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An Apology

by Viola Black 3 months ago in fiction

There's More Than One Way to Say 'Sorry'

The bedroom windows were open and, in the distance, I could hear the gentle lapping of the waves as they unfurled against the beach.

The waxy scent of the lipstick mingled with the smell of barbecues, and of freshly-cut grass being carried in by the early evening breeze. It was a unique combination of fragrances I had never smelt before. But, if I ever did inhale it again, I would always recall this moment in time.

The time I tried to say 'sorry.'

I slipped the lipstick back into its casing, snapped it shut, and took one final look in the mirror on my dressing table.

When I’d first picked up the lipstick in the department store, I’d dismissed the colour as being too provocative. Too sluttish, even.

But now, having applied it, I knew my initial reaction was wrong. The bright red was perfect. I was lucky my lips were full; Guy described them as “wonderfully kissable.” Painted crimson, they were certainly that right now.

He couldn’t fail to notice them. It wasn’t just the vibrant shade itself but also that there was little to distract attention from them. At least, not on my face. Apart from a hint of eye-liner, I wasn’t wearing any other make-up.

And my normally long, wavy, walnut-colored hair was scraped back into a tight ponytail. Oh, yes; Guy wouldn’t be able to take his eyes of my plump, suggestive lips.

I stood, walked over to the wardrobe, and pulled out the black, shiny, pointed stilettos. Carefully, I slid my stockinged feet into them.

Being five foot ten, I ordinarily avoided wearing heels. Especially ones as tall as these. Thanks to years of childhood teasing, I was conscious of my height and hated drawing attention to it. But, tonight, the extra inches would give me a physical supremacy over my husband.

One I intended to exploit.

I studied myself in the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. I knew I looked good. The tight, black blouse accentuated my toned upper-body and the curves of my bust, while the close-fitting, pencil skirt, also black, highlighted the pleasing shape of my waist and legs.

I’m not being arrogant; I had a nice body. And at the age of thirty-six, that was something to be proud of. But I’d paid for it.

After the birth of my second son, Charlie, my body resembled an over-stuffed bean bag. I felt as attractive as a beached whale. I thought I was never going to lose the excess weight. There wasn’t a diet or fitness fad I didn’t try. Ultimately, salvation came in the simplest of forms; running.

I’ve never been particularly sporty, and the thought of jogging repulsed me. However, I was addicted after my first, breath-starved run along the beach. Every morning, before my two sons woke and before Guy set out for another grueling and thankless day as a parole officer, I would lace up my trainers and run. Quickly I had a body I was satisfied of.

I turned, studying the backs of my legs in the mirror. Through the slit at the rear of the skirt, I could see the tops of my stockings. If the lipstick didn’t turn Guy on, I was sure the stockings would. The sight of them certainly thrilled me and I could feel a trace of moisture at the juncture of my thighs.

Yes; I’d done well.

But, from nowhere, a doubt suddenly flashed across my mind - Would it be enough? Would this pantomime really be enough to say sorry?

Deflated, I sat on the bed, thinking.

Simply put, I’d been an utter bitch. As usual, my mother had been the cause of the argument. Also, just as usual, the bone of contention had been Christmas. Although it was still only July, we’d already planned the festive period. Seeing as my parents had come to us last year, this year Guy’s mum and dad would descend upon our Devon home.

This was even more important considering that they couldn’t make it last year due to Guy’s dad having a hip-replacement in early December. In their place, my parents came – for the second year running.

However, my mother, having not yet received an invitation from my sister, had invited herself and dad to ours for Christmas. I should have just said, “It’s not even the end of the Summer holidays; just wait. I’m sure Lisa will invite you. And, if you don’t get an offer to go to Lisa’s, then I’ll speak to Guy.”

But I didn’t say that.

I could never stand up to my mother. I crumbled in the face of her passive-aggressive onslaught and said they could come. And then lost it with Guy when he didn’t automatically say “yes.” In fact, I did more than lose it. I was vile to him.

