The Colours of Britain

He quivered. He always did as he waited for my fiancée. A little bead of sweat dripped down his nose as his head hung over the bench, his eyes closed in anticipation. His fingers gripped the edge of the bench as his hypersensitive nerves expected the cool sensation. His mind buzzed with the mind games my loving partner played.

He shivered in the cool room; his body trembling from his nakedness and the excitement of his weekly visit. Every Sunday afternoon at 3pm, he'd be at the door of our remote countryside cottage, dressed in a smart suit and ready for his usual games, before catching the train from the nearby station to London. Every single Sunday.

His session rarely altered from the pre-set script; the overweight, greying middle-aged man would be led into our playroom and would strip naked. My fiancée would tease and cajole him; sometimes his vision would be removed with a blindfold, but she always restrained him before getting to work.

The riding crop was a favourite of hers; she loved horse-riding, and she lacerated his peachy flesh with a few dozen strokes of her ruby red implement. He squealed, and begged for mercy; she never relented. She loved the delicious moment of impact as the long, thin tool swept through the air and landed with a short, sharp noise on the soft skin of an accommodating sub.

The paddle got used too; her ornate mahogany paddle struck the delicate sit spot on his naked thighs and he yelled with every strike. I loved watching him straining at his bounds, jumping and reaching his tiptoes as he desperately tried to escape the pummelling on his sensitive skin.

She parted his reddened buns, slipping a small lubed pink butt-plug into his aching hole, before she untied her submissive plaything. His erect cock a monument to the enjoyment of his predicament.

She placed him on the floor underneath her chandelier and gagged him with a cock-gag; he grunted as the fake phallus filled his mouth. He squealed as multi-coloured wax fell from her candles, positioned over his spreadeagled body and splattered his flesh with navy, claret and ivory splotches of hot wax. "The colours of Britain," she teased as she rubbed chilli oil over his exposed balls and nipples.

He screamed as the burning sensations took hold, begging for mercy when my fiancée flicked his slippery nipples with her fingers or kicked his sensitive testicles with her pointed knee-high boots

Finally, as his abused body had taken as much as it could handle, he'd have the pièce de résistance: she brought him back to the padded bench. He assumed the position with alacrity, climbing onto all fours on the black furniture. His knees would separate widely, his back arched and his chest level with the padded top. Eager for my fiancée. Desperate for his final treat.

He whimpered; his cock grew in anticipation. It always did; he was used to having his arsehole plundered by my fiancée. His forehead touched the jet back mat as his dominatrix removed the bubblegum pink butt-plug. He grunted into his cock gag as my fiancée dripped the cool, viscous liquid into the crack of his smooth buttocks.

He waited, expectantly sighing and relaxing. My fiancée removed her gloves, donned her black strap-on and unfurled a condom down the length of the shaft. He grunted as it poked his sensitive hole and sighed as she slowly eased the six inch dong into his greedy butt.

I'd seen it many times before; every time he'd whimper as she ground her rubber cock into his rectum. His abused cock became turgid, dripping pre-cum onto the black mat. I stared into his eyes but he was too vacant to realise; enveloped in a trance, captivated by the submissive sensations flooding from his rear.

Perhaps it was the abusive and belittling comments from the woman fucking him that brought him over the edge, or maybe it was the firm smacks, domineering play, mouth full of rubber cock or the pounding against his prostate.

But he came; he always did .His fingers were screwed into fists as his body twitched and he groaned loudly into the gag. I watched the cum leak from his cock; fucked out of his submissive body by my domineering fiancée. She continued until his cock stopped leaking, and he was slouched on the mat; exhausted and drained from her dildo.

The post-orgasm aftercare was gentle, smooth rubs of his back and maltreated flesh; he simpered as her smooth hands gently glided over him. Two hours of strong domination finished with a frenetic fuck in his arse.

He thanked her profusely and dressed, passing my fiancée a small bundle of banknotes. "Same time next week, my darling," he cooed. She smiled and they made small-talk, as the strap-on dildo dangled in front of them; a reminder to him of her position. She wished the married politician a safe journey from our remote countryside home to the centre of London.

She waited until he left, and then crouched beside me, knelt in the corner of her dungeon. She looked at her naked partner with a cruel smile, and ran her fingers over my caged cock. "Next time I'm going to make you go down on him," she threatened. "Run your tongue over his cock and swallow his cum." I shuddered. "What, doesn't my little subby like sucking cock? We'll soon change that!"

She cackled as I shook my head. "No mistress, it's just he's a Tory politician. And ..."

She giggled. "You Labour members! The Tories are the kinkiest. It's all those public school dorms, pillow fights. Eager to have a fag!" She glanced at my restraints and small pool of pre-cum on the stone floor where I had been knelt, watching her play, since midday. "Don't worry, you'll get your turn. Eventually. When all my paying customers are done, I'll think about beating your pasty body."

"Yes Mistress."

"I'm going to make you beg."