She is seated on her throne, dressed in her underwear, chatting to one of her friends on the phone. He enters crawling on all his knees, naked, across the parquet wooden floor, feeling the hardness of the wood on his kneecaps, the coldness, matched with the the coolness of the indifferent, slightly callous glance she gives him as he draws within three feet if the throne.
That arched eye brow, it means, come here, get to work. She has trained him well and he knows every nuance of her body language. He draws closer into her orbit, her aura, she is still on the phone as she points her toe in the direction of his nose.
He shuffles closer, takes the beloved foot between his palms, careful not to tickle (for a tickle will earn him a good hard slap), and begins softly kissing the tips of each toe, savoring the salty tang of her sweat, massaging her feet, then swallowing the whole toe, working on it's underside with his tongue. It's his favourite part of foot worship, having his mouth wholly penetrated by her big toe. He moves down the row of scarlet nailed toes to the last one, and is rewarded with a playful kick across his jaw. It is her way of telling him to move to the next foot.
After that he moves slowly up the inside of her calf, planting a ladder of tender kisses along the sculpted alabaster of her skin. It is his lucky day, he reflects, as she opens her leg narrowly to allow his kisses to travel further still further up the sacred softness of her white inner thigh. Little flickers of tongue follow each delicately planted worshipful kiss as he moves ever upwards, her divine flesh ever warmer, more fragrant with the perfume of her female power...
"Ok, honey, gotta go! Love you!" He hears her end her phone call. He has no idea if she has been talking to a man or woman. His own penis, locked in its steely cage, twitches a tad tighter against the metal at the thought it might be a man. What cuckolding adventures may lay in wait tonight...?
Snap!
His dreamy sexual reverie is broken by the crisp click of her fingers. This is the signal for him to remove her black lace panties, slowly and gently down her sumptuous legs. He catches the whiff of her sex on the material as he lays the panties reverently down. She groans softly, settles her hips deeper into the chair, juts her pubis forwards and at once he is immersed in the fragrant forest of her pubic hair, his tongue questing for the gateway to her clitoris, circling, circling around the hairy outside.
"Lower," she says.
He moves his tongue lower...
"Lower..."
He obeys.
Soon she is making the sweet song of a woman approaching her orgasm. At the heavenly sound of her, his swelling cock is almost unbearable in the confines of his cage. But there will be no release for him. Not tonight, not for many nights. The closest he may come to orgasm is tasting another man's semen on her the next time he goes down.
She is getting closer and closer, her legs wrapped around him now, her fingers twisting her nipples, her eyes closed, mouth open, as though in a religious ecstasy, until the pleasure bursts out of her in scarlet shuddering waves.
And then in the aftermath she unravels her legs scratches the back of his head with her nails.
"Good boy!" She whispers.
Then another snap of her fingers. He replaces her discarded panties carefully,. Kisses each foot when he is done.
"Drink!" She says. He will make her a drink: gin of some premium brand, fresh tonic, plenty of ice. In a spotless glass; she is particular about that.
"And then choose me an outfit. One you think makes me look sexy. You're good at that... "A pause, as she looks at her phone.
"I'm going out tonight, slave. Don't wait up."
The end ... ?