Sunday Morning—A Good Girl’s Requital

He yawned and stretched. He had slept well.

He could hear that it was still raining outside, a grey light filtering through the still-curtained windows.

The big king-size bed, with its tangle of white cotton sheets and continental pillows, felt luxurious and comfortable.

He rolled onto his side, tucking a pillow under his ear, and surveyed the scene.

The room smelled of leather.

Usually such a tidy man, he liked the wild disorder he saw this morning: the jumble of black straps spilling from the toy box, which still stood open; the boots and clothes scattered across the floor. Her dark red velvet dress in a crumpled heap; her gorgeous platform boots discarded on the way to the bathroom; stockings and suspenders dangling from the arm of the chair; her leather corset still holding its form where it lay on the carpet under a confusion of laces.

The pillow was soft and fragrant against his cheek. He could smell her sweet perfume.

Lying on his side, the rumpled bedclothes were like a white landscape, as if he were a giant looking over small mountains.

The disorder lay beyond the polished bars of the brass bed, which gleamed in the soft morning light.

It would make a good photograph, he thought: the bedclothes large in the frame, the brass bars out of focus, and the velvet dress and boots in a heap on the floor, a bright, saturated focal point.

— o —

She was already in the kitchen, as he had instructed, kneeling on a cushion near the sink, polishing boots.

He rubbed the sleep dust from his eyes, stretched again, and rolled out of bed.

Naked, as he always slept, he picked up the leather jeans and pulled them up over his long legs.

Walking through the kitchen bare-chested, pushing his long black hair out of his eyes, he looked lean and sinuous, like a cat. The muscles on his stomach and chest were well defined.

In the kitchen he leaned against the wall, watching her.

Head bent,she kept at her work without looking up.

She was still wearing the leather and steel collar, heavily padlocked at the back, and the locked leather wrist cuffs.

These were fastened with two long lengths of chain to the big steel ring at the front of the collar. The chains did not restrict her movement much, but they looked good, he thought, and they were solid and heavy: she would be aware of their weight as she worked.

The chastity belt gleamed around her waist and groin, so snug that it looked like a piece of modern art moulded to her body. Otherwise she was naked, her blonde hair falling around her face.

The chains swayed and jangled as she vigorously buffed the polish she had earlier applied to his riding boots, which shone black and sinister against the tiled floor. A pair of twenty-hole packers stood to one side, neatly together, the laces removed. They had already been polished and buffed.

He leaned indolently against the wall, watching her, eating grapes he had torn off the big bunch in the fridge, popping them into his mouth with slow relish.

She had a good body, smooth and soft, slender yet strong.

She finished the riding boots and stood them side by side next to the packers, sat up straighter, stretching her back, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“There are two more pairs in the bedroom, of course,” he said through a mouthful of grapes, “a pair of yours and a pair of mine.”

She nodded slightly, glancing up at him, and he grinned.

— o —

He slid forward along the wall so that his leg pushed up against her.

She wound an arm around his leather jeans and rested her shoulder and pale cheek against his leg.

Another good photo, he thought, looking down: her blonde paleness against the black shiny leather.

He pushed the last cold wet grape into her parted lips, and she chewed it wordlessly, smiling.

He tossed the grape stalks lazily onto the table, where the jug of whipped cream they had used the night before still stood.

He pulled the jug toward him, smelled the contents, then stuck his finger first in the cream and then into his mouth.

She looked up, watching him, gazing up his leather-black thigh, past the belt buckle, past the muscled stomach and chest, up into the dark crinkled eyes, which smiled down at her kindly.

He scooped another finger of cream and stuck it in her mouth.

She closed her eyes and sucked, grabbing his wrist with her hand so that he could not pull away too soon, licking every crack and crease, exploring with the tip of her tongue every wrinkle on each joint and all the rough edges of the cuticle.

He closed his eyes too and smiled, resting his head against the cold brick wall.

She pulled his finger from her mouth slowly and wiped them on her cheek, pressing her face against his jeans again and inhaling the scent of leather.

When she released his wrist, he scooped two fingers of cream from the jug and smeared the thick white froth over his bare nipples.

She watched, smiling, then reached up slowly, grabbing his belt buckle, trying to pull him down.

He acquiesced, dropping to his knees so that she could lick and suck the cream.

Eyes closed, as were his, she grabbed his nipples gently between her teeth, biting softly. She ran her tongue from one side of his chest to the other, so that he chuckled somewhere deep inside, that easy soft laugh she liked so much, like water gurgling between wet boulders.

— o —

She was aroused now, and the pressure of the steel chastity belt around her waist and against her mons made her squirm breathlessly.

In her head she heard herself saying, ‘Blake, I must have it off, I am going mad with desire,’ but she said nothing.

With the tip of her tongue she traced a line from his smooth chest to his belly button, and as she did this she unbuckled the heavy belt and pulled open the button fly.

He had not bothered to put on underwear, and his manhood sprung from the leather like a broom handle. She brushed her cheek against it.

Wordless, he smeared a dollop of cream over the head and half down the shaft. She paused for only a moment before she began licking it off… slowly, lasciviously, panting as she did so.

