Another long day comes to a close, and the work, as always, is more dull than a butter knife. I loathe my job and hate my boss. The pay isn't even that good. The only reason I still work here is because I need the money and haven't found anything better to do with my time. Watching the last minute tick away, I get up from my desk and go to my truck, waving at the receptionist, a brown haired thirty something lady whose name I don't even know, on my way out.

My cell phone, which I had left in my truck at the beginning of the day, beeps at me as I unlock the doors. On the screen, I read, "3 missed calls, 1 voice mail message, 1 text message". I turn the key in the ignition. Turning my attention back to the phone, I press a few buttons, checking my missed calls first. All three are from my wife. There are no surprises there. I check my voice mail, and the voice of my wife, in a particularly sexy accent that is obviously her acting out the part, tells me that maybe my day at the office wasn't completely wasted.

"Hey there, big guy. I have a surprise for you tonight, but I don't have everything I'm going to need. Better check your text messages to see what I'm missing, that is, if you want a wild and crazy night tonight." The message ends with the longest voice mail kiss I've ever been left. Her sexy voice, her words, and her kiss give a raging hard-on. Checking my text messages, I am more than a little puzzled. "Bring me a clay flower pot and a brown paper bag of cranberries, and your dreams will come true."

What in heaven's name is she up to? A flower pot and some cranberries?

I put the phone down and begin the hour long trip to my house. My brain was numb from my day at work. I usually spent the better part of my ride home cursing myself for keeping the stupid job. Instead, my mind is swimming.

Ten minutes away from my house, I pull into the parking lot of the local supermarket. While perusing the fruit section for the cranberries, I spot them in plastic netting bags, not paper. I grab them anyway and go a few aisles over and grab some paper bags since they'll be used for my lunches eventually. Going to the front of the store where the flower arrangements are kept and looking around for the flower pots, they seem to come in three sizes, small, large, and gigantic. I don't know what she has in mind, so a call to her is in order.

"Hello?" It was that sexy voice that made me hard all over again.

"I'm at the supermarket, and looking at the flower pots. Do you want a small one, a large one, or a gigantic one?"

She sighs into the phone and continues in her sexy voice. "What do you mean by small, large, and gigantic? Gigantic like the size of your cock, large like the size of your ass, and small like the size of your pinkie finger? Get the large one, honey. I'll be waiting for you." She hangs up the phone before I can respond.

Grabbing the large flower pot and putting the cranberries and the paper bags in the pot to make it easier to carry, I bring them to the checkout lane, and smile at the cashier.

"What are these for?" the cashier asks, trying to make smalltalk with me.

"Damned if I know. I just get what the wife tells me to." I exchange a knowing wink with the cashier.

"That will be thirteen dollars and fifty five cents, sir."

Handing the money over, I get on my way, my mind not entirely focussed on the remaining drive home.

"A flower pot and some cranberries? Why?"

My questions were soon answered.

"Come here, big guy," she calls out to me from the top of the stairs where the kitchen is located. I want to hop up the stairs two at a time, but I know she won't approve of that. Instead, I go one step at a time as quickly as possible. Reaching the top of the stairs, in my rush to give her the items, I'm not paying attention to what I am carrying. The cranberries fall out of the flower pot, and the bag they were in rips apart spreading cranberries all over the floor.

"Oh shit," I exclaim. "Sorry Mistress," I say quickly, not wanting to incur her wrath for my foul use of language as I begin to pick up the cranberries.

"Well," she says, "go ahead and put them in one of the brown bags."

Thats what I was going to do anyway, but I intended to do so a bit more gracefully than that. Opening up the brown lunch bags, I separate one, lean over, and begin depositing the cranberries into the bag. It takes some time as the cranberries are scattered pretty far apart. Apparently, I am not quick enough for her liking.

A sharp smack on my ass is followed by an order. "Hurry up!"

Going as quickly as I can, I respond, "Yes, Mistress."

As I am recovering the cranberries from their attempted escape out of our grasp, she examines the flower pot. "This pot will do nicely indeed. Yes it will." She sneaks behind me without my being aware, smacking my ass again, causing me to drop the last of the cranberries I had picked up.

"When you're done with the cranberries, you are to strip naked. Understand?"

"Yes, Mistress." I had learned a long time ago how unwise it was to not follow her instructions. She could be such a bitch when I didn't, but sometimes it was fun to do anyway.

Picking up the last of the cranberries and depositing them into the brown paper bag, I hand them over to her. She looks pleased.

I begin to strip by taking off my sport jacket, then my tie, then my shirt. Folding these neatly and setting these on the back of a chair in the kitchen area, my belt is next to come off. I hold it up for her inspection.

