Wife and Mistress - a femdom story

This is a short teaser from the short story "Wife and Mistress", now available on Amazon. It is a story custom made for a Patreon member. 

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I am leaned against the doorway to the rest of the house when he enters. He is visibly tired, but it all fades when he sees me. His eyes light up as they take in the sight. I can tell he likes what he sees, that I turn him on, and it makes me feel powerful and desired.

He wants to speak. He wants to compliment me.

“Do you like what you see?” I ask.

He nods. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Take your clothes off,” I say.

He suppresses a smile. “Yes, Mistress.”

I can feel my weariness after the workday dissipate as I watch him undress. The shirt falls, the pants are unzipped, every item is removed until his naked body is all that remains. That, and the chastity cage imprisoning his cock. The shiny steel device is a symbol of his submission to me, and I only rarely break out the keys. I occasionally send him titillating photos while he is at work, knowing that the arousal frustrates him as his member grows within the tight confines of the cage.

I love the man in front of me, on a level I never thought possible, and I want to show him how much.

I point at the floor in front of me. “Kneel, slave.”

He obeys, never taking his lustful, longing gaze off of me. I can see the conflict in those deep, brown eyes; he is fighting the urge to embrace me, fighting the arousal that causes him both intense pleasure and discomfort.

My purse is standing on the dresser next to me; I reach in and pull out a set of hinged handcuffs. I never leave home without them, just in case he needs to be put in his place. He does not protest as I kneel to lock them on his wrists behind his back.

“Have you been a good slave today?” I ask as I slowly walk around him in circles, eyeing my prey, my prize.

“Yes, Mistress.” His pleasant, deep voice is dripping with lust. “I did as you asked.”

“Tell me what you did.”

He takes a deep breath. “I… I looked at the photos of my last punishment during the business meeting, as you instructed.”

I nodded. “Did it turn you on?”

“Yes, Mistress. Very much.”

I reach behind the door and finds the riding crop I had hidden this morning; I like to plan ahead. He winces at the sight, but I know he wants it, wants to be reminded of his position. He knows he should be looking at the floor instead of feasting on my body with his eyes, but it always takes a few whacks of the crop, cane, or paddle to push his public persona back into the closet to reveal his true, submissive self.

“Did I give you permission to stare at me, slave?”

He smiles. He wants to provoke me, to make me react. I will play along, but he will regret it soon enough. “No, Mistress.”

He groans as the crop hits his upper back. It is a light hit, a teaser. I point the riding crop at my boots, and he immediately starts licking them. There is no need for instructions; he is well trained at this point. I look at the charismatic, well-liked pillar of the community licking my boots like an excited puppy. I get the urge to touch myself, but I fight it for now – we are only getting started.

“More,” I say in a controlled, calm voice as I pummel his back with the riding crop.

He obeys, pushing his face into the shiny leather. His arms are tense, his wrists forced together by the restrictive cuffs, and he whimpers as the hits increase in force.

His tongue must be raw by now. I need it for later. “On your feet. Follow me.”

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