Being Watched…
By Polly Brunswick
I spotted him long before he gave himself away.
Keen to release all of the tightly wound frustrations of my long working day, I was eager to read the next chapter of my book, a story that had been consuming my thoughts. I had taken my suit off already and was enjoying parading around the house in what my work clothes concealed; expensive silk stockings, delicate red basque and striking stilettos. These were a very real part of the boardroom; they elevated me to the same level as men, in height and in power. Sexual confidence is an important tool for getting the job done at high levels. It is the ultimate post-feminism – not a denial of sexuality nor a plea for equality, but rather a declaration of ambition, authority and decisiveness.
Prettily promenading in front of un-curtained windows, I was enjoying indulging in my fantasies. I imagined being watched, I imagined innocent bystanders being consumed by a raving passion and unquenchable desire to touch me, raging cocks at every opening, eyes desperately peeping through, hoping for a glimpse, an opportunity to watch me touch myself. I am of course aware of all the hungry eyes watching me, desperate to be fed but I do not acknowledge them in the slightest. I have the control, I am protected, elevated, too beautiful and precious to be opened up to their filthiness. Like the princess in a snow dome, I am to be looked at, wondered over but never touched. I know how constantly and completely I am desired and that is all that I need.
Sexy, airy jazz playing sweetly in the background, I become entranced by myself. Autoeroticism. I was desperate to submerge myself and loose control in my own fantasy realm, after a day of spanking out other peoples’ talents, nurturing ideas, winning debates – a day of always being in strict control. I digress; I was getting comfortable, displaying myself next in the conservatory, encased in glass like a precious bloom, I lay eagerly devouring pages of my book. It was a twisted fairy tale; a powerful Domme rescuing an endangered damsel and dishing out revenge only then to manipulate and shape her into a toy for herself. Mmmm, I imagine myself alternating between each role and rise to that first delicate sweet release quickly, enabled by the most provocative forced face sitting scene. Someone should have warned the damsel to be careful what she wished for…
Whilst the thought of my being watched did help to propel me toward a much needed reward, I did not perceive any real risk; the conservatory backed onto the garden, lush and heavily scented in the moist evening air, which was closely guarded by tall hedges and laden fruit trees. There was little danger of being overlooked. Temporarily sated, I rose to fetch a glass of well-deserved wine from the kitchen. And that was when I saw the unusual shape. In the mirror opposite the kitchen window revealed to me was a most pathetic and impudent sight. Clutching a camera, a man was in the darkening garden, lurking outrageously amongst the worms. Perhaps it was the effect of the day’s stress or the effect of the book’s lead character, I am not sure – but I was suddenly possessed. Not by fear, but by indignation. Such disrespect demanded punishment, harsh punishment and humiliation. He needed to understand the gravity of his crime and beg for my forgiveness. Reacting imperceptibly, I carried on filling my glass and in no way let on that I had spotted him. I now knew how I could properly dispense of the stress of my day.
I reclined once again and proceeded to excite myself. I touched myself in a far more deliberate and provocative way this time, not just an idle sliding of fingers underneath panty elastic – I teased and kneaded my full breasts, releasing them from their confinement within the boned basque, squeezing and pinching my nipples with moistened fingers, deliberately positioned so that the pathetic peeping tom would have a good vantage. With aching leisureliness, I slowly began to radiate my touch further and further south, over my smooth, pinched waist to full, soft hips. I was aware of his position and knew with each explorative stroke he was involuntarily moving himself closer, closer to me, closer to detection, closer to punishment. I spread my legs delicately and coquettishly, having turned my body so that I was facing him directly. He thought he was protected, by the darkness outside, believing me blinded by the lights inside. He was wrong, every nerve in my body keenly felt his presence. I knew he was creeping up to glass. With each hand movement I was drawing him in further. I knew as I feigned further loss of control he too would loosen himself, caution abandoned in a state of suspended lust. As I spread myself, revealing the perfect pinkness of my tight wet, cunt, I knew he would not be able to contain himself much longer. Now close to the glass on his knees underneath an open window, I heard him gasp as he watched me insert two fingers with surprising force into my eager pussy after having traced outlines and circles delicately between my lips and around my clit. Just as abruptly, I removed the fingers, and taking them into my mouth, savoured my own delicious juices. I knew this would do the trick.
