30 Days of submission: Day 8

Is spanking or corporal punishment a part of your submission? Why or why not?

Yes.  It has taken upon various roles and functions within my relationships.

-Behavioral correction.
-Regular maintenance to remind me of my place.
-Depression maintenance.  It brings me to a better mind state.
-Philosophical reasons.  If hitting me brings her pleasure and the focus of the relationship is on her pleasure, then hitting me at any time "because she wants to" is fair game.

I endure this because it falls within my principles as a sub but it also takes me to my most vulnerable state.  The way she communicates to me while I am helpless and at her mercy resonates deeply within my heart and the intimacy of the moment and its aftercare are full of love and warmth.

30 Days of submission: Day 7

Do you accept and/or expect discipline or punishments as a part of your submission? 

Yes.

How do you feel about it?

I don't care for pain but I accept it as a teaching tool.  It has purpose on multiple fronts.

I want to be perfect for her and hope that she believes in me enough to expect the best from me.  Not all of my habits are exactly as I would like them to be.  My attitude isn't always what I want it to be.  If pain can make me better for her then I willingly accept it.

Secondly, I feel guilty when I have disappointed her.  VERY guilty.  It eats me up inside guilty.  Punishment helps purge the guilt from my system.  It is my penance and it is how I earn forgiveness.  This allows me to let it go and move on from it and returns me to a better mental place.  

So... I guess you could say that I dislike the act but like what it does. 

Domestic Discipline as Therapy

I have memories of times like these when I was with F.  Because our contact and time we could spend together was limited we always did our best to make the most of it.  This at times was a bit tricky as extended solitude is often at the core of my demons. 

While I always wished for the best and was excited, looking forward to her next arrival there were some days where I was feeling a bit down and could not mentally prepare myself.  This was an emotional cluster-fuck as I was angry and disappointed in myself for not making the most of and appreciating the time.  I was angry and disappointed in myself for not being the best version of me for her.  I was angry and disappointed in myself for not being strong enough to keep the demons at bay.  This was good for no one.

F knew that I wanted the best for us.  She knew that it bothered me that I wasn't always in great mental condition.  After some extended discussion I made a request for her to punish me if I wasn't mentally prepared.  The night before our next meeting I would let her know my condition and if I was in bad shape, that would dictate the next day out of the gate.  This request puzzled her at first but I was able to explain that in my bad headspace I was not what I wanted to be, not what she wanted me to be, and that it made me feel doubly awful because I couldn't snap out of it when I wanted to.  Basically, I would end up feeling selfish because my own issues were "stronger" than my desires to love and serve her to the best of my abilities.

F would never shy away from reasons to hit me and this gave her an excuse on these days to unleash the sadist as soon as the door closed behind her.  After I would greet her with our rituals it was immediately over her lap where she would whup me to tears while scolding me for being selfish, ill-prepared, and failing to fulfill my promises to her.  This was usually followed by some time in the corner for "reflection on my poor attitude."  In its aftermath I was filled with remorse but earned forgiveness through penance.  My love for her was the focal point of my heart and I felt close and intimate on an extremely deep level.

While this might seem odd to those on the outside... it was very effective at bringing me to a better place.  It seems that the act supplied me with enough subspace-induced brain chemicals that it was able to over-power the chemical imbalances of my depression.  To this day it was the most effective kind of therapy I have ever had. 

What punishment is to me

It's kind of interesting that I've thought a lot about punishments today.

In addition to the blog I found I was also asked about this by a Domme friend earlier today.

I am not perfect.  I want to be perfect.  Perfect is not just accuracy of action, it is a state of being... a state of mind... an ideal that we chase even though it is impossible to ever reach it.  I have always been of the school of thought that if you put all of your effort into something impossible, you will be closer to it than if you didn't try at all.

Perfection is complete love, adoration, and obedience.  It is putting her desires to the forefront of my mind at all times.  I will fail.  I always do.  My best intentions are never enough to take me there. 

Perfection is the ideal attitude... always eager to please and happy simply for the chance to serve.  I comply not out of fear but because my perfect self is happy to be useful to her.  I will fail.  I always do.  It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow, but it will happen.  I guarantee it.

