The Life Of Riley

1Part II.  The Life of Riley

       Welcome back, dear friends.  My husband begs me to thank you all profusely for allowing me the time to deal with certain issues between us that required my urgent correction.  But now, without further ado and preamble, I would like to describe for you, as promised, a typical day in my life, as it has evolved over the years together with the person who is, without any doubt, the love of my life.

       On a usual work day, my husband gets up before me in the morning, about 5 AM.  He likes to get into work early, usually by 7, as he can get so much more done when he’s there virtually alone, before the rest of his staff arrive.  It also sets a very good example for them, and it’s probably one of the many small reasons why he has such a successful and lucrative business.  His early arrival in the morning also has the important benefit to me, that he is able on most nights to get home at a reasonable hour, usually before me.

       Before he leaves in the morning, he wakes me with a kiss, generally around 6:15.   I spend a more leisurely amount of time getting ready, having the breakfast and coffee he has prepared and left for me, while reading the paper he had already brought in.  I arrive at my office around 8:30, and spend a busy morning setting agendas, approving strategic plans, and making phone calls to higher level contacts and benefactors.  Over the years I have put together a highly efficient and dedicated staff, culled mostly from the best of the people I had worked with in the past, who had seen and grabbed the opportunity to do the things to which we are all committed, in a better way with me.  They now do most of the daily nitty-gritty work, leaving me to oversee the grand design, and to grease the skids for the overall funding necessary to make all of our projects thrive.

       By noon, I am ready to leave for lunch, which I have every day with my husband.  We alternate among several high end restaurants around his office.  He is usually there before me, seated at a table, and as the Maitre-D guides me to my place, my husband jumps up, a delighted smile on his face, as he greets me with a kiss, and pulls out my chair for me to be seated, before sitting back down himself.

       For reasons that will be apparent later, lunch is his biggest meal of the day.  He usually orders soup, salad, and an entree, but he knows that I keep a watchful eye to make sure that he is eating healthy.  I want to keep him around for a good long time.  I keep things light for myself, a soup or a salad only, as I generally go to our country club later in the afternoon to play tennis, and I don’t like to play with a full stomach.

       We usually spend about an hour dining together, and enjoyably discussing our morning’s activities and plans for the rest of the afternoon.  I often have people that I want him to call for me, to lend his influential voice to requests I have made.  Upon finishing our meal and our time together, and he goes back to work, I also go back to my office for only an hour or so, to tie up loose ends for the day, before traveling to our club for my daily tennis game.  While I have come to enjoy playing tennis, as it helps keep me in good condition, it is even more important in the people that I play with, the wives of the movers and shakers that keep my organization financially sound and able to do the things I need and want it to do.

       Feeling pleasantly tired after two hours, and three sets, I drive home without changing out of my tennis garb.  I like to bathe at home.  After passing through the electronically controlled gate, and down the long, tree lined driveway, I come to what can only be described as my dream house.  Not too large for just the two of us, it is situated set back on a lovely and secluded thirty acres.  Pulling into the garage, I am happy to note that my husband’s car is there before me.  There are some days when his work forces him to get home late, as occurred yesterday, and on those days I am not pleased.  But most of the time he is able to arrange things so that he is home to greet me when I arrive.

       Entering our house through the garage entrance, I step through to the main entrance foyer, where I am met with the sight that never ceases to thrill me to my core...

       My husband

        ... on the floor of the hallway, naked on his hands and knees, forehead pressed to the ground, and arms stretched out before him, palms up in obeisance ...

        My slave.

       I believe, at this point, that I need to digress a bit again, to provide some further explanation.  I had mentioned earlier that on our first dinner date together, emboldened by his undivided attention, I had revealed to Riley things about myself, and my personal and private life, that I had never discussed with anyone before.  And I was almost instantly horrified that I had done so, firmly believing that it would drive him away in a heartbeat.  What I told him that night was that while in my everyday public life I was forever committed and dedicated to actions and causes that would help those in need and less fortunate than myself, in my private life, for reasons that I have never been able to fully understand, I have a great need to be in total control ...  to be the center of all attention ...  to have my wants and needs be of the most paramount importance.

