The morning light was just beginning to filter through the blinds, casting soft stripes across the rumpled sheets. Jack woke slowly, his mind fuzzy with sleep, and instinctively reached for Jenn, but his hand found only cool, empty linen. He blinked, pushing himself up on an elbow, and that’s when he saw it: a small, folded piece of paper resting on her pillow. He picked it up, the paper crisp between his fingers. Her elegant, sharp script was unmistakable.
“I left you a few items to wear this morning, Jack, per our discussions. This will be my morning as your Mistress. Shower first, then put them on and join me in the kitchen. I expect to be pampered.”
A wave of heat washed over him, a potent mix of anticipation and submission. The casual authority in her words, the simple command to shower, and the declaration of ownership—”this will be my morning”—sent a jolt straight to his groin. He was already growing hard before he even swung his legs out of bed.
He walked into the adjoining bathroom, his bare feet silent on the cool tile. There, laid out neatly on the counter, were the items she had mentioned. He picked up the first piece, a pair of boxer shorts made of a sleek, black lycra. They looked impossibly tight, and as he held them up, he saw the reason why: a large, oval-shaped hole had been meticulously cut out of the crotch, designed to leave him completely exposed. Beside them was not metal, but a thick, glossy black ring of latex. It was pliable but firm, promising a snug, constricting embrace.
Jack obeyed her command, stepping into the shower and letting the hot water cascade over him. He washed quickly, his mind already fixed on the task ahead, carefully resisting the urge to stroke his now fully erect cock, wanting to save every ounce of sensation for her. He finished his shower and turned the water dial abruptly to cold. He gasped as the icy spray hit him, fighting the urge to jump out. He stood under the freezing stream, forcing his breathing to steady, willing his erection to subside so he could fit into the gear she had chosen. It was a difficult battle, but the cold finally won, leaving him shivering and soft enough to proceed.
After drying off, he stood before the mirror. He picked up the latex ring. It was warm and slightly tacky to the touch. He stretched it carefully, working his balls through first, one at a time. The latex snapped snugly into place around the base of his sac, pulling his testicles down and forward, presenting them in a tight, available bundle. He then stretched the ring further to slide his shaft through. The material clung to him instantly, a perfect, unyielding grip that trapped the blood in his cock, ensuring his erection was not just present, but permanent and throbbing. The pressure was exquisite, a constant, firm reminder of his purpose.
Next came the shorts. He stepped into them and began to pull them up his legs. The lycra was unforgiving, clinging to every muscle of his thighs and ass like a second skin. He had to work them up, the fabric stretched taut. As he pulled the waistband into place, his exposed cock and balls, framed by the tight fabric and the latex ring, jutted forward through the opening. The effect was intensely erotic. He was both clothed and completely on display, trapped and presented for her pleasure. He looked at himself in the mirror. The sight sent another thrill through him. He was hers.
He walked out of the bathroom and down the short hall towards the kitchen, the sound of his own heartbeat loud in his ears. The tight ring and the constricting shorts made him acutely aware of his body with every step. He could smell coffee brewing, and as he rounded the corner, he saw her. Jenn was leaning against the counter, one hip cocked, a steaming mug of coffee in her hand. She was wearing a simple, silk robe that fell open slightly at the thigh, and on her feet were a pair of sleek, black leather boots that extended to her knees, giving her several inches of height and an undeniable stature of command.
She looked up as he entered, her eyes slowly, deliberately, raking over him from head to toe. Her gaze lingered on the straining fabric, the way it hugged his powerful thighs and, most notably, how it perfectly cupped and defined the firm, muscular globes of his ass.
“On your knees,” she commanded, her voice a low, husky purr that vibrated through him.
Jack’s breath hitched, but he obeyed instantly. He sank to the floor, the hard tile digging into his kneecaps. In this position, her hips were level with his eyes, the silk of her robe teasing him with the promise of what lay beneath. She took a slow sip of her coffee.
