Image via Pinterest. Source Unknown.
I often mention Sinful Sunday on my blog, either when submitting an image or as part of #SoSS posts when I am able to do them. When perusing the submissions for the first weekend of June, which was a prompt week, one particular image inspired a line of thinking that ended up being a full blown story. Cousin Pons posted a picture of his feet titled ‘Underneath the Arches’, and it got me to pondering what a story where a man feet were the catalyst for action. While that isn’t necessarily the story I ended up with, I am actually very fond of the piece of fiction below that did transpire from that initial idea. Thank you, Cousin Pons, for triggering some inspiration and very much hope you don’t mind me mentioning your image as my starting point for this piece.
Dinner has been served and devoured. As always his culinary skills are only outdone by his commitment to serving me. He works long days, as well as performing his duties for me, and it is appreciated that he never waivers in what is asked of him. He is instructed to sit and relax for a few moments while I prepare myself for our session.
When I return to him he has fallen asleep. Dozing peacefully in his favourite chair, his feet resting on the large footstool in front of him.
I am in charge. My will becomes his with every command I give. If I wake him now and inform him that we are continuing our evening session as planned I know he will obey my wishes, without complaint, no matter how tired he is.
As I look upon him though I decide that a change of plan is in order. Moments later my hand is swirling in bubbly bath water and my massage oils are gathered on the side waiting to be put to use. Once the bath is ready, slightly hotter than necessary so it can cool while we busy ourselves with other things, I head downstairs to continue with our evening.
He is still dozing when I warm the oils between my palms, before slowly smoothing my chosen scent onto his feet! My touch begins to rouse him, and he is soon muttering apologies for falling asleep, for not doing the dishes, for ruining the plans. All of which are appreciated, none of which are needed.
He looks at me with a puzzled expression, clearly wondering what the new plans for this evening are. I simply tell him to relax, as my fingers deftly move around the soles of his feet. Relishing the feel of his flesh beneath my own, reflecting on the beauty of what is mine.
As my hands move up his legs, lingering to massage his calves, I giggle to myself at how backward this scene would seem to some people. The Mistress massaging her slave, the lack of punishment for his audacity to fall asleep. Gentle, loving touches replacing the cruel, ballbusting FemDom image that frequents porn. Many ‘One True Way’ dominants would say the Sadism and control is what being a Dominant is all about but I would disagree,
I can feel his body relaxing beneath my touch, and my eyes are drawn to his cock, straining against his chastity cage. As I reach for the key around my neck and release him, his eyes fly open. The shock of being freed waking him from his docile headspace. His mouth opens to speak, but once again I state that it is my wish for him to relax.
Returning to the massage I spend a long time on his thighs, strong and firm. I remember all the times they’ve been on display, with legs raised, or in doggy style eagerly taking my strapon. The begging, the moaning, the pure unadulterated pleasure that pulses through me as I slide inside him. Now isn’t the time to satisfy that particular desire, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun.
Sufficiently relaxed and zoned out he doesn’t register the removal of leggings and knickers. It is only when my thighs straddle his, in his thankfully spacious armchair, that he becomes aware of my intentions. His voice hesitant he asks if he can touch me, the spirit of this spontaneous change of plans has me saying yes, adding that he has a free reign to touch me anywhere and everywhere during the session.
His hands grip my bottom as I lower myself onto him and it’s me that is moaning in pleasure now. He responds with more touches, alternating between all the spots that he knows will have me aching greedily for more. His mouth finds my nipples and I hold his head to my breast, stifling his breathing while he sucks and nibbles. He may have been given certain freedoms, but he is still mine to do as I wish with.
Certain liberties are taken though, and we are having so much fun, that saying anything but yes is out of the question. He has gradually made his way to the edge of the chair, and with his hands firmly gripping my arse cheeks to support me he stands up and lowers me down onto the chair, pushing the footstool against it so I can wriggle forward and lie back, my feet propped gently on the edge of the footstool.
Fingers find their way, tentatively dancing between my folds in case I withdraw his permission to play freely. I don’t though, not today. He wastes no time in bringing me right to the edge of orgasm, and when I fall over that edge, wow do I fall. The combination of pleasure he uses is a heady mix. His finger work and his perfectly place thrusts once he has moved to using his cock, as his hands roughly use my breasts to steady himself, all of this alone would be enough to cause me to climax. His body language though is what truly causes my pleasure to soar today.
Kneeling on the floor his pelvis is perfectly aligned with mine as I lie back on the footstool and armchair, his head is bowed, and as cliche as it sounds, he reminds me of a man at prayer. I am both his Goddess and his Temple in these moments; he enters me, to worship me, to get lost in and find clarity in the belief he has in me and it is beyond a pleasure to be those things for him.
To onlookers, the D/s dynamic we have might be lost on them if they were to see the deep, hard fucking he was giving me, and the bruises that are surely forming from his grip on my breasts will not scream ‘caused by a submissive male’, but the words he manages to utter between heavy breathing and moans of satisfaction tell me everything is just as it should be.
‘Please, may I come Mistress?’
With that he raises his head for the first time and holds my gaze, it is always my choice as to whether or not he comes. Sometimes the answer is yes, often the answer is no. I want him to feel that release today though, I want the ripples of orgasmic delight to ricochet through him, to render him spent and incapable of further action.
When his orgasm is complete he flops forwards, his head resting softly at my breast. His tiredness returning, now multiplied by his physical activity, his speech is a whisper, but I hear the words ‘Thank you Mistress’ fall from his lips, his breath tickling against my nipple as they do so.
Despite his tiredness, I rouse him and lead him upstairs. I can see a mild hint of concern as to whether or not he will be capable of whatever I ask him, his weariness now thoroughly starting to set in again. When he sees the bath he smiles broadly and simply says; ‘For me?’
I nod my head and usher him forward. He sighs deeply as the water soothes him, it’s warmth penetrating him to his core, just as moments ago he had done to me. Sponge and soap at the ready, I start to wash him, my hands taking occasional detours along my favourite parts of him. We do this in silence as he rests, slowly being beckoned towards sleep once more. I know once he is dry he will fall into bed, and sleep will come in an instant.
Tomorrow when he wakes he will ask me, as he always does, and as many others have before, and will again, why I do this for him? My answer is simple, caring is not an act of submission, I am not betraying my role as Dominant by looking after him when I see fit to do so. He is mine, I own him, he is my property and my most treasured possession at that. Why would I not care for something so precious to me? Why would I not ensure that he is fit, healthy and well rested? All of which he needs to be to serve me as beautifully as he does.
In many ways, I am at my most Dominant in these moments. Taking charge and doing what needs to be done, at times when he may not realise he needs these things himself.