       This, undoubtedly, is the major reason why I had never before sought any long term romantic relationship.  I just never suspected that there would be many, or even any, males who would ever want to deal with me in this way.  To my very great surprise, after my embarrassing revelations that night, Riley Jenkins did not run away, but continued to pursue and woo me, with even greater vigor.  When he told me later on that he had fallen head over heels for me from the very first day, a more appropriate term may have been that he fell head UNDER heels.  As we got to know each other so much better in the following months, especially after our first night of intimacy, I learned that what he yearned for most in his private life was to serve the lady he loved  in any and all ways that she needed ... to bring her the most joy and happiness ... in any way that he could.

       To say that I was astonished that I had met by chance the one person whose desires and needs so perfectly coincided with mine would be the understatement of my life.  But neither of us was about to question fate.  So, over the years that Riley and I have been together, we have grown into our own unique entity.  In the outside world we are husband and wife, who adore each other’s company in both our business settings, and in the myriad number of social activities that we so enjoy together and with our many friends.  We are loving and equal partners in every  way.  But my slave is always on call.  We have a code word which, when given, signals to him that his silent, but unquestioning, absolute obedience is required immediately at that moment.  It is rarely used, but always available.

       

       It is in our private life, however, that we have more fully evolved into a oneness of being that is so perfectly balanced.  The yin to each other’s yang.  I truly believe that neither on of us could exist any more without the other.  I certainly know that this is true for me, and I have no doubt that it is for him as well.  He tells me so every day.

       I gaze at the prostrate form kneeling before me for several long moments, in gleeful anticipation of another night of wedded bliss and comfort.

       “Good evening Dildo.”   I finally say to him, using the name I have given to him for when we are alone, which so aptly describes his primary role in this part of our lives.

       Knowing that this is the signal to begin his service for the night, my slave crawls forward, kisses the tops of both of my tennis shoes, then kneels up and back onto his heels, a joyous smile creasing his face.

       “Good evening Ma’am.” which is the only appellation that he is allowed to address me with in these circumstances.  I had said that he was naked, but that is not precisely accurate.  At home, he always wears a studded collar, and usually, except at those rare times when I deem otherwise, another item:  a plastic cage encasing his phallus.  It is not worn because I need to enforce chastity.  My slave would never conceive of seeking such enjoyment outside of our marriage.  Nor would he ever consider, or even desire, seeking such joy and relief  with me, or through his own ministrations, without my express permission ... which is given only at times of MY choosing and whim.  No, I do not have him wear it to prevent such actions.  I have it on him purely and simply for control.  My control.  So that both of us always know that the very essence of his manhood, except for those rare moments when I so decide, is always under my lock and key.  Of course an additional benefit is that as my slave is almost constantly aroused by his service to me, he is yet denied the full, if maddeningly unfulfilled physical expression of that arousal by his imprisonment.  And his ongoing tight straining within and against his cage also keeps him fully aware of his place.  That he is here solely for my pleasure, and not in any way for his own.

       

       “I do hope that the rest of your afternoon passed agreeably.”  He continues, still on his knees, his smile never abating..

       “Well, I didn’t play very well.”  I answer.  “I lost two sets to one, but I did get a good workout.  And I think I convinced Helen Meyer, whom I played with today, to ask her husband to bring our request for partial funding of the new South Street soup kitchen before his Board of Directors.”

       “Knowing Helen, she will be very persuasive,” he replies,” which means that he will be very persuasive with his Board.”

       “I certainly hope so.  We’ve needed a soup kitchen and center in that area of town for far too long.  Oh, and by the way, I could use some influence in the right places to obtain more favorable terms on the lease there.”

       “I’ll get right on it first thing in the morning.”  He promises.

       “Good.”  I conclude.

       My thoughts are then distracted by a delectable smell that is wafting in from the kitchen.

       “Is that my dinner being prepared?  It smells delicious.”

       

       “Yes Ma’am.  It should be done in just a little more than an hour.”

       “Perfect.  That should give us time for your workout, and then for us to get cleaned up.”

       I snap my fingers, and begin to walk to our exercise room.  My slave stands up and follows behind me.  I do not require him to crawl from one place to another in our home, even in my presence.  It would just be too cumbersome and impractical.  He spends enough time on his knees before me.

       Our exercise room is very well equipped, with a treadmill, an elliptical machine, a stairmaster, and a universal weight apparatus.  There is a 55 inch plasma TV on the wall, to watch when exercising, and a nice couch from which to watch if not.  I like my slave to keep fit, and I insist on, and monitor his work-outs nightly.  On different nights he uses different machines.  Tonight I select the treadmill for him.