“Good boy. You look perfect.”
She took a slow sip of her coffee. “Stand. Turn around for me. Slowly. And spread your legs.”
Jack rose to his feet, a bit awkwardly due to the restrictive gear, and pivoted slowly. He moved with deliberate slowness, letting her see every angle. He planted his feet about shoulder-width apart, the position causing the lycra to pull even tighter across his glutes, leaving nothing to the imagination.
“Hmmm, yes,” she murmured, her voice thick with appreciation. “That is a very fine ass, Jack. Tight and ready.”
She pushed off the counter and walked towards him, the click of her boots on the tile echoing in the quiet room, her movements predatory. She stopped directly behind him, so close he could feel the warmth radiating from her body. “Bend over and put your hands on your knees.”
He complied, the new position arching his back and presenting his ass to her even more prominently. The lycra stretched to its limit, a thin, dark second skin. He felt her hand smooth over one cheek, the touch possessive. Then, without warning, she pulled her hand back and brought it down in a sharp, stinging smack. The sound echoed in the quiet kitchen, followed by a sharp intake of breath from Jack. A hot, blooming sting spread across his flesh, a perfect counterpoint to the throbbing pressure of the latex ring around his cock. Before the sting had even faded, she delivered a second, playful slap to the other cheek, equally sharp.
She then let her hand linger, her fingers tracing the curve, her palm pressing into the warmth of his skin. Jack held his stance, trying not to move. It had been years since he was spanked like a naughty boy, and he loved the warmth spreading across his skin. It sent a clear message regarding his new position, and the sheer excitement of it brought a fresh surge of blood to his already hard erection.
“Very firm,” Jenn said, her voice laced with satisfaction as she caressed the reddening skin.
“I could enjoy this.” She gave him one last squeeze before straightening up.
“I’m starting with a mimosa. The prosecco is chilling in the basement fridge. Go fetch it and the orange juice.”
“Yes, Mistress,” he rasped, his voice thick with sensation.
He straightened up and turned to leave, the lingering warmth on his ass a constant reminder of her inspection. The journey to the basement was a delicious torment. Each step made the latex ring tighten its grip, his trapped erection bouncing slightly with the motion. He retrieved the chilled bottle and the carton of juice from the fridge, his movements deliberate and careful. Back in the kitchen, he set about his task. He found a champagne flute, opened the prosecco with a practiced pop, and poured the bubbly liquid. He added a splash of orange juice, the colors swirling together. He carried the glass, his hand steady, and approached her. He stopped a few feet away and slowly, gracefully, lowered himself to his knees on the cool tile floor. He held up the mimosa with both hands, his head bowed in supplication.
“Your mimosa, Mistress,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
Jenn took the glass from his hands, her fingers brushing his. She took a delicate sip, her eyes never leaving his.
“Perfect,” she said, a hint of amusement in her tone.
“Now, you may begin making my breakfast. I’m starving. I want Eggs Benedict.”
Jack rose and moved to the stove, his movements fluid and efficient. He poached the eggs to perfection, toasted the English muffins, and warmed the Canadian bacon. He whisked the hollandaise sauce, the rich, buttery aroma filling the air. Jenn watched him from her stool at the counter, sipping her mimosa, a look of lazy contentment on her face. He carefully plated two perfect Eggs Benedict, the sauce drizzled artfully over the yolks. He brought both plates to the table, setting one down in front of her and the other at the opposite place setting. He stood by, waiting for her approval, his own stomach growling in anticipation.
She picked up her fork, but instead of eating, she looked at the second plate and then back at him.
“Oh, Jack,” she said, her voice a soft, mocking coo.
“Did you think you were eating, too? Your breakfast will have to wait.”
A flicker of confusion crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by dawning understanding as she stood. She let the silk robe fall open, revealing she wore nothing underneath but a simple, drawstring panty. She stepped over to a drawer and pulled out a clean kitchen towel.
