Face (Sex, Power, Love)

"Honey, I'm home."

My heart stopped. I had not expected Gina for another hour, and I hadn't finished my list of chores. The biting sarcasm of Gina's cheery sitcom greeting sunk in and my heart jump-started with an explosion of shame. I looked up from the kitchen sink. Gina stood motionless at the entry door in her ankle length fur, hand on hip, glaring, askance. Her beauty struck me to stone. Inexplicable guilt seared my heart, fear froze my will, and lust clotted my throat.

"Well?" She raised a hand as if to accept something from me. What did she want? What did my beautiful tyrant want? With a nasty laugh, she grudgingly conceded to my stupidity, "Look you lazy, uncouth, bumpkin, don't you know enough to help a lady with her coat?"

I managed an arid mumble, "Yes mam. I'm sorry." I grabbed a towel to dry my hands and turned to go to her. In my rush to wait on Gina, my hip struck the corner of the kitchen counter. Pain flashed, balance faltered, and I crashed to the floor into a heap of fresh hurts. A wave of worry washed over the pile of aches. I had again failed my Gina; I was ridiculous, incompetent. How would she punish her stumbling, bungling slave? Would she detest me yet more, or would this ludicrous new humiliation simply amuse her?

I had been tripping and slipping all day from a chain Gina had attached between my ankles before she left in the morning, but this was the first time I had actually fallen. Gina had been all smiles and cheer as she locked the chain in place, "Oh don't be such a baby. This is just for fun; it's just a little game. You like playing games with me, right honey? I want to think of my sweet, loving honeybunch chained up at home right where I want him. Chains are just the perfect symbol of security, restraint, and obedient love. You will play my game; you will wear my chain, won't you? Please, sweetie pie, honey face, sugar tongue?" Her jeering grin transformed into an exultant, arrogant sneer. "Knell."

Games, Gina's games...fear and desire had tumbled my mind, and I silently begged, "Yes dear, I will play your games, I love your games, and I'll take any chance for you. Toss the die; toss me. Or is this chess? I'll be your pawn my Queen. Take me; sacrifice me. Your games are such delicious pain. Make me ache for you; use me. Let me be your toy, your game piece, your fool. Play with me. Spoil me. Please dear, instruct me on the rules of your new game." My eyes had brimmed with tears as I looked up into the cruel beauty of Gina's mocking face. I pleaded in a shattered whisper, "Yes dear. Anything."

Still earlier as I had handed Gina her morning coffee, she curtly ordered me to get dressed. "Put on a dark suit and a blue tie." I had thought she was taking me out. I scurried off to fit myself to meet the world. My spirit shed the humiliating grunge of weeks of house imprisonment crawling at Gina's feet. The suit and tie were clean and crisp; confidence righted itself. Gina approved, "You look good all polished up." However, when I walked Gina to the door, I was once again disappointed, again played for a fool. "Oh sweetie I sorry but you can't come with me."

"No. Today you will be doing more housework for me." Gina laid down the rules of her new game as she locked a short chain my between ankles. "I want you to wear your business suit and a tie just like when you had a real job. Its today's work uniform, with your chain and this nice, pink, frilly apron. Isn't it pretty? Do you like the little red hearts? See honey, aren't I thoughtful? I got these presents just for you, a chain to remind you of my love and an apron so you don't mess up that nice suit of yours.

"When I'm out today I will be thinking of you, my boy hobbling around cleaning the house all dressed up like he still was a hot shot business man—my big, powerful man in his suit and tie—and a pink apron. And so what if you have a chain locked to your ankles? You're not going anywhere, right? Wear the chain for me today. It will remind you of me all day, it will remind you to show restraint and to stay on task. It will remind you to love me.

"There, your chain is nice and tight with just enough play so that you can get about to do all the chores on your list. I will keep your key on a chain around my neck, just like a schoolgirl going steady. It will remind me of you all day. Good boy. Now stand up and walk about. Oh, it is so sweet the way you stumble about with your feet hobbled together like that. You're such a sight. I wish I could show you and your frilly apron to all the guys at your office. But you were fired, so I guess you can't go back."

Gina grabbed my crotch gripping the traitorous erection swelling in my suit pants and jutting against the pink apron. "Such a big hard cock. You love being pushed around; don't you slut? Don't you dare touch this nasty thing until I say so. You must finish your chores to my satisfaction first. Start with the bathroom. Your list."