Perfection is the purity of my desire to see her happy.  The purity of placing her needs above mine.  The purity of graciously accepting what she gives to me and never desiring anything beyond that.  I will fail.  I always do.

Perfection is executing every act with total accuracy, mastery, proficiency, and speed.  It is only showing the best version of my capabilities.  It is doing every in just the right way every time.  I will fail.  I always do.

I am okay if she expects me to be perfect.  This means that she believes in my potential and has faith that I can be the best version of my ideal submissive.  That is the goal that I chase.  I feel if I reach it that I will have worth and be proud of myself.  I seek it because it will make her the most happy with me.  If I find it, I may even feel worthy of her love.

To me, punishment shows her faith in my potential.  It shows her willingness to be patient with my shortcomings and guide me to the right path.  She saves me from mediocrity and helps me improve myself in my constant quest for perfection. 


I am not a masochist.  I do not crave her disappointment.  I suffer when I let her down.  I suffer when I fail my expectations I have for myself.

I may never be perfect but I want to be.  Perfection is what she deserves. 

Fiction: fs01 - Part 75

Author’s Note: I added a section to part 74 about 5 minutes after publishing it. The post had 2 views when I updated it. If you happen to have read it within 5 minutes of it going live, please make sure that Day 23 was in it.

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LXXV

Day 24.

I wake up with my head pounding and my stomach twisting from hunger. Last night’s sleep wasn’t restful. Mistress returns today. I wash my face, brush my teeth, and hang up her robe before heading to the kitchen for breakfast. I return to a plain diet today: a piece of dry toast and a hard-boiled egg. How quickly I shift back to old routines and habits, almost like the past three weeks never happened.

I wash the dishes after eating and move on to the living room. I haven’t practiced Mistress’s song since I left. I pick up the guitar to give it a run-through. The fur on the cuffs of my uniform interfere with my hands and prevent me from being able to play. I’m a bit disappointed at my lack of forethought as I return the guitar to its stand.

The reality of Mistress’s arrival fills me with anticipation. I’m actually nervous. As the time crawls closer I begin to feel ill as negativity crowds out my other thoughts. I’m terrible. I’m unworthy. I’m unforgivable. I’m weak… why am I so weak? Why did I do those things? Did I hurt her?

I know this line of thinking isn’t productive… logic doesn’t save me from it. After a while I hear the sound of tires on the driveway. I hurry my way to the door and kneel before it. The click of her boots on the walkway causes my body to stiffen. I reach out, unlock the door, and open it.

The sunlight frames her in a bright glow. My eyes squint as her silhouetted figure towers before me. She stands with her hands on her hips, the outline of her figure is clearly defined as the long leather coat, trimmed with fur moves as she shifts her feet. I move out of the way as my Mistress enters the door. It’s been so long. My feelings almost jump out of my chest as my heart races at a rapid pace. She stops in her tracks. I bow my head low and kiss her feet, first the right foot, then the left.

She walks past me without speaking and makes her way to the coat closet. I imagine that she is tired. I shut the door behind her and hurry past her, ready to accept her coat. She turns her back to me without a word as I carefully guide it off of her. Her perfume fills my nose and I feel my sex strain against the belt. She tosses her hat at me and begins working on removing her gloves from her hands. The soft leather impacts my chest before falling onto my outstretched arms supporting her coat.

I carry them into the closet, carefully putting them away before returning with her robe, hat, and slippers. We perform our normal ritual. As I work my way around her I steal a glimpse of her face. Mistress is expressionless and this adds to my sense of uneasiness. I kneel and remove her boots, guiding her feet into her slippers. I press my lips firmly and deliver an elongated kiss. My heart sinks as she pulls her foot away.

“Fetch the rest of my bags from the driveway. Meet me in the dungeon when you are done.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

I answer in a small voice while keeping my eyes to the ground. As she departs the room I hustle outside and begin the arduous process of carrying in her luggage. Any thoughts that Mistress has a lot of luggage when we are gone for a week is completely overshadowed by the mother-load that sits stacked before me. I move the trunks one by one, first moving each piece into the entryway, getting them out of the cold. It takes me a dozen trips to get them in and another dozen to haul them upstairs and position them to be unpacked. At least when I move them back to storage they will be empty. By the time I finish I am perspiring and out of breath. I must be quite out of shape.