“Turn around. Hands behind your back.”
He complied instantly, and she efficiently bound his wrists together. The knot was firm, though he knew with enough effort he could work his way free of the towel. Yet he had no desire to escape; he wanted to be bound by her, to obey her every command.
She stood before him, her hips at the level of his face. “Take them off,” she commanded softly. “With your teeth.”
Jack leaned forward, his bound hands useless behind him. He carefully nuzzled the bow at her hip, catching the tie between his teeth. He pulled, and the knot loosened. He moved to the other side and repeated the action, until the flimsy garment fell away, pooling at her feet. As it fell, her scent, intoxicating and warm, filled his senses. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning in, his nose lingering against her sex, inhaling deeply. It was the scent of his Mistress, and it made his head swim.
“Under the table,” she commanded, gesturing with her chin.
“On your knees.”
Jack shuffled awkwardly under the table, the world shrinking to the space between the wooden legs. Jenn sat down, her chair scraping the floor, and positioned herself so she was directly in front of him. She picked up her fork and knife, cutting into the Eggs Benedict he had so carefully prepared.
“Eat,” she ordered, her voice muffled slightly by the table above him.
He leaned in, his breath hot against her skin, and began with her inner thighs, nibbling gently, teasing the sensitive flesh. He ran his nose around and inside her folds, inhaling her scent before dragging long, slow licks across her open lips. Jenn hummed her approval, her fork pausing midway to her mouth as she savored the dual sensation of the rich hollandaise on her tongue and his tongue on her sex.
“Good,” she murmured. “Linger there.”
He obeyed, flattening his tongue to cover more ground, before switching to short, hard flicks directly against her clit. The sudden intensity made her gasp, her hips bucking slightly towards him.
“Easy,” she instructed, her voice tight with control.
“Not yet.”
He moved back to her slit, sliding his tongue inside her, fucking her with the rhythm she dictated. She balanced the building orgasm with the flavors of her breakfast, alternating bites of the Eggs Benedict with commands to him.
“Harder,” she whispered.
And he obeyed, sucking her clit deep into his mouth, opening wide to take her in. She moaned, the sound vibrating through the table above him, her hand tangling in his hair to guide him exactly where she needed him. The pleasure coiled tight in her belly, a spring winding closer and closer to the breaking point. Finally, she set her fork down, the plate clean.
“Now,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.”
She leaned back in the chair, abandoning herself to the sensation, and held Jack’s head tight against her, grinding her wet, sloppy cunt against his face as the wave of her release crashed over her. She cried out, her body shuddering, riding out the high as he continued to lap at her, prolonging the sensation until she was spent.
Slowly, the tremors subsided. She released her grip on his hair, pushing him back slightly as she came down from the high. Jack looked up at her, his face glistening with her arousal, his chest heaving. His cock throbbed violently in the tight latex ring, desperate for a touch that wasn’t coming.
“You need to clean up your mess,” she said, her voice husky and sated, gesturing to her cunt and the floor where her juices had dripped.
Jack didn’t hesitate. He leaned back in; his attention focused entirely on her. He started by cleaning her, running his tongue gently over her inner and outer lips, removing every trace of their morning activities. The taste was sharp and intimate, a final communion with her body. He took his time, ensuring she was pristine, loving the way her muscles fluttered slightly under his touch. Only when he was satisfied, she was clean did he lower his head to the floor. He diligently licked the tiles, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat in his cheeks. He wasn’t just cleaning; he was worshipping the space she occupied. In this role, he felt a profound sense of clarity. There was no anxiety about guessing what she wanted, no second-guessing about his actions. Her desires were explicit commands, and his only job was to execute them with precision. This freedom from decision-making liberated him, allowing him to focus entirely on his performance and her pleasure, a skill he took immense pride in.
“Stand up beside the table,” Jenn commanded.
