MISTRESS MAKES SOME CHANGES by Throne
I guess we had both noticed it. My Mistress, Claire, and I had been
seeing each other for several months. Our time together was a mixture
of dating and domination sessions. In the beginning she had been a bit
rough on me but it was gradually taking on a softer tone. After she
spanked me, we snuggled and talked sweetly in bed. Or she would make me
get naked, so she could admire my hairless body, but instead of
punishing me she would just tease me and leave me aching for release. I
was okay with that because she did it so well; she has a finely honed
sense of how to control a man. For instance, whenever we got together I
had to wear feminine items under my street clothes. And when we were
staying at her place I had to wear a leather collar which she had made
for me. Those things played on my mind and made me feel strange, I
suppose you could call it helpless. It was all going along nicely. She
didn't allow me sex but I was secretly hoping it might lead to that.
But when our relationship got a bit too sweet for her, Claire decided to
revise our roles, to amp up her control, and to apply more discomfort
and even pain. I didn't know any of that but was soon to find out. I
called her to set up a date and she told me simply that she didn't want
to see me then. I was to call again in three days. That was a shock
and the first hint of things to come. I was ill at ease for the next 72
hours, not knowing if I had made some grievous error or, worse, if she
had simply grown tired of me. When I made that follow-up call, I was
quivering inside. It was a pleasant surprise when she instructed me to
pick up a large pizza and a six pack of soda (cans, not bottles) and be
at her door at six o'clock -- precisely. That was better but, at the
same time, I sensed a change in the balance of power between us.
I arrived one minute early and rang her bell exactly on time. With
butterflies in my stomach, I waited for her to answer the door. She let
me stand there for three minutes before she appeared, casually eyeing me
up and down. Then, in a neutral voice, she ordered, "Kneel down and
kiss my feet, Dean." I looked around reflexively to see if anyone might
observe such a submissive act on my part. She snapped at me, "I didn't
tell you to check behind you. What did I tell you to do?" Feeling weak
in the knees, but also excited, I meekly responded, "You told me to kiss
your feet, Ma'am." She set her jaw and said through clenched teeth,
"Well?" I had a vision of myself not obeying Claire, and her sending me
away, probably after taking the pizza and sodas.
Feeling as if a dozen pairs of eyes were watching from behind, I slowly
sank to my knees and set aside the food and drink. Then, being careful
not to rush and incur further ire, I lowered my head until my mouth was
directly above her feet, which were shod in tan, pointy-toed shoes with
three inch stiletto heels. Her largish, sturdy calves were clad in
black stockings. I sighed with a mixture of frightened surrender and
rising passion before I pressed my lips to the upper of each shoe in
turn, against the dark shiny leather, and lingered there for long
seconds. She didn't react, so I repeated the demeaning public act.
Before I could do it a third time she turned and walked away from me.
I got shakily to my feet, retrieved the meal, and followed.
Claire didn't look back as she went directly to the kitchen. I watched
her shapely bottom sway in front of me. She sat at the table, looking
regal even though she was wearing nothing fancy, just a sleeveless navy
blouse which hugged her generous bust and a red, pleated skirt that
reached to just above her knees. I humbly set the pizza box on the
table and put the sodas into the fridge, taking one to place in front of
her. Then I got two plates and a pair of glasses. I made sure that in
both cases hers was larger than mine. But when I moved toward a chair
she held up her hand. "Undress yourself. I want to see what you have
on under that male drag." I felt my cheeks warm and knew that I was
blushing. My innate modesty always makes those moments difficult, even
though they are something I want.
Trying to go fast enough that her food wouldn't get cool, but slow
enough that I wouldn't upset her, I got out of my sport coat, shoes,
socks, shirt and trousers. She made me drape the shirt and coat over
the back of the vacant chair, and arrange the pants on it with the legs
hanging down, even putting the shoes and socks where the pant-legs
ended. There were my empty clothes occupying the chair, as if my
masculine self was sitting there. All I had on then were black panties
with red trim, elastic-top fishnet stockings, and a backless, frilly,
peach-pink nightie. Claire smirked at how feminine I appeared,
especially with my smooth pink skin that didn't have a hair growing on
it. She had me slip into a pair of two-inch heels, flame red, and told
me I could begin serving her.
