Fantasy Drawing #1 2017

So...

I completed my first fantasy drawing since 2012.  I'm rusty and out of practice (not that I was ever particularly good at drawing before the hiatus), so I skimped a bit on detail and shading in favor of getting it done as I had envisioned it.

This easily could be a scene from fs01... and wanted to sort of roll with that vibe a bit.  It has a lot of the normal stuff I draw in it as well as a return of the framed mantras.  I thought about going with some dialogue but decided to let the picture tell the story.

I hope you enjoy it.

Evolving the submissive self

Being a submissive in the D/s lifestyle is one of the few times where a person constantly evolves under the guidance of a true merit-based system.  Certain behaviors are encouraged while others are discouraged.  Over time we find ourselves shaped into the image that the Domme desires.  At each plateau, repetition helps polish our skills and improve the quality of our service.  In turn, this makes us a "better" submissive.  The better that we conform, the more likely we are to instill confidence in the Domme, often granting her the courage to push us to the next step and continuing the evolutionary process for both parties.

That being said, I believe it is very possible for a sub to evolve on their own by imagining dominance.  Try to imagine what a Domme thinks, feels, desires, and needs.  How do things touch her in a positive way when it comes to her heart, her mind, her beliefs, her sexuality, and practical functionality? 

If you are like me, the process may not be clear on all of these fronts, but it is still possible to attempt to extrapolate the cause and effect chains.  If you have a dominant partner, hopefully you've been paying enough attention to her to pick these things up.  If you don't have a dominant partner, try to picture the personality type of the dominant that you would like to serve.  This differs greatly from fantasy.  In fantasy, you are envisioning what speaks to you.  In these cases, you want to imagine what speaks to her.  It may be a bit of a reality check to think about all of the things you like that provide a Domme with no benefit. 

Forgive the generalization here, but from my experiences women tend to respond to symbolism and meaning from actions more than men do, so when imagining an event it is also important to picture how she will interpret it in a greater sense of things.  This is very important in making sure that you picture things that think solely about her and not use this as a means to try to covertly manipulate response that will lead to favorable treatment for yourself. 

Thoughtfulness, effort, and displays of affection will likely be well-received.  Things that speak to obedience, control, and ownership are also a plus.  It may also work to elevate her status, pamper her, unleash the pleasure in life through pampering, and make her feel like a cherished Goddess.  Expect nothing beyond the "in the moment" response.  Expect no reciprocation.  Require no thanks.  Have no impure motive.  The answers to why should remain simple.  "Because I wanted to."  "Because I thought you would like it."  "Because I wanted to see you smile."  "Because I love you."  "Because you are my Queen." 

Working this through will improve your active submission.  You will become better at anticipating needs.  You will find new ways to please that she may not have even imagined. 

As much as we can ever evolve by responding to her dominance, there are hundreds of ways we can better ourselves as submissives by being proactive and finding new ways to please her.

Individual Fantasies

Recently a couple of blogs I follow have made requests for readers to share their sexual fantasies in an effort to give some inspiration for ideas.  I have found that at some point I stopped having sexual fantasies. That's not to say that I don't fantasize, but I no longer really have singular specific acts that I desire or wish to experience.  I fantasize about life.  A lifestyle.

For a while now I have come to believe that I only really respond sexually to subspace (submissive mental space).  It is what I crave, what I yearn for, and what turns me on.  I fantasize about a life that is capable of pushing me into subspace and has dynamics in place to keep me there.  I fantasize about a life that may shift the depth of the subspace that I am in, but I never truly leave it.

Such a life doesn't have any singular act that becomes the focus of my fantasy.  This life is a system of interwoven acts, expectations, and rules.  It is an interactive creature of actions and reactions where both parties perform their part to keep it pleasurable and sustainable.

I do not think it is valuable to analyze one party within a vacuum.  There is a continuous interplay of cause and effect and both parties are involved in performing actions and having reactions.  We feed off of one another.  The Domme feeds her Domspace from the actions of the sub.  The sub feeds his subspace from the actions of the Domme. 

I don't know if I should feel odd in feeling this way.  I am starting to feel that I view things differently from most people.

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

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 after Arc 5.

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

Dear Ms. C.

Do you have any fantasies you have yet to experience? Please share them with us.

-wellhung69

As much as I hate to cater to requests for masturbation fodder, you wrote in complete sentences and said please so I suppose I will answer this.

Ever since we acted out the slave fantasy I have been battling with the urge to evolve the dynamics in our relationship. The thought of completely enslaving him and reducing him to chattel just puts me into a spiral. Part of me wants it so badly but part of me wants to keep him as he is and once we make that step there is no turning back.

So yes, my fantasy is to reduce my sub to a slave with no rights and torment him on a daily basis like his feelings don’t matter at all. I want to be able to sell him if I chose to (even though I doubt I ever would). I want to replace his name with a number. I want him to be all mine and do with him what I please. I want power. I want control. I want them absolutely.

The thought of this breaks my heart but other organs find it quite appealing.

END

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

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 after Arc 1.

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Cassandra's Blog Bonus Chapter - Q & A: Chastity

Dear Ms. C.

You write about keeping your sub chaste on an almost permanent basis. I’m new to the lifestyle and just don’t understand what the appeal of chastity is for both Domme and sub. Would you please share your thoughts on what you like about it so that I can try to understand?

