The Mind Wanders . . .  (written by Olivia's panty boy)

Mistress Olivia asked me why I always call Her in such an overheated state from my office. Wherever was my work ethic? She wondered. Shouldn't I be a tad more focused on earning the funds necessary to support Her in a lavish style? What on earth could be preoccupying me so? Hmm, She mused, I think a little essay is in order . . .
My secretary is a gorgeous 32-year-old brunette. Great body, curly brown hair. Very demure usually. Doesn't share much of her personal life. I fantasize that one day she comes to work in a black leather skirt, not too short. A white blouse, just a little transparent, sheer enough so that you can make out the bra underneath. A soft bra, one that barely offers her full breasts any support, but she's young, and her D cups are pretty perky. 
She acts a little flirtatious all day, which is out of character for her. She seems to find a reason to bend down to get files whenever she knows I'm looking at her. The top of her thong peeks out a little over the waist of her skirt as she tucks her blouse back in. White thong. She always wears G-strings, and sometimes the outline is clear when she wears pants. She never wears pantyhose or stockings, nor does she in this fantasy. She teases me all day. She leans over my desk on occasion, letting me peek into her blouse a little. The blouse is open a mere two buttons, so all I see is some of her bra and the exposed cleavage. I can't concentrate all day. I can't get up, because the entire office will see my continuous hard-on.
At the end of the day, she asks me to stop by to see her new house. I did her closing for free—actually, I also gave her some money as a housewarming gift. She says she wants to show me some of the things she and her husband have been doing around the place. I haven't seen the house yet, and I figure I can drop by, since it's on my way home. It's a Friday and I have the time. Before she leaves, she tells me that her husband is at baseball practice (he coaches) and that he probably won't be home until after 7:00. I gulp and say sure. She leaves at 5:00, and I wait a few minutes so as not to appear too eager. I have no idea what to expect . . . just a house tour, or something more?
My mind races as I drive the fifteen minutes to her place. She comes out when she hears the car. Her dog's being a little pesky, so she puts him in the backyard. Good thing. The anticipation has been building, and I kinda have a hard-on (for her, not the dog). She has changed into a T-shirt and jeans and sandals. She shows me around the house, room by endless room. . . . This seemed to be a regular house tour. . . . Now I'm confused. What had all the teasing been about? After some idle chitchat, I begin to say my disappointed goodbyes.
She says, "Wait, I forgot to show you what we bought with your housewarming present." She takes me to the bedroom and points to the four-poster bed. Nothing special about it, just a generic bed with standard wooden posts. She says that the mattress is very firm and asks me to lie on it. I do, and it isn't the firmest thing in the room by this time. She climbs on the bed and bounces a little. No bra under the T-shirt. She asks me if I had enjoyed her tease today. I tell her I'd been going out of my mind, then and even more so now. She comes closer and gives me a soft kiss on the cheek. With that, she tells me to lie down, as she has some more surprises in store for me. 
She returns wearing a low-cut silky nightgown with pearly buttons down the chest. She says that the only way to really appreciate the bed is to take a nap with her (!?!). She volunteers her hubby's pj's, but I decline . . . no need to get him suspicious. I strip to my boxers. We cuddle and kiss. I nuzzle her neck, behind her ear . . . where her hairline begins. I kiss her earlobe and lick inside the ear a little. I tell her that an ear is like a second pussy and that I can make her come by licking it and kissing it if we both pretend that it really is her pussy. I flick and bite the lobe as she moans. She gets goose bumps as I caress and kiss her ear and neck, and play with her curly hair.
"Enough," she finally says. She tells me that my tongue was so good that she wants me to lick her pussy for real. But she doesn't want to fuck. OK with me; I'll start with that. She tells me that she doesn't want us to get carried away and asks if it would be all right if she tied my hands to the bedposts with some of her husband's ties. At this point I'd agree to just about anything. She fetches a couple of neckties from the closet, slips off my shorts, and proceeds to truss my arms to the bed.
She unbuttons her nightgown, so that it's completely open in the front. She moves up my body slowly. Her nipple is right in front of my mouth, and she tells me to lick it. Kiss it. Make the nipple hard. Sure! "Now the other," she says. I eagerly comply. She rubs both breasts against my mouth and wiggles. She climbs farther up and holds on to the headboard with two hands. Her pussy is in front of my mouth now. Dripping. Juicy. 
"Lick!" she commands. God! I lick softly, up and down, gently sucking on the lips, flicking my tongue into the slit. She has a little landing strip of brown hair, but is mostly shaven. Her juices are intoxicating. She tells me to keep her clit in my mouth and to use my tongue to trace out the alphabet. A . . . up and across. B . . . around, around, and down. C . . . lightly around her erect clit. When I get to M, she tells me to make a buzzing noise, "MMMMMMM." She presses her mound harder against my face and rocks back and forth. She's getting ready to come—her back arches a little; she closes her eyes. More "MMMMMMM" until my mouth is going numb. She tenses, then gasps, then shivers. She collapses on my chest, wasted.
