Is there anything more beautiful than waking up to a good foot-licking? Cracking an eyelid, I was forced to concluded that there was none. Tomas was doing a very good job, currently sucking the skin out from between the third and fourth toes on my left foot. I hoped he never found out exactly how fond of him I was, or he'd become completely insufferable. Now that I was awake, I shifted around a little, trying to confine my movement to my upper body. Had to keep those legs straight so my darling sex slave could do a proper job on them! Or maybe I should swing them a bit, and let him chase one. 'Might be fun to watch,' I reflected, goose bumps swirling up my calves when he found an especially nice spot. In time, Tomas's ever-active tongue worked its way up my Achilles tendon. He hesitated, checking with one eye that I'd actually woken, then wrapped it around my calf, pressuring the best nerves inside my knee, and darting up to my inner thighs. They'd fallen slightly apart while I was sleeping. I let them slowly drift further, allowing him to insinuate himself into me. I basked in his attentions for hours, not actually trying for an orgasm, half-napping and enjoying our lazy morning. He'd woken me late, as per standard practice, and the winter sun was already shining vigorously through the curtains. As it rose higher my fingers wanted something to touch, and I unleashed them to roam free down the endless, smooth contours of my stomach and small hard breasts above. Then they ached to share with Tomas, and I began playing with his thick, brown hair, lifting and examining every lock, how each strand shone. Eventually, minutes or hours later, I did come. Gasping inside and out, I bucked all over the bed, surprising us both with my orgasm's sudden ferocity. His task completed, Tomas knelt gracefully among crumpled sheets. Stretching a little more, I scootched up onto the pillows. I considered for a moment and decided our first priority was fuel for the day's activities. "Depart and prepare to serve me in the kitchen," I instructed. "I expect you will be waiting and ready when I come down." "I hear and obey, Mistress Kitten Toes." I almost laughed, but frowned at the last possible second. "Slave, what did you call me?" He grinned shamelessly. "Oh, never mind. Hurry up, before I have you flogged." Tomas bounded energetically away. I enjoyed the sight of his athletic body, but didn't leave the bed myself. In fact, I snuggled back down, relishing my fading orgasm tingling across the soles of my feet. Its brilliance cooled to barely glowing embers... then blackness. The dim light waxed and waned with the floating clouds drifting between window and sun. Yet all good things must end, or no others would begin. I sighed and belted on a robe. Even our soft carpet was a shock to my over-sensitized soles. ** Downstairs, Tomas held my chair and handed me a menu. It was bound in a red leather folder and could have come from any fancy restaurant. The inside, though was blank, and I'd love to know how Zagats would describe the cover illustration. I opened the menu, watching my slave out of the corner of my eye. He was standing at attention next to the table, looking cute as always in his frilly white apron. "Waiter, what's your breakfast special today?" "I am afraid Madam is too late for our breakfast menu," he answered. "Not only did my Mistress sleep until breakfast hours were nearly over, but she remained abed rather long after her wake-up call." I flashed my teeth at him, that special way I know makes him nervous. "Oh?" "I mean no disrespect, Mistress Lene," he said hastily. "But Mistress should perhaps either order from the luncheon menu or set her alarm earlier." "Perhaps Mistress should have her alarm beaten for insolence." "If my Mistress wishes." "I'll have the cornbeef sandwich," I informed him, giving in. Tomas had been after me for months after I foolishly confessed having never eaten corned beef in any form. "Very good, Ma'm." He pivoted and strode into the kitchen. The tales of his apron-ties were his only covering in back, and I watched covetously as their loose ends bounced with his every movement. They didn't cover much, not even the lovely welts I'd given him last night He was cooking with extra flair, knowing how I was peeking at him occasionally through the open sliding door that separates our dining room and kitchen. He loved cooking when we met, and preparing meals was one of his favorite play-chores. Soon, he was returning to the table carrying my finished meal. I sipped my water and smiled at him, plotting how, later, I'd use his body to express how happy he made me. "For you, my Mistress Kitten Toes. A Reuben sandwich: corn beef on Russian rye bread, with sauerkraut, swiss cheese, and my very own special dressing." He set down my plate and glass. "Your taste buds will thank you." "They'd better. Unless my meal is perfect, I intend to spank a certain chef-slave his bottom is red, then make him clean the kitchen naked so I can keep things pink whenever it starts to fade." Tomas merely nodded and awaited my judgment, as if he'd been expecting such a threat. One cautious bite later I was hooked. I had to fight my instinct to shove the whole thing in my mouth, somehow managing to finish the entire meal in a dignified and lady-like fashion. "Perfection. My compliments to the chef." "He will be pleased to hear of your enjoyment, I'm sure." Tomas gathered the dishes onto his tray, returning to the kitchen. "Oh, waiter...." He froze. I reached around his torso and extracted a half melted ice cube from a glass, dragging it down his skin until it rested against his asshole. Once