Accustomed to Her Face Ch. 08bybill33©
When you came home from physics class today, you were already excited. You can't help yourself on Friday afternoons - you know that you'll play with me all weekend and you know that his weekend is another step in your training.
You came in the back door and up the stairs to your room. You put away your books. You took off your clothes and put on the white bustier we bought together for these special days. Even as you changed your clothes you were getting wet. You slipped on the white silk stockings and garter belt. You made yourself up. You put on your kimono and headed downstairs, around the corner by the back kitchen door.
You unlocked the heavy door to the basement and went down into the cool dimness of the stone walled rooms under the house. We are beginning to prepare a couple of those rooms together. We are making those rooms especially for you - to excite you and thrill you. Rooms where you will receive the particular pleasure you want so badly. The pleasure of being my submissive.
You walked to the deep recesses of the basement - around the big old furnace to another heavy wooden door which you unlocked. You closed the door behind you as you stepped inside.
Now you are standing in one of the special rooms - two walls are stone - the ones that are the outer foundation of the house. In one of the stone walls there is a window that opens into a brick well. The window is high on the wall. The top of the well has a steel grate. The other two walls are brick. There is a large mirror against the wall. And another on wheels.
There is an old chaise lounge facing into the room a few feet from one of the brick walls. There is a thick, soft rug on the floor in front of it. There is a wooden chair in sitting in a shallow, wide steel pan on the cement floor in front of the rug and facing the chaise. And beside the chair is an old floor lamp.
You have not seen the chair before but you have been instructed about it.
You hang your kimono on the peg by the door. You make yourself comfortable on the chaise and soon, I am at the door with two bottles of champagne and a glass, and a tall glass of water.
I sit next to you. You move to hug me but my look stops you. I smile and open one of the champagne bottles and pour you a full glass. "Have some champagne, darling, tell me what you think of this brand."
You sip. "Oh, it's delicious."
The next time you put the glass to your lips, I reach over and gently push the base of the glass upward so the wine runs into your mouth quickly and you have to gulp it down. You giggle.
You can tell I'm glad to see you. I'm smiling at you.
"You'll have another glass, sweetie." As I pour you another - and again I tip it up so you have to gulp it down you are beginning to giggle more. We are laughing together and holding hands. We talk about your day. When you lean in to kiss me I smile and put my finger to your lips. "Not yet, my love. Later, I promise."
I pour you another glass and you gulp it down. And then another. Good.
"Now this glass of water, dear." It's a big glass. More than sixteen ounces.
"Good girl. Now - you will try the chair. You will like it."
You giggle. You are curious and eager. You cross the floor to the chair. Its seat is steel and shaped oddly with ridges and slots in peculiar places. Toward the back of the seat, there is an opening in it about six inches in diameter. The surface of much of the seat is shiny, but right down the middle, from the front to the back, it looks slightly frosted.
You sit down slowly and carefully. As instructed, you sit so the balls of your feet are on the outside of the front legs of the chair. The legs of the chair sit inside the shallow pan on the floor. It feels cold against your feet.
I am watching you and smiling.
The only place you can sit without discomfort is with your tail pushed against the very back of the seat because there is a ridge at the front edge of the seat that hurts the underside of your legs unless you spread them to avoid it. Spreading your legs, you are forced to lean slightly forward. I can see you think this is interesting.
The seat has dimples that rise up exactly where your weight is sitting - under your buttocks on either side. These dimples make your bottom mildly uncomfortable and you shift to try to find a comfortable spot. You can feel that the opening is right under your back-side.
But you are very aware of the high ridge that goes from the front edge of the seat extending backward to that opening - a ridge that is tapered just right and pushing between your pussy lips. It is alarmingly high. You can tell that if you were to lean even a little further forward, it would completely part your lips.
I am watching you discover your predicament.
I say "Good Girl." You beam at me, mischievously.
You notice that I'm holding three lengths of soft, red fabric in my hand. I cross to you and, taking time to caress each leg, I pull each foot back and tie each ankle to the back leg of the chair.
This shifts your weight forward and that ridge is now pressing hard between your lips. You become aware that the surface of the chair, where it seemed to be frosted, is very slightly rough.
You are alarmed, but you smile, albeit uncertainly, and I say, "Good Girl."
I pull your arms behind you gently. My gentleness is reassuring but I wrap the fabric tight so that your elbows are pulled together and your arms are bound down to your wrists. Your wrists together, I tie them to the base of the back of the seat. This thrusts your chest out and, because of the bustier, it lifts your breasts very high.
Again, you are surprised, but I stroke your cheek to calm you.
"You are beautiful, darling. Want to see?" I ask, but you know the question is rhetorical. You are trying to get comfortable as I wheel the mirror over in front of you - between you and the chaise. Now you can see yourself.
You are a very erotic sight. Sitting in the chair with your legs spread open, leaning slightly forward with your arms tied back and your breasts thrust out and up. Your lips are bright red. You are ravishing. The mirror is two-way and so you can see the ghost of the chaise behind it, but the light from the window favors your side.
I step in back of the mirror and pour another glass of the champagne - the last of the bottle. I bring it to you and hold it to your lips. I feed you the champagne. I stroke your cheek and say, "Good Girl. You are my darling. I will take very good care of you always."
