One Hour with Sir Ch. 01

One Hour With Sir (Ch. 01)

soppingwetpanties

This story literally flowed off the keyboard and onto this page. I hope you like it.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.

* * *

Midtown Manhattan, West 59^th Street

Friday, 9:00 p.m.

I'm your average, run of the mill female partner in a testosterone fueled big case litigation firm. I'm being facetious of course, because making partner in a law firm as a woman is particularly challenging in my field, where jury awards can routinely run in the tens of millions of dollars. I parlayed my Ivy League law school degree into an associate position in a well known Midtown law firm, and worked insanely long hours, sacrificing my social life in the process, for the coveted brass ring.

I was running lead on the defense of a multi-million dollar products liability claim, the result of a relationship I cultivated with general counsel to a mega-insurance company. The coordination of the case took every ounce of my energy and every available minute of my day -- that is except between 10 and 11 p.m. on Fridays. That's the one hour that is involuble. That hour belongs to Sir.

I'm in charge of my life and spend most of it moving expensive chess pieces for multi-national corporations, but for this one hour I make no decisions and think about nothing but pleasing Him. Most of what I do for him is sexual in nature, but some tasks I performed were as simple as fixing Him a perfect cup of coffee.

I'm sure you're wondering why I do this. I could give you the history of my childhood, including profiles on my parents, but that would be a waste of time. I do it because I love it. For the same reason that at age 38 I'm still unmarried and spend almost every waking hour as a top flight litigator. Because I love it. It's as simple as that.

I'm getting ready for Him now. Shaving all of my body hair. Cleaning myself thoroughly, including an enema. I want to please Him in any way He wishes to take me. As I wash myself, I carefully work the area around my nipple rings -- small golden hoops that Sir gave me for our third anniversary together. Then my hand runs down my left leg, to the small tattoo on the inside of my left ankle, an infinity symbol. Another gift from Sir as a sign that we'll always be together.

In some ways this part of the routine is the most pleasurable, knowing that within an hour I'll be on my knees in front of Him. The anticipation is every bit as delicious as the session itself.

* * *

Midtown Manhattan, West 59^th Street

Friday, 9:40 p.m.

I'm checking my make-up one last time. It's the one adornment Sir allows me to wear. My chestnut brown hair is plaited in the back, reaching down just past my shoulders. My white linen blouse and black pencil skirt are still on hangers with the dry cleaners' plastic still covering them. I roll up my nude silk stockings, the old fashioned kind with the seam in the back, and attach them to my white garter belt. I'm not permitted to wear a bra or panties.

I put on my blouse and skirt, careful not to wrinkle either garment, and then slip on my black pumps with four inch heels. As the final step, I open my jewelry box and take out a diamond studded collar, a gift from Sir when I pledged myself to Him. I glance in the full length mirror in my walk-in closet and am pleased with what I see. Slender build with muscle tone that reflects my three times a week workouts with my personal trainer, "B" cup breasts, and a curvy line from my hips down to my legs, accentuated by the lift from my heels. I throw on my Burberry raincoat, not because it's cold outside, but to cover me from prying eyes.

I exit my bedroom and walk into the large common area of my penthouse apartment. It's dark in there, which allows me an unimpeded view of Central Park from the fortieth floor. I can see the taxis below, jockeying for lane position on 59^th Street, and the shadowy figures of people taking a late night stroll through the park. Out there, to the north and east of the park, is Sir's brownstone on the Upper East Side. Goosebumps rise on my skin at the mere thought of Sir, and my personal place of worship.

I drink in one last look of the view, then pick up the bag of freshly baked oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, my tribute to Sir, which I deliver without fail at the beginning of each session. It's Sir's weakness, one of the few that I'm aware of, and one that He allows me to exploit.

The building elevator opens in my apartment. I push the call button and wait impatiently for the elevator cab to arrive. Now my adrenaline is starting to pump in my body as I know moments from now I'll be in His presence. I never know what he has planned for me, and not knowing only adds to the excitement.

The elevator door opens, and the dark, wood paneled cab is empty and quiet, but for the gentle whirring of its ventilation fan. I push the button for the ground floor, and thankfully the elevator doesn't stop until it reaches the bottom.