-ShyMiss

Thank you for the wonderful question, ShyMiss. I remember a time when chastity didn’t make sense to me either. I enjoy sex and the thought of removing that from the equation felt like I would be losing an intimate act that brings me pleasure. While I took control of my sub’s orgasms at the beginning of the relationship, it took several years before I put him in a chastity device. This was done at the behest of my former sub K, but somewhere down the road something changed.

I realized that I love control more than I love intercourse. I love that his pleasure and relief are kept under my lock and key. I love that his sexual frustration makes him ache for me. I love how every time he attempts an erection it reminds him of being owned. I love the way that prolonged chastity has changed how he thinks and has made him more submissive. His orgasms happen so infrequently that his entire focus is on my pleasure.

I still get a bit giddy when I think about it. I completely own his cock and I love it.

If I want to be completely honest, I have to say that there is a darker side at work here as well. My sub enjoys erections (he is a horny little slut). In our earlier days I used to love how perky it was when I would keep him naked and send him scurrying around the house, his penis bouncing around, all eager to please me. Now, I listen to the voice of my inner-sadist a little more. He loves his erections and that makes me want to take them away. Denying him such a simple pleasure mmm… I love it. That metal belt around his waist is truly unnecessary, I just can’t resist keeping him in it, knowing that it takes away something that he enjoys. The longer it stays this way the more I love it.

I still let him inside of me every so often, so it’s not like I do without it completely. I just make sure to wait until my desire to feel him outweighs my darker desires.

END

30 Days of Kink: Day 14

How would you say real life BDSM/kink varies from fantasy BDSM/kink? If you haven’t experienced real life BDSM/kink how do you think it might differ?

I think the primary difference between real life and fantasy are long-term consequences, repercussions, and after-effects.

I believe in fantasy it's easy to envision intense activities without worrying too much about the future.  E.g. In fantasy a punishment or beating might be incredibly severe.  In reality, the effects of that punishment may lead to bruising, scars, soreness, and the like that will affect you until it heals.  It is also easy for someone to fantasize about say, permanent chastity but the actual reality would end up being too much for them to bear in the long run.

While I do believe that fantasy has a good number of benefits for people, there is also sometimes a tendency to exaggerate a Domme's characteristics and abilities.  There is a lot of backlash against fantasy due to it creating unrealistic expectations.  This is always something to keep in mind.  

I believe I have been able to temper myself pretty well at creating "realistic" fantasies that take a lot of factors into consideration such as the Domme's preferences, time, space, money, and the like.

30 Days of Kink: Day 6

Describe your weirdest/most interesting sexual fantasy.

Ugh.  I really really really don't want to write this.  I really really really really don't want to write this.  I'd rather hide under the bed and pretend this prompt doesn't exist.

I've written about it hundreds of times in my fiction, so this should be easy... except it's not fiction this time and I actually have to claim it's about me.  No point in chickening out now.  Hell, I have lived it, so what's the big deal, right?  Actually, I'm less embarrassed by writing a personal fantasy compared to fearing that someone will read this and think I'm a wanker.  So be it.


My weirdest fantasy is to be the servant of the woman I love and serve.  She will be strict and cruel, choosing my serving uniform, controlling my behavior, and disciplining me when necessary.  My attitude, enthusiasm, and obedience will be under constant scrutiny.  I will be kept busy and over-worked, both with waiting on her hand and foot pampering her, as well as taking care of every mundane task and chore.  I must respond to her beck and call immediately, and just because she gives me a current order, it does not excuse me from completing my "standing list" of things to get done.  e.g. if she has me take a break from cleaning to rub her feet for an hour, the cleaning still has to get done, I just have an hour less to complete it in. 

Perfection is expected.  Punishment makes perfect.  It would be a life filled with ultimate focus upon her yet driven with an underlying fear.  She may choose to make things more difficult, adding restraints or rules that limit me even further.  Chastity would ensure that I stay frustrated and keep me from getting distracted.  There is no praise, no please, and no thank yous.  I do my job under the knowledge that it is my role and that there is an overall appreciation for my place in the relationship. 

This might not seem like a sexual fantasy, but it arouses me quite a bit.  I'm also aware that this requires a lot of work on the Domme's part, so I file this under fantasy as it isn't something that appeals to all.  In my experiences this is very feasible over say, a weekend, but not all Dommes desire to put forth the diligence and effort in maintaining it over the long-run, and I understand that.  I'm just saying, if I have a fantasy, it is this.

Dream Bondage Device - Permanent ______

It's been a while since I wrote about one of these.  I'm hoping to get some of the fantasy juices flowing as I wasn't super happy with how chapter 72 was portrayed and I'm struggling to finish 73 as a result.

If you expose yourself to enough sci-fi and fantasy type media your brain can easily get twisted and turned about by ideas that others present in some way.  These are often done in disturbing ways that end up affecting you on some deep level, even if you weren't aware of it at the time or sure of why.  A theme that I have been exposed to and that has come to haunt my dreams are things that involve permanence. 

Science fiction or magic-based ideas are where ideas of unbreakable substances, permanent treatments or curses, and the like show up with relative frequency.  While these things might not exist in reality, these genres allow for the creation of new methods and devices that could completely change the landscape of a D/s environment.

The first time I dreamed of something like this it was the result of a comic book character from when I was young.  This character wore a mask/hood to conceal their identity and at some point had some permanent adhesive dumped upon his head, permanently bonding the hood to his head.  In the comic, this character was eventually driven mad by this outcome and ended up dying ~25 years later, without ever having found a way to remove it.  This forced him to live in hiding, unable to be near anywhere civilized and to complicate it even more, the mask had no mouth hole, which forced all food to be taken intravenously. 

