Crunching gravel as your big car ambles up the driveway reaches your ears first. Morgan's home. The warm scent of her happiness enters the cabin just before she does, flinging the door open wide.
"Oh, siiiiiiiirrrrrr," she sing-songs.
You're scribbling some notes across your homework on the living room couch. Misha is curled up next to you, head in your lap.
Absently tapping a blue pen against your lip, you glance up at her. "Hmm?"
She holds up the testing booklet. "Guess who got an A minus?"
"Good, girl!" A grin splits your face. "I guess we get to open that box in the closet tonight."
"Finally," Misha says, sitting up. "She's been going on about it for days."
"And you would, too, if you had a box of fancy white leather you didn't get to touch." She comes fully into the room, flopping down on the other side of you. "But now I doooooo."
"Yes," you say. "You do. But not until I finish up here."
"You need to call Fritz, too, sir," Misha says.
"That's right," you say, kissing his forehead. "He doesn't mind you crashing there tonight?"
"Oh, I doubt he minds," Misha says primly.
You laugh. "I bet you're right. Okay. Morgan, babe, you go get prettied up. Misha, my phone's around here somewhere. Get a hold of Fritz for me. I'll finish this revision, and we'll go from there."
The swans leap into action. Morgan heading to the bedroom, and Misha pulling your phone out from under your leg. You give him a wry grin. He merely rolls his eyes fondly at your foolishness as his thumbs fly across the screen.
A half hour later, Fritz has come and gone with Misha, and Morgan is in the bathroom. She's always taken a quick shower, but you heard the blow dryer click on a little while ago. Sometimes she goes full glam, and other times she barely bothers with make-up at all. You have no preference, finding your fire-headed swan beautiful either way, but it is interesting to see what she pulls off. The only downside of a full look is that sometimes you can smell the products, even when they're dry, with your greater senses.
Your essay's edits aren't technically done when you stand up, but it's close enough you can finish before class. You want to prepare a few things yourself.
The box from your favorite online leather works store is on the top shelf of the closet. You never bothered to hide it because neither member of your bevy would dare touch it once given explicit instructions to the contrary. At least, not if they value their backsides.
Morgan had asked for white leather if she passed her exam, but she doesn't know each cuff is also coated with white fur. All the buckles and metal pieces are shiny white as well. The end result is almost futuristic, and it had cost several pretty pennies. Your girl is worth it, of course.
For half a second you debate about changing your clothes. Your authority is internal, and not derived from any particular outfit change. But tonight is special, the culmination of days of anticipation, and you want to go the extra mile for her.
You pull out a three piece suit, gun metal gray with nearly invisible black pin striping. Rurik gave it to you for your last Transformation, and knowing your bringer it's French, or Italian, or something equally ridiculous. Physical pains would result if you tried to imagine how much it cost, but you can't deny it fits like you were poured into it. A matching white button down and gray tie came with it, but you have something different in mind. You choose a black shirt instead, paired with a tie of white silk. For what you want to do with it later, it needs to match Morgan's cuffs.
Ordinarily you'd slick you hair back for a suit like this, but that's impossible with Morgan still in the bathroom. Instead you just slip your feet into your best dress shoes, and hope your look is complete enough.
"Sir?" Morgan calls from the bathroom.
Straightening up to your full height, you deepen your voice just a bit. "Yes?"
"Then come in here."
You hear the bathroom door open and close, and then she enters the bedroom. Her hair is always curly, but now it billows around her face and down her shoulders in sleek waves. She's applied a hint of pink to her lips, and a swipe of eyeliner across her eyes. A matching bra and panty set in white lace, not explicitly lingerie but still sexy, completes the look. The effect is simple, but stunning, just enough to set off her natural beauty.
"You're beautiful, Morgan."
For a moment, as you rake your eyes up her body, you allow her to see what she does to you. Then you school your face blank.
She comes, swaying her hips more than strictly necessary until she's standing directly in front of you.
"Give me your bra," you say, holding out your hand.
With a smile she complies, reaching behind herself to unhook it. An easy shrug guides it off her shoulders, and into your hand.
It's still warm from her skin. You rub the lace between your fingers, staring into her eyes. Misha would blush from the intensity, but Morgan meets your gaze proudly. She squares her shoulders so her chest is on full display, daring you to look at her.
Her breasts have never been large, but you're fine with that. They're enough for a nice handful, but small enough to turn up. Humans of the House have very little body shame, but you remember a time when she thought her areola was smaller than normal.
Lace still in your hand, you trace around her nipple with your index finger. The bra tickles her ribs as you draw circles. Teasing. Not touching.
"Why are we here tonight, babe?" You ask, eyes still locked.
"You promised," she says, shoulders twitching like she wants to force her breast more firmly against your hand but she doesn't.
"What did I promise?"
"If I got an A I would get new cuffs."
