(Warning –future chapters describe heavy BDSM and pain scenes and may not be for some readers. Do Not Read if you cannot handle this type of fantasy.)
Where the hell is she? I thought as I sat at a table for 2 in the coffee shop on the main street out of town. I’ve already gone through 2 cups of coffee and it is over an hour past the time we had agreed to yesterday and damn it but I need a piss. Not knowing whether to stay or go or whatever, I finally convinced myself that I had been stood up again and decided to relieve myself. What a fucking waste of time and this is just another hit to my ego…it happened too fast, I should have known better, I thought as I left the table and headed for the Men’s Room.
We had met on mIRC just the other night. I had set up a room with a topic about seeking a Domme in the area interested in a painslut and after a few hours Brianna entered and we started to discuss our likes and dislikes about the scene and the topic. Pictures were exchanged …nothing daring, just pictures of ourselves in normal attire at first. Liking what we saw, we decided to meet at the this coffee shop early Saturday morning… very early actually …6:15 a.m. Brianna then ask that I send her a list of what my limits are…a complete list of what I would not do and what I wished to do. She also had me send to her all of my measurements; everything from cock length when erect to my shoe size. Then later, I was ordered to send her pictures of my cock as it normally hung and also with a full erection. I complied immediately and thus ended up here relieving myself in the latrine. Stood up again, damn it all, and I gave out my picture, which I’ve never done before.
I made my way out of the shop and proceeded to my car, which was at the rear of the parking lot where I had told Brianna I would park it and I had also given her my licence plate number at the same time. As I unlocked the door, the window on the passenger side of a black SUV parked next to me began to lower.
“William is that you?” a female voice softly called. I blurted out that it was I. “Sorry but I had to make sure that you were the person that you actually said you were.”
I looked in and across at the driver and my heart started to beat at a fantastic rate. It was Brianna and she looked beautiful…wearing a leather coat and thigh high leather boots. Her leather coat was unbuttoned at the bottom, which revealed bare thighs and leather above this, but I was not certain what the leather was exactly but it served it’s purpose in getting me excited.
“Where the hell were you, I waited over an hour for you.” I blurted out as I stared at her boots and felt my cock starting to stand at attention.
“Now William, I said I was sorry. If you are still interested in getting together, you will follow me to my place right now. Once we are there, you will pull into the garage in the space beside my car. Do you understand that boy”?
Before I could answer, the window closed and the SVU backed out of the parking space and started to leave. My erection died on the spot in record time.
What should I do, what should I do? Damn it. I jumped into my car and took off after her hoping that I was not too late. “Where is she?” I said as I neared the exit… “There, she turned right; she’s headed west”. I tried to keep up and keep her in sight without speeding as this road was known for it’s speed traps and I just had her in sight when she sped through an amber light which forced me to stop and watch her disappear ahead. “Bitch… she did that on purpose,” I yelled out to no one. I waited for that light to turn green for what seemed forever then I took off as fast as legally possible; believing that I had lost her. “There she is, up ahead.” I yelled out to myself… she must have been caught up in traffic or perhaps she had pulled over. I followed her right past my exit and then few miles later she finally pulled off right onto a side road, known for its costly homes and great views, as they were lakeside lots. We were driving at a much lower speed. Probably doesn’t want the neighbours to notice anything, I thought. Then she made a right into a driveway that had an enormous house at it’s end and my first thought was that she was lost… but she drove up to the garage and had the door opening before I got there. She drove in on the left side and I drove in beside her on the right side. I had no sooner gotten into the garage when the door started to close so I shut off my car and slid out of my car.
She opened a door to the main house and waved at me to follow, which I did but hesitantly.
I wiped my feet off on a mat, entered the house and closed the door behind me. Then I turned to face Brianna. “Do you know that you live within 5 miles of m…”
Slap…Slap… Slap … she hit my cheeks hard. “How dare you talk to me the way you did; you are never to question me again you worthless piece of shit. Do you understand me william?”
I was in shock, not having expected this. “Yyyess, I guess”
She grabbed me by the front of my shirt…slap, slap…slap. She hit me again and this time I tried to protect myself and grabbed her wrist…a reflex only but I realized it was a dumb thing to do and quickly let go. “Oh crap, I’m screwed,” I thought and expected her to tell me to leave.
“On your knees NOW william!” she stated loudly as she grabbed my hair and forced me down.
“You have earned yourself a little punishment slave.” She said it; she called me a slave and I thought that I was being stood up 20 minutes ago.
My knees were together, my hands were beside me steadying myself and I was looking up at her. She looked down at me and then gave me a hard booted kick where my knees touched. “Get those knees apart bitch!” I did as ordered. She then placed the toe of her right foot on my cock and pressed it in hard. “Do not forget that again william. Also, get your fucking head down and look at the floor. Put your hands on your thighs – palms up – the proper position for a slave.
“You have earned 15 lashes slave which you will receive when our session begins. 5 are for being insolent when asking me where the hell I was. 5 are for answering incorrectly by not stating and referring to me as Mistress or Mistress Brianna. You will always do so when not in public; that is in a car or home… whether here or a private room. 5 are for touching me without approval when you grabbed my wrist. If you do that again, you will be punished beyond your limits, as I must protect myself. Do you understand why you are being punished william?”
I looked up into her face as best I could and stated, “Yes, I understand.”
She grabbed me roughly by my hair and looked into my eyes. “That will be another 5 lashes for disobeying me by looking up and showing disrespected by not referring to me as Mistress. Do you understand me william?”
Lowering my eyes and my head as best I could even though she still held me by the hair, I stated, “Yes Mistress Brianna, I understand.”
“Yesterday we discussed your becoming my painslut and sex slave, and that you needed training. Is that correct william?”
“Yes Mistress, that is correct.”
“You stated that your limits were no teens or younger, no scat, no blood, no pins or needles and no permanent marks. Is that correct william?”
“Yes Mistress, that is correct.”
“Did you clean yourself out this morning with the quick enema method we discussed?”
“Yes Mistress Brianna, I did it exactly as you instructed.”
“Are you still interested in becoming my painslut and sex slave william?
“Yes Mistress, more than ever.” She then let go of my hair as I looked down at the floor. I feel like I’ve just jumped into the deep end of the pool and have not learned how to swim.
“Well, let’s see if you can be trained.
“Stand bitch and empty all your pockets, take off your watch and rings as well and put everything on the small table!” which she pointed to. “Then take off your shoes and put them on the floor beside the table.”
I did as obeyed as quickly as I could and as it was my first chance, I looked around the house. I was in the main foyer not far from steps leading to the basement. I glanced at Mistress with out making eye contact and saw that she was still in her leather coat and boots. God she is beautiful even more so than the pic she sent me. Short dirty blond hair with bangs down to her eyes, I can’t wait to find out what the rest of her is like I thought
“Now william you will take off all your clothes and stand for inspection; hands behind your head, head down and legs wide apart. NOW you fucking bitch not tomorrow!”
I stripped as fast as I could and stood naked for inspection. As I looked down, I watched my cock begin to grow in anticipation of my dreams being fulfilled. God, how I’d love to have her make me cum right now, I thought.
“When I said I wanted your legs wide apart I meant it. Now get your fucking legs apart. WIDER! You dumb fucking ass. And you can forget about having an orgasm anytime in the near future slave. I will be the one to determine when you have one.”
“Sorry Mistress… yes Mistress” I blurted out and looked down at my hard cock.
She then kicked my clothes aside and slowly circled me. First she pinched at a nipple and then at the head of my penis, squeezing it hard as I moaned between clenched teeth. She laughed as I was tested several times.
“Now slave william, you will pick up all your clothes and go down to the basement. Open the first door on the right, enter and close the door. Do not turn on any lights.. There, in the middle of the room, you will find a sports bag with instructions on top of it. Go directly to the bag, read the instructions and follow them exactly. You have 20 minutes to complete this assignment and I will be watching your every move on camera. Do you understand william?”
Yes Mistress Brianna, I understand.”
“Then get going boy, you have already used up 20 seconds.”
As quickly as I could, I scooped up my clothes, ran down the steps, opened the first door on the right, entered and closed the door behind me. “What the fuck have I gotten myself into, I’m screwed.” Yes, I definitely did jump into the deep end.
Jessica Noble stood at her kitchen window and watched Kurt Merchant pull up in front of her house in the Mercedes he’d borrowed from Jessica’s half-sister, Gretel Fox. Jessica felt hotter than her oven, preheated to 350 degrees, despite the November weather. Gretel had manipulated their boss into firing both Kurt and Jessica before brazenly stripping Kurt of his business achievement trophy in front of hundreds of diner’s at Baltimore’s Vanguard Awards Ceremonies.
And Kurt still craved Gretel!
Kurt looked concerned trudging up the sidewalk to Jessica’s front door.
When the doorbell rang, Jessica thought, I’ll show him how to suffer! She opened the oven door and flung a loaf of French bread inside before slamming the oven shut.
Strolling to her front door, she smiled. Taming a male chauvinist pig should be fun, especially when she made him go down on her. She opened the door. Her brown slacks and tan sweater with a gold floral appliqué gave no hint at the ambush she planned. Her brown casual flats lowered the bar even further.
“Sorry I took so long,” he apologized. “Must have talked my head off.”
“About what?” Jessica detested Lila Krafft for pumping information from her patients and suspected the Bad Doctor had lost her license to practice psychological counseling.
“Dr. Krafft instructed me to clear my head after the session.”
“Charlatan!” Jessica snapped. “Lila shouldn’t leave you in the dark.”
“At least I feel relaxed. I’m getting some benefit.”
Jessica smiled. “Help me in the kitchen.” She led the way. “My spaghetti sauce has been simmering for hours.”
“It’s an old family recipe. I put the French bread in the oven when you rang the doorbell. I’ll boil the angel hair.” She pointed to a large bowl of lettuce and several vegetables on a chopping block on the island in the kitchen. “Cut up some tomatoes, cucumbers, and green peppers for the salad. Would you like to slice an onion, too?”
“No onions today.” He looked unflinchingly into her eyes.
“That was a tad obvious, Kurt. Hate to burst your bubble, but garlic and onions are in the sauce.” The pot of water boiled. Jessica took half of the pasta from a box and put the box on a shelf. She broke in half the strands she was holding and put them in the pot.
Kurt chopped away at the vegetables, sliced an onion, and mixed all of the ingredients with a large wooden fork and spoon.
Jessica handed him a corkscrew. “There’s a bottle of merlot in the fridge. Would you do the honors?” He’d be putty in her hands after a bottle of wine.
Kurt popped the cork, and soon they were seated at Jessica’s kitchen table. “This is delicious,” Kurt said. “When you said ‘old family recipe,’ I thought you meant Uncle Prego or Aunt Ragu.”
“Skeptic.” She gazed out her kitchen window. “Beautiful day.”
“What’s in your sauce?”
“You don’t strike me as a recipe collector.”
Kurt twirled some spaghetti around his fork, against a spoon, and lifted the spicy morsel to his lips. “Mmm.” He chewed thoroughly and swallowed. “The ingredients in a recipe reveal a lot about the cook.”
“If you insist, I used the eye of a newt, the wing of a bat—”
“Oh, Gretel’s recipe.”
“So, today she’s a witch. Last night you lusted for her. Which is it? Are you attracted to her or repelled by her?”
“You’re hooked. I’ll change that.” She delivered her obvious line offhandedly, but she fully intended to steal Kurt from Gretel. First she’d make him suffer.
“If you two are sisters, why are you so different?”
Jessica sipped her wine, weighing her answer. “Birth order explains a lot. As a first-born, I’m more serious.”
“Emphatically!” Kurt poked at his salad but took a gulp of wine instead. “You two are like night and day!”
“I’m six years older than she is.” She feigned a serious look. “Don’t you dare do any math! I had to take care of her when we were kids. She’s still irresponsible.”
Kurt chewed and swallowed another bite of spaghetti while Jessica was talking. “Your attitudes toward men are different.”
Jessica ran her finger around the rim of her wine glass. “Gretel and I both have low opinions of men. I distrust men. She thinks they’re all toys for her to play with.”
