Service-Oriented Submissive Mental Space – The Other Side

Note: I am still writing with a fever.  I am hoping to remain coherent.

In a post from yesterday I talked about how reaching a mindset of service-oriented submission and the calm it yields was a half-truth.  I handled it a bit ham-handedly and I thought it would be good to expand upon that statement.  Half-truth was the wrong descriptor for it, as there is a lot of truth in it.  The problem is that it isn’t a “light-switch” concept.  You don’t tell it to someone and they go, “oh, I get it now, I’ll be like that from now on.”

What tends to actually happen is that subs will either resist the concept or in other cases, it just makes them feel bad.  The people who seek and are given this advice are frequently in the midst of their frenzied ache.  They are hurting, confused, and trying to find solace in anything they can.  If you strip away the delicacy, recommending service-oriented submission as a means of calming the soul basically says, “your form of submission is selfish.  Here is what you should actually feel.”  This feeds a shame spiral that makes the ache even worse, as there is an additional layer of guilt dumped upon the already difficult task of communicating that you NEED something that isn’t there.

A lot of this goes back to some of the ideas that I wrote in Temperament and Patience.  Unless you are one of the lucky few that naturally gravitates towards service-oriented submission, there is a very strong chance that your submissive self will have to mature to reach this point.  In many ways it resembles how children learn the concept of sharing and giving.  When young you might not want to give up half of your cookie because it means you get less cookie.  When older you may give up half of your cookie because it is fair and you may end up with another half of a cookie at a later date.  Later you may wish to give up your whole cookie because the joy of watching someone else’s excitement at receiving the cookie outweighs the temporary pleasure of eating it yourself.  This last stage is where the joy of service submission falls.

When you reach this stage, you do find an extra sense of peace.  You find much of your submission in doing things for others.  You find yourself aching and desiring less for things to be done to you.  You start thinking of ways to please them.  While it may not satiate all of your needs, it will keep many of them from reaching a state of desperation.

Reaching this state of mind can take a while.  It took me a few years.  It is an ideal concept to keep in mind as you grow through submission.  It isn’t wrong to not feel it right now.  It isn’t bad that it doesn’t make sense just yet.  Just try not to ignore it and deny its existence.  As long as you keep it in the back of your mind, you may find it someday.

Creating your own service-oriented submissive mental space

NOTE:  So I got sick this weekend and I’ve had a fever all day.  Apparently writing with a fever makes me sound like an arrogant douche bag… or at least that’s my own personal impression of the last post or two that I made. 
My apologies if either of them came off that way, my brain is feeling pretty cloudy and lacking in the eloquence department.  I hope you can accept the message and forgive my lack of tact in its presentation.


Service is often viewed as the pinnacle of submission.  Enjoying service is that ideal mental state where you cast aside your own desires and dedicate your energy towards your dominant.  A lot of people separate what service is based upon its motive.  If you do it purely out of love for the dominant, it is pure.  If you do it for praise, it is selfish and impure.  If you have a fetish for it, it is also impure.

I try not to make such judgments because I rarely think anything is that black and white.  Is there true altruism blah blah blah.  I don’t think people really do anything for one reason.  I think there are a multitude of factors in play and your resulting action is the balancing point of those factors within you.  Yourself, others, the present, the past, the future.  We are more complicated than binary yes/no answers.

Curiously enough, the topic of service-oriented submission most frequently comes up on the topic of subs that find themselves “starving” for dominance and overwhelmed by the ache of their submissive needs.  The advice is often presented in a manner that implies that they have an inferior view of submission.  They need to evolve their mental state and become a submissive Buddha, who turns to service to achieve enlightenment.  I understand this advice on face value, but in my opinion, I think it is a half-truth.

What many people who embrace the service side of submission have actually done, is create a service-oriented submissive mental space (I will call this service subspace for ease).  They have been able to tap into their submission and channel subspace through service.  This cures the ache.  This makes you feel fulfilled on your own.  You feel submissive in the absence of dominance.
Is this pure?  Who cares, if it works.  The goal was to cure the ache, right?  What I plan to share here is a way for you to create your own service subspace.  This may work for people who are in relationships or those who are single who want a way to be more motivated by service.  It follows the same procedure that your original spaces likely formed: fantasy.

You will need to craft a series of fantasies about service.  It’s probably easiest if I make an example and just elaborate on it as I go. My topic of choice: scrubbing floors.  We all know how sexy scrubbing floors is on its own, it ranks up there with sex, bondage, and spanking for most of you, right?

The first step is to create the environment and your place within it.  Think about what makes you feel most submissive.

• Are you naked?  Wearing a uniform?  Wearing clothes that please your dominant?  Choose the one that makes you feel most submissive.
• How about add-ons?  Collar?  Cuffs?  Anal plug?  Nipple clamps?  Humbler?  Dungeon shackles?  Gag?
• Is it meant to be practical, a display of your status, or feel like punishment?  Does your answer imply anything else?  Would they tether your wrists to your collar?  Lock your ankles together or separate them with a spreader bar?  Would you be tethered to a wall-ring, creating some “hard to reach” areas?
• This is your fantasy, feel free to go wild and come up with anything else you think would help.

So there you are, an enslaved sub, trussed up in just the way that makes you most submissive, toiling away scrubbing that floor, and suffering in just the right way that turns you on.
The next step is to picture the dominant(s) involved and their behavior.

• Is it your dominant?  A stranger?  Someone else?  Is it more than one?  Does their official role give them power over you?  e.g. prison guard, slave-master, overseer/supervisor, etc.
• Are you left to scrub by yourself in silence?  Is there someone towering over you critiquing your every move with crop in hand?  Is there someone who checks in on you ever so often to make sure you stay on task?
• Are they harsh?  Are they kind?  Do they bully you?  Are they fair?  Are they cold?  Are they warm?  Are they wicked?  Force you to perform sexual acts?
• When you are done and they inspect your work, how do they act?  Proud of a job well done?  Overly critical and demanding perfection?  Do they force you to assume a posture while they inspect it?  If there are any mistakes do you have to redo it all?  Fix the spot you missed?

The final step is picturing what happens afterwards.

• Will you be punished?  Will you be rewarded?  Will there be a reminder of “your place”?  Will it reflect the quality of your work?
• Will there be sex?  What kind?  Will it be hot?  Will it be rough?  Are you meant to like it?
• Will there be play?  What kind?  Will it be hot?  Will it be rough?  Are you meant to like it?

Ideally, by now you should have some idea of a sexy scrubbing the floor D/s fantasy.  If you did it right, you should be able to envision a scenario that turns you on.  If you wish to solidify this fantasy within you, you might want to masturbate a few times to it.  Your goal is to associate the chore with this fantasy, so that when you think about scrubbing the floor, you picture what you just came up with.  When it takes hold within you, you can channel this fantasy when you are actually scrubbing the floor and it should become quite a bit more arousing and pleasant.  It also allows you to satiate your submissive needs when you think about and perform service.