All of the pent-up rage I felt at my mother for making me feel like a naughty twelve-year old was unloaded on him.

And I’d hurt him.

Guy is a wonderful man. He’s one of those people who wants to save the world but, lacking any superpowers, had settled on helping ex-offenders as being the next best thing. He’s kind and sensitive, but he’s not spineless; he’ll absorb any critical blows if they’re fair and honest.

However, mine weren’t. I have a temper, I know that. I can be prone to irrational vindictiveness. But, last night, I excelled myself.

After Guy’s perfunctory farewell this morning, I spent all day thinking how I could make it up to him.

And that’s when I remembered ‘The Mistress.’

It was the name we’d given to one of Guy’s fantasies, a fantasy we'd often drunkenly talked about. But it was one I’d never had the courage to go through with. Which was surprising as we weren’t averse to a bit of experimentation. I suppose I just felt too self-conscious before now to go through with this particular fantasy. However, due to last night, I now had that courage.

Tonight, I was going to be ‘The Mistress.’

That’s what this was all about. That’s why I’d purchased the lipstick and stockings. That’s why I’d packed our children off to my sister’s.

But would it work?

I heard Guy’s Volvo turn onto our short, graveled drive and approach the house.

Decision time, Carrie. What are you going to do?

I heard the car engine being turned off and the driver’s open and then slam shut.

The front door opened and guy’s voice drifted upstairs.

“I’m home.”

And hearing his voice all my doubts vanished.

I loved the man downstairs with all my heart.

I was going to do this.

I was going to say ‘sorry’ in the most creative way possible.

Slowly, I walked down the stairs. The thick carpet underfoot muffled the sound of my footsteps. Part of me wished the stairs weren’t carpeted so Guy could hear the click of my heels as they approached. However, he’d see me soon enough. At the base of the staircase, I paused, to compose myself.

You can do this, Carrie, I told myself. You can be his ‘Mistress.’

I turned left and into our large, sunlight-flooded living room. To Guy.

My husband was slumped on the sofa, TV remote in his hand. His dark-blue suit jacket lay next him and his blue and yellow stripy tie was partially undone. His curly, blonde hair was wild, a sign that he’d had another tough day.

Whereas some people bit their fingernails when stressed, Guy ran his fingers through his hair. Every morning, he smoothed down his unruly hair with wax, and if he returned home with his curls still plastered down, he’d had a good day, and hadn’t run his hands too often through that wonderful, thick mop of hair.

However, if, like now, there was no sign of the wax and his hair was a mess, the opposite had been true. Today had been hard.

And it was about to get harder.

In a good way, of course.

He didn’t even look up as I entered, and his eyes remained focused on the TV at the other end of the room.

“Where are the boys?” he asked sullenly, changing channels. “I normally get rugby-tackled as soon as I cross the threshold.”

I moved to the middle of the room, blocking Guy’s view of the TV, and stopped. I stood with my hands on my hips, staring at him.

Finally, he looked up. At me.

Confusion washed over his handsome face as he took in my outfit and make-up. I could feel his gaze linger on my crimson lips.

“I…” he began.

“Turn the TV off,” I said. My voice was emotionless, cold.


“Turn the TV off,” I repeated. This time I introduced a hint of anger to my voice.

Although confused, Guy nevertheless complied. He raised the remote, pushed a button, and the screen behind me fell silent.

“What’s going on, Carrie?”

I didn’t answer and simply continued to look at him.

“Look, I’ve had a really tough…”

“Shut up,” I spat moving towards him.


“I said, ‘shut up.’”

“I’m not in the mood for whatever this is,” Guy said, inching his arse forward, ready to stand.

In a flash, I was right in front of him, my hands on his large chest, pushing him back into the soft, light-brown sofa. I could feel my pussy coat itself in moisture.

“Sit down.”

He stared at me, a trace of irritation in his pale blue eyes.

