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The Note - Part 1
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By:
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mrhitch37
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Category:
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BDSM
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Date:
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Jul 13 2012, 8:32 pm
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Her work day was over, she was home. She walked into the kitchen, placing her bag on the table and removing her coat dropping it over the back of one of the chairs. She already had purpose, entwined in her husband’s arms that very morning they had discussed what they would have for dinner; Chicken fried steak, his favourite. It pleased her to cook in as much as it pleased her to see people enjoy what she cooked, the gratification she gained from seeing her husband wolf down her coconut brownies with obvious relish, on occasion, bordered on sexual.
The sexual element was on her mind, it had now been a number of days since her husband had taken her, either in love or in pure desire, as was often his way. She smiled inwardly at one of many memories of him grabbing her by the hair, leading her into the lounge and bending her over the back of the sofa and taking her roughly, reminding her it was for his pleasure. The act of his dominance and her desire to please him meant that it would be mere moments before she would be begging him to allow her to cum; sometimes he was generous, sometimes not. She was aware of why they had not been ‘together’; it had started as a fantasy, an idea. When they had met, the idea of having children was not something that was attractive to either of them for various reasons, but one night, after they had played together, she confided in him that the idea of forced pregnancy turned her on; she could tell by his reaction that it turned him on too. It had been some weeks since this discussion, but the previous Monday, when she reached for her birth control pills, he had gently taken her wrist and whispered in her ear “No more pills. When they are out of your system? I am going to make you pregnant” . The words struck home, she was awash with desire at the idea as well as fear and they made love passionately.
It was Friday now, two weeks later, not only had the pills left her system but she had had her period too, by her reckoning, she would be ovulating soon if not already. Gathering the items she needed to cook, she opened the utensil drawer and laid atop the varied implements was a note, intrigued she took it and upon opening it, immediately recognised his handwriting. The note read: ‘In the wardrobe you will find my duffel bag. Open it and put on what is inside.’ Immediately she had butterflies in her stomach and felt slightly flushed; hurrying into the bedroom, she opened the wardrobe and quickly unzipped the bag. Inside was some lingerie; a Basque, a thong , a pair of fishnet stockings and a box. Curious, she opened the box and inside was a necklace, clearly antique and very beautiful and folded next to it, another note. This note was as clear as the last in it’s purpose but the words, as she read them, sent a shock through her body that ended at her clit. ‘Tonight, you will dress for me, you will cook for me and you will serve me. I will return from work at 18:30 and you will be dressed, in full makeup and have my dinner on the table. Do not disappoint me.’ The dominance of his words and her desire to please him made her clit throb further and checking the time, she decided she had a little over and hour to prepare.
The cooking element was easy and it flowed like piece of music, as she gathered the ingredients and selected the vegetables and began to prepare the meal. She had understood what he meant by ‘serve him’ as they had discussed often played the fantasy where she would kneel beside his chair while he ate, bringing him whatever he wanted, refilling his glass etc the further idea being that she needed to be truly attentive, anticipating what he wanted as if he needed to tell her what he needed, suitable punishment would be effected. The meal was almost ready and knowing she had little time left, she took a hurried shower then began to prepare for him returning home.
Dressing in the items he had left her was easy, though new, he had managed to pick the perfect sizes for her and the knowledge the he knew her that well, just added to the wetness that had begun between her legs. Dressed in the clothes he had left, she sat in front of the mirror and began to apply the makeup. Normally, her use of makeup was limited to a little lipstick and some eyeliner, but tonight she would wear full makeup. He had referred to the process as making her his ‘painted whore’ but had expressed that any time he requested it, she must create a level of ‘slutty yet elegant’ and if she did not, he would smudge her face and make her redo the makeup, as many times as it took for him to be satisfied. The thing was, she could now perfectly apply the makeup to suit his desires, but on occasion, he would still smudge her, making her repeat the process, just because it pleased him to do so. Looking at herself in the mirror, eyeliner, mascara, a deep red lipstick; she truly looked elegant and coupled with the outfit, slutty too. The image made her mind wander to what might happen and her already wet pussy throbbed slightly, urging her to stroke it, to bring the sweet release of orgasm that she was craving. However, she knew that any orgasms she would experience tonight would be at his whim and decided against the idea, though the thought itself made her pussy throb more. Pushing it from her mind, she headed back to the kitchen and finished preparing the meal, laying the table and placed a cushion for herself next to the head of the table, where should would spend the majority of the meal knelt, at his feet.
Everything in place and ready, she began to watch the clock. 18:30 came and the anticipation had reached full crescendo, her pussy ached and already was incredibly wet, her nipples were hard and every time she moved the feeling of her nipples rubbing against the material sent shooting pleasures through her body. 18:40 came and her anticipation turned slightly towards frustration “fucker” she thought, “fucker for making me wait” and just as her frustration began to match how turned on she was, the key turned in the front door and all thoughts were lost.
He strode in, nonchalantly hanging up his coat and placing his briefcase on the floor. Normally at this point he would have said something like “hunny I am home” or made some romantic quip about how he hated work keeping him away from her. Today was different, he turned to face her and slowly looked her up and down, taking in her makeup, the outfit he had chosen for her and how she looked in it. Inside he was already boiling, already feeling desire for her but on the outside he projected a calm, almost disinterested demeanour, this was the game he would play with her.