Needless to say, for someone with a strong connection to the humiliation of forced feminization, this is a rather dubious vehicle.  Having a humiliating uniform bonded to your body so that it could never be removed... forced to humiliate yourself or to go out of your way to cover yourself to go out for even the simplest of errands... just seems really evil... especially if someone did that to you on purpose.  As actual clothing gets dirty, the reality of this would probably be quite awful, but the dreams never covered more than a couple of days... more the knowledge that it was there for good was enough to break a sub's spirit.

Another notable dream device I had was a combination of things from both a couple of sci-fi movies as well as some novels and comics... or so I believe.  You can't really be sure when things just happen to show up in your subconscious.  I can pick out various bits and pieces and link them to specific events in movies or stories but they seem to have come together all on their own. 

If you could picture a material that is mold-able like clay.  Circuits/electronics could be placed within and then the finished piece could be easily custom shaped to fit a person, e.g. collar, wrist cuffs, ankle cuffs, belt etc.  Once they are in place they could be treated with a chemical mist or something like that, causing them to harden into an unbreakable substance.  This would allow for extremely sleek fitting permanent restraints that could never be removed. 

In the dream they allowed the wearer's location and vitals to be tracked and also had electromagnetic plates that would allow attachments or bonding to each other, surfaces etc. that could be activated by remote control.  In this dream it was a future Femdom city so of course there were wall plates that allowed for male slaves to be locked to the wall without the need for chains, tethers, etc.  Their hands could also be locked to their waist, collar, or to each other (front or back) with the touch of a button. 

Yeah... my brain can be kind of wacky sometimes.

Fiction: fs01 - Part 70

Author’s note: This skips forward a few days from Part 69.

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LXX

Day 6.

I haven’t left the house in a couple of days. I fill each day with activity but end up feeling empty. It reminds me of my life pre-Mistress. Plenty to do but living for myself has never felt fulfilling. I don’t feel like I’m slipping into depression, but I don’t feel good either. It gets harder and harder to find things to do. I don’t remember things ever seeming this… bleak. Maybe it’s because I didn’t know any better so I just kept on going. Knowing what I know now… I don’t like this.

I continue working on the song I’m learning for Mistress. I have the guitar pretty much nailed so I begin working on the vocals. The melody is easy. Memorizing the lyrics is hard… well, hard for me. I should have it mastered by the time she gets home. I hope she lets me play it for her before she takes the guitar away.

I have watched all my movies and read all of the books I bought. I have passed the last few days by having marathon sessions of Game of Thrones. I’m on season 5 now. The story is starting to feel weaker and that makes me feel sad. I don’t even try to sleep without the hat and earmuffs on anymore. There’s no point. It feels so different putting them on voluntarily… it seems sickening in a way. I haven’t written to Mistress as often. When I miss her I bury my face in her robe.

Today I try something new and hop on the computer. I stare at the desktop for several minutes before firing up a browser. My fingers hover above the keys as my chest tightens. I feel like I’m being disloyal by even considering this. I take a deep breath and my fingers begin to type into the search box: “fur femdom.” I hit enter and watch the results load. I click on the images tab.

Box after box fills with images of women in furs. My heart sinks a bit. Most of the photos are professional poses. A handful are grainy and poorly lit done by amateurs. At some point this used to “do it” for me. Now it just makes me miss the feelings even more. I miss my Mistress. I try to narrow my search, this time I enter “fur femdom sissy humiliation.” The top three hits are sponsored links for furniture stores. The content is sparse, mainly generic links to porn sites that are probably loaded with viruses. I click the images tab. A few boxes load with some of the same models in fur coats but now with grotesque looking male french maids. I wonder if I look that awful to other people. I probably do. Mistress’s view that feminization doesn’t look like women rings true even in porn.

I change the search to “fur sissy”. It returns Sissy Spacek in fur. My eyes find the line “increase your results by” and look as it crosses out either sissy or fur. I’m such a loser… I can’t even porn right. This is more depressing than arousing. The search engine recommends searching for sissy humiliation captions. I click the link. I skim through them, writing off the majority. I have no desire to suck cock. I have no desire to be cuckolded by another man. A handful of them reference chastity or being locked in a uniform. They break the surface and wake up the most basic submissive feelings within me. I miss my Mistress.

After a dozen or so captions they start to all feel the same. At least some of them have pretty women in them. The themes repeat over and over and I realize what is missing… there’s no love. I know this is the fantasy for many but it’s night and day for me. It’s enough to cause a rift between “feeling submissive” and “being in subspace.” I never doubt Mistress’s heart.

I had hoped the internet would make me feel better. Instead I just feel more alone. Without the chastity belt on I probably could have pleasured myself for a couple of minutes to some of these images. Locked up securely in steel… I don’t know what I was hoping for… feelings… that just aren’t possible. It’s very hard to pretend when you are accustomed to reality. I will try again tomorrow.

I sulk in a long shower before bed. I put on my hat and earmuffs and instantly feel my heart twitch. I pick up the phone.

“Mistress,

I miss you so badly. I love you so much.

Your pet.”

I just have to last a couple more weeks. I need to be strong. Sleep finds me easily tonight.

Day 7.

I turn off the TV after watching a particularly weak episode. As much as I wish to know what happens I’m not sure it will improve from here. I have the melody of Mistress’s song memorized along with verse one and the chorus. I will work on it twice as hard from here on out.

