Taster Session

 

I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel while I wait for the red light to change. Anticipation fluttered in my stomach. It had plenty of room - there was nothing else in there. Don't eat lunch, the message had said. It was now mid-afternoon, and I was starving.

Finally, the light changed and I accelerated up the hill, winding my way through the suburbs to Sir's house. He lived right on the edges of what I would call civilization, within touching distance of the vast nothingness that took over the land once you got north of Denver. It was too far from all the fun things for me, but he said he hated being hemmed in by people.

I turned off the highway at the ridiculously large liquor store - I'd been in there; it was as big as a Walmart - and a moment later was bumping the Jeep up against the curb outside Sir's house.

He opened the door before I reached the front porch, stepping aside so that I could slip inside and let him enclose us in privacy. I twisted back to face him, already sliding my hands behind me for his customary greeting: wrists held in a tight grip behind my back, mouth kissing the tender skin just beneath my jaw.

"Right on time, Kitten."

I was, but then again, I was always on time. Being late was disorganized and disrespectful. If I didn't meet someone at the exact time I'd agreed to (or, more likely, miles earlier so I could sit, bored in my car, and worry that they might be late), then I was probably dead in a ditch somewhere. My driving wasn't as good as my timekeeping.

He took my left wrist in a light grip and led me through to the back room, a large space that was both den, kitchen and dining area. It was spotlessly clean, not a dirty plate or used utensil in sight, but I did spot a couple of pots keeping warm on the stove. Oh good, we were going to be eating, then.

"That smells amazing," I said. "What are we having?"

Sir's answer was an amused smirk.

Okay, then.

He led me past the kitchen to the dining area, tucked away in a little nook. It was all windows and bright sunshine, an old-fashioned farmhouse kitchen table surrounded by ladder-backed chairs. There were several Velcro ties tossed casually on the pretty mango wood surface.

"We're going to work on personal development today," Sir said.

Oh boy. I wasn't sure I liked the sound of that.

"All right." I hovered a few steps back, watched him pull out one of the chairs. There, tied down to the seat, was a little purple toy. It was a g-spot stimulator, a stem rising up from the center with what looked like an unopened flower head at the top. Down at the bottom, perched perfectly in front of the stem, was a rounded little nub, a clit vibe I guessed. I tried not to grin - it wouldn't do to look too happy about things - but I was going to enjoy sitting in that chair.

"You'll need to take your clothes off, Kitten," Sir said. He had an indulgent look on his face, likely because he knew what I was thinking, I had a terrible poker face, but there was also something else there. I was missing a trick here.

Oh well, there would still be vibrations, it couldn't be too bad.

I slipped my cardigan off and then glanced at the windows. All the windows, surrounding the dining table on three sides to give a panoramic view. The garden beyond was a riot of color, the sun picking out the vibrancy in every glance, but I could also see all the neighbors' gardens and, if I looked close enough, a little bit into all the neighbors' houses.

Which meant they could do the same in reverse.

"Can we close the blinds please, Sir?" We weren't playing yet, but I was a little bit optimistic I might get my way if I threw in a respectful sir. Nope. He shook his head slowly, then leaned back against the kitchen table as I slowly divested myself of my clothes, hanging them over the back of one of the other chairs.

When I was finally naked, I stood in the shafts of sunshine and forced myself not to curl my shoulders or sling an arm across my breasts. If I showed how much it was bothering me, we'd end up doing whatever Sir had planned, out on the patio. The pergola might provide a little bit of shade from the sun, but it did nothing to ward off prying eyes.

He drew the moment out, then gestured towards the chair with a nod of his head. "Sit."

I did as he said, moving to the chair. I was turning around, ready to drop down onto the toy, when I noticed the implement hanging discreetly on one of the ladder-back struts. A crop. I recognized the gleaming brass topper, didn't have to look down to the tress to know it was the one with studs embedded in the soft leather flaps. Yikes. I debated commenting on it, then decided I didn't really want to know, and Sir probably wouldn't tell me anyway.

I was already so slick between my legs from anticipation that the little g-spot stimulator glided right inside me when I sat. Yeah, I was right, that little nub did press exactly on my clit.

I looked expectantly at Sir, watched as he approached. He moved closer until he was standing right before me, forcing me to spread my legs to make way for him. He reached out and snagged two of the Velcro ties, then dropped into a crouch. Warm fingers circled one ankle, winding the Velcro around it then maneuvering me back until my leg was pressed against the chair leg. He strapped me to it, then shifted to repeat the same process on the other side.

"Arms back," he said. I obediently reached around the back of the chair and let him bind my wrists together, the high back of the chair ensuring that I couldn't do any more than wriggle. "Comfortable enough? Not too tight?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good girl." A wicked smile. "You know why I like this toy so much?"

I shook my head.

"It's so easy to control." He held up a little remote control, thumb hovering over a button. He pressed it and the toy buzzed into life. Oooooh. "And I can be nice." He shifted his thumb to the edge of the remote and turned a little wheel, and the vibrations rocketed higher. "Or I can be not so nice." Another shift of the wheel and the whole toy died.

I gave a little whimper of protest; I'd already started rocking in the chair, luxuriating between the pulsating clit vibrator and the throbbing g-spot stimulator.

"Now, Kitten. You sit here and relax while I get things organized."

Sir stood up and tugged a length of fabric out of his pocket. A blindfold. He tied it round my head, enclosing me in darkness, and I listened to his footsteps echo on the tiles at the same time that the toy started up again. Low at first, but every minute or so, Sir turned it up a notch, distracting me from following what he was doing. I could hear the sound of drawers and cupboard doors opening, the clinking of cutlery, the rhythmic tapping of a knife of a cutting board. The higher the vibrations were turned up, though, the harder it was to concentrate on anything other than the build-up of pleasure between my legs.

