Down boy…

Busy Sunday. Lots of errands, lots of work. Project here, project there. They bounce off each other all day, taking moments when they can.

He walks into the bedroom.

“Kneel. Here.” She points to the floor at the foot of the bed. He kneels. He wears a bandana, shirt, jeans and her panties, but she doesn’t know about the last part.

She steps to the foot of the bed, bends over to lay her torso on it and simultaneously pushes her pants and panties down.

“Kiss my ass, boy.” He does. Reverently placing kiss after kiss on both her cheeks. His hands hold her hips, then slide up under her sweatshirt and caress her breasts.

“Clean me.” His tongue now into action, he presses it into her pussy, lapping at her. Some sweat, some piss, just the days worth of woman that is on her.

“Deeper.” He pushes deeper, his nose buried, his breathing stopped while he delves deep.

“Now up…” He pulls back from her and asks her to repeat, it’s hard to hear when one’s face is deep in a pussy. “My ass pup, clean.” He utters a brief acknowledgement and settles in between her cheeks to clean. She’s never that dirty but he knows it’s her. He knows he’s cleaning her in a most intimate way.

Again he hears “Deeper” and he pushes his tongue in deeply, again his breathing paused while he delves in deep, gently fucking her hole with his tongue. He tips his head up, letting his nose get a breath of air into him and returns to the task. A belt must have been on the bed, or in her hands, and now it’s pulling at the back of his neck, pulling him deeply into her, deeper still. His tongue and jaw hurt. She pulls hard, pushing back against him, smothering him. He sputters out air but gets none in. She tortures him like this for just a few seconds, but when one doesn’t receive new oxygen, seconds have a more noticeable duration.

She releases him. He falls back on his haunches, still touching her hips. He holds himself by holding her. Relieved for the air, he moves to continue where he left off, but she tells him “Stay” as she stands, straightens herself and pulls up her clothes. He starts to get up and she stops him. “No, pup. Stay. Stay kneeling right there until I leave the room and that cock stops sticking out so obviously.”

He does just that, waiting for his cock to soften, he inhales her scent and smiles. Lucky dog.

The car wash

“I’m going to shower now.”

“But, you’re not clean.”

“No, that’s why I’m going to shower.”

“Wait” he insisted. “You know how when you go to the car wash and they take the sponge or the sprayer and do the mirrors and the back of the car? Just to make sure it gets clean? Because sometimes the machines don’t clean it all properly?”

“Yeah?”

“Well.” pulls her by the sweatshirt into the bedroom. She smiles. She bends quickly. He pulls down her pants and underwear.

He cleans the back end, just to make sure the car wash has an easy and proper job of things.. She thanks him. He helps strip the rest of her clothes, helps her put on the robe, she walks into the bathroom.

Yeah, that completely happened with no exaggerations.

I love Sundays.

Little touches

This morning I found myself naked and on my hands and knees in the bathroom, gloves on, cleaning the floor and toilet with a bleach solution. Later I would rinse some miscellaneous linens in the shower as well. Madame was also doing some kitchen work, food prep and cleaning, but of course she was clothed while her boy was naked.

After the cleaning, she took me to the bedroom where she showed me the cane she would beat me with. I had done nothing to deserve a caning, other than being her property. I’m okay with that. There are two points in this mornings play that really stood out to me, as if my crawling naked on my hands and knees in the bathroom was not notable enough! First, that she had on her kitchen apron. Standing there with a cane in her hand, waiting for me to walk through the doorway of the bedroom, I naked and smelling slightly of bleach. That apron, so very mundane, so very matter of fact, so “not very dominant”, but she simply taking time to put stripes on her boy.

And she caned me. Nothing too severe, but there were a few places where it really hurt, as is the intended consequence. The second item that really played out strongly to me was when she moved to the other side of my body and took my right foot in her hand, then struck me with the cane. That touch… that lovely exquisite touch of her hand, so tender, but yet so constraining and deliberate. I at once felt owned, protected, disciplined and bound. Bound by her hand, bound to her spirit, as she held my foot and ankle and let the cane whoosh down against my naked flesh.

I am amazed at how such seemingly little things can be so powerful in their ability to touch me.