He was told nothing before he arrived. As well he shouldn’t be. Fucking unsophisticated cunt. He’s just a warm good looking piece of flesh procured for my enjoyment.
There he is. A dark, beardy, defiled, Jesus Christ look alike. I’m going to enjoy this.
‘Sit!’ I command, striking his naked bottom.
He looks all befuddled until I gesture towards my special chair. It has a circular hole in it for his pathetic balls to dangle through. He sits. I strap his arms to the backrest. My hands rove through his dark hair and I order him to speak my name.
‘Who owns you today Owen? Whose bitch are you? Hmm?’
His chocolatey brown eyes war with mine. I know there’s a touch of Dom in there. But he isn’t showing up today. Lady Sheba won’t have it.
‘Sheba’s,’ he drawls in that lazy Falls Road accent of his.
I laugh and place a red leather studded high heeled boot on his tight muscular thigh.
He thinks he’s got away with his insolence. My nipples and neurons say otherwise. Both are poised to fire. A backhand to the face is warranted. Some Mistresses would do so. No sweat.
Not me.
I have learnt my prey over a number of months. I know what he expects. How he feels this game will pan out. Silly, silly little Owen.
So I make a phone call.
‘Hi, Jordan. Are you busy at the moment?’
Of course he isn’t. He’s always at my beck and call.
He doesn’t live far away. He’s here within the half hour, along with the goods he has been asked to bring.
I can tell he’s made an effort to look hot. He smells good; all aftershave scented as if he’s been running through a pine forest. Women dig that kind of thing. Even me. It’s a harkening back to more primitive times that makes our uteruses twitch.
Behind me, Owen, still tied to the chair, rolls his eyes. I don’t react. It means less than nothing. And I’m too busy stripping Jordan and arranging him the way I wish on my dining room table anyway.
‘Such a good boy,’ I remark, examining him as he presents himself to his Mistress.
I crouch down and drag my heated tongue silky smooth from his anus to the root of his cock. He doesn’t make a sound. But I know he is groaning inside his head.
This is what differentiates me from the common garden variety woman. Awareness.
I’m aware that his whole body is singing. Every inch is crying out to be touched. Keening to have my something.
And behind me Owen is…well Owen. Untamable.
So, I grab my riding crop and thrash him once on the thigh. Those handsome legs have cost me many a nights sleep. He fucking deserves it. Man slut.
‘The fuck!’ he yells.
‘You know what that was for. I suggest you tone it down.’
The barely hidden glare he gives me results in me forcing his mouth open and spitting in it harshly.
He spits back. Right in my face.
Fucking brat.
He’s only trying to get my attention. To make a point. So he shall have none.
I push his chair closer to Jordan’s so he can see what I’m doing. I know he doesn’t like it. But too fucking bad.
Dressed in my burgundy and black lace/velvet basque, stockings and heels I bend down purposefully erotically to retrieve what I want from the bag Jordan brought.
I swirl a little maple syrup onto his dusky nipples. They shine like eel skin in the candle light.
‘Pretty,’ I say, fluttering my eyelashes. Then I flick his man tits.
I spread his legs and squeeze the bottle about an inch away from his gorgeous hole. The golden liquid pours over him. I see his cock flinch. It grows rock hard.
I stand back and look at him like someone appraising an artwork, ignoring Owen, who I’m quite convinced, is trying to negotiate a treaty with his own errant cock.
‘This needs a few highlights,’ I say.
I shake the can of squirty cream and encircle Jordan’s maple syruped nipples with it. His cock’s purple head disappears beneath a cloud of cream and both his big toes are anointed.
I hear a laugh from behind. Owen is trying to falsify his true feelings.
He receives no outward reaction from this Domme, other than to sprinkle some unicorn rainbow sprinkles over my Jordan dessert.
My dessert is looking uncomfortable now though, sitting on that table.
A warning is needed.
‘If you dare cum before I say, you’ll be sent home sans clothes and spanked.’
He nods. I then take out the piste de resistance from the bag.
A chocolate ganache creme patissiere filled donut.
I can’t help but give a wicked grin. I nibble and finger a hole through its center sensuously.
Jordan looks about ready to implode.
‘Sit still,’ I say.
And I slide the donut ring over his cream, maple and sprinkle covered cock.
He nearly has a fit. He grabs my shoulder. I bat his hand away.
‘You need to show Owen what he’s missing by being a bad boy,’ I tell him. ‘You need to last.’
He throws his head back and I frig him with the donut lubed with maple syrup, cream and adorned with unicorn sprinkles, taking hungry licks, sucks and nibbles now and then.
His tightening balls catch my eye, so I suck all the cream off them and suddenly he erupts his copious jus all over my illicit dessert. My breath catches at the hotness of it.
‘Feed me,’ I command.
And he does so, removing the cum covered pastry, serving his Mistress, as Owen watches how it is done.
Hopefully he has learnt something.
[https://samanthajwright.com/2022/02/25/donut-discipline/](https://samanthajwright.com/2022/02/25/donut-discipline/)
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/t12jr8/donut_discipline_a_food_sex_story