With feline speed, I then threw open the unlocked door and apprehended the offending tom. What a lucky boy he must of thought himself, spying for shots of women getting undressed or bathing, that he would no doubt upload to some unsavoury website and wank over, instead he had found himself a beautiful parading pussycat to slaver over. As I had suspected, he had become quite overwhelmed by my slow, exaggerated masturbation, he had opened his trousers revealing his cock, erect and nearing climax. But he was not going to get release…
Stunned, silent with head hung in shame he remained on his knees, his camera flaccid on its leash hanging from his neck. He was confused perhaps by my lack of confrontation; I did not squeal, rage or cry out instructing neighbours to call the police. Oh no, he was not going to get off that lightly. “Inside, now” were my only comments and the delivery, albeit quiet, did not invite any disobedience. He attempted to rise from his knees, but a stiletto heel in the shoulder soon knocked that idea out of his head. “Stay on your knees, like the pathetic dog that you are. On all fours, into the house now. Do not make me repeat myself again.”
Certainly confused now and perhaps a little worried about my intentions and the force of the spike in his shoulder, he slowly ambled into the house. But he did not try to escape, he was still too aroused. In the light, on his knees once again, I saw his features clearly. Average and fairly unremarkable, the camera and dark coat lent him a slightly train-spotteresque geekiness that I knew was part of his costume. Underneath there was however a sense of mischief and the excitement in his eyes revealed an eagerness not dissimilar from many of the office boys constantly swarming around me, vying for attention and competing for promotion. His cock however, I could clearly see now, was already trailing fresh silken strands of pre-cum. He smiled when he saw me appraising it and so I felt it necessary to deliver a good hard slap with my book across its head, so that he understood how this was going to work. His audible gasp of startled pain made a sour laugh to escape from my lips. Reaching for the green garden twine on the shelf, I roughly tied his willing hands behind him. The binds were very tight. He did not resist. I raised a foot onto the sofa upon which I had so recently reclined, so that my pussy was inches from his face.
“Why do you think you have the right to spy on women, take photos of them whilst they are undressing? What is wrong with you? Is this the only way you get to see pussy?” His smile and puppy-dog eyes betrayed his thoughts. “Do you really think that you will see this pussy? Smell this pussy? Taste this pussy?” I pulled the soaked satin of my panty aside, revealing again my moist lips and a hint of the velvety splendour they framed. Eager, pleading eyes; ahh, but they had plenty more pleading to do before he understood. “You are a pathetic peeping tom, you are only worthy of licking my shoes clean. You deserve punishment not reward, do not even look at my cunt. It is mine, it is wet and exquisite and you are not worthy of looking at, let alone trying to imagine how it tastes.” The silence was pure impudence. “Shoes!” Questioning eyes shone back up at me, confused. Swiftly and powerfully, I pulled his head down to the seat and commanded him to clean my shoes.
“Wwwwhat with?” Finally he had dared to open his insolent mouth. His voice was high pitched and full of fear; the emasculation disgusted me.
“Are you talking to me, filthy peeping tom? Is that how you think I should be addressed?” Again a flicker of excitement and then, after considerable delay, a small wimpish voice asked, “With what should I clean your shoes, Mmmistress?”
“At last you comprehend something. With your tongue of course. You may begin.”
Gingerly he began to probe the patent leather, growing then in intensity and speed. His erect cock was visible as he began to enjoy his work, each tongue stroke long, pressured and precise. He worked his way up the daggered heel, approaching the ankle with great urgency. I caught him glancing up above, following the long firm arc from my knee, to thigh and then pussy. I swiftly moved toward the shelving again. “I thought you were beginning to understand, how unfortunate”.
