Heatstroke-inspired fantasy of sun, heat, pool and a very willing deck toy, with a scoop of behind-the-scenes, first edit self-bashing humour.

A director’s cut nobody asked for but everybody secretly wanted.

Or not.

Too late now.

The longest heatwave on record, apparently. It certainly feels like that. It’s only 10 a.m. and the heat has already gone straight to my head. Today is a well-earned extra day off, and I refuse to waste it catching up on dishes or anything inside that furnace of a house. The only place to be is in the pool or sunbathing on the deck.

So that’s exactly what I’m doing. And this lush little chill time wouldn’t be complete without checking my messages on the swinger site. I haven’t been online for weeks, and the neglected little pit of depravity inside me has started painting banners for the upcoming protest. I really need to schedule some fun in. I know just the kind of mischief that would boost my morale.

Surprise, surprise, one of my long-lost favourite troublemakers is online. I couldn’t ask for a better candidate for the wickedness I have in mind.

“Hi Jay. Just wondering whether it’s still weekday mornings that work for you?”

I’m sure he wasn’t expecting this on a Wednesday morning, straight out of these bright blue skies. It’s been nearly two years. Mostly because of darn logistics. Me working stupid Monday-to-Friday hours didn’t exactly help.

I’m not holding out much hope. Yet, his reply comes almost instantly. He confirms that his schedule hasn’t changed and he’s more than happy to meet.

Then, of course, it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t dump the whole bucketful of fantasies my half-boiled mind cooked up right in front of him. I only like to choke on one thing. And words ain’t it.

“I’m sunning in my garden and came up with a little fantasy. I thought you’d be interested. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with this.”

“I love your crooked ideas, Kat. Spill,” he types.

“It’s really idyllic here, the sun is fab, there’s a soft breeze, the pool is the perfect temperature, there are no nosy neighbours...

But I’m a spoiled, lazy bitch and I really need someone to serve me some nice drinks and you know, just pamper me. Like you used to.” I pause a little for effect. I can see him typing but I carry on before he can send anything.

“You’d be wearing your cage, obviously. Do you still have it? That ring-design, steel one I made you buy but never had the chance to test.” Sometimes it amazes me so much that I remember the smallest details when it comes to that part of my life, yet parents’ evenings and appointments routinely slip my mind. And just this morning I bought a huge watermelon, forgetting I’d already bought one yesterday. So now we all have to go on a watermelon diet because there’s no space for anything else in the fridge.

“Yes,” he replies mentioning that he’s been hiding it in his office ever since.

“Great. Of course when you arrive, you still need to wear something decent, like sexy swimwear or something like that. We aren’t jumping straight into kink. That would be wrong on a beautiful pool-worthy day like this. I will behave too and dress as a respectable housewife in this modest navy bikini.” I send him a picture of what I’m wearing. It’s not exactly SFW.  Half my tits are out. There’s a huge diamanté buckle in the middle crowning the view, a jewel between the jewels.

“Are you any good at making cocktails, Jay? For your own good, I hope you are. If not, you have a week to come up with something. Something nice and summery. I’m not fussed. Then you need to serve it on a posh silver platter.” I’m sure I have one but if not, that’s just a great excuse for me to go shopping.

“Then I require a nice foot massage. If I remember correctly, you are very good at that. It’s hard to beat my husband to be honest but you know him, he doesn’t do any of the other things that you provide. So you’re definitely my pick for this scene.” I wait for his reaction, sipping my drink and rubbing my toes together. Mmm this is going to be fun.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

God, he’s so predictable. If this becomes somewhat regular again, I need to beat this high protocol BS out of him. It’s boring. And if I remember correctly, he told me at the beginning that he was a switch. I’ve seen none of that. I get that a lot though. Hooking up with alleged switches and five minutes into the ‘date’, I’m like, there’s no way in hell you will dom me, boy. Now where’s my strap-on?