I descend the basement steps slowly. My heart starts to ache as it pounds away inside my chest. The fear builds and I want to run away. I continue on, driven not so much by courage as a sense of responsibility. In the dungeon I kneel in the corner facing the wall and wait for Mistress.

She makes me wait. Time drags on so slowly. My knees ache. Being alone to stew in my thoughts increases the discomfort. I have to believe that Mistress is well aware of this. After what feels like an eternity I hear the click of heels on the basement stairs. My ears perk and my posture instantly corrects itself.

I can smell as she enters the room. She must have taken a bath as the scent of her bath oils flows through the room. I hear the whir of the motor as Mistress prepares the chains. This confirms my initial fears… I doubt this will be a pleasant reunion.

“Come here, slave.”

I respond instantly to her monotone voice. I hop to my feet and approach her slowly, keeping my head down. I present my wrists. She locks the chain ends to the O-rings and pulls it over the hook above my head before getting to work on my ankle chains. I assume without looking that the chain will run through the ring bolted to the floor. She stands before me and I sneak a look at her. The long fur coat hangs open revealing her siren outfit. Knee high leather boots and gloves complete the outfit. She pulls the blindfold over my eyes locking it in place and depriving me of the pleasure of viewing her.

Her footsteps pace away and soon the motor comes to life, stretching my arms above my head. The spikes in my cuffs dig into the skin on my wrists as the hook pulls me until I teeter on the tips of my toes. I let out a small groan.

Her scent draws near to me and soon her hands glide over my body. Her touch on my skin makes me shudder. I feel her tracing over the marks and bruises that remain on my backside from Dominique’s onslaught. I can hear her breathing intensify.

“So tell me about the infractions for which you should be punished, slave.”

My mind races a million miles per hour, overthinking if I should work from intensity, chronologically, in reverse, and so on. Her fingers pinch a bruise and I yelp. I hear the light rattle of chains as the clamp digs into my nipple. She tightens it until I scream before repeating the process. My head grows cloudy with pain as I blurt out an answer.

“I submitted to Miss Dominique, Mistress. Although she released me, she broke me physically and I gave in to save myself.”

Mistress responds with a deep breath that passes both in and out through her nose.

“Disloyalty isn’t very becoming of a slave. What made you do such a thing?”

I cringe as I answer.

“It hurt too much, Mistress She used a whip on me.”

I hear her tongue click against her teeth and imagine a look of disgust.

“You’ve been whipped before, slave. You didn’t break then. Why is that acceptable now?”

I fall silent, unable to justify myself. Shame tints my cheeks a dark shade of red.

“It only seems fair then that your penance should be with a whip then doesn’t it, slave? I will have to cleanse you of this betrayal. I think we’ll start with 200.”

I let out a gasp and whimper. Her fingers caress my jaw and then pinch my face firmly between her index finger and thumb.

“It won’t be 200 at once. To let your suffering end after one day doesn’t do the punishment justice. We’ll do 20 a day for ten days. I assume the slave approves.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“What else?”

“I looked at porn on the internet, Mistress.”

“Porn?” She laughs. “Did you find a way out of your chastity belt?”

“No, Mistress.”

“What would porn do for a chaste slave?”

“My heart was hurting… I wanted to find something that would cause feelings.”

“What kind of feelings?”

“I wanted to feel submission, Mistress.”

I hear her pace around me in a circle. The intensity of her perfume trails around my body as my nipples and wrists ache and my legs and back begin to tire.

“How did my slave get so pathetic? I used to brag about his quality to my friends.”

Her words carve deep into my heart. I agree with them. I release a small sniffle as tears well up in my eyes behind the blindfold.

“Well, a slave is just a pathetic male after all. For this we’ll go 50 with the paddle, five per day for ten days. Next?”

“I found your blog, Mistress.”

With this she stops in her tracks. I feel her grip the chain between the nipple clamps and pull. My brain floods with pain as they stretch farther and dig deeper into my tender flesh. I let out a low squeal as she holds it in place.

“I don’t ever remember giving a slave permission to do that. How much did you read?”

“Two posts, Mistress. One about my uniform and your last post before you left.”