“You don’t even look alike. You’ve got brown eyes and dark brown hair. Gretel’s a green-eyed blonde.”
“So?” Jessica pushed her plate away. “Two brown-eyed parents could have a brown-eyed daughter and a daughter with light-colored eyes. Against the odds, but it happens. They’re more likely to have two brown-eyed children. Mendel’s Law. Mom has honey-colored eyes, helping the odds, a little, for Gretel to have light-colored eyes. You through with your plate?”
“You kidding?” Kurt pulled his plate closer to him. “I’ve got my eyes on your plate, if you’re not going to eat your spaghetti.”
“Pig,” she smiled. She scraped the contents from her plate onto his and put her plate back on the table. Gulping down the rest of her glass of wine, she refilled the glass. “Know what I really think?”
Kurt twisted the cork off the corkscrew and took a shot at the trashcan in the corner. The cork banked off the wall, into the can. “Tell me.”
“Nice shot. My dad was the nicest guy you’d ever meet. Jack Noble. Dignified, friendly, always looking out for the needs of others.”
“Thank you.” Jessica enjoyed Kurt’s ass-kissing and yearned to make it literal. She took another large drink of wine, held it in her mouth, and swallowed. “He died shortly after Gretel was born. But I don’t think he was her father.”
“Think your mom cheated on Mr. Noble?” Kurt guzzled a glass of wine and refilled.
“Mom’s been married five times. She’s got a bunch of lovers now. She probably did then.” Jessica repeated the drink, hold, and swallow ritual. “Honey’s second husband was Penrod Teagarden, a charming, shallow flake who taught English at a New York college, which shall go nameless to protect the innocent. How he ever got on the faculty is beyond me. I think he was Gretel’s natural father.”
“You think Gretel is more like him than Mr. Noble?”
“Except for the flake part. Gretel is crafty, like Mom. Mom and Peabrain make you feel like the most important person in the world—while you’re with them. Then, out of sight, out of mind. Gretel got a double dose of the idea that people are expendable.”
Kurt swallowed his wine and held the bottle over his glass for several seconds. “What happened to Peagarden?” He giggled like a schoolboy at his mangling of the name.
“‘Nother bottle in the fridge. He disappeared when I was nine and Gretel was three. Stayed around long enough to screw up her formative years. Then took off.”
Kurt retrieved the second bottle from the refrigerator, opened it with some difficulty, and took a shot with the new cork. It bounced off the kitchen window, nowhere near the trashcan. “Asshole.”
Jessica started to stand up but reconsidered. “That’s my beloved stepfather you’re talking about. And that was a terrible shot. You’re cut off.”
“No! Anything but that!”
She grinned lecherously, feeling empowered. “I meant the wine.” Bringing Kurt to his knees would be easy.
“OK, but slow down.” Jessica ambled over to the coffeemaker and put on a pot. “So, let’s get serious, Kurt. What are your plans now that BizMart is out of the picture?”
“Haven’t given it much thought. How about you?”
“You know that deal you negotiated for Mom? The educational DVDs? She’s trying to set me up in business.”
“Great! Glad you’ve got something to fall back on.”
“I could use a partner.” She let the ambiguity linger, and he took the bait.
“Just say when!”
“Oh.” He put his glass of wine down. “Not as much fun as being a business broker. At BizMart I feel—felt—like a pimp.”
“Mom will hire you.” Jessica felt a frisson of delight skewering both of them.
“Well, what are you planning to do? I heard about the no-compete clause.” Biz-Mart had made Kurt agree to refrain from business brokerage anywhere near Baltimore.
“I could take my severance pay and move on. Or I could stay here in Baltimore and start a new career.”
“Gretel told me she gave you two options at the Vanguard meeting last night: Join her team or become her lackey. She usually gets her way.” Conceding Gretel’s allure left a bad taste in Jessica’s mouth, but she had to see how much Kurt was hooked on Little Sister.
“That’s no choice. That’s an edict to bow down to her. Maybe I should take the money and run.”
Jessica walked to the coffeemaker and poured two cups. She put one at her place and the other at Kurt’s. When he reached for it, she put her hand on his. “Stay here in Baltimore. Let me help you. I’m not afraid of my little sister.”
“Me either.” He doctored his coffee and took a large swallow. “Good stuff. Gretel doesn’t frighten me, but my reactions to her frighten the daylights out of me.”
Jessica remained standing, took a sip of coffee, and put her cup back down. Her desire to wipe Gretel from Kurt’s memory consumed her. “I bought a new dress this morning. Want to see it?” She strolled toward her living room.
“La-de-da,” Kurt pooh-poohed Jessica’s announcement. “A dress is just gift wrapping.” But he followed her into the living room.
“Not mine,” she said. “This dress is me. Not just the body I was born with. Or the way life has shaped me. My dress is my essence.”
“Wow! Sounds like some kind of philosophy.”
“Sure, that’s what I was going to say.” Kurt looked heavenward. Jessica could tell philosophy strained his intellectual capacity. Naming a philosophy was out of the question. He finally spotted the large box on the coffee table and a smaller box on top. “So what kind of dress is it? Some exotic animal skin?”
“Leather, Kurt. Not just a skirt. Or a top. Or the combination. But a whole, sleek dress of leather, tracing my entire torso in smooth, curved lines.” Her skin tingled just saying the words.
Jessica watched Kurt’s face while her verbal picture unnerved him. His furtive look suggested a sense of being trapped but wanting her to tease him. “What’s in the other box?”
“Of course.” His gesture started as a shrug but morphed into a hands-up sign of surrender. “And a whip?” He already looked beaten. He wanted Jessica to whip him.
“Not my style. I don’t need to punish a man to get my way. Not physically, anyway.”
Kurt walked toward the box. “Let me see.”
She pounced in front of him. “I’ll model my outfit for you.” She picked up both boxes and strode up the stairway to her bedroom.
Once inside, she closed the door. She put her boxes on the bed, stepped out of her shoes, and slid them under the bed. Stripping quickly, she tossed her clothes in the hamper and took a black, satin garterbelt and bra from her bottom center dresser drawer. Hooking her bra and garterbelt, Jessica felt her heart pounding when she imagined Kurt’s anticipation mushrooming while he waited for her. He’d expect her to return downstairs to show off her dress.
He’d be mistaken.
Jessica sat on the edge of her bed to slip into a pair of sheer black stockings and attach them to her garters. Glancing at herself in the dresser mirror, she knew she was irresistible. But Kurt’s fetishes went beyond intimate apparel to outerwear itself. Gretel had undone him with a shiny gold dress. Jessica opened the box with her boots and placed them beside the bed. Then she took her dress—glossy, black leather—from its box, pausing to admire it before placing it on the floor in such a way that she could easily step inside and pull it up around her.
Scurrying to the window, she pulled the blinds, carefully retraced her steps, and closed her eyes to wait for Kurt. Time dragged by, but she knew Kurt was beside himself with anxiety.
Soon she heard his shoes clomping up the stairs. When he flung the door open, Jessica felt like a goddess in her personal shrine, standing in pale splendor, accented by her black satin appetizers. Eyes closed tight, she felt the power of her glory dismantling Kurt. “Close the door.” Her eyes remained shut.
He pushed the door gently. The latch clicked.
Jessica’s closed eyes, accustomed to the dark, opened slowly. She soaked in Kurt’s every reaction to her, a silent, telling symphony of praise, while she stepped into her black, glossy dress and slithered it up her wiggling torso. The leather pressing her flesh felt sensual.
She turned her back to him. “Zip me up.”
She could hear Kurt approach, torn by lust, not trusting himself. Jessica’s leather dress seemed to radiate palpable rays of power subduing Kurt’s will. “I can’t,” he whispered.
Jessica faced him, exultant in defeating him, eager to deepen her victory with his physical submission. “Poor dear.” Her throaty giggle even managed to arouse her. She put her hands behind her back. When the crunching whir of her zipper sealed her inside, her leather morphed into black armor, magnifying her allure because she was unattainable.
She cherished his crestfallen face, wracked with hurt and utter confusion. She saw his pupils expand and glanced in the mirror to confirm what Kurt saw. Her tight leather showcased flaring hips, thrusting breasts, and the small mounds of her ass tapering into shapely legs. She recalled a line from “Venus:” “She’s got it, yeah, baby, she’s got it.” Kurt’s eyes adjusting to the dark reflected how his growing enchantment unfolded in stages. The subtle glimmer of Jessica’s gradually grew to bold glistening.
Kurt’s cheeks turned dark pink. “Let’s go.”
She seemingly channeled Gretel’s spirit. “Don’t be shy.” Her words mocked him.
“Ever watch a rugby match? They used to play at Herring Run Park. Want to see if they still play there?”
“Put my boots on me.” She sat on the edge of her bed.
Kurt knelt before her, humility etched across his face—and more than a hint of joy in his submission. A grin played at the edges of his mouth while he slid her boots up her ankles. His hands shimmied up the sides of one boot and then the other, smoothing them along her legs. She savored his reluctance to remove his hands from her boots and her legs, his contented gaze at her legs while he made no attempt to stand up.
“You may rise.”
He stood hesitantly and walked over to open the door.
She strolled casually toward him, watching her sexuality intimidate him. His hand shook when he opened the door. She stepped past him, not quite touching, into the hall. The slanting rays of the afternoon sunlight streaming through her house transmuted her leather into superskin. Liquid shadows glossed Jessica’s curves in bold relief. When she slinked toward the stairs, the flexure of her hips and the rolling motion of her ass spellbound Kurt. She stopped to wiggle her hands into shiny leather gloves.
He caught up with her in three giant steps. Her magnificent derriere resembled two small leather cushions pressed together as tightly as he suddenly wanted to press his cheeks against her ass, the way Judd had kissed Gretel’s ass. Circling her waist with his arms, Kurt pressed his hard cock against Jessica’s posterior. “You’re fantastic.”
She pushed her buttocks tighter against his groin and swiveled her hips.
“I’d better leave,” he said.
She had annihilated him. “No, baby. We’ll go back to my bedroom. You first. Raise the shades. I’ve never felt so sexy in my life, and I want to flaunt it.”
A new surge of energy surged through her while Kurt rushed to obey her command to illuminate her glory. She followed him into the room. When he turned around, she watched his eyes rivet on her firm thighs straining into leather. He licked his lips.
“Kneel by the bed,” she said.
Dazed, he obeyed without question.
She brushed his cheek with her hip when she passed. Lifting the skirt of her dress, she sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you need directions?” she asked.
Kurt silently shook his head, No.
She could see his last remaining IQ points drain from his head at the touch of her gloved hand. She guided his face between her thighs, igniting a mighty rush. But she wanted to make it last.
Kurt placed his palms against her flesh, over her outer lips, thumbs down. Interlacing his fingers, he pushed her outer lips apart with his thumbs and held them open. He pressed his face firmly and deeply into her, probing randomly, letting her reactions guide him. He varied his tongue movements from quick, short licks to long, slow laps she could savor.
Jessica instructed Kurt in pleasuring her, barking her orders or whispering her encouragement as the mood struck her, guiding him around her pleasure zone as if he were her new toy, responding precisely to the sound of her voice. Her building orgasms made her quiver before she even came close to climaxing.
Kurt occasionally nuzzled her clitoris with his nose. He tried to tease and tantalize her, but Jessica ruled with an iron hand and reveled in controlling him. She barked, “Do it!” Kurt raised his mouth to Jessica’s clitoris and attacked it gently, incessantly. He obviously shared Jessica’s aversion to hurrying because he knew the lightning a man bottle from relinquishing his will to a woman. With a flourish of licks that toggled back and forth across Jessica’s clitoris, Kurt quickly brought her to a climax.
She stood and smoothed out her leather dress, the essence of sex. “Thank you, Kurt.”
He’d gratified her and obviously wanted her to please him. She relished crushing him slowly, punishing him for falling for someone as shallow as Gretel. “I’ve had better.”
“What about me?”
In Jessica’s mind, she’d rewarded him already. “Weren’t you going to watch some rugby?”
“Do you want me to beg?”
Of course she did, but she turned pragmatic. “Do you have a condom?”
