Jade was something of a culinary adventurer, and she made her preferences known in no uncertain terms. The text messages began with a casual mention of her lunch plans for the next day. Butternut squash soup and a baguette, with rice pudding and a fruit salad pot for dessert.
"Yes Miss J," I replied obediently, knowing my place in our unique relationship.
The following day, Miss J's messages became more direct, more commanding. "I'll be there either side of 1," she informed me, adding details about her time at the bank.
My response was always the same, confirming her wishes with a respectful, "OK Miss J."
"There is enough green tea left, right?" she asked, a clear expectation behind the seemingly casual query.
"I think so, I'll check," I assured her, feeling a familiar thrill as I prepared for her arrival.
The anticipation grew as the day wore on, Miss J's instructions becoming more specific. "Getting on the tube now. You don't have to get me. Just have the tea ready in time," she ordered.
"Yes Miss J," came the familiar reply, tinged with excitement and nerves.
And then she was there, standing outside my door. "I'm outside," the message read, a simple statement that sent a shiver of excitement down my spine.
Miss J entered with the grace and authority that I had come to crave. She collared me, a symbol of our unique bond, before settling down to enjoy the lunch I'd prepared.
With a satisfied smile, she made her way to the bed, allowing me the privilege of rubbing her feet. As I massaged her soles, feeling her warmth and strength, I knew I was exactly where I needed to be.
Her contentment was my reward, and as we spent the afternoon in each other's company,
The room was filled with tension, anticipation, and a connection that went beyond mere physical attraction. Miss J's orders were clear, her demands specific. I lay on the bed, the cold sensation of the cock ring both thrilling and terrifying, a constant reminder of my submission to her.
Miss J positioned herself over me, her legs straddling my head, her warmth tantalisingly close. As she lowered herself onto my face, I was enveloped in the scent of her natural femininity. The taste, the texture of her, was unlike anything else, soft yet firm, salty yet sweet. I could feel her, literally dripping onto me, her arousal as real as my own, each drop a promise of pleasure.
She tied my hands together with a length of black rope from a BDSM starter kit I bought a while back, the soft chord contrasting with the firm knot. It was an act that added another layer of helplessness to my excitement, making me utterly at her mercy. She sat on my chest, her weight a delicious pressure, her skin smooth and warm against mine. My breath quickened, trapped between fear and longing.
Then came the sensation of the spatula. She had taken it from the kitchen earlier, a tool for our play, and now she wielded it with expertise. It smacked against my balls, each strike a jolt of pain mixed with pleasure. Each smack was carefully measured, never too hard to injure but hard enough to sting, to remind me of her control. The sensation was something I had come to crave under her skilled hands, a perfect balance of pleasure and pain that only she could deliver.
Then she reached for the penis pump, which consisted of a cylindrical chamber made of clear acrylic, fitted with a rubber seal at the base. It's attached to a hand-operated pump that creates a vacuum, drawing blood into the shaft and engorging it, but using it can be quite uncomfortable, even mildly painful.
Miss J took her time, her eyes locked on mine as she lubed up the rubber seal and positioned the chamber over my erection. The cold hardness of the acrylic was a startling contrast to her warm hands, and I couldn't help but shiver as she pressed it against me. Her finger then played teasingly with the pump, squeezing it ever so gently, the pressure building in a slow, torturous rhythm inside the chamber.
My breath caught in my throat as the sensation grew, a stinging suction that was both painful and pleasurable. It felt like a constant pulling, a relentless tugging that drew me deeper into the device, and further under her control. My body was responding to her touch, to her control, every nerve ending alive and tingling.
She seemed to take delight in my reactions, her smile widening as she watched my face contort with both agony and ecstasy. The power dynamics were clear; she was in charge, and I was her plaything, completely at her mercy. Every squeeze of the pump was a reminder of her authority, every pulse a testament to her skill.
The minutes seemed to stretch into hours as she continued to manipulate the pump, adjusting the pressure, releasing it slightly only to increase it again, keeping me on the edge of both pleasure and pain. My mind was a whirl of sensations, every thought consumed by the relentless pressure, the intense focus of her eyes, the knowledge that I was hers to command.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she released the pressure and removed the pump, leaving me both relieved and longing for more. The sensation lingered, a throbbing reminder of her control, her dominance, and the trust I had in her to take me to those extremes.
She wasn't done, though. My heart raced as Miss J reached for a small candle she'd prepared earlier, the flame dancing wickedly. I could see the wicked glint in her eyes, and I knew what was coming next. My chest heaved with anticipation, a cocktail of fear and desire pumping through my veins.
She tilted the candle, and the hot wax began to drip, slowly at first, each drop a searing kiss that landed on the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I gasped at the sudden heat, a sharp contrast to the cool air in the room. The pain was intense but fleeting, quickly giving way to a warm, tingling sensation.
Miss J's eyes never left mine as she continued to pour, each drop calculated, deliberate. She aimed for my balls, and I couldn't help but jerk as the hot wax made contact, a unique combination of pain and pleasure that sent shivers through me.
She moved closer, her breath warm against my skin, her hands guiding the wax, controlling where each drop landed. The sensation was indescribable, a continuous stream of hot, liquid fire that traced lines across my body, each path a testament to her control, her power over me.
The pleasure was in the pain, in the complete surrender to her will. My body was hers to command, to decorate, to torment as she pleased. And she took her time, every drop a carefully chosen note in a symphony of sensation that she was composing just for me.
The process seemed to go on forever, the wax building up, layer upon layer, moulding to me, marking me as hers. I could feel it hardening, a tight, confining sensation that only added to my arousal, the physical manifestation of her control over me.
