Girl on the Net

I’m not gonna lie, I absolutely lost my mind at one key moment in this piece. Nearly slid right off my office chair and onto a crumpled, horny heap on the floor. Please welcome back the fabulous Komplicated Kitty, who some of you might remember from her red-hot piece ‘bring it, babe‘ back in November. She’s here today with an account of another intensely sexy BDSM scene, in which her Master orders her into her collar, and then to go clean the kitchen floor. Read on for humiliation, degradation and one very slutty Cinderella…

Slutty Cinderella does a very thorough job

Sir and I are exploring a bit of humiliation/degradation in our play. This is a tricky space for both of us, as I suspect it is for many couples. For him, going from how he treats women in the real world, to a fantasy where he treats his wife, who also happens to be his submissive, very differently, is not always an easy or comfortable switch of mindset. For me, there are triggers, faded with time, but which still sometimes show up in unexpected ways. And yet, we are both interested in seeing where this may lead…

Sir sends this text: Come downstairs at exactly noon completely naked with your hair pulled back in a ponytail. Bring your leather play collar, kneel at my feet in the library, and quietly wait for instructions.

With great enthusiasm, I strip off my clothes and dig my leather collar out of the drawer. This particular collar is considered ‘high protocol.’ When I’m wearing it, he is ‘Master’ not ‘Sir,’ and I’m forbidden to speak unless spoken to. I prance into the library with the collar dangling from my fingers and a wide smile on my face, but he barely looks at me when I enter the room. Instead, with his phone to his ear, he points to a spot on the floor and continues with his call.

His dismissive attitude, coupled with the type of collar I have in my hand, has my mood sobering. Intuitively, I don’t think I’m in for something painful, but I do think whatever he has in mind will be intense. As I kneel on the rug and wait, a unique combination of dread and enthusiasm cycles through me.

When he finally finishes his call, he wordlessly buckles my collar and then demands I crawl behind him into the kitchen. I follow on my hands and knees, the first trace of heat curling in my belly.

“You will wash this kitchen floor, from the cabinets to the table with a bucket and soap, while on your hands and knees. I want it so clean you could eat off it. When you’re finished, come back to the library and kneel again,” he orders.

I’ve known this man for years, and nothing like this has ever been part of our dynamic. I wonder briefly if I’ve missed some secret fantasy of his, and I want to ask if I should buy one of those cute little maid outfits, but I don’t dare.

The task he’s given me is not an enjoyable one, however I’m very interested in where he’s going with this game so I attend to it in earnest. I’ve washed our kitchen floor before. So has he, since we both like a clean house. But as I scrub it now, collared, naked, and on my hands and knees, I find I’m embarrassingly aroused. By the time I finish, I’m uncomfortably wet between the legs.

When I return to the library and kneel by his feet, once again he makes me wait before acknowledging my presence, and once again I have to crawl behind him to the kitchen so he can inspect my work.

“Very thorough. Good.”

He leans against the kitchen counter, unzips his pants, and pulls them down over his hips.

“Suck my cock. Use your hands and your mouth.”

His tone is uncompromising, emotionless. Still on my knees, I take him in my mouth.

“Go deeper. Lick my balls. Just like that.”

At some point, he grips me by the hair and fucks my face, hard and dispassionately, as if I am nothing more than a plaything to be used for his pleasure. When I know he is close, he pulls out of my mouth…

…and comes all over the nice, clean floor.

“Good thing you did such a good job on the floor. Now lick up my cum.”

I feel a strange mixture of humiliation and deep arousal. My pussy throbs with need, but my face flushes with embarrassment. He waits silently for me to choose to obey.

When I press my face close to the floor and begin to lick up the warm, salty mess, he knows he’s pushed me toward a limit, and his tone shifts when he speaks.

“I love you on your hands and knees. You’re so sexy. Does my cum taste good?”

“Yes Master,” I whisper.

“Get every drop. What a good girl.”

When I finish, I’m surprisingly close to tears. The act felt so degrading, yet I’m extremely turned on. My clit is pulsing, my body shaking, but I also feel out of sorts. He knows this. He knows me.

“I love that you followed my directions so well,” he says, reassuring me with just the words I need. “I loved fucking your face. I loved watching you lick up my cum. Now, it’s time for your reward. Lie on the kitchen table with your bottom near the edge. Put your hands over your head and bend your knees. Open your legs nice and wide and stay like that.”

I climb onto the kitchen table and open myself to him.

“Perfect. Is your pussy wet?”

“So wet, Master,” I answer.

“Since you did such a good job, I’m going to reward you. Do not move. Keep your legs open.”

Spread out on my own kitchen table, the feeling of vulnerability lingers, but when he grips my thighs and sucks my clit into his mouth, all thought vanishes. He works a finger into me, then two. He licks and sucks and finger fucks me into oblivion.

“Come hard for me,” he orders.

His demand pushes me over the edge. My climax races through me, and I come, loud and wet and messy.

Later, when he wraps me in a blanket and tucks me onto the sofa, I think perhaps scrubbing the floor might be my new favorite chore.