Firefly's first assignment

[Dragon's muse]

Your opening is:

Lorraine jumped when the phone rang. Without taking her eyes off the computer screen she barked into the receiver, "Make it quick. I'm busy."

A low masculine chuckle greeted her harsh words, "And rude, I see. I'll call back later and hope to find you in a better mood."

[Rhabbi]

Cannot wait to see waht you are going to do with this ^firefly^. trust me, if you think this is hard wait until you see what else she has in store for you.

[Dragon's muse]

Cannot wait to see waht you are going to do with this ^firefly^. trust me, if you think this is hard wait until you see what else she has in store for you.

Hey, i am much nicer to you guys online than i am to my peoples in real life. i made one group write 500 words on What If There Were NO Rhetorical Questions?"

[^firefly^]

I'm glad you're being kind to me, then. I think.

And Rhabbi, as you already know, if I can overthink it, I will. Okay...back to the writing...

[^firefly^]

Bet you thought I gave up on this...I almost did! I re-wrote this story three times before I finally got something that (I hope!) works. Here goes....

[^firefly^]

Lorraine jumped when the phone rang. Without taking her eyes off the computer screen she barked into the receiver, "Make it quick. I'm busy."

A low masculine chuckle greeted her harsh words, "And rude, I see. I'll call back later and hope to find you in a better mood."

Her jaw dropped in surprise, and she hastily replied, “No, wait, I’m sorry; I wasn’t expecting—“

Click.

Lorraine muttered to herself as she continued to work on her project, the columns of numbers transforming under her quick fingers into a series of reports and projections. The work pushed back the feelings of dismay at her earlier rudeness, replacing it with a sense of righteous anger. I was working. He knows I hate being interrupted at work. This is important, after all. If that little voice in the back of her head said differently, Lorraine ruthlessly ignored it.

She worked through dinner, only grabbing a diet soda and an apple to munch on while she poured through the data, analyzing, organizing, summarizing. When she was done, she set the printer to humming busily, smiling as the printed reports piled up. The conclusion of the project, meeting the deadline, and knowing the client was going to be more than happy with her projections brought a self-satisfied smile to Lorraine’s lips. She finally allowed herself to lean back in her computer chair, pushing errant strands of hair back from her face.

Lorraine tidied up her desk and left for the night, driving home with the radio turned up, and singing along defiantly with the music. She rolled the window down to let the warm summer breeze tease her hair down from its pins. Her heels clicked on the sidewalk as she walked up to the house and saw the note. She read it as she unlocked the door and set down her briefcase, all the worry she had felt earlier at her rudeness crashing back through her, ripping nagging holes in her stomach.

Upstairs. Now.

Lorraine hurried up the stairs, the butterflies in her stomach flapping a little more frantically. He sat on the bed, still dressed in his work clothes, the sight of his red and navy striped tie against his crisp white shirt bringing a small smile to her lips. His dark hair was a little rumpled, as if he had run a hand through it in exasperation. He gave her that look—the one that says, "You blew it, slut".

She started to kneel at his feet, as was normally required, but the cold sound of his voice stopped her. “Strip.”

Lorraine stepped back and unbuttoned the blazer of her navy suit, her fingers flying in her haste to obey. She draped it over the chair, followed quickly by her short skirt and lace-trimmed white camisole. The powerful, confident feeling she’d clung to at work was quickly being replaced by the quiver of fear that came only at the beginning of a real punishment. She looked at him through her lowered eyelashes, studying the strong line of his jaw, the dark gleam in his eyes. No, he was definitely not playing tonight.

Lorraine paused, glancing at him only briefly as she stood there in her lacy white bra and panties, the matching garter belt holding up her tan stockings. He raised an eyebrow at her, still unsmiling. “Did I stutter? Or did you forget what ‘strip’ means, slut?”

Lorraine hastily unhooked her bra, shrugging out of it with careless grace. The straps of her garters were next, so that she could wiggle out of her garter belt and panties. She then peeled her stockings down her long legs, adding her lingerie to the pile of clothing on the chair. She stood there for a moment, naked, vulnerable, feeling his eyes burning on her skin.

“Hands behind your head,” he said firmly. “Lift your hair.”

He slowly tightened the leather collar around her neck, then added matching cuffs around her ankles and wrists. Lorraine stood silently, unflinching, her eyes downcast as shame washed through her. He sat back on the bed in front of her, his cool gaze making her shiver. He plucked a slender tube off the bed and drew her closer, one hand firmly on her hip.

The lipstick was smooth and darkly red against the pale skin of her stomach. Lorraine watched him painting it there, glaring at me silently, daring her to say a word, to protest, to flinch. The words “rude” and “disrespectful” appeared there. “Disappointment” went over her breasts. He rose and finished, adding something else on her forehead. Humiliation washed over her in waves.

