At Her Command
By Tigger
Copyright 1997

Only a monumental effort of will kept the phone receiver in one
piece and saw it settled gently down on to its cradle.  Frankly,
it would have been *infinitely* more satisfying to see just how
hard I could slam it down . . . . but that would have been
unworthy. . . . and something I would have had to explain when
she finally came home.  Turning away from the offensive
instrument, I walked out the back door into the shadows of the
coming night and tried to regain some semblance of self control.

Winter was in the air, and the chilly night air helped cool my
temper, but did nothing to soothe the frustration, the loneliness
or the disappointment.  Rationally, I knew it wasn't her fault -
it wasn't *anyone's* fault, but rationality was in very short
supply at this particular moment in time.  It was no one's fault
- it just *was*, and it had to be accepted.

A year ago, this would not have happened, but then, that was
before my wife, Bethany, had finally gotten her very well earned
promotion.  A year ago, Beth and I were both still the school
teachers we had been when we had first met and fallen in love;
when we had discovered in one another the secret needs and dark
urges that had become a mainstay of our life and love together. 
Ten years ago, Bethany had been a high school English teacher
with a taste and a talent for empowering submission in men.  Ten
years ago, my need to surrender that part of me to *the* woman in
my life, my need to take special care of all parts of that very
special woman, were aspects of myself that I was only just
beginning to understand and to accept.

The past years had been wonderful, filled with joy and
exploration as Mistress Bethany took me places I had never
thought to go in safety and in love.  Sometimes those journeys
were fun, sometimes sexy, sometimes painful, sometimes grueling,
but always, they were a special gift that brought us closer
together.  So what if I periodically ate my meals standing up, or
graded papers using a lectern as a desk?  Life was good - better
than good.  Life was wonderful.

That is, it was wonderful until last July when my beloved wife
finally completed her masters degree in school administration and
was promoted to assistant principal of a nearby high school. 
What began as the fulfillment of her professional dream soon
became my own private nightmare.  I can count on one hand (with
fingers left over) how many times I have submitted to Mistress
Bethany since that day almost five months ago.

And dammit, I miss it!

I miss that special feeling of being the total focus of her
entire being.  I miss that warm glow of accomplishment when I had
given her everything I thought I had to give, and then, found
just a little bit more for her.  I miss the quiet, tender times,
after a scene, when she would praise me and I would reassure her
that she "had not gone too far" and that while the scene may have
been demanding, it had "not been *that* bad".  I miss being able
to tell her how much I loved her for guiding me to that place of
safety in the midst of the danger and the pain.  Oddly, I even
miss the pain she used to mete out in her more demanding
sessions, not because I liked the pain, but because enduring it
for her was a gift she valued beyond anything else I could give
her.

I moved along the fence line of our wooded lot, breathing deeply
of the cool November air.  I cursed softly as I again recalled
the phone call of mere moments ago.  Beth had planned on
finishing a report tonight before coming home, a report that had
been sprung on her at the last minute and that was due at the
central district offices on Monday.  Still, she had figured that
she would get it done by about nine tonight and that we would
have the rest of weekend to renew our special relationship.  

Then her principal (whose utter lack of anything resembling
management skills was the reason the report was still undone) had
been called away on a "family emergency".  Now, on top of
finishing *his* overdue report, she had to chaperon a dance that
was scheduled to go until ten pm, which meant she would not be
able to start work on the report until after the kids left. 
Whether she worked on it there at school or brought it home, our
weekend was shot.  She would be overtired and stressed out,
conditions that always made her temper uncertain, and she refused
to play when she was in less that top physical, emotional and
mental form.

Angry all over again, I cursed the bad timing of the principal's
"family emergency".  I'd like to show him a "family emergency" in
the form of one very hungry husband, but it was more than that. 
What really bothered me and what was beginning to really worry me
was the simple fact that Beth was getting rundown.  She was just
taking on too much at school and getting far too little rest.
*That* upset me far more than the fact that I sincerely missed
and needed Mistress Bethany.