Without speaking, he tried to stand again.

Quickly I stepped back, raised my right leg and pushed my heel against his groin, pinning him down. My pussy pulsed one more.

“You’re going nowhere,” I whispered.

My body tingled and I was wet. I was fully aroused. As was Guy. I felt his cock harden and push against my sole of my stiletto.

We remained there, staring into each other’s eyes, for what seemed an eternity. Finally, he spoke.

“Okay,” he said, huskily. “You win. What now?”

“Now you listen,” I said, pushing the heel of my shoe against his cock. He squirmed as the point dug into his flesh, but I knew he was enjoying it. His mouth fell slack and his eyes had taken on that misty, faraway air that always accompanied him being turned on.

“Tonight, you’re going to do whatever I say. Do you understand? Whatever I say.”

“What about the boys?” His voice was breathy and he struggled to get the words out.

“At Lisa’s.”

I pushed my heel a little harder into his crotch.

“We’re alone. And you’re mine. My plaything. My bitch.” I said these last two words slowly, enjoying how they sounded, savouring the lustful expression that bloomed on Guy’s face as I spoke.

I could have fucked him then and there. But I wanted more of this. Yes, I was loving it. And he was too. But I wanted to give him the whole fantasy. I wanted to be his dominatrix and show him that he meant everything to me.

“And playtime has just started,” I said, removing my heel from his groin. “Get on all-fours. Now.”

Guy didn’t move. Though whether that was due to bewilderment or deliberate resistance, I didn’t know. Actually, I didn’t care either. He was going to do whatever I said one way or another.

I grabbed a handful of his lustrous hair and pulled. This only turned me on even more.

“The floor. On all fours. Do it.”

Quickly, he inched forward and, with my hand on his hair guiding him, he slid off the sofa and fell to the ground. As ordered, he laid his palms flat against the wooden floor.

I let go of his hair and began to walk around him. My heels pounded out a harsh, staccato beat as I circled him. An irregular drumbeat of lust. I didn’t speak as I moved. The silence thrilled me. It was a silence I was in control of. Finally, I stopped by his bowed head.

“Kiss my shoes.”


Viciously, I grabbed hold of his hair again and pushed his head down, forcing his mouth downwards, towards my feet.

“You heard me. Kiss.”

Hesitantly, Guy began to kiss the shiny, patent leather enclosing my toes on my right foot. As I listened to the quiet, wet kisses, I felt my body surge with electricity. Involuntarily, I grabbed his hair even more tightly.

“That hurt,” Guy said, stopping and looking up.

“Good,” I replied. “Now, the other foot.”

Guy adjusted his head and leant over my left foot. Again, he started kissing. The leather on my shoes was thick and I couldn’t feel the touch of his lips on my feet. But I could imagine it. Once more, a bolt of energy surged through me, and yet more wetness soaked my panties.

Guy crawled closer to my foot, placing a hand around my calf. Slowly, he started moving his mouth upwards. His lips traversed the short distance from the bridge of my foot to my ankle.

Now I could feel him. His hot breath penetrated the nylon of my hold-ups, warming my flesh underneath. He continued moving upwards, kissing my shins and then my knees. I felt his hand sneak under the hem of skirt, heading towards my pussy. It was beautiful.

But naughty.

And for that, my errant husband had to be punished.

I jerked his head away from me, and squatted down so I was at eye-level with him. I raised my hand and slapped him across the face.

His face was a mask of shock and arousal. Mainly arousal.

“What did I tell you to do?” I asked, pulling his head to one side.

“You… said…” he stuttered.

I pulled his head upright and slapped him again.

“Answer the question. It’s not a hard one.”

“You told me to kiss your shoes.”

“That’s right,” I said, painfully jerking his head to the left. “Kiss my shoes. Not touch my legs. And I definitely didn’t mention anything about going near my pussy. Did I?”


I slapped him again.

“No, ‘what?’”