“Face the corner,” he said as he finished. “Don’t move, don’t speak.”

Standing in the corner was awful. It made Lorraine feel so—childish. Her mind screamed in rebellion—she was twenty-nine, not two! Defiance rose within her, enough that she almost spoke, almost turned, lips parted to argue. The little voice in the back of her head insisted that this was what she deserved for acting like a child.

Then came the panicky feeling Lorraine always got while waiting, those moments of worry that he might decide she was too much trouble for all the effort he had invested in her training thus far. The knowledge that her fate and punishment were in Master's hands, and that the choice was removed from her only made her feel that much smaller, helpless, pathetic. The time trickled by slowly, and Lorraine didn’t even notice the weariness in her arms and legs until his voice released her.

“Come here. Apologize.”

Lorraine hurried back to the foot of the bed and knelt, facing him, her hands still behind her head to show him the words emblazoned on her skin. The shame and embarrassment she felt for having disappointed him were evident in the trembling of her lips, the downcast set of her wide blue eyes.

“I’m sorry, Master, for being rude. I know it disappointed you that I spoke to you that way; that I would speak to anyone that way.” She swallowed hard, the words heavy in her throat. “Is there any way I can show you how sorry I am for these mistakes?”

“Hands behind,” he said quietly, and Lorraine lowered her hands, rolling her shoulders for only a second before turning, crossing her wrists behind her back. He locked her cuffs together, keeping her hands in place. His hands in her hair guided her, turned her luminous eyes back to meet his. With deliberate slowness, he unbuckled his belt, doubling it over and snapping it before her eyes. Lorraine blinked, but didn’t flinch. He held the belt to her lips and she kissed it obediently, reverently.

His long fingers undid the fastening of his pants; eased his cock free as Lorraine watched hungrily. Without warning, his hand fisted in her hair, forcing her mouth down over his cock. Briefly confused—being allowed to suck Master's cock to make up for her mistakes seemed like a reward, not a punishment—Lorraine was eager to please, licking and caressing and sucking. She wanted desperately to show Master want a good and obedient girl she could be.

It was easy for her to find that sort of stroke-suck-lick-grind rhythm that pushed him right to the edge. Lorraine drank in the taste and scents of his body, crawling closer, her body seeking contact with his. Just when Lorraine felt him groan, he grabbed her hair, lifting her mouth off his cock with a soft pop. She knelt there, puzzled but silent, knowing that couldn't be all of her punishment. He stared down at her, his eyes slowly warming.

“Are you going to keep better control of that wayward mouth of yours, slut?”

Lorraine nodded quickly. “Yes, Master.”

He considered her for a long moment. “I don’t know, slut…I think you still need some help controlling your disrespectful tongue.” His hand in her hair slowly guided her mouth back to his cock, forcing it in deep, with excruciating slowness. Lorraine began sucking again, licking and teasing a little the underside of his cock. She kept the rhythm slow at first, letting it build, until it the last frantic sprint for orgasm hit—straining to get closer, to suck harder, fast and slick and shallow.

The first warm spurt hit her in the back of her throat, and Lorraine gulped frantically, desperately swallowing. His hands in her hair pulled her mouth free from his cock, and the last shots decorated her cheeks and chin, dripping viscously onto her breasts. He wiped off a smear of whitish fluid on her cheek and held it to her lisp. Lorraine eagerly sucked his finger into her mouth, cleaning it off with a soft moan. He smiled and reached behind her, unlatching the cuffs so her wrists fell free. Lorraine rolled her hands experimentally, stretching.

“Crawl up on the bed, pet,” he said as he stood. “Spread for me, arms and legs.” As Lorraine started to obey, he gave her a quick sharp slap on the ass. When she glanced back over her shoulder, wondering what she had done wrong, all she saw was the wicked gleam in his eyes and the smile that teased the corners of his mouth.

“Get moving.” He waited until she arranged herself in an “X”, then fastened her cuffs to the tethers, anchoring her to the head and foot of the bed. She had time to catch a brief glimpse of the toy box being lifted up on the bed before a blindfold slipped over her eyes. He chuckled when she gasped, then added a thick, penis-shaped gag, forcing it deep in her mouth.

“That should keep your disobedient little mouth occupied for a while, slut.”

Cold metal clamps pinched her nipples as the buzzing of a vibrator began to tease her clit. Lorraine knew that this lesson was a long way from over.

[Dragon's muse]

Bet you thought I gave up on this...I almost did! I re-wrote this story three times before I finally got something that (I hope!) works. Here goes....

i knew you would do it. i always had faith in you.

rose

[^firefly^]

Thanks rose...any/all feedback is greatly appreciated!

