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About: I immediately noticed she was dressed, in something, but her breasts were exposed and my eyes widened at the discovery. Upon seeing my excitement Jennifer jumped on the opportunity to take charge again.

"Oh, don’t get your hopes up, buddy. You won’t be feeling these just yet."

As she spoke she lifted her heaving tits up in her hands and her gaze dipped just enough to leer at me across the bridge of her nose. With her breasts bouncing in her grasp I could now see what had created the metallic sound emanating from the closet earlier. Three gold chains stretched across the red fabric of the open cup corset she was wearing, just below where her breasts had been. She released them and her flesh slapped the metal, re-creating the sound. She raised them again, and let them fall, clinking against the golden chains. Finally she pressed them into each other and pinched her own nipples, something she knew I loved to watch her perform. I would often beg her to do it as I fucked her, especially while cumming.

I have long appreciated Jennifer’s tits, even before we ever dated, but especially since first getting to play with them shortly after finishing high school. My "graduation gift" she called it. They are large, very large, 34G’s in fact. I didn’t even know that a G cup was a real bra size until I spent the day shopping for them with her a few years ago. I remember sitting in the "man chair", a black leather recliner, outside the ladies dressing rooms at the department store while Jennifer and the distractingly attractive woman working in the lingerie section walked back and forth with handfuls of bras, trying to find one that could handle her booming cleavage without distorting her figure. After several unsuccessful trips to the rack the woman inquired if she had ever been custom fitted before, to which Jen replied she hadn’t. I had gotten to watch in frozen wonder as another woman handled my wife’s bare breasts, academically of course, as a doctor performing an examination, but it still excited me. 34G was the result. To this day I think they both knew when I got up to go to the restroom that it wasn’t to take a piss. I often fantasize about the conversation the two of them may have had after I left to relieve myself. It usually results in my jerking off to the image of the fitting session ending in a lesbian encounter in the dressing room between my wife and the helpful lingerie saleslady. Another fantasy, for another time.

With each clank of the chains against her tits Jen’s sly grin widened. She could tell it was having the desired effect on me and my cock now throbbed randomly in the open as I stood motionless, hoping at any moment she would approach me and begin my discipline. Instead, she turned around and gave me a view of the back of the garment, which was laced up the middle with black ribbon. At the bottom it peaked downward, as if a beacon pointing the way to her ample bubble ass. If glancing quickly from behind one would have believed she was wearing no panties, but I knew there was a thong under there. If I was to get inside her during this encounter she was going to make me work for it. I followed her legs to where her thigh high stockings began and traced them with my eyes all the way to the floor where she stood in a pair of red spike heeled shoes. I shuttered when I saw them, knowing full well they would be probably be embedded in my flesh at some point in the evening.

She stood there another few moments, long enough for me to get a good look, then turned and faced me once again. I never even realized that she had picked something up off the night stand, but she now clutched something in her hand. I couldn’t make it out, but it was completely covered in one hand and couldn’t have been the purple dildo, the item I so longed for her to employ. She put whatever she was holding behind her back in one hand and finally took a few steps toward me. She stopped at the corner of the bed and seemed as if she would say something, but didn’t. The uncertainty was killing me, and she knew it.

She was much closer now, close enough to touch, in fact. I thought about reaching out to her, just to get a reaction of some kind, but my hands stayed frozen at my sides. She took a few more steps and was now behind me, with an unknown object in her hand and my naked body at her whim. I began to tense, thinking that surely something was about to happen, but she simply rounded me and stopped again at the opposite corner of the bed. As she moved she kept her body turned so as not to divulge the secret behind her back.

Again she passed behind me to the other side of the bed. And again. And again. Each moment she was behind me, out of sight for only a second, I grew more tense. My ass clenched tightly and my erection bounced each time I lost sight of her. I almost couldn’t take any more and wanted desperately to speak it, but finally she stopped, right in the blind spot and didn’t come out the other side.

"Bend over."

The command was crisp but not loud, and she only had to give it once. I halfway attempted to comply by bending only slightly at the waist and placing both hands on my knees. As I had hoped, it wasn’t good enough.

"Over the bed!"

With the order came a cold palm on my ass, the crack of which I thought would certainly be heard down the hallway by anyone who may have wandered upstairs. With the contact I determined what she had been hiding in her hand. She must have slipped the ring on, and turned it inward, while I was distracted by her pacing. It had been an anniversary gift, a half carat diamond arraignment in an arc, the center of which rose sharply above the rest, making a perfect tip in the middle. As it bit into my skin I let out a dull grunt and fell immediately onto the bed, my rear now completely vulnerable and waiting.

"You’d better get your act together if you ever want to cum tonight!" she warned.

Another smack came, this time on the other cheek, and then another, and another. Each time she struck me the sting grew more intense, until they all seemed to blend together in a painful hot massage. After several more spankings on both sides of my ass, and another verbal warning demanding my obedience, she stopped the assault. My bottom burned blissfully and I surmised it now matched my mistress’s outfit in color and intensity.
"Hands out."

I had fallen onto the bed with my hands tucked in, close to my chest, and gripped the sheets as I was being hit. I slid them out to the sides, toward the corners of the bed and spread my fingers apart. If she started beating me again I didn’t want her to see me grabbing at the linens. I wanted her to think it wasn’t working, so she would continue.

When I had assumed the requested position she shoved her knee into my groin from behind, pushing hard until my cock and balls pressed into the mattress and my torso moved further up the bed.

"Don’t fucking move."

Jennifer rarely used profanity, even in anger, and never in casual speaking, but during sex it had become somewhat common. She knew I liked it when she begged, "Fuck me harder!" or "Stick that big cock in my ass!" It excited me that she had cursed, another sign she was in the moment and enjoying what she was doing to me. Of course, I had absolutely no intentions of going anywhere. Why would I?

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