In my ten years of doing this gig, there was only one who surprised me but he was like six foot two and we had a bit of a history. He took my bossy shenanigans for a bit, before he flipped and sent me under the bed to count dust bunnies. But that’s another story. God, what was his name? I can’t remember. Luckily he has moved away. We used to meet at my favourite hotel, I didn’t want to get banned from that one too. He was also the one who wrote my name on his foot-long. My very long profile name. In permanent marker.

Sorry, that was a bit of a ramble. But if you are here for tight, sophisticated writing, you are in the wrong room. This is the home of Chaos Queen and you’re enjoying (hopefully) the cinematic experience of Broken Fragments of Filth. For those at the correct screen, grab a beer, popcorn and maybe a bottle of lube. I like the peach flavoured one since you asked.

Where was I? Oh, heat, cocktails, Jay, feet. Right.

“I want you to use your mouth too. I love it when you bite into my toes and tickle my arches with the tip of your tongue.” I actually have no idea whether he used to do that, but now he will.

“I’ll be stretching and moaning, making sure to let you know how much fun I’m having, while you tirelessly knead all my pressure points. Every time you think you’ve earned a break, I’ll give you my other foot to massage. I might even take my top off to get comfortable. Just a little reward for your hard work. The sun stroking my nipples always turns me on, so I might play with them a bit. Like now.”

I send him a short video of me rubbing and pulling at my nipples. I am bad. And I have an even more wicked idea. I fish an ice cube out of my drink—the lemonade I scandalously had to fetch for myself earlier—and rub the melting, dripping mess over my breasts. Of course, I record the evidence of debauchery and send that over too.

I take a few sips of my homemade citrus drink while I wait. When his reply finally comes, it’s a bit disappointing.

“I’m trying to work here, Kat.”

Oh, ouch. I mean, you were on the swinger site, so stop bullshitting me, boy. Then he sends me a photo with the caption, “But now I need to do something about this.” You can imagine what the photo is of.

“Mmm, nice. But if we can meet next week, then you’re not allowed to take care of anything. Understood? You can touch it and stroke it, but definitely nothing further. In fact, are you in your office?”

“Yes, why?”

“You said your cage was hidden there somewhere.” I include a couple of smirking devil emojis with that ‘suggestion’.

“I have a deadline for this job I’m doing, or trying to do.”

“Ok, I'll let you off, but how about showing me tomorrow?”

“Yes, Miss, that would work.” I’m glad he’s back in character and he's even found the correct way to address me. Good boy. This is going to be fun. I’m so glad I’ve found him again.

“Do you still want me to go on with the fantasy?”

“Sure, type away and I’ll pretend to work.”

Cheeky.

“So you are kissing my feet while watching me play with the ice cubes. Then I draw a line up my leg and tell you to follow the trail.”

He answers with a few water-droplet and drooling emojis.

“Lol. That is so you. Thirsty little pup.”

Funny what those silly little emojis can do to one’s brain when you know—and remember—exactly what they represent. I need to keep going before I lose the thread—or overheat badly enough to launch myself into the pool.

“I will pause right there, at the top of my thigh, and curl my finger, beckoning you closer. ‘Do you want some?’ I hold out the dripping ice cube and watch you catch it with your tongue. God, I’ve missed having that mouth this close. And I remember very vividly what that talented tongue of yours can do.”

Ugh. That came out far too polished. What am I doing, gushing over his face and oral skills like some lovesick heroine in a romantic novel?

Maybe time for the pool.

No. Apparently, there’s another entry in the Pillow Princess Diaries. Is a complete change of personality a sign of heatstroke?

“You’re still kneeling between my thighs when I lean closer, stopping just before my mouth reaches yours. You wait, wondering whether I’m going to kiss you.

As if.

“Look at the mess you’ve made, Jay. You’ve let all that ice melt and drip onto my cleavage. Who’s going to clean this up now?”

I send him a photo of the sticky puddle of my own making spread across my chest. A too-proud-of-my-wickedness smile claims my face as I wait for his reaction.

