Overcoming Sorrow

She slipped into the breakfast nook and cuddled up next to him. She wasn't really hungry. She had a few bites, but it felt good to relax next to him. She talked about the house some. It was massive and very quiet. But she talked about how much she liked the kitchen, and how much she enjoyed the deck out back in the summer. The house was close enough to the ocean that she could hear the surf when she napped underneath the shade of an umbrella.

Her fingers lazily traced up and down his arm and his chest as she spoke. And her voice got softer, her breathing got slower and more relaxed.

"I have been having trouble sleeping, but tonight, I think I will be able to sleep." She whispered, yawning just a little.

He chuckled softly. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head and cut another piece of steak.

"What makes you think you're getting any sleep tonight?" he said, and then popped it in his mouth, chewing slowly. He ate about half before he slid the plate back. He was always careful not to eat too much, and the richness of the meat was unmistakable. He didn't want to be so full he was sluggish. Not when he had such a beautiful toy snuggling against him.

He listened to her as she talked, asked appropriate questions, offered suitable observations. A simple, getting-to-know-you conversation. He offered little about himself, but some of where he had been, enough to establish himself in her eyes as a person of taste. He wasn't sure why it mattered to him, she had grown up in even worse poverty than him. He found himself comparing himself to her husband, thinking about what his mother had said, and feeling sickened.

"Come," he said, heading off self-loathing before it caught him. "I know you have stockings," he said with a smile. "Go and get a pair."

She got up from her seat and padded upstairs to the master bedroom. She had to rifle through her drawers to find a garter belt and black stockings. She expertly rolled them on and fastened the garters. She brushed out her hair and then slipped on a pair of black stilettos. She slipped on a black satin dressing gown. She came downstairs, expertly walking in the high heels.

She had to admit she loved the way her legs looked in stockings, with the dark line straight down the back of her legs. She felt very sexy as she returned to him.

Frank frowned. What was taking her so long? When he heard her coming back into the kitchen, he stood, turning to face her, and the frown melted. For a second, he just stared at her, lips parted, eyebrows high. Then he chuckled, shaking his head, and went to her.

He picked her up, his hands on her waist, and he sat her on the counter, still laughing softly.

"You presumptuous little minx," he said, putting his finger to her nose. "I said get stockings, not put them on."

He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. "Yuh lucky yuh look so fuckin hawt, owa I'd prawbly pretend I was pissed awf."

He was shocked to hear his native accent coming out of his mouth. He hadn't slipped like that in years. He kept his cheek next to hers, so he wouldn't have to see her face and whispered softly in the accent he had so carefully cultivated.

"You do look beautiful, my sweet, but I had other intentions for these." He stepped back, looked her over, and then he smiled. "I suppose I'll just have to adapt."

He slipped the dressing gown from her shoulders, and then pulled her arms free, so it was a satin pool on the counter under her. He pulled the belt loose, and then set her on the floor again. He turned her so her back was to him, and began to tie her wrists with the belt.

"Nylon is more elastic, and nearly unbreakable," he whispered in her ear. "Satin doesn't hold a knot very well, but we'll manage." He hadn't spent the first eighteen years of his life around fishermen without learning his ropes, and he had plenty of practice tying figure 8 knots since then. It only took him a second.

Christi couldn't read his face. She felt a little silly when she realized what he'd been asking for but he wasn't angry and she was relieved. She relaxed as he bound her. There was something freeing about it. And she knew he was enjoying the way she looked.

"There is a toy box in the spare room. Implements. Restraints. Rope. Some of my more fetishy outfits. "
She offered as he quickly worked the knots.

She loved the feel of his warm hands on her skin.

"What do you have planned for this little damsel?" She asked playfully.

"You should have told me about your little playroom before I tied you up," he said, reaching around her to fondle her breasts, tweaking the nipples with his thumbs. He laughed softly. He knew she hadn't known what he had planned until it was too late, and he kissed her neck.

"We'll have to let that wait until another night," he whispered in her ear. "Those things, they belong to another life. I wouldn't feel right digging through them, and now that you're all tied up, I'm certainly not going to let you go until I've satisfied myself with you."

He slid his hand down over her belly, nuzzling against her neck, not pressing too hard against her back, since her arms were in the way.

"Besides, I have everything I need here," he said, and his finger brushed over her clit just once. He walked around the counter and grabbed a wooden spatula from a jar of utensils. He held it up, smiling. Then he set it on the counter and started opening drawers. He set a cloth napkin out, a pair of tall candles, a chef's knife, a bottle of oil, a banana and a flower he had plucked from the arrangement on the table.

