“Are you going to be a nice slutty boy for me?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“How slutty?”

“A nasty wicked fuck toy for you. Fuck meat. A hard cocked slave for your pleasure.”

“Good boy. Are you naked as I asked?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“And in your leather collar?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“It’s late. I guess your wife is asleep upstairs?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Very good. Stand up boy. Hmmm, you do please Mistress. Your cock is hard already I guess. Have you been edging as I asked?”

“Yes Mistress, for hours, thinking of you.”

“Good. Then your balls will be full of cum. Don’t you dare touch that cock until I say. Understand?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“I thought I would wear my leather boots and fishnet stockings. Just because. I wish you had been here to smooth my stockings on my legs, and lace up my boots for me. Hmmm…oh yes, that would have made your cock twitch. I would have had you kneel before me, pulling those laces tighter and tighter. I might have even let you touch them with your cock. You’re almost cumming at that thought I can tell. Well, we had best get on slut. What are we doing this evening? Say it out loud.”

“We are fucking my arse Mistress.”

“Yes we are. Right here, right now. To demonstrate what an easy fucking bitch you are.”

“Yes Mistress.”

“You brought what I asked slut?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Good. Take up the clothes pegs then. Put one beneath each nipple. Hmmm yes. There’s a good boy. Does that hurt? I bet that makes your cock stiff. Put another one just at the base of your cock, between your cock and your balls. That’s it. Beautiful. I can imagine the pain in your eyes. It’s funny thinking of you doing these things to please me. It’s only dull pain right now. I like it best when I tell you to take them off; then it really hurts. Then there will be tears in your eyes slut, and you will love me for that.

“I wish I was there to take them off you myself. To hear you whimper. You like to whimper for me, don’t you slut?”

“Yes Mistress. Please Mistress. Please may I stroke my cock for you?”

“No. Not yet. Firstly, it is not your cock. Your cock belongs to me. I say when you may touch it. Secondly, you may stroke it only when you are performing your wicked task for me. I don’t want you cumming until you have been entirely disgraced and made into my fuck pig.”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Then pick up the cucumber, and hold it up in front of your slutty face. Do you have it?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Good boy.

A nice thick long one as I ordered?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“And you have oiled it?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Good, because you need to get it in deep. I want to know your slut ass is stuffed full of cucumber, and then I want you to stroke your cock. Then you will know what it feels like to please Mistress. Understand? It will be like I am there, fucking you in your ass myself, with you just whimpering and whimpering until you cum.”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Then go to it boy. The harder you fuck yourself, the more pleased Mistress will be, and I know you like to please me.

“Hmmm…Have you got it in there slut? Good boy…and shush…we don’t want your wife coming downstairs wondering what you are making such strange noises about, to find her lovely man naked, in clothes pins, with cum gushing up over his tight belly, and a cucumber for tomorrow night’s salad giving your prostate a pounding, do we?”

“Oh God…oh fuck…no Mistress?”

“Getting in a bit of a state are we slut?”

“Yes Mistress. Oh fuck…I’m stroking…oh fuck.”

“Good. Stroke really hard now and fast, but don’t you dare cum!”

“OMG…Mistress.”

“You are my bitch. Your cock is mine, your cum is mine. I own you. You are my toy. And you crave me, don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes Mistress. I am your slut. I am your bitch. I live to please you.”

“Then take the pegs off now, and sit back on the cucumber until it is as deep in your ass as you can take it. Your cock will feel like it’s about to explode. Then you say “I am Mistress Stacy’s bitch” loud enough for your pretty wife to hear. Then spill your cum for me.”

xxx

Stacy leant back into her duck feather pillows with a smile as she folded her laptop shut.

“Cruel, I know,” she thought to herself, “but he loves cruel.”

She looked to her husband through deep blue eyes and nestled into his broad shoulder as he read his novel. He lowered his horn rimmed glasses, turned his rugged features to her, and smiled.

“Finished your work honey?” he questioned in his deep tone which always made butterflies dance in her tummy.

“Uh huh,” she nodded into his shoulder as she shut her eyes ready to sleep and to dream wicked dreams.

Far away, across the wide Atlantic ocean, in a sleepy little English village, the sun was coming up, it’s rays creeping through a thin blind across the naked torso of a middle aged man, sitting, hunched over his computer screen, his cucumber and clothes pins cast aside, his leather collar unfastened, and cum running down the shaft of his cock as it softened in his fingers.

“She’s gone,” he muttered, “She’s gone.”

And he smiled, knowing he would be there again in a moment if she desired him.

He was nothing to her, and perhaps, everything.