“May I? Please, Miss,” he types.

One of my most precious pastimes as a domme is to make them beg for things.

Then deny them all.

“Oh, I want your mouth there too, pet. Trust me. Just not yet.

“But you’ve caught me in a generous mood. I’ll let you clean my fingers. I’ll offer them to you one by one. They’ll probably taste delicious like the cocktail, you’ve made. ‘Are you enjoying that, pup?’ I will ask.

“Savage of me, I know, but I’ll time that question for when your mouth is stuffed full of my fingers and you can’t reply.

“That strained, muffled sound will be music to my ears. Not a cheerful little tune, but the nasty, dark beat of a club that makes me want to misbehave even more.

“‘I didn’t hear that,’ I’d taunt, pretending to let you speak this time. But just as you'd try to form the words, I’d run a sharp fingernail along your provocatively cute bottom lip and press it into the soft, sensitive skin. I always enjoy how you flinch when I hurt you a little.

“To reward you with a softer touch, I’d draw a silky fingertip over the same area I just mistreated. Your mouth will quiver slightly because you know I can turn on you in a heartbeat and lash out again.

“Are you going to beg me not to hurt you, Jay?”

He is quiet. Somehow, I doubt he is busy with work. I wait until the little dots appear.

Then I hush him. “Do you really think it will change anything, pup? You do amuse me so much.

“I’d lean so close that you’d be able to feel the warmth of my breath, you could almost taste my sadistic smile.

“Then just like ripping off a mask, the menacing psycho-bitch will be gone. My smile will soften into all-sweet-n-innocent. Another version of irresistible.

“‘Sorry, pet,’ I’d breathe against your lips. ‘That was just me being frustrated because I want your mouth so much.’”

Erm, hallo, Kat. I think you’ve used up your lips-and-mouth quota for the next five stories. And you’re not even into kissing or any of that nonsense. So what is this about? Time to lower the parasol onto your head, I think. Can we fixate on something else now, please?

And my clever solution to end this truckload of lip-dump? Quite obviously to send him back where he belongs. At my feet.

“‘I need you to massage my calves next, pet. They’re a little stiff after my morning run.’

“I’d watch you over the top of my sunglasses as you reluctantly repositioned yourself at the bottom of the lounger and pressed your fingertips rather too roughly into my sore muscles.

“‘Is that your attempt at revenge, pet? Abusing my poor calves?’

“The sheer panic in your sweet puppy eyes will be just priceless. ‘No, Mistress. Sorry, Mistress,’ you’d mumble.

“I’d know you were lying, of course. And I’d start listing all the ways I might punish you for it later.

“Then I’d say something outrageous like, ‘Your frustration is really turning me on, pet. I might have to touch myself.’

“As might be expected, I’d follow through and trace a finger over my soft folds.

“That’d be the perfect cue for us to take off our clothes. My bikini bottoms are getting in the way of both pleasuring myself and giving you a proper show. Also, I’m dying to see your cock straining inside that cage.”

I see him typing something, but I’m on a roll here. Do not disturb me, boy. “You’re meant to be working while I’m weaving this story, Jay.”

The little dots disappear.

“Good boy.

“I want you to kiss your way up again. I really enjoy that, pup. All the way from my toes to here.” I point between my thighs. “Or almost here. Probably not just yet. But go ahead and try to change my mind.

“‘You’re such a good boy. Take your time. We’ve got, what—three more hours?’ I’d laugh.

“‘Two,’ you’d correct me.”

What the actual fuck? Who let the March Hare march into my fantasy scene? There are no pocket watches or clipboards allowed poolside.

I imagine spanking his stupid arse with the heavy wooden clipboard, then kicking him off the deck.

The rabbit, not Jay. Obviously.

“‘Still plenty of time. Take off your shorts.’

“While you do so, I slide down my bikini bottoms, hook them with my foot, and toss them aside, flashing you the view you’ve been longing for.