“Too bad.” Jessica stretched luxuriously and watched Kurt come completely unhinged while her flesh strained against leather. “You said Gretel forbade you to have sex with me. But oral sex isn’t sex, as someone famous once said. Gretel won’t beat you up. Come back when you’re committed enough to bring a condom.”
“Dueling ovaries,” Kurt said glumly.
“Choose wisely,” Jessica advised. “If you accept my bliss, you’ll have to deal with Gretel’s cruelty. She never gives up. But if you choose Gretel, we’ll both torment you.”
Jessica watched Kurt shuffle dejectedly from the room, heard his shoes thump softly down the stairs, and listened to the front door slam.
No matter where he traveled in the physical world, psychologically Kurt was in the palm of Jessica’s hand.
And she would take her sweet time deciding what to do with him.
Copyright 2011 Christopher D.B.
Normally on a Friday night I’d be at a local sports bar with some friends or out prowling a singles bar with a modest chance of bringing some lady home just before closing time. It was a real change from that routine to be in the basement of my apartment building sorting out various items of camping gear in my storage locker. From my old Boy Scout mess kit to an ultra lightweight backpacking tent I had picked up during my college days, I had more than enough equipment for a simple overnight trip.
Shortly after moving into the apartment complex I became friends with Mike, one of my neighbors. We were regulars at the workout room by the pool. He owned a small four-wheel drive pickup that he said he took out on jeep trails a few times a year with some friends. I had told him I’d like to go along some time. My car was a holdover from college and I had thought about replacing it with a small SUV, mainly to deal with getting around in the snow, but it would be nice to see what kind of off-road adventures you could have during the warmer months.
It had been just an hour ago that Mike stopped by and invited me to go on an overnight four-wheeling trip with him and some friends. Short notice, but I was up for it.
We left early the next morning and after an hours drive east of the city we pulled into a small gas station convenience store bait shop combo called Bass n’ Buck. It was located at a desolate crossroads near a national forest that was our destination. Mike’s friends were already here waiting on us, and he pulled up beside a red jeep that sat high on a modified suspension fitted with oversized tires, and was coated with a thick layer of dried mud.
I was quickly introduced to Dave and Sue, the owners of the red jeep, as they went about loading a big cooler with ice and beer by the open tailgate. He was a monster of a guy but seemed friendly enough. Sue had some extra pounds on her including a massive set of tits that were barely contained in her low cut top. One of them mentioned that Julia was inside the store picking up some last minute supplies.
My eyes turned to the second jeep. Bright yellow, a newer model with similar tires to Dave’s but no lift kit, and lacking his collection on dents and other body damage. A slogan on the spare tire cover claimed that ‘Jeeps were for girls.’ Being single, I was interested in meeting this Julia, and soon enough she walked out of the store.
Dark wavy hair spilled down past her shoulders. A pair of scant daisy dukes and a black tank top with narrow straps perfectly molded to her well proportioned and solid figure. Wearing black rubber knee high boots as if she might also ride horseback, confidently strutting across the gravel lot in the low flat heels. As she joined the group I could see that she was older than me by perhaps five years or more, though it was obvious that she was in good shape. Her dark hair contrasted sharply with pale skin and her sly grin showed a faint trace of lipstick.
“Who might you be?” she asked me in almost a challenging tone, her eyes giving me a quick onceover.
“Eric,” was all I could manage to say, my mouth suddenly dry and at a loss for words.
“Well, Eric. Nice to have you along,”" she said slowly, letting her words taper off.
The hope of any more conversation with Julia was broken off by Dave who wanted to discuss what trails we’d be hitting that day. He evidently came out here all the time and seemed to know what certain areas would be like based on recent rainfall, and what camping areas were likely to be filled up later in the afternoon.
“You don’t have a set of play tires yet, Mike,” Julia said to my friend looking down at the wheels on his truck. “Best of luck,” she told him in mocking disapproval.
As we drove to the trails I said to Mike,
“Man, that Julia is hot.”
“Dude, don’t even get started with her,” he said. “She’s borderline psycho.”
When I tried to insist that he was joking, Mike stood his ground and just said it was best I not even consider pursuing her and then tried to change the subject. I suspected that he was hot for her as well and didn’t want any competition from me.
The series of trails we followed were anything from good quality dirt roads to deep mud holes or steep rutted hills. Julia was in the lead and would approach all the challenging parts with a sense of strategy, getting through or over anything with little trouble. Dave would then attack with an open throttle, spraying mud with all four tires, at times seeming to dig himself into more trouble but always getting out, leaving a wallowed mess for us to get through.
I’ll give Mike credit for seeming to have some skill driving through all that mud, but whether it was his truck having no weight in the back end or not having the proper tires, he got stuck a lot.
In some ways that was no problem because Julia had a winch on her jeep that would mount on either the front or rear, and Dave had a big tangle of tow straps, chains, and anything else that was needed. These people knew what they were doing and could get Mike out of a hole quickly enough. His ego took the worst of it and Julia seemed to enjoy ribbing him any time she had to use her winch.
“You know Mike, I bought this winch because I knew I’d be on the trail with you,” she’d say as she pulled out the heavy cable, wading out into mud that came almost to the tops of her boots. It seemed to me that Julia made an effort to make sure her back was to me any time she had to bend over to hitch up the cable, giving me an eyeful of her sexy ass framed by the tight denim shorts.
While Mike and I were clearly at a disadvantage bringing up the rear, I got the feeling that if Dave was in the lead he would take off with his foot to the floor and never be seen again unless wrapped around a tree. If we went first I assumed Mike would get us stuck eventually, landing Julia in front of us to winch us through, therefore putting her in the lead.
With no real solution and Mike’s temper fuming, I decided not to offer any suggestions to our traveling order, even after we ended up stuck and tilted sideways, with murky water filling the foot well on the driver’s side.
Late afternoon we ended up on a rugged fire service road that was easily passable with four-wheel drive and made our way back to the paved road to find a campsite for the night.
Our planned destination was a small primitive camping area with only a few sites and a pond within walking distance where Dave was hoping to do some night fishing. The campground turned out to be full, so we made a rather long drive to another camping area.
The second location was more heavily wooded and easily had twice as many campsites, all spread apart for a lot of privacy. A few RV’s were squeezed in here though there weren’t any utility connections, and there was a group of older guys tent camping and cleaning the days catch for a fish fry. This left plenty of spots for us to choose from.
Our campsite had a gravel parking area just large enough for the three vehicles and a short trail led back to a large grassy clearing with a picnic table and a blackened iron fire ring. We lugged in our gear and as we were setting up camp, Sue asked Julia where her boyfriend was.
“He broke up with me because he couldn’t handle being dominated,” Julia casually answered. Sue and Dave just seemed to nod in understanding. Now the idea of submitting to a beautiful dominatrix has always been a fantasy of mine so I had to ask,
“Dominated? You mean as in whips and chains?”
Mike seemed to be having some trouble pitching his tent and paused to shoot me a warning stare.
“Yeah, something like that,” Julia answered, nonchalantly.
“Cool,” was my only response.
Although I had brought a can of beef stew to heat up over my backpacking stove, it seemed that Dave and Sue had brought enough food to share and set about preparing a communal feast. They quickly got a fire burning and placed a cooking grate over the top.
I slipped out of my mud caked jeans into a clean pair, along with some fresh socks and shoes, glad I had thought to bring these. The campground had no showers, pit toilets were the only facilities to speak of, but I grabbed some soap, a towel and washcloth, and set out to wash up best I could at one of the water faucets.
Just a short walk down the road and across from a small vacant campsite was an ornate stone pedestal with a drinking fountain on the top, and a faucet on the side above a shallow basin. I had stripped off my shirt and was almost finished washing up when I heard footsteps crunching towards me on the gravel road. Turning, I saw Julia approaching with an empty collapsible water jug in one hand.
“So you think that being dominated by a woman is… cool?” she asked with a grin.
“Well, it’s always been a fantasy of mine,” I confessed.
“Then be my bitch and fill this up,” she said, tossing the empty container at me. I just smiled, catching it in the air. Removing the cap I squatted by the faucet to fill the jug. Julia walked up close beside me and rested one of her muddy boots on the stone rim of the basin.
“Tell me, Eric. Have you only fantasized about being dominated, or have you actually lived it? Tasted it? Felt the pain?” she asked in a low seductive tone.
“I tried to get my ex-girlfriend to do this role play once. Just dress up in her boots and leather skirt and give me a spanking, but she just laughed and said that was silly.” While I tried to sound confident, my voice had wavered slightly.
“Is that why she’s now your ex-girlfriend?” Julia asked strategically as she bent to twirl a lock of my hair slowly around one finger.
“No,” I said. The jug now full I shut off the faucet but stayed down at her feet. Looking up at Julia, who was remarkably clean after a day of driving her jeep through the mud, I explained that my ex was in a hurry to get married and raise a family. “I’ve only been out of college for a few years and want to get established in life. That other stuff can wait.”
Though I was expecting a laugh or wisecrack, Julia just nodded slowly, continuing to twist a finger through my hair. Then she picked up my damp washcloth from where I had hung it on the edge of the stone pedestal and let it drop. In the quiet forest it landed with prominent splat on the toe of her muddy boot.
“I think its time you lived your fantasy, Eric,” she said with a voice that was a low whisper blended with a throaty growl. “Now clean my boots.”
“Sure thing,” I said, letting out a deep breath and setting the heavy water container off to one side. Giving me a light slap on the back of my head, she instructed,
“The only responses I want to hear from you are, ‘Yes, Miss Julia,’ or ‘No, Miss Julia,’ and my most important rule is, do as I say. Do you understand, Eric?”
“Yes, Miss Julia,” I replied quietly, turning on the water faucet to a moderate flow and picking up the washcloth.
A lot of times water at a remote camp is rusty or smells of sulfur, but here it ran clean, cool and fresh. She placed one foot into the basin and I alternately splashed water on her boot with my hands and wiped with the wet cloth. At first the mud only smeared on the black rubber but after a short while it began to rinse clean, the tan silt gently swirling down the bronze drain fitting. Then she rocked her foot back on the low heel so I could wipe the smooth sole of her boot clean.
Julia handed me my towel and rested the heel of her boot on the rim of the basin. There was no need for a verbal command so I shut off the water, our world now almost silent, and I toweled the boot dry. Apparently satisfied with my work she turned around, leaning a hip against the stonework, and placed her other boot in the shallow basin.
“I’ll bet you thought that dominant women only wore boots that came up to here,” she placed the tip of a finger, the sensibly cut nail painted a deep shade of red, halfway up her thigh. “With tall stiletto heels. Am I right?”
“Yes, Miss Julia,” I answered.
She told me that she owned a pair of boots like that and maybe I would get to see her in them another time, but I had to prove to her that I could take care of these boots first. The black rubber was scuffed in places and I assumed that her boots were a few years old. They felt thick and high quality and showed no signs of cracking. Julia would get plenty of more wear out of them.
Her legs looked smooth and freshly shaven. As I turned off the water and began to dry her boot with my towel I could hear her breathing deeply against the background of birds and cicadas in the trees. I looked at the crotch of her skin tight shorts, imagining that she was getting turned on and moist.
“Take the water back to the entrance to our camp,” she ordered. “I’m not finished with you yet and if someone needs the water I don’t want us to be disturbed. I’ll be waiting over there,” she said pointing to the vacant campsite across the road. Julia also instructed me to get an item from the back of her jeep and so I knew that my boot cleaning duties were not over yet.
I’ve never cared for the collapsible five gallon water carriers. Handy yes, but the thin handle bites into your flesh as you lug it. Setting it on the short trail that led to our campsite, I could smell the smoke from the fire and the aroma of grilling burgers. Bits of conversation floated over on the light breeze and all seemed well.
The interior of her jeep was relatively clean and uncluttered. Of course the floorboard in front of the driver’s seat was covered with mud, most of which had sunk out of the way into the deep ribs of the rubber floor mat. I took a quick glance at some CD cases in the console, thinking I might learn more about her by her taste in music. It was an eclectic mix. Kid Rock to Abba and Direks Bentley to Great White.
