He asks me if I need to cum. I don’t need to, but I’d like to. I tell him I’m horny, and he asks why. I tell him: we’ve been talking about him using me as a footstool after a hard day’s work, relaxing with a glass of fine wine, his feet resting against the warmth of my back. We talked about how he’d need to punish me if the vibrator he stuck inside me caused me to wriggle and his wine to spill, about how some submissives need punishment, how it’s good for them, makes them feel safe.

I’ve also been talking to a friend about her anal training routine, I tell him. That turned me on too. He tells me I can come before bed and wear my plug until then, for the next five hours or so. I push the plug in dry, and then think better of it, pull it out, lube it, push it back in again. It’s such a nice size, and I sigh with happiness as it slips into its tight little home. I ask if I may go out into the world plugged, my favourite thing. He says yes, and I thank him gratefully, wriggling on my rumpled, brightly coloured duvet, grinning widely.

Half an hour later I close the door behind me and start walking. The air is cold, the pavements dark, and wet red leaves are shoved into the crease where wall meets ground. My boots sound heavy on the pavement as I walk down the alleyway and onto the main road. I feel so full. I wore this plug on Saturday and didn’t feel anywhere near this full. Too full, and not full enough. The plug has a little handle, and it rubs against the flesh of my cheeks as I move; it’s mildly sore, but not unpleasantly so. The whole experience is so satisfying- as I move gravity pulls the plug down slightly, and although I know it’s unlikely to fall out I worry nonetheless. Even the worrying is enjoyable.

With every step the plug moves very slightly in and out of my ass, like a very gentle fucking, and I feel myself getting wetter, warming and swelling between my legs. I’m constantly aware of my nipples under my shirt, crying out to be pulled at and tweaked. I tense the muscles of my ass, pulling them tight around the neck of the plug, shivering slightly at the sensation, smiling at no- one as I walk down the empty street.

I’ve been walking for about ten minutes when I reach my destination; a restaurant, one of my favourites, which serves good cheap Middle- Eastern food. It’s warm and bright and busy, with little groups of friends eating messy meals, licking their fingers, sharing bottles of Bring Your Own booze. I know the staff well, and greet the woman who runs the place, exchanging pleasantries. She takes my order, and I sit down, enjoying the feel of the wooden bench seat pressing the plug deeper into my ass. I take off my jacket and pull off my scarf, rearrange myself. To all appearances I am having a solo dinner, reading a book, checking my phone, sipping at a glass of freshly- squeezed fruit juice. No one knows what I am.

No one knows I’m his property. No one knows that the plug in my ass is there because he told me to wear it. No one knows that he decides how long I wear it and when, no one knows that when I get home I will only touch myself because he has said I can, that the cunt that he has given me permission to touch is no longer mine but his. I suck on my plastic straw, enjoy the burst of flavour in my mouth, of ginger and orange, and the knowledge that his cunt is soaking wet.

When I get home there will be hours to go before bedtime. I will go to my room, and undress, and lie in my bed, pressing my ass against the mattress and dreaming of his hands on my tits, at my hips, of kneeling on all fours, gagged, waiting for the feel of his hard cock pushing against me, stretching me open until I cry out.

The hours will pass, and I will pull out the hard black silicone plug, jiggling it slightly as the widest part slides out. I will lie on my back, with my legs wide open, and rub, running my fingers up and down the lips, pushing them into his cunt, so hot and wet and empty feeling. I will come hard, bucking my hips and mashing my ass into the bedsheets, my fingers in my mouth to silence my cries, sucking on them so I can taste myself.

And when my breathing slows I will thank him for my orgasm, tell him how much I enjoy being his property, and wish him goodnight.

3 Replies to “Evening“

      1. I know that feeling, it can be hard sometimes. I find it helps to bullet point what im going to say and then build around that. Its deciding what to write about that I struggle with the most.

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