I step out of the elevator into the building's expansive lobby, a large cut glass chandelier and a gorgeous floral arrangement on a round stone table beneath it dominating the center of it.

"Good evening Miss Martin-DuPont," the uniformed night attendant greets me.

No one ever calls me that. I'm Catherine to my business colleagues and Cat to my friends. I like the sound of my last name. It sounds regal, which belies my middle class upbringing by my second generation French parents.

"Good evening Charles," I reply. Charles is one of the regulars, having worked for this building's management for the five years of my tenancy, and is a good looking man, married with two young children. "How's Maddie and Frankie doing?" I ask out of both politeness and curiosity.

"If you have a moment...". He pulls his phone out and quickly finds a picture he wants to show me. Maddie is the older girl, looking to be about eight, and Frankie is the younger girl, not more than five. They're adorable and he knows it.

"Must get it from their mother," I tell him.

He laughs. "Have a good evening Miss," he replies, using his white gloved hand to open the door for me. I can sense his eyes watching me as I walk through.

I step out to the sidewalk. There's a few people walking past, paying no mind to me. The traffic on 59^th is heavy, not surprising for a Friday night. There's a black limo idling by the curb. It's Sir's car, and Norman, his regular driver, is standing on the sidewalk with his hand on the handle of the open rear passenger door.

"Good evening Cat."

I get into the back seat, carefully gathering my coat and skirt underneath me before I sit in the spacious rear cabin. The black leather bench seat is slippery, and I have to catch myself before I slide forward. There's a cut crystal glass on a small pull down table that holds two fingers of a fifteen year old Scotch, neat.

Norman comes around the car to the driver's side and gets in. I watch the people walking by through the heavily tinted windows. I let my coat fall open, knowing the folks outside can't see me, though Norman can in the rear view mirror. He's probably in his 50's, hair graying on his temples. He's ruggedly handsome, tall, lean and muscular. I shift in my seat so I can see him in the rear view mirror, and my eyes meet his. He's looking at my breasts, prominent in my sheer white linen blouse, and his extended gaze makes me wetter.

"Ready to go Miss?"

I fasten my seatbelt. "Yes Norman," I answer. I take a draw of the scotch. The smooth, mellow burn calms my nerves. I lean back in the seat, my eyes focused outside, watching the cars and people passing my window and dreaming about what Sir has in store for me.

* * *

Upper East Side, East 84^th Street

Friday, 9:58 p.m.

The car slows to a stop in front of Sir's brownstone, a three story affair on a private tree lined street. My heart is racing as Norman exits the car to open the door for me. I get out, pulling the flaps of my coat together even though there's no one on the street to see me. I have the bag of cookies in one hand and Norman's hand in the other as he helps me up the stairs, us both being mindful of my stiletto heels on the narrow treads of the aging concrete.

"Have a good evening Miss," Norman tells me as he lets go of my hand and pushes the doorbell for me. He returns to the car and an instant later is gone.

I stand at the door, a wooden door with a large glass inset, and look through it under the illumination of the porch light. Moments later a woman opens the door for me. I don't recognize her. She's wearing a trench coat similar to mine, and I can see a fancy leather collar around her neck. She must belong to Sir as well. I suspect she's not wearing anything underneath her coat, as she answers the door in her bare feet. She's young, much younger than me, my guess is mid-20's. She's demure, a narrow face and nose framed by shoulder length blonde hair. We make eye contact for a moment, but then her eyes drop lower.

"Sir is waiting for you," she announces, holding the door open for me to enter.

I thank her and follow her up the stairs. We pass Sir's study on the left, with the lingering scent of cigar smoke, before arriving at his "playroom" on the right. The usually locked door is open. The woman lets her coat drop to the ground before she enters, revealing smooth pale white skin and a lithe body, almost waifish. I do the same, letting my coat drop on top of hers. Wordlessly, she goes to the far corner of the room, kneeling on the dark hardwood floor, in her "present" position. I kneel next to her, still fully clothed, with the bag of cookies sitting next to me.

