| "Ya know what," she said, "I'm sick of your shit. You know, I have needs too. And its about time they got met."
"Yeah, ok, listen can we talk later, the game's on."
"You're not listening. There is no later, I'm talking now- and you're going to listen."
"Hey doll, do you mind. You make a better door than a- what the fuck!"
She stood in front of him holding the cut TV cord in one hand, the ragged looking knife in the other. "We need to get a few things straight. I don't like to be called doll. I never have. You need to become a little more attentive and pick up on these things. I DON'T want to keep having to remind you."
She jabbed the knife at him. "I SAID don't call me that."
"Lea, honey. I don't know what's gotten into you, but we can fix it. Just hand me that knife..."
"No, Dan, you listen. I do not like repeating myself. I WILL use this thing. Now, take off your shirt."
"Take if off, Dan."
When he didn't move to do as she said, she walked right up to him and put the knife tip against his abdomen. "Don't move," her voice was steady, clear and threatening. She edged the knife up under his olive green tee-shirt. The blade traced its way up the tender flesh of his side. Midway to his armpit, she turned the knife and pulled it toward her, rending his shirt in two with a loud ripping sound. As the shredded remains of his shirt fell around his feet, Dan stared at Lea, open mouthed and scared."
"Close your mouth." Lea snapped. "You are starting to get the idea finally, I think. I am in charge now." She walked around him as she talked, running the tip of the knife over the surface of his tight faded jeans. She tipped the knife to the flat of the blade and teased it over his taunt tanned chest. "When I tell you to do something, you do it- immediately. Do you understand?"
"Yes," he said, comprehension beginning to register in his eyes.
"Yes, Mistress." she ordered.
There was fear in his eyes. The knife was centimeters from his stiff nipple. But she could see him struggling, unwilling to submit to her desire. "Lea, come on. We both know you're not going to use that."
"Do we?" she asked, turning the blade again and pressing it to his skin. The knife sunk in, not cutting but clearly able and willing.
"I know you think calling me Mistress will somehow compromise your manhood," she said slowly. "But I'd reconsider quickly, as the safely of your manhood is resting in my hands right now." She traced the blade southward, stopping at the line of his pubic hair.
He followed her gaze down to his half-erect penis. That last comment was clearly too much, he really wanted to put a stop to this nonsense at once. He wasn't afraid of blood, certainly not his own, and he knew that he could over power her. Yet something rooted him to the spot. Whether it was fear or shock or something deeper, he didn't have time to contemplate. He simply knew that he was incapable of moving, incapable of fighting back. His brain seemed to have gone on strike because it just refused to tell his body what to do.
"Yes, mistress," he choked out. His throat was dry, his hands clammy. Everything in his world seemed upside down.
"You don't have to sound like it's killing you." She said, waving the knife in slow controlled zig-zags in front of his navel. "Take off your jeans," she barked. This time he quickly obeyed.
"You're catching on," she intoned dryly. "Now throw them over into the corner."
She looked at his body, buff and tan. He wasn't Mr. Universe or anything, but he kept in pretty good shape. She thought about how when they had met he had bragged about how he could bench press her, and how they had made love nearly every day. Sometimes they even had done it two or even three times in one day. And each time he just seemed to be able to go on for ever, always making sure that she came before he did. What the hell happened to all that stamina, she thought, and the consideration? These days, when he was home it seemed he was always distracted by sports, or sitcoms or video games. Christ, when do they start to outgrow that shit anyway, she wondered.
"I'm getting really tired of you ignoring me," she told him. "You always have time for the TV, but then when you're done with that you're just too tired for anything else- me included. I'm tired of having sex once every week or sometimes two, and then having you cum after five minutes and I'm just left hanging. I'm really really sick of you expecting blow-jobs all the fucking time and never being willing to go down on me. Well you know what? Its all coming to an end right now. Get down on your knees and start licking."
He didn't know why or even how, but in the next moment he was on his knees, her panties were around her ankles, and his tongue pressed up into her pussy. She held the knife, carefully, on his shoulder. "Lick me, that's right, lick it real good. Yea, I wanna feel all of your tongue up inside me. You like that sweet taste of pussy?"
She ran the fingers of her free hand through his hair and closing her fist around his locks, drew his face back impelling him to make eye contact. "Yes, Mistress," he murmured before diving back into her cunt. He knew that he should have grappled the knife from her hand, forced her to the floor and asserted his manhood. But he had done the opposite. He had submitted to her demands, and now he had no choice but to continue to do so. He knew that his one chance had passed, he was now changed forever in her eyes, in his own eyes.
"Oh yes," she moaned. "You're my little bitch now, aren't you. I don't need this knife anymore, because you have already lowered yourself to take orders from me. Now we both know that deep inside yourself you really wanted to be dominated all along and now there is no going back. And you always prized yourself on being such a macho guy. This is going to be so much fun."
No, he thought. I am the man, I wear the pants, I give the orders. This is ridiculous, get up, and take charge. Yet here he was on his knees, servicing Lea with his tongue and calling her mistress. He knew she was right. He was past the point of no return.
She tossed the knife across the room and grabbed two handfuls of his hair. Bucking wildly she jammed his face inward, grinding him into her sweet spot. She groaned as her body shook, and she slicked his lips with her juices. She pulled his face away from her crotch and looked with joy on the sight of his mouth shimmering with her glossy goo. She pushed him so that his upper body now hurtled toward the floor. He caught himself on his hands, looking like a wild animal more than a man.
