Role-Play with Mister K

Role Play with Mister K

I originally posted a picture related to this story for #SinfulSunday week 472 and was inspired by the comments to write a real-life account of Mister K and my kinky fuckery. You can see the original post here. Enjoy!

Sliding the stockings up my thighs, I secure the garter belt clips. Stepping into my highest pair of heels, I leave the room, slipping an apron over my head. Tying it at the back, I note how strange it feels to walk through my kitchen in nothing but thigh highs, heels, and a polka dot apron. Strange but empowering, and very sexy.

Hearing Mister K’s keys in the door, I race to meet him, my pace as fast as the stilettos will allow. I must remember to practice walking in these. Opening the door, Mister K steps inside, his face a mask of all the days business. Seeing me clad in my 50’S housewife attire, he stops the unloading of his arms and offers a warm smile.

“Hello, Mrs. K,” he says cheerfully. “What a very pleasant surprise.”

“Welcome home Sir,” I reply, taking his lunch box and work bag. Setting both in their appropriate places, I turn back, kiss his cheek and say. “Dinner is ready Sir if you’d like to eat.”

Nodding his assent, I lead the way to the dining room, sensing his eyes roaming over my bare bottom, his gaze caressing me, and I struggle not to push my legs together at the thought. Pulling out his chair, Mister K sits at the table and I place a napkin in his lap, allowing my fingers to brush then linger over his cock. Feeling it jump at the touch, I smile and avert my gaze, not wanting him to see my delight.  

Excusing myself, I return to the kitchen and prepare his plate. This is nothing new. I do this each day, but today I have a special treat. Or maybe the treat is mine. Either way, it should be fun. Ensuring he has everything he will need; I return to the dining room. Setting his plate in front of him, I walk to the opposite side of the table and stand at attention. He’s taken his first bite before he stops, realising I have not sat, nor does it appear I’m eating with him.

“Why are you not joining me. Are you not feeling well?” He asks tenderly. Concern flashing in his steel-blue eyes.

“I feel great, Sir”, I reply. “And I will be eating, just not dinner.” Lowering myself to my knees, I crawl under the table until I am kneeling between his feet. I slide my hands up his legs, stopping at the fly of his pants, looking up at him through my lashes.

 “May I please suck your cock, Sir?”

Internalizing his groan, he looks down at me and grabs a handful of my hair, forcing my eyes up to his. When I’m looking at him, his eyes are hooded and with a pinched voice he replies, “You may, my pretty slut.”

Moving his chair back a bit, he gives me the space I need and goes back to his meal. Opening his buttons and fly with gusto I pull his half-hard cock from his pants, letting my tongue run from base to tip. I flick his frenulum and smile when I hear the quick intake of breath. I continue to lap at him, taking my time to give every inch a thorough wetting. Once his cock is hard and glistening, I run my hand over him, pumping softly then faster and gripping harder. His shaft feels like silken steel in my hand and I take the time to caress every ridge, to become reacquainted with my prestigious companion.

When he can’t take any more of my teasing, I hear the utensils clash against his plate. One hand tightens in my hair and he says harshly, “Take it all, Mrs. K.” That is all the warning I get before he plunges his cock into my mouth. Opening my throat to keep my gag reflex from taking over, I feel him slide past, my mouth filling with saliva. He holds me there, his glans deep in my throat, my mouth stretched around him. My airways are blocked, but I hold the position, encouraged by the dominant hold on my hair. When I start to see spots, he releases me and sits back comfortably, wiping stray tears from my face.

“Continue, little girl.” He says before returning his fork to his hand.

I take a deep breath to steady myself and return to my position. Placing my hands behind my back, I take him to the back of my throat, flattening my tongue to rub against the bottom of his steel rod as I descend, sucking hard as I return to my mouth to his tip. When just the head is in my mouth, I run my tongue over his sensitive spot, relishing the moan that he releases through clenched teeth. Nibbling him gently, I swallow his shaft, feeling him rub against my throat. I continue the motions lazily, knowing he won’t allow me to bring him to orgasm, but that he’ll enjoy the attention for as long as his meal lasts.

Once he’s wiped the last remnants of his dinner from his lips, he places his napkin on the table and taps the top of my head, indicating I should stop. Standing, he lets his pants fall to the floor, pulling me forward by a handful of hair. I crawl out from under the table, kneeling at his feet but before I’m fully seated, he grabs both sides of my head and slams his cock into my mouth. I gag around him, but steady myself, breathing through my nose as he pulls back, before thrusting back in with force.

He fucks my face brutally until tears are streaking down, mixed with black mascara. Stringy strands of saliva drip from my chin, pool in my lap. His motions become frenzied and just when I think he may climax after all, he pulls out completely then pulls me to my feet by my hair. Spinning me around, he bends me over the dining room table, kicking my legs apart. With not a single word uttered, he thrusts into me with one push, bottoming out inside me. I moan, enduring the fine line between pain and pleasure.

Giving me no time to become accustomed to the stretch, he starts fucking me with abandon, each thrust pushing my hip bones into the table. His hand stays securely fastened in my hair, holding my head against the tabletop. He fucks me hard and fast like he’s a man starved and the only way to be satisfied is to pound his cock into me. To imprint my body into the table, the table into the floor. His cock is rubbing my insides with expert precision, each push and pull creating an itch that only he can rub.

Pulling almost all the way out, he stops, slapping my ass; hard. The echo reverberates through the room, mixing with the sound of his pants of exertion and my moans. For a brief moment, he just stands there, catching his breath, rubbing the heat of his slap into my ass. I resist the urge to squirm, to push into his touch, the temptation to silently beg for more.

“I think I like this little get up, dirty girl,” he says breathlessly, fingering the frill at the seam of my apron. “Almost as I like being buried inside you. But I can’t wait, I’m going to come.”

Grabbing each cheek, he separates the mounds, opening me fully to his intrusion. Slamming back into me with one final push, he moans loud and long. The vibrations echoing through me. I feel his body twitch and convulse, before he stills, resting his head against my back. Once his heart rate returns to a paced gallop, he stands, releasing his hold on my hair and pulling his pants back into place. Turning me around to face him I can see he wants to ask if I’m okay, but before he does he sees my face splitting grin and rewards me with one of his own.

To see who else contributed for #MasturbationMonday:Week 295, click on the badge.

For more sexy stories, see Fiction by Mrs.K.

Recent Posts

Pin Up Past-Time

Me and Mrs. Jones

A Case for Lace