The Mister is working from home now. Puts a whole new meaning into the phrase “24/7.”

Most of the time it means a whole lot more cooking, and cleaning, and work. Sometimes, like today, it means a whole lot more of being treated like an owned whore.

He is working from the dining room table; I am tidying about.

Mindlessly scrubbing I listen in on his conference call which I was told would last a few hours. Without pretense I see my Master rise up and silently cross the room to me. He comes close, setting my body to peak awareness just from his presence, and whispers simply into my ear a delicate, “Shhhh…”

The men speaking through the computer are droning on about goals and profits and asking questions to each other while I am spun around and pushed face down into the table, hard. My ankles are kicked apart and I hear the leather belt being slid out of his dress slacks, promising the pain that is to suddenly come. He swiftly and expertly tucks the back of my skirt into my cotton panties and begins rubbing my behind, warming me up, getting my lips slick from his teasing and prepping my body.

My ass is exposed to the open front windows, the spring breeze blowing a chill onto my body, when his first strike lands. I inhale sharply and settle in for his mid-day beating, looking forward for the blissful break and instant connection.

I can tell he is timing the belted lashings to the conversation taking place in the background. Hoping that nobody can hear I stay as silent as possible regardless.

But it is quite a task.

He increases in intensity, swinging harder each time by the slightest amount, asking me silently to take a little more of his sadistic pleasure. I bite down on my bottom lip to keep the moans from escaping, the squeals from coming out, the absolute howl from such an intense pain from exposing us. The tears well up in my eyes and I swallow it down. I will serve him properly. I can, and I will.

All the while, sounding from his laptop, it is business as usual.

Just when I am about to accept my defeat he switches modes from bringing the sting to bringing me soaring.

His fingers find their way inside of me before I can even realize what is happening. I am almost there in an instant. Thank goodness he gives me the direction quick because I would have been helpless to make it stop. He allows me to come and I do. I feel my wetness down my thighs and then knees and down to puddle at my feet on the wooden floor below, the men talking through the speaker oblivious of our discreet tryst. He keeps me coming, making more of a mess than I would have expected, and as quickly as he approached me he is gone. Back to the other side of the table, back to his call, putting the removed belt back on.

He takes his pen and scrawls on his legal pad covered in work notes while I stand in shock, bottom throbbing and hot, covered in my own juices, skirt still tucked up and askew.

Holding up the pad I read his familiar writing:
Better get back to cleaning!

My jaw drops, he winks my way and makes a comment to his coworkers without missing a beat, and I tiptoe away to get the mop, leaving wet marks everywhere I step.

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Read more about the Mister and I at https://darlingdiscovered.com/