I sigh in relief as she releases the chain.

“The funny thing about trust, slave, is that it is so easily broken but so difficult to earn back.”

I begin to sob. Her disappointment in me is evident.

“I will add 100 with the strap. Ten per day over ten days. What else?”

My tears are flowing freely as I choke on my sobs.

“I wore some of your hats, gloves, and scarves because it was cold, Mistress I went to a bookstore and bought some things… the salesgirl teased me. I went back three more times… I couldn’t stay away. She took my phone and emailed you.”

“So you even tried to submit to a complete stranger?”

I weep and try to continue.

“No Mistress. I wasn’t submitting… I don’t know why I couldn’t stay away.”

“Stop making excuses, slave. You have embarrassed me as you’ve embarrassed yourself. I suppose you just want to leave things as is?”

“No, Mistress.”

“Then you expect me to clean up your mess and compensate her for the troubles you caused?”

I’m so ashamed that I can’t speak.

“This will be 100 with the cane. Is there anything else?”

“I let some food spoil, Mistress. It went bad before I could eat it.”

“That was irresponsible of you, slave. Serves me right for expecting a slave to be able to manage his own food. Add 50 with the paddle. Is there anything else?”

I shake my head and bawl.

“I’m so sorry, Mistress.”

“Do you think sorry is enough, slave?”

I shake my head.

“Apologies are only meaningful when the feelings matter of the person making them. Does a slave’s feelings matter?”

I shake my head.

“I’m a bit furious with you, slave. I’m going to add 100 with the flogger as well. That brings us to 20 with the whip, ten with the paddle, ten with the cane, ten with the strap, and ten with the flogger each day for the next ten days. During this time you will be on high protocol. You will be gagged and you will not speak at all for its duration. You will not look at me. If you make eye contact with me or any of my guests we will add a day. Your chastity tube will be switched to a spiked version and you will be plugged each day. You will not sleep in my room. Any new punishments will be tripled.”

I hear her boots click away across the floor. I hear her take an object off the wall. She swings it and I hear it swish through the air.

“Your beating regimen will begin tomorrow.”

I feel her hook the back of my dress to the belt, leaving my bare ass exposed. I continue to cry as I swallow and attempt to prepare myself for what is coming next.

Whir, crack. The whip bites into my flesh. I let out a howl as my body writhes against my bonds. Whir, crack. I scream and flail as the leather leaves a searing burn across my tender flesh. Mistress isn’t holding back.

Whir crack. I shriek. The pain reverberates through my body, finally throbbing in my wrists where the spikes dig deeply into my skin. Whir, crack. I feel the hot trickle of blood as my legs quiver, barely able to support my body. Whir, crack. I scream and shake with pain as I feel the light flow of more blood on my skin. Today feels different. I don’t hope for her to stop. I know I deserve this.

Eventually the whip comes to a rest. I slump against the chains, exhausted. My legs have no strength left in them as I hang from the hook above. The motor whirs, lowering me a few inches… just enough for me to put the front halves of my feet flat on the floor. I continue sobbing… it occupies what is left of my energy.

I feel the fur of her coat brush up against the skin on my thigh. She leans in and places her lips over mine, plunging her tongue deep within my mouth. My nose is filled with the scent of her perfume and her sex. She withdraws and drives the gag firmly into my mouth. I hear it lock into place. Her steps click away and she leaves me alone to stew. My body throbs. My heart hurts. I’m sorry, Mistress. I love you.

END ACT

Fiction: fs01 - Part 72

Author’s Note:

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LXXII

Day 12, continued.

The door opens to the back seat of the vehicle and I climb in.

“Thank you, Miss Dominique.”

“I look forward to breaking you, little one.”

The remainder of the ride is silent. I don’t know how to respond to that. We arrive at Dominique’s a little bit before 10pm. Inside the house Sammy and Dominique escort me to my room. I receive instructions at the door.

“Take off your clothes, little one. I’ll see that they are washed.”

I nod and remove my wallet and phone from my pocket. I place them on a try that Sammy holds in his hands and start to undress. I fold up the clothes and set them in the center of the tray. Sammy opens the door. Based upon his efforts it must weigh quite a bit. It’s dark inside. I enter slowly and run my hand along the wall looking for a switch. The bit of light disappears as the door shuts heavily behind me. I hear the click of the bolt turn. A bare bulb lights up in the center of the ceiling.

