Click on image to enlarge.

Category: Erotica/BDSM Erotica
Description: A woman who likes likes to dress up like a school girl meets an older man who is a rich "daddy." She was very naughty in the last book, but once again her heart belongs to daddy, along with the spankings and fine dining that go with it. The next book in our best-selling series of age-play erotica - The Master's Jewel continues the sexual journey and play of Kay and her semi-sometimes master Jon as they explore their relationship even further!
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler,
eBookwise Release Date: March 2012

Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [47 KB]
Words: 10273
Reading time: 29-41 min.

CHAPTER 1

I turned my ass to the bathroom sink, took a step away from it then up on slight tip toes looked over my shoulder. I could clearly see the little red heart displayed at the bottom right edge of my right cheek. Instantly wet looking at it, as I had been taking down my pants here in Jack's bathroom for only the purpose of looking at it, I smiled at my reflection, inched my way back to his cool tile sink edge, spread my thighs as wide as they would go with my pants and panties hammock-ed mid-thigh and rolled my hips just enough to get some pressure on my gloppy lips. Straining to look over my shoulder and back-up masturbate against Jack's sink edge, I actually fantasized waddling out of his bathroom just then to show my best friend the mark Jon had had left on me, the mark that I had so willingly agreed on, the mark that made me ... shit, I began to come there so shuttering quick that I all but sat back on the sink as I felt juice dribble down my inner thighs.

Wiping myself as quick as I had come I wiggled back up into my panties and jeans, turned to wash my hands and gave my face the once over without doing much more then smiling to my now blushing cheeks.

Jon and I had made the most of his last weekend with me. From Friday night, when we literally collapsed into sleep, until he got into a cab at my front curb eleven am Monday morning, we stayed in to hang-out, fuck, eat, watch TV and fuck some more. Along the way he gave me a really good over-the-knee spanking Saturday afternoon, I gagged with his raging hard cock while fingering myself right after, then we fucked into a deep sleep after dinner. Sunday morning Lisa and Bill came over for breakfast, then Jon and I watched football until five when he turned to me with the wildest look in his eye-and I had seen plenty of wild looks in his eye-and said: "We need something to commemorate this trip."

I was a little taken a back, truth be told. Beyond all the usual juicy sex we had and Jon's more the adept handling of me -- and God how I had ached for him to handle me like the little girl/pet/toy he always claimed I was -- we had managed a great two days in San Fran where I had domed him for the first time and had quite the head spinning rumination over belting his ass there, then getting back to my house and me dressing as my own version of Bettie Page to tease and torture him, then all this good sex we had had during the weekend.

He thought we needed to commemorate somehow more?

"We need to get you a tat," he added and I nearly melted on the couch next to him, "Henna of course."

I already had a tat on my right forearm and the obligatory one on my ankle I now regretted. I didn't fear them by any stretch of the imagination and Jon knew full well I had an ex who owned a shop in town that was pretty much open 24/7 ... or at least would be for me. The idea that the tat would be only henna, but drawn by a real tattooist fit in well with what Jon and I were about and I wasn't really surprised at this particular way of Jon wanting to mark me.

Jon nor I would need modifications, piercings, tattoos, collars to hint at or reveal the submission I felt when with him, the control he had over me, or the times -- few though they had been in our relationship -- when the roles were reversed. Before my marriage, having stepped through the wild and woolly backgrounds of what most people view as non-vanilla sex or at the least alternative with all the lesbianism and kink I got into, I had witnessed plenty of people playing with who they were to someone else or who they were faux forcing their willing partner to be. While cock cages and collars were enticing, while I did like the idea of some permanent marking that would indicate Jon owned me in some way, neither he nor I was about anything permanent save what we could built in our hearts and heads for one another.