[Rhabbi]

This story is very good, but as I already sent you the nitpicks I have, and you chose to ignore them, I will leave you to the not so tender mercies of muse. Ignore the Junior Grammar Nazi, First Class at your own risk.

[Dragon's muse]

Wonderful story. You have a gift for conveying emotion on the page. i could feel her apprehension over her rudeness, her righteous indignation, But most of all i could really feel her humiliation over the corner time (i hate that, too, by the way).

Good use of internal dialogue and you kept a strict 3rd Person Limited Omniscent POV.

The blow job/cock worship bits seemed particularly electrifying.

Excellent work.

Now on to the nits (reputation as a grammar nazi leave me little choice in this)

Lorraine jumped when the phone rang. Without taking her eyes off the computer screen she barked into the receiver, "Make it quick. I'm busy."

A low masculine chuckle greeted her harsh words, "And rude, I see. I'll call back later and hope to find you in a better mood."

Her jaw dropped in surprise, and she hastily replied, “No, wait, I’m sorry; I wasn’t expecting—“

Click.

Lorraine muttered to herself as she continued to work on her project, the columns of numbers transforming under her quick fingers into a series of reports and projections. The work pushed back the feelings of dismay at her earlier rudeness, replacing it with a sense of righteous anger. I was working. He knows I hate being interrupted at work. This is important, after all. (set this bit off in quotes or in italics to denote thoughts) If that little voice in the back of her head said differently, Lorraine ruthlessly ignored it.

She worked through dinner, only (delete)grabbing a diet soda and an apple to munch on while she poured ("pored" is the proper word here) through the data, analyzing, organizing, summarizing. When she was done, she set the printer to humming busily, smiling as the printed reports piled up. The conclusion of the project, meeting the deadline, and knowing the client was going to be more than happy with her projections brought a self-satisfied smile to Lorraine’s lips. She finally allowed herself to lean back in her computer chair, pushing errant strands of hair back from her face.

Lorraine tidied up her desk and left for the night, driving home with the radio turned up, and singing along defiantly with the music. She rolled the window down to let the warm summer breeze tease her hair down from its pins.(lovely turn of phrase here, really paints a picture) Her heels clicked on the sidewalk as she walked up to the house and saw the note. She read it as she unlocked the door and set down her briefcase, all the worry she had felt earlier at her rudeness crashing back through her, ripping nagging holes in her stomach.

Upstairs. Now. (should be in quotes)

Lorraine hurried up the stairs, the butterflies in her stomach flapping a little more frantically. He sat on the bed, still dressed in his work clothes, the sight of his red and navy striped tie against his crisp white shirt bringing a small smile to her lips. His dark hair was a little rumpled, as if he had run a hand through it in exasperation. He gave her that look—the one that says, "You blew it, slut".

She started to kneel at his feet, as was normally required, but the cold sound of his voice stopped her. “Strip.”

Lorraine stepped back and unbuttoned the blazer of her navy suit, her fingers flying in her haste to obey. She draped it over the chair, followed quickly by her short skirt and lace-trimmed white camisole. The powerful, confident feeling she’d clung to at work was quickly being replaced by the quiver of fear that came only at the beginning of a real punishment. She looked at him through her lowered eyelashes, studying the strong line of his jaw, the dark gleam in his eyes. No, he was definitely not playing tonight.

Lorraine paused, glancing at him only briefly as she stood there in her lacy white bra and panties, the matching garter belt holding up her tan stockings. He raised an eyebrow at her, still unsmiling. “Did I stutter? Or did you forget what ‘strip’ means, slut?”

Lorraine hastily unhooked her bra, shrugging out of it with careless grace. The straps of her garters were next, so that she could wiggle out of her garter belt and panties. She then (delete, the reader will assume the story takes place in chronological order, time tags like this are almost always unnecessary) peeled her stockings down her long legs, adding her lingerie to the pile of clothing on the chair. She stood there for a moment (delete --dilutes the emotional impact), naked, vulnerable, feeling his eyes burning on her skin.

“Hands behind your head,” he said firmly. “Lift your hair.”

He slowly tightened the leather collar around her neck, then added matching cuffs around her ankles and wrists. Lorraine stood silently, unflinching, her eyes downcast as shame washed through her. He sat back on the bed in front of her, his cool gaze making her shiver. (change the comma to a semicolon and change "making to made". This construction will again increase emotional impact.He plucked a slender tube off the bed and drew her closer, one hand firmly on her hip.

The lipstick was smooth and darkly red against the pale skin of her stomach. Lorraine watched him painting it there, glaring at me (change to her, i bet you usually write in first person) silently, daring her to say a word, to protest, to flinch. The words “rude” and “disrespectful” appeared there. “Disappointment” went over her breasts. He rose and finished, adding something else on her forehead. Humiliation washed over her in waves.

“Face the corner,” he said as he finished. “Don’t move, don’t speak.”

