Simone Says Ch. 02

"Shut up, WOMAN," she repeated, for the umpteenth time - emphasizing the word 'woman' of course. And shaking her head. Of course. And smiling. Of course.

Back in mischievous mode, she was fully in control once more. After all, the nearest item of clothing belonging to me was three doors down the road: in my own home - so unless and until I could get there she could clearly have my naked ass anytime, anywhere, any way she wanted. Just as she and her friends has done the previous night. And now she was clearly plotting further amusement at my expense...

You may recall I'd been on the verge of restoring some balance in our budding relationship this morning. Okay, I'd been sent off to the kitchen, naked, to make her breakfast. But we were on a more or less equal footing. Kibitzing and smacking bottoms kind of thing. Unfortunately, I'd opened my mouth and out popped: "Shut up, WOMAN."

It had been a joke...a quip...a throw-away line. But the moment I'd said it I'd froze in the doorway. Knowing...

"That one will cost you, smartass. That one will cost you dearly..."She'd chuckled wryly, just a hint of a sinister edge..."Certainly up until the reading of the cards, and probably afterwards...hold on, what's that? Are you hard again? Already? Are you getting...? Turn back here...c'mon, let's see...Hmh-hmh...that is one nice cock. Just takes a lickin and keeps on tickin. It is going to be fun to abuse you all day and all night. Shut up indeed...you're going pay big time..."

And there had been more. Of course. Implications of the diabolical. Not that she was prepared to say anything specific just yet. Instead, she was enjoying herself in the moment, so to speak. Watching me pad across the kitchen to the island, to collect the dishes left over from her breakfast. Naked. Of course. Me. Stark naked and erection rolling and bouncing with every move.

"Did I see you loading the dishwasher?" She casually re-belted her dressing robe, tightening the gap around her cleavage - deliberately re-emphasizing the differences in our current status. While I had to reach out across the island, as I said, naked, to collect the dishes.

CFNM. Clothed female naked male.

"Yes." I held the plate off to one side - off my right hip by almost a foot - leaving her a clear view. Keeping her sweet seemed a wise option, since she had a track record of, well, making life uncomfortable.

"I'd prefer you wash them by hand."

"Of course," I smiled back at her, turning away to head for the sink. Cursing mentally.

You may also recall that it was washing dishes that got me into this mess in the first place. I'd been washing my own dishes, in my own house - when she'd let herself in, caught me naked and started taking pictures...and, well, the rest of the evening and night are spelled out in some detail in Simone Says...

Simone was perched on the counter now, beside where I was fishing one dish at a time out of the dishwasher and washing them in the hot soapy water. The dressing robe had rucked up a bit at the hem, showing most of her lovely shapely legs.

She was texting on her blackberry.

Texting had proven a huge source of problem-embarrassment for me the previous night. Simone and her small cadre of female friends sent lots of texts. Noting the frequent twitches of smiles tugging at the corners of her mouth - each of which seemed to tug my erection one way or another - I decided to be proactive. So to speak. "I wasn't serious, you know."

"I know." She didn't look up - kept smiling at whatever she was reading.

"It was just...I'd already promised to make breakfast." Encouraged by her acknowledgement of my actual intent, I was searching for the wording. "I was being, you know..."

"Misogynist," she interrupted me, helpfully.

"I was thinking rather more along the lines of playful."

Looking up, smiling, she shook her head and rolled her eyes. Evidently acknowledgement didn't extend to reducing her superior position.

"I was rather hoping we could read the cards maybe, see where that takes us?"

Chuckling, she raised the phone and I heard the distinctive click of a photo being taken. Evidently approving of the pic, her smile expanding, she turned the phone for me to see. No wonder she was pleased. It was a nice down angle: my hands in the soapy water and my erection at full sail, as it were. "I don't think so," she said simply. "I'd like to get a good few more of these."

"Of course. Fill your boots." What choice did I have? Exactly. None.

The phone rose again, and another click echoed.

I persisted. "But it's just I'm curious to know what you mean by reading the cards?"

Click. Click. "I can understand that but there's no point, really," she said, smiling at the latest pic. "You don't even have all 5 cards yet. Smile!" Immediately after the next click, she added: "I was prepared to simply take the 4 cards you do have, deal you the 5th card - and then read the hand. But not now I know your true colours. Now you're just going to have to work out a way to get the 5th card..."