“I understand Mistress-”
“You understand nothing. When I tell you not to look, I mean it. Pathetic peeping tom, this punishment and humiliation is clearly not enough.” Strangely detached from my usual self, feeling the awesome power of domination, I possessed perfect clarity about what needed to be done. I soundly brought down across his exposed backside a long, green gardening cane. He gasped, clenching his fists trying to pull himself out of his restraints. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. In quick succession, with moderate pressure, I aimed the strokes at the exact same spot each time. This made him groan aloud, like a pained, feeble animal. Brusquely I pulled his trousers down further, so he was entirely exposed and unprotected. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Sometimes I just teased him; he would feel the anticipatory rush of air and tighten his muscles involuntarily, expecting a blow that did not land. And sometimes, I merely tickled the surface of the skin. As it warmed and reddened, I increased the pressure enjoying watching him writhe around, begging me to stop. I worked up quite a sweat, and felt unbelievably aroused by this assumption of command, each stroke intensifying my feelings of goddess like power. I was enjoying it. I was dripping wet. I questioned him. “Are you enjoying this peeping tom? Do you like to be disempowered thus, do you like to be abused?”
“Please, Mistress please….” and then he would trail off into a wordless whimper as I brought down further strokes. “I do not tolerate disrespect. You had no right to watch me. You deserve punishment. You deserve to feel violated and humiliated in this way. Perhaps next time you think about going out with your camera peeping tom, you will stop and remember this.”
“I beg your forgiveness Mistress. Please. I am not worthy, yes I deserve this punishment. I will never do it again Mistress. But I could not help it, I was overwhelmed by you! Please punish me further.” And as I did, I noticed he had shifted his weight slightly, no longer squirming or bracing his shoulders and head against the seat. No, he was now offering himself up, eager for more punishment, hard and desperate for release.
“I think you are beginning to understand.” I administered further strokes, fully releasing the stress and strains of my day, enjoying my increased accuracy. Then I slowly reduced the pressure applied, until I was just caressing the marked skin, tenderly drawing lines across each firm cheek, across the top of his thigh and in between his legs. As the cane traced across his swollen scrotum, he was shivering. He had exited the world, entering a new place where he was first confused by, then accepting of, the bittersweet pleasure pain complex that was sending blood and adrenaline thumping around his body. He long ago stopped wondering how this could excite him so much and simply surrendered himself to my power.
At this point I desisted with the cane and turned him over, his sore bare arse now on the cold floor, hands still tied behind his back. He was completely pliable and easy to move. I walked around him, watching his eyes follow my body as it circled hawk like above him. He of course fixated on my silken panties, laden lusciously with the sweetest of juices. Peeping tom was being subjected to a view that pained him now, exciting him to the utmost; he was desperate for release yet it was so excruciatingly unattainable.
Occasionally I played with his worm like cock, it was excited and eager like a school boy’s; it deserved a good spanking as well. I mostly used the book and the cane, but when it suddenly jerked about and outrageously leaked pre-cum, I also squeezed and slapped it with my hand, sometimes pinching and flicking it painfully on the sensitive purple end. The disrespectful peeping tom was continually moaning like a child by this point, sometimes pleading for me to carry on, sometimes begging me to stop. No matter how much pain he was in, nor how loudly he implored me to stop, I did not relent. He needed to learn that his cock did not give him power, it was not in control and it certainly did not give him rights to peep. This cock needed to understand who had the power – I did.
Eventually I stopped and stood at his head with my back towards him. I knew he would not be able to stop himself from following the line of my leg upwards. I stepped back so his head was positioned neatly between my spread legs. Staring down at his repugnant form, I stayed there straddling him from above, teasing him as further punishment. He needed to understand and acknowledge the supreme power of the pussy, the power that had reduced him to this snivelling, shivering wreck on the floor. With all his cocksureness completely spanked out of him, he had been beaten into submission utterly. But he still needed to understand. Slowly I lowered myself towards his face a little further, relishing in his anguished groans.
