She walks in the door, eager to shed her day as fast as she does her clothes. His eyes meet hers. “Welcome home” he says as he watches her with concern. He has noticed that her days have been long and hard on her lately. He has just the plan to ease her into her weekend.
“How are you to greet me?” he asks, grinning. Her naked form drops to its knees, kissing his crotch lightly through his pants. “Like this Master” she says, slipping back into her home persona. She unties his shoes, lifting his feet out and setting the shoes carefully aside. Next his belt. After years of this action, she still feels awkward undoing the belt from the front, but manages to get it to release. Down come his pants and underwear which she also folds and lays neatly by his shoes.
“Excellent” he says, offering a hand to lift her to her feet. His lips reach for hers, yearning for a connection deeper than a peck on the cheek. It’s time to remind her that she’s home and she’s his now. He wraps his fingers in her hair, pulling her impossibly closer, smothering her with his lips until they both must come up for air. He silently lifts his arms into the air and she eases his shirt over his head, folding it and placing it with his other clothes.
He basks in her flushed cheeks, knowing that she’s likely still off kilter switching between work and home. There’s a constant battle in her mind which doesn’t want to let go of those last pesky problems at work, the ones she hasn’t solved yet. But he’s already planned for that.
He pulls the apron from the hook on the kitchen door. “I bought some ground beef and other stuff at the store, I’d like you to make us some shepherd’s pie for dinner.” He grins as he settles the apron on her. The nudity at home rule is always relaxed in the kitchen. Aprons protect from unintentional grease splatters and burns. Plus aprons make her ass look so cute, with the big floppy bow framing it. It’s just spankable, biteable, grabbable, all the things that mean he should leave the kitchen while she cooks. He can’t keep his hands off of her otherwise. “I’ll work on the set up for the after dinner activities” he says as he leaves her alone for the time being.
She gets to work, collecting the ingredients, preparing the potatoes, making a mess and cleaning as she goes. The knife in her hand feels so natural as she minces the onion. Disparate ingredients give strength to each other, the onion enhancing the tomato base, sour cream bringing the potatoes to life. Popping the dish into the oven, she leans back against the counter and sighs. The smell of her kitchen, her creation, grounds her. Her mind lets go of even more of her day as she nibbles at her lips, wondering what’s in store after dinner. “Master, dinner is in 5 minutes” she calls out.
He saunters out from the bedroom, excitement glinting in his eyes. Just the set up alone has gotten his blood pumping. Who is he kidding, it’s not the set up, it’s the days he’s spent planning, imagining what this evening would hold. Even though he knows what’s in store, his anticipation level still matches hers.
Dinner allows them to connect, to talk about their weekend plans with friends and family. He clears the table and has her stand in the dining room for inspection. He circles her, touching her breasts to lift them, to feel their heft. He stands to the side, tracing his fingers down her arm, observing the chipped nail polish that implies a day spent typing aggressively at her keyboard. He notices her eyes flick towards him. “Eyes ahead” he reminds her, with a quick slap on the ass.
“Yes Master” she whispers.
“Louder” he says. The next “Yes Master” comes booming. His smile blossoms as her reservations drop. He continues circling her, runs the back of his hand across her ass cheek, outlining the lingering redness from that slap. He loves how her milky skin just erupts in color that is slow to fade.
“Bend over the table” he commands, knowing she’ll do as he says immediately. He first spreads her cheeks to expose her asshole. Such a beautiful sight, he loves to be reminded of the joy he’s brought her there. Then his left hand spreads her lips while his right hand traces a line towards her clit. She’s already wet, he just loves how eager she is for him. He slips a finger inside, hears her gasp in surprise. He removes it just as quickly while his left hand reaches for her hair, pulling her head so she must look at him. He makes her watch as he licks her juices off of his finger. It’s important she knows he is eager for her as well.
Still using her hair as a lead, he pulls her back to standing position. “Your inspection passed muster, follow me to the bedroom.” He always enters the room first because he cherishes the look on her face as she begins to get an idea of his plans. Her eyes dart to the flogger on the bed, the wand plugged in by the dresser next to the good girl chair, the towels folded on the nightstand. A fairly simple night planned as she can tell. She means to sigh but it escapes as a bit more gutteral than that.
“Front or back first?” he asks her while directing her towards the bed with a firm hand on her low back. His fingers dance lower and then he pulls them back.
She considers, knowing that this choice really has no significant consequences, the final outcome will be the same. Her answer denies him nothing, just gives a delay. She doesn’t even answer, just lays down on her stomach, her head turned to watch him in the mirror over the dresser. He picks up the flogger, weighing it in his hand and giving it a few practice swings. She’s watched him do this so many times and it brings her great comfort to see the ritual yet again.
As the flogger strokes begin hitting her back, her eyes close as her final tension releases. The sensations in her back flare in concert with the thwumping sounds and his rhythm. Starting slow and lighter allows her to tolerate the deeper and harder strikes coming. Each one feels delicious. Her hips start to gyrate and he knows it’s time to move on to the front. He loves how responsive she is, how this is driving her crazy with need. As he orders her to turn over, she knows the position to take, with her legs spread wide and her hands by her sides. His heart swells, knowing she’s so well trained.
This time he starts just dragging the ends of the flogger strands over her breasts and abdomen. He loves it when she chooses to start with her back because she’s so responsive when he gets to the front. Who is he kidding, he loves when she chooses the opposite as well, starting with the breasts allows him to go even deeper and harder on her back. It’s a win-win for him, exactly why he gives her the choice.