To achieve maximum effect, you will want as many of these fantasies as you have tedious and mundane activities you are responsible for.  These may include but are not limited to:  cleaning the bathroom, vacuuming, doing laundry, mowing the lawn, and so on.  Rather than try to force yourself into a mindset that craves these activities, it is much easier to create attractive fantasies that put you into a service subspace when you think about these activities.

If that means you fantasize that you are naked except for collar and cuffs, on your hands and knees with an anal plug inside you, scrubbing way on the floor while your dominant watches you in a comfy chair from across the room before making you kneel while they inspect your work, grab you by the hair and point your face at any inadequacies, before punishing your bare bottom and taking you for their pleasure, so be it.  I can think of worse things to think about.

Thoughts on Domestic Service

Originally Written: 10/12/17

There are times when I wish I was one of those people that was a neat freak.  You know, those types that get off on making everything clean and organized.  I am not one of those people.  I’m not dirty or filthy, but I’m more about not making a mess than I am about cleaning.

I’ve met a number of dominants over the years that I haven’t really seen eye to eye with.  This is often one of the subjects at hand.  They want someone that wants to clean.  I never want to clean, but I am willing to clean.  This is a very crucial difference to some.

It is my lack of natural desire to performing tedious tasks and chores that makes a punishment dynamic a necessity for me to be happy.  Do I need the threat of the lash to scrub a toilet?  Hell no.  Does the threat of a lash make me happy to scrub a toilet?  Yes, because the idea of a punishment puts me into a submissive mental space.  It isn’t a deterrent.  It isn’t just words or posturing.  I would not fail her on something so trivial.  I would lose self-respect if I couldn’t get ordinary things done.  There’s just that difference between doing it while knowing I hate it vs. doing it while immersed in subspace and the thought of disappointing her is crushing.

Does this make me a lesser submissive?  To some, yes, to others, no.  The people who think “yes” tend to be people who are not a good fit.

I assume that I will be performing domestic service.  I assume it always.  I just have different facets of my person that have their own points of view on this and which one surfaces the most varies day by day, moment by moment.  The adult in me knows that if I was living alone, I would be performing my own domestic service unless I was content living in a total nasty pigsty, which I am not.  Now, I might not clean as regularly or frequently as some, but I will never have flies, ants, or rotting anything ever.

From a submissive ideal standpoint, yes, I should want to do it because I want to make her happy.  From another submissive standpoint (the one closer to my feelings) is that the thought of her performing tedious tasks pains me, so I would rather do it than subject her to it.

To be honest, I’ve always been curious where the idea of domestic service as a dynamic came from.  I know there are those with a fetish for no-strings house cleaning, but they are often unicorns.  To be honest, I believe the roots come from a bit of backlash against the traditional patriarchal home.  Go back 50 years and most women would run the household, taking care of all of the domestic tasks.  That was her role.  Unfortunately, when the majority of women went back into the workforce, it seems there was a lag and she was still responsible for the majority of the domestic tasks.  If she could manage to work, cook, clean, and do laundry, why couldn’t a man do it too?

This isn’t a sexy way of looking it at, but my gut tells me that this may fall somewhere in its early origins.

The sexier idea is that the woman should feel like a pampered Goddess, Queen, Domina, or some other role of elevated status within the household.  She should be free to enjoy all that life has to offer while her servants take care of the menial labor.

I’m not really sure.  In most modern households the chores are shared, although not always equally.  In D/s, while some couples share chores, many do not.  FLR is one of the examples of unilateral distribution of chores.

I will admit that I have a bit of “wanker sub” in me and  I get exhilarated by the fact that being expected to do everything without praise or thanks is unfair.   I do, however, accept the reality that I will likely be the one performing domestic duties whether I like them or not.

Fiction: fs01 - Cassandra's Blog Bonus Chapter: Rewards

Author’s Note: This bonus chapter is a mock Question and Answer session done by Cassandra on her blog. It could take place at any time.

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Cassandra’s Blog Bonus Chapter - Q & A: Rewards

Dear Ms. C.

You write all about the punishments and torments you put your sub through but what about rewards? Doesn’t he deserve rewards for a job well done?

-underher84

There was a time early on in the relationship where my sub would earn his orgasms with good behavior and service and the like. That was the dynamic as we both were feeling our way through the lifestyle. My sub is intelligent, enthusiastic, competent, and a fast learner. This soon became boring. Every week he would earn his rewards. The times where I would punish him got less and less. Every week it was the same, week in and week out. His enthusiasm waned. My enthusiasm waned. It’s too bad a snorgasm isn’t a thing because I would have had plenty.

This got me thinking about our relationship and the direction I wanted it to go. I wanted total control… total ownership. My sub is so submissive when I am around that he doesn’t need a carrot to “be good.” He is heavily driven by wanting to see me smile and fear of disappointing me. He wants to be perfect for me.

I still remember the day that I got him naked and on his knees in front of me. “I expect perfection from you. Your reward is the knowledge that you performed your duty faithfully and obediently and that I keep you in my service. Anything less than perfection will be punished severely and corrected until you are perfect at all times. Do you understand?” It was adorable the way his eyes went to the floor and he nodded slowly. His penis was standing straight up when a tiny little voice spoke, “Yes, Mistress.” That is such a wonderful memory. This brought our relationship back to life and since then he always tries his best without complaint. He knows nothing is guaranteed. He loves that I bring out the best in him.

Now I feel almost silly when I think about it. The idea of rewarding him for something he is expected to do seems rather silly. I’m sure he would feel the same way. When he looks into my eyes and sees that I love him, that is the only reward he needs.

END

Domestic Service: Adulting for Two

Yesterday's post on An Expectation of Service was inspired by a conversation with a Domme friend and it got a bit twisted up as I ended up covering why I recommend every single sub to be willing to perform domestic service as well as the way that I fetishize it in my own head.  I went ahead and hit publish even though I wasn't particularly happy with how it turned out because I figured it was better to hit publish than delete the draft.

After mulling over what I wrote I realize that I missed probably the most important point.  That is, if anything, for this reason alone, all subs should be willing to perform domestic service on at least a basic to moderate level. 

Domestic service is just adulting. 

If you have lived alone you have had to take care of your own laundry, cleaning, cooking, and chores.  It goes with the territory known as "survival" and "not being a disgusting slob."  Assuming you are single and wish to eventually not be single, having these skills go a long ways in attracting a life partner.

The crucial differences between living alone and domestic service are:

1. You are now doing those things for two people.
2. The frequency and thoroughness with which you perform said chores are no longer up to you.  If she holds a higher standard than you do, it's probably closer to the way things "should" be.

I know this isn't romantic or kinky in any way, but it's just sort of how things are.

Honestly, I suck at writing about this topic so I will likely try to avoid it in the future.

An Expectation of Service

I have been thinking a lot about the D/s lifestyle lately and after giving a couple of subs some advice on how to attract a Dominant woman for a long-term relationship and I realize just how far removed I am in my mind from the realm of BDSM relationships where kink is defined and the idea of consensual mutual pleasure is a defining factor.