Moving the driver’s seat forward I climbed into the back where the rear jump seat had been replaced with a diamond plate metal tool box bolted to the floor. I quickly found the spray bottle of rubber conditioner, normally used for tires, but apparently also useful for shining rubber boots.
Before closing the lid I quickly scanned over the rest of the contents. Tow straps, heavy gauge jumper cables, a stout lug wrench, all neatly compartmentalized by homemade plywood dividers. A small cardboard box suddenly caught my eye. Forty caliber ammunition. Julia owned a gun. Perhaps she was a cop. She certainly had the attitude for the job.
Feeling I had wasted time, I jogged back to where I knew Julia was waiting. I seemed to have caught her by surprise and saw she was holding my shirt up to her face and deeply inhaling the day’s worth of my sweat.
She told me to kneel down by the bench of the picnic table and then sat on the table top, resting her boots on the bench in front of me. I was ready with the spray bottle when she said,
“Before you spray that on I want you to make sure that my boots are perfectly clean. Give them a good onceover with your tongue.” I willingly obeyed, giving her boots long slow licks. Of course they were clean, and I was getting extremely aroused. I paused for a moment to adjust my jeans to give my stiffening cock some room.
“Don’t do that,” Julia snapped. “I didn’t say you could touch yourself. You’re just going to have to suffer. You’re not done here,” she punctuated her words by raising a leg to place a boot under my nose. I cradled it gently in my hands and continued to lick it and couldn’t help but imagine licking all the way to the top of her boot, bur not stopping and working my way up her leg, pushing the denim barrier of her shorts to the side and pleasuring my off-road goddess. Of course that was just a fantasy entwined within this fantasy session.
“You know what to do,” Julia she said, handing me my towel and the spray bottle. I had only used the stuff on tires before. The results always looked good until you drive in the rain which rinses it off. It quickly brought her rubber boots to a high shine.
“I’ll bet you still want that spanking. Don’t you, Eric?” she asked as I was doing the final buffing with the towel.
“Yes, Miss Julia,” I replied, thrilled that I would at last get the spanking I had fantasized about.
“Why do you deserve to be spanked?” she asked. The question came as a surprise. Not a simple yes or no answer, but I thought of something that she would at least find amusing.
“I masturbated at work last week, Miss Julia,” I confessed.
“Were you looking at internet porn on company time?” she asked accusingly.
“No, Miss Julia,” and I continued, feeling it was okay to elaborate. “I was in the restroom.”
“Open your pants and pull out your cock,” was her surprising response. I quickly complied, grateful to release my straining erection. She gave a quick snort of laughter and turned up her nose. “Obviously you don’t work in porno, having a cock that small, so I think it’s safe to say that your boss wouldn’t approve of you jerking off while you’re on the clock. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I’ve always felt confident in the size of my manhood and never had any complaints from girlfriends or one night stands in the past. I assumed that Julia was just trying to humiliate me, and I admit I began to feel very self-conscious. Maybe I really didn’t measure up to her standards. I humbly answered her question,
“Yes, Miss Julia.”
She got down from the picnic table and stood in front of me, just inches from my face, firmly grasping a handful of my hair.
“A spanking would let you off too easy. You need a whipping,” she insisted, reaching with her free hand to unbuckle her belt. It was as wide as the belt loops on her cutoffs would accommodate. Made of thick black leather with two rows of large chrome grommets around the whole length. I had never been whipped with a belt before in my life but I knew it was going to hurt like hell. While I suppose I could have run away easily enough, I wanted to be punished by her. I felt completely under Julia’s control and obeyed when she told me to walk towards the rear of the campsite and slightly into the woods where we wouldn’t be visible in case anyone walked by on the road.
She had me stand facing a small tree, which at one time I could have identified by looking at the bark, and then ordered me to drop my jeans and boxer shorts to my ankles and hold onto an overhead limb.
I could hear her breathing slowly and heavily behind me, clearly excited and I assume aroused as well. There was a split second of time when I heard her belt cut through the air before striking me across both cheeks of my buttocks. I couldn’t help crying out at the snap of the pain.
“Shut up and take it like a man,” Julia said quietly. “So many naughty boys fantasize about being whipped by a dominatrix but so few can handle the reality.” I heard a soft tinkle of the belt buckle, the quick hiss of the leather slicing through the air, and then the crack of her belt against my ass as the pain instantly shot through my body. Clenching my teeth, I drew in a hissing breath but otherwise didn’t make a sound.
“That’s more like it. If you ever want to play with me again you need to be quiet and accept your punishment,” she said sternly.
The crack of the belt rang repeatedly through the air like gunfire and I wasn’t sure if it would be heard at a neighboring camp. My hands clenched an increasingly tighter white-knuckle grip on the tree branch overhead. With my legs hobbled by my pants at my ankles, any thought of running away at this point was hopeless.
Having read a lot online about sadomasochistic role play, I knew it was best to plan a scene in advance and have a safe word to call out in the event that any pain was too intense, but that was not the case here. I had been seduced into a role of submission by a beautiful domineering woman who clearly enjoyed being in command. I envisioned her belt with the metal grommets was on the verge of shredding my flesh and there was nothing I could do except grit my teeth as tears of pain started to leak from the corners of my tightly closed eyes.
It had been months in the planning.
His capacity for punishment, whether taking it or meting it out, was the stuff of lore.
In the gym, nobody pushed harder. Five nights a week he’d pound out eight kilometres on a Vision Fitness treadmill at 12km per hour, with the hill incline set to two so it accurately simulated the intensity of a road run.
He’d follow that with a full abdominal workout – 50 crunches, leg raises and two minutes of air bicycle – then repeat.
Mondays and Thursdays he’d focus on upper body – triceps, biceps, shoulders, chest and back. Tuesday and Friday were legs – calves, quad extensions and leg press, hamstring curls. Three sets of 15 and only then would he increase the weight.
Saturdays were just the run and a double abdominal workout, Wednesdays and Sundays were his days off.
It wasn’t the most intense regime in the world, but for a guy that had spent his university years and his entire twenties putting the same kind of application into his drinking, it was something.
At the end of it, he’d take stock of himself on one of the gym’s many mirrors.
The old style scales tattooed on his right bicep in stark black ink against his porcelain skin pleased him every time he looked at them, as did the etching on his rib cage, in flowing cursive script – the word ‘free’.
He’d look at himself for a moment before running a hand through the closely shaved salt and pepper stubble on his head and walk to his car.
His friends called him ‘the extremist’. Partly for his nature, this constant need to be pushing at something, chipping away at himself in some way. But it stretched back further than that, to high school – when as a budding young guitarist he worshipped the American rock virtuoso Joe Satriani. His favourite album of Satriani’s was called, aptly, The Extremist, much to the amusement of his friends more content with the Top 40 of the day than some wailing instrumental guitar rock.
At 36, he seemed settled.
He’d worked at the department of public prosecutions since graduating from university with a law degree, and had finally made it to the level of prosecutor.
After serving as a junior for five years, he was now being entrusted with his own cases.
It was a job he loved, and he had put away car thieves, small scale drug dealers, muggers and thugs who had assaulted and beaten people.
He was coming up in the world, and one day he’d be asked to lead cases against rapists, murderers, drug traffickers and the like.
She knew most of this, because she watched and listened.
She was a widower, whose husband had dropped dead one morning on a golf course at the age of 46.
She’d watch him on his runs, as she read her New Weekly or Who on an exercise bike from the bank at the back of the gym.
She’d pedal, not particularly hard, but she’d pedal. She’d pedal and she’d watch.
She was a 54-year-old, pleasantly chubby up top, with red hair flecked with grey, but with strong, toned legs from all those hours spent on an exercise bike. Watching and planning.
One night she left a little early and sat in her car in the small, almost-empty car park. She must have sat there for 15 or 20 minutes until he emerged in his sweat-stained t-shirt and shorts and threw his bag in the back seat of his Ford Focus.
She waited for him to start backing out of his space before quickly reversing out of her own, clipping his car with her rear bumper.
The two of them stopped and locked eyes for a moment in their rear-view mirrors, not sure whose fault the accident had been.
They got out of their cars and met at their bumpers, still touching with the barest of damage to each.
“Oh shit,” she said in an upper class English accent. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”
He should have been angry, but after 8km on a treadmill and a sweat like the one he’d just worked up, it was hard to be angry at anything.
“Look, don’t worry about it,” he said. “I should have been looking, and I didn’t see you either. How about we swap details and we’ll get this sorted out.”
He was tempted to just let it go, call it even and they could just each pay for their own cars to be fixed. But he’d only had one car accident before, much more severe, and going from that experience he knew better than to leave things to chance.
“Do you have your drivers’ licence?” he asked.
“I don’t, I’m sorry,” she smiled apologetically. “I travel pretty light when I go to the gym. I’m just round the corner though. Gillies Street – you could follow me home and I’ll give it to you.”
He really just wanted to head home, shower and put his feet up. He had a long day of meetings ahead of him tomorrow, and needed the rest. But again, he thought, he should do the right thing.
“Alright, you lead the way,” he smiled. He got back into his Focus and moved back into his space to let her exit the car park first.
Five minutes later he got out of his car outside a neat weatherboard home in Gillies Street, with a white picket fence and some neatly trimmed roses, and followed the woman up the driveway to the front door where she fumbled with her keys before opening.
“You must be bloody parched,” she said, leading him through to the kitchen. “I think I’ve got a Gatorade in the fridge.”
She went to the fridge and picked one of three bottles of blue Gatorade in there before handing it to him with a smile.
He opened it, not noticing that the seal was already broken, and drank quickly. He put away half of it on his first gulp and on the next swill there was barely a drop left as she pottered around the lounge trying to find her purse.
As she approached him and presented him with her driver’s license, he felt his middle begin to float and at the same time his limbs began to feel heavy.
As he started to go, he looked up at her eyes and he liked the wrinkles they made when she smiled, but her smile was sad.
As his eyes fluttered open, the man he saw in the distance was naked and lying on a bare mattress, arms and legs spreadeagled.
He realised he was looking at his own reflection, in a large mirror mounted on the ceiling, when he saw that the man had an identical tattoo on his abdomen to his own.
This realisation came at precisely the instant he discovered his hands were lashed with thin leather straps to the metal headboard. Each foot had two thin girl’s belts wrapped around them which were then secured tightly to the foot of the bed.
She didn’t gag him because she knew he wouldn’t cry out.
It took him a moment to come to his senses, and when he did he lifted his neck to see her standing at the doorway leading into the room, dressed in a white tank top and a pair of black knickers.
She began walking towards him slowly, sliding her thumbs under the waistband of the knickers and easing them off her hips. She kept walking as the knickers slowly tumbled to her bare feet and, when they got there, she stepped out of them casually, like she was discarding a towel on her way to the pool.
“My lord,” she said. “You look absolutely divine.”
He gave the straps securing his hands a check, but if he was truly honest with himself, his efforts were half-hearted. He didn’t know what was happening, but he knew he didn’t want to be anywhere else.
She stood by the side of the bed and looked him over, drinking in his musculature and those black tattoos. She ran her right hand over him, starting from his right foot, and worked her way up his leg, across his cock and up his abdomen before stroking his forehead and looking him in the eye.
Again, she looked sad, almost apologetic that things had come to this.
Almost with an air of resignation, she climbed on to the bed like a cat, and crawled to position her mouth over his cock, with her back to him.
He shut his eyes in anticipation of the contact, but there was none forthcoming.
He waited a long moment before he opened his eyes to find her head turned round and staring at him with a wicked grin.
“Oh, there’ll be plenty of time for that,” she said. “But first I’m going to get you to eat my arse.”
The sentence was no sooner out of her mouth than she had thrown her arse onto his face, forcing his head back down onto the mattress. She shuffled up into position, using a hand to spread her buttocks apart and letting gravity grind her arsehole over his dry mouth.
“I want you to tongue my arsehole, please,” she said, as if asking for a pint of milk at the local deli. “Put your fucking back into it and eat my arse.”
He had never eaten a woman’s arse before, although he loved eating pussy and had been curious to try it on occasion. He once had a girlfriend who liked to turn her back to him while she jerked him off, and he lifted his neck to try and taste it, only to be met with a stern ‘no!’