* * *

Sir's Playroom

10:02 p.m.

My eyes are trained on the doorway. My heart flutters when I see Sir confidently stride in, holding a snifter of brandy and wearing a silk brocade robe. He's tall, well over six foot, dark wavy hair, a pleasant face with a two day growth of beard, broad shoulders and muscular arms. His brooding eyes flick over to me to acknowledge my presence.

"Good evening Cat," He says to me in a deep voice.

A shiver goes up my spine. I'm used to standing in front of judges and juries in a packed courtroom, but the mere utterance of my name by Him makes me tongue tied. I gather my wits.

"Good evening Sir."

"Ahh... I see you've brought cookies." There's a glimmer in His eyes. My heart flutters again.

"Yes Sir... your favorite."

"You're spoiling me Cat," he playfully admonishes me.

"Anything for you Sir. You know that." My confidence increases with His praise.

"You may give them to me."

I get up, a bit wobbly on my heels, and hand Him the plastic bag filled with cookies. He reaches over and strokes my cheek with the back of his hand. "Thank you Cat."

The fine hairs on my arm stand up at his touch. I suppress a whimper and return to my place.

He takes a cookie out of the bag and takes a large bite. "Ummm... delicious." Then he looks directly at me. "Just like you are." I feel like his eyes are boring right through me, seeing my soul.

"You look sexy today Cat. Why don't you unbutton your blouse?"

I do so, and my blouse opens, exposing my breasts. My nipples are rock hard and I know that I'm sopping wet below. His eyes rake over me, and now I see lustful intent in them.

He puts the bag of cookies down on a side table and stands in front of me. He unties the belt of His robe, and the elegant silk brocade opens slightly to reveal His semi-hard cock, guarded by a lush expanse of curly black hair. His cock is thick, and I can see the veins starting to pulse with excitement. It pleases me to no end to know that my body excites Him.

He reaches down and lifts my chin so my eyes are looking into His.

"Do you want to give or receive?" He asks me. He knows I'm a whore. I want it.

"Receive, Sir."

He chuckles softly. "I was sure you were going to say that."

I try not to smile back.

"Get me ready then kitten," He tells me.

I move up on my knees in front of Him and pull wide open the flaps of his robe. His cock is already springing to life. I smell Him and inhale His musky scent. I stick out my tongue and bathe His balls first, hanging heavy and low. He groans in appreciation and runs His fingers through my hair.

"That's a good kitten."

I hold the tip of His cock up so I can run my tongue the length of the underside, causing His knees to quiver. I know Him so well. A small dollop of precum appears on the tip of His cock, a small reward for a job well done. I accept the gift by scooping it up with my tongue. He reaches down and fondles my breasts, pushing aside the flimsy material of my blouse. Then I go down on Him, fighting to take in the last two inches until my nose is buried deep into his thick nest of pubic hair. I can hear that His breathing is becoming labored. His cock twitches in my throat. Pussy juice is running down the inside of my thighs.

"Enough kitten." He pulls away from me, and a copious amount of my saliva, mixed with his precum, drips off my chin and forms a small puddle on the hardwood floor. I haven't paid attention to the woman kneeling next to me, but now I see her in motion, putting her face over the pool of spit and licking it up. It excites me to see her act of submission.

"Take off your blouse and skirt and get on your hands and knees," He directs me. I gather He wants to fuck me with my nylons and heels on. It's sexy, and I know it turns Him on. I take off my clothes and carefully fold them, putting them on the table next to the cookies. I assume the position.

He's behind me. I hear him spit, and then feel the coolness of His saliva running over my anus and across my pussy lips. I then feel the head of His cock rubbing against my asshole before parting the lips of my pussy. I gasp when He enters me.

"Oh kitten... your pussy is so tight," He growls as He pushes inside me. His big hands grip my hips so I won't go forward as He impales himself inside me, holding his position so I can feel His big cock pulsing. I'm practically gushing at this point, and I hear a sucking noise as He starts to flex his hips, fucking me. I already feel like I want to cum, but I know it's too soon and there's no chance He'll give me permission. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut to suppress the surges of pleasure that threaten to take me over.

