Hipster Intelligence Agency

You've Probably Never Heard Of Us

Anticipation

(Warning: Adult content!!  This is Erotica about a couple in a D/s relationship.  If you are offended by such things, refuse to become enlightened, and/or under the age of 18 [sorry, kids], please do not proceed.)

BlommersSchumm8I am hopeless.  He’s kept me waiting for days.  Building me up, holding me at arms length.  Not allowed to pleasure myself, but even worse, not allowed to pleasure him, either. This forced physical separation has made me desperate and moody.

“A bad attitude will only lengthen your punishment, sweet wife.”  He glares across the table as I pout. “Be pleasant for the rest of the evening,” His voice drops to a devilish whisper, “or I’ll spank you hard, and put you to bed with no playtime… Again.”

I look up at Him through my lashes and see the playful smirk tugging on the corners of His sinfully, sexy mouth.  I can’t help but smile and whisper, “Yes, Sir.”

We’ve been anxiously anticipating this evening alone together for a week.  I planned everything. Romantic dinner. Sexy dress and lingerie. Candles. Dessert. So when he mentioned a few nights ago that he’d like to rent a movie… I wasn’t pleased. I got mouthy and told Him I guess I’d just order a pizza and throw on some sweatpants. My attitude only got worse from there, for the last two nights, thinking he had no special plans.

Last night, I ignored Him most of the night.  At one point, when he caught me giving Him a dirty look, He laughed and I exploded.  Yelling at Him, complaining about the lack of attention, and who knows what else. He did not get angry though, as I expected he would.  Instead, He simply waited for me to finish shouting, took me by the arm and pulled me upstairs. He pushed me onto the bed, pulled down my pants, and paddled me with my hairbrush. It was definitely a punishment spanking, and it left me raw, both physically and emotionally.

When He was done, and I was crying, He told me to undress, kneel on the floor and to think about my behavior until He came back.  When He did, I fully expected make up sex or to at least be told to pleasure him. Instead, we talked for a while. He reminded me that He makes the decisions, and that we would have our romantic dinner, relax in front of our movie screen, and whatever came next was up to Him and out of my control.  I tried to snuggle up, to get some attention. I apologized, and told Him how much His Dominance means to me. That I was sorry I put my own expectations ahead of pleasing Him.  I swooned and cooed.  But all I got was a kiss on the forehead.  “Go to sleep, now, sweet girl.”

Today has been no better.  I snuck into the shower with Him this morning, and He did wash me and shampoo my hair, but nothing more.  I rubbed His neck and shoulders as He read His newspaper, and He pulled me onto His lap, but only to hold me for a moment and then release me with a smack on the behind.  Finally, as I prepared dinner, He wrapped His arms around me from behind, and I could feel that He had been watching me, enjoying what He saw.  But He simply smelled my hair and kissed my neck before walking away.

As we sat at the dinner table, I worked hard to be sweet and agreeable.  I had made myself irresistible and cooked His favorite meal.  I lit softly scented candles and dimmed the chandelier. I sat next to Him, which is his preference, and crossed my legs so that the tops of my stockings were barely visible below the hem of my dress. I used all of my womanly wiles and was clearly hoping He would be overwhelmed and decide that dinner could wait.

I was beyond primed, probably needing little more than a kiss to come apart.  But the small talk and lack of flirtation fanned my frustration until sparks and ash poured from my lips.  A snarky retort, followed by a roll of the eyes, got me the admonishment about my attitude.  His smirk gave me hope that there would indeed be playtime, later.

“And if I am pleasant for the rest of the evening, what will you do with me then, Sir?”  I look up again, and can tell He is staring at my mouth, so I lick my top lip with the tip of my tongue and then bite my bottom lip.  Leaning forward slightly, I set my chin on my hand, which pushes my breasts over the top of the table, and His eyes follow my queue.

BlommersSchumm“Oh, you are ever so tempting, little one…”  He exhales deeply and skims his fingers along the edge of my dresses low neckline, causing goose bumps to rise over the soft skin of my breasts.  He dips below the edge, where he meets a tightening nipple and captures it between two fingers.  I suck in a breath through my teeth, my soaking wet pussy throbbing between my thighs.  I uncross my legs, inviting Him to explore further.  Instead, He shifts His fingers to the other side, to pay homage to my other nipple, this time squeezing it between His thumb and finger.  I whimper and beg, “Oh, please Sir…”  But He withdraws His hand and shifts in His chair to take another bite.

When I whine, He replies with a soft hush, “Patience, sweet wife.  You really should enjoy this lovely dinner you prepared before it gets cold.”

I let out a sigh, and resign myself to obey, re-crossing my legs, in an attempt to quell the raging desire in my panties.  As I pick up my fork, He whispers, “Good girl.  Now, tell me, what did you add to the potatoes?  They are delicious… Taste.”  He glides the fork from my hand, scoops up a small bite, and raises it to my mouth.  As it slips between my lips, His gaze falls on my mouth again, and His other hand raises back the edge of my dress.