he relaxed, I pushed it up into his rear. He jerked high up onto his tippitoes, standing as stiffly possible, then continued on as if nothing had happened. "Actually," I said lightly to his departing backside, "I almost regret how perfect that was. Now I don't get to punish anybody." If I hadn't been watching so closely I might not have detected the way Tomas's arm twitched, just before my fork fell from his tray to the floor. Oooh, but he was good! ** Back in the bedroom, I sat on the bed, listening for Tomas to finish his own meal and come up the stairs. When he appeared, sans apron, my heart skipped a beat, taking in his glorious masculine nudity. "What should we do next, honey?" "I think I owe you a massage," he said thoughtfully. I offered him my hand and rose to stand proud before him. "You don't want your spanking?" I asked, surprised. "Today is for you, Lene." "I'll be sure to discipline you later. You've been so good, you really do deserve that much." Untying my belt, I shrugged off the robe, letting it pool about my feet. Tomas reacted so gratifyingly predictably, downcast eyes feasting on my body. It's nice to know I'm still appreciated. "For now though, I'll prepare you for my massage." "I don't understand. Why do I have to be prepared, Mistress?" I revealed the bottle I'd been hiding in the covers and sauntered behind him. "I just think we'll both enjoy this so much more if you are." He learned anew why I call tiger balm the gift that keeps on giving. Arms outstretched like wings, I twirled, displaying my entire body, and dropped face down on the bed. I love exciting him like this; it's so easy and thrilling meeting his need for me, and also encouraging it. "Dearest slave, I permit you the honor of worshiping my body." Tomas quickly brought the oil and bent over me. I shut my eyes and welcomed warm, strong fingers. ** After an hour's workout my shoulders felt so loose I thought they'd fall off. With a very long sigh, I gathered my libs and carefully peeled myself out of bed. I crossed to the bathroom door, forcing an imperious saunter back into my stride, drowning in the noise of water filling the tub. Candles had been set everywhere, and the bathwater seemed to glow golden from within. As I was sinking into it Tomas shut off the tap and began pouring in an oil with a heavy, sweet scent. Sometimes I wish he'd let me pamper him a little, but he somehow makes sure it's always my turn. So, having thoroughly enjoyed the hot bath and an even hotter rinsing shower, I prepared to exploit my faithful servant's one weakness: his shaving fetish. First, I gently bound his wrists behind him, to ensure proper frustration, taking my time about positioning him exactly on the tub's rim. Then I settled onto the counter and slipped the razor over every bit of foam-covered skin. Arms, legs... not to mention under and between.... By the time I finished, Tomas's eyes were huge, as were... other things. I pulled him roughly to his feet. "Close your eyes." He did, and I dragged the blade under his jaw, down his throat. I don't know if a Lady Bic is much of a threat, but I felt scary, dangerous, like we were playing with deep, strange, primal things. Like I wanted to see him bleed. We'll have to explore *that* later. Leaning backward and reaching without looking, I retrieved the shaving lotion from the counter. "I'm going to shave you naked," I told him. "Would you like that?" He nodded. I could sense the focused submission coming off him in waves, knowing how difficult it was for him to simply speak right then. But I forced him anyway, feeling the springy hair I would soon attack. "Well, would you?" "Yes, Mistress." His voice was horse, strained, exactly as I'd imagined. I pushed him down with the heel of the hand holding the razor, hard, and he almost fell into the tub. Then I glopped on the foam, tugging at his lower bits, getting the head across every fold of skin, pinching harder whenever he emitted a gasp or yip. It wasn't hard to keep him erect; I knew how this fed into his fantasies. I stared down at my newly-shorn sex slave. Sparking and twitching arose inside my slick folds, he looked so open, vulnerable and pure. "You may open your eyes," I whispered. His cock jerked the instant he returned my gaze. I wondered what he'd seen, then caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and was taken aback. An unruly cloak of hair fell around bare, gleaming skin -- nipples shone with water and sweat -- we were creatures of beauty, made for each other. "You..." I murmured huskily, struggling to recover, "You've still earned punishment." Tomas remained motionless, his eyes shining with adoration. I licked my lips and bade him follow me out to the bed. "Are punishments gentle spankings or hard spankings?" "Hard... Mistress Lene.... Please, hard." Feeling curiously detached, I took him over my lap, breathing endearments. "The perfect end to a perfect day." He didn't answer, and I started working that tight bottom. "You'll have to be careful about those massages in the future, though. I might get the idea you're behaving too well to punish." "Oh, no, Mistress. I really have been bad. Absolutely awful." "Are you sure?" I asked, putting the finished touches on his coloration. "Or do you just like it when I hit you?" I turned him over and sat him up in my lap, giving him sickeningly sweet Eskimo kisses. "Thank you, Mistress Kitten Toes." "That wasn't an answer, Tomas." I flipped him into the mattress and straddled him, pushing his sore cheeks against cool sheets. "But that stupid nickname *is* the worst thing you've done all day." "Thank you, Mistress Kitten Toes," he repeated.