"Can I cum, Sir?" I gasped. I had my eyes closed under the blindfold, my head tilted back to rest against the chair. My orgasm was there, right there, all I had to do was squeeze a little and-

"No."

Shit. I pulled back just in time, grimacing unhappily.

"Can you turn it down a little please, Sir?"

"No."

No, of course not.

Following what he was doing now was hard for a different reason. I was primed to cum, everything hot and swollen, my clit desperate to release the tension building up all through my pelvis. When a chair scraped right by my left ear - when had Sir crossed the room to me? - I jolted and almost lost the battle. Luckily, he switched the toy off at the same moment and my pulsing clit had nothing to catch fire against.

"Here's the thing, Kitten," he said, as my whole body sagged in the chair with equal parts relief and disappointment. "This ridiculous list you have of things you won't eat, it's as long as my arm. You're a fussy eater, and while that maybe amusing in a child, it's unacceptable in an adult. And quite frankly, it displeases me."

Oh. To be honest, I didn't really care that I was a picky eater. Yes, there was quite a long list of things I wouldn't put in my mouth, but it wasn't like I lived on chips and pizza. I had a varied enough diet. That last bit, though. That cut.

"So," he went on. "We're going to work on it. Right now. Half your problem is psychological so, let's see if we can... reprogram you."

I swallowed. "Yes, Sir."

"We're going to eat, Kitten. You're going to swallow what I give you-," I snorted, because I was apparently extremely immature as well as fussy, "and if you can do so with grace, you'll be rewarded." A gentle surge of the toy that had me gasping and twitching in the seat. "If you don't..." I jumped when something tapped gently on my exposed inner thigh, trailed down, then splatted sharply on my inner knee. "I'll encourage you. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir." There was not a lot of enthusiasm in my voice. I was mentally tabling the food possibilities, which were many, and the likelihood that I'd be able to do so without wrinkling my nose or making a revolted sound or, in some cases, gagging and retching, which was low. I was likely to be marked all over by the end of this.

"Good girl. Open up."

I parted my lips an inch and waited. Instead of a spoon sliding inside, I felt a sharp sting on my left breast that bloomed into a fiery throb. Fuck, that hurt!

"I didn't make a face!" I complained.

A second strike, this one on my mound, just two inches above my clit.

I gritted my teeth and bit back a growl. Now was not the time to lose my temper.

"I didn't make a face, Sir," I said, in as polite a tone as I could manage. Which wasn't all that polite, but the smack with the crop that I tensed for didn't happen.

"I'd be lucky to be able to slip a Skittle in there, Kitten. Do we have to play Aeroplane?"

The derision in his tone along with the fact that I knew he'd do it, just to humiliate me, had me stretching my mouth open wide. There, he could fit his cock in now, if he'd a mind.

Something brushed my lips, as wide as I'd opened my mouth. My nose told me what it was a second before I bit into it. Banana. I didn't actually mind the flavor, but the slimy mush it congealed into in my mouth made my stomach roil. I chewed, keeping my face carefully blank, and was rewarded with a buzzing between my legs. It was low, nowhere near enough to get me off, but I gave a little mewl of happiness, rocking softly.

I swallowed the banana and felt the trail it left at the back of my throat, like a slug had wormed its way down there.

"Urgh." The sound was involuntary, as was the way my tongue stuck out.

The buzzing stopped at once and the crop landed on my right nipple.

"Fuck!" I made to hunch over, instinctively trying to protect my front from further assault, but with my arms bound behind me around the back of the chair, I couldn't do more than jerk forwards painfully. "I ate it, Sir!"

"I believe I said gracefully." Sir's voice was calm and controlled. "We'll try again."

I was braced for more banana, but the piece of food Sir slipped into my mouth was much smaller. It was salty and oily, breaking down in my mouth like an overripe grape. An olive, I realized. Sir loved them on his pizza, would make long-suffering faces when I painstakingly removed each piece.

It wasn't as bad as the banana, mostly because it was smaller. I breathed in through my nose, tried to avoid thinking about the mushy texture or the oily brininess. The toy came on, whispering low, then higher. I moaned as I swallowed, shifting on the seat and letting the toy do its work. Just a little longer, just a little higher...

It wasn't quite enough, but Sir let me wriggle about, enjoying the delicious torture of almost while he fed me olives. By the fourth or fifth, I'd stopped really thinking about it, just opening my mouth on command like a baby bird waiting to be fed. All the while I rolled the toy against my g-spot with shifts of my hips, pressed my clit down onto the barely buzzing nub.

"Well done, Kitten. Let's try again. This one is hot."

He left the toy on, keeping me fruitlessly chase an orgasm that wasn't quite there. The next hurdle in his training came in a spoon and he was right, it was hot. Risotto, I thought. Creamy and rich and I couldn't see anything wrong with this at all, had no idea what he'd put in there. I swallowed it, and the next spoonful. Sir turned the toy up once more, until I was having to fight against cumming, because I knew there was no point asking again, not yet, then blindsided me with a sharp smack from the crop on my inner thigh. He added a second then a third in quick succession, all in the same spot.

"Sir!" I gasped, not able to keep the complaint out of my voice.

"That's for telling me you dislike mushrooms," he informed me coolly. "You can't even taste it, can you?"

Outraged that I'd been punished when I'd made not a noise of objection, not even wrinkled my nose, I opened my mouth to tell him where he could shove his mushroom risotto. The tress of the crop was suddenly at my mouth, resting on my lower lip, those little studs pressing in.