‘You give a lot of orders, don’t you?’
Suddenly, on a whim, I pick the crop back up and give him one heartfelt final swipe, scoring a beautiful deep crimson line across all the others.
He shouts out in stunned alarm. ‘Oi!’
‘Just making sure you remember who’s running this scene, boy.’
I put my rubber-gloved hand on his bottom. The heat pulses against my bare fingertips and I enjoy running them over the slight ridges the crop has raised. I take the crop and slide it between his trembling thighs. The flat leather end nudges his balls; I push them to and fro while the handle slides over his perineum.
Now the noises he makes are different, low sighs and Os of pleasure. ‘Ahhh, nice,’ he manages to vocalise.
I angle the handle upwards so it parts the cheeks of his bottom, and push it up into the cleft. I grind it round and round, closer in. I wish I could see his face now. I pull the rest of the instrument through his thighs and press the handle up against his arsehole.
‘Oh God,’ he says harshly, urgently. ‘What are you doing, Soph?’
‘What do you think I’m doing?’ I twist the handle against that helpless bud.
‘Lube? Maybe? If you’re … you know. If that’s what you want to do to me.’
I laugh a cruel domme-ish laugh. ‘Relax. I’m not going to bugger you. Not yet.’
I put the crop away and move around to face him. He looks strained and flushed, his normally pale face florid and shiny. His eyes are bulbous and staring.
‘Sophie, please,’ he whispers.
I see his cock standing erect, reaching all the way up to his navel. ‘You want something?’ My hand hovers around it, never quite touching it.
‘Oh yes, touch it.’
‘I think you’ve forgotten the formalities, haven’t you?’ I wave my fingers, trying to achieve a fanning effect that he will feel.
‘Please, ma’am, please touch my cock.’
‘I don’t think you deserve it.’
I graze the swollen head, barely, with my fingernails. He convulses, shuddering out a long sigh.
‘Like that, you mean?’
‘Harder, please, ma’am, grab it, squeeze it, please.’
I drop to my knees and breathe on it.
‘Oh God, you bitch!’
‘That’s no way to talk to your mistress.’ I reach around and smack his arse, then pour more hot breath on his shaft and his tight, hard balls.
‘I’m sorry, ma’am! I hate being teased. I hate not being in control. Oh God, please suck it.’
He undermines his plea by trying to twist away from me, presenting me with a pale flank instead. I smack him again and hold him by the hips, enjoying the latent power held captive under my palms.
With the very tippy-tip of my tongue I draw a slow upward line from his root to his head. I make it last. He tries to throw me off course, thrusting into my face, but he can’t get the purchase he needs to succeed.
I laugh as I lick, pinching into his hips, wriggling my rubber-cased arse where he can’t fail to see it. I give a taunting little flourish of tongue when I reach his frenulum and then pop off and back right away, smiling at the pained lines on his forehead.
‘Oh Christ, Sophie, please …’
‘Open your eyes. I’ve got something to show you.’