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Abby Adams
Wet For Master..BDSM,Male Dominance,Female Submission,XXX Erotica
Wet For Master..BDSM,Male Dominance,Female Submission,XXX Erotica
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Be careful this book will cause wetness...
Excerpt;
I desperately want him to take control of my body, to demand I submit my biological needs to his discretion, but I know he is preoccupied with pressing deadlines and work and I cannot ask him to take this responsibility. I fidget in my seat and notice him looking at me sideways, a little irritated with my unsettled motion. I finally excuse myself to pee and as the enjoyment of the release fills me, I decide that I need to find a way to explore this pee-play fantasy I've been engaging in my head since I was a very young child. Maybe someday Saul will be ready.
I hear Saul moving in the kitchen as I return to my chair to continue with my schoolwork. He is making yet another cup of tea, but this time as he delivers the cup to me, he also places a short wooden spoon on the table beside me. I am mortified (and suddenly wet again!) and shocked (and excited!) and as my nipples harden against my soft housecoat, and the space between my thighs grows thick with fresh pearls of my wetness, I suddenly feel small. I peer up at my tall husband who looms before me.
"You've been very distracting with all of your fidgeting. I know you are tired of all the school work you have to do, but you need to sit still. For the remainder of the afternoon you will sit with your legs spread and this wooden spoon held between your knees. If you fidget and the spoon falls, you will immediately replace the spoon between your knees and I will apply it to your bottom later this evening."
I am both ashamed and angry; I don't think it's fair I'm being punished for trying my best to control my state of arousal! I try very hard not to show this, and reach for the spoon. I rest two fingers on the top and playfully rock it on the table.
"Uh-okay" I say, trying to appear casual and nonchalant about the whole thing, like I'm not half irate at being told what to do, and half creaming myself with excitement over this show of dominance. I hate my need to be submissive.
He rocks back on one foot, and gives me the look of a parent staring down their tantrum child in a grocery store, "Pardon me?", he asks?
"Oh, I mean, yes..." I look at the floor and at the spoon, "Yes, yes Master". I can barely choke out the word Master; it is so hard for me to say.
I slip the spoon between my knees as he tells me my second response was much better. I nod to my lap, feeling again small and humiliated.
A few minutes later and I've already adjusted to the pressure of the spoon between my knees. The handle end seems to have caught onto a fold of fabric of my pajamas and I shift my posture, and the spoon takes hold and relieves my flesh of its burden. I have also noticed a pleasant side-effect of this discipline; my pussy has been spread wide open and I can flex the muscles easily, feeling a fresh stream of lubricant flow out of my opening and some of it pools around and between my buttocks.
Saul interrupts my work to ask to see how I have the spoon fitted. He bends over me, remaining seated in his chair, and looks silently and deeply, evaluating the position of the spoon. I am suddenly filled with guilt when I realize I may be caught in my cheat. He is taking a very long time to assess my performance, and does so without touching me or the spoon. I sit up firmly in my chair, checking my posture although I know holding posture is a game we do not play together. My heart begins to patter and I want to squirm and laugh at the joy of the humiliation of the exam. He slowly and carefully reaches out and barely touching the fabric, moves the fold of my pajamas away from the handle, and nudges the spoon handle gently with his index finger. From its location relative to my leg and the ease with which it moves with the fold of fabric, it is obvious that I've been caught cheating. He looks at me squarely and sighs; remove your pajama pants and replace the spoon. I begin to groan and slump to indicate my displeasure at his request, but that earlier look returns to his face -- the smirk? The half-cocked eyebrow? -- and again my stomach responds with a rush of butterflies and my pussy squirts, and I quickly comply.
I undress my bottom half and begin to move to the bedroom to put on a clean pair of panties, and Saul stops me to ask what I am doing. I tell him I did not put on fresh underwear after my bath and in fact, have been wearing none all day long, and would like to put some on so I don't have to sit naked and exposed. He shakes his head and tells me that if not wearing underwear all day long was good enough until now, it would be good enough for the rest of the day. I am once again shocked! I have dreamed so many times, asked him, even, to take control of my underwear or other wardrobe choices and he never had. How dare he think he could do this now! I clench my fists and turn coy; "but Saul, honey, you don't understand....
