The Puppeteer

The couple stumbled out into the biting night air and unconsciously chose a direction in which to walk.
The man, dressed as a puppeteer, clutched his companion tight around the waist and said, “You’re my most beautiful doll.” And she was. She had the perfect height and figure for this puppeteer. She just barely had to prop her slim, gorgeous body up on her toes to give him the kiss his compliment had aimed for. She held it just a second longer than he expected, and when she pulled away the puppeteer could not take his eyes off her moist ruby red lips.
The doll said, “That’s easy since I’m the only doll you have. What makes me so special?”
“The way you do exactly as you’re told, that’s what,” he said.
“I do exactly what I want,” she said, “it just so happens that it mostly corresponds with what I’m told.”
“Spin around,” he told her.
She spun around. As he watched her he grew excited. The flick of her curly blonde hair and the rouge on her cheeks made her a caricature of her own beauty. Her black and white dress that just barely gave away a hint of the shape of her buttocks when she spun made the puppeteers heart jump, and when her eyes caught his as she slowed her turn he gave her a mischievous smile.
“What?” she asked.
“Why did you want to leave the party?” he responded.
“It’s late. I thought we might be able to have more fun ourselves.”
“Oh, really? And where is that?”
“Right here looks good to me,” she said. She stopped walking.
The puppeteer looked around and found that they were somehow alone in a park. It was dark, the moon above them only a sliver of light. The night was silent. The city street they had left was invisible in every direction and the air was undisturbed by anything but their soft and excited breathing.
“So what kind of fun are we going to have?” asked the puppeteer.
And the doll said, “Practice. You’re going to practice.”
“Practice what?”
“Being my puppeteer, silly” she said, “what else?”
“Oh. Right,” he added belatedly.
“Well? Tell me what to do, Master,” and she gave him a look that betrayed her obedience, but made him want to be that Master more than ever.
“Before we do anything else,” he said, “I think we’re going to need some fire to stay warm. So fetch some sticks.”
“Found one,” she said as she grabbed the entirety of his manhood in her hands.
The puppeteer gave a jolt. Her face inches from his and his penis was swelling rapidly in her fist. The feeling of her hot breath on his neck made him want to thrust his own hand right up her frilly little skirt and find was he knew was waiting for him. But, no, there would be plenty of time for that.
He roughly spun her around and whispered in her ear from behind, “Some sticks that are made of wood, please.” She lingered a second and then pranced away like the doll that she was, never turning around to reveal the smile on her face. For she wasn’t ready just yet to let the puppeteer know how much she enjoyed taking his orders, or how much more she would enjoy disobeying them.
She walked around the edge of their little clearing picking up twigs and branches and remembering the feeling of the puppeteers growing cock in her hand…
“Stop,” came the puppeteer’s voice. Again the doll kept her back to him. “You’re doing it wrong, little one.” At this she turned to face him.
“How so, Master?”
“I would like you to turn back around and pick up that branch, without bending your knees.”
Bastard, she thought. If you’re going to rush the game like that, why don’t you just come over here and fuck me now?
But she obeyed. And the puppeteer watched as his little doll planted her high-heeled feet twice her shoulders’ width apart and bent over with straight legs and the sexiest arched back he had ever seen. She’s flexible, he thought, that might be useful. When she could easily have reached the branch on the ground, she continued to bend over until the was almost folded in two, and as she did this the back of her skirt rode up to reveal a perfectly round, smooth ass at the top of those beautifully muscled legs. And in the bright moonlight the puppeteer could just make out the outline of her parted vagina lips framing a white glint off the hot wetness accumulating on her clitoris.