I saw girlfriends scrambling all the time to keep watch on their men, spouses or just boyfriends, as I caught plenty of men wanting to own their women. Thank God when Paul and I were married jealousy had never existed between us. He just knew me well enough to know that if I was going to make a commitment to him, one that saw us eventually get married, that I wasn't going to stray ... I knew this about him as well. And while we didn't ever really share any true kink between us, certainly nothing on the order of me using a little girl voice when coming for him or yearning for him to spank me, my ex hubby and I had quite a healthy sex life. I'm not so naive to think that marrieds enjoying one another in bed don't take to cheating, it's just that Paul and I discussed our fantasies plenty, regaling one another with how hot we had become during our day spying the cute new U.P.S guy or how the dentist's receptionists' boobs were truly a wonder to behold. As far as what Jon got up to on the east coast and what I did here it seemed to fuel our talks, as if neither of us wanted the other to alter a routine in the least. Whether the man and I could keep a relationship together in one another's company 24/7 I had no idea and though I had ruminated on the idea I never thought once, that even if we were living together -- Jon in Cali with me, me there in Jersey with him -- that we'd have to consummate our attraction and what might grow-up and become love by wearing one another's collar or having to endure a branding ... another idea he and I had discussed, right around the time we were lighting out for the tat shop and another one that, only in fantasy, I knew I'd enjoy.

Me keeping Jon and he me had nothing to do with keeping tabs via texts every minute of the day!

That Jon bade me get a little red heart, on my ass of all places, made me as wet when I had to drop my pants and peel my panties to the side for Jerry, an artist I knew pretty well would keep my secret ... especially from his boss, my ex. And from what I had just managed in Jack's tight bathroom the Sunday afternoon marking was as exciting to me now as it had been ten days ago.

The thing with this whole dom/sub thing, and something Jon well knew and didn't truck in -- thank God, at least for my sensibilities -- was that I didn't live nor did I want to live the lifestyle 24/7 ... that's really why a permanent tat would not have fit us. It was perfectly fine for couples who did and I knew plenty of them, but even back before my marriage when I was doming girls on a regular basis, I only wanted to do so in the confines of sexual play, never in real life where I'd demand someone wear a collar for me or sit at my heels at parties. That approach to the kink just didn't do it for me, as much as skirting role-play was something I did with trepidation and only with the hint of reality to it, like Jon calling me his toy/pet/little girl seemed to. That I was wearing his mark, but a subtle little red henna tat at that, spoke to a smoking hot control the man had over me but not one readily apparent and not one we exercised all the time. And when it wore off, which Jerry had promised it would do in a month; my need to submit would still be in my head and heart as it always had been,

Still, it had taken me all my strength not to show Jack, not to drop trough the second I walked in his condo, turn around and have him inspect my bubble butt. To now be branded, to wear Jon's mark, to have allowed something even semi-permanent from his last-minute matter-of-fact suggestion might have spoken to the man's dominance of me better than anything yet we had gotten into.

"So we doin' Mother's for the grease or Jon's for the bread?" Jack asked popping me from my musings.

I stopped up short regarding the smiling black guy looking up at me from his small butcher-block kitchen table. I had forgotten how hungry I was and now with the question of where to eat put to me I suddenly felt that hunger rise again.

"Jesus, some choice. Neither is gonna sit well."

"Well duh," Jack said and shot up out of his seat, "that's kinda the point. You and I haven't been on a good junk food run in a dog's age."

I followed the high round backside of the man in front of me as he reached for his jacket. My buddy was right; it had indeed been a bit since I played one of the guys and had gone out to knock a few beers back or just been in Jack's company. I missed him dearly, I truly did, but the days got away from me, from all of us, I knew.

With Jon taking up six days of my time nearly two weeks ago I was just now coming back to myself and my schedule; it might be hard for some people to travel and get back to their life, more or less needing a vacation from their vacation, but for me it is equally as hard when someone I care for breezes through my life, sets my emotions -- not to mention my loins on fire -- and then leaves. Jon's trip out here, not his first to Cali but certainly his first to my home, had truly been a whirlwind and cemented in my mind what a complete and utter mess I was around the guy. From aching so much for him to touch me, to fantasizing at every step that we were a couple, to latching onto his cock and not letting go with my mouth, pussy and hands, to even taking it upon myself to be the aggressor and wanton tease I had been all atwitter for the near week he was here and now only coming down from him being so.

The tat kept me spinning to of course.

I so needed this night with Jack. I just hoped wherever he was leading me right then from down his apartment's hallway that I could keep from running into the bathroom and checking my ass too often.