His butt continued to radiate heat, fresh from today's maintenance spanking. Since Mistress was still in the bathtub, he had obediently knelt on the cold tile in a modified Inspection position; Mistress has a heated bathroom floor, but he is not permitted to turn it on unless Her perfect feet grace the floor. The hard tile reminded him of his place - obedient and in whatever position She desired - as surely as the rhythmic smack of his palm against his own cheeks did. Twenty-five strokes on each side today, first the right hand spanking the right cheek and then the switch of both hand and cheek as Mistress required. The only sign that his spanking was pleasing was the warm press of her palm on his stinging right cheek afterwards, squeezing affectionately and silently.
He smiled now, carefully arranging Mistress's lingerie for Her evening on the cheery flowered bedspread. She had informed him that it was date night, which meant She would be dressed impeccably classy. Black thigh high stockings that delighted his fingertips, a black lacy thong, and her newest black bra that not only made her beautiful breasts more alluring but that he secretly wished to wear if it was ever permitted by Mistress. Damn, he could feel his face warming at just entertaining that possibility.
Of course that moment was also the one that he felt a soft hand touch his left butt cheek - it was like she knew the exact moment he was at his most vulnerable - and he dropped slowly back to his knees, her fingernails gripping painfully into his flesh as he descended and undoubtedly leaving additional red marks on Her sweet butt.
"Keep your head down, pet" She commanded softly as She moved to put on Her lingerie, "I see you've forgotten the garter... again..."
"Yes, Mistress," he agreed automatically, his eyes staring mindlessly at the plush carpet. He had been about to reach for the garter when She had startled him, but that was a moot point; his job was to lay out Her lingerie, and the job was incomplete. She clucked Her tongue in admonition, the moment left hanging uncomfortably.
Her naked feet and bare calves padded away from him slowly, Her varnished toenails sinking into the carpet a tantalising sight from his lowly position . He knew it didn't bother Her to leave things in such an undecided manner. Rather, it always delighted Her to think of him squirming, physically or mentally. He took a deep breath to slow his heart from its automatic upheaval into a panicky rhythm, hearing a soft creak as She retrieved a garter from Her chest of drawers and crossed slowly to the wardrobe to select a dress.
She stood exceedingly close to him as She smoothed the silky thigh highs languorously up Her creamy legs, deftly closing the garter clips around their tops. Of course, he couldn't see all of that, his head at this unfortunate and uncomfortable angle, but the memory of seeing it once was forever etched in his memory. He could recall the delicious slowness of the delicate fabric rolling between Her thumbs and index fingers, red fingernails flashing through the diaphanous material... he bit his lip to stop from moaning at the memory. It felt as real as the exotic fragrance of Her perfume that suffused every cell of his body with excitement at this moment. Mistress wore it every date night, leaving the apartment smelling of sensuous musk, cardamom, and the sweet spicy mixture of bergamot. His cock began to strain in its cage, a Pavlovian response to the scent that signalled Mistress was going out for the night, to do exactly as She pleased, when it pleased Her.
"Stand up, sweet butt," She ordered softly. His legs quivered slightly as he rose before Her, his eyes cast downward on that damn carpet. He desperately wanted to see Her, to look upon Her beauty. "Zip my dress, carefully."
She turned Her back to reveal a chunky gold zipper that stretched the length of Her spine up to the most exquisite neck. He had never seen the garment before, a beautiful dark navy velvet, small flowers embroidered in shimmering gold thread around Her hips in an intricate corset-like pattern. His fingertips brushed the fabric softly - reverently - as he fastened the zipper as efficiently as he could possibly manage.
"Good," Her pronouncement of that single word made him relax considerably and his eyes flicked upwards in the moment that She turned to face him again. Her eyes were cooly upon his, their familiar green shining with a fiery passion tonight that brought the dark teal ring surrounding the iris into sharp focus. "Hello there."
Mistress's whisper catches him off guard. "Mistre--" he begins to apologise, but Her hand on his shoulder signals he should kneel again. This time, the carpet does not feel plush and soft, it feels harsh and wiry against his bruising knees - How much time had he spent on his knees today? His face begins to heat again, now in embarrassment.
She stalks past his kneeling form, and he hears the scrape of heels as they are pulled from their rack. Her hand soon finds his shoulder, pressing down painfully and pleasantly as She uses him to steady Herself, slipping on Her shoes. Her fingernails again press into his flesh, harshly, and meaningfully. He is a piece of furniture at this moment, and this is how little thought She gives to furniture.
Suddenly, the warmth of her palm and the pain of her fingernails is gone. He whimpers softly. Her attention, even when painful, is a balm when he is worried. And right now, he worries that his lapse in protocol will mean a loss of Her attention for a time. She is always blunt and honest, but Her focus is razor sharp and Her patience wanes painfully thin as date time approaches.
He abruptly realises he has no idea how much time has passed. Mistress doesn't permit him to wear a watch at home; the kitchen clock had disappeared the day he moved into Her home, and his first task had been to turn the breakers on and off to leave all the electronic clocks blinking a harsh 00:00 day and night. She said he lived on Her time now, so he had no need to know the actual hour, merely Her commands. What if She is late for Her date? He hadn't noticed a watch on Her graceful wrist as She had swept Her long dark hair to the side to have Her dress zipped. Suddenly, he is sweating. What if She has lost track of time? What will happen?
Silent moments have slipped by unnoticed when he is startled by the rasp of a zipper, harsh in the charged stillness of the darkened room. Mistress steps in front of him once again, and a bundle of navy velvet falls unceremoniously at her feet. Her luxurious dress lies in a careless heap, and the way She kicks the dress aside feels dismissive. He can feel a drop of sweat trickle from the tip of his nose onto his hands neatly crossed in front of his caged manhood.
"It's time for your date, My pet. Now open your mouth for tonight's inspection" she says in a low tone that darkly hints of pleasure and pain, as a pair of shiny black wingtips enter his field of vision, the clank of an opening belt buckle the second man's only sound of welcome.