Seeing his look and feeling the frustration she immediately exclaimed “you are late!” Her tone had come across more challenging than she had intended and immediately regretted the outburst wondering if it might kill the moment. He stared at her, the sort of stare that you cannot hide from and after what seemed like an eternity to her, he raised an eyebrow. “Who made you the queen of time?”. She had heard this line many times before, usually in jest but on this occasion, his demeanour, the manner in which he spoke was much more demeaning and the effect to her was that her frustration immediately gave way to her desire and involuntary, her clit began to throb again. She laughed briefly, nervously at his comment and already looked to distract him from her outburst by telling him that his dinner was ready for him.
He seated himself at the table in the position she had prepared for him and as per their previous experiences, he ordered her to serve with just a look. The look was important, the look told her when to act, but it was her who needed to know how to act. He waited patiently as she placed the filled plate in front of him and waited further for her to kneel on the cushion next to him, before he began to eat. She placed her hand upon his thigh, as was the protocol and feeling the muscles below her hands, she had the urge to squeeze but resisted; breaking protocol was not acceptable, her hand on his thigh was her way of being allowed to show affection as well as submission to him. She watched him as he ate, enjoying the obvious pleasure he was indulging himself in, but knew that something would soon happen; she knew because she had purposefully not placed a glass for him at the table and though she knew what would occur, her desires willed it to happen.
He had immediately noticed as he sat down the a glass had not been placed; this had always been the game. Her submissive nature towards him had meant that on occasion she would break the rules, just in order to receive the punishment and if required, behaviour modification. He smiled internally, his desire ever increasing to the point where he felt he could not resist and would just have to take her. Instead he held back, he wanted tonight to be perfect, he wanted to play out the fantasy for as long as he could. Taking the opportunity he glared at the coaster where the glass should be placed and then glared at her, also knowing what was going to happen.
She noted his glare, knew immediately what it meant and her pussy became wetter. She knew that all she had to do was go get a glass and fill it for him, but in truth there was a small part of her that relished the punishment and her desire that had been building for a couple of hours now needed some release, some treatment. She looked quizzically at him, pretending she didn’t know what he meant. Unbeknown to her, this made his cock throb hard and he spoke; “where is my drink?”. The words both excited her and scared her slightly; the thing was she knew that he would punish her for not placing the glass and that it would most likely mean that he would either have her bend over the table, or his lap and he would spank her, reminding her of what she did wrong and making her both apologise and promise that it would never happen again. What made her slightly scared was how well she knew him; she knew his affinity for sadism and that the chances were, if he did spank her, he would do it to one side of her ass and that would hurt. He did not make a habit of hurting her, although many times, during intercourse, he would slap her in that manner because he loved how it felt when she involuntarily squeezed him with her pussy. Despite knowing this, she rose from the cushion and awaited further instructions.
He knew she had done this on purpose. That was part of the game, she knew how he liked to administer punishment and though often denying it, he also knew that she enjoyed taking it as well. When they had played this way before, he had often followed the same pattern. She knew he wasn’t a man to use implements, granted he had caned her on more than one occasion but generally he wouldn’t use floggers or whips as he would jokingly refer to those items as the tools of amateurs. He liked the feel of his hand against her ass, he liked the mark it left and the noises she would make as he brought each stroke down and his desire was piqued at this time, they both knew it, but instead he remained in control.
“Go to the utensil drawer and select a suitable item for me to punish you with”
She was slightly shocked, he had never asked this of her before; the idea thrilled her, granted he would always ask her to choose how many slaps she deserved and of course, he would always find a way to increase that number regardless of what she said, but this was different, this was unexpected. She walked over to the kitchen counter and opened the drawer, surveying the implements within. Her slight, self confessed OCD had meant that she had already washed and replaced the items she had used earlier, giving her full choice. Her hand trailed over th items and rested on the wooden spatula. It was still slightly damp from where she had washed it and although she did not know what affect this might have, she withdrew it from the drawer and held it out for him to take. She watched him as he appraised it, expecting him to take it from her but he did not. “Take out the vegetable spoon” This was the spoon with holes and a long handle which culminated in a rounded, almost phallic shape where one would hold when using it. She shivered slightly as she replaced the spatula and handed him the spoon. He took the spoon from her, looking intently at it, rolling it around in his hands and the anticipation made her desire pique, her pussy aching and her clit throbbing knowing that the slightest touch from him or her, would send her directly into orgasm. She waited patiently as he took a couple of practice swings against his hand upon which, he turned to her, pushed back his seat and stated; “Present!”.
She knew what this meant and without waiting for further encouragement, she immediately eased herself over his lap, so that her rear was directly over his right leg, her knees bent and her ass presented for him. She wondered how it would feel, whether he would be gentle or whether he would hurt her. She knew without question that he never truly meant her harm, but she also knew that sometimes he liked to be ‘ouchy’ and she wondered if this would be one of those times. Next came the expected question; “how many?” She knew full well that any low number would afford her greater punishment and that a high number would guarantee her counting and thanking him for every single number she suggested. “10” she replied, breathlessly. His pause was long, she knew he would be considering the number she gave and how he would increase it, even if he didn’t deliver the full number, it was guaranteed that ten would not be the final amount; “10 per cheek it is then” was his almost dispassionate response and after taking a moment to stroke her round ass with the spoon, the first strike came. The noise the spoon made almost distracted her as it hit her ass, squarely in the middle between the cheeks; the sting was present but soon subsided and she immediately counted the strike and thanked him in the manner expected. Strikes two and three came in quick succession, not only did the sting fail to subside before the next strike, but she barely had time to speak the words.
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