The room is tiny. After a short entryway, the room itself is maybe 4’ x 6’ with no windows. It is empty except for a metal bucket sitting in the corner. I turn back and test the door. It is securely locked with no form of handle or anything on the inside. All I can find is thin seam about halfway up. It feels like the type of door in solitary confinement of a prison and this is the slat that a tray can be passed through.

The walls are barren. They are painted an almost white color and the texture makes me believe they are bare cinder blocks. There is no light switch. On the ceiling I find a vent and a dome, most likely housing a security camera. The floor is smooth and cold. I hear a clunk and the vent hums. My suspicions confirmed, I can feel cold air cycling through the previously still air of the room. What is up with dominant women and making me freeze?

I return to the door and pound my palm on it.

“Miss Dominique? Sammy? Gordon? Hello.”

I receive no response. I place my back against the wall and slide to the floor. If this is a psychological mind game of some sort… it’s working. My mind begins to race around in every direction imaginable. Regret. Oh God, what have I done? I know what Dominique is capable of, why did I choose this? Denial. Can I still get out of this? If I beg and plead or try to run, can I get away? Self-pity. I can’t believe I’m so pathetic that I would choose this over being alone. I can’t believe Mistress expected that I would need this. Fear. I wonder what she’s going to do to me. I wonder if I can handle it. Acceptance. This is the path I chose and I just have to deal with it. I was out of control and out of options.

I lose all track of time. I have no reference. The hum of the electric air continues to chill me from above. I curl up into a ball on the floor and rub my skin for warmth. I’m cold. I’m hungry. I’m tired. I’m lonely. For fuck’s sake, was I always this selfish?

I twist and turn, unable to get comfortable. I pace around… I am a caged animal. I pound against the wall and cry out. I’m so tired. I finally collapse in a heap on the ground, finally content to accept that I have no control. I feel my eyes close slowly as the rays of light from the bulb above start to sting. I feel my consciousness drift and my head becomes heavy.

Day 13.

No sooner does my head reach the floor that a heavy bang at the door startles me. I push myself into the corner. The bolt turns and the heavy door creaks upon its hinges. I look up in fear as the shadowy figure steps out of the shadows and into the light. The smell of the perfume reaches me just as she reveals her form. The long leather coat trimmed in fur. The Russian military styled fur hat. The heavy boots. The mask, oh God, the guard’s mask from the prison. My body reacts on its own as I whimper and press myself deeper into the corner. Her voice laughs.

“We really did a number on you back then, didn’t we, little one? Your terror is truly delicious. Up against the wall. Spread your legs.”

I rise, still trembling and place my hands against the wall and do as she says. She roughly takes my wrists within her grip and pulls my arms behind my back, handcuffing them tightly together. I feel the cold touch of metal as a ring is closed around my neck and locked. My breathing heaves and I focus on calming myself to no avail.

“I’ve been looking forward to this for years, little one. I finally have permission to break you.”

She jabs me in the back with something firm and turns me by the shoulder.

“Let’s get moving.”

I begin walking slowly. She nudges me when she wants me to pick up the pace, all the while calling out directions when she wants me to turn. I had forgotten how large her house is. A couple of minutes later we descend the stairs to the dungeon.

“Lay on the ground.”

I drop to my knees and flop onto the ground.

“Be a good boy and raise your feet.”

I lift my feet and strain as she locks them within a pair of shackles dangling from the ceiling.

“Before we get started, little one, I have a few things I wanted to tell you. You drive me crazy.”

She paces back and forth in front of me, her long coat swaying too and fro. The mask hides her expressions from me. I can’t remember the last time I felt this much fear.

“I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but do you realize that when I’m around you I find myself drawn to acts of kindness… or possibly even pity. That infuriates me. I don’t know if you have any idea just how much I have agonized over finding the reason for this. It took me months to figure it out and finally it dawned on me. The first time I had you here I absolutely brutalized you on a level that you had never experienced before. Not once did you beg me for mercy. Not once did you plead for me to stop.”