“Only briefly, though. A tease, not an invitation to stare.

“Then my attention drops to the cage. I love that cage. My taste in kinkwear is impeccable, is it not?”

He sends me a laughing emoji, and I reply with my favourite Catwoman-with-a-whip one.

“You’re breaking character. Naughty.”

“Sorry, Miss. Yes, I love that cage. It’s very comfortable. And do you remember why you chose this particular design?”

Yes, I do. I remember every single filth-fantasy I weave. But I want to hear it from him, and I tell him exactly that.

“You said the rings have the perfect gap between them, so you can poke my pathetic cock through.”

I look at my fingers and the sad-looking nails currently clipped short for gardening. I have to sort that out before we meet, because he’s into long nails with radiant colours.

“Mmm, yes, I definitely have to do that.”

I send him an old picture of my long, glittery blue nails. I’m such a fraud. There’s no way they’ll grow in a week, so I set a reminder on my phone to book a nail appointment for the weekend.

“On that topic, I have a new tattoo. I think it’s really hot. I can’t wait to show you.”

“Oh, what is it?”

“I just had my old one redone and embellished. You’ll love it. I’ll make you.” I choose a GIF to go with the threat: a devil going up in flames.

He replies with a similar one: a spinning heart catching fire. It’s nice to speak the same language with someone, be it kink dialect or the language of eloquently expressive, self-combusting cartoon characters.

“We both know how you like to get fixated on certain body parts. I’m only too keen to provide some variety.” I add one of my favourite cute cat GIFs with fluttering eyelashes.

“Now, sit back on your heels, pup. I want to take a proper look at that cage. And explore it with my toes, like we always planned. Will my big toe fit between the cold metal rings, I wonder? It would be very hot to touch your cock like that. Or simply run it along the vertical bars, up and down, watching your breathing change with each pass.

“Then I’ll ask you to lick my toes. I want them dripping wet because I’ll be toying with your balls next. Oh, make sure they’re nice and smooth for me, Jay. It’s important.”

“Yes, Miss. I remember.”

“Good boy.

“I’m sure your cock will be weeping for me when I press my toes against your balls. I’ll stroke your trapped itsy-bitsy dinky dick again, saying something like, ‘Mmm, you want out, don’t you? Poor little thing. We’ll see about that. It’s currently a weak maybe. Should we work on turning that into a strong maybe?’

“That will earn me a little twitch. And a hopeful smile from you, right, pet?”

“Yes, Miss. Thank you, Miss.”

“Much, much later, though. Obviously. Now kiss your way up again. Take your sweet time.

“You barely reach the top of my thigh before, without a word, I push you back down again, using my foot against your shoulder.

“‘Oh, such a sad little puppy. Back at my feet again. Sob, sob.’ I’d mock you, covering your pathetic, frustrated face with the whole length of my foot. Your cock would twitch helplessly in its cage because you remember how much I like making you struggle for breath that way.

“I’d be very tempted to do just that. But such a hardcore scene fits my dark bedroom or even a dungeon much better. Not this breezy, trilly-dilly sunshine idyll.”

Yes, I know there’s no such word. There wasn’t. Until now. The world clearly needed it.

By now, we’re all probably wondering—including the poor reader, who is doing a great job of suffering through this, by the way—just how many more times dear Jay will be sent back to my feet.

And my way of deciding that is to imagine rolling a large, pink, fluffy magic die to see what number it lands on. Apparently, three. I’m not sure how I feel about that. My body wanted a lower number; my mind was asking for two dice and double sixes.

“The next time you kiss your way up my leg, pup, I will tease you further. When you reach my knee, I’d slide down a little. Like the mirage of an oasis shimmering before a lost soul in the desert—seemingly within reach, but impossible to touch.”

And this is the difference between us. If the roles were reversed, I’d just go for it. I don’t ever think about the consequences. That’s how I always end up with a portfolio of nasty bruises and half a cup of regret. But he isn’t like that. He’s such a model sub. With that shy good-boy smile. Boring.