"And you did?"
"Yes, sir," she says, proud. "Just barely, but I did."
Your smile is real, if a bit imperious. "I'm proud of you. You set a goal, and you achieved it. That deserves a reward. Close your eyes."
Morgan follows your orders in a very roundabout way, like it was her idea all along. She has to flash you a bright grin before fluttering her eyes closed. Once they are you shake your head at your spirited girl, but head towards the closet.
You're a ham about it, brushing every item of clothing in there, making as much noise as you can. It's entirely to torment her. The box is right where you left it, and you knew it would be. But getting there is half the fun.
Box in hand you walk as slowly back to her as you can without being comical. You give it shake right in front of her face. Her eyes move behind her lids, but she doesn't break orders.
Pleased, you allow her to, "Open your eyes."
They snap open, dropping to the box.
"Can I open it, sir?"
"No," you say. "I'm going to, and you're going to watch. No touching until I allow it."
Her throat moves like she's swallowing a groan, but she says, "Yes, sir."
"Good girl." Unhurried thumbs find the front flap of the box. "Patience will be rewarded."
"Yes, sir," she says again, staring at your hands.
Finally you open it, and you're not disappointed at the sound she makes.
"Sir!" She whispers. "They're beautiful."
"Of course they are," you say. "They're for you."
This time she does blush, a pleased red coloring her cheeks. "Thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me yet." You take a step backward so you can sit on the bed. "Right foot."
She comes close enough to prop her foot up on the bed, right between your legs. You snag her ankle before she can rub your dick.
"None of that," you say. "You didn't ask."
"Sorry, sir," she chirps, but her smirk is unrepentant.
You wrap the ankle cuff around her, buckling it tight. She'll feel the squeeze, but won't suffer any real harm. Releasing her, you hold your hand out for the other foot. Once the left one is secured, you pull the wrist cuffs out of the box.
"In front or behind?" You ask.
She chews on her lip for a second before answering. "Behind."
Both of her hands end up in the small of her back automatically, and you allow yourself a smile she can't see. Her breathing speeds up a little, probably not enough for human ears to catch, as you buckle the wrist restraints in place. The chain that attaches the cuffs together is still in the box. On your way to lock it in place, you allow the cold metal to brush against her ass cheeks.
"Tug," you say.
It's only for effect, but she does it anyway. No way out.
"Kneel," you tell her.
With the ease of practice she drops to her knees. You can't resist reaching out to drag your fingers through her hair.
"I want you to be patient tonight," you say. "So I'm going to tell you what I'm going to do to you, and then take my sweet time doing it. Understand?"
"Yes, sir." Her voice is thick with arousal.
"First, I'm going to blindfold you with my tie." You're loosening the knot even as you speak. "Then you're going to put your face in the carpet while I snap your pretty ass with my favorite crop. Once you're good and red, I'll throw you on the bed so I can spank your cunt until you come. After you come for me, I'll unzip just enough to get my cock out and fuck you in my suit. I won't stop until you come again. Finally, I'll make you look at me while you lick my cock clean. And then, if I feel like it, I'll unlock you."
You stand up, wrapping the tie around her eyes and knotting it behind her head.
"Can you see?"
"Good girl," you tell her. "Face down."
While she puts her ass up, you return to the closet and get out the riding crop. You swing it a few times, just to hear the sound of the leather passing through air. She can hear it too. You walk in a circle around her before doing anything. Her fingers flex in the cuffs, not because she's uncomfortable, but just because she can't stand not knowing.
That's good. You drop the end of the crop against her back, sliding along her spine, then up and over her cuffed wrists. She flinches at the first contact, startled. Without warning you lift up the crop and bring it down on her ass.
"Ah!" She yelps, body rocking forward. Instantly she moves back into position, throwing her ass back.
"Does it sting, babe?" You push the floppy end of the crop against the red mark already blooming, rubbing it in.
"Doesn't sting enough," she says. "Sir."
A chuckle slips out at that. "You little brat."
You bring down the crop again, snapping another red splotch right next to the first one. Arousal is scenting the air, the chemicals and pheromones firing in her body rich to your nose, but she's not wet yet. Her other cheek gets some love next, quick little blows that only tease someone like Morgan.
"Please, sir," she moans. "Harder."
"Hush." You strike her right in the crack. If her cheeks were spread wider it would been a direct hit on her asshole. "Patience, remember?"
Stepping to the side, you line the handle of the crop up just at the bottom of her ass where it meets the thigh. She starts quivering, knowing what's coming next, and you finally smell the rush of her moistening. It's what you were waiting for you, and without a word you bring the crop down. The handle smacks her thighs hard. Even the sound is different, a heavier thunk instead of the snapping of the leather end.
You don't give your pain slut time to enjoy it. Stooping over you haul her to her feet and toss her on the bed. She lands face down, but you blur to her before she can move. Unsnapping the chain from one wrist, you flip her over.
