Dinner with the Boss

Part 1  Work Hours Submission

Part 2 Lunch with the Boss

Okay, so Mister isn’t technically my “boss”, but as the front desk receptionist, I do answer to him as well as others, so he is, more or less, my boss. I’d had the plug in my bottom since 1:30 this afternoon. I’d squirmed my way all the way home, Mister slapping my thighs when I annoyed him too much. When we got home, he told me to tumblr_nb4pa2nuhp1risr9ko1_r1_540remove my clothing. I could wear an apron while cooking, but aside from that, he wanted full access to my body. Grinning, I kissed him, and complied, neatly putting away my shoes and slipping my clothes in the laundry. Then, I got busy on dinner – simple stuff, really, soup from last night’s left over veggies, crusty bread from the bakery, wine. True to his word, after I placed his bowl on the table, he asked (he usually asks even though there’s no way on earth I’d say no!) if I would mind. I whipped off the apron and happily settled down at his feet. I unzipped his trousers and feasted on his cock while he enjoyed his dinner. He didn’t speak, but occasionally moaned and often had one hand on my head, stroking my hair or guiding me. I absolutely adore sucking Mister’s cock. It isn’t so big as to chock me, nor so wide as to make my jaws ache. It is perfect. Mister took his time, enjoying both his mean and my attentions. I heard him push back his bowl and felt him lean back in his chair. This was my cue. I massaged his heavy balls, sucked deeper, harder, slipped one finger into my mouth. Then, slowly eased that spit slicked finger into his anus, gently pressing against his prostrate. “Beautiful,” he whispered. His balls tightened, his cock swelled, and he released his pleasure down my eager mouth. I licked and kissed each ball after I had swallowed my appetizer, stopping only when he pulled back from me and helped me to my feet. He sat me down in his place then retrieved a warm bowl of soup for me, two slices of buttered bread, and a glass of wine. He knelt between my legs and reminded me that I was not allowed to come until I had finished my dinner. This, this was torture. The plug was still in me, pressed deeper because of the hard, wooden chair upon which I sat. He licked me – front door to doorbell. I almost spilled my soup even though I knew it was coming. I SO FREAKING WANTED TO COME!!!! If I did, I knew the rest of the night and very likely the next day would be difficult. So, I steeled myself and sipped my soup. I nibbled on the bread as Mister nibbled on me. He rubbed my seeping home, the rim and soft, inner flesh, while I finished up the last of the soup. I shoved the last of the bread into my mouth and washed it down with a big gulp of wine as he shoved three fingers into my well coated tunnel. “Please, I’m finished now, please may I come?” I begged. He pulled his mouth away long enough to say yes. I exploded, grasping the table, screaming his name, covering his face with my honey. Once I could breath again, he helped me clean up the table and set the kitchen to rights. Then, he too me to bed where he gently and thoroughly made love to me. He kept the plug in me, which made my pussy even tighter than normal. He came inside of me after a very long time. Only then did he turn me over onto my tummy. He twisted the plug, spinning it, making me wiggle and squirm and come over anecknd over again until I was begging for mercy. BDSM is NOT only about pain. Sometimes pleasure can be just as dominating. Sometimes denial can be just as dominating. Sometimes gentleness can be just as dominating. I cried and begged him to fuck me again, this time to use my ass. It was well  stretched, I assured him. He laughed and said that after coming twice, he wasn’t sure if he were capable of more tonight. But, if I asked nicely, he might be persuaded to use it in the morning. Then, all day tomorrow, I’d be reminded with my wet, cum soaked panties, that I had begged like the sweet little slut I was for him to use me.  And yes, you can bet your sweet ass I did just that.

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