“Do you want it?” I'd ask nonchalantly, as if I was just offering the last biscuit in the pack. I wait for his reply, absent-mindedly picking at my nails.

“Yes, please, Mistress.”

“Well, no. Not yet, pet. But I do want the cage off. Only if you can behave and not come without permission.” He would never. I know. Because I’ve tested it a few times. Little superhero of self-discipline he is.

“It used to turn me on so much to watch you fiddle with the screws. I can’t really explain why. Maybe it was the enthusiasm and hope in your eyes. I love crushing that.

“Because obviously that isn’t on the cards. We have rules. Husband-installed rules.”

“I’m sad to hear it’s still the case.”

It’s not, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I bet, pup,” I reply, hiding the truth. I will keep that big surprise reveal for much, much later. This is not the time or the place. And first we need to blast through all the cuck fantasies we’ve talked about. I really hope he still has those on his list because they happen to be my ultimate fantasies, too.

“I will want to see you playing with your cock, Jay. I love watching that.”

It used to be one of our favourite little kinks. I remember it took him quite a while to relax and look me in the eye while doing it. He’s more used to proper high-protocol scenes where he is a worthless slave boy, his head bowed the entire time.

Not with me. I like his face. I like every fleeting new expression that crosses it. That is half the fun. Or more like eighty-four percent.

“I will eat up the look on your face as I tip the remainder of the cocktail over my tits. ‘It’s your time to shine, pup.’

“And this is why I wanted that cage off. Because you’re now on top of me kissing my breasts and I want to feel you getting hard against my body. That will be so fucking hot.

“‘Slide your cock up and down my thigh,’ I’ll whisper in your ear while you are teasing my nipples with your tongue.

“We are inches away from what we both crave, what would come naturally after this. And the fact that it isn’t going to happen is torture of the most bittersweet kind. Battle of body and mind.

“I’m not going to lie, Jay. Underneath it all, I’ll be screaming for your cock.”

“Fuck, don’t do this to me.”

Fuck indeed.

His little character crash could mean so many things. And we just let it hang there for eternity. I could reply in many different ways: I could laugh, I could send him a smirking devil emoji. I could tell him off for breaking character.

But I do none of that.

Because I need to ground myself. I’d watch the clouds float by if there were any. Or the birds—though it’s probably too hot for them to soar through the skies. My eyes focus on the old beach towel stirring on the washing line. The dolphin that was once bright navy blue is now turning into a soulless beige silhouette.

Perfect.

Now I can answer with a clear head.

“Oh, I will be doing that, pet. And much worse. As you probably know.” I quickly scroll through my usual devil GIFs. None of them will cut it this time. I need something particularly evil. I finally settle on one impaling a little beating heart with his pitchfork.

Maybe a heart is a bit of an overkill. But I won’t exactly find one stabbing a cock, will I?

“You are suspiciously quiet, pet.” I laugh. “Are you working?”

“As if I could concentrate on anything but that scene you are painting, Miss.”

“Good. I can’t wait for next Wednesday. And, Jay...?”

“Yes, Miss?”

“Remember when I said I only trust you with this scene?”

“I do, Miss.”

“Why do you think I said that?”

“As if anyone ever knew what was in that sexy mind of yours at any given time, Miss.”

“Lol. I like that answer, Jay. I will be sending you back to my feet one last time, but...”

I purposely make him wait for several minutes while I take the perfect photo. One leg stretched out, the other drawn up at the knee, my thighs parted slightly. My little auburn landing strip in clear view. I position the camera slightly to the left so my new tattoo shows clearly. Snap.

Nice. Except I forgot that the tattoo was supposed to be a surprise. Hmm, how do I go about showing him what he is lusting for, while hide my tat, which stretches from my pelvic bone to my mons?

Oh, I know. I position the cocktail glass to mostly cover it, leaving only a crescent moon and the dark night sky visible. I pretend to tip the glass.