I headed back into the house, passing by the table on which I had
laid out all Mistress Bethany's favorite toys and torment-tools. 
Dejected, I sat down on a chair facing the table as I worked up
the will to put them away - unused once again.  So many things
had changed in the past months, since that two edged promotion.  

She had even asked me if I would try . . .

*That* memory stopped me cold because I had managed to put it so
completely out of mind since she'd first mentioned it to me.  In
fact, I had actually ignored her request because I had managed to
convince myself that she'd only been teasing me at the time.  Now
that the memory had resurfaced, I wondered - had she really been
serious?, Did my oh-so-very-dominant wife really want to try the
other side of the coin?  With *me*?  

Then another, less pleasant thought occurred to me.  If she
really did mean it, how then did she perceive my failure to act
on her fantasy?  Was I being true to my submissive nature, or was
I just being selfish?

Now that was an ugly thought.  On careful reflection, I could not
think of anything else she had ever asked of me that I had not
tried at least once.  Over the course of our time together,
Mistress Bethany had asked some things of me that I found I could
not carry through with a second time, but I had *always* tried
them before negotiating them as limits after the fact.  

Except for this.

I looked again at the toy table and thought some more.  Even if I
could somehow find it in myself to . . .to, what, top her?
Dominate her? Hell, I could not even find the words to describe
what it was I would do to. . .for(?)her.  Whatever it was I would
try to do, she still would have to finish that damned report. 
And that meant that she'd still be tired.  If only I could do the
report . . .

That thought brought me up sharply.  Why couldn't I do the
report? I was a fairly bright guy, and I knew the schools as well
as she did.  Determination welled up inside me.  I sat down and
thought about all that I had endured for Mistress Bethany, and
began to plan.  This was not something to attempt to pull off on
the fly - I was going to need a plan, a script, if I had any hope
at all of making this anything other than a disaster.  The
planning itself took the better part of an hour, but finally, the
thought became deed as I gathered up what I'd decided I would
need and ran to my car.

The dance was in full swing when I arrived at the school as it
would continue to be for at least the next two hours.  My key let
me in the front door of the building (which was far from the
dance and therefore, also far from prying wifely eyes), and an
accommodating night janitor let me into Beth's office.  Quickly,
I set out the things I'd brought with me for later (I hoped) and
then moved over to her desk.  Sure enough, the file on the report
was right there beside her computer.  Nice thing about knowing
that you have a super-organized (dare I say "over" organized)
control freak for a wife, lover and domina - you just *know*
everything will be laid out, perfectly in order, ready to start
work.  I got down to my self appointed task with a smile on my
face, even though I positively *loathe* typing of any kind.
*This* was for Beth!

~-----------~

The report was a little less than half done when my watch alarm
beeped, telling me that the dance was officially over - emphasis
on the word *officially*.  As any teacher can tell you from
painful, personal experience, *no* school dance ever ends on
time, and it typically is an hour or more before you can finally
lock the doors behind the last departing adolescent.  That gave
me the time I needed to finish my setting up and to hide.

Ninety minutes later, a key grated its metallic way into the
door's lock and the door opened, a yellow "V" of light cutting
weakly across the dark floor.  Beth made her way quickly across
the room to her desk, ignoring the switch that would have turned
on the overhead flourescent lights.  She was just reaching for
her desk lamp when the glowing computer screen caught her eye. 
It took a few moments for her to realize that the words and
numbers on the monitor were part of the report she had just
trudged in her intending to begin.  

I made my move while her attention was completely captivated by
the report that had miraculously appeared on her computer.  One
hand slipped over her mouth while my other pulled our black satin
blindfold over her eyes.  Instantly, her entire body went rigid,
and I felt her mouth open against my palm as she prepared to
scream for help.

"Muskrat Susie!" I yell-whispered into her closest ear.  Beth
froze in mid-scream and simply stood there motionless for several
heartbeats.  Muskrat Sam, taken from a silly old song, was my
safe phrase when I submitted to Mistress Bethany.  Muskrat Susie
was the other character from the same song.  I had hoped that she
would recognize the parallel and remember her request that we try
this particular game.

"Mark?" she finally wheezed out, as she tried to turn her head
towards me, her hands coming up toward the blindfold.