"Yes, Daddy." and you smile at me.
I take one of the candles from the shelf. light it, and put it on the floor beside you.
I kiss your forehead.
I turn and leave. The door closes behind me. It surprises you again.
You are alone in the room.
The only sound in the room is the ticking of the clock. But you can't see its face.
Minutes go by. Five. Ten. Fifteen.
At first, the chair is not so uncomfortable at all, but your bindings have placed you off balance forward and it requires some effort to sit. If you lean forward, the ridge pushes hard between your lips - in fact, it pushes hard on your clitoris. But as the steel warms and you relax, that ridge is becoming your friend. As you get used to your weight bearing down on the ridge, it has parted you pussy lips wide and it is pressing firmly on your clitoris.
The inner lips are parted too. You are very, very wet.
The seat is hard and the dimples under your buttocks cause increased pressure there just at those sensitive points under each side of you - so you begin adjust yourself to a position of least discomfort by shifting your weight from side to side. But as you do this, the ridge, having worked its way deep between your pussy lips, opening them entirely, is rubbing naughtily across your swelling clitoris.
The champagne is working its magic. You blood is beginning to ignite. You look at yourself in the mirror and you look so sexy.
The clock is ticking, the light in the window is fading. Has it been a half hour?
You are feeling deliciously tipsy. Your butt is uncomfortable, but your rocking has excited you and you are enjoying the ridge rubbing back and forth on your clitoris. The surface of the seat just there along the ridge is the slightest bit rough. You were aware of it from the first. But now it's beginning to feel like a kitten's tongue rubbing you very slightly.
You're squirming harder to increase your pleasure but you are getting tired and you are leaning slightly more forward which increases the pressure more and it's just a little much - but it increases you excitement.
Yet - there's another problem now - you are growing aware that you'll need to pee soon. It's not a big problem - yet - and you are enjoying the ridge very much. You are watching yourself. Your wetness has made your entire underside moist.
You want to to orgasm - it's just not quite right yet - there's either too much pressure or not quite the right kind of rub. And you definitely have to pee.
You are breathing heavily. You are squirming and trying to come. Is it an hour now?
The minutes grow longer as you rock on the chair. Your pussy lips are wide open. The ridge is stimulating you maddeningly and the roughness is making you a little sore.
You have to pee desperately.
You are whimpering and moaning.
I am at the door.
I come into the room.
You are squirming voluptuously.
"Daddy, I have to pee."
I am wearing my bathrobe.
I smile and say, "Yes, dear, I'm sure you do. My darling, you are lovely."
"Yes, Daddy but... but."
You are looking up at me imploringly. I am standing right in front of you gently stroking you face and hair.
No matter how you move, you are uncomfortable - the only relief is to squirm and that stimulates you. You can't seem to come and you are very close to wetting yourself.
"You're my very good girl, darling. My good little submissive," I say. I say it over and over as you squirm and I stroke your hair gently. My voice is soothing and encouraging, but you have become desperate. You are moaning and squealing. You are so close to coming, but you can't seem to come. Your butt is sore and now feels bruised from the dimples. Your flesh inside your pussy lips and at the opening of your cunny and you clitoris feels raw. Every squirm hurts, but you can't help yourself - you must move.
You are desperate to pee.
In a desperate bid for relief, you lean forward slightly more, you finally catch the ridge perfectly on your clitoris. You are riding it now and you are going to come.
Then you come. You come hard and involuntarily. And as you come, you can't hold your pee any longer. You scream with pleasure and frustration - you are peeing hard as you come. And as you pee and you feel the hot liquid running between your legs back to the opening in the seat. You hear it dripping into the pan under the chair, running through the hole in the seat.
You involuntarily bear down to release your bladder completely. I am still stroking your head and saying, "That's a good girl. That's my good little girl. Let it all go, darling. That's my beautiful submissive."
You look up at me smiling kindly at you. You feel reassured and warm. You are still wriggling on the chair.
Now you understand the chair's devious purpose. You thrill as you realize that you were made to submit. You were made to orgasm and pee in front of me. You have been made a submissive, but on a new level - it was voluntary - it was what you wanted - and yet not voluntary because you truly gave up control.
You are sore but extremely excited.
You look up at me - into my eyes. It feels so good to be my submissive.
"Come again, Darling," I say. And you squirm and squeal and scream as you come - very sore - the pee still wet beneath you - still dripping into the pan.
"Oh my God, Daddy. I love you so much." You are squirming and rocking.
"I love you too, my darling little girl. Come for me again."
You squeal with pleasure. You are so sore. But now you're not thinking of stopping.
"Daddy - I have to pee again."
"That's OK, sweetie."
"Oh - Oh - Oh, Daddy!"
You release. You squeal again as it burns your chafed tender flesh. You hear the liquid dripping into the pan. It feels so wicked. I reach down as slip my hands inside the top of your bustier and lift your breasts out. I play with and pinch your nipples hard.
Then, as I stoke your face gently again and call you my good little girl, you only want to come over again for me. And you do.
Over and over.
I smile. I am very pleased.