When I swallow, He tugs at the fabric, pulling it and my bra cup down to expose a nipple.  My breath catches and His own escapes in a hiss.  “I wonder what they would taste like on you,” He growls and then slathers a scoop of the creamy side dish onto my trussed up breast, and leans into me to taste.  His tongue on my skin is pure heaven and I moan as He licks up every morsel.

“Oh, yes, precious girl, they taste divine off of you.” After tweaking my nipple for another moment, He lifts the edge of my dress and bra back over my tingling skin and concentrates once again on His plate.

My breath is ragged and heart is racing.  I consider dropping to my knees right then and begging Him for His cock.  But I now realize that this is all about the anticipation.

The build up of the last few days will only serve to light fireworks this evening.  So I lift my fork again, and take one bite at a time while He talks about this and that.  I touch His arm, to let Him know I am listening, even though I’m not, and I try very hard not to rush to clean my plate so that we can get on with the movie and whatever heavenly plans await me later.  I contemplate what those plans might include, and drift off into a daydream about Him wrapping His belt around my throat and leading me upstairs naked and collared…

“Wife!  More wine, please.”  His voice sounds impatient, as if this is His second request, and when I glance up to His face, I am greeted with a stormy look that sends shivers down my spine.

“I-I’m sorry, Sir… I was… Oh y-yes, more wine…”  I clamber out of my chair and pick up the bottle.  As I lean down to fill His glass, I feel His eyes on me, and I’m suddenly very nervous that I’m about to be punished yet again for my inability to focus.  My mind often wanders, and I have gotten in trouble for it quite a bit lately.

I will myself not to look at Him as I sit back in my seat and pick up my fork yet again.  I look down and see that my plate is empty, and a hot blush rises in my cheeks.  I set my fork back down and take the last sip of my own wine before glancing up to meet His gaze.

“Is there dessert?” His velvety, sweet voice doesn’t do justice to the heat in His eyes. I now recognize that the stormy look is not anger, but need.  And, that panty dropping expression is nearly enough to make me convulse. I guess His mind has also been wandering…

“Y-yes, Sir,” I simper, standing to collect our plates.
“Can we eat it downstairs? While we watch the movie?”
“Of course, Sir, if you want.  It’s chocolate lava cake…”
“Mmmm, sounds delightful. I will go ahead and set up the movie.  Before you come downstairs with our treat, please remove your dress.”

BlommersSchumm2He is so matter of fact that I miss it at first.  I’m hurriedly clearing the table, it doesn’t hit me until I’m placing our plates in the sink.  He is at the basement door when I turn to look at Him, wide eyed and mouth agape.  He grins at me and slips down the steps without another word.

My lips curl into the biggest smile, and the thought of serving Him dessert in our theater, in just my lingerie sends a shot of electricity right through my center.  I rush to fill the order.

As I make my way down the steps, He appears at the bottom to take the plate from me, and hums his appreciation at the site of me. “I thought we could share, if that is OK, Sir…” I exhale, feeling giddy and childlike, as if I’m about to receive a present.  His empty hand  reaches for mine and He turns me, so that He can see every angle.  “You might not get a single bite, little one.  I may just eat the whole thing off of you…”

I hold my breath as He pulls me against Him and drops His hand to my ass.  He squeezes firmly which presses me tighter against Him, and I feel His erection growing.  I exhale in a rush, and He growls as He drops His forehead to mine, “Resisting you is much more difficult than you could ever imagine, you sexy… gorgeous… naughty girl.  But you will know just how fucking hard it’s been after tonight. I’m going to make you come as many times as you made my dick jump today.”

Oh holy hell.  I’m so wet that the insides of my thighs are completely slick, and he’s barely even touched me.  This is going to be One. Hot. Night.  And the anticipation… That is the sweetest part.

…to be continued.
If you are all worked up and need more now, please head over to my blog, PushingOurLimits.wordpress.com to read some of my other fiction. Enjoy!

About Mel Douleur

In my late thirties, as a wife, a mother, an administrative manager… As a woman in emotional flux, I spread my fingers across a keyboard one day to defeat the boredom inside my mind. I found that truth was actually quite interesting. I found that the imaginary was even more interesting. I found that I could write. And, Mel Douleur was born.

6 comments on “Anticipation

  1. Hipster Racist
    September 28, 2013
  2. PushingOurLimits
    September 29, 2013

    Reblogged this on Pushing our limits.

  3. friendlyhipster
    September 30, 2013

    Oh my!

  4. His submissive / her Sir
    September 30, 2013

    Reblogged this on Our D/s Life and commented:
    I love to read stories of everyday D/s relationships that are true to life. Well done.

  5. mala
    September 30, 2013

    Awesomeness!

  6. Pingback: Dessert | Hipster Intelligence Agency

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