Namely, I do not picture a lifestyle that doesn't involve domestic service.  While there are service submissives out there that get their kink from doing chores (often thanklessly), I unfortunately am not wired that way.  I don't mind cooking but cleaning/housekeeping, landscaping, and the like are not my cup of tea.  There are also times where I don't even feel like cooking and would rather get take-out, delivery, or eat at a restaurant.  While I do not want to do those things, I am willing to do those things.  They can even be somewhat enjoyable if the right factors are in place to make them fuel my subspace, but truthfully I see service as part of the role of being a lifestyle submissive.

There are a lot of subs out there that enjoy sexual service, pampering, and body worship.  While that is closer to being service-oriented than someone that just wants to be tied down and whipped, the idea of service becomes a bit of a gray area. 

True service-oriented subs that also are "life partner" material are sort of a rarity out there.  Requiring someone to be of this type also limits the potential of many subs, never giving them the chance to rise to the occasion.  The BDSM ideal of kink-overlap also sort of undermines the idea of a sub that is willing but doesn't desire it.  It is kind of strange in that way as it's so damn hard to find a compatible partner, I don't feel it has to be made even harder by unicorn hunting.  A difference between the willing sub and the sub with true service desires is whether or not any amount of external motivation is needed. 

It's true that not every Domme expects a sub to provide domestic service.  It's also true that a lot of them do.  I think this is why when I advise single subs that they should be willing or it reduces potential interest without it. 

In my own twisted brain I have found a way to fetishize it.  It drives my subspace to have the decision of domestic chores made for me regardless of how I feel about them.  It drives my subspace to have consequences for not fulfilling my duties within the allotted time and/or up to quality standards.  It drives my subspace to have my service be a basic expectation, without the need for please or thank you, merely the constant knowledge that failing will disappoint her and disappointing her is bad.  While in said subspace, the thought of her having to perform those same tasks pains me and I can only envision a life where they are part of my duty. 

I have no idea if thoughts like these are good or bad but even that really isn't up to me. 

Fiction: fs01 - Part 73

Author’s Note:

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LXXIII

Day 13 part 2

I nod in and out as I feel two sets of hands lift me off the floor. My body is on fire. I hang limp, unable to raise the strength to resist in any way. The light flickers through my eyelashes as we move. My eyes detect the traces of the different floor patterns throughout the house. I end up on a massage table in an unfamiliar room, the padded face rest allows me to lie comfortably… well as comfortably as possible.

Sammy and Gordon’s voices echo around me.

“She really fucked him up.”

“Yeah, this looks really bad.”

A straw enters my mouth and I take a drink. Some form of sugar-sweetened beverage, probably gatorade. I feel a warm sponge against my back. I cry out as the water enters the wounds, making them sting and throb. This continues for some time, slowly working its way down to my legs. Ointment follows. While it stings at first I feel the surface pain slowly fade away. I feel the sensation of tape on my skin, most likely holding down gauze or something of that nature.

I cringe and whimper as the ice packs find their way to my skin. My neck, wrists, feet, buttocks, thighs, and back.

“Take these.”

A pair of pills are forced into my mouth and another bit of drink.

“You need to eat.”

A small slice of orange finds its way in. I suck on it until it turns to mush and I let the pulp drop to the floor. A large blanket finds its way over me. It helps a little but the ice still makes everything feel uncomfortable.

With everything in place I can finally relax a little, if that’s what you want to call it. My head clears up a little as the throbbing pains become a bit more manageable. What have I done? Shame creeps in at the feeling that I have betrayed Mistress. I begin to cry. I hate myself. Gordon breaks the silence. I’m a bit surprised as this is the first time I’ve really ever heard him speak.

“What were you thinking, man?”

I choke through the tears.

“I don’t know.”

"She’s messed you up before but it was never this bad. She said you had an easy out, you just had to submit to her. Didn’t you take it?”

“No. It wasn’t easy.”

“I respect you, but man, that’s just nuts.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I’m weak.”

He puts his hand on the back of my head, one of the few spots that doesn’t hurt. We sit in silence after that. Occasionally another drink or slice of orange finds my mouth. I make no effort to move. After a while the blanket is removed and the ice packs taken away. This gives me some idea to the passage of time as icing isn’t supposed to exceed 30 minutes. The blanket returns.

“Get some sleep. Someone will be in to check on you.”

“Thank you.”

The lights go off and I hear the door close. I cry until I can’t. Sleep soon finds me. I stir awake with another ice treatment and a few more pills and a fresh drink. I guess that about four hours must have passed since the ice was removed. I don’t feel as fevered as before. After a while the ice is removed again and I return to the silence of an empty room in the dark.

I fall asleep quickly after the change. I don’t sleep as soundly. My dreams haunt me with visions of Dominique and Mistress and feelings of fear and regret. The next time I wake comes with the smell of food. My stomach growls.

“Can you get up?”

I try to rise but my muscles just won’t listen. I groan under the strain.

“No.”

I hear a long sigh. Another dose of pills and drink. Small spoon fulls of soup follow. A dozen bites or so quiets my stomach.

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to go to the hospital?”

“No. I just need some more rest.”

“Suit yourself, man.”

Another icing begins. The cobwebs in my mind start to fade, probably due to actually getting sleep. My heart aches. After the ice I don’t fall asleep. I spend the time moving what I can. My arms are fine except my hands and wrists hurt when I move them. My neck is okay moving in most directions except back. I can bend my knees, but everything else throbs and stings with even the slightest attempt.

What do I tell Mistress?

I obsess over the near future and distract myself from my current predicament. Being alone in the dark can be peaceful. It can also be dreadful. Right now feels like a mix of the two. What happened earlier today feels surreal. This past week doesn’t seem quite real.

At some point Sammy and Gordon return.

“Can you move yet?”

I test my joints again, painstakingly shifting to my side.

“You probably shouldn’t try to sit down for about a week.”

I nod. Gordon hands me fresh pills and a beverage. I gulp it down. Sammy sets a try down on the table with a sandwich and a Dr. Pepper. I thank them and eat. The soda hits the spot… one of those “I can’t remember the last time...” moments.

“Do you want anything? An iPad? TV?”

“Could I have my phone?”

“Yeah. Make sure you get some rest. Tomorrow is going to suck.”

A few minutes later I have my phone. There’s a message from Mistress.

“Be safe, pet.

-Love, Mistress.”

I write back to her while my eyes fight back tears.

“I’m sorry, Mistress. I don’t know what I’ve done.

-Love, pet.”

I pick up a bottle of water that was left for me and take a long drink. I breathe in deep and exhale slowly. I ease myself off the table and let out a cry as my foot contacts the ground. Each step fires bursts of pain through my body. I hobble over to the light switch and turn it off. Moving quickly or slowly doesn’t seem to matter. I make my way back to the table in the dark. I slide into my stomach, pull the blanket over me and close my eyes.

Day 14.

I wake to the sound of the door and smell of food. Does feeling “less terrible” count as refreshed? Gordon hands me some fresh pills and a drink while Sammy sets down a tray with toast, bacon, and orange juice. My eyes widen at the sight of the bacon. I had been avoiding it with my “one bad meal, two good ones” diet plan but it’s been so long.