So this was his first time, and the fact that he didn’t have much choice in the matter only added to the thrill. He’d lap three or four times before she’d let her weight sink onto his face until he couldn’t breathe, and then instinctively lift her buttocks up to let him drink in some sweet oxygen. Rinse and repeat.
“There’s nothing quite like having your arsehole eaten, darling.”
He grunted, and she moaned softly as her right hand began to work her clit over. He was enjoying the musky smells and tastes her arse had to offer, and his cock was standing to attention, absolutely rigid.
“It really is the most amazing feeling. All those little nerve endings down there being tickled, getting them all wet and slick.”
He was tonguing her arse as if his life depended on it. For all he knew, it did.
“You know,” she continued her monologue, “in 18 years of marriage my husband never once tongued my arsehole. Can you believe that? Not once. Claimed the thought of it repulsed him when I brought it up one night.”
“Of course, he had mistresses my husband. Young things. He might have licked their arseholes, but never once with me. Not even when he was absolutely rat-arsed,” she chuckled at her own double entendre.
She continued masturbating softly and driving her arsehole into his face, and he responded in the only way, he could – licking and probing her sweet, tight hole with his tongue until it became tired and sore.
Ha had no idea how much time had passed, he was so involved in proceedings, but after a while he looked up to find that that she had shed her tank top and was facing him, straddling him at his upper thighs, below his cock.
He took stock of her body, big tits that would look magnificent trussed up in a bra hung at the middle of her stomach, which was flecked – like her hips – with stretch marks. She continued to play with her pussy as she looked him in the eye.
“Do you like my body, lawyer man?”
He looked again. Sure he’d been with fitter, better conditioned bodies, but there was something about this woman’s body he found irresistible and beautiful.
“It’s beautiful,” he said.
“Awwww… you’re a sweet one, aren’t you?”
She took his pulsing cock in her hand and peeled his foreskin back to reveal the head, which she sized up approvingly, as if a waiter had just put a piece of sirloin in front of her.
“Are you going to stay hard for me lawyer man? Or are you going to tell your friends in the police about how you ended up here? Well? Are you going to have me dealt with, lawyer man?”
He dropped his eyes as she smiled at him, knowing there was no way he’d be telling anyone about this.
Suddenly, with the same violence of movement with which she had thrust her arse into his face, she yanked his cock down and climbed on top of it, shoving it inside her, while the sudden sensation against his exposed head caused him to squeak involuntarily and writhe against the leather.
He’d never felt a cunt quite like it, and it was certainly not what he’d imagined from a woman of her vintage. It was tight, tight as he imagined her beautiful arsehole would be, and she drew him into her as deeply as she could.
She slowly worked up a rhythm until she was fucking him with a vengeance, as he tried to fight the urge to come.
She started to moan deeply, her orgasm building to a frightening crescendo as she ground her pussy backwards and forwards against his erection. When she was a few beats away she began to look dreamy and looked down at his eyes.
“Are you going to come for me lawyer man?”
“You make sure you fill me up, lawyer man…ahhh…”
She couldn’t finish the thought before she began gasping and coming in jagged spasms, grunting like a shot putter as she got there, while he – free from the constraints of making her come – let himself go and fired jet after jet into that beautiful pussy, like a schoolboy jerking off over his first Playboy.
She used him like that several more times throughout the night, turning on a small lamp when it became too dark to see, and he loved every last minute of it.
At about 4am she smiled her sad smile again and got off him.
She went through to the kitchen and returned with another bottle of Gatorade and a funnel.
He became concerned and wanted to ask what she was doing, but she sat beside his head and held his nose.
When he opened his lips for air she jammed the funnel between his teeth and, with enough force that she almost made him gag, drove it deep down into his mouth.
He struggled against the leather, but there was no give and there was nothing he could do when she smiled at him sadly again and poured the bottle of Gatorade into the funnel, easing it into him in five goes until he’d consumed every drop.
“You were wonderful,” she said, and as he started to float off again he saw the lines around her sad eyes as she stroked his head. The last thing he saw as his head lolled to the side before he drifted into darkness, was the red rawness of her sweet English cunt.
When he came to he was in the passenger seat of his Focus, parked in his usual spot outside his apartment. He felt groggy, and wasn’t sure if what had happened had been a dream.
Only when he began to move, and felt the dull throb in his cock and balls, did he realise that it was real, and he saw the marks around his wrists to confirm his suspicions.
The sun was rising and birds were singing in the trees as he mounted the steps to his apartment and contemplated his own depravity and that of his partner. He thought of his meetings today, and he wondered if people would be able to peer into his eyes and see the twisted dreams and longings he had for this woman.
Most of all, he wondered if he’d ever get to be used by her again, and whether he’d once again get to lick her beautiful, tight arsehole.
Later that night he drove round to the house on Gillies Street and parked in the driveway before knocking on the door.
There was no answer, so he had a look in the window to discover the place bare. No furniture, no fridge – nothing. It had been stripped. He went round the back and discovered the room he’d been kept in. He could see in through a window, whereas during his captivity the blinds had been tightly drawn. It too was bare – no mirror, no mattress, no lamp, but looking at the size of the room, the walls and the floor, which he’d only seen reflected in the mirror, he was sure it was the same place she’d had him.
He was starting to doubt his own mind, when he saw them over in one corner of the room, bunched up and discarded. A pair of black, lacy knickers.
He looked around quickly and tried the window, which was unlocked, so he opened it and jumped inside, practically running across the room to get to them.
He picked them up and held them to his face, drinking in the sweet smells of her pussy and arse still lingering on them, thinking that if this was all he could take of her then it would be enough. That, and his memories, would be enough.
As he tried to inhale the fabric like a man possessed, he looked down at the hardwood floor and saw a small rectangle of white plastic card which had been underneath the panties.
He picked it up and stared in wonder, and growing excitement, for a moment at what it said.
‘Marion’, with a mobile number underneath.
He had another quick glance around the room, stuffed the card and the knickers in his pocket and climbed out through the open window, butterflies in his stomach and grateful to be alive.
(Credit to the sci-fi thriller Species 2 for being the basis and inspiration for this story. If you are fan of pregnant women, expansion fetish, and leather items, I hope you enjoy this story)
It was a temperate Saturday night. Jackie was looking forward to a good time with Travis whom she had met a week earlier at her cousin’s wedding. Jackie was single, 27 years old. She worked as an office assistant at a local accounting firm. Her hair was ash blonde. Her figure was that of a goddess, firm and perky 34 B cup breasts, slender mid section, and a nice firm round ass.
She had had a couple of boyfriends but nothing long term. Often the relationships would involve sex. Since she had been 20 years old she had been on the pill and she enjoyed riding men bareback, feeling their sperm spill inside her. Sometimes her womanhood would be so full the semen would dribble out of her slit as she drove home from a date’s house or if she was cuddling with a man in her bed. She didn’t consider herself a slut or “fast”, she viewed herself as having a healthy sex drive.
Jackie had not had a release in over a week. It wasn’t that she had no desire, she was so busy with work and personal family engagements that she was very tired every night. Travis would do just fine in her opinion. She hoped he was big, not too big, but big enough to be satisfying.
She dressed very nicely for the date that night. A mid thigh length black leather skirt with a white v-neck blouse and dark nylon pantyhose. Her panties were red satin lace with matching front clasp bra. She grabbed her purse and headed out the door. When she got into her car she checked her lipstick and hair. When all was set she pulled out of the driveway and headed out for the evening.
Travis was a construction worker specializing in wood frame houses. He had had quite a week at the current job site. His foreman was giving him shit all week and he hadn’t been feeling well to boot. Travis had been nausious and had headaches several times that week, however he thought it was just a case of the flu. Did clear up a couple of days later and he had been feeling fine the past two days. He found Jackie very attractive and wondered if he might get some tonight, heck a woman that drives a Camaro had to be open to putting out, at least that’s what he hoped. Hot chick, hot car….hot sex?
Travis was infatuated with Jackie over the past week. He kept envisioning her long hair and hot body in that Camaro’s driver’s seat. Her ass daintily pleated the seats, setting a luxurious backdrop to display her beauty. Jackie had driven them to a nearby 24 hour coffee shop after the reception where they chatted well into the wee hours of the morning. Jackie dropped Travis off back at his truck where he had gotten in and watched her drive off.
The next thing Travis remembered was waking up on the ground next to his truck. He thought for sure he had gotten in the truck. He thought that he probably had gotten out to take a piss and passed out. He started up his truck, the time on the dashboard clock read 3:38am. He couldnt believe he had been lights out for an hour and a half. He put the truck in gear and headed home.
Back to this evening….
Jackie flipped open her cell phone and dialed Travis’s number.
“Hello.” answered Travis.
“Hi Travis, it’s Jackie, I’m just passing the Citgo station now, I should be there in a couple of minutes. What building are you in again? she asked.
“It’s building 23 apartment C. I’ll keep an eye out for you in the parking lot, you should see me in the window from the road, I’ll give you a wave” Travis replied.
“Great. You are such a sweetie, how can I ever repay you?” she said.
“I’ll take an IOU if that’s allright” he responded.
“Ok, one IOU it is then! Bye.” she answered.
“Bye” Tavis finished.
Jackie and Travis had a wonderful time that evening. They enjoyed a great dinner at a local italian restaurant, she had chicken parmesan and he had spaghetti and meatballs. After dinner they went to catch a movie and out for coffee again. They returned back to Travis’s apartment about 11:45pm. She kicked off her heels and collapsed on his leather couch. Travis kicked off his shes too and sat next to her. She was definitely in the mood.
She put her hand on his leg and moved it up to his crotch where she began to rub his penis through his pants. She could feel him getting hard. Her juices started to flow and her nipples became hard. Travis began to fondle her breasts. As he did he could feel her nipples getting hard and hear her breathing getting heavy. Jackie removed her blouse exposing her red satin bra. She helped Travis take off his shirt and pants.
He was now wearing nothing but his briefs, his cock strained at the cotton material. They began kissing each other as their hands explored each other’s bodies. Next Jackie laid back against the arm of the couch while travis slid her skirt off her hips. Her pantyhose and panties quickly followed.
“Do you have a blanket I can lay on? I am sticking to your couch.” she asked.
“Sure, just a minute” Travis answered.
He ran to his bedroom like a sprinter on the 40 yard dash and returned with his comforter. He laid it down and Jackie crawled on it and laid back down. Travis slid off his briefs, his cock sprang out, freed from it’s shackle. Jackie’s heart jumped at the sight of it. It was about 8 inches long with a purple head. There was a small amount of pre-cum on the tip.
She spread her legs allowing him access to her soaking wet pussy. He leaned down above her and rubbed the head along her slit and clitoris. After a couple of passes he pushed inside of her. She groaned lustfully as his shaft penetrated her. It was just large enough to stretch her cunt compeletely. Travis kissed her once again, trading tounges and fondling her titties. After a few minutes they changed positions, Jackie leaned on the arm of the couch as Travis pounded her from behind. She reached under herself and diddled her clitoris as he fucked her.
“I want you on top of me when you come” she demanded.
“You bet babe” Travis groaned lowly as he thrust into her.
Travis withdrew from her and she laid back down on the couch. He mounted her once again and picked up where he left off a few minutes before. Jackie loved the way his cock felt as he began thrusting in and out of her. His pubic hair tickled her clit. Faster and faster he pushed into her. Her chest began to flush as she felt herself nearing orgasm.
Her body wriggled and writhed under him as he rode her. Faster and faster, harder and harder. She wrapped her legs around his body to bring him closer to her as she panted and moaned. Finally she came violently around him, her vagina gripping his cock. This threw Travis over the edge. He felt the warm sensation of his cum traveling up his dick and shoot into Jackie, his semen swimming toward her egg. For a brief moment Jackie wondered what it would be like to be pregnant, to be a mother, of course the birth control would protect her egg from the fertile invaders.
