After a Long Day at Work

After a Long Day at Work

By Kris

You gave me an assignment the last time we met – you wanted me to write for you my experience of our time together that night, how it made me feel, what made me hot. I … spent most of the time lost in the experience, to be honest, but I'll do my best. And as for what made me hot? Well… everything you do makes me hot.

When I came over that day, it had been after a long day at work. I had been thinking we could just share a drink and maybe cuddle on the sofa for a few hours before going to bed. You had other plans.

I walked in, took my shoes off next to the door, as I always do, pausing for a moment to enjoy the warm sunlight through the frosted glass of the doorway – I love that feeling of the warmth of the sun, through a window, without the blazing heat of summer. It was air conditioned inside, not cold, but pleasant, and the fans running here and there in the house caused a gentle breeze to waft around.

I wanted to feel the cool air between my toes, so I took off my socks, neatly, and put them inside my shoes, put them with my attaché in the coat closet. The house was pretty quiet, aside from the gentle noise of the air conditioner, blunted by the bulk of the house between me and it, but I was pretty sure I heard music coming from the den in the back. So, I went to the kitchen, took a look at the little wine rack you keep on the counter, and found a nice bottle of red wine. I opened it, and poured a couple of glasses of wine, and, taking one in each hand, went into the den.

You were there, sitting in the leather armchair that faces the doorway, looking at me expectantly. You were dressed in an black cotton dress, spaghetti straps on your soft, round shoulders, clinging to your firm breasts and your flat abdomen, and spreading out as it flowed down to your ankles. Your hands were resting easily in your lap.

“Put the wine glasses on the coffee table.” It wasn't a casual suggestion. It was your firm voice. I hadn't been in the mood to play with you, but I knew that voice. I haven't regretted going along with these moods of yours before, so I didn't think now was the time to object. I did as you asked, placing them down softly on the coffee table nearer you, and backing away from them.

“Good. Now stand over there,” she said, pointing to the open space between the coffee table and the large flat screen mounted on the wall. There were two skylights built into the ceiling, creating gentle squares of brightness on the pine floor wider than the actual windows, overlapping in between. I did as told, taking a place between the windows, letting the light shine down on the crisp white shoulders of my dress shirt, and glitter off the polished surfaces of my belt and buckle. I looked at you and awaited your command.

“Take off your clothes for me,” you said, smiling wolfishly, “slowly, so I can enjoy it.” You picked up one of the glasses, pulling up your feet onto the armchair and swinging around sideways, to lean against the armrest and face me more directly, and took a slow sip without breaking your gaze.

I slid my hand down the smooth silk of my tie, enjoying the feel of it under my skin. Holding it firmly against my stomach, I loosened the knot with the other hand, slowly, maintaining eye contact with you. I eased it off, and placed it at my feet. Running my hands up my stomach and chest, I enjoyed the feel of my body through the soft broadcloth underneath my own hands. I smiled at you, and slowly unbuttoned my shirt, without breaking eye contact. You continued to sip slowly at the wine, keeping your eyes on me above the rim of the goblet.

Folding my shirt into a neat bundle, I placed it gently on the floor next to my tie. Rising up, I ran my hands along my stomach, letting them tuck ever so slightly under the waistband of my trousers, running it along the sensitive skin of my lower stomach. I unbuckled my belt, and, removing it, slowly coiled it, and placed it on top of my shirt. I unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, easing them off. I was wearing black boxer briefs underneath, covering just a hint of my thighs, and starting well below my waist. I slid my hands along them, enjoying the smooth feel of the microfiber and my skin through them. I tucked my hands into the waistband, and watching you watch me, I slid them down, crouching as I removed them, stepped out of them, and placed them with the rest of my clothes.

I stood back up, straight, with my hands at my side. You stood, too. Holding the wine glass in your hand with your forearm pulled back against your upper arm, and the wine glass dangling above your shoulder, you came up close to me, standing in front of me, eye to eye, your mouth no more than three inches from mine. Your eyes were inscrutable – warm, but stern at the same time.

You walked around me first, circling slowly. When you walked behind me, I kept my eyes forward and remained in position. I felt your hand on the small of my back, and then your fingernails run down my back and along the curve of my smooth buttocks. Turning, so that your stomach was before my back, you ran brought your hand around and ran it up my stomach, letting it run along each muscle of my abdomen, and then up my chest. You enjoyed my hairless skin, shaved as you like it, everywhere below the neck, in addition to my clean-shaven face. Bringing your face over my shoulder, you nibbled my earlobe, and then, releasing it, come around and face me. Changing the hand in which you hold your wine glass, you let your other hand run down my stomach again, letting your fingers graze gently over my groin, running around the base of my penis, enjoying the feel of my skin. You took my partially aroused penis in your hand for a moment, as if weighing it, and then, releasing it, cupped my scrotum and pressed my testicles, one at a time, between your thumb and forefinger, rolling them back and forth, letting the smooth skin shift beneath your pretty fingers.

