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Don could tell by the silence that it was time for him to make his entrance. He would walk in casually, ignoring her as before, and seat himself, pulling his chair up to the table smartly. He would take a moment to look over the table setting and if everything met with his satisfaction he would simply nod, indicating that Anita could begin to serve.
But if some small thing wasn’t right – and Anita usually made sure that this was the case, placing his silverware in the wrong order, for example – he would snap his fingers again and point at the offending object. Anita would rise to her feet and bend over the table to make the correction. Then she would remain in that position while Don gave her as many slaps on the ass as he felt her transgression warranted.
If there were no further mistakes to be corrected Anita was allowed to begin serving. This was another highlight of her evening, walking back and forth from the stove and counter, often with her behind red and tingling, offering him each dish, like a well-trained slave-girl should, and filling his plate until he held up his hand, signaling that he had enough. Then resuming her kneeling position at his side while he ate.
She knew there was no danger of her going hungry, of course. On these nights Don always accepted much more food than he actually wanted, and even some dishes that he didn’t particularly care for but knew that Anita liked. And when he was done he would simply pick up his plate, turn in his seat and begin to feed her.
Oh, she loved that so much! Maybe that was the best part: kneeling there beside him, hands resting empty on her thighs, opening her mouth while he carefully raised a spoon or fork and fed her like a baby bird, sometimes even allowing her to eat directly from the palm of his hand like a favored pet. Sometimes she would deliberately allow some food to miss her mouth and run down her chin, knowing that Don would gently clean her up with his napkin - and then pinch her nipples hard for thirty seconds as a punishment. Mmmmm….
After dinner Don would rise from his chair and proceed to the living room. Anita would follow and while Don was settling himself in his favorite chair she would turn on the television and stand beside it, waiting his instructions. He would tell her what show or movie he wanted to watch and Anita would set it up for him, adjusting the volume to his preference once it began.
Then at his nod, indicating that everything was correct, Anita would quickly return to the kitchen to remove and store her apron before returning to kneel beside his chair, naked once more but for her collar. Often he would absently stroke her hair or massage her neck while he watched, and this always made her wish she could purr for him.
After a while he would generally snap his fingers and point to the floor in front of his feet and Anita would hasten to take her position there, where she would loosen and remove each of his shoes in turn, placing them beside his chair. Then at a second snap of his fingers she would get on her hands and knees facing the screen, her legs parted and her behind directly in front of him.
As soon as she was properly positioned he would raise his feet from the floor and rest them on the small of her back, using her as a footstool. Sometimes she couldn’t help but imagine the people she worked with seeing her at this moment of utter submission - and a shiver would run through her entire body.
Then she and Don would watch together; he in his chair, she on her hands and knees. But that wasn’t all, not nearly. Whenever he felt like it - during commercials, for instance - Don would remove his feet from her back and sit forward in his chair. Then he would begin to fondle Anita, lightly stroking with his fingertips the welts he had raised on her behind and thighs, wetting his fingers in her pussy, teasing the entrance to her anal passage, even kneeling and straddling her from behind, seizing her by the hips and crudely rubbing his erection up and down between her ass cheeks.
Oh god, if she hadn’t felt completely like his slave-girl and possession by then this treatment never failed to cast its spell over her. And she was not permitted to move. Nor was she allowed to moan, whimper or cry out, no matter what the provocation.
Though she always did. This was partially because she couldn’t help it, of course, but also because the punishment for disobedience was yet another hard slap on the behind for each infraction.
Sometimes she was so noisy that she was ordered upstairs - still on hands and knees - to fetch her ball-gag and bring it back to him, dangling by its strap from her teeth. On these occasions she often had to make more than one trip in order to fetch one or more of her other toys - dildos, plugs, vibrators, paddles, whips - for Don to use on her after firmly placing the ball-gag in her mouth and fastening it tightly.
Of course, even a ball-gag couldn’t prevent her from making noises sometimes, and drooling on the carpet was also a spankable offense.
Maybe that was the best part: being slowly and relentlessly reduced to little more than a primal, aching need for release, unable to speak, knowing that Don knew exactly where and when to stop, leaving her trembling on the edge of orgasm while he replaced his feet on her back and ignored her for the next fifteen, twenty minutes or more. Letting her settle down before beginning all over again. Then again. And again…
By the end of the evening Anita was often unable to rise to her feet. Don would help her rise to her knees, then gently remove the ball-gag from her mouth if it was in use. This was not because they were finished. Don would continue standing there in front of her while she collected herself. And then she would bow to him as before, face to the floor, arms extended, fingertips touching his feet, before looking up at him and beginning to beg:
"Please fuck me, Master."
Often they were both so aroused by then that this was all that was needed. But oh, how she loved it when he made her continue to beg for what she wanted, in filthy detail.
"I’m your slave, Master, yours to use and fuck in any way you choose. Please honor your slave with your cock in my mouth, my pussy, my ass, anywhere you like. Fill me with your come, Master, cover me with it, use me as you wish. Oh please, Master, I beg you…"
And always, always, always, her request would be granted, right there on the floor. And sometimes on (or over) the chair as well.
Anita was supposed to beg permission before coming each time, but often a wordless howl was all she could manage.
But even that wasn’t the best part.
Afterwards, no matter how exhausted they both were, Don would pick Anita up in his arms, holding her close as he climbed the stairs - his knees trembling a little sometimes - and gently place her on their bed. He’d remove her collar and place it on the nightstand beside her. Then he would fetch a warm, damp washcloth and clean her up as best he could while she lay there, sighing with contentment.
Then he would slip into bed beside her, take her in his arms and let her rest her head on his shoulder. He would kiss her tenderly and tell her how much he loved her. Then they would drift off to sleep, still snuggled together.
<span class="underline">That was the best part.
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