The Life of Riley

In my line of work, I tend to put in long hours and frequently come home late in the evening. I couldn’t cope if it weren’t for my servant, James. It had been an endless day, and I was looking forward to one of James’s amazing creations, turbot en croűte perhaps, or some other tantalizing French concoction. James was an excellent chef, and I let him indulge himself in the kitchen—the only place I allowed him any indulgence. As I stepped into the apartment, I realized something was amiss. The air was cool and lacked the usual warm and savory aromas that typically greeted me from the kitchen. “James?” I called. No answer. “JAMES!” I yelled. The only reply was a loud metallic "clank" from the kitchen. I strode into the kitchen to find James lying on his back, wearing his usual frilly pink apron and nothing else, head and shoulders inside the oven, tools scattered all around. I ground one of my stiletto heels into his scrotum and asked sweetly, “James, sweetie . . . what the fuck is going on?” James howled in pain and dropped his screwdriver with a clunk. “Mistress!” A look of terror crossed his carbon-smudged face. “The oven is broken; I was trying to finish before you got home!” I pushed the ball of my foot down, pinning his penis against the marble floor. “It appears you failed.”

I picked up the phone and placed an order with my favorite Thai take-out down the street, the whole while glaring at James. “That should arrive in an hour. Your repairs had better be done by then.” I slipped out of my suit jacket and skirt and into the welcoming embrace of the steaming bath. As I lay there, allowing the day to dissolve into the water, I began to think about what sort of punishment James deserved for his ineptitude. I emerged from the bath and called James into my bedroom. I stood nude, my arms crossed, my stern glare piercing him to the quick. He knelt before me and stared at the floor as I spoke: “You’re quite the disappointment tonight. Did you fix the stove yet?” “No, Mistress,” James mumbled. I gently raised his chin and gazed into his eyes, which were beginning to water as the reality of what was about to happen seeped in. “I’m so sorry, Mistress. I tried . . ." I caressed his cheek and whispered into his ear, “I know, but you still need to be punished, my sweet.” I slipped the hard rubber bit of the black ball gag into James’s mouth and tied it snugly behind his head and then secured a black leather collar and lead tightly around his neck. James was compliant; he knew he’d failed me and was accepting of his fate. James watched as I slid on my silk stockings and stiletto heels and attached my garters. I took his lead in my hand and yanked him toward me. “Lace me up,” I commanded. James obeyed, tightly cinching my black corset. I opened the drawer and scrutinized my collection of strap-ons for a couple of minutes before choosing “The Punisher.” I dangled it by the straps in front of James. He turned white at the sight of the enormous, black, veiny rubber cock. I’d never used it on him before. Until now, he’d never given me reason to. I stepped into the straps and instructed James, “Tighten the buckles well.”

We retired to "the playroom"—my home office, actually, but on the walls were several strategically placed eye bolts. I pushed James up against the wall while I retrieved two pairs of nickel-plated handcuffs from the desk drawer. I attached each pair to an eye bolt and then to one of James's wrists. The result gave the appearance of crucifixion, although what was to follow would be anything but holy. I could feel my breath coming faster and deeper with anticipation. I reached around behind him and untied his little pink apron, tossing it on the floor. James's body was spectacular, a paragon of masculine beauty. I raked my fingernails down his muscular chest, eliciting low, guttural groans of pain and pleasure from him. "You like that?" I questioned sarcastically. "Oh, that's right—I put that ball gag on you . . . BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOU SPEAK!" I backhanded him; his head whipped around and collided with the wall. His head dropped forward, his chin resting on his chest. I began to fondle his large penis. "You have a beautiful penis, James, you know that?" I smiled at him. James nodded silently. I stood stroking his thick cock with one hand and caressing his cheek with the other. "Too bad you're not going to get to use it tonight. Oh, and don't even THINK about coming. You're being punished, you pathetic fuck-toy." 

I lit the large green candle that was sitting across the room on my desk. It was a pillar candle that generates an ample reservoir of melted wax when it burns. As I left the candle to build up a nice little puddle of wax, I returned to James, the lighter still in my hand. As I ran the lighter’s flame under his heavy sac and thickening cock, I could hear his breath coming in short pants and gasps. I glared at him. “Don’t you even fucking think of coming, or I will destroy you!” James’s eyes shut tight, and I could hear him growl behind the ball gag as I slapped and tugged on his semi-hard dick. After a couple of minutes, I released James’s cock and turned my attention to the pillar candle, carrying it over to him. I passed the flame slowly beneath both of his nipples and under his scrotum. James gasped and whimpered as the flame licked his sensitive skin. His rigid cock was the first to feel the stinging heat of the molten wax. I poured a small trail down the length of his shaft. James screamed through his ball gag as the burning hot wax singed his skin. I smiled evilly as I licked and nibbled at his nipples. James moaned as I tongued the tip of his left nipple. “You like that, do you?" I grasped his cock again and began stroking it. Again, James’s breath began to come in the short pants and gasps that meant he was close to orgasm. I bent forward at the waist to allow him a better view of my full, round, gorgeous breasts. I stared up into his eyes. “Remember what I said: you don’t have the privilege of orgasm.” I began stroking him faster and faster. I would break him—the mind and spirit may be strong, but the flesh is much weaker. James put up a valiant effort, but in the end, it was hopeless. He screamed in panicked desperation and despair as his semen squirted all over my pumping hand.

I stood up and ripped the ball gag from his mouth. “I told you you didn’t get to fucking come! Look at this mess. You make me sick! Lick it off. Lick your cum off. Make sure you clean every one of my fingers, from base to tip!” James obediently lapped every last bit of his semen from my palm and each one of my slender, red-tipped fingers. “What do you have to say for yourself?” I asked angrily. “I’m very sorry, Mistress; I couldn’t help it. It was too much for me—” Cutting him off in mid-babble, I commented, “Evidently. A real man would have been able to control himself. But you’re not a real man, are you? You’re a little sissy, aren’t you? AREN’T YOU!" James broke down and began to nod and weep. “Yes, Mistress,” he sobbed helplessly. “I’m so weak.” 

I unlocked the left handcuff and attached it to the right. “It’s time now for your punishment.” I spun James around and scraped my fingernails down his back. He let out a low moan as my fingernails dug into his ass cheeks and spread them apart. I grasped the big black Punisher dangling between my legs and pressed the head of it against James’s puckered little asshole. I reached up and lovingly caressed his cheek as I whispered into his ear, “This is going to hurt you a lot more than it hurts me!" With that, I plunged my thick rubber cock deep inside James’s ass. He screamed as the dildo vanished into him. I began to thrust it in and out of him, plunging nearly the entire length of the big silicone dildo into his tight asshole with every stroke. After the third or fourth stroke, I noticed that one of the straps on the harness ran right over my clit and was rubbing against it with every jab. I began to fuck James savagely, oblivious to his screams as my own orgasm began to build. I sank my fingernails deep into his balls, and my hips bucked wildly as I inched closer and closer to climax and then slipped over the precipice into a satisfying full-body orgasm. 

I sank back against the wall, recovering, my juices oozing around the base of the strap-on and seeping down the inside of my thighs; my chest still heaving from the exertion. Limp and dazed, James hung by his wrists against the wall, his legs having long since given out on him. I sighed with satisfaction and smiled. “Apology accepted, James. Try not to let it happen again." As I stood up, the loud buzzing of the doorbell cut though the rushing of my own blood in my ears. Ah, my pad woon sen and larb had arrived—excellent timing! I tied my black silk robe around me, leaving James to “hang out,” and headed for the door.



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