“Thank you.”

I start in on the food. I take a bite of the crisp strip of pork and let it melt in my mouth for a minute, savoring its flavor.

“I don’t know how you do it, man.”

“Do what?”

“Eat like you do. Scraps. Crap. So weird.”

“Is it really that strange?”

“Yeah.”

“Doesn’t Dominique ever limit what you eat?”

“Hell no.”

“I guess I just don’t really think about it.”

“Man, you really live this shit for real, don’t you?”

“I guess so.”

I mull over his words while I finish my food. I guess it might seem odd to others. Mistress must exert a bit more control than most. I know part of it is to keep my weight in check. I’m guessing the other part is that it amuses her and I have no problem with that. I finish my breakfast quickly.

“So how do you want to do this?”

Sammy sets a box down on the edge of the table and opens it.

“We’re supposed to help you get dressed. I’m sure you aren’t a fan of it and we aren’t really either, but better you than me, right?”

Gordon laughs. I haven’t seen him this animated before. He seems a lot happier than the last time I really spent time here, back when Mistress had her accident. Sammy steps in.

“I’m guessing you won’t be able to sit or stand. We can help with some of it, but it might get a little bit weird if you want us to do too much.”

He hands me a pair of panties from the box. I shift myself on the table in an attempt to sit. I let out a cry and wince with pain.

“Told you, man. Lie on your stomach.”

I shift back to my original position. He guides them over my feet and up to my knees.

“All you from here, bro.”

“Thanks.”

I tug them up. The pressure on my bruised and battered rear is unwelcome. Stockings follow, he helps get them within my reach and I’m able to get them the rest of the way. The last undergarment is a petticoat. I’m not really sure how these work. We find a way to get it up around my waist, the layers of ruffles feel silly and awkward.

“You’re really going to hate this next part. Sit or stand?”

“Stand.”

I slide off of the table as they support my arms and ease myself onto my feet. I cringe and teeter as my poor feet cry out in agony. I must have deep tissue bruising going on. Gordon helps me balance as Sammy slides a traditional black French Maid’s uniform over my arms and upper body. I feel the material catch on the scabs on my back and shoulders. He zips it up the back, buckles the collar, and locks it in place. A cap and apron follow. For the last piece Sammy hands me a pair of fluffy white fur earmuffs. I cringe as my chest tightens.

“She insisted man. She said it makes her laugh when she sees you.”

I place them on my head.

“You’re going to hate this.”

The finishing touch is a pair of high heeled pumps with locking ankle straps.

“She specifically ordered them a size too small. I’m sorry, man.”

I slide my foot into the first, letting out a whimper as the shoe pinches and presses against my swollen foot. Sammy buckles and locks it while Gordon helps hold me up. Getting into the second shoe is agony. I bite down on my napkin to stifle the scream as both feet are now encased in shiny patent prisons of agony.

They lead me to the room that Dominique is in. I would call it the living room but she has so many rooms that I’m not even sure. It is the large room with couches and a TV near the dungeon stairs. I’ve spent time in here before. She sits on the couch watching TV, relaxing in her robe that is so similar to Mistress’s.

I walk with slow, deliberate steps, wincing with every shift of weight and pinch of the shoes. Upon reaching her field of view she shuts off the TV.

“Present yourself for inspection, slave.”

I stand still with my head down and hands folded in front of me. Dominique slowly paces around me. The scent of her perfume fills my nose. My body unconsciously stiffens in terror. She pets the fur on my earmuff and grins.

“Does the slave like his new uniform?”

“Yes.”

Her hand strikes me hard across the backside. I let out a scream. The pain continues to pulse and throb long after impact.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Kneel and kiss my feet.”

I nod and gingerly make my way to my knees, wincing with every motion. I bend myself low and place my lips upon her slipper and kiss. I repeat this with her other foot. I look up and find her face grinning down at me. I don’t think that I would call it a smile… smiles feel friendly. Dominique motions with her hand to rise. I struggle to my feet, whimpering with the throbbing pains.

“Rule number one. No speaking unless spoken to. Rule number two. I will probably hit you if I feel like it. Any questions?”

“No, Mistress.”

“Good. Now be a good slave and stand at attention and be ready to attend to my needs.”

Dominique sits back on the couch and turns back on the TV. Her watching habits are a bit ADHD, flipping channels quickly, switching at every commercial break. I stand at attention, using all of my willpower to tune out the ache of my feet and legs. She picks up her phone and types a message. A few moments later Sammy arrives with a tray containing a glass of juice. He passes it to me. I hold it in place and serve as Dominique’s table while she nurses it slowly and continues her mish mash of three-minute segments of television programming.

When she finishes her juice she instructs me to deposit the tray at the table near the door. I painstakingly make my way across the room and do as instructed, slowly returning to her side. A while later she picks up her phone and makes a call.

“Sammy, do we get the EuroSports channel? I want to watch soccer.”

She nods and parlays for a few moments.

“Okay. Order it and bring me my lunch. Make up a plate for the new slave, too.”

Dominique shuffles through the channels impatiently. A while later Sammy arrives and presents me a tray. The main plate is for Dominique. I assume the smaller covered plate is for me. He takes the remote and switches the channel over to soccer.

"Finally. It's about time."

She sits back and takes a bite of her burger while munching on chips and carrot sticks and dip. She shouts at the screen during a few plays. The pain in my feet is the only thing keeping my arms from feeling tired. She takes the plate from my tray and holds it in her hand.

"Go ahead and eat, slave."

"Thank you, Mistress."

I remove the cover from my plate and find the identical meal only grouped closer together. I eat my burger and savor its taste, taking it down in small bites, chewing every bite to its fullest. Dominique finishes her food and places her plate back on the tray. I hurry and complete my final bites as well. She turns the TV off and tosses the remote across the couch.

"I forgot how much I hate soccer. There's something about games that end in ties that doesn't sit well with me."

I let a grin slip across my lips as I finish my food and carry the tray over to the table by the door. The grin quickly converts to a grimace as the shoes continue yesterday's punishment.

"I'm already bored. Come here, slave."

I present myself in front of her.

"I release you from your service."

"I'm sorry, Mistress?"

"You're not my sub anymore. Got it? But I wouldn't mind if you continued calling me Mistress. I like the sound of it a lot better than the 'Miss Dominique' you usually squawk at me with."

"Thank you, Mistress."

"Don't thank me. I don't know how Cass does it. I thought this would be a lot more fun but I've realized it's more work than I care to do if I wan to make it fun."

She picks up her phone and types a bit. Not long after Sammy and Gordon arrive with my normal clothes. They assist me with changing and soon I find myself upon my stomach on the far side of the L-shaped couch.

"Do you have a dream, little one?"

"A dream, Mistress?"

"Yes, like, the American dream... a 2-story in suburbia, 1.7 kids, snorting blow off of hooker tits while on business trips."

I let out a small laugh at her humor.

"I'm living my dream, Mistress. All I ever wanted was to love and be loved."

