The Meeting

You're tense and frustrated. You just want this online meeting to end so you can go climb into bed with your man and entice him into fucking your stress away. One nasal-toned manager makes the same insipid point for the umpteenth time, and you stifle a groan, close your eyes, and let your head fall back. That's when you feel the hand clamp over your mouth, which is all that stops you from crying out over the chat server.

Your eyes fly open to meet mine, upside down from your perspective. I wear a sly grin and I show you your collar. You know the one. The beautiful, handcrafted studded-leather collar you wore for the first time the night you playfully swore that if I could get it fastened around your neck, you would do anything I desired.

Your eyes widen in realization. I intend to... oh no! During the meeting? Certainly not! You begin to struggle and consider biting. But I clamp my hand down harder and raise my index finger from my grip on your collar to signal quiet while nodding toward the microphone on your desk. You consider slapping for the mute button, but I'm ahead of you and pull your chair back a bit so you can't reach.

I move my grip from your mouth to your throat, my look daring you to make a sound. But the only sound you can produce is panting. You realize your heart is racing and your panties are wet. No! This is not the time!

I reach down with the collar and slip one end of it under the back of your neck, releasing your throat from my grip to reach around with that hand to take the end. Now's your chance; you could sit up and escape the collaring. You totally could. In fact, you're certain that I've left you a tiny chance to escape, like a safe word, a Get Out of Jail Free card.

But that realization makes you think too long, and I've buckled the collar in place. Then I release you and step back, waiting for something. I'm far enough back that I can't stop you, and I don't move when you scoot forward and tap the Mute button, your other hand moving to the collar buckle.

Then the thought that started somewhere when you realized I've left you room to escape finishes blossoming and you freeze. In the sudden calm, a director on the chat call asks you a question, and you tap the Mute button again and answer him with your eyes locked on mine. The hand that reached up to unbuckle the collar instead caresses the leather. So many memories of submission while wearing it, and you've NEVER removed it yourself.

Fuck if you're going to start now! I got it around your neck next fair and square, and you *want* to fulfill your oath, pay your penalty, give me my price.

You straighten in your chair and place your hands, palm upward, on your thighs in a sign of submission. I move from my place leaning against the doorframe to stand closer and admire your quivering form, watching your excitement move through you.

I motion for you to stand, and you do. I lean forward to whisper in your ear, "Strip." A blush spreads across your face as you consider all the people virtually present in your home office. They can't really see you strip, but you can't help imagining that they can. And that imagining fills your soul with lust. Damn, you wish you could see the looks on their faces if they really saw you wantonly stripping in front of them! You bite your lower lip, smiling at me lustfully, and begin to gyrate, your hips and shoulders moving to an unheard rhythm as your fingers go to the buttons on your shirt.

You dance your lust to me as you teasingly draw your clothes away, playing to an imaginary audience in your mind's eye who are reduced to wanting you but denied because your Lord wants you for himself. You dance for your Lord.

Twice then thrice you are called out to contribute to the meeting. Into your role, you answer calmly with a cheerful smile directed at me, once dancing across the office to retrieve a folder to read some figures. You giggle when you are complimented on your good cheer and someone asks where you get your coffee.

Letting you dance nude for me for several minutes, I step closer and gather you into my arms, kissing your face and neck, lightly biting your ears, pulling your hair, pinching your nipples, squeezing your buttcheeks, stroking your spine, kissing your lips, invading your mouth with my tongue.

Shortly, I step away fractionally, placing my hands on your shoulders and pressing downward. You know what I want, and you want it more. You drop to you knees before me, place your fingers at the snap to my pants and look up pleadingly.

I smile and nod, and your grin grows as you undo my pants, brushing the hard cock under the fabric, knowing that I never wear my boxers when Mastering you, so you're that much closer to taking me in your mouth.

As soon as my manhood is clear of my fly, it's in your greedy mouth, and you pause to savor the feeling, filling your mouth, smelling my musky maleness. You shudder in pleasure with your eyes closed in ecstasy, then open them to look me in the eye and begin a sensuous, sinuous motion that starts at the base of your spine and rolls up your body to move your lips back and forth on my shaft.

I open my hands before you as though to grab something, and you obediently place your wrists in my grasp, which closes tightly on you. I raise your wrists above your head, and you add your arms to your languorous body wave, dancing again, on your knees, your mouth on your Lord's phallus, your wrists captured by his strength.

You are insidiously sexy. You know it. I know it. We know each other's bodies and rhythms, and soon we are reaching a fever pitch. You know I'll come soon after teasing one another.

You feel me swell in your mouth as the nasal-toned manager asks you for your input, the same input you gave while dancing with the folder. I glance at you and at the microphone, but you give a tiny headshake, instead accelerating your motions.

And then I'm releasing my load into your mouth. Your eyes close in pleasure for a second, but then you open them to look me in the eye and pull back a bit so that my cum is pumping squarely onto your tongue.

Meanwhile, Mr Nasal is getting upset that you're not answering, but you ignore him. When you have accepted my entire offering, you pull back more, letting my cock slip from your lips, and show me my cum cupped in your tongue. You close your mouth and lift your head so I can see you swallow and then show me your empty mouth.

By this time, your director has become concerned, calling your name and asking if you're OK. You turn your head and tell him, "Sorry, I slipped out to the kitchen for some sweet cream for my coffee."

I reach for the buckle on your collar to release you, but you put your hand over it, slipping back into your office chair with a headshake and a smile for me.

Understanding, I lean in and whisper, "I'll be waiting," and stride from the room, leaving you naked with your blind virtual audience.