"That should do it, don't you think?"

One of the things that Christi loved about submission was that she didn't have to know exactly what to do, she didn't need to read every nuance, to determine every outcome. She just had to sink into the control of the man dominating her. He wanted her responses and her arousal.

She looked at the items and had some ideas as to how he might use them but she wasn't sure. She thought she had known what he wanted with the stockings. She sighed deeply sinking into his control. Concentrating on his hands and his voice.

"Those things look like they will do perfectly, Sir." Her voice was warm and eager. Her body was already anxious for sensation and pleasure and perhaps a touch of pain.

He smiled at her and lit one of the candles. He stood it on its end on the counter. Then he took the napkin and folded it. He covered her eyes with it and tied the ends behind her head. He ran his hands down her back, from the base of her skull to her ass. His other hand reached for a stool.

"Bend down," he whispered. He guided her body down, so she was bent at the waist. The stool was the perfect height to support her belly, with her feet just barely on the floor. He twisted her hair into a bun just below the knot of the blindfold, and then he took the candle.

"Hold perfectly still," he whispered, sternly.

It was delicate work, teasing her with the flame, without letting it burn her. He moved slowly, passing the flame just under her skin, so the heat rising up heated her skin without burning. He used it on the skin on her breasts, her nipples, and then her thighs and her smooth pussy.

She bit her lip as he blindfolded her. Trust was a heady thing for her, an aphrodisiac in itself. She expected drops of hot wax on her skin. She hadn't anticipated the heat from the flickering flame passing under her body again and again.

She gasped and moaned and murmurred. But she kept still. She knew he didn't want to burn her and it was her job to be still. She felt beautiful and sexy and wanted.

"Thank you, Sir." She whispered to him when the heat brushed across her thighs.

"Ssshhhh," he whispered, as he pulled the flame away. He stepped over to the front of her.

"Open," he said. He slid the candle into her mouth. He pressed the thick end, across, like a dog's bone, and then he whispered. "Hold. Be careful, sweet girl. It's still burning."

He waited until he felt her teeth taking hold of the taper, and then he walked back to the counter. He poured the oil in a pan and set it on the stove on a low flame, and then he took the spatula. He took the candle from her mouth and put the handle spatula against her lips, her caressed her with it, drawing the handle over her lips and then let her feel the wide, flat surface.

"You know what this is, my beauty?"

Being blindfolded and bound all of her senses seemed heightened. She held the candle with her teeth, careful not to make it drip toward her mouth. She liked the feeling of being bent over the stool, the little bit of the headrush, the pressure against her tummy.

Then he was brushing something hard but smooth against her lips. He asked her what it was.

"I am not sure, Sir. " her forehead crinkled a little as she tried to remember what was on the counter.

"Then it will be a surprise," he said. He used the handle to caress her, dragging it around her neck, and down her spine, not slow, but not so quickly that he couldn't appreciate her form, either. He lifted it over her bound hands, and flipped it in his hand, so he was holding it like a spatula, or a paddle.

Using the flat surface of the spatula, he gave a playful smack to each of her ass cheeks. He paused a moment, and then gave another, harder spank. After three on each buttock, he stopped. He pressed the handle against the lips of her pussy and slid it up and down the slick groove for a moment.

"Does the pain arouse you?" he said softly.

She winced with each strike to her ass. He asked if the pain aroused her.

"Yes, Sir." She offered softly. "It doesn't make sense to me but it does turn me on. It gets me very excited. And I have been craving it. It isn't something I can do for myself. "

She had another thought. "I got aroused when I heard you unfasten your belt earlier."

"Well the belt makes sense," Frank said, and smacked her bottom again, hard enough this time that her flesh jumped and rippled. "So does the pain. It just means that on some level, you deserve it. Or you feel like you do." He smacked her other cheek, just as hard as the last. "Have you been a bad girl?"

He placed the spatula in her hand and walked to the fridge, opening the freezer and taking out an ice cube. He walked back, pressing it against her left asscheek, holding it, feeling his hand get numb as it melted and cold water began to trickle down her thigh. After a few moments, he transferred it to her right cheek.

There was the sting and the heat of the strike, followed by the cold burn of the ice. The melting ice dripped down the creamy skin of her thighs.

She shivered and gasped with each new sensation.