He pulls out, and the sudden void makes me cry out with disappointment. He slaps my bottom to tell me that I wasn't granted permission to speak.

"Clean us," I hear Him tell his slut. I hear sloppy sucking noises and know that His slut is cleaning my pussy juices off His cock. My breathing quickens in anticipation of feeling her tongue on my overheated cunt. Moments later I feel her delicate hands pulling apart the cheeks of my ass to give her better access to my distended pussy lips. I feel her lips surrounding mine, and I let a squeak come out at the burst of pleasure from her tongue probing the depths of my pussy. I wiggle my hips to allow her deeper access.

"Enough slut."

I groan when her tongue withdraws, again leaving me empty.

There's silence. I'm shaking at this point, desperate to be touched... desperate from my release. I know He's watching me.

"Tell me what you want, kitten."

He knows what I want. He wants to hear me say it.

"I want to cum, Sir, please," I beg Him.

"Not yet kitten. You know what." I can see the wall mounted clock. We're only ten minutes into our one hour session. I whimper.

"What else kitten?"

"I want you to fuck me."

"Where?"

"Wherever you please," I tell Him.

"In your ass?"

He knows I love His big cock in my ass. He's obviously turned on by the dirty talk.

"Yes Sir. Please fuck my ass, Sir... I beg of you."

"Since you asked nicely, my pet."

There's a full length mirror on the wall to my right. I turn my head slightly to the right so I can see it out of the corner of my eye. I can see Him behind me. His slut is giving Him a sloppy blowjob so He has adequate lubrication to enter me. I can see her pull off of His cock and watch a long, fine thread of spittle between His glans and her lips stretch until it breaks. She gets behind me and starts licking my asshole, enthusiastically tonguing my crinkled hole, pushing into it and creating a small gape.

"Eyes ahead," Sir admonishes me. He could see me sneaking a peek. He's watching me even when I think He isn't.

I can hear rustling noises behind me as Sir kneels and rubs the head of His cock against my anus. The nerve endings in my ass are electrified, and so am I. I try to push back against Him so he can enter me.

"Still kitten," He says calmly. I feel His hands hold my hips still until He pushes forward. My anal ring offers initial resistance, then gives way, and I can feel the bulbous head of His cock inside me, stretching the powerful muscle protecting my rear passage.

"Ohhhh!" I gasp as I feel Him inching inside me, filling me impossibly full. My clit is on fire, and in need of immediate attention. I feel His rock hard abs pressed against my ass, and I know He's fully inside me. Every muscle and nerve ending in my ass is screaming, and my mouth opens but no sounds comes out but a high pitched squeal.

"Uhhhh," He grunts, feeling my back channel constrict around His cock like a vise. I bear down and hold Him inside me, trying to wring every ounce of pleasure out of this coupling. I have to take a breath and relax, and suddenly His hips are flexing and He's fucking me... fucking me hard.

I hear garbled words come out of my mouth. Nothing makes sense. I feel nothing but white hot heat and then a run away freight train of an orgasm bubbling up through my loins.

"Please Sir!" I manage to shout between strokes as Sir pounds my ass.

I've lost control of my body. I'm writhing with pleasure and my thighs are trembling as if an earthquake has taken hold of me. I feel His thick fingers first tugging at my nipple rings and then rubbing and pinching my clit. I feel His cock expanding inside me, spewing His precious cum deep inside my bowels.

"Cum my whore," He commands, as his body stills, cumming in my ass as His cock pulses.

I do so, with my eyes rolling upwards in my head as wave after wave of indescribable pleasure washes over me. My breathing is ragged as aftershocks continue to make me shake. My ass is still up in the air but I've buried my head in my hands, too drained to hold myself up.

Through the fog, I hear His slut greedily licking His cock.

"Kitten too," He says.

At this point, I'm splayed on the floor, face down. His slut pries open my asscheeks and forces her tongue between them, scooping up the cum that is oozing out of my asshole, then using a finger to dig out the rest.

"I'm done, Sir," His slut says in a soft voice.

I can do little but moan.

* * *

To be continued...