I caught her hands short of their goal, and turned her to me. 
"Muskrat Susie."  I whispered again, more gently this time,
before kissing the side of her neck.  

She all but slumped into me in her relief.  Then she rallied. 
"Mark, I have to . . ."

"Do what your abductor says you will do, woman."  I said as
sternly as I could.  Taking this tone of voice with *Mistress*
was *much harder than I had anticipated and the only way I was
able to get anywhere close to matching her own severe intonation
was to visualize her as a 13 year old girl I had caught necking
in the hall.  That firmed my voice. . . .somewhat, anyway.

"You did ask for this, Beth."  I whispered.  "You may never get
another chance."  Then I raised my voice and issued the
challenge, "Of course, if you were only teasing, you know how to
end the scene, don't you, Muskrat?"  

Even with her eyes hidden behind the blindfold, I could sense her
uncertainty, could feel her longing warring with her
professionalism and her work ethic.  It was fascinating to watch
the emotions flash across her lovely, mobile mouth, until
finally, with an assertive nod of her head, her hands relaxed. 
"Please, Master."  She whispered.

Master??  That caught my attention.  "No, luv, I am still Mark to
you.  Only for tonight, I am Mark in charge."  I kissed her
thoroughly, devouring her mouth with all the need and frustration
that had been damming up inside me over the past months.  She
returned the kiss with equal hunger, even to the point of trying
to blindly follow my mouth with hers when I finally broke the
kiss.  "Ah ah ah," I chided her softly.  "Don't get greedy.  You
have a lot to get done before you are finished.  Now, move into
the middle of the room and undress for me.  I want you naked and
powerless in your office of power, Ms Assistant Principal,
Ma'am."

I enjoyed feeling the shudder that swept down her in response to
that order, but she did not resist.  Instead, she made her way
carefully around her desk, before taking two, long careful steps
into the center of the open area of the office.  I seated myself
in her executive's chair, taking special pains to make its
springs squeak.  That way she'd know I had assumed her seat while
the noise reoriented her in her sightless world.

Slowly, she shed the gray power suit, first tossing the jacket in
the general direction of one of her guest chairs and letting the
knee-length skirt fall to the floor where it pooled at her feet. 
The silk blouse  and brassiere followed the jacket while her
pumps, pantihose and panties joined her skirt.  As always, I felt
proud and humble that this lovely, loving woman loved me.

I let her stand there in her soundless, darkened world for
several minutes, her lovely breasts rising and falling in time to
her excited breathing.   In the weak light of her desk lamp, I
watched in fascination as the first glistening rivulets of
perspiration glinted down her smooth belly, trickling inexorably
into the dark valley at the apex of her thighs.  The tip of her
tongue made furtive little circuits of her taut lips and her
hands clenched and unclenched in the growing tension.  How well I
understood that anticipation, that anxiety, that barest glimmer
of fear; how often she had sown those very same emotions in me?

God, but she was so very, very beautiful, and I love her so very,
very much.

It was past time for the next step of my little revolution. 
Moving as quietly as I could, I slipped from her chair and padded
across the thickly carpeted floor to stand behind her.  She
squealed and arched away reflexively as I ran a single knuckle
gently down bumpy vertebrae of her spine.  I smiled at that. 
She'd broken position, just as she had so often induced me to
break mine.  

I wrapped her in my arms, pulling her up tight against me,
letting the coarse fabric of my flannel workshirt and my jeans
abrade her sensitive skin.  I cupped her breasts in my hands,
toying with her nipples as I blew teasing puffs of air across her
down her moist neck and shoulders.  She groaned her need softly
and arched back towards my mouth, trying to force the contact we
both craved.  When that failed, she tried to turn around, but I
caught her upper arms and prevented that move.  Sliding my hands
down to her wrists, I pulled them together behind her so that I
could hold them in one hand while I pulled a pair of padded
velcro wrist cuffs from my back pocket.

I have much more experience being the "bindee" than being the
"binder", so it took me a couple of tries before the cuffs were
secure enough without being unsafely or uncomfortably tight.  In
any case, Beth was not resisting, so my ineptitude did not pose
any real problems.  It was after all, her fantasy that I was
playing out, and she had to know just how difficult this whole
scenario was for me, so she cut me some slack and declined to
play the smart-ass-submissive.

