How to Burn Dinner

It had been a busy week, for both of us. I was buried under an audit deadline and his biggest client was in town. We'd hardly done more than share a shower in the morning, or make inane conversation about bills and the weather over hastily prepared dinners eaten amongst a sea of papers, or exchange an absent kiss goodnight at 2am before dropping into an exhausted sleep.

Tonight, the waiting was finally over. I was slicing carrots for the salad when he got home, humming as he jogged up the stairs and into the kitchen. He draped his jacket on the banister over mine and wandered into the kitchen, peering over my shoulder.

"I'm going to get a drink. Want one, too?"

I nodded and he came back with a glass of wine for me, and his usual scotch on the rocks. He dropped a kiss on my hair, surveyed the dinner-in-progress, and smiled.

"Smells good."

I preened. I love to cook for him. I know it's so cliché, but I do. His compliments are the fuel that keeps me burning. His large, warm hand petted my hair then fisted in the curls, pulling my bun free and spilling my hair down my back. He tightened his grip, using my hair to tilt my face back up to his.

He kissed me hard, devouring my mouth. His tongue swept in, claimed mine, teasing and tormenting. I would have melted against him, if not for the punishing grasp of his hand buried in my hair. He drank me in until I was pliant, then lifted his head, smiling that cool little smile that always warns me he's up to something.

"I'll be in the library," he said, and sauntered off.

He knows I hate it when he does that--and I love it, too. I think sometimes he likes driving me crazy. I put the finishing touches on dinner and went to the library to find him sitting in his favorite overstuffed leather chair, absently reading the paper. I couldn't help but smile as his barely loosened tie; the slight mussing of his hair told me he'd already raked his fingers through it.

He saw me in the doorway and beckoned, setting the paper aside. I knelt as gracefully as possible, hampered by the snug skirt of my suit, wiggling a little between his thighs. I looked up at him with a slow, teasing smile, licking my lips. He sat back and watched me with lazy, hooded eyes. My fingers itched to comb through his hair, to pull his mouth back to mine. Instead, they crept up the starched linen of his white shirt, tugged gently at the knot of his tie.

I tugged it free, unbuttoning his collar, pressing one brief kiss to the hollow of his throat. Pressing teasing kisses to each of the buttons on his shirt, I wiggled my way down his body. I rubbed my cheek against his thigh, brushed my lips against the growing bulge in his pants. He sat up and looked down at me with those liquid dark eyes, one hand lightly stroking my cheek. Suddenly, he grabbed the front of my blouse and tugged, hard. Buttons popped and pinged onto the floor.

"You," he said, caressing one of the lacy cups of my bra, the swell of my breast, "have on way too many clothes." His hands pushed the blouse off my shoulders, trapping my hands behind me. He drank me in with his eyes, my hiked-up skirt exposing the lacy tops of my stockings, the straps of my garters, but not much higher. I could almost see the question in his eyes before his fingers probed between my legs.

His low chuckle told me he was surprised to find me pantiless. He certainly didn't order it that morning. But there was, after all, a reason I hurried home from work, and cooking dinner was definitely not it. His fingers teased and stroked my cunt lips, until I whimpered and tried to wiggle closer, arching against his hand.

"You are such a slut," he said with a smile. "Have you been flashing my pussy--" His fingers pressed harder into my wet folds for emphasis, his thumb briefly brushing my clit. "--around your office all day long?"

"No," I said breathlessly. "I took off my panties when I got home."

"Hopeful little slut, aren't you?" he asked, amusement creeping into his voice. I allowed myself a small sigh of relief. For an instant, I had thought he might be displeased with my little surprise.

He pulled his fingers away, and held them to my lips. With one fingertip, he traced the outline of my mouth, painting my lips with my own wetness. I parted my lips for him, and he thrust two fingers into my mouth. I curled my tongue around them, licking and sucking his fingers clean.