Her breasts have been pressed into the bed, their only movement from her hip gyrations. Now she’s free to arch her back as her body tries to meet the flogger. “No, I touch you when I want to. Be still.” Her breath catches and her body stills. There’s something so primal about flogging her breasts. He loves to have her lying down so that she can’t back away from it. He knows exactly how much she can take, when to up the speed or intensity and when to back down. Since she always closes her eyes during this, he’s free to read her face for any deviations from his expected response. She’s in her zone. He does one final strike to her pussy and her eyes pop open. “I thought you might be sleeping” he grins as he assists her to stand. Her legs are always wobbly after this, he lets her settle before motioning her to the good girl chair.
This is usually one of her favorite toys, but he knows she’ll be cussing him under her breath soon. Her typical shower of pleasure during forced orgasms will be stymied tonight. He chooses not to tell her about the change in rules until her arms and legs are secured to the restraint clips. It’s safer for me that way he thinks, while also knowing he’s lying to himself. He just likes to watch the realization hit her when she’s already vulnerable. Her vulnerability is such a gift to him, he only uses it for her good, despite what she may think.
“You’ve got 10 minutes in the good girl chair tonight. Think you can handle it?” He asks. Her excited “Yes Master” echoes in his ears. She trusts him so fully, his heart soars.
“You may have spoken too soon, you don’t even know the rules yet” he teases. Her eyes get wider. “In those 10 minutes, you may not have an orgasm. Don’t let even one escape.”
“No” she says. “You know I can’t do that.” He laughs, it’s so much fun to watch this highly orgasmic woman struggle at the thought of containing herself. He knows the mental discipline it will require and knows that she has what it takes.
“You’ve done it before, I know you can. Now, any more complaints from you and I’ll have to stuff your mouth with something to keep you quiet.”
She goes silent, which just makes the buzzing of the vibrator even louder as he secures it to her leg, the end buried in her mound. Her silence ends with a deep rush of breath. She pleads with her eyes but knows not to use her words. Her hips rock as he touches her breasts, still on fire from the flogger. He grasps a nipple between his teeth and tugs at it. She moans and he watches her flush spread from her face down her neck and on to her chest. It’s a beautiful sight to take in. He gives the other breast attention too. His sensual touch will be much harder for her to ignore than the sting of the flogger. He’s happy to see his plan coming together as she squirms and pants. He knows she can’t keep quiet for much longer. He walks behind her and suddenly grabs her by the hair. Her squeal lets him know this was unexpected and she almost loses control. “Please Master, may I come?” she begs. She knows it’s futile, but she can’t help but try. He loves her for this, for being so desperate and so needy in front of him. She doesn’t show this side to anyone else.
“I told you not to talk” he says. “I’m going to have to muzzle you now.”
He returns to stand in front of her. “Open wide” he says as he slides his dick into her mouth. For a woman who hates ball gags, she sure enjoys having her mouth full in other ways. Her tongue hungrily slides over his head, lapping up all of his precum that escaped as he entered her. Damn, he loves that this is the only area of her life where she is greedy. She wants all of his juices to herself, not a drop spilled.
Her need to focus on the blow job, made more difficult by her hand restraints, helps her to meet her 10 minute goal. He gets to control the depth and the pace as she’s immobile. He knows what she can tolerate and enjoys pushing her right to those limits. He enjoys the entire experience, the feel of her mouth on him, the sound of her whimpering almost drowned out by the buzzing wand. The smell of her need, dripping from her. The beauty of her in front of him. When he releases her from the good girl chair, her palms bear marks from her fingernails dug in from making fists. Her eyes are glassy and her hips continue to move in sync with her desire. More carefully this time, knowing she might actually need help, he assists her to rise and move back to the bed.
He spreads the towels out and motions for her to lay on top, face up, knees bent. He pushes her knees farther apart and brings his head to her pussy. “You smell like you’re turned on” he teases, “I have no idea why that would be.” His tongue darts for her clit and she squeals. “Remember, I still haven’t given you permission to come yet.”
He’s not going to torture her much longer, he just needs to get into position and can’t have her exploding before he’s ready. His mouth envelops her clit while his tongue works her hood open. “Come for me” he says and her body erupts. Back arches, fingers splay out, hips rise to the sky. His face chases her movements, keeping pressure on her mound. She’s unearthly silent, but he knows this is because she hasn’t taken a breath yet. That moment of silence makes his hips gyrate too, her pleasure is too intense for her to even breathe. Her nectar comes spilling out as she has a body quaking orgasm. He gets a mouthful of her juices and rises to share them with her, kissing her deeply so she can taste herself as well.
Her body quivers with aftershocks. He holds her, each quake affecting him like an electric shock. He needs her, has waited as long as he possibly can. As he prepares to enter her, he mentally gloats as he knew she needed this huge explosion and the orgasm denial made it happen just as he had planned. He is her Master, a title earned having gained mastery over her needs, her moods, and her body. But, she is his muse, the reason for his days long planning for this night. He can bring the right things out of her with careful consideration. He longs for the next Friday, when her project will end, her stress level will recede, and a different plan will take shape. But for now, this is exactly what both of them need.
“You’re such a good muse” he huskily states as he looks into her eyes and slams his dick into her pussy, watching her melt and rise to meet him at the same time.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/jn1man/masterful_friday_night_ritual_mf_bdsm