Guy stared at me, his eyes licentious yet doubtful. I knew the cause of his uncertainty. It was due to one, simple word. A word he’d always wanted to say, a word he’d craved to call me, but never had. Was he going to say it now?

Maybe I should provide a little motivation.

I quickly reached my free hand towards his groin, and, through the material of his trousers, grabbed his balls. I squeezed.

“No, ‘what?’” I repeated, clasping his testicles even more tightly.

“No,” he said, pausing. “Mistress.”

“Good boy,” I cooed. I let go of his balls and stroked the cheek I’d slapped. “Go back to my left foot and kiss it properly.”

I pushed him back to the floor and, letting go of his hair, stood. He resumed kissing my left shoe. But, this time, his hands came nowhere my legs. He was learning.

As he kissed my shoe, I looked around me. The large, pale room was bathed in a warm glow from the early evening sunlight, highlighting dust motes floating in the air.

Ahead of me was the huge window that looked over the hill that ran from our secluded house and into the town and the beach. Just as it was in the bedroom, the window here was open and I could still hear the distant sea, and smell barbecues and cut grass. I felt joyous, alive.

And completely aroused. It was time to do something about that.

“That’s enough. Stop.”

Guy did as he was told and ceased kissing my foot.

“Stand up.”

Slowly, my husband stood. Instinctively, I looked at his crotch. His erect, hard, long cock bulged against the fly of his trousers. Good.


Without taking his eyes off me, Guy hurriedly started taking his clothes off. His fingers flew down his white shirt, fumbling over buttons.

“Slowly,” I said, stepping back. “I want to enjoy this.”

Magically, my words took the urgency from Guy. Carefully, deliberately, he undid the last remaining buttons of his shirt, and pulling his arms from the sleeves, he was soon standing bare-chested in front of me. God, I loved his body.

Unlike me, Guy doesn’t exercise; he always says he doesn’t need to as our two young boys keep him active enough. Regardless of the weather or his mood, he never fails to find the time to play football with them, spent hours beach-combing, or get out his toolbox and work with them both on some house-related project in the garden.

So, no – my husband didn’t lack for physical activity. Maybe that’s why he still had had the muscular physique that I’d fallen in love with when I’d met him at university. A physique I’d neglected for far too long.

“Continue,” I said, salaciously gesturing at the lower half of his body.

As was his habit, Guy reached down and pulled his socks off before removing his trousers. As ever, I was glad of this. As much as I was in lust with my husband, was there really anything less sexy in this world than a man standing in nothing but his socks?

His fingers reached for the clasp on his belt. Slowly, he unfastened it.

Suddenly, I had a flash of inspiration.

“Give it to me.”


“Your belt,” I said. “I want it.”

Guy tugged at his belt, pulling it free from the loops that circled the tops of his trousers. He carefully passed it to me as if it was a priceless antiquity. I wrapped one end of the belt around my left hand, the other end around my right, and pulled.

The leather grew taut, accompanied by a loud ‘Snap’ that made Guy flinch.

“Continue,” I said, and continuing to hold the part housing the buckle, I released the other end of the belt, and let it dangle by my side.

Watching me, Guy undid the zip on his trousers and let them fall to the ground. My husband stood in front of me, naked except for a pair of white trunks that could barely contain his huge, hard cock.

“Now, your pants.”

His trunks fell to the floor, and his dick was finally free. I may be biased, but I doubted if there was a finer cock anywhere in the world than the long, thick one I stared at now. With satisfaction, I saw that the bulbous, violet tip was covered in dewy precome.

I had one final, greedy glance of Guy’s manhood, and, without speaking, I moved once more. I stopped behind him, where I had a fantastic view of his beautiful arse.

“Now what?” he asked.

Without warning, I pulled the belt back and whipped his backside.

The loud ‘Smack’ reverberated around the room like a gunshot. Instantly, Guy’s left buttock turned crimson where the belt had hit him. My panties were sodden and I had to fight the urge to reach down and touch my clit.