"That's it," he said, humming a little in pleasure. "Lick my fingers clean; suck them. Show me just how much you want to suck my cock." He caught my eyes, and smiled wider. "Oh, I know you want it, slut. Show me how much."

I sucked desperately on his fingers, twining my tongue around each one. Licking and flicking and teasing with my tongue, I continued until he slowly pulled his fingers out of my mouth. "Strip," he said with a slow smile, leaning back in his chair. I stood hastily, eager to comply. "Slowly," he added. "I want to watch."

I nodded, shrugging back into my blouse as I stood. I held it closed teasingly, flashing him a peek at first one lace-covered breast, then the other before letting it slip down my shoulders and puddle on the floor behind me. I stroked my hands up over my almost-flat stomach, crossing my arms over my breasts as if to hide them. I turned slowly, to silent music, undulating my hips.

I reached behind myself to unzip my skirt, hooking my thumbs in the waistband to slide it off, adding a little shimmy of my hips to help it fall to the floor. I removed my bra with the same unhurried teasing, slipping off first one strap then the other, peeking over my shoulder at him, then unhooking the back clasp, negligently letting the lacy garment fall to the floor from my fingertips.

Unsnapping the garters was trickier, but I managed, turning sideways and propping each leg up on the arm of his chair and giving him a good look at the rounded curves of my ass under the garter belt, and brief flashes of my bare pussy. I sauntered back to the center of the library and peeled the lacy belt down my hips, giving him a stripper's glance from between my spread legs. Stepping out of the little scrap of lace, I turned back to face him, crossing my hands over my breasts coyly. He smiled as I strutted closer, playing the role of sexy stripper to the hilt, putting a seductive sway in my walk as I closed the distance between us.

I dropped to my knees between his thighs, a little breathless from excitement, not exertion. He just watched me with those hot, dark eyes, as I reached boldly for his belt, unbuckling it quickly, tugging it from the loops. I started to set it aside, but he took it from my hands, doubled it over, and cracked it to get my attention. I paused my fumbling with the button of his trousers, and looked up quickly.

"Greedy slut," he chuckled fondly, stroking the belt lightly along my shoulder, following the faint outlines of the muscles in my arm. He continued across my stomach, just under my breasts, then back up my other arm. The leather was cool and smooth against my cheek, stroking over my lips. I pressed a fond kiss against the folded material, and he nodded approvingly. Without warning, he popped the folded belt against my right nipple, then my left. The pain was sharp enough to take my breath away, but brief.

"That was for failing to ask permission." He held me close with one hand, tracing the belt lightly down my spine. I shuddered, rubbing my stinging nipples against his chest. The belt cracked against my ass, striking firmly across both cheeks. "And that was for being a good girl, and reminding me that you needed a spanking." He chuckled.

I savored the warmth spreading across my ass, and the opportunity to cuddle against his chest. I toyed with the loose ends of his tie, tugging it gently from his collar. I watched his eyes flare as I wrapped the silken tie around my wrists, as tightly as I could, holding my loosely bound hands out to him like an offering. He tugged the ends tighter briefly, until the bones in my wrists ground together and a tiny whimper crept out.

He drew me up, across his lap, draping me over the arm of the chair. I tried to relax and breathe slowly, the leather chair and the faint papery scent of books filling my nostrils. The arm of the chair raised my ass to meet the blows of the belt, the first warmth dulled quickly to stinging pain, and then to deeper burning. I tried to be still, his hand on my lower back holding me in place, but the pain and the thrill of my exposed position were almost unbearably arousing.

"Your ass looks good in stripes, slut." He set the belt aside for a moment, on the tiny end table beside his chair, and stroked one hand over the burning skin of my ass. He opened a drawer and removed something small, then resumed his caresses, teasing me until I ached to spread my legs further. "But I think it needs a little additional decoration."