I have trouble reading her expression. She pauses for a while before responding.

"You are wise, little one. That would be a very fulfilling way to live."

She pauses again, pursing her lips.

"I've never loved anyone. The concept doesn't even make sense to me. On some level I'm envious of those who can love but on another level I'm grateful for a life without attachments. I spent too many years bound to the whims of others to ever want to feel that again."

"Don't you love Sammy or Gordon?"

Dominique laughs.

"No. I consider them to be good friends but there aren't feelings beyond that."

"But they serve you, right?"

"Damn right they do. I let them live here rent free and pay for all their shit. The least they can do is take care of some chores and cater to my impulses. When I met Sammy he was homeless and pan-handling for cash. When I passed by he didn't approach me. When I asked him he said that I was too beautiful. That amused me so I bought him lunch and took him home with me. He's been here ever since. You already know Gordon's story. My life is a lot more fun with them than without them. I believe they feel the same way. There's no jealousy, just fun."

"You're amazing, Mistress."

I'm surprised to see her react with a slight blush.

"What makes you say that, little one?"

"You are honestly terrifying but you have a big heart."

She lets out a laugh and switches to a macho voice, pointing to her arms.

"These veins have ice water running through them."

It's funny that she puts up this much of a front. I have to wonder why she forced me to submit only to release me a day later. It's a surprise that I mattered to her.

"Can I ask you a question, Mistress?"

"Sure, little one."

"Was it really that important to break me?"

"Of course. You have no idea how much damage you did to my ego when I had you here the first time. You've seen me in action before so you know what I'm talking about. And here comes this pathetic little nothing of a man that I beat to a pulp and he never once begged for mercy or made empty promises. I swore to myself I would get my revenge one day. Now that I have, I can put that to rest."

I close my eyes and process her response. I feel warm inside and a little bit special.

"So what have you been up to these past couple of weeks, little one?"

"I watched a lot of TV shows and movies."

"What did you watch?"

"Game of Thrones. I got midway through season 5."

"It started to suck then, didn't it?"

"Yes, Mistress, it definitely got weaker."

"That's a kind way of putting it. What else did you do?"

"I bought some books and read them. I ate a lot of chicken."

"You and that chicken. It's so cute that something so small can bring you joy."

"I tried to look at porn."

Dominique busts out laughing. I blush a little, but it's not too bad.

"Ah, yes, Cass told me about your 'little problem.' I've often wondered if there is a point to porn when you're locked in a chastity belt."

"It was... how do I put it... wholly unfulfilling. Oh, I also found Mistress's blog."

"What did you think of it? It's a pretty good read."

"I only read two posts. One older one that was enlightening. The other was the most recent one. It was that post that convinced me that it was okay to call you."

"Cass pretty much can see the future when it comes to you. I know I made things difficult but after bailing you out a number of times I wasn't going to go through with it unless I could break you. Do you regret it?"

My mind twists and turns with her question.

"I honestly don't know... yet. My feet say 'yes, regret it.' I have a feeling that my mind won't know until later."

"Fair enough. You had to have done something more fun than all of that."

"Well... I bought a guitar."

"I didn't know you played."

"I used to. I sold my guitars when I moved in with Mistress."

"Plural. Guitars. I'm surprised you were able to give it up that easily."

"They were what I did when I had no one to love. Once I found that I didn't need them anymore."

"Remind me to show you the music room tomorrow. You might find it enjoyable."

We continue to small-talk. I had forgotten how it felt to truly socialize with someone else. To share my unfiltered thoughts and feelings... feels nice.

"Do you want to play some Zbox? We can four-player something."

"What is a Zbox?"

"For shame. How can you be a male under 50 and not know that question. It's the newest gen gaming system."

"I used to have a playstation."

"What did you like to play?"

"Final Fantasy."

"Nerd alert. You can watch. Feel free to hop in if you want to."

She presses some buttons on her phone. It isn't long before Sammy and Gordon appear. Sammy raises his fists above his head.

"I won yesterday, I get first choice. Immortal Combat, bitches!"

"You're going down, dude."

I watch from my vantage point on the couch with a bit of envy. This type of camaraderie is something I'm not used to being around. I wonder for a moment if my life would have been different with a group of close friends like these.

I don’t follow the screen. Instead I watch faces. The smiles… the trash talk… the exhilaration of triumph… and the anguish of defeat. This little group has managed to find a bond. I feel a touch of envy. I’m not sure if those feelings ring true or if they are simply a substitute filling in for the absence of Mistress.

Gordon wins today’s match-ups. I’m not surprised that Dominique is a sore loser. Watching her trade controllers back and forth claiming equipment failure makes me smile. We follow it up with pizza and a movie.

I spend one more night on the massage table, my backside is still too sore to lie on. Walking is still painful. I’m sure the few hours I spent in the shoes today didn’t help the healing process. I type Mistress an email before bed… it’s a different feeling not feeling bad in the evening.

“Dear Mistress,

Today was a good day. I hope yours was as well.

Love, pet.”

I sleep soundly tonight for the first time in days.

END ACT

Fiction: fs01 - Part 63

Author’s Note: This takes place about an hour after Part 62. It was originally intended to be part of 62 but both ended up running long.

-------------------------

LXIII

At dinner, Mistress and Brittany talk about all sorts of things while I lurk in the background. Movies, books, television, music, fashion, shopping, vacations, and a lot of things that you hear new friends talk about while they get to know each other. They really have a lot in common.

After desert they return to the living room. The continuous wine keeps things loose and flowing.

“Have you ever had your foot tongued?”

“What the hell is that?”

“Like, a foot massage given with a tongue.”

“No. What’s it like?”

“Heavenly.”

“Can I see you first and then decide?”

“Of course.”

Mistress snaps her fingers. I lie down with my head next to her feet and inch my body across the floor. I gently remove the slipper from her foot.

“With hands.”

I grasp her foot softly in my hands and begin with my normal massage technique, working my thumbs around the nerve zones. Carefully I raise my head and press my tongue at the top of her sole, where the toes meet the foot. I press more firmly and work my tongue in a massaging motion as my thumbs work her arch. I hear Mistress’s hand grip the armrest of the couch as she slouches back and moans.

I slide my tongue around, dragging it up each toe from base to tip. My hands move to the heel and outer edge. Mistress moans again as the sound of ruffled fabric finds my ears. My heart smiles knowing I give her pleasure. I’m a tad disappointed that in this position I can’t see her. Normally I do this while she lays in bed. Mistress’s breathing increases as she lets out a long sigh with a few pulsed cries in between.

“No fucking way.” I’m not sure what sort of expression Brittany has on right now.

I glide across the arch, swirling in gentle moving circles and spirals. The sound of friction continues with a fervor. Mistress begins to thrash and groan as I work my tongue back up her foot. I close my mouth over her pinkie toe. I suck and flick my tongue over its pad. She rubs furiously, undeterred by the presence of her guest. Her breaths heave in and out as as pulsed cry of pleasure signals me that she’s done. She pulls her foot from my grasp and wiggles it a few times. I return the slipper to her foot and plant a kiss.

