For Her Pleasure

He knelt in front of her and braced himself. He steeled himself against the familiar onslaught of feeling – frustration, anger, shame – that always raged through him like a firestorm, burning everything in its path. But instead of the usual reactions of disappointment, pity, anger or worse, the yawning silence, pregnant with judgments and unspoken resentment, there was something different.

Giggling. Like tinsel. Like glasses chinking together, crystal laughter.

‘My, my, my, we are the eager little beaver, aren’t we?’

Heat rose. He could hear the blood pump through the vessels in his head.

‘That’s OK, sweetie,’ she said and she leaned over and put her lips right next to his ear, so he could feel her breath on his skin. ‘Mistress has all sorts of ways of dealing with a horny little puppy like you,’ she whispered.

Oh, fuck.

‘Starting with,’ she said, dipping her finger in the creamy mess on her foot, ‘rubbing your nose in it.’ She swiped her finger across the space between his nose and his upper lip. A moustache of his own shame. The sharp, acrid odour immediately brought a fresh jolt of humiliation. ‘You may not rub or wash that off,’ she announced. She took his chin with her fingers, stared right into his eyes. His heart pounded in terror. ‘You will wear your disgusting mess on your face. It will be there for all of the rest of your meetings today.’ Oh, God. ‘And when you go home and kiss your wife.’ Oh, God! ‘And when you put your head on your pillow tonight.’ She sighed, closed those gorgeous eyes and smiled. ‘When you have your shower tomorrow morning you may wash it off then.’ He realised he wasn’t breathing and took in a gasping breath.

And suddenly he realised something else. Something astounding.

He was hard again. Harder than he had been the first time.

There was shame. But no anger. There was humiliation. But no frustration.

Pure humiliation. Not blazing, like the white-hot heat of the firestorm of his secret torment, but rolling in slowly, like molasses, covering him, turning his insides liquid, enveloping him in a mass of humility, shrinking him down, making him want to place his hard, needy little cock before her in an act of complete submission.

And what she did then made it throb and ache even more.

She leaned in and placed the tiniest kiss with her full, soft, pouty red lips right on the tip of his nose. Like the period at the end of a sentence.

There it was. Just like that. Turned a hair to the left. His torment died.

His kink was born.

* * *

She was having those feelings again. The ones that made her feel closed in on, made her breath come fast, made her start to sweat. Fine, it was fine, she told herself over and over. She ran a hand under the cold-water tap and pressed it to her forehead, squeezed her eyes shut tight. If she could just stop her brain from spinning.

Yes, things at work were bad. Hadn’t been anything but bad for five years, really. Ah, she remembered the heyday. When everything came so easily, money rolling in and her at the top of her game. But there was more to life than work. There was him.

That’s right. Things with him would be fine. She had herself a good one.

She was sure. She was pretty sure.

Chapter 2

‘Oh, you’re home,’ his wife said. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

‘Yeah, just got here,’ he said.

‘Dinner’s ready. You want to eat now?’

‘Sure. Or, you know, whenever.’ His wife looked at him and he turned quickly to the fridge.

‘You OK?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, fine. Why?’ He took a beer out and reached for a glass.

‘I dunno. You just seem … weird. Edgy.’

He poured the beer. ‘You want one?’

‘Well, not really. It’s Wednesday.’

‘So?’

‘You know I do Pilates Wednesday nights.’ She peered over his shoulder. ‘OK, what’s wrong? Could you just –’ she touched him on the shoulder ‘– turn around so we can have an actual conversation?’

He plastered a smile on his face and turned around. Willed himself not to feel that dried, crackly feeling above his lip. ‘What? I’m fine. Just … been a long day at work, is all.’ He took a sip from his glass. Eyes wide.

‘Well, OK,’ she said, a slight furrow in her brow. Her eyes searched his face and he felt a flush start to rise. Nothing there to see. Nothing there to see. ‘Are you hot? You’re getting red.’ She put a hand to his forehead. ‘Maybe you’re coming down with something.’

‘I’m fine, hon, really,’ he said, submitting to the kiss on the forehead she used to test his temperature. ‘I just – it was hot in the office today. I’ve been sweating.’ That was true. He had been sweating through his meetings that afternoon.

‘Phew, sorry, hon, yeah,’ she said, laughing and pulling away. ‘You need a shower.’

‘Yeah, ha, sorry,’ he said, a little wanly. ‘I’m so beat though, I might just flake out on the couch.’

‘Well, OK, Mr Stinky,’ she teased. She moved to grab a hoodie and a yoga mat. His heartbeat started to return to normal. ‘I’ll be back around eight thirty or so.’ She grabbed her keys. Then –

‘Hey! You never gave me a kiss when you came in.’ His heart-rate immediately skyrocketed as she reached up to him for a little peck. She pressed closed lips firmly against his. One hand on his cheek, she pulled away and began brushing the side of his face with her thumb. ‘You got a little something on your lip here, hon.’

He opened his mouth. But only a strangled little sound came out.

‘What were you eating, a doughnut or something?’ He almost passed out as she licked her thumb and wiped again.

As she walked out the door she called back over her shoulder, ‘See you in a bit! And darling, you really should rethink that shower. You smell a little funky.’

* * *

Just before 8.30 p.m. he sat unseeingly staring at some mindless TV show. He couldn’t help but intermittently and without thinking press down on his half-hard dick just to give it some sensation, something to combat – or perhaps spur on, he wasn’t sure – all of the longing he felt in his groin. Then his phone, set on silent and sitting on the end table, lit up. He flicked a glance at the screen. And his stomach lurched into his throat.

It was an email.

It was her.

He grabbed his phone, eyes darting around instinctively.

I HOPE YOU’RE HAVING A NICE EVENING! he started reading. He looked at the clock. His wife would be home any minute. He read on. AND THAT YOU’VE BEEN A GOOD LITTLE BOY AND BORNE YOUR PUNISHMENT. ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO YOUR SHOWER IN THE MORNING? JUST TO GET CLEANED UP? OR IS THERE SOMETHING ELSE? BECAUSE I CAN TELL, YOU’RE A LITTLE SHOWER WANKER, AREN’T YOU? WELL, YOU’RE A LITTLE WANKER FULL STOP. ARE YOU BEATING IT RIGHT NOW, LOVE? He looked down at his hand on his groin. Blushed. OR ARE YOU WAITING UNTIL TOMORROW? MAYBE BOTH!

WELL, YOU RUB IT IN THE SHOWER IF YOU WANT, SWEETIE. BUT REALLY, TRY AND HOLD BACK THIS TIME, OK? AND IF IT ONLY TAKES YOU TWO MINUTES AGAIN, LIKE THE PATHETIC DISPLAY I SAW TODAY, THEN IT WOULD SEEM YOU HAVE A LITTLE PROBLEM. DO YOU, LITTLE BOY? BECAUSE I KNOW TWO WORDS THAT WOULD DESCRIBE WHAT I SAW IN MY OFFICE TODAY, ONE THAT STARTS WITH P AND THE OTHER WITH E

There was more. Dear lord, it went on. But he heard the front door open just then, his wife’s footsteps coming into the foyer. Quickly he clicked off his phone as she walked into the room.