Jack rose, his legs stiff from kneeling. Jenn stood and moved to retrieve her panties. They were tie-side, and she deftly knotted the strings at her hips, the fabric settling low against her skin. She left her silk robe hanging open. The glimpse of her breasts, her nipples hard and dark against the flushed skin of her chest, and the sheen of sweat on her body made his mouth go dry.
She pulled his plate—the one with the now-cold Eggs Benedict—over in front of her. With a knife and fork, she cut the food into large, bite-sized chunks. She reached over, her hand cool against his burning skin, and wrapped her fingers around his shaft, the latex ring making the intrusion of her grip feel overwhelming.
“Don’t dare cum before I say so, understood,” she said, her eyes locking onto his.
Jack nodded, his breath hitching in his throat.
“Yes, Mistress.”
She began to stroke him, a slow, maddening rhythm that teased the sensitive head while squeezing the base. With her other hand, she speared a piece of muffin and egg and held it to his lips. He chewed and swallowed, the act of eating transformed into a torturous exercise in restraint. Every bite was a struggle against the rising tide of his orgasm. Her hand on his cock was relentless, dragging him closer to the edge, only to slow down just as he felt the precipice approach. The dual sensations—the taste of the rich hollandaise and the unbearable pleasure of her touch—warred in his mind. He felt as though he was walking a tightrope, his entire being focused on the singular task of not disobeying. The strain was evident in the corded muscles of his neck and the ragged sound of his breathing, but he held on, desperate to be good for her.
When the last bite was gone and the plate was clean, Jenn released him. The sudden absence of sensation was a shock, leaving his cock twitching in the air.
She untied the towel from his wrists, his hands free at last. Then, she reached to the side and picked up a mug of coffee that had been sitting there, now partially filled and lukewarm. She placed it on the table in front of him.
“Finish yourself into the mug,” she ordered, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“As Jack, anything that cums out of here…” She pointed to his hard, straining cock, then traced a line up to his open mouth. “…will go into there.”
Jack only hesitated briefly. He had never tasted himself; it was not something he thought or dreamed of doing. But he quickly determined he could. He needed to cum and now understood the cost but he also understood this would be his new existence when submissive and loved the position, the debasement and the cognition that he could fulfill his Mistress’ wishes.
He wrapped his hand around his aching length, the sensation electric after being denied for so long. He stroked himself hard and fast, his eyes locked on hers. She watched him with a predatory gaze, her arms crossed over her chest, pushing her breasts together. It didn’t take long. The pressure that had been building all morning, exacerbated by the cock ring and her teasing, snapped instantly. He let out a guttural groan, his hips bucking forward as he spilled himself into the mug. His entire body shook with the force of the release, his vision blurring at the edges.
As the spurts slowed to a dribble, he milked the last drops from the tip. Without a word, he lifted the mug to his lips. The mixture of cold coffee and his own hot, salty essence was strange and bitter, but he drank it down in one long swallow, emptying the mug to prove his submission.
He set the mug down on the table with a soft clink, panting, his chest heaving.
Jenn stepped closer, her eyes dropping to his groin. She reached out and grasped the latex ring, working it carefully over his shaft and then down and off his balls. The relief was instantaneous as the constriction vanished, allowing the blood to flow freely again, though the tissue was angry and sensitive. She didn’t stop there. She dropped to her knees, taking his heavy, aching balls into her mouth one at a time, sucking on them gently, her tongue soothing the flesh that had been trapped for so long.
The sensation was electric. Despite the intense release he had just moments ago, the mix of pain and pleasure from her mouth on his oversensitive testicles sent a jolt straight through him. His cock, which had begun to soften, surged back to life, thickening and rising until it was fully erect again, jutting out towards her face.
She pulled back, looking up at him with a smirk, wiping a stray drop of saliva from her chin.
“Go get the vacuum, you have cleaning chores today. And don’t think about touching yourself without my direct.”
“Yes, Mistress,” was Jack’s only thought and reply.