"Hands up," you command, slipping the chain between the bars of the headboard when she complies.
Her heavy breathing sounds like a freight train to you, a train hauling the most delicious dining car. The slick between her legs adds to the aroma of the blood pounding through her jack-rabbit heart.
"Spread your legs," you snap, voice sounding harsh even to you.
But she throws her legs wide, letting you see her shiny lips and inner thighs. It strikes you, as it sometimes does, how beautiful she is. And she can't see it, can't see the perfect picture she makes for you all spread and desperate. The white silk covering her eyes makes sure of that.
Not as hard as you can, but not softly, you snap the crop straight against her cunt. She screams, arching off the bed. You hit her again, the sound getting wetter as she starts creaming even more. Moving around the bed, you splay one hand against her lower stomach, pinning her to the bed. You start cropping her faster, hitting her mound over and over again.
It won't take long. Her smell, her voice, and the sweet reddening of her skin all tell you she's close. Adding just a bit of immortal speed to your blows does the trick, the snaps coming too quickly to recover from the rush of pain and pleasure. Right as she's ready to pop you strike the last blow square over her clit.
She can't even scream as she comes, making a noise like she's choking. Her legs tremble, hips buck. It's too much. You drop the crop, popping the button of your slacks, and whipping your cock out. You've been hard since she started dripping, the smell overwhelming in the smell room. You had planned to bite the vein on her inner thigh, but you can't stop for that.
You crawl between her legs, sinking inside her as she's still coming down. She's so wet it hardly takes any pressure at all to bottom out, even though she's still spasming inside. Grabbing her legs you bend her practically in half, grinding in circles inside her. It's an uncomfortable position to be in for long, but you know that only makes it better for her.
Pulling back you stop grinding and start thrusting. Doubled over like she is, you have the leverage to spear the whole length of her. She starts grunting after each plunge, her cervix getting battered. Even for Morgan that pain would be too intense if she hadn't already orgasmed once, but flying high on the pleasure/pain of her cropping she's in just the right headspace to love it.
She's about to come again, hot on the heels of her first. You can smell it building, feel it inside her as she ripples and tightens. You reach out, flicking her nipple right as she peaks. Just the small spark of pain pushes her over the edge again, but it's so much this time that she floats away, body going slack.
Your own orgasm to is close behind, and you go deep. Grinding against her again as you flood her, putting every drop where it belongs. When the wave of coming lightens up, you pull back. Placing kisses to her thighs, you allow her to straighten out her legs.
"Good girl," you say. "But you're not done yet."
Carefully you take the tie off her eyes. She doesn't even open them, lost in the afterglow.
"Open your eyes, babe," you say. "Slowly."
Blinking, she does, even if they are a bit glossy.
"Now your mouth." You crawl up her body, presenting her with your softening cock.
Obediently she opens, taking it her in mouth and swallowing the mixture of your fluids in gentle licks. You maintain eye contact the entire time, holding her gaze as completes her last task.
"Wonderful, baby," you say, stroking her hair. "So good for me, aren't you?"
Releasing her from the headboard, you gather her up in your arms. Just stroking her, and holding her close until she starts to come back to herself. You know she's with you when she starts to shiver a bit.
"I'm getting cold, sir," she tells you, voice still a little breathless.
"I know, babe," you said. "I'm going to have to let you go to get your blanket, okay?"
She grumbles, but releases her hold on you so you can ease your grip. Not for the first time that day, you're thankful you can move faster than humans. Her wrists and ankles are free of the cuffs before she even knows what's happening. While you open the chest at the end of the bed, she curls in on herself. An endorphin drop after hard play isn't unusual, and you're prepared. The thickest, fluffiest blanket in the country is folded on top of everything else in the chest. You throw it over her as you continue with the rest. In the blink of an eye you close the door to trap the heat. Another burst of super speed and you set up a space heater on her side of the bed. Once it's coils are reddening you pick up the shirt you'd been wearing earlier and hand it to her.
"Put this on for me, babe," You say.
It takes her a second to comprehend the order, but she pulls the shirt under the blanket with her. The shirt will help her stay warm, and the smell of you will keep her mood up. Knowing you're pleased with her helps the drop. You change into a pair of comfy pajama pants, leaving your suit where it lies. Usually you'd take the time to put it away, but right now your girl needs you.
You climb back on the bed, pulling the covers down so you can throw them over the both of you. Then you gather the fluffy blob that holds Morgan close to your chest.
"So, how do you like your new cuffs?" You ask her.
She peaks her head out of the blanket. "They'll do."
Laughing, you smooth your hand over her hair. "Glad you enjoyed, babe."
The bed is wet against your knees, and will be getting cold soon. You'll have to change the sheets. But for right you're not moving. There's nowhere you'd rather be.