Mealtime Trappings

By

Craig J. Sorensen

 

 

Carefully rolled white napkins in polished silver rings were poised on opposite sides of the card table in the bedroom. Two matching vinyl chairs awaited; one would be used. Scents of a stir-fry filled the air. Matching purple silk short shorts and tiny camisole waited atop the satin comforter.

The light in the room across the way was on, so Ying dimmed her bedroom light as she entered the room. She set the dinner on the card table and went in the deepest corner where she quickly peeled off her sweats and then smoothed the drizzle of sweat from her brow down her cheeks. The silk top fell like a stage curtain over her plump nipples.

She checked the clock as the shorts came to rest on her hips.

8:02. The action across the way had predictably begun.

Ying had dubbed him Jeremy for silly reasons. Though he was not a ringer for Jeremy Irons, the man across seemed forged from iron. He was short and muscular. He had a deep chin, a strong brow, and long, wild blonde hair. Despite his stout physique, he had strangely lithe ballerina moves. But what he did was not a dance.

Every Tuesday and Friday at 8:00 Jeremy entertained a guest of sorts.

Ying savored the cold vinyl of the chair and drizzled soy sauce from a crystal cruet across the rare prime rib, snow peas, and pearl onions over jasmine rice. She balanced antique carved ivory chopsticks and took a bite.

Jeremy was clad, shoulder to shank, in formfitting, gleaming black leather. A woman stood framed perfectly by his long window. She was dressed in skintight black cloth like a burglar. Jeremy wielded a riding crop. The thief remained still, her gloved hands neatly folded in front of her groin.

A few weeks prior, Ying had looked out her bedroom window to see a nude woman hanging from a hook deep in the room. She picked up her phone and pressed 9-1 and hovered over the 1 button. But the puzzling rapture on the woman’s face, the deliberate presence of a hook mounted to the ceiling, punctuated by the fact the man was wearing carefully fitted, shiny leather convinced Ying to hang up and watch in growing fascination.

Tonight, Jeremy stripped the mask and the thief’s long, bright red hair spilled out in random curls. Jeremy gripped her cheeks and spoke so close that it could have been a kiss.

Red shook her head softly as Jeremy grabbed her hair behind her skull and opened her throat. Ying felt a deep pulse in her belly remembering when Marvin Stack yanked her long black hair on the playground, followed by her sudden blinding anger as she punched him and knocked him on his ass, interrupting his career as a puller of girls’ hair. But later, Ying had felt a strange curiosity at the sensations.

Jeremy forced his mouth over Red’s.

Ying took another bite of her meal. Rules were rules. She could not join in until she had finished.

Jeremy engulfed Red’s wrists in his left hand and bound them with plastic zip cuffs.

Ying savored how her pussy slid. She took another bite, and then another, and then finally stopped just short of shoveling like a longshoreman after a twelve-hour shift. She twirled her chopsticks over and under each other feigning patience.

Jeremy hung Red’s wrists on the hook. The front of his pants filled.

Ying took another bite from her half-full plate. Her defiant hand dipped into her silk shorts and caressed the edge of her downy pubic hair. She returned the rogue hand back on the table and took two more fast bites.

Jeremy yanked the skin-tight top up Red’s chest and groped her breasts harshly.

 

 

The weekend after she had first seen Jeremy and Red, Ying aggressively seduced her boyfriend Ronny. He seemed to like it as she pulled his stiffness from his pants. She tossed his balled up T-shirt toward the coffee table, covering the head of the gold Buddha.

Her fresh desires grew irresistible when she was fiercely turned on; it stood to reason that Ronny be the same. She took it further and squeezed his cock hard. “Ying! Ow!”

She crawled over his knee.

“What?”

“Spank me!” She lifted her short skirt and lowered her panties.

“Gawd Ying!” Ronny deflated like a clown’s balloon after an incompetent attempt at an animal sculpture.

 

 

Jeremy peeled off Red’s tight pants. He shoved one gloved hand down the front of her black G-string. Red began to writhe. He tugged her nipples hard with his other hand then circled her and pressed tight her butt. Red’s mouth gaped.

Ying quickly retrieved a pair of brown leather gloves from the closet, inhaled the last of her meal, and wiped her chin on her wrist just above the top of her glove.