I led her over to the play area I had set up earlier for our time
together.  Off in the far corner of her office, Beth had an old
fashioned, two-person, wooden folding bench-seat that had been
taken from one of the last bench and desk classrooms in the
county.  The flat backed, unyielding thing was bloody
uncomfortable to sit on, so she used it as a place to keep
misbehaving students while she decided what to do about them. 
The miscreants were clearly visible to any passersby when her
door was open, and since everyone in the school knew there was
only one reason to be sitting there, it served another purpose. 
Students seated there were subjected to a public shaming, much
like being put in the public stocks in colonial days.  My wife,
the domina-as-principal, firmly believed that a little public
humiliation served as a deterrent to future misbehavior.

Now that bench would serve my purposes.  I had her face the
bench.  "Kneel, sweetheart."  I whispered before supporting her
as she went gracefully to her knees on the pillow I had pre-
staged for this purpose.  I prodded her forward until the
cantilevered seat of the bench was pressed firmly into her
stomach between her ribs and her hip bones.  I had gauged the
pillow height just perfectly.  I made one small adjustment,
having her spread knees so that they were just outside two of the
front legs that supported the center of the old bench.  Two more
velcro cuffs fixed her knees in that position. That done, I
leaned down over her, resting my chin on the top of her head as I
began to tease her breasts once again.

I love her breasts, particularly her nipples.  Beth knows it,
too, and uses that knowledge to her benefit when Mistress Bethany
wants to stretch a limit in a session.  When I have *really*
pleased her, when I have been, in her estimation, particularly
brave, aftercare includes being "made" to "nurse" Mistress
Bethany.  This may not seem like much, but given my admitted
fetish-fixation on her lovely bosom, and given the fact that
those little erogenous zones are like blasting caps for her
libido . . .  Well, trust me on this one - that particular reward
is spectacular and well worth almost any effort and discomfort.

Only *this* time, I was going to focus on my favorite part of her
lovely anatomy in a much different way.  Gently, I pulled on her
nipples, drawing them towards the back of the bench.  She leaned
over, trying to follow my lead.  Once she was bent over far
enough, I rested just enough of my weight against her back to
hold her there until I could complete the next step of my plan. 
I had attached our gentlest set of nipple clips to the back of
the bench using some knotted together rubber bands.  She squeaked
when the first clip bit into its turgid target.  Another break to
account for later, I thought as I tightened the clip before
similarly adorning her other breast.

The rubber band tethers had been sized so that there was slack in
them as long as she was leaning into the bench.  That was NOT my
intention.  "Bethie. . " I said softly, "You have been a bad
girl.  You broke position, not once, but twice after I had told
you to undress, and you spoke without permission when I gave you
your pretty adornments." I strummed the tethers, just to bring my
point home.  "Now, I am going to have to punish you, naughty
puss."  I stood up and moved to stand beside her. "Now, I want
you to lean back and put some tension on your breasts."

Slowly, she pulled her upper torso away from the back of the
bench, only to stop at the first sign of tension.  "No, dear,
that is not nearly enough for your transgressions. Try again." 
That earned me an angry toss of her hair, but she again pulled
back against the elastic bands and the steadily tightening grip
of the clips.  Once she was straight up, she could not move her
entire body further backwards because her knees were tied to the
bench, so she began to arch her back.  

"That's far enough, Bethie." I said when I saw her lips compress
into a grimace.  While I let her hold this position for a few
more moments, I carefully noted the location of her Venus Mound. 
"Okay, you may lean forward again, but *only* so that your body
is completely vertical."  That relieved some of the tension, but
not all of it.  "You have five minutes in that position, Bethie,
as *part* of your punishment.  I will be watching, so don't break
position again."

Her head lifted into what I knew from long experience to be her
"determined" posture.  Which was just perfect for my program. 
While she "punished herself", I made a few unseen adjustments in
the placement of another toy I had installed on the bench.

