I woke slowly, in delicious phases, as I am ever able to do on weekend mornings. What started the process, I’m sure, is that my feet, always cool upon going to bed, no longer sense my foot warmer, ever wedged on weekend nights between them and the elegant wooden back at the end of the bed. As required, he had risen earlier to prepare my breakfast, and be ready to bring it to me in bed as soon as he is made aware that I am fully awake. I stretch luxuriously, working out any and all crinks after another fully comfortable night asleep in bed, ready to attack another restful and relaxing day. For me at least.
I reach for the remote on the night table next to me. I press the button for the lowest setting, meant only to summon, and lay back for what I knew would be the very short time before the expected response.
My internal alarm clock never failing me, my eyes snap open, and I quickly become fully focused a good hour before I hope and believe she will awaken. From the end of the bed, I carefully pull the blanket off of me, and oh so gently disengage myself from her feet that were buried snugly into my yielding midsection. Doing my best not to rouse her, I quietly slide off the side edge, and then re cover her feet with the blanket, doubling it over, hoping to keep them warm for as long as possible. I breath a silent sigh of relief, as she only stirs slightly.
With the late dawn light sneaking through the closed blinds, I make my way noiselessly to and through the bedroom door and into the more lighted hallway. My first order of business is in the hallway bathroom, the master ensuite off the bedroom being for her use alone. I perform all my morning ablutions, making doubly sure that my mouth is totally clean and pristine. I then pad downstairs to begin to prepare her morning repast.
I start first with frying the bacon, and then sautee the mushrooms for her omelet, which will then be prepared at the last possible moment so it will be warm and fresh. I grind the gourmet whole bean coffee and set it to brew, and then cut the oranges to squeeze for her morning juice. Selecting two pieces of her favorite whole grain bread, I put them in to toast. Glancing at the clock, I see that I have about fifteen minutes left, hopefully no less, before her anticipated electronic call. I gather up all the ingredients, the two eggs, the mushrooms, the bacon, and the shredded Manchego cheese, and begin making the omelet. When it is done to perfection, and lightly salted and peppered to her known tastes, I place it on the large bed tray, add her favorite jam to her toast, place her glass of orange juice next to the small dish of strawberry yogurt, and was pouring the desired amount of cream to her coffee when I felt the electric tingle around my testicles in the ring attached to my ever present chastity cage.
I let out a long breath which I had been unconsciously holding. I had timed it all just right. I pick up the fully loaded tray and hurry as fast as I dare back up the stairs.
I used the brief time between pressing the remote button and his then expected rapid arrival to turn on my bed table lamp, and prop myself up plushly with pillows into a sitting position against the headboard of the bed. Less than a minute later the bedroom door opens and he enters, carefully carrying the large breakfast laden tray.
“Good morning, Ma’am” he offers as he approaches. I nod lazily in response as he places the wide firm legs of the tray on either side of my thighs, to rest just above my lap.
“I pray you slept well” he continues.
“Very much so” I am happy to concede in reply. “And my feet were kept toasty warm which added divinely to my comfort” I add coyly. I enjoy the flush I get in response. “More light” I then command.
He rushes over to open the curtains and pull up the blinds, and returns to stand at the side of the bed. When alone indoors together on weekends, he is allowed to wear either slippers or sandals on his feet. Also, a short tee shirt that comes down to just above his navel. Below his waist he is adorned only with his cock cage. I find that attired so, he seems so much more delectably exposed than if he is totally bare. I sketch a miniscule circle in the air with my finger, and he slowly turns 360 degrees around for his morning inspection. Satisfied, I turn my attention to the wonderful array of edibles in front of me.
“I’m sure that this is all going to taste every bit as good as it looks and smells.”
He beams in gratitude at my intended compliment, and I feel a warmth inside. Praise, when warranted, should never be withheld, though it should also never be gratuitous. Fortunately, he warrants it not infrequently, and it pleases me to make sure that he receives it. I place the linen napkin between the tray and myself, and pick up my fork.
I grin. “Let us both begin, shall we.”
