Tales of Love & Cruelty

Chapter 3

Of course the big test is yet to come. So rather than grow impatient I content myself with reveling in the present: the lush fur beneath me, the warm fire, the crisp taste of the bubbly on my tongue, the frantic strokes of Terry’s own tongue as he slavishly cleans me and best of all the sight of him kneeling naked at my feet, bowing down before me to intimately worship my lowliest parts.

This last vision is the most maddeningly arousing of all of course. So when Terry’s efforts finally become only redundant, I place the sole of my free foot on his cheek and gently push him away.

“Enough, boy!” I order. And to my delight he only looks disappointed, and not the least offended by my manner of expression or the dominance implied by the slightly contemptuous use of my foot. Indeed I’m tempted to reward him for this immediately. But I have one more challenge planned first, and I’m loath to forgo it. While he kneels there, patiently waiting upon my next whim, I carefully pour myself a glass, down it and then pour a refill, offering Terry nothing. Again he shows no resentment at this. But when I pull out a hidden bottle of nail polish – purple to match my lingerie – his face is a study in timid surprise. Just as planned, of course. Laughing at his look, I hold it out to him.

“Go on, boy. Paint my toes for me. Now that they’re clean I want them to look their absolute best. Do a good job on them for me, and you can eat my p***y afterwards. Won’t that make it all worth it?”

“Oh yes, ma’am!” he gulps, instinctively dropping into a respectful form of address. Perfect: it will be a short distance from ‘ma’am’ to ‘Mistress’, I have no doubt. Without any further hesitation Terry takes the polish from me, uncaps the brush, and again bends studiously over my perfect little foot.

One by one he carefully colors my toenails, finally managing to do a perfect job despite his total inexperience. He even knows enough to blow gently on them afterwards, speeding the drying process. At last he looks hopefully up at me.

I raise my feet, searching for any imperfection. There are none. Very well, he’s earned his reward. I spread my legs out wide, loving the plush pressure of the fur on my outer thighs. I drain my latest glass (getting almost tipsy enough by now to indulge my fondest dream appropriately) and set it aside. Then I give him my divine permission.

“Okay, boy. You can pleasure my p***y now. But I want you to stay on your knees. You will only be allowed off of them after I’ve enjoyed my greatest ecstasy ever!”

Even on this plushest of rugs those knees must be getting sore by now. Still Terry displays nothing but desperate craving as he shuffles forward, kowtows again before that which he worships most, and fervently begins to service me. His lips and tongue are long since adept at this at least. Within a minute I’m gasping. Within five I’m writhing madly, moaning and keening and using both hands to press his face deeper. Surely it takes less than ten before I’m bucking in orgasm, screaming and forcing his tongue ever further into me. But at last I’m wracked, and collapse, and let my poor boy up for air at last.

He gulps this greedily, and his eyes can’t help but beseech me. Still his rod is rigidly upright, his balls no doubt churning with urgent sperm. Too bad, boy. As I said, this night is about me and mine, not about him and his. Foreplay is at last at an end. Now the moment of my most sought after consummation ever is at hand.

Ever since I read about this act in a women’s magazine over fifteen years ago, at the tender age of sixteen, this fantasy has preyed upon me. It ruined my last marriage. But now at last I have everything in place. I have a meek, love-struck husband so driven by his own needs he can’t help but submit to me. I also have him trapped in a remote, incredibly erotic setting and have him supercharged with lust and already conditioned to obey me. Best of all, I have that shopping bag hidden behind the firewood and my boy’s surely appalling surprise waiting within that. The moment of truth has finally arrived!

“Wait, boy,” I command, again holding out my hand. “You’re right, the foreplay is finally over. But that was just an ordinary orgasm you brought on. I haven’t come close to experiencing my greatest pleasure ever. For that I still need you humbly on your knees. And I also need what you’re so madly eager to use on me. Luckily I have it right here!”

Finally climbing to my knees myself, I pull that hidden bag out. Reveling in Terry’s perplexity and yet still terribly anxious that this perfectly orchestrated situation might still somehow go wrong, I turn and shake two items out onto that killer rug: a tube of K-Y Jelly and an eight-by-one inch strap-on dildo complete with harness.

My poor boy is utterly stunned, and then absolutely horrified. Before he can say a single word, and start up one of those woefully familiar arguments, I hold a hand up again, commanding him into stasis. Immediately he bites back his protests, and meekly waits to hear what I have to say.

“Listen to me very carefully, Terry. You agreed, did you not, to submit to me sexually in every way tonight? You know that you did. Well, it has been my lifelong dream to f**k a man in the ass, and I intend to do it right now, to you. Also, you should know that I left my last husband because he refused to submit to this. I love you very dearly, Terry. You know this. I want nothing more than to spend my entire life with you. But if you are going to be like that asshole, and try to deny me my fondest dream, then I will have no choice but to move on from you also.”

