby blues. His skin radiates warmth with its pink flush, spreading from his bright cheeks to his sparsely freckles shoulders.

"Why don't we get in the shower, yeah? I'll clean you off, angel. You did so good for me tonight." She swings an arm around him, pulling him tight to her and planting a kiss on his sweaty forehead. She bends down to pull off his heels gingerly, lifts the dress off, massages the red skin and thick lines the bra has marked, and rubs the bruising flesh of his ass softly.

"Let's go take care of you."