The Longing Weekend

The weekend has come, and with it the opportunity to serve My Goddess uninterrupted. I hear her approach the front entrance from outside and I'm there instantly, kneeling naked in the living room before she's made it through the doorway. Hands behind my back, head bowed, knees and insteps touching the wood floor, I await her command, displaying the body I am grateful to call her property.

"Up", she says, and I rise, wordlessly, my eyes averted from hers, but I see she's offered me her hand. I take it, kiss it, press my warm lips against it to show her my respect and submission. With a flick of her fingers she waves my face back, signaling the end of the display. Is she pleased? Are my lips soft against her fingers, do I hold them gently enough in my hand to show my respect? I gather so, or the wave would have become a backhand to the side of my face. She can make a slap sting with seemingly no effort. But not this time.

She reaches down and gives my cock cage a tug. The cage bounces a little as my restrained cock tries in vain to get hard. It's been days--weeks--since she's let me cum, and the dull ache at the root of my shaft has grown to be a constant reminder of her power over me. Constant. Not a waking moment goes by when I can't feel the yearning, even as I try to push it to the back of my mind while I perform the duties she's set out for me.

Even asleep, I dream of wanting her, needing her. In my dreams, my cock is free, but that does me no good. Hers is the only touch that can soothe it, which she declines to bestow upon me, except once when she takes her fingertips and spreads them in a V for Victory, her complete and unconditional Victory over me, and slides them lightly up the shaft, deepening the agony of my denial.

But we are awake now. She walks to the bedroom, and I don't presume to follow until I hear the snap of her fingers. And when I do, I take my place behind her as she spreads her arms out, giving me the signal undress her. And so begins the best part of my week.

I take her coat and scarf and hang them on the stand. I undo her blouse, and gently unhook her bra, letting the straps slide down her shoulders. A sight tells me she feels the motion, she feels them being removed, but she does not feel my hands on her. She has not yet given me permission to touch her body, and I am careful as I take the garments from her and place them in the corner clothes basket. But I can see her shoulders, and smell the aroma of her warm flesh; she doesn't seem inclined to deny me those blessings, and I draw my breath in deeply as I kneel behind her.

She kicks off her heels, undoes the belt and buttons of her slacks, then leaves it to me to unzip and slide them down her smooth, creamy legs. She steps out of them, and hooks her thumbs in the sides of her underwear, letting me finish pulling them off.

"You may look", she says, and as I kneel behind her backside, the soft light of the bedroom plays over the curves, the shadow hiding the tight hole even as she stands, now fully naked before me. She must feel my warm breath on her cheeks, even as I struggle to contain my excitement. I try not to grunt and drool like an animal, but seeing her like this drains all sense and rationality out of me.

"Kiss," she commands, and I start on the left side, pressing my lips against her smooth, round cheek, planting kisses on top of kisses until I move to the right and do the same. And then I alternate between them, slowly moving closer and closer to the center as I gently kiss her backside.

"Stop."

I don't cry--I have no right to protest her commands--but she feels the sharp gasp as I force myself to accept my disappointment. I had wanted to service her asshole with my tongue. I had thought that was where this was headed. But I forget my place. This is about Her, I must remember, not me. Her wants are to be fulfilled. Her needs are to be met. Her desire is the only thing that is important. As the Superior, She owes her subordinate nothing, and we both know that.

"I want a massage," she says, and points to a shelf in the corner, where the body-length towel lies folded up.

"Yes, My Goddess." I understand her meaning and lay it over the bedsheets. She steps onto the bed, the light accentuating her curves as I fetch the basket with the oils and lotions, turn down the lights, start up the soft music she likes to hear.

I warm the oil in my palms, and then she feels my hands slather it on her, rubbing up and down her back with a push-pull motion, ever so slightly stretching the muscles in her back. She doesn't have to tell me she enjoys a litte tease as well, and the fingertip touch over her skin is just a taste of what's to come. A deep breath, and a light "hmmmmm..." tell me I am doing well, and my heart swells to know she is enjoying my efforts.

And then I start the massage proper, digging in with my thumbs in her shoulders, pressing, pushing, twisting the stress out of her limbs. Her neck and shoulders first, then down her back. Down one arm, then the other. She has shown me how to feel and respond to her needs, and every knead, every rub, every slide of my hands over her is a token of my gratitude for her training me.

Halfway through the hour, she places a finger in her pussy, and slowly slides it in and out, riding it over her clit and plunging it between her cunt lips. My cock cage stirs, as its prisoner, isolated from the pleasure of touch, tries in vain to stand up, and stretch to its full length. But I have more important things to worry about than my petty wants, so I work both hands down her left leg, releasing all the pent-up stress from the week.

When I reach her foot, she grunts, takes in a quick breath, lets out a faint cry, and I know she's cum. I return to the top of her other leg and notice her finger is still there. I can barely see it, but I can tell it's rubbing in little circles, so as I work my way down her leg, I can tell she is building to another climax. I slow down enough, listening to her breathing, until she cums again, this time while I twist and rub her toes between my slippery fingertips.

Does she know what it does to me, does it ever occur to her to wonder how I feel as I see and hear her cum while I service her? The mix of emotions: the joy, at knowing I've helped bring her to her pleasure; the envy, as my cock reminds me for the thousandth time today how long it's been since I have felt that pleasure; the shame, as I remember I have no right to expect anything from her, and remind myself of the privilege I enjoy to be in her presence at all, much less during such an intimate moment.

