There is no thank you, obviously. I grab my cushion and sit by his feet as usual, but once seated, I realise he might not feed me the way he typically does. I sit for a minute before getting back up. He didn’t even look at me. It makes me want to whimper like a puppy. To paw at him until he looks.
Please pay attention to me. I’m a good boy.
As I go to march back to the oven, I hear a faint moan. I turn to watch him as his eyes flicker open from enjoying the mouthful of hot food. A thrill runs through me at the slightest praise. God, I’m so needy for him. When did this happen? When did I decide I couldn’t live without him? When did my love for him border on obsession? His attention was what made me flourish. Without it, I would wilt.
Plating my food, my gaze drifts to the pad of paper; I realise there is something written in red pen.
Laundry room.
Is that... for me? I take the pad, scooping a forkful of dinner into my mouth, and take off to see if he has left me something.
Right enough, there is a little box in the laundry room. It must be for the scene. I carefully open it and find a mini prostate massager inside with a little pack of lube.
Is this for Arnie’s plump ass or mine? I mean, I could ask him, but I want to get it right. I don’t want an eye roll or, worse, a huff to go along with being ignored.
Taking the sex toy back to the kitchen, I set it down and remove the key lime pie. I leave it for now, wondering when best to mention it. I carry my food to the dining table, feeling unsettled about choosing a seat.
I end up across from him, but he just eats, occasionally sipping his wine. No indication that he wants what’s in the box inside either of us.
What would he do if I stripped? Crawled under the table and nuzzled his cock? Would he pet me like a good boy? Push me away, seeing that I’ve been a bad one?
I watch him for another moment or so. Fuck it. I clear the plates, topping up his wine before loading the dishwasher and cutting into the pie. It smells divine, and I hate it.
Why did I select today of all days to bake for the man I love, when he is going to eat this in silence and ignore me? I pout, feeling sorry for myself as I take the box to the bathroom and insert the massager. Still unsure of who it is for, but deciding that if he was going to ignore me, I might still get to come after what feels like a night of edging by both Freddie and Arnie.
I carry both plates of pie to the dining table, each adorned with a dessert fork and napkin. I freeze.
Arnie is naked, wine in hand, still seated. He is scrolling through his phone with one hand while the other is stroking his pierced, thick cock slowly. My mouth goes dry as I watch him with wide, wanton eyes. I want him to tell me to get on my knees so badly. To claim me as his slut. That he can’t get enough of me. I want to hear him moan as he spurts his release onto me or in me while using his rough, calloused hand to jerk himself off.
He looks from his phone to meet my eyes for the briefest of seconds, and I almost miss it. God, it’s been less than half an hour, and I’m ready to hump his leg and beg him to piss on me. To claim me in some way or another.
I’ll be good to you, Sir. Please. Please.
Returning to my seat, I watch him dig into his dessert. He doesn’t moan this time, and I find myself disappointed, my erection wilting for the first time since he got home. Even with the toy inside me.
The ache for his attention rippling through me again, I decide to strip. Doing my best to be as seductive as I can. Rolling my tight top up and off as I tense my stomach muscles that I know he loves to lick the ridges of. Bending to loosen my jeans and drag them and the jock underneath off in one go. I think briefly of climbing on the table and doing the splits while stroking myself, but I’ll reserve that for when I am truly desperate.
Sliding down to my cushion, pushing my ass out as I go, I look over to see Arnie and…nothing. Ramping things up, I slink under the table and kiss each knee. I kiss each foot, each toe. I kiss his thighs, I hum against his groin, rubbing my chest against the hair on his legs.
I need you.
Eventually, his legs spread from having them crossed, and I take it as a sign. I lurch forward, mouth open to suck him. But he steps away from the table with his drink and saunters off to the living room.
I scramble to crawl and go after him. Outside the living room I find a collar and lead; they are new, so I put them on. Will he admire the expensive leather on my skin? Is he not torturing himself here too?
He sits on the sofa, his legs spread. The low lighting makes him look menacing with his piercings and lashings of black ink on thick skin.
“Please…” I beg, finally breaking my silence as I park myself at his feet. Placing the lead on his hip, the cool chain touching his bare skin. But he ignores it.
“I put the toy in. I wasn’t sure who it was for. I wanted to…to please you,” I whimper, licking my lips and chewing on the bottom one.
Please. Punish me. Use me. Talk to me. Spank me!
I aim for his cock again. This time he allows it. I hum at the taste and instantly feel closer to him as I lick the arousal off him that’s beaded on his slit and dripping from his PA silver ring.
“Hey, yeah, I thought I would check in with you,” his godlike voice says.
I pop off his cock so fast, there’s saliva dripping out my mouth at the edges.