As I place the first forkful of my omelet into my mouth, he goes down onto his knees and lifts off the blanket urfa seks hikayeleri covering my feet, and begins to massage them. It is commonly felt that foot rubs are best suited for the end of the days, to soothe and work out all the aches, stresses and strains after a long day upon them. And I regularly avail myself of such. But there is also much to be said for a morning massage as well, to get them prepared and fully invigorated for the day to come. As I thoroughly enjoy every morsel of my morning meal, my pleasure is greatly amplified by his kneading fingers as they continuously press firmly into every inch of both of my peds, my heels, my arches, my soles, and every one of my toes, never stopping until I am finished with my final bite.
“You may remove the tray now” I order, “and then fetch my tablet from the charging station.”
He hustles up off his knees, removes my tray to place it by the door for later attention, and then brings over my tablet.
I look up at him. “I’m going to catch up on my emails, and then the news.” I smile as I turn it on. “A while I do…” I pause for a moment, and then…
“… you may worship.”
I stare down at the floor, stunned, my knees almost buckling. This is a privilege rarely granted before the end of a full day of service and toil. Now it is being offered almost at the beginning. Yes, this is a special day, the last Sunday of the month, but even that most glorious moment is always reserved for the end. Is this a way that she is trying to make it even more special? For both of us? I chance a glance up at her and see that she is already engrossed in whatever she is scrolling on her screen. I dare not wait any longer, lest she punish any perceived delay by revoking what I always so desperately desire.
I once again sink to my knees, and pause a moment to drink in the beauty of her long, perfectly proportioned and pedicured toes, to her elegant arches bridging to her succulent soles and exquisitely slender heels and ankles. Ever so slowly I bring my lips softly to the top of her nearest foot, savoring the thrill that courses through me. This is where I belong, doing what defines my being, reveling that she so allows me to express my devotion, my true purpose in life, to worship her and serve.
Using only my face and lips, I move reverently to caress every inch and part of both of her feet, receiving no acknowledgement of my homage as it is only what is expected and due. But I can’t prevent the swelling of my manhood as it squashes helplessly in a futile attempt to achieve fullness against the ribbed metal confines of its short, downward curving cage. As it always does though, this only more greatly fuels my insatiable need to serve her more, please her more, and do whatever she requires of me to make her life whole and fulfilled. As she has no concern to ever ensure my fidelity to her, which she knows is absolute, this undoubtedly is one of her primary motivations for use of the device, and perhaps to accentuate it now is why she is allowing me this wonderful opportunity for adoration. But without ever any outlet for release, this driven fervor to serve can become frenzied, and even counterproductive. And so, she designates the last Sunday of every month as a special day for my relief.
But as I continue to savor every moment of my obeisance, I begin to worry how well I will make it through and survive my ever forcibly restrained excitement to the end of the day, after another sweetly agonizing month. This only becomes even more so when she begins to stir and pushes my face away with her free foot, spreads her legs, and announces,
“Enough of this, my love. I need something much more right now.”
While I was able to read through a number of my emails, and even a bit of the news, I am always intimately aware of his lips as they gently and sensuously traverse the length and breath of both of my feet, again, and again, and again. Yes, I have full knowledge of his foot fetish, and the intense effect it always has on him. It is a major part of my design. It helps us both express who we are. But none of this makes his worship any less devout or sincere. He adores me with every aspect of his being. And it is every bit as important to me.
But along with these very basic reciprocal needs of giving and receiving veneration, there are other vital wants that require frequent addressing. And I am blessed with the ability to have mine satiated at any time of my wish or whim, while he can only yearn and pine for that one singularly scintillating moment a month, when I allow us to both share in the ultimate together. And today is that day, and I readily admit I look forward to it as much as he. It is by far the most spectacular of them all for me as well, even as it is his one and only. I never fail though, to have all of my pangs fully satisfied by other enjoyable uses of him at any time in between, while he is continuously left to squirm in hungered anticipation of this one day, while he ardently sees to all of my own in other ways for all of the rest. It is why I make this one day a month as mind blowing and memorable for him… and for me… as I can.
