by D. Katarina
The uncompromising, strict look of my prosecuting self reflects back at me from the mirror. My sharp eyebrows darkened by the mood I’m in, slightly, almost invisibly, soften, so that I only feel them as the thought of what is about to happen completely fills me in. A feeble sensation of worry about her pale, smooth, even skin comes as quickly as it leaves. Now the red-lipped smile appears, that which is rather mischievous, content, provocative.
As I’m smoothening the sleeves of my white shirt I imagine her being on her way to me, without panties, just like I told her: being obeyed to purely for my delight makes me aroused and satisfied. When I was dressing up I took particular care to show as little bare skin as possible; it’s only my face that remains masked with just a few, accurate brush strokes. I tighten my black necktie, adjust the full-length zipper at the back of my leather skirt leaving only about three inches open above the knees for imagination. I feel the texture of the skirt with my palms and find the little knobs of my garters attached to my sheer stockings. Then I step into my black leather stilettos, grab my short leather gloves from the countertop and, leaving the bathroom I switch off the light to see myself shadowed by the taboo that we’ll start breaking as soon as…..
…..she enters and the first thing I check on is her appearance from distance: she is wearing a black short pleated skirt, no nylons, high heel shoes with buckles around the ankles. Then I inspect her from a closer perspective. Her lips are soft, moist and juicy, but she wears no lipstick for I don’t want any lipstick marks. Then I glide my gloved hand, still piercing her with my eyes, lower through the neck which for now I only gently squeeze, then slip it in the cleavage of her white top. This sends her instantly into subspace and I have one more thing left to inspect.
I remove my right-hand glove and lift up her skirt. The smooth skin of her pussy has no panty lines or traces after wearing them, is white, clean-shaven and inviting. To her surprise I slap it and it makes her shudder, but like a good little slut she lightly parts her thighs in hope for my second approach. Her lips are soft, moist and juicy. Smacking it again I feel her little cunt wet. Holding her chin and squeezing her cheeks as if wanting to feed her I force her mouth open making her lick my fingers. Her eyes are closed, her tongue working its way in between my fingers, then sucking them, and while she does this, nearly absentmindedly aroused, I tease her nipple. She wants to touch me, lifts her until-now-resting arms, but they are rejected by my stern NO. “You are here, because it turns me on that you’re such a little horny slut that you let yourself be caned by me. The thought of my cane landing on your ass cheeks makes your cunt wet and hot more than anything. Perhaps your wish to pleasure me will be granted if you behave accordingly.”
But what I really want is to have her bent over the bench, skirt up, legs gently apart and relaxed. I order her to follow me and bend over without undressing. I secure her hands to the legs of the bench with leather wrist cuffs and gag her beautiful sensuous mouth with a red ball-gag. I squat in front of her and I look into her eyes. I see nothing but deep lust through those moist, dark wide-open pupils. Her moans are muffled by the gag. I walk past, touching her side, pulling my fingers all the way to her ass, which, now bare and exposed, is waiting. She knows she will be caned and she wants it. I make her say it. From behind I press my hips against her hot bottom only to glide my hands in between the leather of the bench and her chest to reach her breasts and free her nipples, so I can pinch and rub them.
By this time, having checked her readiness by slipping my fingers in her wet cunt – lips slippery and glistening with pussy juice, my thoughts become wild and start to wander… maybe I should fuck her instead, fuck her hard with my red g-spot reaching strap-on dildo until she pees herself in explosive orgasm and then when I free her she will pleasure me with her kitty cat tongue as long as I want.
These thoughts, however, are rejected by a stern NO of my higher I, who is like a good guardian angel more patient, yet at the same time like a strategic, deceitful devil knowing when the right time comes, striking only then.
So I stick to my plan grinning to myself.