Standing in the corner was awful. It made Lorraine feel so—childish. Her mind screamed in rebellion—she was twenty-nine, not two! Defiance rose within her, enough that she almost spoke, almost turned, lips parted to argue. The little voice in the back of her head insisted that this was what she deserved for acting like a child.

Then came the panicky feeling Lorraine always got while waiting, those moments of worry that he might decide she was too much trouble for all the effort he had invested in her training thus far. The knowledge that her fate and punishment were in Master's hands, and that the choice was removed from her only made her feel that much smaller, helpless, pathetic. The time trickled by slowly, and Lorraine didn’t even notice the weariness in her arms and legs until his voice released her.

“Come here. Apologize.”

Lorraine hurried back to the foot of the bed and knelt, facing him, her hands still behind her head to show him the words emblazoned on her skin. The shame and embarrassment she felt for having disappointed him were evident in the trembling of her lips, the downcast set of her wide blue eyes.

“I’m sorry, Master, for being rude. I know it disappointed you that I spoke to you that way; (change to a comma, a semicolon requires that both sides are able to stand alone as a complete sentence) that I would speak to anyone that way.” She swallowed hard, the words heavy in her throat. “Is there any way I can show you how sorry I am for these mistakes?”

“Hands behind,” he said quietly, and Lorraine lowered her hands, rolling her shoulders for only a second before turning, crossing her wrists behind her back. He locked her cuffs together, keeping her hands in place. His hands in her hair guided her, turned her luminous eyes back to meet his. With deliberate slowness, he unbuckled his belt, doubling it over and snapping it before her eyes. Lorraine blinked, but didn’t flinch. He held the belt to her lips and she kissed it obediently, reverently.

His long fingers undid the fastening (simplify to "unfastened")of his pants; (change to "and")eased his cock free as Lorraine watched hungrily. Without warning, his hand fisted in her hair, forcing her mouth down over his cock. Briefly confused—being allowed to suck Master's cock to make up for her mistakes seemed like a reward, not a punishment— (separate into two sentences here)Lorraine was eager to please, licking and caressing and sucking. She wanted desperately to show Master want a good and obedient girl she could be.

It was easy for her to find that sort of stroke-suck-lick-grind rhythm that pushed him right to the edge. Lorraine drank in the taste and scents of his body, crawling closer, her body seeking contact with his. Just when Lorraine felt (heard?) him groan, he grabbed her hair, lifting her mouth off his cock with a soft pop. She knelt there, puzzled but silent, knowing that couldn't be all of her punishment. He stared down at her, his eyes slowly warming.

“Are you going to keep better control of that wayward mouth of yours, slut?”

Lorraine nodded quickly. “Yes, Master.”

He considered her for a long moment. “I don’t know, slut…I think you still need some help controlling your disrespectful tongue.” His hand in her hair slowly guided her mouth back to his cock, forcing it in deep, with excruciating slowness. Lorraine began sucking again, licking and teasing a little the underside of his cock. She kept the rhythm slow at first, letting it build, until it the last frantic sprint for orgasm hit—straining to get closer, to suck harder, fast and slick and shallow.

The first warm spurt hit her in the back of her throat, and Lorraine gulped frantically, desperately swallowing. His hands in her hair pulled her mouth free from his cock, and the last shots decorated her cheeks and chin, dripping viscously onto her breasts. He wiped off a smear of whitish fluid on her cheek and held it to her lisp (just a typo --"lips". Lorraine eagerly sucked his finger into her mouth, cleaning it off with a soft moan. He smiled and reached behind her, unlatching the cuffs so her wrists fell free. Lorraine rolled her hands experimentally, stretching.

“Crawl up on the bed, pet,” he said as he stood. “Spread for me, arms and legs.” As Lorraine started to obey, he gave her a quick sharp slap on the ass. When she glanced back over her shoulder, wondering what she had done wrong, all she saw was the wicked gleam in his eyes and the smile that teased the corners of his mouth.

“Get moving.” He waited until she arranged herself in an “X”, then fastened her cuffs to the tethers, anchoring her to the head and foot of the bed. She had time to catch a brief glimpse of the toy box being lifted up on the bed before a blindfold slipped over her eyes. He chuckled when she gasped, then ("and" is almost better than "then") added a thick, penis-shaped gag, forcing it deep in her mouth.

“That should keep your disobedient little mouth occupied for a while, slut.”

Cold metal clamps pinched her nipples as the buzzing of a vibrator began to tease her clit. Lorraine knew that this lesson was a long way from over.

[^firefly^]

*smiles* Nit-picking is always appreciated. I did just notice that some of my formatting didn't copy straight over (none of the italics, for example). I'll remember to fix that for future stories.

Thanks for all your help and input! If anyone else has comments, please feel free to launch away!