“Don’t speak unless I tell you to,” I commanded. “Understand?”

“Yes,” Guy said through clenched teeth.

I whipped his arse again.


“Yes, ‘what’?” I teased.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good boy. Now walk forward, put your hands on the sofa, and bend over.”

Guy moved towards the dark-brown settee and bent over, laying his palms flat on the cushions he was sitting on less than ten minutes ago.

I walked up behind him and gently starting stroking his arse.

“I was hoping we could next move onto something a bit more fun. A bit more pleasurable,” I said.

I continued to run my fingertips across his tight backside.

“But I’m very disappointed in your behavior so far.”

I started to dig my nails into the soft flesh of Guy’s behind. He shuddered at the sudden move from gently massage into painful gouging.

“You keep on speaking without permission.”

I went back to stroking his cheeks, letting my fingertips linger by his arsehole.

“And, most of all…”

I lifted my hand and licked my index finger.

“… you keep on forgetting to call me by my proper name.”

On this last word, I thrust my index finger up his arse.

Guy yelped and threw his head back. Hearing his cry my pussy pulsated and I nearly exploded.

But that was just the entree before the main course. I pulled my finger out, and resumed sensuously exploring his backside. Guy’s head slumped forward, his chin resting against his sternum.

“Which is?”

The shock of being violated had thrown him. He was overwhelmed and didn’t answer quick enough. I rammed my finger back in his arse, more forcefully than before. Excitement flooded over me. I was light-headed with exhilaration. If we owned a strap-one, I would’ve pounded his arse for hours.

“What’s my name, bitch?” I shouted.

“Mistress!” he screamed. “Your name is Mistress!”

“Well done,” I whispered, as I removed my finger. “That’s better.”

I stepped back, lustfully staring at his backside. This was the first time I’d ever gone anywhere Guy’s anus. Safe to say, tonight’s adventure down there wouldn’t be my last foray. I might just have to buy that strap on.

“Stand up,” I said, watching as Guy stood erect. “Step back.”

As Guy retreated, I walked around him, so we were face-to-face once again.

“Take of my skirt, worm.”

“I want to fuck you so, so badly,” he said, moving his head closer to mine, as if to kiss me.

I grabbed hold of his chin, digging my nails into his jaw.

“Only good boys who do as they’re told get rewarded,” I said, squeezing his cheeks. “Understand?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Guy replied. His eyes closed as a wave of arousal flamed into life inside of him.

“So, take off my skirt.”

Guy’s hands were shaking with nervous, excited energy. It took him an age to find and unfasten the clasp that held my skirt shut, and even longer to lower the zip. But, finally, my skirt was undone. However, I’d deliberately chosen a tight-fitting one; even now it wasn’t just going to fall to the floor.

“Pull it down. Slowly.”

Guy bent down and, as ordered, gently pulled the skirt down, exposing my stocking-clad legs. I heard him groan as he saw my black, lacy-topped hold-ups; he was struggling to keep his passion in check. But so was I.

“Fold it up. Neatly.”

Guy delicately folded the skirt in half and lay it on the floor next to him.

“Now, remove my panties.”

Remaining on his bent knees, Guy reached up towards my black, lacy underwear. Again, he softly maneuvered them off my hips and pulled them off.

“Would Mistress like me to fold her panties as well?”

“No,” I said. “Sniff them.”

There was no resistance, no opposition, to my orders now. Guy lifted the tiny piece of fabric to his face and inhaled. Looking down, I saw his cock jump upwards as he breathed in my moist scent. At this moment in time I could command him to do anything. And he’d do it, willingly.

“Keep smelling them, bitch,” I said cruelly, edging backwards towards the sofa. As soon as my calves touched the overhanging seat cushion, I sat. I still held the belt in my right hand and let it lie, unfurled, next me. I’d be using it again very soon.

“You can stop now.”

