Normally body writing would be various words of ownership or humilation, but today I had chosen something a little different. A list was written on your arm in a marker pen:
1. Prep Ass
2. Prep Dinner
3. Serve master
We are both aware that you could easily remember these without the note, but you embrace the list anyway, enjoying the clarity of the goals.
You had already signed up to your first goal, a lubed up plug sitting comfortably in your ass. In your desperation to impress, you had even forgon clothes and instead decided to dress yourself in nothing more than an apron.
You begin chopping up the ingredients for my meal, the apron doing little to stop your tits shaking as your arms repetitively rise and fall. You consider stealing a bit for yourself, but bruises that shine purple on your bare buttocks quickly remind you what happens when you challenge my ruleset.
Those bruises make you hold your ground and continue working on preparation. As you bend over to place the dish in the oven, you hear me come back in from my last meeting. “Food is being prepared” you shout, and you hear me come in behind you.
“Finish what you’re doing and stay where you are” I order. As much as you love cooking, one thing you crave more is my attention, so you immediately follow orders. You daren’t even turn around as you feel my hand grab your ass, make a passing comment about your pretty plug, before pulling it out. Every one of your holes is mine to use, so it’s no surprise for you when you feel the head of my cock rest on the edge of your hole to replace the toy that was there before. After a brief tease, you feel me slowly slide in. You bite your lip and push back your hips to make sure I work off the stress of my work day. If I wished, you’d be ready to drop the floor and be fucked until I came all over your curves, but instead I merely take a minute or two to give myself a serotonin high. With that, I slide out, and head to the shower to freshen up, leaving you with a playful slap on the bum as a thank you. The brief distraction has left you a little flustered and your arse tender, but you immediately rush to return to your previous responsibilities.
You mull over how you have just been treated as you return to your chores. There’s an interesting juxtaposition when free use is at play; your body is respected for the pleasures it provides so much that it will be called upon at a moment’s notice, yet is matched by being treated like a utility, a toy. Regardless of whether it is right or wrong, your body tingles at the thought of having the responsibility of being there for me to use. You would happily kneel on the floor for hours if you knew it meant that I’d eventually arrive to relieve my sexual frustration in you and leave with a glowing commendation of “good girl”.
Soon the food is finished. It’s well timed with me leaving the shower, my skin still glowing red from the steam. I meet you at the table, just a towel around my waist, as you bow your head to serve. You know to wait for another order, and one soon comes to mind.
“Down, between my legs” I say, as I begin to tuck in. You find yourself having to crawl between the table legs to position yourself, but soon you are in the cramp confines of my lap. I fling the towel open, and you allow yourself to marvel at my cock with a grin on your face.
“Start sucking”.
You do, with glee. Once again your brain enjoys the conflict as you have to process me virtually ignoring you as you try your best to pleasure me. Your tongue teases the head of the cock the same as mine works the food in my mouth, your hand wrapped around the shaft as my hands are with my utensils. You work your pace faster and faster, teasing and playing, until I have to pause my eating as I get closer and closer. This time I do not pull out before I have cum. Soft moans and grunts signify that I am on my edge, and you ready yourself for the hot load to land in your mouth. “FUCCCKK” I moan as I fill your mouth, hot jets of my pleasure being served to you just like my dinner was served to me. You dutifully take it all, and your work is recognised as I grin down to you and stroke your hair.
Once I’ve let myself recover, I return to my food. Not much is left, and you’ve worked so hard, so I decide you deserve a treat. “Scraps for a good little bitch” I say with a wiry grin, placing the plates on the floor with the mix of leftovers for you. In spite of reality, it feels like the best gift of all…
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/v168mr/dinner_service_mffree_useanaloralservice