Gina stuck a scrap of paper listing my chores into my mouth, gave me a vicious little smile, and left for the day. Oh my kinky, freaky little girl, what would she think of next?

The chain did remind me of Gina all day—each time I stumbled and each time it rattled as I crawled about on my knees scrubbing the floor. The apron did nothing more than humiliate me. My suit was ruined. But so what? I didn't have a job any longer—at least no job other than trying to keep Gina happy.

Now my Gina was back, and I had fallen to the floor. From my knees, I looked up to adore her. She stood in the doorway looking down on me with amused contempt. Gina radiated a dark elegance illuminating the profound gloom of her presence, highlighting her detached, superior distain for me, and, it seemed, just about everything. I was enthralled.

What I felt for Gina might have been mistaken for love; her control over me mistook for a magic spell. But what I felt had nothing to do with the repetitious topic of phony love songs, and Gina's control was too real to be hocus-pocus. My passion was a mystery, and Gina's power was a black flame illuminating a blacker night.

Gina was slim, petite, an enchanting wisp of loveliness. However, her frail seeming feline grace was but an ornamental sheath. Within lay steely strength, a sword forged in the fires of desire burning in hearts of the countless men enflamed by her beauty. Gina repeatedly quenched the scorching, scarlet steel in icy rejection, tempering the blade. The hammering of the lust incessantly called to her beauty wrought the blade, and heartbreak honed the cutting edge. Gina's beauty was almost too true to be real.

They all wanted her, men distracted from the real world and their real lives by the assault of lying media images of airbrushed perfect beauty and false promises of easy wealth and continuous excitement. Disappointed men trapped in their humdrum reality; men cheated from the hyper-lust promised by the market hype that constituted their entire world. But Gina was both real and a hyper-beauty, and they all desperately wanted her. Gina knew it; she was habituated to it; she exploited it.

I had fallen to the floor. Gina looked down at her humiliated conquest. I gazed up to her triumphant arrogance. My heart ached and a hot emptiness gnawed at my center. The knowledge that Gina might toss me away on a whim distorted my adoration into blue-black mourning. My elbow hurt.

"Graceful, aren't we?"

I scrambled up, holding my injured elbow. Red-faced shame cooled to common embarrassment. Gina smirked as I approached limping and shuffling from the chain of love strung between my ankles. Gina turned her back to me. She waited, sighed, and then looking over her shoulder demanded, "Well?" I stood dumbstruck, "What did she want, what am I supposed to do?" Finally, Gina sighed, "What did I just say? Take my coat, stupid."

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry." I lifted the fur from her shoulders.

"Sorry? Yes, I suppose that would be the only word for you—sorry." With a contemptuous sneer, Gina turned and walked away to the sitting area of my trendy soft-loft condo. "Luxury urban living! Wow!" So said the promo.

I stood holding her fur. Gina's scent was all around, a lovely perfume, a hint of Chardonnay, and something else, something earthy. Gina's smooth saunter across the room hypnotized. She wore a black turtleneck, tight blue jeans and flat-heeled boots; her short jet-black hair was slicked back. Gina's superbly muscled ass rolled provocatively with each step. Maybe it was that ass more than anything that had lured me into this crazy relationship. Whatever it was, whatever voodoo she had used, I was hooked. She knew it.

I caressed the slick fur weighing heavily upon my hands. The thick luxuriant fragrance of leather filled my head as Gina's scent drifted away across the room. Dull with anxiety and dumb with lust, I gaped as Gina settling into the couch. The pliant leather sighed as it embraced her body. Gina rested one long leg on the coffee table and turned to glare at me.

Gina did not tolerate stupidity or countenance delay. "Eric, just hang the coat up. Get me a glass of wine. Christ, you are dense. The coat, then the wine, ok? That's right, put one foot in front of the other. Walk across the room. Oh, see how good you can be when you listen. Get the bottle of wine, stupid. Open it. Pour it in a glass. Do you have any idea how to tiring this is? Hurry up, you fucking idiot. What did you say you were? Oh yes, sorry."

I scrambled to comply. Worry banged about in my head. "She is such a bitch, but she's right. I am standing here like a moron who doesn't even know how to take a woman's coat or pour her a glass of wine. But it's her fault; she's the one who's turned me into a stumbling idiot. She's tied me into knots. Why don't I kick her out? This is my home. But when she said she was leaving me, I begged her to stay. Why? I could get other women. Before Gina, there were lots of them.

