STIRRING THE POT
Four minutes isn't much time. I hastily kick my pumps through the doorway, paying no attention to where they land. Turning my back to the side chair, I shrug my jacket off and vaguely register the sound of it slumping onto the upholstery. Opening the fewest buttons possible at my wrists and neck, I yank the blouse over my head. My bra takes seconds to remove, and soon both hands are frantically working the zipper at the side of my skirt. I slide down my stockings and bikini bottoms, and the only thing left besides my earrings is the leather collar.
I should ask Edward how he feels about jewelry, but I don't have time right now to deal. If he's not pleased, I'm sure he'll let me know.
In my rush to get undressed, I haven't even glanced to see what he's laid out for me to wear. There, atop the nubby white chenille bedspread is a pair of lacy red cheeky panties and a frilly white apron. Lying next to these two pieces are what I can only assume are Edward's favorite spiky heels, the green strappy sandals from my elf outfit. Because he's not here to see it, I allow myself a smirk. I know what these heels do for my legs, and the slutty air they add to the scene. And he knows what a challenge they are for me, the evil bastard.
I hurriedly slide the red lace up my legs and situate the fabric as comfortably as possible halfway up my cheeks, though it's highly likely he'll rearrange it to suit his own desires. Perched at the edge of the bed, I pull on the shoes and buckle them around my ankles, wondering how on earth I'm meant to prepare a meal in this getup when I can barely stand on these heels.
The beauty of the apron, and what most likely attracted Edward's interest, is that the fabric is classically chaste. I mean, who can argue with white eyelet for wholesomeness? It's the cut that makes it entirely scandalous. The top half is the briefest of halters, which I tie behind my neck. The suspender-like straps flow into a tiny eyelet skirt that ties with a thin string behind my back. I can't have much time left, but I take a moment to check myself in the full-length mirror. My breath catches at my reflection.
The thin white ribbons barely cover my nipples and leave the majority of my breasts exposed. The frilly skirt ends just above the red lace and disappears altogether as it rounds my hips. And of course, the heels scream, “Throw me down and fuck me blind!”
"Thirty seconds, princess!" he calls out, and I'm grateful for the warning.
And…it's show time!
I'm slumped on the couch, trying really fucking hard to project an air of nonchalance. But my façade is shattered all to hell when Isabella enters the hallway in her servile getup. She knows she has precious little time to get her cheeky ass behind the kitchen counter, yet she poses briefly at the entrance to the TV room to catch my eye before rounding the corner to the kitchen. I'm sure she feels my eyes burning into her nearly bare back side as she waddles along on those spiky heels. I think my plan to stay on the couch has pretty much just gone right out the window.
I've got the TV tuned to a cooking show to get her in the proper frame of mind…for now. I feign an interest in the celebrity chef, but all I can think of is conjuring a reason to pay a visit to my kitchen. I am suddenly parched. I'd certainly rather summon her over with a glass of water, but I'm actually getting hungry, and I don't want to take her too far off task.
Once I hear the knife moving, I push off the couch and saunter over to the cabinet behind where she's working. She concentrates extra hard on her chopping, but I can see she's affected by my presence. I fill two glasses with ice and water from the dispenser on the refrigerator door and slide one over in front of her on the counter.
"Here you go, sweetheart."
"Thank you, Sir," she says, immediately taking a long drag on her drink. I'm thankful for my horn dog move to be closer to her, because otherwise, I would've missed the opportunity to offer her a drink. Damn, that was irresponsible of me. Part of the adjustment of having a live-in sub who doesn't show up at my door scene-ready is going to have to be my building in some time for her human needs.
I was going to watch her from behind for a while, but I deny myself that pleasure as a punishment for my sloppy behavior. Instead I brush my fingers down her bare back, stopping at her waist. "You look so hot, my kinky little chef," I murmur into her ear.
Chop, chop, chop.
I return to my seat and leave her to her mincing. There's a noisy clanging of pots followed by a loud, "Shit!" And finally, I hear, "Sorry, Sir."
"You okay over there?"
"Yes, Sir. Sorry to disturb you."
Oh hell, what's the use of having her put on a show if I'm not going to watch? Punishment's over, Edward. Just be more careful next time.
Time to taunt the chef.
It's the heels. It's nearly impossible to reach anything below my waist without toppling myself over, and he keeps the pots at the very bottom of the cupboards. Recovering best I can from my gaffe, I heat up some oil in the pot and throw in the diced vegetables. I'm completely unprepared for his hand at my back and his lips at my shoulder.
