The Ruler

© 2005 by Frances LaGatta

Waiting for her illicit, Dominant lover was the most exciting and frightfully fearsome experience. In the interim between the time she expected him to arrive, and his actual appearance, Eden's imagination always played a dozen mental scenarios, each one more carnal and salacious than the last. . .or were they merely remembered flashes of former times spent with a masterful maestro who never failed to surprise her with his unique sexual music?

To reflect on her misdeeds before he arrived was difficult. Her petulant mood had been the reason she had missed dinner. He had calmly announced she was overdue for an 'attitude adjustment.' Under the candlelit table, she had dutifully slipped out of her lacy black panties beneath her slinky black dress. She wadded them up and handed them to him, hoping the overly solicitous waiter didn't notice. Embarrassed face burning, she knew better than to take a single one of her Dominant's 'suggestions' lightly. As he casually sipped his wine and perused the menu, she got up. Heart in her throat, she exited the crowded restaurant, acutely conscious of his eyes giving her erring ass a lashing, or was it a roomful of stares that followed her every shaky movement the whole long, agonizing walk to the elevators?

Alone in their room, she followed his instructions to the letter; for any small deviation would be considered disobedience and result in more punishment. Waiting was the most difficult and thrilling part. Waiting submissively . . . dressed in nothing but her black bra, silk thigh highs with lacy top bands, and impossibly high, black heels. Eden knelt on the Oriental rug before the door that would admit him, both anticipating and dreading that particular moment. There was something enthralling about kneeling like this, putting herself on display for the master eroticist. It always made her sex soaking wet. With a shiver, she set his chosen 'instrument of punishment' down and settled her bottom back onto her heels. The twelve inch wooden ruler seemed to point a stern and direct line right to her sodden pussy. Her mind swamped with images of him unbuttoning his black cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, exposing his slightly veined, hairy forearms. She could almost see his white knuckles, the strength is his fist clenched around the base of the ruler. How his elegantly tapered fingers would expertly flex and then wield the wicked looking thing. She could almost hear it whizzing the air before the first harsh crack was delivered to his palm. The mere thought made her clit pulse in pre-orgasmic confusion. But then again, she knew full well he wanted to keep her off balance.

Eden arched her back and obediently removed her bra. Full rich breasts exposed to the cool air, she began to fondle her large nipples, bringing the sleepy, rosy brown discs to hardened peaks. Without hesitation, albeit with a wince, she attached the silver clothes pins he had gifted her with to each prominent nipple. How she loved the slight bite that mirrored the nip of his square white teeth. Breathing heavily, her breasts rose and fell, the loop of dangling chain sensually brushing her torso like a lover's strict whisper.

Footsteps in the hall! Her spine shot straighter and her heart pounded wildly in her chest. Eden quickly spread her knees farther apart, and hands on her thighs, she turned her palms upward as he had taught her. She had already displeased him once tonight; she would NOT make that mistake again!

Would pleasure alight in his smoky gray eyes when he opened the door and took in the site of her? Or would he simply take a seat in the big leather chair, cross his lean legs, coolly light a cigar, and leisurely study her delightfully sore breasts, her hungry pussy, all offered openly to him. How long would he keep her on hold in this manner? He often told her she was hopelessly impatient. Yet, the unbearable anticipation never failed to electrify her every nerve ending.

Minutes ticked by and her fantasies grew hotter, wilder, more lascivious. Would he reach down, hook a single finger beneath the chain and tug up and release, up and release, making her ample breasts bounce, humiliatingly so, as if jogging topless? The very first time he played with her breasts while she sucked him he had gripped her wrist, discharging his come into her astonished palm. Then he sat back in his chair to watch as she anointed her face and breasts with monumental release. Without so much as word, she had learned . . . no matter how expert a female was at oral ministrations, she could never use this talent to dissuade him from punishing her or use it as a power over him.

And what did he intend to do with her panties? Would he stuff them into her mouth to muffle her hollering when he punished her ass cheeks with that formidable ruler? It would leave angry welts across her flesh. Burning red stripes of pure pain. . . .

Eden preferred the more intimate contact when draped over his knees, inhaling his musky cologne and male scent while she clutched his strong thighs for support. How she adored the feel of his fingers and nails sensually skimming her flesh, and then mauling her bottom, alternating pleasure and pain, raising heat and circulation and arousal to a fever pitch. She could almost feel his fingers delving into her slippery slot. Would he order her to splay her ass cheeks? Moisten her anal bud with her own juices, masculine digit pressing steadily, slowly entering her rectum until sheathed. Her bottom hole quivered at the thought of his finger emulating the eventual rhythm of his cock. On the verge of spiraling into oblivion, his palm would crack down on her unsuspecting cheeks, putting a cruel stop to what she mewed for. While she shrieked and wiggled under his relentless smacks, his erection riding her hip, she always longed for the moment she was pushed off his lap. Would he stand, unzip his trousers without ceremony, and command her to suck his cock? And kneeling before him with eyes brimming, all she wanted was to worship his manhood with her lips and tongue and throat. To suck him dry, right here, right now.

Oh he knew what he was doing to her, making her hunger this way! Making her wait until she was ready to explode! Was he thinking these very thoughts while he dinned? And how could he possibly eat when she was so very hungry . . . and for more than the taste of food. The waiting only increased her anxiety and desire, made her hot and greedy to have him rut in her mouth, her cunt, and her bottom -- his mistress to her core.

Eden forced herself to concentrate on the terrible instrument of punishment between her thighs. This session was a test. It was never about what she wanted. Her body was not her own. Her ass and pussy and tits belonged to him, to do with as he pleased. She realized HE would prefer to see her bent over the desk, unbound, but mentally bound to him just the same, presenting her willing ass to him. After each hateful crack with the hated ruler, he would take pleasure in the site of her inelegant dancing. While she rubbed at her stinging red ass, he would indicate the desk with an implacable nod. The ruler would suddenly smack down on the surface and she would quickly reassume the position, struggling to maintain it for ten solid licks of fire, asking him nicely for each. And without the dance of pain, a long, liberating song of bliss would escape from her throat.

Suddenly the door cracked opened. Eden gave a start, and she mewed with trepidation and need.

Her 'Ruler' had entered the room.

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