With ten seconds left in her sentence, I reached over and again
strummed the two rubber tethers. *That* reawakened those lovely
little nerve endings and drew a surprised squeal from Beth who
then leaned forward to relieve the sudden bite.

"You failed, Bethie."  I said in my best "teacher with a naughty
student" voice.  "I guess I can't rely upon you to discipline
yourself, so I will have to do it.  This will hurt me far more
than it will hurt you."  It would, too.  This was the part of the
whole game that I was least looking forward to seeing through to
completion.  However, Mistress Bethany would never consider any
scene with me complete without some type of corporal play, so I
had to figure she would feel the same way when it was her bottom
on the line.  I just hoped what I had in mind was enough, because
I could not find it in me to do anything more severe than I had
planned. 

"Back straight, Bethie!"  I barked.  She almost snapped to
attention, causing the rubber bands to vibrate loudly from their
sudden tightening.  I took a tighter grip on the soft deerskin
flogger I had chosen for this part of the play.  It was the
gentlest thing we had, and truth to tell, the one I *almost*
enjoy when it is used on me.  Two things worried me about this
part of my script: my lack of inexperience using the flogger and
controlling the strength of my blows.  For the latter, I decided
I would have to trust Beth to tell me.  "Bethie, tell me your
safe word!"  I ordered.

Tightlipped against the self imposed pain in her breasts, Beth
rasped out, "Mark, my safe word is 'Muskrat Susie'."

Smiling, I kissed the top of her head.  "Very good, luv.  The
next time I hear those words, we stop."  I felt, rather than saw
the subtle, affirmative nod of her head, and then stepped away.

My first few attempts must not have been *too* hard - something
about that smug little smile on Beth's lips was my first clue. 
That did, however, provide me a way to gauge just how much I
really was hurting her.  I just kept increasing the force of my
blows until the smile went away and that little grimace of
determination returned.  Gradually, she started to flinch, trying
to escape the next swat, only to find her escape route blocked. 
When she tried to arch her hips away from the flogger, her puss
bounced up against my other little surprise, a high intensity
massage vibrator.  I stopped my rhythm only long enough to click
that toy on, and then returned to my task with renewed strength.

Bethany found herself caught between Scylla and Charybdis. If she
leaned her torso over the top of the bench to relieve the
pressure on her breasts, she presented her bottom and her thighs
to my flogger and lost contact with the vibrator.  If she tried
to hide her bottom from my loving attentions, she was blocked by
the vibrator and tightened the grip of the clips.  I lightened
the force of my cuts at this point, attempting to make them more
like caresses than whip strokes, trying my best to emulate what
Mistress Bethany did to me those special times she had used this
toy to bring me to orgasm without otherwise touching me.

To my utter surprise and relief, it actually *worked*.  Her
climax caught us both off guard as she suddenly went rigid before
hunching into the mad dance of her pleasure, and grinding her
pelvis onto the powerful vibrator.  She was so beautiful. 

Long moments later, once her crisis finally passed, she fell
forward onto the bench, dazed.  I pushed her further forward,
letting the tethers go slack once more before releasing the
clips.  

"You aren't done, yet, luv."  I whispered a few moments later,
eliciting a stiffening of her muscles again. Reaching down to
tear loose the velcro on her ankles before scooping her up into
my arms, I then carried her over to the fake-leather sofa she
used for guests. She made a very satisfying squeal when I plopped
her unceremoniously down onto her well warmed butt, face up with
her still bound arms beneath her.

Before she could recover, I was between her legs, feasting on
her.  Of all the ways we make love, this is my favorite.  It may
not be very sub-like to admit this, but I really enjoy the power
I have when I hold her on the edge of orgasm, when a single swipe
of my tongue is the difference between completion or frustration
for her. Usually, Mistress Bethany does not give me any choice in
the matter - she likes her orgasms and she likes a *lot* of them. 
As a result, over the course of our relationship, Mistress has
ensured that I know every nook and cranny of her woman's flesh,
and that I know how best to give her the pleasure she loves.