He smacked me hard, once, across my right buttock, making me gasp involuntarily. Then I felt something cool, tickling where his hand had just spanked me. I tried to look back over my shoulder, but he held me down, finished what he was doing, and set the marker on the table. After he finished, he allowed me raise my head, and though it was difficult to see, he'd clearly written something on my buttock. He traced the markings lightly.

"Do you know what this says, slut?"

"No, Master," I said curiously, shaking my head.

"It says Mine, because your ass is mine, isn't it?" He smacked my ass not-lightly with his palm for emphasis.

"Yes, Master." I nodded, smiling faintly, despite the spreading pain from that last smack.

"And this is my handprint, because your ass is mine to use however I want, isn't it, slut? Pleasure or pain, your ass is mine." I shuddered again as he traced the outline of his handprint on my ass, not flinching when he added another smack. "Say it for me."

"My ass is yours, Master. However you want it, for pain or for pleasure, it's yours." The words tumbled out of me in a low, breathless rush. "I'm yours."

"That's right," he smiled, his hands gently guiding me down from the arm of the chair to sit astride his lap. "Every inch of you is mine. From your delicious hard nipples--" He suckled one, briefly, until I moaned. "--to your pretty neck--" He bit, lightly, then not-so-lightly, pain briefly flaring. "--to this gorgeous ass--" He swatted me again, firmly. "--to your hot little pussy--" He shoved two fingers in me, hard and deep and fast. I moaned again, riding his hand. "You're all mine, slut."

"Yes," I whispered frantically. "I'm yours, Master, all yours....yes, yes, oh please...I'm yours." I was riding him a little desperately now, hungry for more of his body and thinking he was the overdressed one at the moment. He obviously agreed with me, because he unwrapped the tie from my hands, guided them to the first button of his shirt.

"Undress me," he said huskily; my fingers practically flew over his buttons, fumbling, plucking, tugging, until his shirt and slacks were opened, though not off. He withdrew his fingers, despite my whimpering, faint protest, and licking them without even offering me a taste. He stood abruptly, forcing me to stand as well, shedding his clothes much quicker without my help, as I watched with wide, hot eyes.

He pushed me back down over the arm of his chair, my face pressing on the warm leather of the seat. He stroked my ass, still burning from the earlier spanking, and leaned in close behind me, grinding his cock against the heat of my skin. Each thrust was a tease and a torment, his rocking against my ass grinding my pussy on the arm of the chair, but at the same time, rough against my already welted skin. When I whimpered, he paused.

"Beg."

"Please, Master," I moaned, trying to lift my ass higher for him and grind against the arm of the chair, too. "Please take my ass."

"I don't think you really mean that, slut." He brought the almost-forgotten belt down sharply on my ass, leaving a new welt. I bucked under him, yelping in pain and surprise.

"Please! My ass belongs to you, Master, if you wish to use it." I tried to putting the ball in his court, letting it be his decision, but he wouldn't let me off that easily.

"Oh no," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "I said 'Beg', not 'Tell me what you think I want to hear.' If you want me to fuck you, slut, then I want to hear you beg for it. Now."

I nodded, understanding, and put the heat of my desire into my words. "Please, Master, please, please, please fuck your slut." I whimpered a little in frustration, straining to grind against him. "I want you so much." I sighed, rubbing my cheek against the leather of the chair, my voice barely above a whisper. "I need you."

"Mine," he said roughly, sliding inside me hard and fast and deep. He smacked my ass hard, alternating it with tugging my hair until my back bowed for him, or reaching beneath me to pinch and twist my nipples. I tried to push back, but his hands held me down, keeping my upper body pressed into the leather seat.

"Please," I begged. "Please, Master, please, let me--"

"No." He knew what I wanted. "Not yet." He continued to thrust, slower, sliding, rubbing me teasingly against the chair until I thought I would go mad with frustration.

"Please!" I practically sobbed, desperate for him to release the tension inside me. He drew it out more, making me wait, and wait, the desire inside me like a coiled spring, winding tighter and tighter. The belt cracked again across my ass and he smiled as I bit my lower lip, trying not to cry out.