I try the internet again today. Just sitting down at the computer makes me feel desperate and pathetic. I try a different search engine today. It spits out the same images but in a different order. I try something new. “fur fetish sissy.” To my pleasant surprise I find some new images but mostly transvestites. I add humiliation and hit enter. A wall of pictures appears before me, seemingly ignoring the “fur” part of the search box. I’m about to close the tab when a small image catches my eye. The picture is of a man covering his face while wearing a fur-trimmed women’s jacket, a hat with a huge fur pom, and a pair of big fluffy earmuffs. I pursue the link and load the page.

I read the introductory text and scan through the images. He’s a single heterosexual submissive male. I can tell by his posture that it embarrasses him terribly to do this. It also seems like the shame is multiplied by the fact that he knows that he needs this. For the first time I feel a similar vibe to what I know. I close the browser and escape to my mind. My fingers gently tease my nipples as I imagine Mistress pulling something like that out of the garment bag and announcing she’s taking me out for the day. I feel my sex strain against the belt with an immediate chaser of guilt at desiring the submissive feelings I associate with it.

I cringe quietly. This does me no good. I close my eyes again and the salesgirl’s voice haunts me again. I feel my face burn and I just want to hide. The feeling lingers but I can’t hide from myself. I try to change my train of thought. I open the browser again and search for movie stores… DVD stores… and there aren’t many left. The majority of them would be at least two hours worth of bus ride and transfers or are unreachable out in the burbs. Only the bookstore is close. I close the browser and go lie down. I’m so tired.

I barely eat today.  The energy isn't there.  The desire isn't there.  I stare at the wall while my thoughts drift in and out. I pick up the phone and begin to type.

"Dear Mistress,

I miss you so badly.  I hope work is going well and that you are having fun with everyone.  I am trying my best.  I love you with all my heart.

-pet."

I drop the phone on the bed and close my eyes.  I'm startled when the phone beeps at me.

"pet,

Keep hanging in there.  I will be home as soon as work permits it.  Do whatever you have to do to get by.  Make sure you do something fun tomorrow.  Call Dominique if you get too lonely.  I love you, always.

-Mistress."

I feel my heart warm up and my mind wakes from its slumber.  I read the message again and again, basking in the happiness it brings me.  I quickly type a reply while the feelings are still fresh.

"Thank you, Mistress.

Hearing from you makes my heart tingle.  You are what I love most in this world.

-Forever yours, pet."

I press send and immediately feel a strange sense of loss.  I should have waited to respond.  Now I am the one that waits.  I shake the thoughts from my head and re-read the message.  I will go out tomorrow. I have to be strong.

As I get ready for bed I put on the hat and harness.  I place Mistress's robe on one side of the bed, its collar leaned up on the pillow. I lie on my side and shuffle my pillow closer until the remnants of her perfume fill my nose.  I place my hand on the sleeve and close my eyes.  I doze off quickly and sleep soundly.

Day 8.

I wake up feeling refreshed.  I hop out of bed and head straight for the bathroom and then the shower.  Mistress's words have me in better spirits today, it was so good to hear from her.  I wash myself thoroughly and shave as she likes me to.  Today is a new day.  I will do something fun today.  My appetite returns and I eat a decent breakfast.  With my toast I have a banana and some chocolate milk.  I don't really have much of a sweet tooth but go long enough without something and it always seems to hit the spot. I pull out the phone.

"Thank you, Mistress, for the chocolate milk. Drinking it makes me feel giddy and like a (happy) kid again.

Love, pet."

I make my way to the computer.  No porn today.  I search for the closest movie theater.  The nearest one is about a mile from the colonel.  A movie and chicken, that's fun right?  I don't really know anything about the movies that are playing but I figure something light-hearted would be better for my mood as of late.  I track down what appears to be a stupid raunchy comedy and reserve a ticket for the matinee showing.  I check the forecast before I leave. Thank God, it's a lot warmer today than it has been the past few days with a light chance of snow. I will wear the gloves today but leave the others at home.  I will remember to stop by a store and buy some that are less feminine. 

I make the walk to the bus stop.  It's a bit windier than they had projected and I have some second thoughts about turning back.  The bus is on time.  I get off at the now familiar stop and walk up a few blocks to get some chicken.  Today I get it with coleslaw and mac & cheese.  I'm probably going to gain weight before Mistress gets back but it's a small price to pay to enjoy food again in this limited window of opportunity.

As I leave I notice a that light but sticky snow begins to fall.  On the sidewalk I stare at the bookstore across the street.  I feel my chest twitch and I force my thoughts elsewhere.  I'm going to a movie.  I'm going to have fun.  I decide to walk toward the theater rather than waiting for the next bus.  My foot starts to ache a bit. I really need to get more exercise and these shoes are rubbing my foot in a strange way.  I tough it out.

The movie is predictably stupid but there are a handful of moments that have me laughing.  I don't usually see these types of movies.  I feel good about branching out today.  A bad comedy is often a better watch than a bad drama and I'm so out of the entertainment loop that this was a safer bet anyways.  Across the street I spot a small shop that appears to deal in men's and women's accessories.  I cross at the crosswalk and make my way inside.  While the signage advertised men's and women's accessories it's mostly women's and has a boutique-like feel to it.  The men's section is limited to a small case and one rack in the back corner. A handful of neckties and fashion hats, some wallets and a very small selection of leather gloves, winter hats, and scarves.  I inspect a pair of the gloves.  The leather is soft and smooth. The tag says they are cashmere lined.  They are $99.  Mistress would kill me.  The hats and scarves are also cashmere and nearly as expensive.  I let out a sigh and turn to leave.  Something catches my eye and I realize that I really picked the wrong shop.