You stepped back and placed your glass on the coffee table, half empty. Suddenly, taking my face in both of your hands, you kissed me passionately, possessively, as if a famished woman devouring a meal, thrusting your tongue past my lips, and pressing them open, pulling my upper lip in between your lips. Although I didn't move from my position to embrace you as you kissed me, I felt my member stiffen and push into you, and I was overcome with a mixture of love and lust for you.

Releasing me, you stepped back again, turned around, and sauntered away. I didn't dare move from my place. I know that you demand my obedience, enjoy it, relish it. Several moments later, you returned with a number of toys in hand, laying them on one of the leather armchairs. You started with restraints for my arms. They are chromed bracelets, with sueded insides that feel soft and comfortable against my wrists, but also snug and secure. Not that I wanted to escape. Or want to escape. Ever.

You have your den cleverly set up so that elements of your toys are integrated into the decorations. Having a “dungeon” is not really your style. You drew loose two ornamental cables that run down the walls to mounts on either side of the screen on the wall. They run along hooks in the ceiling through to the other side of the room. You attached them to my wrists, and then, going to the other side of the room, you adjusted them, pulling my arms taught and spread in a 60 degree “V” above my head. I tensed up as my arms rise above my head. Coming back, you ran your hand across my stomach again, and took my chin in your hand for a moment, your loving but strict eyes so close to me, boring into me through the inches of space between us.

Kneeling at my feet, you attached restraints to my ankles, and spread my legs apart, attaching a wide spreader-bar to one of them, and indicating for me to spread my legs so that you can attach the other bar. As I did, my arms pulled taut, so that I was spread-eagled, supported slightly by my arms and slightly by my legs, spread precariously wide. You looked as if you enjoyed the sight of me barely balanced. You like to have me on edge like that. And you know I love it too.

You walked over to the pile of toys and came back with a tall chrome posture collar. You ran your hands around the smooth skin of my neck, through my long hair, and then put the collar around my neck, holding my head up straight and facing forward. It snapped shut with a firm click.

“You know that I own you when you wear this. I just like looking at it to remember.” You ran your fingers along the smooth chrome, then brought them to my lips, I kissed them. You smiled, withdrawing your fingers as my lips clung to them, enjoying my vain effort to follow you with my mouth, restrained by both the bonds and the posture collar.

You turned away and pranced back to your pile of toys. You came back with a polished silver paddle.

“I like some pain in my pleasure, my love,” you said. “In this case, your pain. But I think you can take it. Are you going to disappoint me?”

“No, I will try my best not to.”

“Good.”

You took the paddle and rubbed its smooth surface against my bare buttocks, letting me enjoy the cool feel of it. You stood very close to me your body at my side, your eyes again mere inches from mine, your free hand on my chest. Then, without warning, you drew the paddle back and hit me hard.

I winced but said nothing. You struck again and again, never ceasing your lock on my eyes. The paddle made a whizzing sound as it swung through the air, but it didn't prepare me for the “thwack” and the sharp pain as it found its target. After ten strokes, you paused. I felt my buttocks become hot with the flow of the blood. They felt like they were pulsating and throbbing in between your hits. But I was also very aroused. Your free hand drifted down my stomach to the shaft of my penis. You gripped it quickly and firmly, making me gasp. You grinned, enjoying my arousal in the midst of my pain as your hand pulled back and forth along my shaft, pumping it slowly. You brought the paddle around and rubbed it up and down my chest. Then, after letting it fall to your side again, without letting go of my penis, you suddenly took another swing at my buttocks. I again winced, but remained silent. You doled out nine more strokes, bringing my punishment to a total of twenty strokes. Then you stepped behind me, to enjoy your work. I stiffened and arched my back when you brought your manicured nails to my buttocks, dragging them across the still throbbing surface. You massaged my right buttock firmly, enjoying the feel of the muscle under your hand.

Flipping up two panels in the wood of the floor at my feet to reveal D rings with short cords already attached to them, you secured my ankle restraints, already joined by the spreader bar, to the floor. You fetched a leather leash, and attached it to my collar. Then, you began to lower the ropes holding me by my wrists. My wrists lowered down to my sides. Then, coming up to me, you brusquely pushed me back. My feet restrained, I found myself bending at the knees, losing balance, and teetering back, only to be caught up by the wrist restraints with my head less than a meter off the ground. I had not remembered that the rope mounts on the ceiling are actually on sliding tracks, allowing my wrists to draw back with me, but I am reminded of this as I stare at the ceiling in this strange position, held aloft in a pose like a limbo dancer.