Hand? So it was a card game of some sort. But what sort? Simone, enigmatic, was relishing having me naked and dancing to her tune. Again. And every time I asked a question - any question - the phone clicked off another pic or two. Moreover, when I'd finished the dishes, other jobs emerged... "Give the counters a good wipe..."..."Oooops," there was sound of liquid splashing, "I've spilt my coffee... clean that up would you?"

"No problem, " I replied brightly. "Where's the mop."

"Don't bother with that. Just use the cloth." A few clicks later, she added: "Actually, there's a bucket under the sink. Why don't you get that and wash the whole floor."

Which was how I came to be down on hands and knees, washing her kitchen floor. So I took the hint and shut up.

"Do me a favour?"

"Sure." I didn't look up. I kept working instead - very aware of her photo taking, and my erection swaying up under my belly with every move I made...

Try this. Sit back on your heels, stark naked, in the middle of the kitchen floor - and masturbate, Make sure the cloth and bucket are in shot, so every pic and vid she takes looks like exactly what it appears to be. A kneeling, stark naked servant jacking off for the amusement of a superior female.

"Don't you dare cum now."

"Of course not." I wasn't near as confident as I tried to sound. In fact, I was starting to, well, get to that stage of potential no return.

"I said masturbate for me," she teased, chuckling. "Not hold it for me."

"Of course. Sorry." I might not have actually said that aloud. I might only have thought it - having entered that euphoric to-hell-with-it stage, my hand now moving surely and deftly toward the inevitable...

Post coital. Bereft. Utterly. Simone was the very picture of suppressed glee. Circling me, with clicking phone - and directions: "There's some"..."And behind you"..."Over there, look"..."Oh dear, you have made a mess - look here...and here...you'll need another cloth at this rate...here." Afterwards, in hindsight, I decided she'd kept me twisting this way then that and back and forth - which would explain the spunk on my feet and shins and butt, as well as that on my upper thighs.

Once in the shower, I'd even found spunk on my throat. As if I needed further proof of the sheer force of the earth-tilting orgasm.

But not before Simone proved just how ruthless she could be. Getting me upright to rinse out the cloth, she then sent me after 'spots'..."Here"..."There"..."How did you miss that over there?" Most of them seemed to be fictional but it made no difference. Once she'd pointed I had to force my weakened legs to wherever, lock my wobbly knees - and bend to wipe. Receiving, literally for my pains, sharp open-hand smacks. And it went on and on and on...and on and on and on.

Even after she'd sent me off to shower she had an abrupt change of heart. "That's right. Hands behind. Tighten those abs. Perfect. Smile." After the flurry of clicks, during the whir of the vid, she added: "It's amazing how many erections you can conjure in one day." Presumably getting the reaction she wanted - she took another minute or so to capture the involuntary twitching and rolling of my engorged cock. "I'm impressed," she added. "Truly."

Then: "Good. Turn around. Quick. Hands on head. Stretch up, tighten the lovely red butt." Chuckling, amongst the clicks, she said: "I won't say smile. Tiptoe. Go on, up. Lovely."

Then she slapped my already stinging butt. And again. And a third time. While sending me off to "Shower. Quick. Get cleaned up."

And she followed me to the shower. Catching me sluiced with water. Post coital. Bereft. Utterly. And humiliated. Last night had been embarrassing. This incident in the kitchen had been humiliating. And once again Simone was the very picture of suppressed glee. This time looming up in front of me, holding a razor.

The normally lush pubic thatch was a trifle patchy. From where she'd last night taken the five 'locks' of hair for herself and her friends.

She watched me...and took photos and vids...while I shaved clean and stood, once more sluiced with water - eyes down, observing the soap circling and disappearing down the drain.

When I looked up, finally, she was gone. Stepping out of the now dripping shower, I found there wasn't a towel anywhere. And I did look, everywhere. So creeping out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and into the corridor, I was expecting something.

But even my worst scenario imaginings did not prepare me.

On the big screen TV was me. On my knees. Masturbating. For a rapt audience comprised of Simone and her four friends from last night. For whatever reason, I glanced away to check the time. 'Am 10: 27' read the green numbers on the microwave in the kitchen. My heart sank - even if my erection didn't - because it obviously going to be a long, long, long day...