Training Buttercup Ch. 01

A chapter from a new project. I hope you enjoy it. --KT

***

The naked man was on all fours. The woman, his mistress, kept his objective just out of the reach of his questing tongue. Poor guy is getting frustrated, she thought to herself. She debated moving a little closer to give him a taste but decided against it.

One end of the rope was tied off against the bed. The other end was attached to a leather ring that was tied to a cock ring that encircled the man's erection and scrotum.

"You can do it, Buttercup."

The man strained against the rope and stretched out his tongue. Mistress encouraged him with patient taps of a riding crop against his back. He was so close. She could feel his hot, moist breath on her nether regions.

She didn't let him do this, not every time. It was his reward... hers too, but she'd framed it as his. She'd get off and he'd feel pleased at having done so. She might give him a rough handjob or flog him later. He seemed content with either option.

Mistress had long ago learned that it wasn't about the sex. For men like her Buttercup, it was enough to be subservient for an hour or two. Subservient and perhaps unconventionally naughty, but mainly the former.

She understood it.

Most of her clients were successful, powerful men. God alone knew the pressures they lived with. And so they were willing to pay for her to take the reins for a little while, relinquish their control and lend her the mantle of power. She had no doubt that for some, their time with her served as a reset button. Out there, they were masters of their small universes; in here, they were little more than extras in a play she alone directed. Their time with her grounded them.

Mistress wasn't into extremes of humiliation, even if that's what the client wanted. She had her rules. She might stress them, demean them a little, but steered well clear of what she regarded as abuse. If that was their kink, there were plenty Dommes who could accommodate them; she wouldn't.

She was content to play, to do unto others as she would be willing to have done unto her. That's where she drew the line. While she wasn't much into switching, she'd started out as a sub and knew what her limits would be if she were on the bitter end of the flogger again.

She felt a flick at her clitoris and looked down. The man was bathed in a sheen of sweat and the muscles of his arms and back trembled with strain. The rope was taut behind him. She allowed him to touch his tongue to her again and then took mercy by moving towards him a little. It wouldn't do to damage this one.

"Do you like what you taste, Buttercup?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good. Just so you know, the better it feels and the closer I get, the harder I'm going to whack you. Is that okay?"

"Yes, Mistress."

They'd played this game before. He liked to communicate with few words and she respected that. Besides, she wanted his mouth busy with things other than words. For her part, she preferred to let her crop do the talking.

She draped her long legs over the arms of the chair to open herself more fully to him. She felt for a longer cane in a vase beside her chair so she wouldn't have to stretch so much to reach his meaty bits. There were times when she marvelled that they actually paid her for this. It hadn't always been this way. At first, she'd refused payment but had ended up receiving gifts instead. She didn't begrudge them their generosity, but there were only so many gifts she could accept. After a while, the gifts had become monetary, unmarked envelopes deposited without fanfare on the table by the door. She'd never had to discuss remuneration. They paid her what they could and it was usually more than she would have expected. Besides, this wasn't her day job.

Buttercup had found a particularly good spot and she struck him hard on the buttocks to let him know. He gasped and redoubled his efforts.

He was one of his favorites though he really wasn't her type. She'd never asked for his name but she knew who he was. He knew that she knew as well. They had an understanding and the illusion of anonymity. If his kink were known, it would finish him. He knew it, she knew it, and still he came.

She never asked him why and he'd never offered an explanation. It didn't matter; she had her suspicions. Men like him had to be constantly on guard. Whether it was the business competition or women who coveted the lifestyle he could offer them, he had to be alert. In the few hours they shared together, he could let go. All she demanded was the kind of submission that would be seen as weakness at outside of this room. Here, submission was strength. It was the most valuable thing he could give, his submission, and in her dungeon he was happy to give it.

She had no doubt that when he left here, his ass still stinging from her crop, he would exert his power with renewed vigor.

He really did have an amazing tongue and there was no faking the pleasure he was trying to give her despite the pain of her crop and the stress on his privates.

She felt herself responding to his attentions. In her time as a sub, she'd learn to control her release. She would think on other things if she wanted to suppress it -- knitting, the news of the day, a particularly interesting spot on the wall. Today, she felt no such restraint.

She delivered a quick series of hard strokes to let him know that she was close. He moaned in sympathy with her arousal. A delicious tingling of her extremities signaled her oncoming release. The tingling swirled and congealed at her groin. She held that glowing ball in place for as long as she could, felt its warmth and delicious promise until she could hold it no more. She let it gush out, a liquid pleasure that suffused her and coated Buttercup's face.