Excerpt;
I desperately want him to take control of my body, to demand I submit my biological needs to his discretion, but I know he is preoccupied with pressing deadlines and work and I cannot ask him to take this responsibility. I fidget in my seat and notice him looking at me sideways, a little irritated with my unsettled motion. I finally excuse myself to pee and as the enjoyment of the release fills me, I decide that I need to find a way to explore this pee-play fantasy I've been engaging in my head since I was a very young child. Maybe someday Saul will be ready.
I hear Saul moving in the kitchen as I return to my chair to continue with my schoolwork. He is making yet another cup of tea, but this time as he delivers the cup to me, he also places a short wooden spoon on the table beside me. I am mortified (and suddenly wet again!) and shocked (and excited!) and as my nipples harden against my soft housecoat, and the space between my thighs grows thick with fresh pearls of my wetness, I suddenly feel small. I peer up at my tall husband who looms before me.
"You've been very distracting with all of your fidgeting. I know you are tired of all the school work you have to do, but you need to sit still. For the remainder of the afternoon you will sit with your legs spread and this wooden spoon held between your knees. If you fidget and the spoon falls, you will immediately replace the spoon between your knees and I will apply it to your bottom later this evening."
I am both ashamed and angry; I don't think it's fair I'm being punished for trying my best to control my state of arousal! I try very hard not to show this, and reach for the spoon. I rest two fingers on the top and playfully rock it on the table.
"Uh-okay" I say, trying to appear casual and nonchalant about the whole thing, like I'm not half irate at being told what to do, and half creaming myself with excitement over this show of dominance. I hate my need to be submissive.
He rocks back on one foot, and gives me the look of a parent staring down their tantrum child in a grocery store, "Pardon me?", he asks?
"Oh, I mean, yes..." I look at the floor and at the spoon, "Yes, yes Master". I can barely choke out the word Master; it is so hard for me to say.
I slip the spoon between my knees as he tells me my second response was much better. I nod to my lap, feeling again small and humiliated.
A few minutes later and I've already adjusted to the pressure of the spoon between my knees. The handle end seems to have caught onto a fold of fabric of my pajamas and I shift my posture, and the spoon takes hold and relieves my flesh of its burden. I have also noticed a pleasant side-effect of this discipline; my pussy has been spread wide open and I can flex the muscles easily, feeling a fresh stream of lubricant flow out of my opening and some of it pools around and between my buttocks.
Saul interrupts my work to ask to see how I have the spoon fitted. He bends over me, remaining seated in his chair, and looks silently and deeply, evaluating the position of the spoon. I am suddenly filled with guilt when I realize I may be caught in my cheat. He is taking a very long time to assess my performance, and does so without touching me or the spoon. I sit up firmly in my chair, checking my posture although I know holding posture is a game we do not play together. My heart begins to patter and I want to squirm and laugh at the joy of the humiliation of the exam. He slowly and carefully reaches out and barely touching the fabric, moves the fold of my pajamas away from the handle, and nudges the spoon handle gently with his index finger. From its location relative to my leg and the ease with which it moves with the fold of fabric, it is obvious that I've been caught cheating. He looks at me squarely and sighs; remove your pajama pants and replace the spoon. I begin to groan and slump to indicate my displeasure at his request, but that earlier look returns to his face -- the smirk? The half-cocked eyebrow? -- and again my stomach responds with a rush of butterflies and my pussy squirts, and I quickly comply.
I undress my bottom half and begin to move to the bedroom to put on a clean pair of panties, and Saul stops me to ask what I am doing. I tell him I did not put on fresh underwear after my bath and in fact, have been wearing none all day long, and would like to put some on so I don't have to sit naked and exposed. He shakes his head and tells me that if not wearing underwear all day long was good enough until now, it would be good enough for the rest of the day. I am once again shocked! I have dreamed so many times, asked him, even, to take control of my underwear or other wardrobe choices and he never had. How dare he think he could do this now! I clench my fists and turn coy; "but Saul, honey, you don't understand....
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