Travis withdrew from her and rolled back onto the other end of the couch. They both were panting from their activites. Jackie laid there with her legs spread, her pussy exposed as Travis’s penis grew flaccid. She moved over and cuddled with him. She glanced at the clock, it was 12:15am. She cuddled for about 20 minutes more before putting her clothes back on. Before she left she hugged him and gave him another very wet kiss.
Jackie walked out to her car, got in and started it up. The time on the clock read 1:10am. Good thing it was Saturday night and she could sleep in tomorrow. She pulled out onto the highway toward home. There were no other cars on the road as she drove. She revved the engine of her 95 Camaro making it lurch ahead. She looked at the speedometer and saw that it read 72 mph. As she rounded curves and turned corners she felt her ass sliding around in the seat. The leather skirt on the leather seat of her Camaro made for very little friction.
She had been driving for about 5 minutes when suddenly she felt a strange sensation in her belly. Almost like a stomach cramp but much weaker. She didnt think much of it and continued to drive. A minute later the same pain returned, this tme much more severe. She had a hard time maintaining control of the car. The pain was getting worse.
Worried that she might have an accident she pulled off to the side of the road. There was a closed gas station perhaps a mile up the road and a few house set back from the highway. She slammed on the breaks making the car slide to a stop, dust and gravel flew. She turned on the interior lights. What she saw confused her. Her blouse looked like it had a bulge in it at her belly. She placed her hands on her belly and screamed when she felt her belly expanding rapidly.
“What the hell is going on!!! OH MY GOD!” she screamed.
Her belly was expanding very quickly. Thoughts raced through her mind. How could this be happening. Could she be pregnant? Why was her stomach getting big so fast?
Within 5 seconds her belly was as big as a woman that was 5 months pregnant. She unbuckled her seatbelt and slid out of her skirt to give her body more room. She was frightend and screaming. Her belly continued to grow causing her pantyhose to rip. She pulled back her blouse exposing her expanding stomach and her bra. She could no longer see her panties but could feel her ass on the leather seat beneath her. She groaned and growled as she felt something in side her moving.
Suddenly her belly expanded even more rapidly. She screamed out in horror.
“OHHH MY GOD! NOOOO! NO!!! NOOOOOO!!! AAAAH!! AAAHHH!!! AAAAHHH!!!!!” she screamed.
She writhed around in the driver seat of her car, nobody could hear her screams. She pressed back into the seat, somehow trying to get away from her belly, her seat rocked back and forth. Her stomach now stretched all the way to the steering wheel pressing into the bottom of it. Her stretching skin could take no more. Her belly split open in a triangular shape, blood spattered all over the interior of the car. She continued screaming, looking down in horror at her now open belly. Before she died she heard the screams of her alien child and saw it’s head sticking out of her body.
The next day the police found her car where she had stopped it, blood was everywhere, the car door left open. No body was found, no blood trail. Travis also went missing that day.
The final police investigation concluded that Tavis had kidnapped Jackie and murdered her. The police have still not found her body. Rumors circled the area of strange lights in the sky that same evening. However, nobody knows what really happend that night at the side of the road and if, or rather when, it could happen again.
“A pony-girl, that’s a bit drastic dear. The training is very demanding and severe. It changes the slave so much. They are taught to jump to obey, quite literally,” Bridget chuckled. She could see the serious look on her daughters face, knowing how determined she became when settling on a scheme.
“The trainer whips all resistance from them, until they become docile creatures. Where would the fun be in that darling? Are you sure Roger would approve? After all she’s his slave,” Bridget reminded her daughter.
Hollie heard every word of the conversation, leaving her feeling sick at the thought of it. At first she had welcomed the idea of escaping Angela. Angela’s mother was sending a clear warning as to what it would be like, as well as trying to stop her daughter. Hollie was thankful for that, only she knew how little the woman’s opinion meant, in this strange household.
If Angela got her father’s agreement they would send her away for pony-girl training. That would be so terrible she could hardly bare to think about it. She had no idea it was possible, or even that there was such a thing, and it sounded horrendous. The more she heard the more it sounded nasty, as her whole personality would be changed.
She would be turned into be a prancing pony-girl, or used to pull a carriage. The change to her limbs, with her arms constantly tied behind her back, and wearing hoof boots, sounded horrendous.
“Father confirmed I’m in charge of the slave, so what I say goes,” Angela firmly stated. “He said I’m doing a good job, and will make a fine mistress,” she bragged.
Bridget caught on to what her daughter was up to. She wanted Roger’s slave out of the way. Having been around masters all her life, she was nimble enough in her thinking to quickly change tack.
“When Roger comes back he’ll know you were in charge, and he’ll blame you. He’ll be angry dear, so it would spoil your chances with him. If he involves his father, Nathanial would be very put out. You had better think about that before you do anything,” Bridget suggested.
Angela flashed her mother an angry look, knowing she might be right, and not liking it one bit.
“You’re finished here, slave. Come with me,” Angela crossly told Hollie.
Hollie nodded and smiled her thanks to Bridget in passing, though all she could manage was a grimace. Bridget winked back at her, trying to reassure her. Trotting along behind her mistress, Hollie knew she would have to behave herself. Avoiding her anger became a priority, with dire consequences if she failed.
Only a few weeks ago she had been a teacher in this girl’s school, now she was her slave. All her authority and respectability as a teacher had vanished. She was a mature woman, yet in this household they thought she was just a stupid young girl. Even her age counted for nothing, when dealing with this tyrant.
The incentive to be an obedient and obliging slave girl was stronger than ever, when she thought of being sent for pony-girl training. It was vital to be a good little girl and not step out of line.
By the time they got back to Angela’s room Hollie realised she had little alternative except to obey her mistress. Acting as a slave was affecting her deeply, as the horrid girl expected so much more than Roger had. The demand for absolute obedience by this young girl was shaping the way she thought. Gritting her teeth, Hollie determined to sneak away in the night, while the harridan slept.
“Clean this place up, slave,” Angela demanded.
Hollie could feel the girl’s eyes on her, waiting for a mistake to be made, as an excuse to punish her. As a teacher she had been strict yet fair, and never ever vindictive with students. Yet here she was apprehensively moving around, fearful of being punished by this young girl.
Angela contemplated her next move. She sat with arms crossed realising her mother was right, and resenting it. She wouldn’t forget that in a hurry. She would have to keep the slave safely for Roger until he got back. The look of defiance on the slaves face made her think.
The woman wasn’t properly trained, for Roger didn’t have the experience. They had just played at being master and slave, making it just a naughty sexy game for them. Angela looked at her slave wondering what to do with her.
“It’s about time you showed me your skills as a slave,” Angela stated. “Cindy! Pay attention when your mistress commands you!” she said, and slapped Hollie across the face. “Assume your slave position,” she demanded.
Automatically Hollie squatted at the girl’s feet. She was reminded of the times with Roger, when she had gladly assumed the humble position. A sense of loss and longing threatened to engulf her.
“That’s no good. Get undressed, Cindy slave,” Angela calmly said. She felt strong, watching the once proud teacher hurry to strip naked before her. The sense of power over this woman was something new and exciting. She studied the lithe body and shaved pussy, seeing why Roger had been so enthralled with her.
“I don’t like to look up at a slave, assume the position,” Angela said. Her voice was casual as though it were perfectly normal for a student to order a naked teacher around.
At her feet the woman squatted, revealing her sex with wide spread thighs. The hands rested palm upward on her knees. She held her shoulders back, thrusting out a pair of small breasts. They were nicely shaped, not yet needing support, which meant she could be dressed without underwear. Respectfully her head drooped down, so as not to look her mistress in the face.
Angela wondered what little slave thoughts might be revealed on that hidden face. Escape of course. Earlier she had been in a hurry to get back to Rogers house. It was late now, and so ideal for a slave to slink away in the night.
Angela leaned forward and pinched a nipple. The looked for squeal didn’t materialise, which was disappointing. She gripped both nipples and twisted them.
“Ah yes, Cindy slave likes pain and punishment, they turn you on!” Angela chuckled. “Let’s see how much more sexed up you become when humiliated,” she laughed.
Hollie regretted revealing all her sordid secrets to this torturer, knowing a young girl could be so mean. Her mother had warned her, and it didn’t take long before she was to find out how bad her mistress could be. Hollie groaned from realising she was already thinking of the little shit as her mistress. Or, was it forced upon her by the pain?
Hollie felt the girl’s foot rub her sex. Damn! She wasn’t even bothering to finger her, as though she wasn’t good enough. She felt a toe enter her sex, knowing the damn girl was right, with the humiliation arousing her as predicted. Her mistress had her so stoked up, there was nothing she could do, except hope this time she would be allowed to orgasm.
“You are such a slut, slave Cindy,” Angela smugly smiled.
“Please mistress,” Hollie whimpered. It was so humiliating being manipulated like a wind up doll, ready to perform. Hollie didn’t want to, but she just had to beg for relief.
“What does my slave girl need?” Angela taunted her.
“Please, mistress, let your slave cum,” Hollie begged. Her whole body shuddered from the red painted toenail scratching her clitoris. Still loosely holding her slave position she couldn’t move. It was terribly demeaning, but she still tried to push her sex against the girl’s foot. She began to thrust her clit against the manicured toe, fucking herself at her mistress’s feet.
“Not yet slave Cindy. I might let you orgasm when I’m ready, if I’m pleased with you,” Angela imperiously announced.
“Thank you, mistress,” Hollie weakly answered, between gasps for breath.
“What are you Cindy?” Angela asked.
Hollie heard the taunting tones in the girl’s voice, but couldn’t hold back. She had lost her respectability and moral fibre with a deep arousal swamping both.
“I’m Cindy, your sexed up little slave girl, mistress,” Hollie purred, sounding humble and willing to serve. It was so pathetic she hated the sound of her own voice. She tried to bring herself together, and fight the feeling of sinking into a deep pit. Her whole body seemed to conspire against her, craving for satisfaction it gave in to the ogre.
“Please mistress, let your little slave girl cum, please mistress,” Hollie implored. The senatorial tones used before a class had given way to a pitiable whine.
“Not feeling so big and important now are we teacher? What happened to your dignity teacher?” Angela sneered. She ran a red painted toe-nail over her slave’s sex, and pressed a big toe against her swollen clit.
Hollie squealed in delight, though she needed more, much more. It felt as though she were being punished, being held back from nirvana.
“Sorry Miss Angela, Cindy doesn’t mean to be a bad girl, honest. Cindy isn’t a teacher any more. Cindy is just a pathetic little sex slave, not important at all,” Hollie promised.
It was all true she had lost her teaching job, and probably ruined her career. Hollie felt the ideas settle on her, like a dark shadow engulfing her. She was trying to pull it on like a coat, not for the cold, it was so she could fit what her mistress wanted her to be. Unlike a coat the behaviour and feelings wouldn’t be so easily shrugged off. She might be left wearing the persona for a long time to come, if she wasn’t careful.
Angela roughly pulled her by the nipples into her lap. “Let’s see how good you are at pleasuring your mistress,” Angela giggled.
Watching a teacher enthusiastically lap at her pussy was fascinating. This woman had licked her mother earlier, bringing her to an orgasm. She had never experienced this before, but had to admit it was good. It was partly the thought of so badly mistreating a teacher. The slave was so very good at it. A woman knew how to stimulate her sex so much better than a fumbling inexperienced boy.
She was using her fingers too!
“Fuck teacher, you are such a fucking suck slut,” Angela moaned. She had to lean back and shut her eyes, revelling in the sensations pulsing between her thighs. When she climaxed her legs shook. A fire seemed to spread from her belly, out to the furthest reaches of her limbs. Her fingers and toes tingled.
“Cindy that was so good! Your mistress is pleased with her little slave girl,” Angela said, with feeling. It was pleasant calling a teacher her little slave girl. It made her feel she had reached the status of mistress, and that her father would be pleased with her.
She wanted to show off this new power to someone. She would find a way. The idea could be slept on, as it was late. She hadn’t forgotten her promise to slave girl, or that a slave dreams of freedom.
“Come on Cindy, time for bed,” Angela yawned.
Hollie was still worked up from receiving so much stimulation during the day and this evening. Despite this she was willing to forget about an orgasm, more interested in see her tormentor go to sleep. A pillow held tight over her head would be satisfying though running away as far as possible was a priority.