Still Terry gapes at me, obviously at a loss for words. Quickly I move to alleviate his most likely concerns. “I know what you’re thinking, silly boy, and this doesn’t make you gay. In fact it reinforces your fundamental heterosexuality. It says that you’re willing to submit to your mistress’ wishes and maybe even explore your own feminine side without risk to your masculine self image. Honestly, can you look at my naked body and even dream of preferring a man? If not, you have nothing to worry about. If so, then we’re better off parting here anyways. Now, are you going to get on your hands and knees in the middle of that rug for me? Or are you going to put on your clothes, gather up your things, leave my friend’s cabin and wait to hear from my lawyer?”

Terry stares appalled at me a bit more, his erection beginning to droop. But then he comes to a decision, and praise Jesus, Allah, Buddha, or anyone else, it’s the right one. I know this even before he speaks or moves. Because suddenly his c**k stops drooping down and begins twitching its way quickly back up.

“Okay, Cameron,” he quavers. “I believe in keeping my word, and my wife. I’ll do whatever it takes to get through this night, and indeed to keep you in my bed. Please just promise that you won’t hurt me, and that you’ll always be gentle.”

With that he drops to all fours, and crawls trembling to the middle of the rug. Flying high on triumph, I answer only distractedly as I finally strap my hard rubber p***s on for real. Still I love him enough to tell him the truth.

“I can’t possibly promise that, boy. Of course it’s going to hurt, at least at first. And as someone who’s been f****d hundreds of times, I guarantee that you’ll be begging for me to be anything but gentle before long. Just relax, and trust me please. This is going to be the greatest experience of our lives, at least so far. After this, who knows what the next sixty or so years might bring? We might find mutual heights that will drive both of us utterly out of our minds!” Terry has no answer to that, though he continues to breathe heavily as he waits for me. Supremely exultant in my moment of apotheosis, I take his silence as consent. I slather my c**k with at least a quarter-inch of grease. Then I kneel between his spread, surely sore knees and feel down between. His c**k is as hot and hard and throbbing with need as ever.

“You see, Terry?” I breathe. “What I want, you want. And right now I want s*x with you. Can you possibly deny that you want the same thing?” For good measure I jerk him then, eliciting first a choked groan and finally the admission I need.

“No, beautiful. I’m ready to accept whatever you decree. Go ahead and f**k me!”

Have I not been waiting to hear that all my life? You bet your f*****g ass I have! And now at last the time has arrived! I’m going to f**k my husband’s butt doggy-style!

“Good boy,” I husk. “Here it comes then, my sexy little doggy!”

I put the slick tip of my big hard prick against his tight little pucker and start pushing it in. Right away he hisses in pain, and tries to pull away. But I can’t allow that. I seize his hips with both hands and pull him back even as I thrust forward harder. In slips the first few inches of my d**k, as my doggy groans and I moan. I don’t know what he’s feeling (though that certainly wasn’t just pain in his sound) but for me the experience is everything I’d always dreamed it would be and more. Beyond the sheer domineering thrill, the overwhelming rush of power I get from f*****g a man’s ass, the pressure of the base of that c**k on my clit is simply glorious. And I haven’t even really begun f*****g him yet! Wait until I’m pounding his ass as hard and fast as I can! With that thought for incentive I pull back a little and push forward again, getting twice as deep this time. Now with half my c**k in his ass Terry has his fists clenched in the rug and sweat running down his back. His groan is even louder, and more drawn out than before. And yes, there’s something besides pain in that sound. He’s no longer trying to pull away either. Encouraged, I stroke again, and again, until I finally find myself flush up against his butt, with my entire c**k buried inside. My delicious little doggy is now shivering all over despite the nearby fire, and moaning most eloquently.

“Do you like it, little doggy?” I whisper. “Do you like having my whole big prick stuck deep up inside you?”

“It hurts,” he whimpers.

“That’s not what I asked you!” I sharply respond. “I asked you if you liked it!”

Terry takes a few gasping breaths. Then his affirmative answer is barely audible.

“Speak up, doggy!”

“I said ‘Yes, ma’am’. I do like it. It hurts, and it’s embarrassing as hell. But still it turns me on. My c**k is so hard! I’d give anything for you to pull on it.”

“Sorry, Terry. This night is all about me, remember? Now grovel and groan; whine and moan like a good little doggy as I finally f**k the ever loving s**t out of your tight, tender little bung-hole!”

With that I pull back until I’m almost completely out and then stab back in all the way, as hard as I can. Doggy yelps in pain, but I’m suddenly past caring. I’m finally, truly, properly f*****g a man, and the excitement is overwhelming. Quickly I build up a deep-stroking rhythm, plunging into the hilt and back perhaps once every second. Poor Terry is sobbing non-stop as I f**k him, but he’s also raising his ass to meet me. Soon he even drops from his palms to his elbows and shifts his knees out wider, opening himself to me absolutely. Delighted by his compliance I f**k him more wildly than ever, the ecstasy in me mounting with every thrust. And then it happens: the greatest orgasm of my life explodes through me. Screaming deliriously as I f**k and thrust and thrust and f**k, a supernova of sensation lights up my loins from the inside. Somehow I keep f*****g as it blooms and swells and burgeons within me, and even as it renders me weak-kneed and mindless in its final neural excess. But after that I can only collapse.