       “Set the machine for forty minutes.”  I instruct him.  “I want you to reach five miles in that time tonight.”  This has been a goal for quite a while, which he hasn’t yet been able to achieve.

       As he mounts the machine and adjusts the settings, I turn on the TV so that we can both watch the news as he works, while I settle back comfortably on the couch, diagonally behind the treadmill.  As he runs, I must admit that I hear more than see the news.  I am too entranced by the naked form toiling before me ...  watching the buff, nude body in constant motion ... bare feet quietly slapping the revolving vinyl mat ... legs ever churning forward but advancing nowhere ... a firm buttocks, each half alternately contracting and relaxing, and always jiggling most pleasantly ... and two bent arms pumping rhythmically like pistons on either side of a sleek upper torso just beginning to form a shimmering sheen of sweat.  This intoxicating spectacle also brings me some amusement by the view of his plastic encumbrance ... the very symbol of my ownership ... bouncing up and down in front of him with every stride.

       At the ten minute mark, he has traveled a mile and a half, and I begin to think that he has a chance to reach his goal.  By twenty minutes, he has completed just under three miles, but he is beginning to tire, more noticeably so at twenty five.  As he reaches thirty minutes, he still has a mile and a quarter to go, and he is clearly laboring.  With five minutes left he is still shy by about three quarters of a mile, and failure seems certain.  He slowly struggles to pick up the pace, but at thirty-nine minutes he still has two tenths of a mile to complete.  Straining furiously, he sprints with all his remaining strength, and with just under ten seconds left, the mile marker hits five, and he glides down over the final seconds in triumph.

       “Bravo.”  I exclaim, clearly excited by what he has achieved for me, merely for the want of my asking.  With his sides heaving, and bent over at the waist with his hands on his knees, I can still see the pride and devotion in his face as he basks in the glow of my one word approval.

       I allow him several minutes to cool down and catch his breath before directing him to his next duty.

       “Go draw my bubble bath, and then wait for me before taking your shower.”

       After bowing his head with a “Yes Ma’am.” he scurries away to the master bathroom to do my bidding.  I go into our bedroom, and select what I am going to wear for the rest of the evening after my bath.  I still have not cleaned up or changed after my tennis game.  Entering our huge, grand bathroom several minutes later, I find him, as expected, on his knees by our old fashioned, stand alone tub, which is filled with scented, bubbled water.  This is set in the middle of the room.  On one end of the room is a large fully glassed shower.  On the other side is a Jacuzzi.  Set along the back  wall is a massage table, on which I have spent countless wonderful hours under his well trained  hands, but will not do so this night.  I walk over and sit down in the chair next to the table, and decide at that moment to give my slave a little treat.  He did achieve his work-out goal after all.

       “Dildo, before I bathe my whole body in the tub, I want you to give my tired and aching feet a tongue bath.”

       

       Eyes alight with pure gratitude, my slave quickly crawls over before me, unlaces and gently removes both of my tennis shoes, followed by my sweaty socks.  He then reverently picks up my right foot and proceeds to clean every inch of it completely with his tongue, before doing the same with the left.  On both feet he expends extra time and effort making certain that he gets thoroughly between each and every toe.  I said that this is a treat for him, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I enjoy it almost as much.  Reluctantly, after about ten minutes, I tell him that I’m satisfied with his efforts, and then have him undress me fully and assist me into the bath.

       “Take a quick shower.”  I tell him as I settle into the warm scented water.  “And then go finish preparing my dinner.  It must be almost ready, and I’m starving.”

       

       Another bow and a “Yes Ma’am”, and he’s into the shower.  As I luxuriate in my bubbles, I watch him through the glass wall of the shower as he rapidly washes his hair, then soaps his body, paying special attention to cleaning around his cage.  Within three minutes he is rinsed off, out, and drying off.  He then asks, and receives my permission to leave to attend to my dinner.

       ‘When it’s ready, come back to dry and dress me.”  I command.  With a final bow and  “Yes Ma’am”, he is off to complete his latest task.