The bedroom was a connecting room to the lounge, as the girl had a suite of rooms all her own. She crawled beside her mistress, noting how quiet she could be on the soft carpet. The door was left ajar, though it wouldn’t be a problem, as it didn’t squeak.
“In there, back into it, go on!” Angela scolded her slave.
Damn! The girl was putting her into a pet cage. It was only just large enough to squeeze into. She would have to screw up in a foetal position to lie down. The locking bar would keep a pet in, but she could push her fingers between the bars to unlock the door.
She tried to relax. The indignity of being kept in a pet box was dreadful, but she would survive.
“Your mistress hasn’t forgotten her promise to little Cindy pet. I’ve decided Cindy too can have some pleasure,” Angela chuckled.
Hollie knew why the girl liked using that slave name. She loved rubbing it in, reminding her she had lost everything, even her name. She felt something hard pushing at her sex. Her lips were swollen with lust and had been all day. Her sex ached to be filled. Despite that she didn’t want a vibrator, she needed her master.
“Oh! Mistress!” Hollie squealed. Feeling a large object enter her she couldn’t help but yelp. Another was pressed between her cheeks. “No! Please! Mistress,” Hollie squealed again. Her voice had taken on a pathetic little squeaky sound, and under the circumstances it was impossible to shake off.
It was no good, however pathetically she pleaded the tormentor pushed something into her asshole. The feeling of it moving and expanding her sphincter was nasty. She would have bucked and kicked out if she hadn’t been incarcerated in such a small cage. It slowly progressed further and further into her bottom. She pushed at the door with her head, but it wouldn’t budge, so there was no escaping the inevitable. She felt the base of the thing pressed firmly against her cheeks, and knew it was fully imbedded up her ass.
Hollie felt the other hard object twist and move further into her pussy. It didn’t hurt like the anal phallus. It was bigger and fitted her tightly. She tried to loosen up inside, to take it in her vagina.
“Oh! Mistress, it’s too big!” Hollie complained. It felt huge, as though it were stretching her inside. She tried to pull away in the tight confines of the cage. Both of the nasty things were attached to the bars of the cage behind her. There wasn’t enough room to pull away from them, so all she succeeded in doing was to move them both a little way out, and back in again.
“I’ll teach you to complain, Cindy bitch!” Angela laughed. “Open wide, Cindy pet,” Angela ordered.
Angela pushed a rubber gag into her mouth. It fitted well, suppressing all complaints. Slave was obviously still complaining, though the sound quietly muffled. This too clipped to the cage bars. Her slave watched with wide staring eyes, as Angela slipped a padlock into place, locking the cage door for the night. The fixed white eyes flashed an anxious message of defeat.
“Ah! Poor slave pet, you look so feeble in there, peering out so pathetically,” she laughed. “This is your pet cage, so you don’t run off in the night, like a sexed up pet bitch!” Angela smiled at her.
At last Hollie could say anything she liked. She cursed her tormentor from behind the gag, though the girl knew what the garbled murmuring meant. She just smiled and continued the taunting tale.
“I can’t have my Cindy pet running off naked, into the night. Cindy is so sexed up she’ll be offering her body to the street gangs for quick fuck. Imagine that, Cindy, having your cunt banged by a rough Hispanic gang. Every one of them lining up like dogs, to bang the white bitch,” Angela teased.
“They wouldn’t let you go afterwards. They would keep Cindy the white bitch, as their gang whore. Would you like that Cindy pet whore?” Angela asked.
“How would it feel Cindy pet, being reduced from teacher to gang whore? You’re squirming at the thought of it, aren’t you bitch! Go on push back on those vibrators, you little bitch. You’re not a pony-girl at all. I’ll send you away to be trained as a pet-girl instead. What do you think, little pet-girl?” Angela asked, as though she were poking the woman with a stick.
Hollie ranted back at her tormentor, knowing the sound was muffled to nothing, just meaningless sounds. It was her only escape, her only way of keeping sane. The image of a bunch of Hispanic kids taking her, was worming its way into her mind.
It was disconcerting to realise she had been pressing back on the vibrators. As she fucked herself on the two vibrators penetrating her body, the image of those young guys fucking her became more real. She was lost in a nightmare, where she was a bitch on heat, being taunted and sexed up, until she was prepared to perform the anything for them. The young guys had her panting and crying for sexual release. Instead they cruelly made her perform despicable sexual acts.
“The vibrators in your pussy and anus are set for a constant cycle. They will keep you happy all night. You have your mistress’s permission to cum, Cindy bitch. No complaints? Good little slave girl, Cindy,” Angela smiled at her victim.
Hollie came to from the vivid nightmare, wondered what she meant. The vibrators started up. Gentle vibrations turned to little wriggles then increased in tempo. There was a soft rubber finger rubbing her clit, in a circular motion. She tried to pull away, but the damn things were stuck firmly inside her vagina, and bottom. In the small cage there was no room to squeeze forward. She was held in a tight embrace, caged like an animal.
Soon she was on the edge of an orgasm, desperate to cum. They stopped. ‘No! Not now, let me cum!’ Hollie whimpered an incoherent sound. Panting around the gag, like a bitch after a run, she began to calm down. No sooner had she reached normality than it started up again.
‘No! Please, not again!’ There was no-one to hear her garbled pleas for mercy. The torture instruments were going to tease her all night! She wondered if she could eventually cum, or would she go insane from the relentless stimulation.
In her mind the nightmare began again. The guys had her performing despicable sexual acts, laughing at her antics. She was trying hard to cum, however dirty the game was, only to be let in a sate of high arousal. She was left panting for more every time, so the came up with nastier games for her to play.
Their guard dogs were brought in from outside and Hollie turned her ass toward them, presenting herself.
Hollie screamed into the gag. Knowing it was her dark imagination fuelling the nightmare, was a cruel twist. Angela had set the theme, yet she was making into an evil epic.
Hollie was between vibrations, wondering why she was being tortured like this. It was unbearable being subjected to the whims of a young girl, when so recently she had been a responsible adult, and a teacher. It was frightening knowing the girl understood so well a woman’s sex, and knew how to inflict pain, as well as how to stimulate a submissive woman. The young girl didn’t have the sensibilities and compassion of an adult, which left her so very vulnerable to abuse.
As the torturer had promised, the vibrators were taking her to bursting point and just leaving her there. The worked her up, over and over again. Would Angela deny her an orgasm for the entire week, working her up then bringing her back down? It would be a roller coaster ride, of arousal and pain, until she begged for an orgasm. If her mistress had been awake she would humbly beg right now.
“Anything mistress, please let your little slave girl cum, I’ll do anything, honestly! Please, mistress!” Hollie squealed into the gag, as though in pain. She was yet again on the edge of an orgasm, knowing the damn vibrators would stop too soon. She was being driven mad with desire.
As though her mistress heard her muffled pleas, she was surprised to orgasm. A short juddering of her body and it was over.
“Oh! Thank you, mistress!” Hollie whimpered into the gag. Even though the shit of a girl wasn’t there, she was pledging allegiance, prepared to do anything for her mistress’s pleasure.
Again she climaxed. It wasn’t so near to the end of the cycle this time. Again she had a small cum, happening more quickly. The devilish devices were making her more sensitive, so she was ready as soon as they started up. Hollie quickly reached a peak and it spilled over into an orgasm.
In the early hours of the morning she passed out. The timer quit too.
“Your face looks a picture of abject misery,” Angela laughed. “Did you enjoy your treat, Cindy slave?”
Angela unlocked the cage and pulled her slave from the cage. Hollie felt the vibrators being pulled from her body. Her muscles gripped them tight, until a hideous sucking sound announced they were free.
Hollie couldn’t speak even when the gag was removed. She was exhausted, unable to think about freedom, or anything else.
Her face revealed her plight. Her mistress gave her a look of recognition, knowing she was now completely helpless.
This girl had been flirting with her master, seeing Hollie as a rival for his affections. Now Angela had the rival out of the way, she could move in on him. What then? Would her master forget about her, not caring what happened to her? Would she be abandoned to a life of a sex slave, forever?
Her master brought out her submissive nature, and taught her to obey. So now she was an obedient slave girl, ready to be dominated. No longer a playful willing slave, she had been captured, and made into an unwilling slave, forced to obey. She was now a real slave girl!
Partly from Angela’s domination, and partly from her submissive personality, she was giving in. She knew it, and knew it would be impossible to resist obeying Angela’s every whim.
An adolescent girl can be cruel, so she expected to be ill used. How could the girl resist forcing a teacher to be her obedient slave? How could she resist making an adult pay for all the real and imagined slights an adolescent suffers.
Hollie would learn what it was like to be nothing, just an object to be used. She would be an owned slave girl, bullied and humiliated into acting like a sex pet. She felt so low the idea of freedom slipped away. It was buried, ready to be resurrected when the opportunity arose.
Hollie washed her mistress down like an Egyptian handmaiden of ancient times. She could see her mistress enjoyed the attention, as much as the demise of a teacher. As soon as she recovered her energy she would have to escape before she became too embedded in the lowly role.
“In you get, Cindy slave,” Angela ordered. She watched her slave get into the bath, with a look of anticipation. “You need to keep the chains clean, Cindy slave. They are filthy with you juices,” she admonished the woman.
Hollie split her legs for her mistress to turn the spray over her naked body. The pressure spray followed the chains down from her neck, over her nipples. The spray hit between the legs, and Hollie involuntarily raised her hips. The hard spray of hot water was played over her sex, bringing an instant arousal.
It was a complete surprise to find she was experiencing an orgasm! Now she knew why her mistress was washing her. “Damn!” She cried out in anguish.
She soon realised what was happening. Her sex had been sensitised to respond to the slightest stimulation. She couldn’t hold back, as she pushed her sex up at the spray, revelling in the feeling of hot water playing upon her engorged bud and lips.
“Did your mistress allow you a nice orgasm, Cindy slave?” Angela sweetly asked.
“Yes mistress, thank you mistress,” Hollie panted. Being called Cindy was nothing compared to what the girl had done to her. She was effectively becoming her little slave pet, so there was no need to send her away for the threatened training.
“Come on Cindy slave, time to serve your mistress breakfast,” Angela commanded.
The prospect ahead of her was dreadful. Spending her whole life in servitude, as nothing more than a sex slave, became a terrifying and humiliating reality. Despite herself she couldn’t help becoming aroused. Her pussy was oozing, while contemplating the humiliation of serving a master or mistress as a humble sex slave.
Hollie served breakfast to her mistress, and the master of the house. She was in too much of state to hear what they were saying. She was busy trying to bring herself under control, as well as serve them both. The master took little notice of her, despite being naked.
She still wore the chains, and wondered if she could find the keys in the master’s study. If they were locked in a safe there would be little chance to be rid of them. She had become used to them. She hardly heard the soft jingle on links, though on occasions he felt them pull on her lips, if she wasn’t careful when bending and stretching.
Back in the kitchen Angela’s mother was complaining about not having a kitchen slave, as Hollie hadn’t been trusted to cook anything. They still thought she was just a young submissive friend of Rogers. It was obvious she wasn’t an experienced or trained slave.
“Don’t worry mother. Father is going away on business for a few days and will bring one back. You won’t have to do anything then,” Angela informed her.
“He didn’t tell me he was going away!” Bridget complained.
“He did yesterday. You weren’t listening as usual. You have become an unruly slave recently and need to re-learn your place,” Angela smiled.
“Did your father say that?” Bridget asked, looking surprised.
“No, he didn’t. If he knew what you had been up to with a waiter yesterday, he would have, and more,” Angela sweetly smiled. Bridget’s face fell and she quickly turned away.
Trying to change the subject she quickly asked. “So who is this slave he’s bringing back.”
“The woman is about thirty, and has been into the scene for some while. Apparently she’s a socialite, but enjoys the role of household slave. She’s well trained, and will be very willing. He’s taking her on as a favour to a friend. That’s all I know,” Angela informed her mother.
It reassured Bridget, for the last thing she wanted was for a rival to enter her home. That it was a favour to someone sounded right, as the state of their finances meant they couldn’t afford to purchase an expensive slave.