Snap. Perfect. I send it with the caption: “So just how thirsty are you, pup?”

“I can be there in half an hour, Miss, if you want me,” is his overenthusiastic reply.

And I cruelly remind him that he has a deadline. I also have the kids finishing school soon, but I don’t include that little complication. “Next week, Naughty.”

“So, now you understand why I said that I only trust you with this scene, right?”

Honestly, I doubt he remembers, even though it’s clearly written on my profile and I’m sure I’ve mentioned it a few times. Sometimes I expect too much of them. So I add, “You are still the only one who gets to have that treat, Jay.”

Plainly speaking, I am not keen on men going down on me. Without listing all the reasons, it has to be accepted as part of my personality now. Tough, I know. I will live. And so will they.

But fine, I'll give you the main one. It’s because most treat it as some sort of hoop they have to jump through to get to the main event. But with Jay, there’s no main event, no pressure, no Is she wet enough to be fucked?

Don’t do that.

We know.

I know.

And that’s the brief sex-ed out of the way—because I’d like to remind you that you are still not reading flawless erotic fiction. Just Kat’s sometimes sexy, sometimes ridiculous chaos.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, so this puppy is different. Because, first of all, he begged me for it. Extensively. And me being nice and all, I begrudgingly went along with it, giving him tiny little crumbs here and there to prove himself. And now I know he’s doing it for the right reason and just how much he enjoys it.

I don’t know why I was expecting anything more than, “Yes, Miss. Thank you, Miss.”

“Put that job aside for five minutes, Jay. I need your attention now.”

He’s typing for a few minutes and comes back with this gem.

“I will kiss and tease every tiny bit of you until you relax, Miss. Then I will lavish you with my tongue for as long as you let me. I will be grateful for every second I get to spend between your legs. Your little moans of pleasure will be my greatest fulfilment. My lips will be devoted to your delight until you melt onto my tongue. And beyond. Because I know how much you enjoy when I slow down and continue to seek your taste.”

Suspiciously formal. But he has tried his best. Good boy will not cut it, will it? I send him a series of little red hearts while I come up with something better.

“I liked that very much, pup. I wish you could taste just how much.”

He replies with the same hearts, adding a few lips, tongues and drooling emojis.

“Are you going to be stroking your cock while you’re making me cum, Jay? Are you doing it now?”

His answer is a little cheeky devil boy saying yes with fluttering eyelashes. Then he adds, “Will I be allowed to cum too, Miss?”

Oh, how I’ve missed that question. Even after all this time I can still see that little playful curl of the corner of his mouth.

“Of course, pet. Just not your usual way.” He used to cum on my feet and clean up his own mess. He likes that final degradation. I see the appeal but I have something else on my mind for this finale.

“This time, I want you to bring me very close to the edge again. It shouldn’t be hard after the first one.” I embellish my beautifully corrupt demand with a grinning devil emoji.

“Get me right there, so close that my feet are dangling over the void. Then I want you to rub the tip of your cock against my clit and make us come together.

“That is fucking diabolical, Kat.”

I nearly fall off the lounger laughing. I just love cracking his high protocol ass open.

“I know. But that’s what I want. Sometimes a splash of vanilla is great, Jay. And of course, you will still have to do the clean-up. But isn’t that much better than my feet?”

“Something tells me you’re going to get me hooked on this ending.”

“Well, pet, I’m free every Wednesday now.

“See you next week.

“Oh, and don’t forget the cage photos tomorrow.”

“Have a lovely rest of the day, Miss.”

“Jay, you dropped character a few lines ago, right before you were slurping your cum off my pussy.”

“True. I’m happy that you are back, Kat.”

“So am I, Jay. So am I.”

***

Yesterday, I was praying for this bloody heatwave to end but now I reconsidered and want it to last at least another week so we can play this out exactly as it is.

Actually, no, we need a few days of rain in between as I’m bloody sick and tired of having to water my plants every single day.

But then, back to the sun please. And Jay between my legs.