Getting Sir Hopping Mad

An Erotic Easter Story

How did I find myself in this situation?

Bound, legs spread, and Pearl2 inserted. Alone and wanting but deprived of all but the most fleeting of vibrations from his Onyx+.

He hooked me up when he secured the harness. His look was so stern. I’ll never forget it. I live for it.

Retracing my actions I suppose it was inevitable.

Easter is an important time of year for my Sir. He comes from an affluent family and his parents were always keen to make sure that his Easter celebrations were as opulent as the rest of his upbringing.

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Dark chocolate was always on the menu, finely crafted by bespoke artisans using the newest cacao imports. Sometimes they would be some of the select few to ever sample that particular harvest of beans. My family isn’t exactly deprived of the necessities in life but I could never imagine such extravagance.

Still, I love to impress him. My sir—a man who always dresses impeccably but secretly wants nothing more than to strip off his tie and shove it in my mouth, allowing my saliva to forever besmirch its delicate silken surface. I am a dirty, wilful little miss and he loves me for it.

And impressing him was just what was on my mind when I decided that this year I’d give him an Easter surprise to remember.

Just imagine it: Coming home from a long day of business to find your submissive waiting for you, wearing nothing but an apron and some black lace bunny ears. The apron naturally covers all the right places, giving you a glimpse of a figure but no full exposure.

Then imagine your little miss coming over to you to give you a playful kiss. “Welcome home sir,” she would say, “I have a gift for you”. Then she turns around to reveal another addition to her costume—a fluffy bunny bun butt plug—before bending over and opening a cupboard to reveal a huge, handmade chocolate Easter egg, lovingly produced by her for you.

Yeah—I think I was on to a winner too.

It’s almost a shame that it didn’t go down that way.

Don’t get me wrong, I started with the best of intentions. After seeing Sir off early in the morning I dashed to the nearest overpriced organic food market and got everything I needed. Only the best for Sir. He’d often say that, followed lovingly by “That’s why I chose you”.

The thought alone would make my knees buckle if the spreader bar wasn’t already holding me on the edge of that already. But I digress.

Coming home I promptly stripped off my clothing and put on the darling little apron that Sir has once purchased for me. His treats were never necessary to me but they were a fun part of our relationship dynamic—his way of saying “You are utterly fuckable to me”.

I got the egg mold ready and the chocolate melting. I knew what I was going to put inside the egg too: handmade chocolate buttons. That way Sir could crack it open and be presented with little tidbits that he could run across my body and sample with teasingly slow motions.

Getting to work was the easy part. Unlike bacon or other fried foods, cooking mostly nude with chocolate is hardly risky business so the entire process went as smoothly as the luscious mixture that I poured out into the various molds.

How lovely it all looked.


It started innocently enough; a lick of the bowl, a caress of the spoon with my tongue. I mean it would be a waste to simply throw the remnants away. My family was always the frugal kind and my mother always let me lick the bowl when we made cakes together. It would be wrong not to follow on the tradition.

But as I cleared the bowl and got to washing up I suddenly caught a glimpse of something in the window—my face had a speck of chocolate on it.

It was barely noticeable. I took my finger, smeared off the chocolate and licked it up. It was what you might call a lightbulb moment.

I turned to the rest of the cooling chocolate with a devious look in my eyes and I conjured up a new plan. A ‘better’ plan. My aching vagina is still determining whether or not that initial appraisal was correct.

Moving over to the giant egg mold I liberated my body from the binds of the apron and gently leaned down so that my breasts would make contact with the dark delights that I had cooked up.

I started sensibly and slowly with the nipples. They were already pert from the anticipation of what I was about to do so their firmness allowed for an easy dip. The chocolate was warm and creamy. Not so hot that it would damage me but not so cold that it felt mushy or otherwise clumpy.

I grinned as I leaned down further and allowed my breasts to become slathered in the mixture. It was such a rush. The warmth enveloped my chest and reassured me that I had made a wise choice. The embrace of the chocolate’s surface was almost as rich as Sir and its consistency was akin to a rich oil soothing my body with its natural motions.

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I let out a moan of deep approval as I allowed myself to feel the rush. My mind didn’t even process the opening of the door, nor the footsteps that followed.

Sir was home early. His business meeting was canceled and he was clearly not impressed.

Looking over my body, leaned down into what was meant to be his finely crafted gift, he approached with a steely gaze and freed his belt from his expensive trousers. The spanking that followed left me redraw. I can still feel the stinging. I wonder how he’ll ever be able to top it.

I came just from the impact on more than one occasion, as he pinned me onto my back so that I was further forced into the mess I had made.

Eventually, he pulled me up by my hair (a favorite motion of mine) and dragged me to the bedroom to put me in the punishing position that I currently find myself in.

So there you have it—I’ve made Sir hopping mad and now I’m at his complete and utter mercy. The laptop screen is on in front of me and the Kiiroo app is streaming his webcam footage but it’s just black. Meanwhile, I know he can see my every motion.

I wonder if he likes it when I squirm with his motions. I wonder what he’s doing as he watches me with adoration. Maybe he’s sampling those chocolate buttons of mine. I never did get around to defiling them. Hmmm, that’s a thought.

The Pearl2 jolts again and I gasp. This is divine. Maybe next year I’ll accidentally get chocolate on one of his shirts. I wonder what he’ll do then…


Dr. Emmeline Peaches
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