I could not stand back up, because I had no balance, and could not support myself with my arms, although I suppose I might have been able to pull myself up by the arm restraints. But, before I could think too much about that, you took the leash in your hand, lifted up your skirt and, stepping over my shoulders, stand over my face. You let your skirt fall down again, so that my face was down underneath it. Suddenly you yanked up, drawing me in between your legs. I noticed that you are not wearing panties. The tent underneath your skirt was filled with your perfume, the sweet smell of your skin, sweating just slightly from the exertion of paddling me, and the earthy smell of your nether regions. You yanked up harder, burying my face in between your lips. I didn't need a third invitation. I began to suckle and lick your labia, running my tongue up and down the slit of your vagina, flicking it inside, penetrating you just slightly, every once in a while. As I continued to lick, I felt your hips slowly start to thrust with the movement of my tongue, your grasp on the leash alternately grinding me into you and then releasing. Your motions drew me to go faster, and faster, nibbling and sucking at your labia, and, as you leaned into me, to move my tongue upwards towards your clit and use my lips and tongue to part it out from its hood and run circles around it. You moan, thrusting your hips harder and harder. I licked faster and harder at your clit, and wrapped my lips around it firmly. I felt like I was in heaven, wrapped up inside your skirt like that, cloistered away from any concern except giving you sexual pleasure. You thrust faster and harder, yanking me up with more and more force into you, until my lips were just hanging onto you for dear life, letting you grind yourself against me until you climaxed in a shuddering orgasm, thrusting against my face as the juices flowed out of you and onto my face. I lapped them up as best I could. You reached a hand under your skirt and ran it through my hair, holding me tight against you, enjoying the feel of me as your orgasm subsided.

Then, stepping off, you walked to the wall and drop me all the way to the floor. My legs were still spread, and bent at the knees, because of the spreader bar and the restraints, and my back arched to try and find balance on the floor. My sore buttocks just touch the ground, making me groan slightly. You brought a glass of wine to me.

“My plaything deserves a drink.” You ran your finger along the side of my mouth. I opened it up, and you slowly poured a little wine in. I let it linger in my mouth, enjoying the taste, mixed with the taste of you still in my mouth. When I swallowed, you crouched down closer and kissed me passionately, running your tongue along the inside edge of my lips.

Putting the wine glass down next to me, you mounted my still erect penis, lowering yourself onto it slowly, letting it slide into you wetly, dropping your skirt around your kneeling body and atop mine below it, pushing my buttocks painfully onto the floor. Running your hands along my chest, You slowly rode up and down on top of me, closing your eyes and tilting your head back, enjoying the feel of your breath as I slid in and out of you. The feeling of your thighs wrapped around me was intensely erotic. You let your nails dig into my chest just slightly, as you began to ride faster and harder, your hips drawing forward and back now as you continued to thrust up and down, lengthening out your strokes, lingering at the moment when I was fully inside you, and drawing back so that I was pressed forward against the wall of you on the inside, and then dragging the sensitive glans of my penis along your insides. The intense and exquisite pleasure was mixed for me with the searing pain in my buttocks as they pressed against the floor with every thrust. You moaned as you thrust harder and harder and faster and faster, your eyes closed, your nails and fingers gripping my chest firmly, my arms still taught with the cables, until you reached orgasm a second time, shuddering and heaving, drawing me into my own orgasm, my hips thrusting up to meet you, my still sore buttocks pushing up off the ground, and then you collapsed on top of me. You smile, wrapping your fingers along the lines of my jaw, and kiss me passionately again.

Before you untied me, you rode my face a second time, while I was still on the floor, this time thrusting and masturbating yourself against my lips and nose. Then finally you untied me, and we took a long, relaxing, hot shower together, drying each other off, putting on bright white terry robes, and nestled together on the sofa while listening to music and drinking a second glass of wine. I think that was when you nibbled at my ear, and then, lingering next to me, whispered into it, commanding me to write you a story about what you had just done to me.

It isn't how most people relax after a hard day at work. But I've learned to trust you, because I am so very rarely disappointed in your ideas to get my mind off of work. And, as I write this, I find myself once again failing miserably to be disappointed. I'm lying in bed, with my laptop on top of my lap, my penis pressing up through my pajamas and the sheets against the warm bottom of it, thinking about you, wishing you were here with me tonight.