She paces over to the wall and retrieves a device from a hook. Her body blocks my view. Dominique continues talking.

“I have toyed with a lot of men in my lifetime. A LOT of men. They are so quick to throw themselves at me, promising this, promising that, blah blah blah. Once I show them my true self they crumble and whimper and whine and beg like little bitches.”

Her voice switches to a mocking tone.

“’Please stop hitting me, I’ll do anything you say, anything.’ It’s absolutely disgusting. They want no part of this. It’s all a game to them until I hit them once or twice. They have no spirit worth breaking. But you, little one… you drove me so mad. I expected you to fold up and start making empty promises and shouting out hollow words as I systematically broke your body.”

While I am flattered that she is sharing with me, I have never seen this side of Dominique and I find it even more terrifying than her usual self.

“I obsessed about this for weeks after but could never figure it out. It’s only recently that my thoughts have come together about you. I finally understand why I hate you as much as I do. Why I go out of my way to comfort you in your times of need. Why I am drawn to you. Within all of the pain and agony, you never once betrayed your Mistress. You had absolute faith that you were simply following her wishes and that kept you from even considering trying to talk your way out of it all. You knew that it would end… and you persevered. What upsets me so much is that I respect you. God, I can’t believe I am telling you this. I actually respect you. Me, respecting a lowly slave. It’s so silly… but it’s true.”

She leans down and looks at me, my terror-stricken face reflecting back at me in the mirrored goggles.

“I hate you so badly that I wish to destroy you.”

She lets out a laugh. While I writhe in my bonds. I’m trembling and I cannot get away.

“I realized a long time ago that Cass loves you so much that she would never let you go. It was then that I realized that I could never possess you and that as long as she is alive, your heart will be hers. A lesser woman might still desire you and resort to underhanded means to pry you away from your Mistress. I would never dream of stooping to such a level. You should know, though, that envy doesn’t suit me.”

She moves quickly. Whir, smack. My body convulses and I let out a blood-curdling scream as the cane strikes the bottom of my foot. Whir, smack. The other foot. I scream again as tears stream down my face and I begin to weep. I can feel my heart beating in the throbbing pain. I sob meekly.

“I don’t know if it’s because I never graduated high school, but I’m just not clever like Cassandra. This is the best solution I could come up with.”

Whir, smack. Whir, smack. I choke on my saliva as I wail in agony. I feel my feet twitching and I can’t do anything to soften the blows.

“Cass is my friend and I love her dearly. She’s a woman that I consider my equal, if not even my superior. It makes me feel awful thinking that I covet what is hers. It took months for this opportunity to arise but I finally have my solution: to make you something that I do not want.”

Whir, smack. Whir, smack. I shriek and struggle, flopping around against the cold stone floor.

“By the time I’m done, little one, you will be broken. I will no longer respect you, and I can return to who I am without being haunted by you.”

The next few moments blur as she bombards the bottoms of my feet with the cane. I lose count as my brain spins out of control, overwhelmed with pain. It doesn’t take long for her to finish. I feel her unlock the shackles from around my ankles. My feet fall to the floor. It’s freezing in the dungeon but my body drips with sweat. My feet throb badly, they pulse and swell shooting pain up my legs.

I watch from the floor a she tilts her head from side to side stretching her neck. She removes the mask and tosses it to the floor.

“I suppose by now you’re so terrified that I don’t need any gimmicks, little one. Up up.”

I roll onto my stomach and attempt to get my legs under me. I touch my foot against the ground and collapse. She paces her way across the dungeon. I shuffle on my knees after her as best I can. She stops next to the pillory. Oh the memories. This awful device. Dominique kneels down and unlocks the handcuffs from my wrists, tossing them on the ground. I lower my head and force myself up, grabbing onto the beams for support. As I put weight on my foot pain shoots through my brain and I begin to stumble. I’m surprised when she catches me and helps hold me upright.

I take tiny, ginger steps, the cold stone of the floor pressing painfully against my flesh as I go. She secures my ankles in the leg stocks before guiding my hands and neck into the upper, closing and locking it after me.