“pet.”

I return to my knees in front of her.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“You let your thoughts drift there, didn’t you?”

I hang my head in shame. I feel her hands take hold of each of my nipples. I nod vigorously. Too late. She digs in her nails and gives them a firm pinch and twist. I let out a whimpering cry before she releases.

“So disappointing. I’m trying to show off your talents to our guest and you can’t stay focused.”

“I’m sorry, Mistress.”

“Oh, you will be sorry, pet.”

Mistress sits back up in the couch.

“Are you ready, Brit?”

I glance up and watch as her face turns bright red and her mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. She raises her hands and contorts her fingers.

“Umm, maybe? Like, wow. Am I allowed to rub one out too? That’s okay, right?”

Mistress laughs a very hearty laugh.

“Would you prefer a toy?”

Her face lights up another shade as she ruffles her fingers through her hair.

“Aaaaagh. No. I mean yes. I mean no. I mean… yes, yes… definitely yes.”

“First time with an audience?”

Brittany places her palms over her eyes.

“Yes. Be Zen. I’m in my happy place. Be Zen. I’m in my happy place.”

“Would it be easier if I left the room?”

“Yes, definitely yes. Yes. Definitely.”

“But what if I want to watch?”

“God, Cass!”

Brittany presses her hands over her face and rocks forward at the waist. She quickly sits upright.

“Well just look at the time. This will definitely have to wait until next time.”

“You don’t have a car here.”

“Yeah, but you don’t know that!”

“Too much too soon?”

Brittany’s hands return to her face and she nods slowly. She slowly removes them but looks a bit flustered.

“Aren’t you… like… shy at all?”

Mistress laughs

“You do remember that I had you take pictures of me with an over-sized strap on on the verge of ravaging my pet?”

Brittany closes her eyes tightly and grits her teeth.

“Those turned out lovely, by the way. I could definitely hire you as a photographer if you decide you wish to start working.”

Mistress’s ability to change the subject and build someone up is astounding.

“Why don’t we head on down to the dungeon?”

Brittany nods slowly, her energetic self on break for the time being. All humor leaves my body as well. I know exactly what awaits me down those stairs.

I follow them to the stairs as Mistress gives her the mini-tour along the way. As Mistress takes the first step I hear her speak quietly.

“If you want to really fuck with him, now is the best time.”

“Why now?”

“In about five minutes he’s going to be screaming for his life.”

Brittany laughs so hard that she has to hold her sides. This does nothing to reduce my elevated pulse rate or rising temperature. Anticipation… is the worst. Mistress pours salt in the wound with her choice of conversation.

“Let’s see. He has 20 coming from this morning for attitude towards his uniform. 30 for disrespecting you and another 15 for losing focus. How many do you think he deserves for breaking your heart?”

“Is 1000 okay?”

“I’m pretty sure that many would kill him and your arm would fall off in the process.”

“Umm… I don’t really know how this works.”

“Why don’t we say, 20 per day until you’re no longer mad at him?”

“Sounds good to me, but I can stay mad a long time.”

“Oh, Brit, I love you.”

“When you say love…”

“As a person, yes. Don’t worry, little one. I’m not going to try to seduce you. However, if you come to me...”

“Umm… so 20. Got it. Awkward pause.”

“Did you really just say awkward pause out loud?”

“Uh, no. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I’m so lost in their interplay that I barely notice that we’re in the dungeon and Mistress is prepping the shackles. I lower my head and step over to the mark, raising my arms and positioning them so that Mistress can close and lock the shackles around my wrists. She repeats with the leg irons that are threaded through the bolted ring to the floor. Lastly, she lifts the back of my dress and secures it to the ring on my belt. I begin to perspire and my body trembles as I watch her casually pace over to the wall plate. The motor whirs, raising my arms above my head until I’m balancing on my toes.

“I totally am getting a girl crush on you, Cass. You’re like a superhero. A high-tech torture room. It’s like you’re a sadistic batman… batgirl… chick. Newsflash, I talk a lot when I’m a little uncomfortable. In case you were wondering. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed that by now but I’m sure you’ve noticed that by now.”

Mistress has me positioned in such a way that I can see what devices are being taken off the wall. I watch as she removes a 1” leather strap with a wooden handle. She hands it to Brittany.

“Go to town.”

“So I just like… hit him?”

“This isn’t your first time.”

“Well that time was birthday spankings right? This is like punishment.”

“Sort of. I like to think it more as clearing his conscience. He knows that he deserves them. He broke the rules and committed the wrongs. He’ll feel guilty unless we purge that guilt from him.”

“You sold me. So last time I had a paddle. With this one do I like...”

“Did you play tennis ever?”

“Yes.”

“Try hitting him with a forehand.”

I hear her footsteps on the floor. I hear the air being displaced with a whir. The leather bites into my skin with a hard smack. I cry out and my body shakes against the metal bonds.

“Oh, shit.”

Step, tap, whir, smack. I scream and the chains rattle as I lose my balance and sway back and forth until I regain my footing. Step, tap, whir, smack. I cry and sob as the skin on my rear catches fire.

“Let’s see how two-handed goes.”

Step, tap, whir, SMASH. The breath shoots out of me with a yelp as I stagger under the stinging and throbbing pain.

“How do I stop feeling guilty?”

“There are multiple ways. You can whip faster, grow accustomed to it...”

“What do you use?”

“I learned to love it. His suffering turns me on… and the power… the power is just heavenly.”

“Interesting. Yes, the dark side is stronger.”

“See the swinging boy in front of you. He has disrespected you multiple times today and deserves to be punished. You are a beautiful Goddess who holds the power to judge what is right and wrong, cast down your sentence upon this insolent boy that dares to defy the Goddess.”

Step, tap, whir, SMASH. I cry a gargled yelp as my body shudders against the chains.

“Is it normal to be turned on by this?”

“Are you asking my permission?”

“Does this make you wet?”

“Of course. I’m almost angry that he has so many left to go that it will be forever until I can let him down and have him pleasure me. Are you wet?”

“So how many is that, 6?”

Mistress laughs as another crack of the strap strikes my bottom. I find myself leaning forward in my chains, attempting to inch away to no avail. Tears stream down my cheeks as I wail and cry out on each impact.

The strikes finally stop and I slump down, finally able to catch my breath.

“How do you feel?”

“I feel awesome.”

The way she shifts her pitch as she speaks would seem cute if I wasn’t in agony over my throbbing skin.

“I just want to keep going. Kapow, kapow. Watching his back arch and his head fly back...”

“It’s addictive, isn’t it?”

I watch as Mistress creeps closer to Brittany.

“The feelings… are addictive… seductive… sensual...”

Brittany’s face turns bright red as Mistress drags her finger across her cheek.

“Something something… personal space… something something.”

Mistress laughs again and removes her hand. I crack a hint of a smile from my exhausted face. Mistress is quite masterful at teasing when she wants to be.

Brittany hands Mistress the strap. She returns it to the wall and selects ‘the strap.’ The lesson teacher. The instrument of my training. I begin to whimper as she twirls it and taps it on her hand.