As my beautiful pussy got closer and closer to his teared, twisted face, I pulled the satin aside for the final time and demanded total obedience from him. “Isn’t this the most beautiful pussy you have ever seen? Does this make clear to you the pathetic impotence of your puny, little cock? Do you see that whatever sense of pride you have is completely misplaced? Any feelings of lordliness you might possess are worthless, self-delusional and frankly revolting. To believe that cocks have power, the disgusting, little worms, is a most serious misapprehension of the way the world works. This, here, this is where all power lies. An almighty power that deserves, nay demands complete respect, obedience and adoration…” I continued in this vein for sometime; he was broken like an interrogated suspect and surrendered himself to his Goddess.
With each snarled turn of phrase, I lowered myself closer and closer until a small glistening droplet of my elixir fell onto his cheek. He tried to reach it with his tongue but he could not quite reach. His frothing frustration was most satisfying to watch. I of course chastised him for his pathetic attempt to taste me. He was still not permitted, he was lucky to even be able to view such a magnificent sight! Having him there underneath me, weak and destroyed, made me feel like a divine Goddess and caused another strand of my gorgeous dripping cunt juice to fall, this time onto his lower lip. His tongue moved out only by a fraction, before it was quickly pulled back into the offending mouth. “Sorry Mistress, I-”
“Finally you understand. You feel my sweetness lying there on your lips eating away at you like a poison. You are desperate to taste it but you understand you are not worthy.”
“Yes Mistress. Sorry Mistress. Please Mistress. I worship you Mistress. You are-”
And before any more staccato devotions could be expressed, I forced the full weight of my pussy down onto him, swallowing his face. The final act, to make him understand. “Make me cum,” I commanded. He tried to move, to free a little room so that he would be able to breathe but I remained steady, burying his face, stilettos biting into his shoulders again with all the force I could muster. “You do not think, you do not breathe, you cease to exist until I have cum. Do you understand? How do you feel now peeping tom? Now that you are mine, my filthy, unworthy little cum slave?”
He submitted to the full power of my pussy. He drank up all of its juices, his tongue deep inside my heavenly cunt, eagerly eating me, probing every available crevice. I then forced his nose completed inside me, so that he had to tongue deeply my arse hole, so that the only breath he could take was from within that dark, earthy moistness. He did not struggle. He devoured the intermingling tastes, groans of pleasure escaping from his mouth as he eagerly explored the fullness of my power. As I continued to grind down forcefully on top of him, I imagined watching his face sinking into the floor, my juices coating him, disintegrating his features and dissolving his will. This was it. This was his only purpose. He was my cum slave, willing and eager to please his Mistress.
After using his entire face as my sex toy, I eventually settled my clit against his mouth. His tongue now was applying precise and lightly pressured strokes along the length of my swollen deliciousness, just as he had with my shoes. He was worshipping me with the utmost gentleness and respect. Good…but after all that work, I required a fiercer touch. It was not long before I felt my orgasm rising and he too felt me contract with each stroke. Compelled by my power, he took that most delicate centre from its hood and with his teeth bit down, softly, then harder, and harder still, each nip corresponding with a deeper rippling of pleasure emanating from inside my pussy, until with his last hungry bite, with my legs wrapped vice-like around his head, I came in glorious triumph, writhing and groaning and grinding against him again and again until it became too much to bear. His face was now brightly polished with my dripping hot cum and the folds of my pussy had become tender and engorged. Momentarily lost in the last of that lingering sweet feeling, I stroked his face and murmured happily that he had performed well.
Finally I withdrew and allowed him to hungrily breath in deep gasps of air, still scented thickly by my succulence. As I stood and turned, preparing to release him from his binds, he blinkered his eyes demurely and hung his head once again in shame. His belly, thighs and the floor around him were covered in cum. His cum. It had spurted copiously from his cock throughout my final reprieve. Although this was hardly surprising, he was My cum slave now, he came when I told him to. This could not go unpunished…
Copyright ã Polly Brunswick 2009. All rights reserved.
I hope you enjoyed this story! I love to hear feedback so if you have any comments or if you would like to learn more about me, please see me on Facebook. Polly xx
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