       Returning after about fifteen minutes, during which time I have successfully soaked away the aches and cares of the day, my slave informs me that my dinner is ready.  Assisting me out of the tub, he begins to pat me dry with my towel, starting at my feet, and working his way up my legs.  When he reaches the nexus between the tops of my thighs I clamp them shut, capturing his hand and towel between them.  He glances up at me in surprise, and I smile and mouth the word ‘later’.  The look that he returns contains all the hope and longing I could want.  We don’t have sexual intimacy every night, although we do in the majority.  And we will this night.  The only question, as it is each time, is to what extent I will allow him to enjoy.

       His hand released, he finishes drying me, and then follows me into the bedroom where he dresses me in the black silk panties and nightgown I had previously chosen, then helps me into the matching black robe.  He then falls to his knees again to place my black, furred slippers onto my feet.  One step behind, he escorts me into the dining room, pulls my chair out at the head of the table to seat me, and then kneels upright by my side, facing me, awaiting my next need.

       

       I eat the salad that he had already placed on my plate.  When finished, he stands up to remove that plate, and replace it with another, onto which he serves my main course for the night, a chicken scarpariello, hot and spicy just as I like it, which has been cooking and simmering the entire time.

       

       As he kneels back down in his place, and I dive into my food, we begin to converse, first about events of the day, then about things we had just seen on the news, and finally, about upcoming social activities to which we are both looking forward.  Periodically, I  pick up a piece of food from my plate and plop it into his mouth ... first a piece of sausage, later a piece of chicken, and I chuckle as he grimaces slightly when I add a hot cherry pepper, which he nonetheless enthusiastically chews and swallows.  It does not behoove him to refuse anything that his owner bestows.  These, and a few more small morsels, are all he will have to eat tonight, and this is the reason he always enjoys such a large lunch.  After each of my offerings, he carefully licks my fingers clean, and we continue our animated conversation as I continue to enjoy my meal.

       After a delightful dessert, I retire to the living room to read as my slave cleans up.  While we are more than financially able to afford any number of full time household staff,  for obvious reasons we prefer complete privacy when we are home alone.  Still, my slave is far too busy, with far more important matters on a daily basis, to be burdened with the countless number of domestic chores that need to be attended to in our home.  So we have a contingent of maids that take care of the house daily when we are at work, and a grounds keeping crew to care for the outside property as well.  They are all finished and gone each day by four in the afternoon, so that the rest of the day and night are for my slave and I alone.  Of course, any work that arises during that time is his alone.

       Upon finishing his chores in the kitchen, my slave joins me in the living room to proceed onto his next service for the evening; my nightly pedicure.  Deeply immersed in my book, the latest in a series of romantic novels, ( I do so enjoy a good love story, especially when the sex is hot and heavy ), I barely acknowledge him as he kneels down.  As this is a nightly occurrence, I have very little dry skin or callus, but what there is, he uses the pumice stone to gently rub away.  He then removes yesterday’s moon-violet polish from my nails, and after carefully placing cotton balls between each of my toes, he quietly interrupts my reading to ask for a decision he knows he has no right to make.

       “I beg your pardon Ma’am.”  He begins timidly.  I glance down, slightly annoyed.  “What color would you like tonight?” he asks.

       With three pages to go to the end of this next-to-last chapter of the novel, my slave waits patiently and silently for my answer until I finish.  I then look down at him.

       “Passion Pink.” is all I say before turning back to begin the long concluding chapter of the book.

       Applying the new  polish in even strokes, he knows better than to miss a spot, or to have any polish get on surrounding skin.  With such long practice and experience, however, he has developed such a proficiency that there are rarely any miscues.  Before long the polish is all applied, and after capping the bottle, my slave arranges himself on all fours before me, so that I can prop my legs and feet onto his back, to allow my nails to dry as I continue to read.

       The final chapter is as exciting as I could have anticipated.  The actions and emotions build slowly to a fever pitch such that as I near the end I begin to squirm in my seat.  As the climax comes, I am almost as hot as the ravaged heroine.  I sigh deeply, and as I close my book, I gaze down at my slave kneeling under my feet, his eyes closed and face blank, lost in his own fantasy of service and devotion.  I lift my legs off his back and place my feet on the floor before him.

       “It’s bedtime, Dildo.”

       

       He moves quickly to lift one of my feet then the other, gently blowing on any nails not yet completely dry, and then carefully removes the cotton from between my toes.  When this is done, he slips my feet into my slippers, and I rise and begin to walk to the bedroom.  He follows behind like an eager puppy.  Eager to please.  And he will.