"That was a pretty good licking, but I've got a licking for you that will be even better," she said. She brought her hand up and then slapped him hard on the ass. He flinched but refused to let any sound escape his mouth. She slapped him again. This time he merely tightened his cheeks, steeling himself against the attack. But that only served to make her hit harder. She slapped him slowly and deliberately, yet harder each time, first one cheek then the other. His ass was red, her pussy wet again from the sound of her hand cracking his bare flesh. This is what it feels like to be in control, she thought: powerful, wonderful, on top of the world. The moisture built between her legs as she continued to explore the incredible turn-ons of power, cruelty, and dominance.
She spanked him until she thought she heard a sob. "Have you had enough?" she asked, a note of cruelty clearly ringing in her voice.
"Yes Mistress," he choked out.
"Did I hear a little cry from you?" she asked him.
"No, Mistress," he lied. She slapped him again. He gasped, a sudden deep inhale. The slap had been hard and startling.
"Now don't lie to me Dan. Did you cry?"
Jesus, he thought. Why does she have to be such a relentless bitch? Did she really have to continue to humiliate me? I'm already on my knees like some kind of animal getting my ass spanked, and she wants me to admit- I can barely admit it to my self, let alone say it out loud. Men - - real men, don't cry, they don't admit that they cry, and they don't - - shit, he was already doing all those things that he thought men wouldn't and shouldn't do. "Ouch!" he yelled as he felt the sudden hard sting of her hand on his ass again.
"Answer your Mistress. Did I hear you cry?" Oh god, he wondered, what am I doing down here? "Yes Mistress."
"Say it!" she snapped, slapping him once more.
"Yes Mistress, you heard me cry. You hit me hard and it hurt. It was more than I could take. Please don't hit me again mistress. My ass is so sore already. Take pity, please."
"Pity, yes. Stand up- slave. What is a pity is that lately you seem to prefer the company of your hand to me. Well, if you like that so much, lets go. Start stroking."
He looked at her with disbelief. He never jacked himself off in front of her. Sure, he knew she knew about it, he was a man after all and she had no delusions about men and masturbation, but he'd always been a little shy about doing it in front of her.
"If your ass can't take any more abuse then you better start choking that chicken. Go ahead, give me a good show."
He reached down tentatively and curled his hand around his organ, rubbing his palm over his swollen shaft. "Come on, show me how you really like it," she demanded. "Maybe if you give me a good show, I'll give you a reward." She smiled and licked her lips, leading him to believe that just maybe she'd give him a blow-job. The possibility was enough to get him over his shyness. He grabbed himself harder and started stroking roughly up and down in a clean even rhythm. It wasn't creative just quick and to the point.
"Yea, that's what I want to see. You do like it rough. But straight to the point. Well, we're going to be taking things a little slower from now on, a little more attention to the finer points. I'm going to torture your body until you're begging me to touch your cock. But before that you're going to learn to appreciate my touch on every part of your body. Oh yea, we are going to be playing this game quite a bit, don't worry. I can tell that you like it, even if you can't admit it to yourself just yet."
He listened to his words, but tried to block out their meaning. His dick was in his hand and he pumped at it, thinking about how she was forcing him to masturbate. Forcing him! Never in his wildest fantasies had he imagined that a woman would force him to do what was probably one of his favorite things. What was next, would she force him into a manage-a-toi?
The thought made him so hot, he began to pant. He was close now, he could feel it. One more dirty thought and- "Don't you even THINK about coming!" she snapped. "You will come when I say and not before. Or there will be punishment and it will be beyond what you can imagine."
Damn! He thought, I had almost forgotten about her and her sudden little bitch tantrum. Shit, I am really under her control. How the fuck did I let that happen?
"Put your hands to your side!" she ordered. He did as she said and she walked around him, inspecting. "Yes," she said touching his outstretched penis, "This is quite impressive. Nice and long, hard, thick. I want you to know that this cock is now my property, as are you. You are my little slave, my bitch. Do you understand?"
"Good, very good." She made her hand flat,and ran her stiff palm along his erection, from the base to the head, then ran the back of her hand back the other way, toward his belly. Turning again, she gripped him firmly and stroked. "You know how I love the taste of that sweet pre-cum on my lips." she whispered seductively.
Maybe something about her suddenly becoming demure and sweet should have tipped him off, but all of the blood had deserted the head that held the brains, so he just rode the wave of whatever she was telling him, and the clear sticky fluid soon found its way to the opening of his dick.
She rubbed her finger over his slit, driving him wild, and sending more juice leaking out. She brought her hand up to his lips. "And I'm sure you're going to love it too," she said, her voice still light, but taunting. "Are you man enough to taste your own juices? I know you would never ask me to do anything that you're not willing to do yourself, now would you?"
No way in hell was he licking his own cum off her finger. "DO IT SLAVE," she commanded. He opened his mouth and she brought her finger to his tongue. "Lick it, bitch. Show me how you like it." Ignoring the taste, he cleaned her finger as quickly as possible and then continued to suck on her digits, one at a time, and then all at once. At this point he knew he had to please his new mistress or there would be hell to pay. And some parts of it he liked: the others he would just have to tolerate in order to enjoy the rest. What choice did he have anyway? She knew him too well, she had gotten inside his head, and trapped him- not physically where he could fight, but mentally. She had hijacked his masculinity. He would never be quite the same again.
To Be Continued...
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