Both rolled up napkins lay unmolested.

Jeremy pushed the back of Red’s G-string down then spanked her butt hard. His other hand, still down the front, steadied her. He teased with little pats and then sudden, powerful pops that Ying was sure she could hear.

The scrape of the glove’s seam against Ying’s clit made her gasp, but she knew that this time it would not be enough to just masturbate hard. She looked at her other gloved hand, and then out across the way as Jeremy swatted Red.

Ying’s stomach turned over as she pulled her silk shorts down one hip and raised her hand. She’d never felt more than a playful swat.

Jeremy reached up, it seemed in slow motion, and Ying looked up at her hand. As his hand traveled down, Ying mimicked the stroke. A huge, almost orgasmic grunt from her own throat surprised Ying as the sting spread. Each time Jeremy swatted Red, Ying swatted herself as if she were doing a sound effect track for a movie.

It was most convincing.

The gloved fingers in her cunt slid like skates on ice.

Jeremy suddenly pulled Red’s hands down from the hook and shoved her deep into the room. The bulge at the front of his pants was as sharp as a flagpole in shrink-wrap.

Ying gasped. “Please, please take off your pants, Jeremy.” Her fingers continued to pump and she spanked herself a couple more times for good measure.

Jeremy walked deeper into the room.

Ying knew the show was over. She raced to the bed and fell face down. Her legs sprawled wide. She alternated hands, spanking and masturbating until her waist clenched like a vise. She stopped breathing as a great weight in her waist expelled in an orgasm like she’d never felt, one that gave her goose bumps on her skull. She laughed convulsively.

She was embarrassed, defiled, powerful, excited.

Her butt felt like festive champagne, only better.

 

 

For the next show Ying upped the ante. A new outfit shimmered atop her bed like fresh fallen snow on a sunny winter morning. She dimmed the lights and stepped into the depth of the room and undressed. Just the scent of the new leather made her moist.

As she stood nude, the sight of her shiny skin in the mirror reminded her of a game she’d once played with her Barbie and her older brother’s G.I. Joe: she bound Joe into a pink Barbie chair with black twist ties. She hadn’t thought about what Barbie might do to her quarry. The possibilities made her dizzy. But her brother caught her, called her “freak,” and liberated Joe. The fantasy was left to germinate like an acorn in the depths of a lotus garden. Joe escaped to the safety of hard-core hand-to-hand with his nemesis Cobra.

The elastic laces down the legs of her pants stretched to accommodate her shapely thighs and calves, while clinging perfectly to her trim knees and ankles. The lace-up corset formed perfectly around her breasts and squeezed her ribs tightly. She topped the outfit off with elbow-length white leather gloves.

The white outfit underscored her short-bobbed silky black hair and deep olive skin. A strip of her dark stomach incised the corset and pants. She’d never felt sexier.

Across the way, Jeremy circled Red who was in a crisp business suit, but he was not in his customary leather. His tan uniform was nondescript. He leaned his head to one side and looked in Red’s down-turned eyes. Both seemed uncharacteristically fidgety. Red obediently took something off after each noncommittal swat from Jeremy until she stood in her underwear. She reached for the clasp of her bra between her breasts.

Jeremy shook his head and gripped her hand. Any hint of menace drained away as he spoke gently to Red. Her head tilted like a curious puppy. He held the riding crop, handle out, like the careful presentation of a stiletto.

She cradled it like a long-stemmed rose.

Ying spread her legs and crushed the seam at the crotch to her hard clit.

Jeremy went to the hook and grabbed it. Red gently tapped the riding crop into her hand. Ying defied the empty plate rule and squeezed her hand into her tight pants. “Go for it!”

Red dropped the crop and folded her arm over the front of her bra. She shook her head and backed away. Jeremy seemed angry at first and then appeared to plead; his iron suddenly drooped as if it had been returned to the forging fire.

Red quickly put on her blouse and pinched it at the clasp of her bra. She grabbed the skirt and disappeared from view.

Jeremy raced after her.

Ying sat, legs spread, hand limp in her tight leather pants. Her other hand dangled like the motionless hook in the room across the way.