If she does, she shows no sign of it, nor do I expect one from her. Instead, she pulls her finger out of her cunt, and, still face down, raises her hand slightly behind her, palm up, wiggling her first two fingers. I understand the signal, slide my lips slide around them, my tongue lapping up the wetness from her pussy.

She overlooks or ignores my indulgence when I grunt with the pleasure of smelling and tasting her pussy on her fingers. I suck them clean, and relinquish my claim to them as soon as I finish cleaning them.

"Bathtime now, boy." I reluctantly take my hands from her body, but dutifully make my way to the next room to draw her a bath. I pour the lavender-scented salt into the tub and watch them dissolve in the rising water. I feel with my elbow, like a mother with a baby, to determine the perfect temperature for her. Then I light the candles and cut the overhead light.

She enters the room, and I pivot to the side of the tub to let her step in. Even lowering my eyes, I catch a glimpse of her regal body, light and shadow playing over her skin, her step the stride of one who knows her superiority and rightful dominant place. As she steps into the tub, she extends her hand for me to to hold, steadying herself with my aid as she slips her other foot in and lowers herself down into the warm, inviting water.

She luxuriates in the tub as the fragrant water soaks into her skin. I stand at attention, my arms folded behind my back. After a while she looks at me, almost as an afterthought; but I can tell her gaze is focused on my imprisoned cock.

"Bring that here," she orders, and I decide the best angle for her to see it is if I step my right foot on the side of the tub. The cage dangles in front of her, and she reaches out to grab the thin metal bars, running her finger along the tip.

"You're dripping precum."

"I'm so sorry, My Goddess, if you will permit me, I'll clean it up."

"No," she says. "I like watching your cock cry. Come here."

She reaches behind the cage and grabs my balls, giving them just enough of a squeeze to show she means business, and I steady myself with one hand on the wall as I lean my crotch forward for her to inspect.

She playfully licks a drop of the clear fluid, but the sensation of her warm breath tantalizes my cock, deprived as it has been these weeks of any tender contact. But I cannot get hard, and I can't escape the cage. So my cock cries again, this time releasing a long strand that ends in a full and heavy drop. The yellow light of the candles reflects in the teardrop shape. She touches it, bringing her finger, and the trail of precum, to her mouth. She plays and pulls on it, the fluid flowing and stretching seemingly endlessly, until finally the strand snaps, and she playfullly sucks the considerable amount into her mouth with a giggle.

She knows this makes me yearn for her more. The root of my cock aches with the need. But I am here for her pleasure, and if it pleases her to tantalize me with a brief sample of what could be if only she chose to allow it, then I am powerless to resist.

"Come with me to the bedroom."

We move, wordlessly, into that chamber, she striding majestically, with me crawling a few feet behind her. She points to the bed. I know this to mean "pull back the covers", and I do. She crawls onto the bed, then half slides, half collapses face-first into the pillows. She turns her head to the side, eyes closed, and spreads her legs wide, and I can't help but let my gaze wander up to her perfectly formed ass. She knows where my eyes have gone.

"I'll give you a choice, slave. You can cum tonight, or you can lick my asshole. But not both. You cum, no ass-licking for the entire weekend. No pussy, either. I'll call another slave to perform tongue duties if I need them. So make a decision."

"What would My Goddess prefer," I ask, before I realize what a foolish question that is. She sits up on the bed I can tell she's angry, but only a little, as she swings her legs over the side, and points to where I should crawl between them. I do so, not bothering to apologize for my mistake.

"Present your face" she says, and I crane my neck forward, to await her discipline. It comes in the form of two sharp slaps, stunning but not hateful, on each cheek. "I told you to make a decision, and you should be grateful. Don't burden me with the trouble of making up your mind for you. Don't you have a preference?"

"Yes, Mistress, I won't do that again. Thank you. Between the two choices..." What can I do? I want so badly to cum, the throbbing ache in my cock is constant, an almost audible cry that would drown out my heartbeat if it were to sound out. But there is no pleasure greater than knowing my place, and when I serve my Superior's body with my tongue, I almost transcend my body and it's petty longings.

"Mistress, I would desire to lick your backside, if I may."

"Very good." She lies back down, spreading her legs again. "Pull the covers over my legs, up to my ass. You'll have until the last candle dies out. When you're done, draw the covers all the way up to my shoulders, and go put yourself in your cage."

"Yes, Goddess." I arrange the blanket and sheets as she instructs, and climb up on the bed between her legs. Carefully, without placing my weight on my forearms, I pull apart her two perfect mounds, exposing her tight little bud to my grateful eyes and my warm breath. She sighs a little, rearranging herself ever so slightly before me.

"Now get your tongue up my butthole, slave" she commands. I don't need to hear it a second time. Eyes closed in ecstasy, I press my face down between her cheeks, and thrust my tongue out to probe the tight hole between them. She grunts a little at the sensation, but in my mind I know she's doing this for me, allowing me a little pleasure as a token of her affection. I can tell by her breathing when she falls asleep, all the while kissing and licking her hole.

When I'm done, I realize I've lost track of the time, and the last candle has long since gone dark. I hope she doesn't ask about it in the morning as I crawl gingerly to the corner where my cage awaits, and crawl in, pulling the door shut behind me and hearing the lock click. I drift off to sleep dreaming of release that will not come, but still looking forward to the rest of the weekend