"Maybe, but none like her. Gina is gorgeous, but that's not it. Gina is a controlling, manipulative bitch, but she has awoken, freed, or maybe created cravings within me that are driving me crazy. Before Gina I didn't want to be used, I didn't need to be controlled, and I certainly didn't hunger to be abused. But now, since Gina, I don't think I could live without it. It would be like starving. It's like there is a hole inside me, and Gina fills it. But when she is done with me, the hole just keeps getting deeper, calling out for more, more Gina. Other women always gave me what I wanted, and I always got enough. But when I was done, I always ended up looking around for more, for someone, something else.

"But that was ok; that was better than ok, it was great. A new girl every couple of months, the grass really was always greener the next girl down the line. Fuck and dump; it worked great. But it won't work any more; Gina has done something to me. Now I pathetically struggle to give Gina what she wants, and I'm the one left begging for more, more of her. Her. Just Gina. No one, nothing else, will do. Only Gina can give me what I need, all those perverted things she makes me need.

"But this is too much, this open abuse. It was one thing in the context of sex games. But this treating me like a houseboy, this day-to-day belittling, this is not what I want. Chained up doing domestic chores for her all day, this is bizarre nonsense. It breaks my heart, but I have to get free or she will destroy me. I need some self-respect. I must tell her it's over. Maybe then, she will treat me better; maybe things can go back to where they were. Sure, she has every reason to be angry with me, but this is too much. I will miss her if she leaves, but I must show her I am able to go on without her, or I am lost.

"Concentrate stupid. Give her the wine. Talk to her, but be careful she seems angry."

I handed Gina her wine. Those eyes, those beautiful, brown eyes looked up at me with dismissive contempt. The silent rejection frightened me, weakened me. Gina's exquisite loveliness drew me, hooking me yet again. Self-respect? Panic screamed, "No, don't leave me; don't throw me away. I need you, please." My silent prayer was answered; the scorn in Gina's eyes thawed to amused condescension. Would she tolerate my pathetic longing for her? I could not speak.

"Thank you for the wine Eric. But I can see you haven't completed your chores. There are dirty dishes in the sink and you haven't straightened up this room or dusted. What else haven't you done? Did you clean the bathroom properly? I told you to scrub the tile grout with a toothbrush. Did you do it? If it's not clean I will make your clean it with your tongue, I swear I will. Get your list and show it to me."

I shuffled off to the kitchen counter and fetched Gina's list. Maybe half of the items had been checked off. Gina scrutinized me, impatiently strumming her fingers on the arm of the couch as I stumbled back to her. She smirked and took a sip of her wine before she accepted the list from my trembling hand. Gina glanced at the list, glowered, then arched a brow demanding an account.

"Gina let me explain. Yes, I did clean the bathroom floor. But there was so much on this list, and yesterday you complained that I hadn't been careful enough, so everything was taking longer today..."

"Enough! Did you say I complain? Get this straight—I don't complain. Don't ever say that again or I'm gone. Eric, I am truly sick of you. I try to help you, I try teaching you some discipline, but you just keep whining. You are so weak. You probably can't get anything done because you can't focus; all you can think about is sex. Right?

"And then you accuse me of complaining. I should wash your mouth out with soap. You are nothing more than a naughty little boy. I'll decide whether the bathroom is clean, and if its not, I will really give you something to complain about. As to this list, this is a pathetic effort. I see you found time to wash my panties, but couldn't find time to take out the garbage. You are nothing but a lazy pervert. If you want the privilege of attending to my underwear, you had better learn to take the rest of your houseboy duties seriously." Gina wadded up the list and angrily tossed it into my face with a flick of her hand. Gina paused from her harangue, sighed in exasperation, and sipped her wine.

"Well, there's tomorrow. There will be time tomorrow; you have nothing but time, right? You get yourself fired, and now you have nothing but time. Fired, you are pathetic. You don't mind me telling you how to use all that free time do you? That's appropriate, right? You need the guidance, the supervision—because you're pathetic, weak, and lazy. Right?

"In fact, if you recall, you begged me tell you what to do. Remember, just yesterday, when you were pleading with me not to walk out on you, you said you wanted me to order you about; you wanted me to teach you some discipline. You begged for it, on your knees. You agreed that you are a worthless, pathetic, sex addict who needed the persuasive hand of a strong woman to impose proper order on his dissolute masculine existence. 'A worthless, pathetic, sex addict', those were your words honey, not mine. You said if I gave you a yet another chance you would prove that you could obey without complaints or questions. And now you are whining already. This is really too much.