The two now were in his living room. Ying rushed down the hall to get a better view as if her presence might encourage a favorable outcome.

Red shoved the tail of her blouse into her skirt and Jeremy took one of her hands in his. It looked like he might drop to one knee in a cliché marriage proposal. He stroked her knuckles and continued to speak. Red was motionless, absorbing. Jeremy bit his lip and looked outside.

Strange, but Ying had never seen either of them look outside. She suddenly realized how bright her living room was, and her gleaming leather outfit must look like sun-drenched binocular lenses in a war movie. She jumped from view and then peered around the curtain after a few moments. Jeremy was focused on motionless Red again.

Red’s head shook side to side. Jeremy said something, and Red eased her hand from his and walked toward the front door of his apartment. She held up her hand to stop him from following. As the door shut behind her, his shoulders slumped. He disappeared from view.

Ying felt a letdown deeper than the day G.I. Joe got away. But after a few minutes, she felt a strange wave of relief. She’d already sacrificed her relationship with Ronnie when she tried a second time to get him to spank her.

Ying rushed to her dim bedroom, closed the curtains, changed into safe sweats, dismantled her impromptu table and chairs, and relegated all the accoutrement of the meal-time trappings into the corner of her closet. She ate her cold meal in the dining room, staring blankly at the nondescript painting of a field of daisies on the wall.

 

 

Ying unzipped her tan skirt and reached deep into her closet. She brushed smooth leather and the scent filled the air. “No reason I can’t enjoy how it feels.” Ying had spent a small fortune on it. She’d not had sex or even masturbated in weeks, since seeing Red walk out on Jeremy. She was starved to feel sexy.

There was a sense of comfort even well worn sweats could not rival as the white cocoon encased her nude body. The curtains in her bedroom hadn’t been open in weeks. What was wrong with being seen, looking as sexy as she had ever felt? She opened them.

The light in the bedroom across the way was on, and she realized it was 8:00. There was a brief twinge of hope that Jeremy had reconciled with Red, and that their passion play would be in summer reruns. But Jeremy plodded past the window dressed in faded jeans and a loose sweatshirt. Suddenly his head reappeared in the window like a cartoon double take. Ying cocked to leap from view. She froze and slowly hooked her thumbs in the tops of her pants, anchoring so she couldn’t defensively cover.

Jeremy pressed to the glass.

Ying gripped her hips in pseudo-confidence.

He gave her a “thumbs up.” They remained locked like a game of “chicken” before Jeremy disappeared into his room, and then jumped back into view. He held up one finger. Ying nodded and said, “I’ll wait.” He disappeared again and, after a few minutes, reappeared in tight black cloth pants, a thin black long sleeved shirt, black gloves, and a mask like Red had worn. The pants did nothing to camouflage a growing, needful bulge. He waited, and Ying gave a “thumbs up.” He held up a small bag and then he put the riding crop inside it.

Blood squeezed up Ying’s jugular like Stooges in a doorframe. She nodded and Jeremy disappeared from view. In moments, a dark figure moved along the bushes between the two buildings and rounded the corner.

A wisp of air under her front door announced the opening of the main entryway to her apartment building. Fear, titillation, and excitement supercharged her. She turned off the lights, opened the lock and slid the chain free of its channel, and waited behind the door. It seemed forever until it slowly opened. The crack of light shot a long V-shaped male shadow deep into the living room. Ying held her breath when he paused on the threshold.

The thief finally began to feel his way into the room. He was even thicker than he appeared, and he smelled so clean and masculine. Chills ran up and down Ying’s spine. She worried he would turn on her like a rottweiler. She worried he wouldn’t. He walked with a strange gait, arms swinging like urgent bell clappers. She realized he was offering her his hands. She accepted and twisted his arm behind his back.

He held his free hand up. “I give up! Let me go!” The more his deep voice trembled, the more the moisture between Ying’s legs flowed.

After an awkward pause, she forced a contrived Chinese accent in a husky voice she thought might sound exotic and menacing. “Why you come here?”

“Please don’t…don’t…” He remained still as a frightened deer. Even through her gloves she could feel his rapid pulse. “I’ll do…anything.”

“You strip.”