       Entering our bedroom, I shed first my slippers, and then let my robe fall to the floor.  Reaching our king size bed I pull off my nightgown, and then have him pull down and off my lacy black panties.  I climb up onto the center of the bed, place my forehead down onto it, and leave my succulent derriere up and inviting.

       My Dildo needs no further cue.  Climbing up onto the bed behind me, he pushes his face between my cheeks, his mouth finding my bottom orifice.  With the tip of his tongue he first circles around it, sending tremors through me.  He then begins to try to thrust his extended tongue into the hole, each attempt successively more successful.  I let this continue for several delightful minutes before ordering him onto his back.

       I turn, facing down the length of his beautiful body, my knees straddling his upper chest, and my anus, wet from his worship, now pressed against his nose as I lower my womanhood onto his waiting mouth.  His well trained tongue begins to dart back and forth, finding it infinitely easier to enter this vault than the other.  I ride him hard and long as he tries to push his tongue ever higher and deeper, and I lean forward to swat, back and forth with my hand, his encased member, causing it to tighten and strangle even more in frustrated excitement.  My emotions rise higher and higher until my body arches back, a massive and prolonged groan escapes from my throat, as I cum hard and heavily, my juices pouring forth to bathe the face beneath me.

       On some nights I would be satisfied with this one incredible high.  But this night I want more.  I need deeper penetration.  Rolling off him, and turning so that I’m facing down at him, I declare.

       “I need cock tonight, Dildo.”

       

       He looks up at me, his visage full of adoration and hope.  Truth be told, there is nothing in the world I enjoy as much as having his naked manhood plunging deeply within me, and I know that this is true for him as well.  And I do indulge him in this, perhaps once or twice a month.  I am hopelessly in love with him after all, and do desire his happiness.  But this must be reserved for very special occasions, or when I might wish to grant him a special reward.  As I contemplate whether it should be so this night, I watch him, pleading with his eyes for that which he knows he cannot ask.

       

       I decide.

       

       This will not be such a night.

       “Fetch your namesake, Dildo.” is all I say.

       

       A flicker of disappointment and frustration flashes across his face, but he quickly scrambles off the bed to rush to our toy box.  It would not be wise for him to keep his Mistress waiting while she is in such need.

       He returns seconds later with the item demanded.  A double ended black dildo.  He fits the shorter four inch end into his mouth, and then fastens it with straps around the back of his head, so that the longer, seven inch business end is protruding before him.  Though it is slightly shorter, and certainly less sensuous and delectable than the one which is part of my real live Dildo, it will serve the purpose this night.

       Positioning myself at the side of the bed, I dangle my legs over the edge and spread them wide apart.  My Dildo kneels down and guides the tip to, and then through my nether lips.  I gasp as he pushes forward slowly until it fills my entire sanctuary.  He then moves to and fro, gently ever increasing his speed until it reaches a point over minutes where his head and neck are thrusting back and forth like a dynamo.  Lying on my back, gripping the sheets, I lose all sense of time and place.  As I writhe on the bed, my body tingling from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, I can suddenly stand no more.  I sit up and grab the back of his head in a vice-like grip, holding it locked in place, my end of the device fully embedded deep within me as I rock up and down furiously, ultimately crying out and living an ecstacy that only such a moment can produce.  My Goddess-like love nectar gushes out to mix and mingle with the animal, beast-of-burden drool escaping from his mouth ... the yin and the yang ... to join our essences together into a single loving entity.  It goes on and on until I finally release my grip and fall back onto the bed ... fully ... totally ... completely sated.

       

       I am oblivious as my Dildo gently withdraws, and then unfastens and discards the appliance.  He picks me up to place me in the center of the bed, and lies down beside, our arms finding and encircling each other.  We lie there, seemingly forever, feeling each other’s warmth and beating hearts until he leans forward and kisses me, a kiss that goes to the depths of the soul which we share together.

       “I love you Suzi Riley.”  He whispers to me as our lips part.  “I couldn’t exist without you.”

       “I know ... My love.”  I whisper back, knowing that he knows that this is most certainly true for me as well.

       

       As so dear friends and readers, after this accounting of a typical day in our lives, can any of you now have any doubt ... that as my slave and I drift off to sleep, entwined in each other’s arms ... finishing the night as we begin every day ... we both know with absolute certainty that what we have with, and in each other ... the being that we have grown into together ... and what  we are living each and every day is ...

       The Life Of Riley.