His impassioned homage this morning has served to stimulate such an early fervid moment in me. It will be a very succulent appetizer for what will come later. I push his adoring and adorable face away with my foot, pull away the rest of the blanket, spread my legs wide to open the way to my sacristy, and verbally beckon.
Never one to ever keep me waiting for any of my wants, he slips his tongue slightly out between his lips, and begins to run it lightly from the inside of my ankle, along my calf, across my knee, and up my inner thigh, to finally reach our Nirvana. He takes a moment, perhaps in awe, and then extends his tongue a bit more to brush upon my outer lips. I can’t help but shudder. He extends his tongue further for a somewhat deeper lick, parting my lips as he does so, and elicits from me a sharp inward gasp. It takes all of my willpower to stop myself from forcing him to quicken his pace, but he knows this part of me even better than I, and I stifle the urge, for the greater reward to come.
His tongue now fully enters my precious vault, and begins to search and explore all the creases and crevices he knows so well, as my hips begin to sway, inviting him to delve even deeper. And he does, finally discovering my jewel hidden behind its hood, and he coaxes it out into full bloom as I arch and groan and grip the bedsheets frantically at my sides. I can only imagine what he is experiencing, crushingly confined in his cage, while I am reveling in his ardent attentions. I only know that it is an intrinsic part of whom we both are.
And then I feel it, below his mouth where his tongue continues to lovingly lavish my oh so sensitive nub. A finger, that pushes in deeper than his tongue ever can. It is soon joined by a second, and then a third, and they begin to expand and contract ever further, reaching every inch inside of me, as his tongue more furiously laves, imploring me to unleash my passion. And I can do nothing else but oblige, as I scream out in exhilaration above, and gush out in torrents below, drenching his face, on and on, until there is but a trickle left, and his fingers withdraw and his oral efforts cease, and I lay back in utter contentment and exhaustion, his face remaining encased between my legs.
But this would have to be just a short respite. There is still a full day ahead, with its greater and even more fulsome joy at its end. I usually don’t partake of such pleasure in the morning, although I do so virtually every evening, once or twice before bed. But it is a special day, and I thought it would be good to get my juices going early. I rouse myself up in the bed, shooing him away.
“That was really wonderful as always, my love” I offered. “But you still have a long day of chores ahead of you, so you should get to it while I shower and clean up.”
He nods in obedient acquiescence, and gets up off his knees to start for the door.
“Oh, and darling,” I call out to him before he departs. “I don’t want you to wash your face. I want my scent upon you to sniff and taste all day while you work. To remind you of what is to come.”
As I make my way down the stairs carrying the bed tray of her dirty breakfast dishes, I am still in a delighted daze from the pleasure I had been allowed to give her. And being the vehicle for that pleasure is my own reward, and licking my lips and inhaling her bouquet is further proof of her generosity. But she, as always, is right. I have a full day of chores ahead of me and I can’t dally with these avid memories any longer.
Yesterday, as most Saturdays, was for outside work, mowing the lawn, trimming the shrubs, weeding the garden, cleaning the patio and pool, and washing and waxing her car. Being out of doors I am allowed normal work attire, but on hot days it is permitted that I take off my shirt to work bare chested, and I thrill when she occasionally comes out, often in one of her gorgeous bathing suits, to lie on the chaise with a cool drink that I’ve hastened to bring her, to watch me toil, or just to bathe in the sun, or laze in the shade, wherever she has me move the lounger for her preference of the moment. We live in a fairly secluded area, so these actions are very rarely if ever observed by others. I, for one, would never mind demonstrating my devotion to her to all. But she chooses to keep this aspect of our lives together entirely private, and her desires always prevail.
For my indoor chores on Sundays, I am always dressed, as little as it is, as I am now. This allows her, of course, easy access for a pinch as she passes, or a sharp swat on my backside if she finds my efforts lagging. But just as often for a loving caress, or a casual fondling of my… her… jewels, which always brings me into a near swoon.
I start with cleaning the kitchen from the breakfast preparations and soiled dishes, to be ready for making lunch and dinner later. I move on to sweeping and vacuuming all the floors on the first floor. Once she comes down after washing and dressing, I move upstairs to change the linens and then make the bed, tidy up the bedroom, then clean and scrub her ensuite, followed by the bathroom in the hall as well.
