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.