When the spasms had passed and his lapping at the well of her pleasure had become desultory, she dropped her feet to the floor and stood up.

"You've been a good boy, Buttercup."

"Thank you, Mistress."

She moved Buttercup to the St Andrew's cross that leaned against the wall and fastened his wrists and ankles to it. His cock was flaccid, which was no great surprise given the stress she'd put it under.

"I'm feeling generous today," she said.

The man didn't respond. She would do what she wanted regardless of what he might desire.

With the tip of her cane, she navigated the contours of his cock and testicles. She wanted to make sure that the working bits still functioned. Gradually, his manhood thickened and rose in a series of twitches. The stroking that had revived him eased into gentle tapping. His cock bobbed with it and grew to its full potential.

She placed the crop in his mouth with instructions not to let it drop. Buttercup gripped it between his teeth, reminding her of a dog and a favorite stick.

She then lubed him up and squatted in front of him.

"I don't want you to come until I say you can. I don't particularly want a spunk shower. I'll be angry if you let go until I'm out of the way. Understood?"

"Yes, mistress." The words were mumbled from behind the crop, but she understood them nonetheless.

She stroked him with two hands, running her fingers over the purpling crown before easing her hands down to the base. She took her time. It had been several weeks since he'd found release in her dungeon and he'd been particularly attentive today. He deserved this reward.

If he were anyone else, she might have claimed this handsome length of manhood for herself. But that was the one line she would never cross with this level of client, however tempting it might have been. She wasn't up to another serious partner. Besides, he hadn't yet proven himself.

His breathing had become heavier.

"Pay attention, Buttercup."

He didn't answer and she didn't bother correcting him.

She squatted before him, in the line of fire as it were, and worked him steadily. Every now and then, a low moan would emanate from him.

"Open your eyes and watch what I'm doing to you."

The man did.

She knew that men were largely visual beings and that seeing what she was doing might tip him over the edge all the faster. She was counting on it.

"What a proud cock you have, Buttercup," she said as she squeezed the base of it.

She resumed her stroking, faster now, and could sense his imminent release.

"I'm sure it would fill me..."

She stroked.

"Fill my pussy. Fill my tight ass."

Buttercup moaned.

"Don't even think about it," she whispered.

Her face was mere inches away from his manhood. She blew a stream of air over it crown, back and forth, back and forth, as her hands redoubled their action. It twitched in her hands.

When she heard growling sounds of imminent release, she rose and took the crop from his mouth. Still stroking him, she tossed it to the floor, two or three feet away. "When you come," she purred into his ear, "I expect your seed to go past where the crop is, understood? Hold it until you think you can get it that far. I'll be disappointed if you don't. Do you think you can?"

He didn't answer but a smile danced on his face.

They both understood competition.

With a loud gasp, he erupted, sending a rope of come several inches past the crop. It splashed against the hardwood floor. The next gout fell short, hitting the crop. Mistress stroked him through his ebbing spasms and watched as the last of his seed dripped into a growing puddle at his feet.

"Nicely done, Buttercup, but I didn't tell you to baptize my favorite crop."

"My apologies, Mistress."

The brought the crop to him. "I like the symbolism of your come on the object of your pain, but I think you need to clean it off." She held the crop to his mouth. With a thinly veiled look of disgust, he licked off the offending droplet.

"Do you find this gross?"

The man shrugged.

"And yet you find nothing disgusting about unloading in a woman's mouth."

"It would appear that I'm a hypocrite, Mistress."

She laughed. "Yes it would, but at least you're honest about it. You've given me something to think about."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes."

She unfastened his wrists and ankles and he stepped away from the cross, working his muscles. "Get a washcloth from the bathroom and clean the floor, would you? Then you may get dressed."

"Yes, Mistress."

"You did well today."

"Thank you, Mistress."

Buttercup emerged from the bathroom adjusting his cufflinks. Only a little while ago, he'd been on all fours, licking her snatch. He cleaned up well.

"Any plans for the weekend?" he asked.

They weren't in role now. Mistress didn't insist on propriety after a scene. She preferred it that way, wanting to be able to gauge their mood when they came down.

"Nah, not much. Maybe a hike. I don't know yet. You?"

"A barbecue on Saturday. That's about it."

"Work or play?"

"A little bit of both, I imagine."

"You should play more."

He shrugged. "I do. With you." With a smile, he approached her and kissed her proffered cheek. He made for the door, fishing in his jacket pocket for the customary envelope. "Same time next week?" he asked.

"I look forward to it."

"Me too. Until then."