"Keep working," he directs.
I continue to stir the pot with a long wooden spoon, even as he steps behind me and presses his jeans against me. He buries his nose just below my ear and leaves a trail of soft kisses that ends at the base of my neck. "Mmmm, that smells so good."
I'm sizzling like the hot oil at his attentions, and I'm tempted to just lean back against him and bag the cooking altogether. I am pretty sure my Dark Prince would frown on my taking such a liberty. "Excuse me, Sir, but I need to add the tomatoes and seasonings."
Both nipples receive a sharp tweak at that, and he corrects me. "May I please add the rest of the ingredients, Sir?"
Damn. I should have known that. He's muddling my brain. Focus, Bella. "May I please add the rest of the ingredients, Sir?"
"Absolutely," he says, backing away but watching carefully while I open the cans and measure out the sauces into the pot.
"May I set the timer now, Sir?"
"You sure may, princess. And then I want you to join me in the other room."
I put fifteen minutes on the timer and hobble over to the ladderback chair he's placed perpendicular to the end of the couch. "Have a seat," he offers, helping me settle in from behind.
"Let's have those hands back here," he says, taking my offered hands around the back of the chair and tucking each underneath the horizontal bar behind me. My knuckles press against my bare back, causing me to sit up straighter in my chair and lift my shoulders and chest, which I suppose is half the fun for him. At least that's what his lascivious leer seems to indicate as he walks around in front of me, appraising his work.
"Excellent. Now let's see about those feet…Open wide," he demands mischievously, obviously aware my arousal is mounting to a dangerous level.
I split my legs and bring my feet around to the sides. "Hmmm," he says, sizing up the situation. "Wrap your feet around the back legs of the chair for me."
I have to wriggle my hips a bit and spread my legs open as far as they'll go, but I manage to loop my ankles around as he's asked.
"We don't have time for rope right now. Can I trust you to hold that position?"
"Yes, Sir," I promise, my voice quivering.
"You're sure now? Because if you make a promise, you have to keep it."
"I can do it, Sir."
He smiles broadly and praises me. "Good choice, princess." To punctuate his compliment, he runs one hand through my hair and gives me another wet kiss that only serves to inflame my desire for him that much more.
"Dinner and a movie, the All-American date," he says, crouching at his computer and looping up some video he's obviously downloaded previously. The television screen fills with the logo from kink-dot-com and I know I'm about to have the porn fest of a lifetime. I've never been brave enough to watch beyond the free trailer clips that are meant to entice you to join the site and purchase more minutes. With so many kinks to choose from, and so many willing subs and domineering doms, there's never a shortage of clips to whet one's appetite.
Edward's not showing me some lame two-minute compilation; no, this is the real deal. And I am literally a captive audience. There will be no way to hide my response from him.
God bless whoever invented this site and all its kinky subcategories. Returning to the couch, I watch Isabella's reaction to the video. The dinner slave scene I've selected is one of my go-to favorites. The scene opens with twelve people in various stages of undress sitting around an elegant gothic dining table waiting to be served. In hobbles the slave with two bowls of presumably hot soup, wearing only high heels and a pair of red lace cheekies identical to the ones I bought for Isabella…as well as a heavy chain connecting her ankle cuffs, making it impossible for her to move her feet independently. The diners are allowed to do whatever they desire to the slave, and she has to wait for them to finish before moving on. Her nipples are pinched and bitten. Her ass is swatted repeatedly. She's pulled across laps and commanded to suck and lick. As the meal wears on, the diners get more and more demanding, screaming for water or extra napkins, anything to bring her into their vicinity.
I check to see that Isabella has held her position, which thankfully she has. There's a telltale darker red spot in the middle of her panties that wasn't there earlier. I stand and walk behind her chair. Watching the scene with her, I wait until one of the guests abuses the girl's nipples, and I reach under the apron straps for Isabella's and provide the same rough treatment. She gasps and hisses and lets out a low needy moan.
"Tell me, princess," I say into her ear. "Does that look like fun to you?"
"Would you like to serve me that way tonight?"
"That's just what I thought you'd say."
As we watch the screen, one of the rougher women diners snatches the panties down to the girl's ankles and bends her over her lap, delivering several hearty blows. I am close enough to hear Isabella's breath catch. "Don't worry, princess. I won't leave out any of the good stuff."
Isabella whimpers in response, and just then, the timer buzzes in the kitchen. I help free her hands from the slat behind her and direct, "Go."
