He quickly stepped out of both pants and boxers, wasting no time as he brought my head to his cock. His grip on my hair tightened further as he pushed himself into my mouth. I closed my eyes and focused on the feeling of him. I had taken him orally the night before, but there was an undercurrent in his touch that was different as I knelt in the foyer.
“Do you like that, Abigail? Like me fucking your mouth?”
I couldn’t answer, of course. Not with his cock in my mouth. So instead, I hummed a response.
“Use more suction,” he commanded, and I closed my mouth around him, creating a vacuum and pulling him deeper.
“Yes,” he said. He slipped his hands from my hair to rest on either side of my face, and his thumbs pushed against my cheeks. “Harder,” he said. “I want to feel my cock as I fuck you.”
His hands were rough and demanding as they dug into my skin. He turned his hips to a new angle, causing his cock to strike my cheek as he thrust. During the week, I could bring him to climax within a matter of minutes. That changed on weekends, when he held out longer. I knew part of his reasoning was to allow us both time to slip further into our roles, but I wondered if it also had to do with mastering control of his own body.
I used the time to focus my attention on him and his needs. Serving him. Doing what he wished. As I did, I felt the stresses of the last week and the bustle of the wedding slip away until only Nathaniel remained.
When I felt him shudder, I worked even harder, noting his hands went back into my hair. He held my head still while thrusting in and out of my mouth. The feel of him, rough and feral, captivated me.
This. This was what I had wanted. What I had missed.
He pushed deeply into me and I feared—for just a second—that I’d gag, but I took a deep breath and remained calm as he released. I swallowed greedily, delighting in how I pleased him.
He took a step back, pulling out of my mouth. I redid his pants, then knelt back before him, eyes downcast.
His hand stroked my cheek. “Playroom in ten minutes.”
The playroom was empty when I stepped into it, naked, six minutes later. I knew he’d been by, simply because the door was unlocked. I assumed he was in the bedroom. Our bedroom? I wondered.
Focus.
I looked quickly around the room, just to see if I could determine what he had planned, but nothing looked particularly out of place. His cross was in its usual place at the back of the room, but I doubted he’d moved it. I knew we’d go there eventually, but couldn’t imagine what else we’d do.
I hurried to my waiting spot in the middle of the room. There was no pillow today, so I knelt on the floor, moving into my standard waiting position.
He entered a minute later, and I wondered if he’d been watching me from the door.
His footsteps padded lightly toward me. He was barefoot.
“Your desire for this pleases me,” he said. “For today, you may vocalize as needed, but you will not climax until I give permission. I’ll be pushing differently, so I need you to feel comfortable with your safe words. What are they?”
“Green, yellow, and red, Master.”
He stopped directly in front of me. “Perfect. And if I ask if you’re okay?”
I kept my eyes focused on the hardwood. “I’m to answer immediately and honestly, Master.”
“Yes. Now, to start our time together today, I want you to lean down and kiss the tops of my feet.”
What?
We’d discussed this element of Paul and Christine’s play. I told him while I enjoyed kissing his ankles during our lovemaking on weekdays, I wasn’t sure how I’d like kissing his feet during playtime. I feared it would feel . . . off or degrading or something.
But how will you know for sure unless you try?
“And when you finish, you are to undress me,” he said. “Remember that each item of clothing is an extension of me, and therefore, you will treat them as you would me. After that, you will kiss my cock once.”
He wasn’t that far from me. I wouldn’t have to do anything except lean down to reach his feet. Had he done that on purpose? To ensure I wouldn’t have to crawl? But surely if he was having me kiss his feet, he’d have me crawl at some point in time.
Not wanting him to have any reason to think I hesitated, I leaned down, bringing myself closer to his feet, my hands on either side. In order to help, I pictured what I must look like to him—the way I obeyed, my willingness to submit. I remembered Christine and thought not on how I was kissing Nathaniel’s feet, but giving myself to him.
My lips grazed his left foot.
It wasn’t degrading. It was showing honor and respect to him.
I kissed his right foot, parting my lips as they touched his skin.
It wasn’t off; it was freeing. And I wanted more.
I went back to his left foot and kissed it again, paying more attention to it than I had before. This was more than Nathaniel; it was my master. I went back to his right foot, wanting to be symmetrical and all.
“That’s enough,” he said, after I kissed his right foot for the second time.
I slowly rose to my knees, dragging my hands along his legs, peppering kisses as I went. I got to his waist and took my time undoing his pants, slowly taking them down. He stepped out of them, and I took them and folded them neatly. He was already shirtless, so I didn’t have to undress him above the waist. I stroked his hips and kissed his erect cock once, just like he’d told me, before settling back into my waiting position.
I tried to settle my mind and focused on my breathing, trying to get into the place I needed to be to serve him. Then his hands were on me, moving my hands so they rested on my knees. He gently pushed my knees apart so they were roughly the width of my shoulders. Finally, he tipped my head back so my breasts pushed forward.
He stepped back. “This is your inspection position. I’ll use it for various reasons, one of which is to ensure you are following my commands on personal grooming.”
I felt horribly exposed in this position, and a faint twinge of worry started to work itself into my head.
“I must say, Abigail,” he said, and his tone did nothing to alleviate the worry. “I’m rather disappointed.” He bent down and stroked me. “I thought I made myself clear on your responsibility to wax.”
I didn’t move. “I have an appointment with my waxer on Tuesday, Master.”
“Tuesday is no good when it’s Sunday and you haven’t prepared yourself for me.”
“It’s a weekend off,” I said, suddenly worried. I’d known I needed to be waxed, but I’d thought I was perfectly within bounds to wait until after the wedding. “And I didn’t have time—”
“Are you arguing with me?”
The inspection position was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable. “No, Master,” I said. “I’m simply explaining—”
“You’re talking back. In my playroom.”
If he’d just let me explain.
“I’m not talking back,” I said. “I’m trying to explain—”
“I don’t want explanations, Abigail,” he said, cutting me off again. “I want obedience.”
Oh, hell.
“Go back to your waiting position,” he said. When I’d done so, he continued. “I told you, and you agreed, that you would be waxed as often as possible. You should have waxed last week, simply because you are to be prepared for me at any time. You asked to play today. I would have thought you to be fully prepared.”
Okay, he actually had a point.
“And,” he said, “if you can ask to play, I can ask to play, and if I ask on a Wednesday, I expect you to be ready. Now, being a Wednesday, you can turn me down, but I wouldn’t think you would do so often. After all, I didn’t turn you down today, did I?”
“No, Master.”