“That one is like way longer and wider than the one I was using. Are you a size queen?”

Mistress laughs again.

“You’ll have to work your way up to this one. It takes a certain level of proficiency or it can be a bit dangerous.”

Mistress vanishes from my view as she works her way around. I let out a small cry and grip the chains with my fingers. I feel her hand slide across my tender buttocks.

“I’m impressed. The color of the marks and the swelling, I think you’ve found your calling.”

Brittany pumps her fist in the air.

“Hooray me.”

Her hand leaves my skin. I take a deep breath and hold it. I can’t relax, I can only brace.

SMASH. A long bellowing cry leaves my mouth as my lungs expel all of the stored air. My body begins to slump as the second blow lands, causing me to recoil, thrash, and flex in vain.

“Holy shit.”

“My pet knows I never fuck around when it comes to what, pet?”

I sob out the words in small fragments.

“Disrespect, Mistress.”

“That’s right, pet. Disrespect.”

SMASH. I cry and shake, the metal digs into my wrists as I collapse forward, my feet unable to support me. I feel her hand on my belt, pulling me back to my toes. My preemptive whimper becomes as howl with the next blow.

“See, Brit? I’ll bet you can almost forgive him for his earlier indiscretion.”

“Almost. I still think you should keep going.”

SMASH. Under repeated blows I lose count as my voice grows hoarse and my muscle throb from the strain. Before long I find myself drifting in and out due to exhaustion.

My eyes focus as Mistress snaps her fingers in front of my face repeatedly. A straw enters my mouth and I take a sip of water. It feels so good as I can trace its path as it slides down the inside of my chest and into my stomach.

“Take more.”

I slurp up another gulp.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

As feeling returns my wrists are rubbed raw from the shackles. My legs can barely support me at all. My back, neck, and arms ache from the strain. My buttocks throbs and pulses as my lungs heave for air.

“We’re going to carry the rest over to tomorrow, pet, but you know what that means.”

“You add 10, Mistress.”

She returns to the wall and lowers the shackles. I collapse into a pile on the floor. I feel her touch as she cradles my head in her lap.

“I’m so sorry, Mistress.”

“I know you are, pet. Aren’t you forgetting someone?”

“I’m so sorry, Miss Brittany.”

“Hrm, do we need to add some more?”

I sob gently into her lap. I breathe deeply as her perfume fills my nose… the familiar scent makes me feel safe.

“Do you always do that with him?”

“This is what is called aftercare. It’s an important ritual that solidifies the bonds between a Mistress and her sub and helps to drive home the lessons you hope that he will learn. Dominique doesn’t believe in it. I tend to save it for when I’ve really hurt him.”

“I think I get it. Just because you are a sadist and like to hurt him, that doesn’t mean you don’t love him and care about his well being.”

“Exactly.”

“And tomorrow, he will accept his punishment willingly, I will hurt him badly, and we’ll do this again.”

“How long do you let him recover for?”

“Until he can stand.”

“Do you take it easy on him after that?”

“Of course not. Why go to all the trouble to break his spirit if you aren’t going to push him farther?”

“Wait, what?”

“Is there anything you would like to do or see? Your blush says yes.”

“Ugh, you can’t put me on the spot like that.”

“Well… a couple of things… god… why is this so hard?”

“Relax. I doubt you can name anything that we don’t already do regularly.”

I hear Brittany sigh from across the room.

“Well… I kinda… want to see what pegging is like. And I also read something about milking and that got me curious.”

I let out a small groan.

“That’s my girl.”

Mistress pets the fur on my collar. I rise slowly and my sobs begin anew.

“Why is he crying again?”

“Aha, it’s because you picked his least favorite activity in the world. Just look at how docile and obedient he is after a good beating.”

I keep my head down as I walk gingerly to the horse and climb on.

“Brit, would you be a doll and lock his wrists and ankles down.”

“If he’s so obedient why does he need locks?”

“Hrm. I thought that maybe you could tell me. I suspect some kind of trauma. It’s stronger than his desire to please me. We use the locks to keep him from unconsciously disappointing me.”

“Well, we did shove things up there before but nothing that would have probably… oh shit. I totally forgot. The day that Courtney got dumped.”

I continue sobbing as she fastens my wrists and ankles to the horse.

“Yeah. Now I remember. My friend Courtney got dumped by her boyfriend after he had been cheating on her and we got drunk at my house after school. When fur sissy arrived she just went off on him. She started slapping his face, kicked him in the balls, just brutalized him. After that she handcuffed him, crammed a ball of my socks into his mouth and pulled a pair of pantyhose over his head. She was mad when he could still see so then she added a pillow case… and another pillow case… and then pulled a plastic bag over his head. I made her poke a hole in it so he wouldn’t die. She cut off his pants and underwear with a pair of scissors and duct taped his ankles to the dresser. Chloe and I had no fucking clue what she was going to do, she just went crazy.”

I begin to weep as the memories of that day return in full force.

“I’m guessing something ended up inside of him?”

“Oh, shit yeah. She went and got the icy hot from my stepdad’s bathroom and lubed up the handle of a hairbrush. She started jamming that brush up his butt. He was screaming and trashing so she sat on his back while she did it. Once she got tired of it she just left it in him and then took a handful of icy hot and rubbed it all over his cock and balls. The bag kept making these crinkling noises as he screamed and gasped for air. It was really fucked up.”

“Did she untie him after that?”

“No. She drunk dialed her boyfriend and when he hung up she pulled the brush out, lubed it up again and kept going. She was so pissed that every time he stopped screaming she just kept putting more icy hot on his junk and stuff. This was over like six hours. God, we were so mean. I remember we made him walk home with a garbage bag with holes cut in it instead of pants.”

I continue weeping quietly on the horse. I figure that story gave enough time for Mistress to harness up.

“You’re in for a little treat, Brit. This is a two-fer.”

“So after hearing that story you’re still going to do it?”

“Of course. My pet knows how much I like it and now he knows that you want to see it. This is completely consensual. Right, pet?”

“Yes, Mistress.” I sniffle.

I feel the lubed silicon work its way between my thighs. My sobbing begins on instinct. I whisper my anal mantra quietly.

“Please don’t do this please don’t do this please don’t do this.”

“Yeah. Totally consensual. Got it.”

She violates me. My head tilts back and I let out a long cry. I hear Mistress exhale aggressively through her nose as she pumps her hips and lets out a gasp of pleasure with every thrust. I try to relax as my body shakes and quivers, unable to control itself.

Slap, slap, slap, the sound of her hips against mine echoes through the dungeon. The tears flow from my eyes as I make continuous gurgling noises against the sobs. Mistress picks up her pace and begins to pound, crying out with each thrust. I feel her hands tighten around my waist. Her juices run onto my thighs.

I whimper and cry as I feel the warm fluid ooze into the tube of my belt.

“There’s… the… milk...” Mistress finds enough breath to speak each word between breaths.

I notice Brittany to the side of me, watching in awe as the fluid dribbles into the floor.

“You’re still going?”