After making and serving her lunch, which she always insists that I share with her, she often then goes out to do some shopping, visit with friends, or stops at the salon for a mani. Pedicures are my exclusive responsibility. Today, though, being what it is, she stays home, as I spend the rest of my afternoon with our week’s-worth of laundry. As I hustle and bustle up and down to the laundry room, separating the whites from the colors, and her intimates for more delicate cleaning, she sits comfortably going through or answering more emails, or just catching up on her latest reading, but also keeping a satisfied eye on my doings.
After I finish ironing, folding and putting away the final dried load of our cleaned clothes, I spend the next two hours creating our Sunday dinner. During weekdays we usually alternate making dinner, as she enjoys cooking as well, but weekend meals are always mine to produce. Tonight, I prepare thinly pounded veal chops, breaded and fried, and then covered with mushrooms and a brown sauce infused with wine. This is accompanied by sauteed broccoli rabe, and our favorite red wine. We both enjoy it all immensely, and after I finish cleaning up while she sips an after dinner drink, she uses the remote to summon me into the living room.
“Before we proceed onto the night’s activities which we’ve both been so eagerly anticipating,” she announces ever so sweetly, “I think I should have my evening foot rub first, don’t you agree.”
It has been a magnificent day so far. Everything that the last Sunday of the month should be. But certain norms still need to be observed. While my rare morning foot massage today had been heavenly, it shouldn’t negate my regular evening one. Nor should this night’s coming activities cause my weekly pedicure to be neglected. So, after my feet have been thoroughly kneaded and rubbed with my finest foot lotion, he sets about his weekly duty of removing my old polish, smoothly filing any newly roughened edges of my nails, and begins to carefully apply my selected lacquer for the week. I can’t help but almost gleefully notice how his usually rock steady hands with the brush are now beginning to tremble slightly in tremulous anticipation of the end of his month long denial. He struggles valiantly to maintain his composure and control so as not to commit the unforgivable sin of misplacing any paint, and I silently applaud all of his efforts. When he is done, he softly blows on all of my toes until all of the nails are dry. The effect produces within me my own trembles, and I know that the time is fast approaching.
When his blowing ceases, and he places my feet back onto the floor, without a word I rise, take his hand in mine and lead him up to our bedroom. Once there with him behind, I drop his hand, tell him to remove his shirt, and with my back to him I slowly disrobe, letting my clothes fall carelessly to the floor. Fully nude, I lay down prone on my bed and simply say, “Massage.”
I gaze down at her, mesmerized as always by her luminous beauty. I had been given a command, but in reality, it is a gift of immeasurable worth to be allowed to bring my hands slowly and sensually over her entire body. She points to her lavender scented body lotion on her night stand which I retrieve and apply a liberal amount to my hands, rubbing them to warm it. I run them along her calves, gently at first, then more firmly, then up and down the backs of her thighs. Applying and warming more lotion in my hands, I knead them in circular motions in the sumptuous mounds of her luscious derriere. It takes all of my self control to refrain from spreading her cheeks and burying my lips and tongue into her puckered bud, but this is an added boon that can only be bestowed at a time of her own choosing.
With long sure strokes, first with my fingers, then with the heels of my hands, I press along her flanks and back, hearing a soft murmur in response. My fingers then more firmly dig into the muscles of her shoulders and neck to ease any possible remaining tension, and am rewarded with greater sighs of serenity as I continue my ministrations. Finally, she rolls over onto her back and offer me an even more wondrous honor. With her arms stretched out above, her sublime breasts project up, ever so inviting. I bring my hands down to cuddle them, but before long she reaches up to pull my head down for my mouth to suckle on them both. My tongue circles her hyper erect nipples, in larger, then smaller circles before my lips latch on to suck. She begins to writhe below me, and after a blissful few minutes I feel her hands pushing my shoulders down, my face following, my outstretched tongue leaving a trail along her belly, past her navel, until she bends her knees up, spreads her legs, and guides my face to where it belongs.