She stands and gathers herself as best she can, struggles to the kitchen and pours in the beans, an act that would've taken me about ten seconds to accomplish, but is oh so much fun to watch her do. She gives the pot a stir and sets the timer again for another fifteen minutes.
"I want you right here," I command, directing her back to my side.
The video is still running. I turn us so she can watch and signal her down to her knees. "Hands clasped behind your back."
She obeys immediately.
I open my jeans and pull them down, along with my boxers. "You have…" I crane my neck to see the kitchen timer. "… fourteen minutes and five seconds to get me off with only your mouth. If there's any time left over, we'll see about you. Go!"
Holy Mother of All Challenges. I take him into my mouth and get busy. Without my hands, this could be a mighty challenge, indeed, though he's fully hard and already dripping by the time I taste him. The sights and sounds of the dinner slave dragging her chains, panties at her ankles, being pinched and slapped along the way, add to the general sense of debauchery.
I've already been at it five minutes, I can see from the timer at the bottom of the screen, and he's showing no signs of weakening. I'm quite sure he's got the discipline of a monk, but I'm going to give it my best shot. He didn't even address what would happen if I don't get him off in that time frame, but failure is not an option.
I drop his cock from my mouth and suck in his balls, rolling each around in my mouth, humming and moaning and doing whatever I can to get him to lose control. Taking him back into my mouth, I let my teeth gently slide along his shaft, and this causes a mysterious little response. I try something else with my tongue and he moans loudly. I purse my lips extra firmly and pick up my speed. Soon, his hand is at the back of my head and he's fully engaged in fucking my face. I've never tried this without use of my hands, and frankly, it's a little terrifying to give over so much control, when my gag reflex is fairly untrained.
He seems to sense my sudden terror, and he moves his hands to the sides of my head and reminds me, "Relax your throat and take me in. That's it. Mmm. Feels so good, princess. Faster. Unh…unh…unh…unh…mmm!"
I swallow down everything he gives me, not because I love it, but because it's his.
True to his word, he quickly pulls out and has me stand, facing the television. My doppelganger is stretched out on her back on the dining table, held down and pressed open by five or six people, while others are touching her everywhere, fingering her and teasing her with bits of food smeared on and licked off.
Edward dips his hand into the front of my panties and brushes against me lightly. I swoon and fall backwards against his chest. I really hope he'll hold me up because my legs are not going to do the job.
"You. Are. So….WET," he teases, running his finger through my slippery slit. "But you only left yourself a minute, twenty-two."
He twists my right wrist behind my back, pinning it between our bodies. He takes control of my left hand and plunges it inside the apron and down the front of my cheekies. "Better hurry, princess, time is ticking away."
My hourglass challenge, inside my sex slave fantasy, with a side order of domestic discipline. The Triple Crown! He withdraws his hand from my panties, leaving me to handle this one solo…under his voyeuristic eye, naturally. Inhibitions are not exactly an issue right now, and I take hold of myself roughly and rub frantically, wishing it were his fingers instead of mine. I feel his cock hardening already against my thigh as he peers over my shoulder to get a close-up. I close my eyes and focus.
"Keep your eyes open and watch how they tease her," he commands.
As I focus on the TV, the whole group works to bring the slave to orgasm. She's sprawled along the length of the dining table on her back, ten hands or more pinning her body down, while still more reach over to tease, tickle, pinch, and slap. She's bouncing around all over the place, but they hold the vibrator firm and I can see the tension mounting. They cajole and tease, saying filthy things to her, which she seems to enjoy immensely. She starts to lose it, the eyelids get all fluttery, and they're yelling at her to come, pressing the vibrator against her clit and not letting up.
"Fifteen seconds left, Isabella," Edward taunts. "I don't think you're gonna make it." And you don't sound all that disappointed about it either, I can't help but notice.
The girl on the table is frantic as she nears her orgasm. Her voice rises from a desperate wail to a primal howl as her body releases, twitching and spasming under the mouths and hands holding her down.
I redouble my efforts, slipping a finger inside. If only he'd touch me…anywhere…
Faster and harder. Come, come, come. Frustration and panic set in. I'm not going to make it...
His hand wraps around my wrist as his voice delivers the disappointing reality, "Three…two…one." He yanks my hand out and releases my other wrist as I register the beeping of the kitchen timer.
"Game over, sweetheart," he says indifferently as he bends to pull his boxers and jeans back up, tucking in his hard-on without a care in the world that his own needs won't be satisfied according to his every whim. "I'll get the timer while you wash your hands," he offers, moving toward the blaring signal that I may have just wasted my one and only chance for release tonight.