"Eric, I know exactly what you need—you need to be controlled, controlled very closely. So, don't think; obey.

"But enough, I am tired of this. We'll get back to the issue of chores and your failures later. I need to relax. Are you going let me relax? You're giving me a headache.

"There's only one thing you are any good at, and right now I feel like using you for that. You can be my little pet, my lap dog. Come doggy. Wanna lap it up my slit licking puppy? Now, let's see if my little doggy Eric has been thinking of me."

As Gina dressed me down, I stood in silent attention. Gina put her wine down, grabbed my belt, and jerked me toward her. She pushed aside my apron, unzipped me, and pulled out my rock hard cock. It had betrayed me yet again; I could not conceal how badly I craved Gina's abuse. Gina wrapped her fist around my cock, and ran a fingernail softly across the head. She placed her thumbnail onto the bulge of my urethra and flicked upward, driving precome ooze onto the head of my cock. She dipped the tip of her nail into my cock hole, smearing the juice around; then she dug in. I gasped in pain. Any thought of discussion or negotiation for dignity, any thoughts of leaving, flew from my mind. My self-preserving instincts were utterly betrayed. I nearly swooned.

"So my little puppy dog was thinking about me. Good. And were you thinking only sweet, nice thoughts? I don't think so. You are such a simple bucket of need. I bet you think all sorts hateful things about me, don't you? That's ok. I want you to hate me just a bit. It puts a nice edge on things. Still, here you stand, passive and rock hard. Obviously you like this, putty in the hands of the woman you hate, stiff for the woman you can't resist." Gina's finger toyed with my cock, scratching then soothing, agony then bliss. I whined to suppress screams. My whimpering shamed me.

With a derisive laugh, she released my cock, "Have I been too harsh? Maybe I should just flip that hate over and make you love me again. You are so easy, so malleable and so responsive. Would you like me to be nice? Kneel down, so I can look you in the eyes. That's better. Get down on all fours like a dog; let me stroke my little lap dog's face. Is that better? I like the way the anger in your eyes dissolves into pitiful tears. Cry. That is so sweet. Would you like a little love tap on the cheek? There. Another? Ok."

With that, Gina slapped my face with a roundhouse swing that took my breath away. I gasped, looked into my love's eyes, and passively invited more. Tears blurred the world.

"Oh, good that one left a nice red mark, very attractive. You like being mine; don't you? Don't speak; listen. I know I'm mean, but I can be sweet too. My slit's dripping with sweet stuff. Go ahead; cry. I like it when you cry, when you kneel in front of me and sob like a baby. What a pathetic excuse for a man, no you are definitely not a man. You are just a very, bad boy. Bad. You were even fired from your job for being such a bad, slut boy. Cry.

"But maybe I can forgive you a little because you at least try to be good. I'd love to let my sweet, little dog lap my pussy. Seeing you on your knees crying is making my pussy tear up too, well drip. But sucking too much slit seems to have made you crazy, made you do bad things. I'll let you kiss my boot instead."

Gina leaned back into the couch, crossed her legs, and lifted her boot toward my face. I looked up into Gina's dark eyes. Gina was slightly built; she probably weighed half what I did. But my muscled bulk was meaningless. The ease with which I might have physically overcome her was pointless. I was thoroughly bound by Gina's dominating will, a force stronger than any weight of chains.

I took her boot in my hands, and attempted to kiss the toe. But Gina flicked her boot up, meeting my kiss with kick. "Go on, try again." I leaned forward to obey, but she kicked me again, harder. "Go on. I didn't say I was going to make it easy. Show me how much you love me. Kiss my boot." Gina kicked my mouth again, but I managed to kiss her boot at the same time. Then she placed the tip of her boot between my bruised lips and drove it into my mouth with a twist. "That's it, suck, show me what an obedient lap dog you can be."

I sucked Gina's boot as best I could. I opened my mouth, extended my tongue, leaned in, and took Gina's boot as deeply as I could manage into my mouth. The craving to submit to Gina, to submit to degradation, overwhelmed me. I sobbed, but my tears didn't beg for mercy, they begged for more. Gina sniggered, "Eat it you worthless piece of shit. Eric the lap dog, sucking on a bone. Gobble it up my obedient little pet."