An approving sigh like a soft orgasm issued from his body. She released his hand and he obediently pulled the shirt over his broad chest. The coat of golden hair made her sigh; she loved hairy men. She fought back into character. “Pants too!”

His Adam’s apple jumped as if he were swallowing a rabbit. Ying slapped his butt softly but made a surprisingly loud snap. She opened her mouth to apologize but he filled the void first. “Yes ma’am!”

She looked down his body, but her eyes moved back up to his face in embarrassment. She traced his bicep delicately. He seemed to melt. She pulled the mask from his face. His long curly blonde hair spilled like a waterfall. She laced her fingers in his curls playfully. They were even softer than hers and smelled sweet. She stroked for a time, wondering if he might call it off. She recalled that feeling from the playground.

She squeezed a fistful of the downy gold, and then yanked. “Ow, fuck!” It burned from his throat. She was stunned at the rage in his eyes, how huge his muscles flexed and how big his clenched fists were. Ying’s heart beat double time and she released his hair. She held up her hands apologetically.

He held up his hand and mouthed “it’s okay.” He went limp, his mouth gaped as if to submit. She slowly opened her mouth over his and pushed her tongue in. Jeremy moaned so deeply that his voice resonated in her belly. It was approval, it was submission. Moisture spread down Ying’s thigh.

She pulled his tiny underwear down to expose his butt. “Hands.”

“Please, ma’am, allow me to make it up to you.”

It became easier. “You will make up to me! Hands!” He crossed them in the small of his back. Her small fingers struggled to circle his thick wrists. She swatted his ass almost delicately with the other hand. He arched his butt, eager for more.

She snapped a bit harder and his mouth gaped. She suddenly popped him hard and he mouthed “oh yes.” She teased and rubbed gently, and then snapped him hard when he seemed to relax, like he’d done to Red. She released his hands and stroked his hardness. “Why leave these on?”

“Sorry, mistress!” He pushed the underwear down and stepped out, and then raised his hands over his head like a prisoner of war.

She tugged him close by the base of his burgundy-red cock. “Name?”

“Gerry.” It was eerily close to Jeremy.

 “You learn lesson?”

“Yes, mistress.”

It’s okay, no harm done. These reflex words looped in her head. She forced out the word, “Liar.” His eyes closed like an orgasm was mounting. Adrenaline coated Ying’s mouth. She swallowed hard. “I tie you to bed.”

He turned his head toward her. For a moment she wondered if he would. He whispered, “Oh God yes, ma’am.”

Ying tied Gerry spread-eagled with twine from the kitchen. His cock issued from his crotch like a 1960’s rocket ship on the launch pad. She wanted to do everything, but she hadn’t advanced much beyond Barbie versus Joe days. She froze.

“I could, pleasure you, ma’am…with my mouth.”

The offer released the vapor lock. She grabbed his cock again. “No. I take what I want. You not let go.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Ying peeled down her white leather pants and straddled him. As she pumped him hard, his head rolled like an encroaching orgasm. She slapped his face. But hitting his face was much different than his butt, and she wondered if it might affect him like tugging his hair. She covered her mouth. “Oh, Gerry I’m so – “ Her accent was gone.

He grinned, and then looked scared.

She resumed slowly and read his face and body. Each time he grew toward orgasm, she stopped. Occasionally, she slapped his face and returned to her accent. “You come when I say.”

“Oh, yes, mistress.”

She left his needful cock smoldering on the launch pad and straddled his mouth. She gripped his skull tight to her cunt and ground the peak of her pubic bone to his nose. She stopped feeling like she was watching herself from a distant vantage. His long tongue traced her slit. “Harder. Flick faster. Not so long there! Inside now!” He followed every instruction to the letter.

But it was not his adherence to instruction that led Ying to the first orgasm she’d had from a lover’s mouth; it was the control that spurred her as she screamed out. She stripped the rest of her leather and slid down to his rod again, pressed her feet in his knees and split them wider. She whispered in his ear, “Your body now mine.”

“Yes. Yes, mistress.”

“You say that so I let you come?” She savored his chest hairs.

“No, please leave me unsatisfied. Let me prove myself.”

“Now you come!”

“No, please, mistress!”