“I was debating how I would do this, little one. I found a method on one of my favorite blogs that I think will work perfectly. It involves four devices: a paddle, a cane, a strap, and a flogger. I plan to hit you with each of them, rotating through them until you submit. If you make it through two cycles I will add the bull whip. You can make me stop at any time with the words, ‘I submit to you, Mistress.’ Consider these words carefully, little one. I’m sure you know the weight that they carry.”

I sniffle and sob inside my restraints. I understand her plan. She intends to make me betray Mistress. That is the most painful thing I can think of.

Dominique begins with the paddle. She hits hard. The blow of the wood against my buttocks nearly knocks the wind out of me with every swing. I grunt and cry out with each hit. The pain is intensified by the ache of my throbbing feet.

She continues talking to me throughout the process. It surprises me a bit. She pauses between hits just enough to allow my brain to process her words before continuing.

“I don’t know if Cass ever told you about me, little one. She’s the only one in the circle that knows about my past so I doubt that she shared it with you. I grew up In Europe in a small town. We were poor. My mother ran out on us when I was three. My father was an alcoholic. Cass has told me about you, so I figure you know what a raging asshole with a bit of booze in him can do.”

My tears stream down my face and my body continues to drip with sweat in the cold of the room. The pain is severe. Dominique is sharing with me some of her private self. I am actually a bit honored. A funny thought to have between pain convulsions and shrieks. She switches over to the cane and continues her work on my rear and thighs.

“When I was twelve I finally had enough and ran away. I hitchhiked to the city where I lived homeless. I begged, borrowed, and stole to survive. When I was fifteen the owner of a small bar took pity on me and gave me a job and allowed me to rent a room in his house for a very modest amount. This was my first experience with self-respect. He was a kind man. One of the few men I ever grew to trust. He never pried, never pressed me or expected anything out of me but an honest day’s work to earn my pay.”

She works me over with the cane while continuing with her story. Each time it bites into me I cry out. I can tell that she’s pacing herself. She knows that breaking me will not be easy and if she’s not careful, it may actually kill me.

“When I was seventeen a man approached me in the bar. I had grown up by then and he ‘liked my look.’ He offered me the chance to make some real money… some serious money… money that someone like me would never have been able to make. I thought the bar owner would stop me and try to talk me out of it but he didn’t. I think he knew that for someone who never completed school that opportunities would be few and far between. The position was as a pro dominatrix.”

She pauses and my ass throbs and burns. I can’t stop crying. The pain is almost unbearable. My legs tremble and shake, barely able to support my weight. I’ve been on this ride before, soon the pillory will be the only thing holding me up. The strap is next.

“I was brought to a seedy club during the day and introduced to some ‘colorful’ characters. The veteran women trained me in the art of domination and corporal punishment. I learned how to act, how to walk, how to stand, and most importantly, how to hurt someone.”

The strap gives a different kind of pain. It compounds the pain of the thin lines left by the cane and the swelling from the paddling. I endure as I always do. This will continue until I fold. If she had started with the whip and not given me any pauses I probably would already be done. I realize now that she is trusting me with a part of her. It is a strange feeling, but not altogether bad.

“I had no idea what to expect but it turns out I was born for it. Most of the others treated it like a job. It was an act… a switch they would turn on and off as a show for the client. I used it to shape the new me. I had always been dependent upon others… now I was my own woman. I was beautiful, powerful, and a bit out of control. Within six months I had my own place and was charging $300 an hour, half of that went to the club. By the end of the year I was making $500 an hour.”

By now my voice is hoarse and my legs are teetering, ready to give at any moment. The tears have dried up due to dehydration. She forces a water bottle into my mouth and squeezes. It feels amazing as the fluid quenches my parched throat.

“Every week I sent the man that took me in the equivalent of about $200. He would write me back about once a month telling me how much he appreciated it and asking how I was doing. This continued until he died. At the funeral his best friend had a long talk with me and told me all about the man that I had really barely known. He had lost the rest of his family in an auto accident and barely scraped by after that. The medical bills had piled up for his wife and daughter and neither of them survived. When he took me in he was up to his eyes in debt and contemplating suicide. He paid me a living wage and fed me even though the bar didn’t make nearly enough money to cover that.”

The impact of the flogger makes me scream my first word. “No.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere, aren’t we, little one?”

The second strike has me reeling as she continues her story.