“Until… I… cum...”

“That’s really fucking hot.”

“So… hot… It’s… the best.”

Mistress’s pleasure calls and the sound of flesh on flesh completely drown out my feeble cries. The pain and throbbing begins to build as she jackhammers inside of me. The spikes dig into my wrists as I fight against the locks. I flail my arms and legs, hoping this will all be over.

“I… love… fucking… you… pet.”

She slams up against me once… twice… three times. Her moans sputter as I feel her juices soak the backs of my legs. I feel Mistress slowly withdraw. My rear tingles and throbs. I hear her breaths slowly stabilize behind me.

“Umm… Cass… is it okay if I borrow another massager?”

“Of course dear… unless you’d rather have a go at him.”

“Oh shit. Noway noway noway. Too much, too soon. Let me fantasize about it a few times first.”

I feel the locks release and I slide off the horse in a heap on the floor. I gather my bearings and crawl towards Mistress’s feet. I lower my head and plant a kiss, first the right foot, then the left.

“So how does milking work?”

“It’s quite simple really. You massage the prostate and it just comes out.”

“Is it like an orgasm?”

“I’ve heard about people having an orgasm that way but I doubt my pet has one. If he took any pleasure in it I’d have to find another way to milk him.”

“So you love that he hates it?”

“Why did you buy handcuffs when you were in high school?”

“To restrain his hands.”

“Why?”

“To restrain his hands isn’t the answer?”

“Do you think he would have tried to fight you off without them?”

“No.”

“So what’s the real reason?”

“To make him feel powerless and uncomfortable.”

“Didn’t that turn you on? Make you feel naughty? Exhilarated?”

“Well, yes.”

Mistress laughs.

“I think you understand it perfectly.”

“So if he loved it, you wouldn’t peg him?”

“I won’t say never, but probably not nearly as often as I do. The fact that he hates it makes it all the more special to me that he accepts it willingly.”

“Now that is deep… but I get that completely. I felt the same way back then.”

“What’s it like with that thing on?”

I look up and watch Mistress stroke the strap on.

“It depends who I’m using it on. With my pet this is my tool of violation. It belittles him and empowers me. It reduces him to a hole that I use to get off. When I use it on a woman… it’s a tool of mutual pleasure. I want her to cum and the harder I try, the better it feels for me, too. It really is quite amazing.”

Brittany ruffles her hair with her fingers and begins sputtering words at a rapid pace.

“Just friends. I’m not a lesbian. It’s okay to flirt. Personal space. Just friends.”

Mistress chuckles.

“My dear, I have to say that today has been the most fun I have had in a very long time. You are wonderful and I’m glad that you are my friend.”

Brittany smiles and blushes.

“I’m really glad I met you, Cass. Really. Thank you.”

“So now what? Do you want me to give you a ride home? Is there anything you’d like to try?”

Brittany smiles sheepishly. I watch as she draws a circle on the floor with her toe.

“Well… there is something I’d like to try. If it’s okay with you. I actually did it to him once before but I’m not sure he knew what was going on.”

“As long as his chastity belt stays on and it doesn’t permanently injure him, sure… but… you have to let me watch.”

“Oh fuck. There’s always a catch. Well, when I did this Chloe and Courtney were in the room, so I guess I could try to channel my rebellious 17-year old self and say fuck it.”

I watch as Brittany scans the room.

“I need some way to hog tie him, a gag that forces him to breathe out of his nose, and a blindfold.”

Mistress hands her a few things from the table.

“Whaaaaat? They actually make a hog-tie? We had to use a couple of pairs of pantyhose and we duct taped his mouth shut and over his eyes. I feel so low-tech.”

“Duct tape over his eyes? Wouldn’t that take his eyebrows off when you removed it?”

“Ha, no. Only half of his eyebrows… give or take… a few patches.”

Mistress laughs heartily.

“Also… do you have something soft to lay on? Or head to a different room?”

Mistress motions to me and I fetch the bearskin rug from the laundry room and lay it out on the floor. With the gag and blindfold in place, I find myself hog-tied and completely helpless. I stay intently focused, worried about what is to come.

“Do you want me to leave my panties on?”

“It’s up to you.”

“Well, I actually think it feels better with them on, and I’m totally not just saying that.”

Mistress laughs again.

I feel a hand lift my head firmly by the harness. A leg across my back, then another. I inhale through my nose and detect a very strong, very close scent of unfamiliar sex. A moment later, pressure against the earmuffs on my harness. Intense pressure. The legs pull in on my back and head, the pressure on the sides of my head must be thighs. My nose presses firmly against some moist silky fabric. A downward tug on my head presses my nostrils closed. No air.

I begin to tug and struggle with my head. The grip holds firm. I shake and spam my face violently against the wetness and silk. A series of low moans resound from above my head. I pull. I shake. Can’t breathe. The pressure relaxes and I gasp for air through my nose, her scent fills me completely.

I barely catch my breath when the pressure resumes, burying my face into her. The series of shakes and spasms, fighting against her grip continues. She pulls me in, I wiggle my head from side to side. Her moans become a pulse of cries. Air. I gasp for air as the releases her grip. Two breaths, another tug.

Help me. Someone. I struggle, the more I struggle the harder she pulls, the deeper she moans, the harder she grinds her sex into my face. She begins to pulsate with her tugs and leg flexes in a rhythm, forcing my face in again and again. My nose absorbs her scent and wetness as I gasp for air and struggle to free myself when I cannot breathe. She cries out and bucks her hips repeatedly. Her legs tighten a final time. Her juices coat my face.

She releases me from her grip. My chest heaves for air. The scent of her sex lingers in my nostrils. As Brittany’s breathing slows, the sound of Mistress panting fills my ears. I can hear the sound of friction, the lube on the strap on. She must be masturbating with it.

“That… was… so… hot.”

A few moments later Mistress lets out a small cry as she cums. I feel Brittany move away. I slump my face down into the fur rug. I am exhausted… in every way imaginable.

“I’m impressed. I would file that under an ‘advanced technique.’”

“How did you just cum?”

Mistress laughs.

“This style of strap-on goes inside of me on the other end. When you apply force against it, the back end pushes on my g-spot. I believe the inventor deserves some sort of prize. Well, that and your orgasm was just so hot and the way my little pet struggled all helpless like that.”

“I had to ask.”

“Do you mind spending the night tonight? I really don’t feel like driving. I just want to relax in the bath. I have a couple of guest rooms… unless you’d like to share my bed with me.”

“Just friends… personal space… not a lesbian.”

“Oh, dear, you’re almost as much fun to tease as my pet. Separate rooms, just friends. I can lend you a toy.”

“That’d be fine.”

I make a small grunting noise as I rattle my wrists and ankles. The spikes are becoming painful as they dig in while in this position.

“Should we unlock him?”

“Do we have to?”

“No, we could leave him like this all night if you want to.”

I begin to whimper and pout from behind the gag.

“It almost sounds like he’s laughing, doesn’t it?”

I buck my elbows and rock my body from side to side.

“Oh, pet. So much fun to tease.”

END ACT