Gerry’s bound body writhed. He grunted and groaned and tried to ease away from her, but she ground her hips harder and shoved her tongue deep in his ear. “Come now, fucking pig!” His orgasm blasted like a fire hose and the grunt from his throat seemed to shake the room. She couldn’t believe what she called him.

Gerry let out a deep, strange laugh. Ying giggled in reply.

They lay panting for a time until she whispered without the accent, “My name is Ying.”

“You’re fucking awesome, Ying!”

She stroked his face, and then released and embraced his warm, furry body.

 

 

Gerry was cupped to Ying’s back, the head of his hard cock fused to her tailbone, when she awoke. He gently stroked her upper arm. She slid beneath him and spread her legs. He kissed down her neck along her breasts. He dipped between her legs and ate her gently, very differently than she had instructed. It made her ascend more slowly, even so, for the second time in her life, she had an orgasm from a lover’s mouth.

He triumphantly crawled up between her legs and touched the tip of his cock to her pussy lips.

Ying nodded her approval and he descended into her.

Despite his bulk, Gerry moved delicately. He kissed her neck and she opened it so he could bite. She wanted to feel the full might that had punished her via remote control; Red’s rapture was something she coveted. He kissed more gently. She twirled one of the strands of twine, still tied on each corner of her bed, in her hand. “You know, I used to watch…Tuesdays and Fridays.”

He nodded. “I know. Um…good peripheral vision.”

Ying laughed and then tilted her head down subserviently. “Sometimes I want…”

His expression shifted immediately to the one she had seen in his last night with Red.

She stroked her hands delicately in his chest hair. “To be made love to gently.”

“Oh, of course.” He made love to her slowly, sweetly, reverently.

 

 

Tuesdays and Fridays Ying and Gerry shared meals in their respective bedrooms via remote control. Gerry the remote; Ying the control.

For dessert, Gerry dressed in various outfits before he crept over: thief, soldier, cop, even once he was a most convincing construction worker who hooted and hollered at Ying until she made him pay.

Ying dressed always in her precious white leather outfit, which was becoming more supple with wear, like Gerry. Ying found new ways to punish him: a cat of nine tails, a thick leather belt, a willow switch, clamps, a nasty long purple dildo she dubbed “the enforcer.” Gerry took everything she could deliver.

Mornings after were tender. Sometimes they made love; sometimes they sat cross-legged, nude on the bed, sipped tea and talked. They talked of childhood, of fears and frustrations, joys and jubilations. She even told him about G.I. Joe. The day he mounted a hook like the one in his bedroom on Ying’s ceiling, Gerry told that he was a young executive, very powerful, and struggled with the stresses of his job. “I’m a control freak, Ying.” “Doesn’t show,” she replied. He simply smiled at her. But the way he seemed to shrug her off when she said she truly understood his stresses was one of the rare things about him she did not like. As a matter of fact, the session after that, she tied him down face first and reamed him with “the enforcer” until he came on her satin sheets. She stood on his ass and made him lick up the mess.

He was a bottomless pit for punishment, and she became envious. She remembered how she felt as she took part in Red’s punishment. An urge grew like the need for sexual release after a month of complete abstention. This urge didn’t abate even when Gerry gave her seven strong orgasms on his knees, his hands bound behind his back, head tilted back so far that he had trouble straightening it up when she was done.

She wondered who was master and who was slave.

As she prepared for the next mealtime trappings, she recalled there was only one time where he seemed to have truly been beaten: ironically, the first time the thief had come.

She wondered if the true wall to dominance was a form of submission.

She delved into copious research.

 

 

It was clear in Gerry’s expression that he detected a change as she forced him to strip his thief outfit but did not punish him. She cuffed him and pulled him into the bedroom. A small table sat near the dangling hook with a burner and a jar warming on it. He looked down at his nude body with eyes wide. She pushed him toward the hook. “I own you.”

She had raised the hook and had to help him put his cuffed hands in it with the aid of a chair. He could barely keep steady.

She stirred the goop in the jar.

His eyes were like that first night. He remained so very still.

Ying started on his back, applying the warm goop to a small stretch. He had little hair back there, but grunted as she pressed on the muslin strips and yanked them methodically away.