"I do deserve it." She sighed. "I am a bad girl. I crave all of these things. I need them and I think about them when I touch myself. I think about them when I meet handsome strangers."

"You're just a dirty whore with a high class paint job," Frank said, and he lifted his hands off of her. The ice had melted away. He walked to the stove and dipped his finger in the oil. It was warm, hot even, but not hot enough to burn. He poured a tablespoon or two into his hand and walked back. He began to rub it on her ass.

The warm oil and ice water didn't mix, so her thighs were striped with hot and cold, her asscheeks speckled. He poured a little more of the warm oil into the depression at the small of her back, and began to massage her gently.

"I'm sure you have scented massage oils hidden away somewhere," he said with a smile that could be heard in his voice. "A high class piece of ass like you, though, needs to know the feel of simple cooking oil."

He worked her over firmly, pressing deep, starting from her neck and shoulders, and slowly working his way down.

She melted under his warm massage. His hands were heavy and strong and with each knead of her flesh she would moan or sigh and sink deeper into her relaxed state. His hands were telling her to let go of everything else and just be his girl.

She closed her eyes.

"Thank you, Sir. " she whispered. His strong hand ran down her body and it made her shiver.

He rubbed her down, patiently, but he could feel his desire growing. He worked his way down from her shoulders, along her back, to her ass. He wet his fingers in the oil that remained there, and with the tip, he massaged her asshole, teasing it open.

"Did your Husband use your ass?" he asked, as casually as if he were asking about the weather.

Christi was almost melted against the stool as his hands worked their magic on her muscles.

He began massaging her ass. She felt his fingers tease her and he asked if her husband had used her ass. She closed her eyes and sighed.

"No, I have before, but he never did. I have a little experience with it." Just the thought of him taking her ass made heat pool inside of her stomach. She bit her lip and moaned softly as his fingers teased her.

"I had forgotten how much I crave this." She whispered.

"You're never really going to be you if you don't have someone to use you," Frank whispered. He dripped a little more warm oil on her ass, and began rubbing it in, his thumbs sliding in and out of her asshole as he worked.

"I'm probably not the man you want," he whispered. He knew it was a lie, at the moment. He knew that she would see it for what it was, that he was asking her to tell him she did want him. He also knew that it didn't matter. What mattered was that she tell him. That she form the habit of disagreeing with any thought or word against him.

"A beautiful woman like you can have her pick of men," he said. "And with all this, there's practically none that won't gladly be yours. Just make sure the one you pick knows that you need to be his fuck toy. Make sure that he knows that under all this luxury and money, you're just another slut who needs to know who's holding the leash."

She whimpered as he worked his thumbs in and out of her ass.

"I did pick a man that knows all of that," She moaned softly. "I picked you. You weren't the first man to offer comfort to me, but you were the man I chose."

She pushed back against his thumbs, wanting more.

"I picked you. I need you. I am serving you, Sir. Just you." She bit her lip, she was getting breathless.

"I know you said you had business, on the mainland. But, couldn't you stay with me?" She whispered, hoping he wouldn't reject her or her offer.

He was glad she was blindfolded, so she wouldn't see how broadly he was smiling. She couldn't have answered more perfectly if he'd written a script for her. He pulled his thumbs out of her ass and opened his pants again. He eased his cock out and let it rest along the crack of her ass. He leaned over her, letting her feel his body covering hers, but not putting his weight on her. Nothing would ruin the moment like breaking the stool.

"We'll see," he whispered. He pressed the tip of his cock against the tight nub of her well-oiled asshole, and began to push gently. "You may change your mind, after all. It is better to think these decisions through."

She whimpered softly as he pushed into her. There was no other sexual act that made her feel more submissive than this one. She hung her head and sighed deeply.

"Thank you, Sir." She whispered. His hands bit into her hips and she moaned and shivered. It was a tight fit, but the oil did its job well.

She wriggled her ass and pushed back against him. "Please..." She whispered. "Please..."

Keeping the tip of his cock pressed against her ass, pushing the tight ring in, Frank stood up, his knees bent so he could get the right angle at her. He grabbed her hair, and started pulling her up. Instead of bending over the stool, she was standing now, and his arm slipped around her waist. He straightened his legs, lifting her off the floor. She was everything he had ever imagined having in his wildest dreams.

"Please what, fucktoy?"

She was shaking in his arms.

"Please fuck my ass, Sir." She asked in a desperate voice. She leaned her head back, feeling his warmth behind her. "I am your girl, Sir." She whispered. Her body was his. She was entirely surrendered.