"I want to hear you," he said huskily, caressing my reddened ass. "Scream for me, slut." When the belt smacked hard against my reddened ass, I did, screaming out my pain and pleasure as my muscles spasmed around his cock, my back arching, panting breathlessly.

He thrust slowly, letting me drift down until I was practically limp over the arm of the chair. He pulled out of my body, still hard, and I licked my lips, anticipating what was coming next. He sat in his chair, thighs spread, as if reading my mind again, but before I could kneel between his legs, he stopped me with a hand on my arm.

"I think you should clean off the chair, first, slut." He caught my eyes and smiled. "After all, you did make the mess. You really should lick it all clean."

I nodded with hungry compliance, keeping my eyes on his as I licked my juices from the leather arm of the chair. I wanted him to feel every flick of my tongue, every stroke, every caress. He pulled me up against him, kissing me hungrily, licking the taste of my juices from my lips. He drank me in, licking and sucking and nipping at my mouth until I was melting against him, rocking and whimpering for more.

He dragged me up into the chair, despite my murmured protest that I was too heavy, that I wanted to please him, first. He guided my legs alongside his, so that I straddled his hips, my warmed ass against his groin. He silenced all my protests with a finger against my lips, which I kissed, then licked teasingly.

The look in his eyes wasn't teasing, though. He cupped my face in his hands, threading his hands through my hair to anchor me, to keep me facing him, our foreheads touching, eyes locked, panting breaths mingled. He thrust slowly up into my creamy pussy, filling me deeply, not allowing me to close my eyes or look away as he possessed the most intimate part of me. He kissed me once, hard and slow and deep, his tongue filling my mouth in the same way his cock filled my body.

"You know what to do," he whispered, leaning back in his chair with a lazy, hungry smile. "Ride."

I rolled my hips experimentally, feeling him slide out, then back in. I kept the pace deliberately slow, clenching my internal muscles in time with the rocking downstroke of my hips, watching his eyes close as he tipped back his head and groaned. His hands skimmed over my hips, up my waist, to cup my breasts, molding them, teasing, pinching and flicking my nipples. I arched my back, grinding my hips hard against his, taking him deeper, harder, as one of his hands drifted down over my stomach, found my clit and stroked it, lightly. When I moaned and picked up the pace a little, he rewarded me with more teasing strokes on my clit.

He tipped me backward, until I was bent double, back between his knees, hard nipples stabbing upward to the ceiling, undulating with each thrust of his hips. I could feel the strain in his body, wanting to buck the slow pace and fuck me desperately hard and fast until both of us came in a hot, screaming rush. He understood my desire to draw it out, though--to feel that slow, inevitable pressure build until it was an irresistible force, rushing over us both in burning waves of delicious orgasm.

"That's it," he encouraged hoarsely, nuzzling against my breast. He licked one nipple, worried it with his teeth for a moment, thrusting slowly into me. Suddenly, he pulled me down hard on his cock, using one hand on my hip for leverage, as he flicked my clit with his thumb and bit down hard on my left nipple.

The sudden wash of pain tipped me over, screaming my pleasure out for him as he buried himself deep inside my soaking wet pussy. I felt the hot spill of his cum inside me, my body rippling as waves of pleasure crashed over me, clenching him tight.

"Mmm, yes," he groaned, "Milk it, slut, take it all."

His hands on my back supported me, as I rode him lazily through the final waves of our orgasms, reveling in the smooth slide of our bodies together. Taking a deep breath, he guided me back up to collapse limply against his chest. He held me like that for a long moment, one hand stroking my back, the other buried in my hair, making me feel small and cherished--and most of all, His.

"Has dinner burned while we were...unwinding?" He queried with a lazy smile. I shook my head, too wrung out to even speak. "Good," he said huskily, his chuckle rumbling against my ear as I rested against his chest. He dropped a gentle kiss on my bowed head. "We're going to need it--I'm not through with you yet."