Mind Caviar

Dahlia Ankeny if she were a drink, she'd be a double-shot of Wild Turkey followed by a sweet, cool sip of spring water. To contact her about her work, write her at d_ankeny@hotmail.com



Perfect John
by Dahlia Ankeny

Perfect John
1 part vodka
1 part triple sec
3 parts orange juice
Pour over ice into a highball glass. Garnish with an orange slice. 

Across town, Perfect John is waiting. I glance at myself in the mirror before answering the driver's knock at the door. Not bad. My black leather overcoat gives me a solemn appearance, but it is what lies underneath that will matter later. My skin is not black or white. The color is something closer to café au lait. Some have called my lips pouty. Hell no, I never pout. My long black hair spirals past my waist and is woven with burgundy silk threads. I give it a final flip and am ready. The driver greets me at the door with a nod. I catch him looking at my tattooed calf again as he helps me into the car. The raven-haired woman sucking the cock of a Minotaur is shocking even to those whose tongues trace it nightly. 

The limo stops in front of the tall Victorian where I keep John. The night air is fresh with rain, and the bricks of the house glisten in the aftermath of the passing storm. Candles flicker in the windows, behind which John is no doubt pacing. The driver helps me out onto the sidewalk. "Thank you Robert." I turn and unzip his pants. I slip in a $20 and give his balls a hard squeeze for good measure. He bows his head and stands there, eyes downcast, as I make my way up the front steps.

 Inside, John is standing in the kitchen, his back to me, plucking stems from strawberries in a silver bowl. He is shirtless in black linen slacks, bare feet and a white apron tied around his waist. His muscles slide smoothly beneath his pale skin, and I stand and watch him work for a moment. God, he is such a beautiful boy when he's not being naughty. If only I didn't have to spend so much time teaching him lessons. 

I pull off my gloves and slide a crop out of my bag. John continues working the strawberries and pretends not to notice my arrival. I step behind him and feel my pleasure growing with the very heat of his presence. I place the crop between his legs and put one hand on his cheek. "Madame," he says in mock surprise. "Good evening." 

"Good evening, John," I put my lips close to his ear and reach around to run my fingers across the ring in his left nipple. "Have you been a very good boy while I've been gone?" 

"Oh yes, Madame," he whispers. 

I loop my finger through his nipple ring and pull him around to face me. "Then what's this?" I ask, tapping the bulge in his pants with the tip of my crop, just hard enough for it to whap against the fabric. He moans softly. "What?" I ask again. I arch my back, just a little, to gain my full height and to offer the best view of my erect nipples. 

He moans softly again. "It's an erection, ma'am." 

I circle around behind him, running the crop up his chest and across his cheek. "And are you supposed to have an erection without asking me first?" I know it's an impossible rule, but of course, that's why I made it. 

He shakes his head, keeping his eyes down the whole time. "No ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am."

 "You do know you will have to be punished?" He nods, and I slide off my coat to reveal the belted leather skirt and half-buttoned leather vest that I'd donned earlier. I hear his breath catch for a moment at the sight of my bare legs. Surely he must know now a little of what I had in mind. 

"Yes, ma'am, I'll have to be punished" he says, his voice low. 

"Fine, then," I say. "Undress." He does so, slowly, nearly perfectly, his back turned so I can watch his muscles slide beneath the skin as he removes his pants. The first glimpse of the smooth, half-globes of his ass makes me instantly wet. He is such a perfect specimen.

 He spreads his legs just slightly, as he's been taught, and I reach beneath him and run a fingernail across his balls and up into the crack of his ass. Over his shoulder, I see his cock jump slightly in its cock ring as though sniffing the air for my scent.

 I press my nipples against his back and reach around to take his cock. "Is this what you want?" I ask, squeezing his balls with one hand and running the other along the length of his cock.

 "Yes ma'am." It is a sigh of relief.

 "Well, you're not going to get it," I say, pulling my hand away. I tease the crop against his ass, once, twice, again, until I hear his sharp intake of breath and his pale skin begins to show thin pink lines of understanding. 

"Down," I say with a tap of my crop against his shoulder. He complies quickly, getting down onto his hands and knees. The sight of him there, with his ass in the air and his face at my feet, sends a shiver across my stomach down to my bare clit. I tap his ass with my crop, and he moves forward until his face is practically smashed against my legs. As he kisses and licks my shins, I try to keep myself from moaning. The insides of my thighs begin to feel like rubber and my clit cries out for my attention, but I wait, stock-still, feeling his tongue run up my legs. I wait, knowing that if I make him stay that way long enough, he will slip. I know he can smell my excitement, know he can't resist one try at those lips he so dearly loves to kiss.

 When he snakes his tongue out to run it across my cunt, I am ready. I plant my boot beneath his chest and push him over on his back. I stand over him, legs spread wide, giving him a full view of my panty-less pussy. "I do think I've going to have to send you to remedial school," I say, squatting over him, my thighs on either side of his face. I nearly laugh as I watch him trying to keep his tongue inside his mouth, trying not to reach out and go for another lick. "You seem to have forgotten so much," I say. "And after all I've taught you."

 I lower myself to within an inch of his face; if he so much as pursed his lips, he could touch my clit. I feel his cool breath against my skin. It takes everything I had not to grind against his face. "Perhaps," I say, "I should just trade you in? Find someone who is not always so willing to disobey?" 

John is quivering beneath me. He is trying to be good. He is trying to learn. He shakes his head no, and I lower myself, just for a second, to feel his lips criss-cross my cunt with the movement. When I lift up, his lips are wet with my juices. I pull the belt from my skirt and wrap it around his wrists. "You are mine, John. Don't you forget that. You belong to me." 

Then I slide my hips down toward his cock and let its hardness bump against my ass. "Now convince me that I shouldn't trade you in," I say as I lower myself just to the very tip of his cock. I can see the excitement in his eyes - he thinks I'm going to fuck him. That I'm going to ride him into the ground with my leather crop and his hands tied above his head until he comes. And that afterward I will untie him and let him free. 

John pumps his hips upward and I slap the side of his thigh with my crop. "Enough," I say. I stand quickly, leaving him lying there on the floor, his cock straining upward, trying to find its way home again. His eyes are smoldering as I pull on my coat, but he doesn't say anything. Not yet. He'll say everything I want him to say later. 

It is all I could to walk away, to leave him lying there and not straddle him again, to not force my eager cunt onto his cock again and again until he comes in great, heaving shudders. But, then he wouldn't learn anything about discipline would he? And if there's anything a good slave should learn, it's discipline. Wouldn't you agree? 

I said, wouldn't you agree? And say "ma'am" when you answer me.

Copyright © 2001 Dahlia Ankeny. All rights reserved.


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