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"Beautiful," she purred. "Fold the blanket up and put it on the mattress with the pillows plumped up and the fitted sheet straightened. There better not be anything happening in the shower other than washing. Your hand stays off what's mine except for functional purposes."
She strolled out of the bedroom, leaving him wanting to fuck her brainless and yet do everything she asked. He'd lost his mind, and apparently handed over his man card to her on top of that. But he didn't feel emasculated from the way she looked at him, how she approved of his obedience. He felt more like a man when he pleased her than he ever had when he pounded bigger men than himself to their knees. Go figure.
He wasn't straight enough to marshal a plan to counter those feelings, and he didn't have much desire to come up with one. The grip on her wrist was the only evidence of his controlling behavior so far today. But it was early.
Suppressing a sigh and the thought, he got up to check out what she wanted him to wear. Nice stuff. A pin-striped blue button-down shirt to go under a gray silk vest. The shirt sleeves were designed to be rolled up to his elbows and secured with a button. Stressed jeans and a brown belt completed the look. All the sizes looked right, but he wouldn't have expected anything different. A package of black briefs took care of the underwear.
It'd been a long time since he'd bought new clothes for himself. These were new, but except for the underwear, they appeared to have been washed and pressed, because they didn't have the creases and new store smell. Instead, they captured the pleasant, clean scents of her home. Did she have a laundry or maid service who had done it? He'd be far more comfortable with that than the idea his Mistress had ironed and done laundry for him. Thinking about doing that for her, though, brought a whole different kind of feeling, not unpleasant.
Pretty much all his sub stuff, except for the occasional eye-candy wait staff job at an event like Tyler and Marguerite's annual Carnival, had been session-or demo-based. Not service stuff, caring for a Mistress. But sometimes he'd thought about what it would be like to care for one. Usually late at night, when he couldn't stop himself from having those kinds of thoughts.
When he lifted the clothes off the bed, he found the two items he wasn't supposed to put on himself, and they just amplified his crazy thoughts about caring for, and belonging to, a Mistress. A cock harness, and something in a small velvet bag. It felt like jewelry. He knew enough not to open it, but as he held it clutched in one hand, a surge of emotions shoved through him, that mix of good and bad. He was always unsure which was going to get the upper hand.
One thing was certain, though. He was going to have a hard time not jacking off in the shower.
Going to the bathroom, he laid all the items out carefully. He proceeded the same way with his shower, handling himself with studied functionality, refusing to let the thought of doing more with his cock than washing it even cross his mind. He wasn't going to defy her. He was going to show he could do this, be a "good" sub. The jagged-edged voices in his gut laughed at him. Yeah, it would probably last less than two minutes. Why did he care, anyway? What was so different about her?
Everything, asshole. Don't ruin this.
But that wasn't the problem, was it? She was amazing. He was the fuck-up. Wasn't it better to let her down sooner rather than later?
No. Shut the fuck up and get dressed.
He dried the shower and cleaned up after himself. As he brushed his teeth and hair and donned the clothes, he could hear her talking on the phone. Picking up the two items, he followed her voice to the kitchen. His nose directed his gaze to the bacon and eggs in a fry pan on the stove. His eyes went to her. She was sitting in a kitchen chair, legs crossed, body twisted around to type on her laptop as she spoke into a handsfree piece in her ear.
When she dipped her chin toward the oven, he opened it and saw a handful of flaky biscuits, still warm enough to give off the fresh baked scent. She'd cooked for him again.
Not like other Mistresses had done. With more than a twinge of guilt, he remembered Lady Di, who'd done things like this for him. But even if he was being an asshole, it had reminded him of the pathetic slavishness of a person trying too hard to win the affection of their favorite pet.
He didn't get that sense of dependence from the woman currently on the phone. Regina was taking care of him because...he wasn't sure why.
She'd said he was hers to command for the duration of this trip, which apparently included dressing him the way she wished. He'd never thought about being into that, but she'd bought him a good outfit, and telling him what to wear seemed to underscore the ownership arrangement.
That was also what her fixing breakfast said to him. She was in charge, which meant when she provided for his basic needs, or bought him clothes, she was reinforcing that he was hers. It also reminded him who he served in provocative ways, big and small. He served her, and she took care of him.
It was a new thought, and an unsettling one that aroused his body and mind, and made his soul even more hungry and messed up.
She gestured to him. When he approached, she extended her hand, slim fingers and glossy nails. As she continued to talk on the phone, he laid the velvet bag and cock harness in her hand. Her gaze shifted to the jeans, then back to his face, a command.
He unbuttoned and took down the zipper, pushing briefs and jeans to his thighs. She caressed his cock, scratching him with her nails. His cock jumped in her hand, growing thicker. He'd already been half-erect, just thinking about this. She put the harness on him, two crossed straps that went around the base of both his cock and testicles. He bit back a grunt as she took it one hole more than was comfortable in his current state.
"No, I think it's a good idea to hold the handouts until the first break. I want them to exercise their listening skills first, because that's key to the rest of the approach."
She gripped him, stroking. As if she was entirely unaffected by his state. It was maddening. Intolerable.
He yanked her up from her chair by the shoulders, planting his mouth on hers, discovering the heaven of her heated, damp tongue and lips, the scent of cinnamon toothpaste and sweet woman. She didn't struggle, didn't draw back, but gave as good as she was getting, her hand dropping to clamp down on his buttock. Which gave her better leverage to use the other hand to grip his cock and twist.
Fuck. He let her go, but since her weight was forward, he didn't want to unbalance her. He pushed through the discomfort, holding his position to ease her back to the chair. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes heated and a little pissed. That made him harder. She pointed to the floor and now he embraced obedience, dropping to his knees. She shook her head, pointed to the floor again. She wanted his forehead on the floor, his ass in the air.
He frowned but did it. Inexplicable things uncoiled in him as she put one shoe on the back of his neck, the other against his side. The heels dug into both places. She continued her call for another fifteen minutes, using her bent knee as a prop to make notes on a pad, the heel on his side gouging in deeper between his ribs when she twisted around again to type. He held fast in that position, though, serving as her foot rest. His unfastened jeans stayed off his ass, his cock and balls trussed up in her straps.
At last she cut the connection and removed her feet. "Sit up and apologize."
"For what?" He hadn't meant to sound belligerent. He just couldn't seem to help himself.
"I've seen you brat, purposefully seeking punishment to y
ank a Mistress's chain. I know the difference between that and what you're doing now. Back down to the floor."