Across from a selection of handbags is a case and display of fur accessories.  I keep them in my peripherals as I pretend to walk past them calmly.  I fight the urge to look directly at them and continue moving as I pass by a middle-aged woman trying some of them on in the mirror.  I quickly debate finding something as a gift for Mistress but I doubt she would like that very much.  I'm sure she would appreciate the sentiment but scold me for wasting the money on something she could have made for much cheaper at her shop.  I decide instead that I will get her a flower the day before she gets back.  I will find the most beautiful flower in the entire shop.  I leave the store with a smile and begin walking back towards the bus stop.

My mind wanders as I walk.  The falling snow forms a layer on the sidewalk and parked cars.  I will have to look up the closest flower shop when I get home and plan a day around that.  The bookstore's awning draws my attention as it comes into view.  I keep walking past it.  Not today.  I reach the alley and pause.  A rush of anxiety crashes against my heart.  I feel the urge build.  I turn and walk back towards the bookstore.  I fight off the craving as I near the door and keep on walking.  I stop at the crosswalk.  What's the matter with me?  Why am I so fucked up?

I don't want to go.  I need to go.  I don't want to go.  I need to go.  Dejected, I turn and hurry to the entrance before I can change my mind.  I brush the snow off of my shoulders and rack my brain to come up with a reason for being here.  I find the familiar woman standing behind the counter, a smirk on her face as our eyes meet.  I look away and my face rushes hot with shame.

"Hello, Mister sissy.  No hat today?"

"How did you..."

"It wasn't tough to figure out.  I didn't think you'd come back."

Two exchanges in five seconds and I already feel rattled to my core.

"Umm... I saw the sign saying that you buy used books and DVD's... how does that work?"

"You bring them here and we pay you money for them."

The candid response to my question makes me feel stupid.  I am stupid for subjecting myself to this yet again.

"You have to be the owner of them and you need a photo ID."

"Okay.  Thank you, ma'am."

The thought of selling back the books and movies I bought vanishes with the mention of an ID. I turn to leave.  Her voice stops me.

"By the way, I found another book you might like."

I freeze like a deer in headlights.

"I was going to show it to you if you came back but you disappointed me today.  I'm sure you remember."

I blurt out the answer automatically. As the words leave my mouth I realize that she baited me.

"You said your day feels empty if you don't see me in that hat."

"Naughty boy. If you heard me then you should have acknowledged that I was speaking to you. And what are you missing today?"

I close my eyes as my face burns hot.  Why is she doing this?  Why can't I get it out of my mind?

"Come back tomorrow if you want me to show it to you.  I'm here from noon until eight.  I expect you to be dressed properly."

"Wearing the hat?"

"Since you dressed inappropriately today, I think you can do better.  Surprise me.  If you surpass my expectations, I just might help you.  If you let me down or don't show up, then I never want to see you here ever again."

I simply nod and head for the door as quickly as I can move without running.  My chest pounds.  I feel awful.  I want to scream and cry.  How am I this fucked up?

Outside the shop I rush for the alley. My face burns, melting the snow on contact. My stomach churns and boils. If Mistress was here she would hug me and everything would feel okay. What am I doing? Why is this so hard? It has only been a week. Only a couple of weeks left. When I have calmed myself enough to function I hurry for the bus stop.

I keep my head down on the ride home. I feel ill. The ride seems longer than usual. The snow slows the traffic. I don’t understand why, it snows all the time yet a fraction of an inch and everyone forgets how to drive. I depart the bus and rush home. I want to get away… get away from the world back to our safe little haven: the world that Mistress built just for us.

Inside the door I knurl my fists into my hair and cry out. I can feel my eyes going misty on me as I head for the coat closet. The hat sits on top of a box taunting me. I dig through the box… the bin full of items that Mistress never wears. I spread them out on the floor and group them by color. A lump forms in my throat and my face contorts in agony. Why am I doing this? I quickly return everything to the box, remove my coat. In the living room I dive onto the sofa and bury my face in a pillow.

I reread Mistress’s email. Is this lonely enough to call Dominique? I page through the numbers stored in the phone. Apparently Mistress arranged it just for the duration of this trip. It has her phone which wouldn’t be in service, Dominique, pizza, and taxi. I hesitate for a moment before I finally place the cursor over Dominique’s number and press the call button.

It rings a few times before it answers.

“What?” Her voice speaks sternly and directly. My hands start to shake.

“You have two seconds before I hang up.”

“Umm... Miss Dominique? It’s fs.”

“Hello, little one, I’ve been expecting your call. Are you ready to submit to me?”

“Miss Dominique… I was just feeling lonely and was wondering if you would talk.”

“It’s none of my concern.”

She hangs up. The phone slides from my shaking fingers into the couch. I cover my face with my hands and scream through my nose. I am truly isolated. A sudden tick in my heart points out that I am being selfish. This turns into self-disgust… self-loathing… and awareness of how ashamed I would be if Mistress saw me not making the best of things. I don’t want her to worry about me.

I turn on the stereo and grab my guitar. I play her song over and over again, singing until my voice is raw and hoarse. My hand aches. My throat aches. I make some toast for dinner. Chewing toast seems so loud in a quiet and empty house.

After dinner I start a shower. I climb in and drop to my knees, eventually ending up in the fetal position under the spray of the steamy water. Nothing seems to help with the twist of conflicting emotions. Nothing helps when my greatest desire is just to be by her side.