Which I was not going to give her this time.  Not for a while,
yet, anyway.  Such knowledge is a two edged sword.  In learning
what sets off her climax, I have also learned (painfully) what
leaves her hanging; in learning what quivers and sighs herald the
start of her orgasmic chain reaction, I also have learned when I
can back off, just a little bit, and delay that explosion.

I had always wondered just how long I could keep her on the edge,
how far I could push her and still not let her finish.  I was
determined to find out.

It was great.  Even though she had just climaxed, I soon had her
climbing to that orgasmic summit once again.  I kissed, licked,
nibbled and nuzzled.  I tasted, savored and worshiped every bit
of her.  In short order, she began to voice her arousal, to sing
her pleasure, and still, I kept at her, always stopping just
short of her point of no return, always leaving her quivering at
the precipice of delight.

Very quickly, she understood my game, and tried to hide her
response from me, tried to trick me into finishing her - only,
she had trained me too well by playing the same game as Mistress. 
In those games, Mistress Bethany tried to hide her response so
that she could punish me for poor performance, but I know her and
her body's signals too well for either game to be successful.

Finally, she began to beg, pleading with me between ragged
breaths to let her cum.  Her freed legs drummed against my back
as I resisted her entreaties for as long as I could.  Which
wasn't really very long.  I had forgotten one simple truth.

I love watching her climax and I especially love being the one
who gives her that pleasure.  Determined to finish what I
started, I took her clitoris between my lips and swiftly brushed
the point of my tongue up and down its exposed length.  Her
orgasm took her hard - she nearly bucked me off her in first
surge and she *did* bloody my nose when her pelvic bone smashed
into me during one particularly energetic convulsion.  Grimly, I
held on, continuing my attack throughout her flight, trying to
fly with her and to take her higher and farther than ever before.

It ended as suddenly as it began - she simply collapsed onto the
couch.  When I'd finally managed to extricate myself from the
limp prison of her thighs, I tried to speak to her, but got no
response except for a soft, purring little snore.  Ruefully, I
looked down at the painfully hard bulge in my suddenly very tight
jeans, and then grinned to myself.  It was worth it.

I gently arranged her on the couch, careful not to wake her, and
after removing the wrist cuffs, covered her with a blanket I'd
brought from home in my bag of toys.   Then I returned to her
desk.  The clock on the screen's taskbar said it was almost two
am, and I still had over half the report to finish.

~-----------~

I awoke with a start, almost falling onto the floor in my
surprised disorientation.  Cold morning light rays were beaming
in around the drawn blinds, augmenting the small desk lamp that
still burned on Beth's desk.  Then I realized what had awakened
me.

Beth was standing next to her now empty chair, looking down at me
with an amused look lighting her lovely face.  She had evidently
found the weekend clothes I had packed for her along with the
toys I'd used last night.  Her amusement quickly turned to shock
when she noticed the computer screen and saw that her report was
finished.  I had only meant to rest my head for a few minutes
when I had clicked the save command at four thirty; a quick look
up at the screen myself told me that I had slept for almost three
hours in that chair.  No wonder I was stiff.

Beth reached down and helped me up.  She immediately wrapped me
in a full body hug that reminded me, the hard way, of what I had
*not* done last night.  The minx got my "point" quickly enough,
too, and proved that with a little stripper's hip roll against my
groin that did *nothing* to relieve my current rampant state of
discomfort.  

"Got something weighing heavily on your mind, lover?" she asked
in that husky bedroom voice of hers.  If anything, I just got
harder.   Her knowing brows lifted coquettishly, "I guess you do,
young man.  Well, you can just forget about that, Mister, until
after you have presented yourself to Mistress Bethany this
afternoon." she said in an ominous tone. "After your nap."  She
then looked back at the computer screen.  "It seems that she has
just found some free time, and if last night is anything to go
by, *you* are in sad need of some quality training."

Then she kissed me possessively, ravaging my mouth and marking me
once again hers.  She twined her fingers in my hair and pulled my
head back to gaze into my eyes.  "Come along home, lover. I owe
you something special for both of the gifts you made to me last
night.  You are going to remember this weekend for a long, *long*
time."

It was a promise and a threat, and I wanted both.  "Lead on,
loving Mistress.  I await your pleasure."