Finally, she set the candle aside, her fingers tracing the patterns she'd created, a soft, sensual touch that was a stark contrast to the intensity of the heat. She looked at me, a satisfied smile playing on her lips, and I knew she had enjoyed herself.
Instructed to crawl beneath the covers, I obeyed without question, my body trembling with anticipation. Her command was my wish, and I was desperate to please her, to show her how much I craved her. The heat of her pussy was tantalisingly close yet just out of reach, and I could only wait for her permission, her guidance.
Finally, she allowed me to taste her, to worship her in the way I'd been longing for. Guiding my head with her strong, graceful hands, she positioned herself between my legs, her dark, luscious flesh just inches from my face. I could feel her power, her control, even as she teased me, her hands pushing me deeper into her, directing my tongue to where she wanted it most.
The saying that the darker the berry, the sweeter the taste came to life in that moment, and I savoured every drop of her sweetness. I licked her with devotion, my attention focused on her clit, which I sucked and teased with fervent passion. Her taste was intoxicating, and I lost myself in the rhythm of her pleasure, my whole world narrowed down to her body, her response, her satisfaction.
As I grew more confident, my licks became more insistent, more demanding. I could feel her body responding, her hips grinding against my face, her moans growing louder, more urgent.
Her pleasure was my reward, her satisfaction my sole purpose. I worshipped her, every lick a declaration of my devotion, every kiss a testament to my desire to please her.
I felt her body tense, and I knew she was close. I doubled my efforts, desperate to push her over the edge, to give her the release she so richly deserved.
And then she came, hard. Her body shook, her moans filling the room, a symphony of pleasure that resonated in my very soul. Her juices flowed freely, and I drank her in, savouring the taste, the texture, the pure ecstasy of the moment.
I continued to kiss her, my lips pressed against her skin, the taste of her lingering on my tongue, a sweet reminder of what I'd just experienced. It was a moment of pure connection, of intimacy and trust, a shared pleasure that transcended the physical and touched something deeper within us both.
She commanded me to lie on the floor, her eyes dancing with mischief and authority. I obeyed instantly, my body already aching for what was to come. The floor was cool beneath my back, a sharp contrast to the heat building inside me.
She stood over me, her shadow falling across my body, her dominance a tangible thing. Slowly, deliberately, she raised her foot, the anticipation growing with each teasing tap of her toe against my skin. She took aim, her eyes locked on mine, a promise of pain and pleasure in her gaze.
The first kick was a shock, a jolt of pain that shot through me, leaving me breathless. "Take it for me," she whispered, her voice a caress that soothed and excited me at the same time. I nodded, tears in my eyes, but a smile on my face. I was hers, completely and utterly.
The second kick was harder, more forceful, a reminder of her strength, of her control. I gasped, my body tensing, the pain a dull ache that lingered and throbbed. She laughed, a sound that was both cruel and loving, and I knew that I was pleasing her, that I was giving her what she wanted.
The third kick was the hardest, a final, definitive statement of her power over me. I cried out, the pain overwhelming, but the pleasure was there too, a dark, delicious sensation that mixed with the agony and became something more. "Good boy," she cooed, her voice soft and tender, a balm to my wounded body. "You took it all for me."
I lay there, panting, my balls aching with a dull, persistent pain, her lasting impression on me. I felt broken and whole at the same time, a paradox that only she could create. She looked down at me, her eyes filled with pride and satisfaction, and I knew that I had done well, that I had proven my devotion once again.
After our intense play session, we settled onto the bed to watch TV together. The collar around my neck, still snug and binding, was a vivid reminder of our unique relationship. Jade's gorgeous body, the lines and curves highlighted by her clothing, was magnetic. Despite the mundane activity of watching TV, I was still on edge, tormented by my unfulfilled arousal.
I had been teased, tormented, and taken to the edge of pleasure without release. The ache in my balls, whether from the teasing or the painful kicks, was distracting, and I found myself unable to concentrate on the screen. I could feel her attention on me, her knowing eyes taking in my squirming. After a while, she pointed to a corner of the room, her voice dripping with authority. "Go there, and wank for me," she ordered, not taking her eyes off the TV.
I crawled to the designated spot, facing her, so I could admire her body. My hands trembled as I brought them to my mouth, wetting them with spit. I reached down, my fingers wrapping around my eager cock. My slippery and wet shaft was throbbing, desperate for release. I began to stroke, slow at first, then faster, my hand moving up and down, twisting slightly as I went.
I could hear the faint sounds of the TV, the rustle of Jade eating her fruit, but my eyes were glued to her, the vision of her lounging on the bed, the seductive way she was positioned, the soft curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts. I stroked myself for her, my hand moving with practiced ease. My mind was filled with the memories of what she'd done to me, the sensation of the hot wax, the sting of the spatula, the dull ache in my balls. Was it "blue balls" from the teasing, or still from the kicks? I didn't know, and at that moment, I didn't care. I was lost in the pleasure, the sensation of my hand on my cock, the sight of her before me.
My orgasm built slowly, a pressure deep inside me, and when it came, it was explosive. I came hard, my body shaking, my release spilling onto the floor, a tangible symbol of my submission to her. The pleasure was intense, overwhelming, a release of everything I'd been feeling since she'd arrived.
She didn't look at me, didn't acknowledge my release, yet I knew she was aware. She had given me this pleasure, this intimate moment in her presence, and she had done it on her terms. It was a powerful reminder of her control, her dominance.
We returned to watching TV, but the dynamic had shifted. I was hers, completely and utterly. I knew I would do anything for her, anything she asked.