After the shower I dry off and get ready for bed. I feel listless. I look over at the cage sitting against the wall. I take Mistress’s robe and drape it over the bars. On my knees I crawl inside. I press my face to the edge, touching the tip of my nose to the robe and inhaling deeply. The familiar scent makes me smile; it soon shifts to a frown. I’m a poor excuse for a human.

I type an email to Mistress.

“Dear Mistress,

You are the light of my life. You are the center of my heart and my world. I love you more than anything. Be safe.

-Love, pet.”

I put down the phone and head straight for the hat and harness. I crawl into the cage and curl up with a small pillow. This is who I am. Sleep finds me quickly.

Day 9.

I wake up disoriented and with a rush of adrenaline. My eyes instinctively find the bed. My heart sinks. She’s not here. I leave on the hat and harness and I pick up the phone. I reread Mistress’s last message.

I read a sentence out loud.

“Do whatever you have to do to get by.”

I don’t understand. Did she anticipate this? I imagine myself asking for her permission. Mistress, can I look for porn? Do whatever you have to do to get by. Mistress, can I buy a guitar? Do whatever you have to do to get by. I can’t help but feeling like shit… like I’m betraying her. I worry that I’m reading into this to find the answers I want. I’m not a good person.

I tear the harness of my head and throw it against the wall. Fuck this defeatist attitude. Why is this so hard for me? Why do days seem so hopeless when I have nothing to look forward to except knowing the next day will be the same? I cringe as my heart reminds me.

Mistress, should I go to the bookstore today? Do whatever you have to do to get by. This is the only variable in my life. This is the only thing I can’t control. This is the only thing where the outcome is unpredictable. This is the only thing right now that makes me feel small like how Mistress does. Do whatever you have to do to get by.

I manage to summon enough courage to consider it. What does “I think you can do better” mean? Asking myself that question is simply a lie… hoping to convince myself that my interpretation is wrong. She expects me to humiliate myself. I continue to battle with myself as I dump out the box of clothes that Mistress left for me. There’s another couple pairs of pants and some shirts. At the bottom of the box something falls out that doesn’t seem to belong with the rest of them. The shirts are all men’s large. This final piece is a sweater and it’s not for a man. I pick it up and inspect the tag. It’s a women’s XL. Definitely not for Mistress. It’s a chunky turtleneck in neon pink, a color that she never wears. I unfold it before me and a few items topple to the floor. Closer inspection reveals a pair of panties and matching socks.

My hands begin to shake. Did she already anticipate that something like this might happen? That my “needs” would overwhelm me? I pick up the phone and type a message.

“Mistress,

I love you and hope your trip is fun. Say hello to everyone for me. I found some ‘out of place’ items at the bottom of my clothes box. Were those meant for me?

-Love, pet.”

I raise the sweater close to my face. It has been doused with Mistress’s perfume. I bury my face in it and inhale. A strange rush of emotions washes through me. I read into it. This is Mistress’s way of telling me that I should accept my needs if they become a problem. I let out a small sigh. I missed my calling as a politician or a used car salesman. It’s easy to believe what we you want to believe. I speak out loud in the empty room.

“Yes, pet, this is for when you’re so distressed you can’t function and want to go out and humiliate yourself to feel okay.”

I feel like such a douche when I put it that way. I picture Mistress’s smile, the one that shows up when she exposes me to others and then watches my face for my reactions. I am okay when I suffer for her, now I crave to suffer for me? Don’t fight it, just accept it. I put on the panties, socks, and sweater along with a pair of khaki pants. The sweater is definitely cheaper material than the ones Mistress wears, it rubs roughly against my nipples and the tags itch badly. A quick glance in the mirror shows me nipping out rather gloriously. The panties are an interesting feel. It has been years since I’ve been permitted to wear underwear. They are much softer than any underwear I’ve ever owned and they squeeze my buns in an oddly humiliating way.

In the coat closet I choose the shorter of the two jackets. It fits around the chest but it is a little bit short in the waist and arms and has no collar. I zip it up and glance in the mirror. My face burns red. The sweater extends an inch below the jacket and peek out from the ends of the sleeves. The collar of the turtleneck is in plain sight. I picture Mistress giggling at me and my sex strains against the belt.

I picture her reaction as I dig through the box of accessories. I pick up the black hat that I wore last week.

“Oh, pet, you know that black isn’t your color. You know how I feel about ‘wishful thinking,’ try again.”

I put that in the “no” pile and keep sifting. My hands instinctively choose another hat. It’s identical the black one in style, brand, and material… but it’s neon pink. It matches the sweater perfectly. I feel my blood pressure rise as my hands shake a little. I picture her words again.

“Yes, pet. You might have thought that was one of mine, but I bought that one with you in mind. It should go well with your new sweater. Don’t forget to accessorize. I got you the full set.”

When I sorted the box before I remember a matching set. I frown a little bit as I dig it out piece by piece. A pair of mittens with fur at the cuffs. A pair of earmuffs that seemed oddly out of place in Mistress’s wardrobe. A long scarf with fur pom poms on it. It’s so long I have to wrap it around my neck three times. I put them on and look in the mirror. I cringe. I look awful. I picture Mistress again, giggling at the realization of what she is putting me through.

I picture the woman from the bookstore and I feel dizzy as my face burns. I’m going to the bookstore. I’m not going to wear these on the bus. I find a small crush-able tote, something I can cram into my pocket and place the items inside as I take them off. It isn’t quite noon. I’ll stop for lunch along the way. I feel like I’ve been abusing the colonel but I remember passing by a small Japanese restaurant along the way. It looked fairly inexpensive.