“It turns out that the money I was sending him was the only thing keeping him afloat. He was never comfortable telling me how truly grateful he was. This was all news to me. I cried when I heard that. I hadn’t cried in years… this man that I owed so much to but never truly knew. I realized then what respect was. He took responsibility for his choices and saw them through without complaint. That was the last time I cried. I also vowed to live in a way that made me feel alive. I simply couldn’t bear the thought of living a sad life after that. It seemed so… unfair in a way.”

On the sixth strike I shriek again. “No more!” My body collapses. My legs buckle. I feel blood trickling down my legs. She continues. Somehow I remain conscious enough to listen. Actually, I think the listening is why I am still conscious.

“By the time I was nineteen I was famous within the scene. People traveled from other countries for sessions. While I was always going by the name Dominique, I had earned the nickname, ‘Dee-mon-eek,’ probably because I was never able to tell if they were calling my name or calling me demonic. I like to think it was a little of both.”

She lets out a small laugh as I convulse under another blow. My throat hurts so much I simply moan from deep within. I feel the hot blood flowing freely along my cold skin. The sweat stings my wounds. On the upside, I barely notice the pain in my feet anymore.

“It was during that year that I had the experiences that changed my life. A few of my clients were rather wealthy… one was a fashion mogul, another was descended from nobility, and the third was what could be called a ‘titan of industry.’ All three of them wanted exclusive access to me and were willing to pay for it. Rather than choose any one of them I leveraged each other against one another and raised the bidding to a point where they were willing to share rather than continue to inflate the price. We finally agreed upon each of them having exclusive access to me for four months a year and I received $250,000 a month in exchange for removing myself from the scene.”

I can feel my neck and wrists bruising under the strain of the wood. I gasp for breath. I feel myself fading. She gives me more water before resuming the blows.

“I guess I’ll have to speed this up, little one. Most of them would plan their extended business trips and take me with them. By day I was their companion. By night we lived a life with myself as Mistress and them as slaves. We kept up that arrangement until one of them died. It turned out he left me quite a sum of money and I retired. Not long after I moved to the states and that pretty much brings us to where we are today. I met your Mistress at her shop and it really didn’t take long for us to become friends.”

The last few blows of the flogger land. I feel like my entire backside is torn to shreds. Everything hurts, stings, throbs, and bleeds. I can barely keep my eyes open. I blurt out some words without thinking.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

Dominique laughs with her demonic cackle.

“Oh, little one, you never cease to amuse me. To be honest, it’s because you are the only person I have ever met that ever called me kind. I figure you deserve to know that before I beat you to a pulp. I like being the villain. You are the only one that takes me out of being myself.”

I hear the flogger clatter on the floor.

“I know that I promised two cycles before going to the whip but I’m pretty certain you won’t survive that so we’ll just move on to it now.”

I hear her boots click across the room slowly and then back. I whimper and squirm. The anxiety and fear build as her steps get closer. I have seen what she can do. This may be the end of me.

The whip cracks and the heavy impact cuts into my back. I let out a garbled screech as my breath leaves my body. The world fades to black. This is all a dream, right? I’m not really here, right?

My head jolts as the smelling salts pop under my nose. The pain quickly returns with the harsh burn of the whip and the heat of the blood trickling down my back hits me plainly as day. I sob, completely at her mercy.

“You can end this, little one. Just say the words.”

She unleashes three strikes in a row. The pain is so intense that my body’s tensing to the initial strike doesn’t have time to relax before being hit again. My brain loses thought, all I know is the searing pain. Crack, crack, crack. Another three in quick succession. My neck and wrists buck against the stocks, the pain of the bruises is dwarfed by the pain left by the whip. Crack, crack. My words barely sound human between the cries and sobs.

“Please stop...”

Crack, crack. Crack, crack. Crack, crack. I mumble out a slurred phrase between the tears and the drool.

“I submit to you, Mistress.”

I hear the whip hit the floor. A moment later she removes the locks from the stocks. I collapse to the floor in a sobbing bloody mess.

“You disgust me. Kiss my feet.”

I press my trembling lips against the toes of her boot and kiss. First the right foot, then the left. She kicks my face away, turns and leaves, her boots clicking against the stone floor. I lay my head down and weep.

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