“Considering a new slave will be joining the household, father decided I should practice the duties as mistress of the house, while he’s away,” Angela added.
“You have this slave to look after, isn’t that enough?” Bridget asked, sounding irritated.
“Cindy is my personal slave, and I’m ready for a more demanding role,” Angela quietly said.
Hollie winced at the mention of her slave name. She knew Angela was using it to put her in her place. It was having an effect on her, and not a good one. The persona of Cindy the little slave girl, was becoming harder to shake off. She dare not reveal to these people she was a teacher, or even that she was an adult woman, so they too treated her like a foolish young girl.
“If your father makes that an order, it will have to be carried out,” Bridget angrily retorted. She strode out of the kitchen.
“She’s off to see father,” Angela said, with a sound of amusement lighting her voice.
Hollie knew something important was going on between the two of them. Something was rattling Bridget’s usual calm manner. She had little time to think about it much, as she spent the morning on domestic chores. She passed the master bedroom at one point, taking the opportunity to explore the house, looking for escape routes.
A glimpse of Bridget packing was enough to show the woman was angry. The master of the house was in his study while Bridget was up here cursing under her breath. Hollie tiptoed passed, careful not to disturb the woman. She considered this would be a good opportunity. Allying herself with Bridget against her daughter, might help her escape, or at the very least save her from further ill treatment.
The master of the house had left and Hollie was sent to find Bridget. “Hi, are you alright?” Hollie asked.
“No! I am not alright,” Bridget answered tersely. “Well?” she asked.
“Your daughter, err, Angela, I mean my mistress,” Hollie hesitated, finding it difficult to cope with the situation.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t take it out on you. I’ve been into this scene for long enough to know how it works. It’s just a bit testing while my daughter learns the ropes. You adolescents are such sensitive creatures while you learn how to become adults. Well? What does she want now?” Bridget prompted.
Hollie felt like telling her she understood, as she had been through all that turmoil, though not experiencing it as a parent, on the sharp end. It seemed such a long time ago since she had gone through adolescents.
“She wants us in the kitchen,” Hollie politely answered.
“There’s no need to be so formal and polite to me, young lady. I’m just a humble slave in this house. Just wait till her father gets back, and I’ll give them both a hard time. Alright, I’ll come with you, don’t want her taking it out on you,” Bridget weakly smiled.
Hollie followed the woman trying to keep up with her long strides. The woman attended diplomatic functions, representing their country, yet at home she played at being a slave. From what she had gathered the woman had been a slave even before she married. She shook her head wondering about this new world opening up to her.
Angela was waiting for them, with a pleased look on her face.
“Father has left, so now I’m the mistress in charge of you two slaves,” Angela stated.
Hollie had worked this much out. She was wondering if the mother had made some arrangements with her husband. She hoped it wouldn’t upset Angela, or the fury would be unleashed upon her.
Bridget stated to say something, but Angela cut in. “You have your secrets you want kept from your master, so I suggest you behave yourself, slave,” Angela said, emphasising the word, ‘slave’.
Hollie heard a harrumph of disapproval, though the mother kept quiet.
“What do you say, slaves?” Angela lightly asked.
“Yes, mistress,” both women chorused.
Hollie kept her head bowed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Bridget bow her head too. She didn’t look cowed, instead the woman looked angry, and resigned. Hollie was reassured, as this looked like an opportunity to gain an ally against a common enemy.
“I’ve decided to hold a dinner party for a few friends,” Angela announced.
“How many?” Bridget asked, sounding agitated. “I need to know, so as to prepare,” she added, trying to sound less antagonistic.
“Nothing sophisticated, just a few snacks in my rooms for five,” Angela imperiously informed her.
“Very well, mistress,” Bridget conceded.
She hoped her daughter would grow tired of lording it over her. It was demeaning, and she hated the situation. Having her husband as lord and master was one thing, but her daughter didn’t have the experience, or the right attitude. The young girl, Cindy got a kick out of being humiliated, but she hated it. She enjoyed having a strong thoughtful master, who would indulge her, yet demand obedience.
“I’ll need both slaves to serve my guests, so you had better start preparations,” Angela announced.
“What! You can’t reveal your mother, as a slave!” Bridget exclaimed in surprise.
“You are right of course. All that is in hand, I have an outfit with a mask for you,” Angela said. It revealed she had planned this humiliation. It was a part of the promise to put her mother in her place.
Bridget looked as though she was going to fight, though the moment passed.
“Thanks, Mistress,” she grudgingly replied, attempting an offhand attitude. Despite the attempt it was obvious how angry she was. Anger was eating at her, from being treated so disrespectfully in her own home, by her daughter. Her husband’s position demanded they keep family secrets, especially this one.
Everything was prepared and laid out in Angela’s suite of rooms. Both slaves were standing by to serve the guests. Angela was inspecting her slaves. “Hold your hands out,” Angela demanded, while inspecting their nails.
“Your nails are filthy, slave Hooters,” Angela said, looking closely at her mother.
Bridget bridled at the temporary slave name she had been given. She did have large breasts but sophisticated older woman being referred to by them was demeaning. She took a deep breath. It was a good thing wearing a mask, so obscenities could be muttered, without upsetting her so called mistress.
Hollie wore a little skirt and a blouse tied under her breasts. Without underwear it made the outfit look even sluttier. Her hair was done in bunches in an attempt to make her look young and cute, except the chains were on display. She hung her head in shame, as well as in deference to her mistress.
Angela’s mother was wearing an all in one leather cat-suit, with a hood. Her eyes shone darkly from the eye slits. Her full luscious lips, painted a glossy red, were protruding from another slit. She was adept at striking a submissive pose, which was evident, despite the smouldering anger.
The skin-tight leather exaggerated a curvaceous body. It pulled in and clung to a slim waist. The breasts were held high and pushed out provocatively, with peep holes for both nipples. It dug deeply between the cheeks and lips, with inserts of red leather emphasising her sex. Everywhere else it clung to her like a second skin. She looked devastatingly sexy.
Hollie stole a glance, realising she too had been dressed like this, in a sex shop, by her master. The memory stirred feelings for him, knowing he hadn’t expected her to be so cruelly used. He thought she was safely being looked after, while he was away.
The young boisterous guests walked in, suddenly quiet on seeing the two women.
“How do you like my servants? They are Cindy and Hooters. They owe money to a casino. The casino owner owes my father a favour, so he sent them over. He thinks my father asked for them, so don’t tell anyone. If he finds out I’ll be grounded for months,” Angela lied.
Hollie could feel Bridget relax a little. She too was relieved to hear an excuse for their presence being made up. It sounded thin, but the youngsters hardly bothered to listen. They were too busy studying the way the two women were dressed.
“Cool!” John said, while ogling both women at once. His eyes swivelled from Hollie to Bridget, trying to decide which he liked the look of the most. Hooters was aptly named he thought.
“They’re sluts,” Sylvia disdainfully stated.
“Yes, maybe, but they belong to me for the day. I get to order them around, it’s great,” Angela laughed.
“So what do they do?” Mark asked.
Hollie cringed on hearing his voice. She didn’t need to look up, to know it was one of her students. The damn girl had invited him just to humiliate her. He wouldn’t recognise her like this, away from the classroom.
“They don’t need to do anything at all,” Vernon said, with a big smile on his face.
“That’s not much use then,” Libby added to the conversation.
“They are here to serve us. So make the most of them, they have to go back tomorrow morning,” Angela grinned.
Hollie noticed Bridget stiffen. Her daughter couldn’t go too far, as she was Nathanial’s slave, not hers. What was she thinking? The little shit was her daughter.
Angela was supposed to be looking after both of them, and this certainly wasn’t what was expected of a mistress. Angela was getting back at her mother for something, and keeping her quiet with a threat. Hollie had caught something about a waiter, but nothing more.
“Sit down everyone. Take the order for drinks, slave Hooters and Cindy,” Angela commanded. She was enjoying showing off her new authority. She particularly liked the way her mother stiffened when using the new slave name. In that outfit Hooters was especially apt.
“Where is your father,” John asked, looking nervous and guilty.
“He’s away for a few days. Don’t worry no one will get into trouble. These slaves won’t let on about anything, as they don’t want it known they owe money in a casino. Everyone got a drink? To us and college!” Angela said, raising her glass, and her voice.
“To us and college,” everyone chanted.
Hollie and Bridget served more drinks then offered snacks on a tray. The guys got a good look at Hollies cleavage and a close up of Bridget’s nipples. They made lewd remarks over how tight the leather was around Bridget’s crotch. Hollie took note, and was very careful how she bent over.
Bridget felt like swiping the two guys behaving like naughty schoolboys. Their parents were known to her, though none were into this scene. That’s probably why her daughter invited them. It was all the more infuriating to serve youngsters she knew, like a lowly maid.
Only last week they had all been at Vernon’s parents home, served at a sophisticated party by flunkies. She had been dressed in a ball gown then, not a tight leather cat-suit, lewdly showing of her body.
The two girls were miffed, and disdainful of the two slave girls. After a couple of cocktails they disappeared to a restroom. They bitched over the two sluts, which Angela called her slaves. They were obviously hired whores from town, brought in to impress the guys. The guys obvious leering and physical interest pissed them off.
When they returned Angela judged the moment right to gain some attention. She let a drink spill as Hollie served her; careful not to let it mark her expensive dress.
“Clumsy girl, look what you’ve done. Get a cloth. Quickly!” Angela sharply scolded Cindy. She would have preferred it to be her mother but Hollie had been there at the right time.
“Sorry mistress,” Hollie automatically responded. She scurried back to wipe up the damp patch on the chair. On hands and knees she was embarrassed to hear the awful remarks the guys were making.
“She’s got a cute ass, I can’t even see the thong she’s wearing,” John sniggered.
“The slut isn’t wearing one,” Libby scathingly pointed out.
“You deserve a punishment, Cindy slave,” Angela briskly stated. She wanted to laugh from having so much fun, but kept a stern face, trying to fit the contrived scene.
“Please, mistress,” Hollie implored her torturer.
“Over my knee, now, Cindy,” Angela demanded.
“Ouch!” Hollie yelped, from a stinging slap. She realised Angela wanted to make a show of it, and played along, so as not to be hurt if she riled her mistress. It was humiliating being spanked before one of her students, but at least he hadn’t recognised her.
After six stinging whacks her cheeks were red. When she stood up they could all see how red her face was too. Looking down she saw her blouse had come undone so quickly reached to pull it together.
“Leave it, Cindy slave,” Angela harshly warned.
Hollie stood before the adolescents, looking down at her swollen nipples. They had seen her bare bottom being spanked, and felt this added disgrace all the more painfully.
“She has nice tits,” Mark commented, trying to sound casual.
Hollie felt horrible hearing one of her students make such a rude comment about her body.
“Remove the top and show them off, Cindy,” Angela ordered.
“Yes, mistress,” Hollie responded.
“So where do the chains from her nipples go?” Mark asked.
“Show him Cindy,” Angela said.
Hollie looked at her mistress, trying for sympathy, but the aggressive look had her quickly obeying. She dropped the skirt to the floor. Her lips were swollen and dewy with moisture, showing off the piercings and chain connecting them. She stood among the young students, with her eyes closed tight, as though in pain.
“The slut is soaking wet,” Libby scornfully pointed out the obvious.
“Cindy enjoys pain and humiliation,” Angela revealed.
Hollie desperately needed to run and hide, though the discipline training from Roger, kept her standing naked before them. She swayed as though in a gentle breeze, looking as though she might faint.
“She’s a hot slut,” John said, with a broad grin on his face. He preferred the bigger tits on Bridget.
Bridget was relieved they were all slobbering over Cindy, and left her alone. As she was tall her daughter thought it better to wear flat shoes, which was the only sensible part of her outfit. They were necessary, as it was difficult to walk with ankle cuffs hobbling her.
She sharply looked across at her daughter on feeling fingers walking up her inner thigh. A mistress should have made the rules of engagement clear to her guests. Angela should have told them not to touch, and watched out for her. She wanted to shout at her daughter that Francis son was touching her up.