I walk slowly to the bus stop. Today is much colder than yesterday. I curse myself for again forgetting to buy a hat and gloves. Mistress’s voice pops into my head.

“Why would you waste my hard-earned money on gloves and a hat when I already got you some very nice ones?”

My stomach churns. Maybe I shouldn’t eat. Thankfully the bus is relatively empty. A few young adults in headphones that look half asleep sprawled in their seats. I exit the bus at the closest stop to the restaurant and walk there. It’s a quaint little dive, the kind of place I used to eat at in college. The menu is small but the photos make my mouth water. I order a hot & spicy chicken with steamed cabbage and gyoza. It always amazes me how fast they can prepare the food. The flavors meld in my mouth. When was the last time I had rice? Lunch leaves me with a tiny food baby. So much more satisfying than my diet of a few saltines and whatever scraps Mistress throws my way. I linger in the entryway out of the cold until the next bus is scheduled to arrive.

As the bus pulls up I feel myself shaking. Nerves. Anticipation. It’s often worse than the experience. I feel a tug at my heart. For some reason I don’t think it will be that way today. I exit the bus and cross the street on the near side of the bookstore. I pause at the alley and check the time. 12:07. My chest heaves with every breath. The turtleneck feels like it’s strangling me. I want to run. Why do I do this to myself. Her voice rings through me like the angel and devil on opposing shoulders in an old cartoon.

“I chose you because you weren’t a coward, pet.”

I remove the items from the bag and put them on. It’s an instant improvement against the cold air. I feel like I’m going to vomit. I crush up the tote bag and shove it in my pocket. I attempt to walk calmly as I enter the store. I feel like I could start on fire. The life fades from my eyes as I approach the register.

“Welcome back, sissy. You’re earlier than I expected.”

I stand silently, quivering, my eyes looking at the floor.

“I’m sure you must have a coat that goes better with your outfit. Tsk tsk.”

I unzip my jacket, exposing the neon pink turtleneck.

“Is it quite enough. Hmm. It’s obvious you put in some effort, but is it enough? If no, I’ll have to take your photo and add you to our ‘wall of shame’ over there.”

She points to a large poster above the counter with the words ‘BANNED FROM PREMISES” stenciled on it. A series of photos fill up the poster. I would guess they were probably caught shoplifting. She speaks again and snaps me back to Earth.

“If you were me, would you accept this? I mean it’s obvious you put in a little effort, but really now, I’m sure you must have a cute skirt or dress that better suits you… and those shoes.”

I picture my maid’s dress and immediately frown.

“So tell me, sissy. Is this the best you could do?” I shake my head.

“No, ma’am. I’m sorry. It’s just that I have to ride the bus and...”

“Did I ask for you to make excuses?”

“No, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

She stands there in silence, eyeing me up and down. I tremble and fidget.

“Place your hands on the counter.”

I step closer and comply with her orders. She responds by placing a pair of cable ties on the counter.

“The choice is yours, sissy. Either I take your picture and ban you from the store or the cable ties.”

My mouth feels dry and I can barely speak.

“The cable ties, please, Ma’am.”

She smirks and turns back the cuffs on the mittens. Moments later she zips them snugly around my wrists before hiding them under the fur as she flips them forward again.

“You must really need this.”

I close my eyes.

“Kirsten. Can you watch register for a few? I have a customer that needs my expertise.”

Another woman appears from the back.

“That’s funny Dawn, you have an expertise? What could you possibly… oh.”

She covers her mouth with her hand and chokes back a laugh with a fake cough.

Dawn takes my by the hand and leads me down the rows of books. We stop under a sign that says “Erotic.”

“I asked around and did a little research and I found a book that would be perfect for you. It’s about a naughty boy with a nasty little masturbation problem who gets corrected by his tutor that has been hired to school him. It’s called ‘The English Governess.’”

The way that she implies this story was personalized for me crushes my spirit and I fall down a shame spiral. I simply nod and keep my head down.

“Am I right that the sissy has problems with self control?”

I nod again and close my eyes. My knees tremble with feelings of defeat. I have to fight myself to keep from crying.

She leads me back to the counter by the hand. Kirsten rings me up. She remains silent but I can tell that she is amused. Thankfully she stays out of it.

“I’m going to take my 15. Is that okay?”

“Already? You’ve only been here for like 20 minutes.”

“Yes.”

“Fine, but don’t blame me in a couple of hours when you start getting cranky.”

Dawn takes my hand again and leads me into the back to the break room. We are the only ones there. I stand, silently. She takes a step back and eyes me up and down. My phone beeps in my pocket.

“Is that your phone?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Check it.”

I extract the phone from my pocket.

“It’s a message.”

“From who?”

“From my Mis… my wife.”

“From your Mistress? Read it out loud.”

“Dear pet,

I know you are probably struggling. Do whatever you need to do to feel okay until I get back. I love you and trust you.

-Mistress.”

She bursts into laughter.

“You really do have a Mistress. Oh shit. I thought you were lying about it. Give me the phone.”

I hesitate. She extends her hand forcefully. I hand it to her. She presses a button and begins to type, reading it out loud as she goes.

“Hello,

I am an employee at a local bookstore. Your slave has betrayed your trust and dishonored your name by repeatedly coming into our store and harassing me in a way that makes me uncomfortable. I really think that he needs to be taught some manners and should be punished harshly. I would like to meet you when you return so that we can discuss recompense for the emotional distress that he has subjected me to. It feels so dirty the way he has used me to act out his sissy humiliation fantasy and he has made me an unwelcome participant in his perverted little game.