I figure that now it's my turn. I beg her to let me loose. But she says again that she doesn't want to fuck and doesn't trust me enough to untie me. OK, I figure that at least I'm going to get a blow job for all my efforts. She goes to her nightstand drawer and pulls out some toys. She tells me that usually her husband uses them on her, but she's reversing that role with me. By now I'm so horny I'd go along with most any proposition.
She gets some ice and rubs it on my nipples. Pulling on them, twisting them. She places some light nipple clamps on them as I moan. She asks me if she can tie my legs so I can't kick her if things get a little rougher. Why not. With that, more ties are produced, and my ankles are bound. She removes my nipple clamps, and oh, it hurts. She rubs more ice on my chest and down toward my cock. She circles the ice over my cock and balls until my balls are numb. She puts a few clothespins on my balls, but I can hardly feel them. She takes out a feather and teases me, up and down my chest, around my erect cock. I beg her to use her hands or her mouth, but she ignores me.
Instead, she finds a candle and tells me that she's going to drop hot wax on my balls as punishment for all the times I have stared at her breasts and ass. Drip. Ouch. More drips, more ouches. I am incredibly aroused as she flicks the hardened wax from my genitals. She asks if they hurt and gives my balls a little kiss to make them feel better. I plead with her to kiss my dick, but she ignores me. She takes out some KY and slops it on her fingers and around my balls. I assume I am about to get a hand job at least, but she has other ideas. She probes for my anus as I begin to squirm, resisting, protesting. But I can't move much, and she eventually gets a finger past my clenched asshole. She slides it in and out, and I start to enjoy the sensation of fullness. I relax a little as she inserts two of her dainty little fingers in my ass. 
I'm moaning and begging her to keep going, but please, please suck my cock. No luck on the cock request. But she continues to probe my asshole. I beg her for some relief. But she tells me sternly that she will not kiss or touch my dick this time. "If you want to come," she says, "I'll let you free, and you can jack off for me." Sounds good to me . . . any port in a storm, even if that port is my right hand. She directs me to slip into a pair of her white silky panties and to slide my cock out the side. Sure. She makes me stand against the wall as she watches from the bed. "Play with it . . . harder . . . faster," she commands. I feel some precum ooze out of the end. She sees it too and tells me that I am not to come until she orders me to. "Stroke . . . faster . . ." I close my eyes and imagine that she is sucking my cock. I want to shoot, and ask for permission, which she denies. I beg. 
"Not yet," she says. Sweat is dripping off me. My right arm is becoming tired as I masturbate for her. Finally, she announces that I will be allowed to orgasm soon. When she counts to 10, I am to ejaculate. Not before or after. The pressure to please her is enormous. I don't think I can do it on command, but when she says "8," it's as if she has me hypnotized. I arch my back and stiffen. I can feel it coming . . . "Now!" As she says "10," I erupt right on cue. Gobs of cum all over my hand, my dick, and her panties. I collapse onto the floor.  
Looking up, I realize that she is playing with herself. She asks if I want to see her climax. Of course I do. "One condition," she says. I have to lick her panties clean as she plays with her pussy. "A deal!" I lick as she rubs. The faster she rubs, the more eagerly I lick. As I am soaking her panties, she is soaking her pussy. She leans back with one hand on her clit and the other on her left nipple. She's ready to explode. Finally the long-awaited "Oh my God!" comes breathlessly out of her mouth. She beckons me to the side of the bed and has me lick her fingers. Such a sweet aroma!  
Even though I have developed another huge erection, she says we have to stop playing 'cause hubby is due home soon. She promises me we will play again, although I still won't be allowed to put my dick in her pussy or mouth. I agree to those terms . . . secretly thinking I will be able to convince her to go further at our next encounter.
She kisses me lightly and whispers in my ear, "If you want the game to continue, you must wear my panties to work tomorrow and flash them for me to prove you're wearing them." Hey, why not. I get dressed hurriedly and stuff the panties in my pocket.
I hid them before I went to bed so my wife wouldn't find them. I didn't rinse them out, and they got stiff overnight, and a little musty smelling. None the less, I wear them the next day instead of my boxers. Quite a sensual experience. We exchange fraught glances all day. At 5:00, she comes into my office, and I show her the top of the panties. She smiles and blows me a kiss and tells me that the adventure is just beginning. I can't wait for the second chapter.

Mistress Olivia's response: Very provocative fantasy. Only one problem: I'm not in it! Try, try again . . .


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