After his back, she goosed his jaw like a snapdragon. Taking a kiss from her had become the symbol of his “surrender.” Despite the anger in his eyes, his mouth gaped for a kiss.

He didn’t yell out, the way he did when she whipped him, as she stripped his legs. She stroked his jaw and his mouth opened even more slowly. She kissed him even deeper, and then stood on the chair to strip his arms.

The anger had drained from his eyes. She wondered if she had gone too far. But he’d told her about “safe words” on their second outing. She traced his jaw and watched his mouth slowly open. He didn’t say the word. She stirred the wax and looked at his furry chest. He closed his eyes and accepted her tongue. She lingered on the kiss like a long goodbye.

His cock pointed at the ceiling as she fixed the first strip to him. His grunts were now just an explosion like a massive compressor releasing all its air. He yanked so hard she was sure she heard the studs above him groan. She stripped every last bit of chest hair, then finally looked at his crotch. He shook his head. She nodded. She stroked his cock, and then laced her fingers in the last frontier of his body hair.

 “Now you are truly mine.” It was the first time she’d deliberately eschewed her Chinese accent during the punishments.

He compressed his jaw. She stroked it, and it slowly opened. She applied the muslin above his cock. She gave him a deep, long kiss during which she ripped the last furry strips away. He was limp, quiet, resolved as this last vestige was removed. She curled her fingers around his furry scrotum and smiled. His eyes shocked wide, but he nodded and then opened his mouth. She shook her head and let go of his testicles. She helped him from the hook and led him to the shower. He braced to her and moved slowly. She methodically cleaned his smooth pink body with cool water and floral soap. His cock lifted toward the showerhead, and she took it deep in her mouth. Fellatio was another thing Gerry had refused to accept from her. Ying applied every trick she knew, and some she conjured on the spot. She nibbled the base, tongued his balls, and then settled on the head with a few deft twirls of her tongue. He writhed harder and harder, almost as if trying to escape, but he shot into the back of her throat. He had to grab her head to remain upright as he squirted ribbon after ribbon into her gullet.

She drank him, steadied him, dried his body and led him to bed.

Another first, he fell asleep before Ying. She cupped his back and ran her fingers through the long golden hair on his head. His silky skin felt bizarre.

The next morning, Ying awoke to feel Gerry’s big hands stroking every inch of her; it felt possessive. He eased her onto her back, pulled her knees to her chest, and compressed her. His big smooth arms surrounded her knees and folded arms. He pushed into her sharply, before she was wet and the friction was heaven. The way he bumped her cervix wasn’t, but she resisted even the slightest hint of a grimace. She smiled softly. He gripped the V of her pubic hair, squeezed her breasts a little extra tight, bit the nape of her neck. She flowed and her depths opened as he pumped her.

She went limp and bounced with his weight. She realized what he was giving her was just a fraction of his power, and it felt so very perfect.

She closed her eyes and dared to dream that he understood now.

 

 

The next night of mealtime trappings, Gerry’s room remained dark. Ying checked the clock. 8:05. She sighed, sat down, and took the first bite of her meal. She began to worry if indeed he did understand. She wondered if her taking him to total submission, and then servicing him, had broken some spell. She wondered if the powerful fuck the morning after and the sweet, long kiss at the door after breakfast was his goodbye.

It seemed forever until his light came on. Her stomach turned as she looked down at her new outfit again. She worried so much that she covered her chest in a display of modesty that seemed to be rare these days.

She felt dizzy for lack of air. When he appeared, Ying gasped. Her hands drained to her sides.

Jeremy was clad, shoulder to shank, in gleaming jet-black leather, a riding crop in his hand. He turned to the long neglected hook in his room and pushed it so it swung like Poe’s pendulum. Ying tugged the neck of her skin-tight black shirt and then grazed her hard nipples. Her pussy flowed like the Yangtze.

Ying looked side to side, as if trying to evade detection. Gerry briefly smiled, and then nodded. The two meals sat on their tables, destined to fall cold. The leather over Gerry’s groin could barely contain the bulge.

She hesitated at the corner of her apartment building, with a view of his windows as the last light was extinguished. Chills stroked her spine like fingers. She wondered how much it would take to make her truly surrender.

She trusted Gerry would be as diligent in his search as was her vow to resist.