-Miss Dawn.”

My heart races with terror. She hands the phone back to me. My hands shake so badly I nearly drop it. I begin to sob.

“Aww, poor sissy. Why are you so sad? What’s she going to do, whip you and lock you in a cage?”

I nod as the tears run down my cheeks.

“Shit, really?”

I continue nodding. She claps her hands together.

“That’s great. I never actually met someone who actually did that stuff for real. You keep coming in midday, what do you do as a job?”

I hesitate a moment.

“I’m a maid.” She claps her hands again.

“A maid? Like at a hotel?”

“Live in.”

“Does she make you wear a pretty little dress?”

I nod again. She howls with laughter.

“I think I would pay to see that.” I her her phone beep.

“It’s been 15 minutes already? My break is over, you’re going to have to leave.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Did I really get you in trouble with that email?”

I nod.

“You said you took the bus, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Did you wear that outfit all the way here?”

“No, ma’am. I kept most of it in a bag and put it on near here.”

“I’ll tell your Mistress that I was just playing a joke on one condition. You have to wear that outfit until you get home.”

I cringe and whimper.

“Does the sissy have a bad attitude? I may just have to tell your Mistress that you were twice as bad as I said you were.”

I cover my face with my hands.

“You’ll wear it.”

I nod.

“I’m going to ask her when I see her. I know you wouldn’t lie to her so I expect you to follow my instructions, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, and keep your coat unzipped the whole way too.”

I nod.

She escorts me from the employee area out to the storefront. I exit the store as quickly as I can. I see Dawn and Kirsten gossiping and laughing through the window. My anxiety quickly doubles as I get stuck in my own head. Is it more conspicuous to walk quickly or to walk casually? What should I do if someone approaches me?

I hurry to the bus stop and hide myself as best I can behind a large pole for a street lamp. The bus takes forever to arrive. My hope to go unnoticed vanishes as I fiddle with my wallet attempting to get out my bus pass. The mittens make this no easy task. I block out the whispers and find a seat in the back and hunch forward, hiding myself as best I can. I feel like I’m going to die. My phone beeps again. I take it from my pocket and read it.

“pet,

Expect to have a long talk about this when I return.

-Mistress.”

I let out a quiet whimper, hoping no one hears it over the roar of the engine. I exit at my stop and run back to the house. Inside I toss the book aside and crumple on the floor and cry. I don’t know how long I lie there. Eventually I settle down. I retrieve the phone and type an email.

“Dear Mistress,

I don’t know what’s going on. I’m not okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to worry about me. I’m not okay.

I love you. I miss you.

-pet.”

I hobble to my feet and discard my clothes as I walk through the entryway. Eventually I’m wearing nothing except for the panties and my chastity belt. I pick up the book and hump my way up the stairs and into the bedroom. I collapse on the bearskin rug and begin to read. I want to feel anything except acknowledging my own existence.

I immediately immerse myself within the fiction. Even though the protagonist is wantonly abused I can’t help but feel a bit envious that he had someone that cared about him at that stage in his life. I read the entire book in a single sitting. I finish it with a warmer feeling inside. I don’t know if I liked it or not, I can merely say that it spoke to me on some level. I wonder if Mistress would want to read it.

My stomach growls loudly and I twist my body in discomfort. I haven’t really moved for hours. I stretch before getting up to put on some clothes. I don’t feel like cooking so I make due with an apple, a granola bar, and some carrots. The food tastes like nothing. I don’t even feel like eating, it just seems like I should. After dinner I find the phone and type a message.

“Mistress,

I’m a mess inside. I don’t know what to do. I love you.

-pet”

I’m tired. So very tired. Tonight I sleep on the floor. Maybe it will be better in the morning.

END ACT

Another fs01 Arc 8 pictoral reference and a blurb

I realize this is a bit of a spoiler, but I've written a handful of chapters that included Cassandra's "siren" outfit that her and her friends wear on certain occasions and as a group to the fetish club, etc.

I feel a bit guilty in a "typical male" sense whenever I do things like this (or the blatant bi-sexual cuckolding, etc.) but it's tough to keep going with ideas... and it's a lot easier when they happen to fall into my fantasy wheel-house, even if they are typical.

The baseline for that outfit is something along the lines of:

Staying true to me (and how I have written the characters) it is of course, fur-trimmed.  I know that I have described some of the features more than the actual look, but if I (try and struggle) to remember how I have written it, it's probably closest to the far left and then accessorized in various ways to form a completed ensemble.  In my mind's eye it could probably be any of the three.  A key feature of the written version is that it has a removable crotch that allows the wearer to have sex, wear a strap-on, or receive oral pleasure without having to remove the entire outfit. 

I do know that the concept of a "Domme uniform" is something that many newer Dommes find daunting or intimidating.  The fantasy/porn side of Femdom has pretty much established this as black leather or latex, tight fitting, lots of exposure, etc. which doesn't always mesh well with many women. 

I have given a lot of advice to newer Dommes over the years on this subject and I will echo it again here.  I believe that the best "Domme uniform" for her is whatever makes her feel the sexiest, most confident, and most attractive.  Those are some of the feelings that foster dominant feelings and whatever clothing (or lack of) brings about those feelings is the best choice.  This could be a business suit, a certain type of lingerie, a favorite outfit, and so on... it can take any shape and form as long as she feels good about herself while wearing it.

As Cassandra's outfit will likely make an appearance soon I wanted to write more about it.  Since Cass tends to be dominant no matter what she's wearing, this is just for special occasions.

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