She looks at it with a wicked grin. "No, thats not what I have planned for you tonight. Set that on top of your pants." Setting down the belt, I take off my shoes followed by my pants. Picking the belt back up and looking at it longingly, I place the belt on top of the pants as instructed. Taking off my socks, and finally my underwear, her eyes transfix on me. She looks at my manhood, rather, her manhood, for I am hers tonight to do with as she pleases.

She takes the flower pot and puts it on the seat of a chair, beckoning me over to her. I follow, not at all sure what is going to happen. She looks at the pot and thinks for a moment. "Don't move," she warns me. She walks off to go get something. A minute later, she comes back with a towel, which she sets on top of my clothes on the chair, and a short garden hose and begins to get to work attaching the hose to the hole at the bottom of the pot. Somehow, she manages to fit it into the hole snugly. The other end of the hose she curls up so it is hanging over the top of the flower pot. She smiles at her cleverness.

She grabs my cock with her hands and begins to rub it while holding it over the pot, causing me to get hard. Cupping my scrotum in her left hand, she takes the bag of cranberries in her right, and begins pouring it over my cock into the pot. The pelting sensation is not entirely pleasant, but I don't think she is wishing to please me tonight, at least not yet. Having emptied the bag of cranberries, she goes to the refrigerator and pulls out two gallon-size jugs of water. Setting the one in her left hand down on the table, she holds the one in her right hand up to my scrotum. At first, the coldness feels good, but slowly, it causes me to have an urgent need. I look up at her pleading with my eyes. She grabs my cock with her left hand and points at the pot. Pissing on the cranberries, almost involuntarily, we both know that if she hadn't given me permission, I would have been in some serious trouble. That thought did not appeal to me, but she knows it is true too. She smiles. I watch as nothing leaks out from the bottom of the flower pot.

She opens up one of the gallons of water, and slowly pours it over my cock into the flower pot. The cold water makes my cock hard. I watch as the cranberries float and the water somehow circulates from the bottom of the pot through the hose to the top of the hose and back out into the pot like a small waterfall landing on my cock again and again as it comes down. My brain knows that there is something about this which doesn't make sense given the laws of physics as I know them to exist, so I make a mental note to ask her later how she managed to make that work. In the mean time, I have other worries to think about, like the fact that my cock is becoming ever more aroused by the constant flow of water on top of it.

Looking up at her, pleading with my eyes, she answers my unasked question. "No, you may not cum yet," she says with a wicked smile.

She opens the other gallon of water, and begins to pour that over my cock. The water continues to flow through the hose and back out onto my cock. Now, the water level has risen to the point where it is almost touching my cock. As the cranberries float at the top of the water, some of them come into contact with my cock, causing me additional discomfort. The second gallon of water having been emptied into the pot, she takes my cock in her left hand and begins to rub it, sloshing my cock with water and cranberries as she goes.

Taking the towel, she dips it in the flower pot getting it all wet. She removes the wet towel, wrings it out over the pot, and carefully examines its dampness. She wrings it out one more time, watching as the water is returned to the pot. Stepping back with the towel in hand, she swings the damp towel hitting me in the ass on the left side causing me to jump at the unexpected intrusion.

"You didn't like that?" she asks.

"M-m-m-m-mistress, I did, but --"

"Then don't jump, or I won't give you any more."

She swings the damp towel at my right side, and then my left again, repeating the pattern in rapid fire motion. My cock, still underneath the water, gets very hard.

"Play with yourself, but don't cum without asking," she said as she continued to strike my ass with the damp towel.

I begin to play with myself, rubbing and pulling and twisting my cock, feeling it in my hands through the water. It feels so good to touch it. Rubbing furiously, up and down, knowing I can't hold out much longer, I ask, "Mistress, may I cum please?"

"No, you may not," she says with a wicked grin on her face.

"Mistress, " I beg, "Mistress, please may I cum?" The sensations are driving me wild. My face contorts.

"No, you may not," she says again, with a twinkle in her eye.

"MISTRESS PLEASE!" I am at both my physical and mental breaking points.

She takes the damp towel, covers my cock with it, and says, "Move your hands." I do. She rubs my cock with the soaked towel, takes my cock out of the pot of water and cranberries, and says, "You may cum now."

"Thank you Mistress!" I squeak.

My cock explodes into the towel as she continues to rub me with it. Seeing stars, my legs get weak. I hold onto the table for balance, and she spanks me with her free hand. The relief I experience is mine, but my cock and my ass are hers for whatever, whenever, and wherever she pleases.