Guy lowered my knickers from his face and stared ahead, watching me as I sat back and opened my legs, showing him my sodden pussy. I made him wait, deliciously prolonging his agony.

“Crawl to me, slave. On all fours; like the dog you are.”

Guy lowered himself to the floor and, on his hands and knees, moved towards me. However, before he got too close, I extended my leg, resting the sole of my right foot on his forehead, stopping him.

“Suck my heel.”

He opened his mouth and took the pointed heel between his lips.

“Suck it like it was a cock.”

His lips closed around the shaft and he began to move his head back and forwards. As his head moved, tiny vibrations pulsed up my leg. Straight into my pussy.

“You like that, don’t you?” I said, spitefully. “I might have to get something much bigger for you to suck on for next time.”

Guy’s head was moving quickly, as if my heel was a dick on the verge of coming. I almost couldn’t stand it – the tension building inside of me was reaching fever pitch.

“Stop now, slave.”

Guy’s ceased giving the pseudo-blowjob. He opened his mouth, moved his head backwards, and my shiny, spittle covered heel emerged from between his lips. The pressure building inside me was volcanic and I was on the verge of erupting. God, I wanted to orgasm – I needed to orgasm!

“Move closer, bitch,” I said. It was a struggle to stay in role and keep the excitement out of my voice.

Guy crawled forward until his face just inches from my pussy. I picked up the belt beside me and wrapped it around his neck, holding both ends firmly.

“You’re going to pleasure me, slave,” I said. “And you’re not going to stop until I’ve come.” Which, in my current state, wouldn’t be long.

“Yes…” Guy begun. But he didn’t get the chance to finish; I pulled both ends of the belt towards me and propelled his face onto my pussy.

“Now!” I commanded.

Guy thrust his tongue between my pussy lips.

I felt the tip of his tongue touch my clit and I almost exploded. I moaned as he slowly, but forcefully, began to eat my pussy.

One of his hands slid up to my stomach to my right breast, covering my erect nipple with his warm, sweaty palm.

His tongue began to move more quickly, more vehemently, between my lips.

In and out, up and down, from the bottom near my arse to my inflamed clit, over and over.

Oh God! I was beyond aroused. I was ecstatic!

I looked down, staring at the top of Guy’s head, watching as fucked me with his tongue. And I was filled with love for this amazing, exciting man.

Guy’s tongue dug deeper, harder, pushing me closer and closer to climax.

Faster and faster he went…

… Harder and harder…

… Deeper and deeper…

… Close...

… I was so, so close!

I threw my head back and came.

Wave after overwhelming wave crashed over me.

My body spasmed and my back arched.

But Guy held me down, continuing to burrow into my pussy as I came, lapping and licking, his tongue pounding my G-spot.

I screamed and closed my eyes.

In the blackness, I saw Guy’s beautiful face. Smiling.

My grip on the belt fell limp. My body tingled with a million electric shocks. Deep euphoria filled me from head to toe.

I sat back, exhausted, spent.

Guy emerged from between my thighs, grinning.

“Did Mistress enjoy that?” he asked impishly.

I lazily nodded, not yet able to form words. Any attempts to keep in character had vanished.

He stood and sat next to me on the sofa.

“Thank you,” he said, grabbing my hand and clutching it tightly. “That was wonderful. Better than I imagined.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I enjoyed it as well.”

"So, what next?” he asked.

“Now, I pleasure you,” I said and, at last having summoned the energy to move, I leant over and buried his cock with my mouth.

Guy’s groans merged with the sound of the waves lapping in the distance. The scent of barbecues and of freshly-cut grass were still being carried in by the early evening breeze. But, mingled with it, was the smell of sex, of me. It was a unique combination of fragrances I had never smelt before. But, if I ever did inhale it again, I would always recall this moment in time.

The time I said 'sorry.'


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Viola Black
Viola Black
Read next: A Night at the Theatre
Viola Black

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