The sensations were intense. He pressed his back and hands against the wall to steady himself.

She cupped his balls in her fingers as she licked, and he shivered and moaned as he tried to keep control.

He looked down at her blonde head, the brass lock securing her collar, the heavy chromed chains lying across his black-leather thighs, and the visual stimulation took him over the edge.

He came in her mouth, moaning and laughing all at once, slipping down the wall as his legs lost their strength in the thrill of ecstasy.

“That was silly of you,” he said when it was over.

He had sunk into a sitting position, and she was almost lying on the floor now, only her hip still on the pillow. She rested her head on his thigh, warm flesh against cool smooth leather.

— o —

“Wasn’t I a good girl?” she asked, looking up.

“You were a very good girl,” he said, stroking her hair, “but now I am sated, so there is no reason for me to unlock that steel prison around your waist. If you had held back I might have chained you to the bed and fucked you good and proper.”

She looked up at him, lips parted, mouth open.

“Oh, please, Blake, do that for me, please, fuck me till I break,” she pleaded, “I am so horny I could die.”

He smiled at her. He knew she was telling the truth, yet he knew too that she relished the terrible frustration. There was no real desperation in her voice.

He rubbed her nipples, which were hard, with his left hand, and with his right he ran his palm and fingers over the perforated steel shield which covered her vagina, mocking the movement she would make if she were able to masturbate.

She moaned and writhed for a few moments, then twisted away, grabbing his wrists in her hands to stop him tormenting her. Her chains tumbled over her smooth skin like jewellery, cold and beautiful.

He laughed softly.

“Well then,” he said, adopting a businesslike tone, but still keeping his voice low, “if you don’t want to play, I will go and have a shower. Come to the bedroom so I can get you dressed. Then you must make the bed, lay the table for breakfast, and polish the other boots.”

— o —

In the bedroom he asked her, “Are you going to be obedient, or must I chain you up?”

She looked at him evenly, staring into his eyes which were hard and kind at the same time, and they both knew she was pondering whether to play games, try to escape, let him overpower her.

Strong as she was, he was stronger and quicker; the physicality of the chase, the way he wrestled her down, it was exhilarating, a game she loved.

But not now, she decided, not on this particular morning.

“I want to be obedient, but I think you had better chain me—you know I can’t be trusted. And I’m so horny that I’m not sure I can trust myself at the moment.”

He fetched a padlock and secured her hands over her head to a chain which hung from the ceiling.

The chastity belt had to be unlocked in order to put on her corset, which he laced up snugly.

She sighed into its rigid embrace with a familiar shiver of pleasure as he tied the knots, which he did with rough determination, as if he intended that they should never come undone.

She watched as he picked up the hard steel chastity belt. He was about to fold it around her waist when he paused.

“Mmm... there is something I could do for you,” he grinned.

“Oh no, not that,” she exclaimed. He held a finger to his lips.

“Shhh,” he whispered.

She watched with a beating heart as he fixed the dildo to the inside of the belt.

It slipped inside her without any difficulty; she was already as wet as a dam. It filled her up and made her ache with desire.

She began thrusting with her hips, trying to move against it; he quickly wrapped the waistband around her midriff, closing the steel around the stiff boning of her stays.

He passed the rear chains over her buttocks and between her legs, and then fitted the front shield over her vagina, pulling it all very tight and securing it with the big padlock, which clicked shut with a terrible finality.

She wished suddenly that she had promised to be obedient, just so she could have touched herself briefly before he wrestled her into submission.

Feeling the brief freedom from the chastity belt, the novelty of air on her skin, and now the cold steel pressing against her vagina again, she felt that even the inevitable punishment would have been worth it. But it was too late. She was chained and helpless, and her master was implacable.

The dildo was maddening. It filled her and kept her aroused, but the belt, too tight and snug to give her any purchase, prevented her from satisfying herself. She twisted her hips and moaned.

“Oh, Jesus, I’m going to die of thwarted arousal,” she moaned, biting her lips.

Her tormentor smiled happily.

— o —

“I should have made you put on your boots first,” he remarked. “Now I’m going to have to do it.”

He knelt before her and helped her into her stockings. Then she stepped obediently into each knee-high boot, and he patiently laced them up. When he had finished, he folded a locking leather cuff around each ankle and secured each with a big brass padlock.

“Just in case we need to secure those pretty legs a little later,” he said with a wink.

He unlocked her arms now, and released the wrist-collar chains temporarily so that she could put her arms into the sleeves of the long velvet dress.

When he had finished lacing this up the back, he re-secured the long chains, so that they made two pretty curves from her throat to her wrist cuffs. She wound her hands behind her back playfully, pulling the chains between her breasts and around each side of her body.

“Ah, you do look beautiful in that dress,” he remarked with genuine admiration.

He took her in his arms, and she let herself fall backwards, like a lady swooning, hands still behind her.

He kissed her tenderly.

“I am completely in love with you, you know.”

She looked up sharply.

“Well, then, be nice. Unlock my belt, lay me on the bed fuck me.”

He chuckled.

“Don’t be silly,” he admonished gently. “You would never love me in return if I was so kind to you. Get yourself to the kitchen. You have work to do, and I need a shower.”