Moving delicately, I opened the pizza box and put a slice on her plate.
It smelled delicious and I salivated a bit. Then I yanked the pull tab
on a soda and set it gingerly by her right hand. She took a bite of
pizza and savored it. She enjoyed a sip of soda. I stood there feeling
both awkward and somehow comfortable, the latter effect because it is my
nature to be submissive and serve. She took her time eating.
Occasionally she passed me a morsel of crust, which I accepted
gratefully, appreciating that I was eating the same food as her. The
meal went on that way until she had eaten enough, after which I had to
close the carton and put the leftover pizza into the fridge. I would
have liked to have more of it, but that wasn't going to happen.
She moved to the den with me following wordlessly. Once there she sat
on the sofa and used the remote to turn on the TV. I had to kneel to
one side of her and remove her shoes so I could give her a foot rub.
She watched an hour of TV while she digested her dinner. I was still
hungry. Claire announced that it was time to go to the bedroom. She
ordered me to get into a squat and duck walk to our destination. It
wasn't easy, especially in the heels, but I slowly made my way. She
glanced back at me and snickered.
At this point I should give you a better description of Claire. I
wanted you to get an idea of our relationship first. She is tall and
what is commonly called big-boned. At the same time, she has a
desirable bottom and legs. Her bust is full and attractive. Her face
is sweet, her eyes knowing. She has shoulder length, chestnut hair that
she usually wears loose. The thing is that she is taller than me and
stronger. When she wanted to move me it was easy for her to put her
hands on my body and make it go where she pleased. Once she even picked
me up and set me onto the bed, like I was a bride on her wedding night.
Our relationship had recently been tender, with the sessions of her
dominating me becoming less harsh, as I mentioned. But now I sensed
that something was about to change.
In the bedroom I remained in my squatting position, uneasy about
standing back up without Claire's permission. She glanced down at me,
at my smooth hairless body, dressed in those feminine items, hampered by
the heels, and she smiled devilishly. "I've made a decision," she
announced. "You've been getting too relaxed around me. Taking
liberties with your hands. Acting like we are... equals. But that's
not the case, now is it?"
I looked up at her, my heart beating faster, my legs beginning to
protest, and said in a small voice, "No, dear."
She scowled and decided out loud, "You've also been addressing me too
casually. Really, you've been forgetting your place. So from now on
you may call me Mistress. Always. Understood?"
My mouth opened and closed twice before I could speak, and then I told
her, "Yes, d..." I swallowed nervously. "Yes, Mistress."
Claire went on, "And I will call you... something appropriately girlish,
like... Deana. I like that. Or maybe it should be shortened to Dee.
How about Dee Dee?" She chuckled. "Do you like that -- Dee Dee?"
I bit my lower lip, feeling any control I had retained slipping away
from me. In a whisper I replied, "Yes, Mistress. Whatever you wish."
"Good girl. Now get on the mattress, on your back, and don't fidget."
I did as I was told. She eyed me up and down and ordered, "Pull up
those smooth, rosy legs and grab your ankles. Right. Like that."
Claire reached down and put her hand on the crotch of my panties, gently
rubbing, getting me hard in almost no time. I squirmed slightly and she
snapped, "Didn't I tell you not to fidget?"
I managed to squeak out, "Yes."
"And did you just forget to call me Mistress?"
Oh no. She was really getting angry. I nodded and said, throat dry,
"Yes, Mistress. I made a mistake. Two mistakes."
"That's correct, Dee Dee. So now you'll have to be punished." I sensed
a subtle difference between our former role playing and this new
dynamic. It was scary yet exciting. Her hand hadn't moved and she gave
my penis a firm squeeze through the thin material. Then she moved her
fingers, put them around my testicles and paused. She let me worry for
a few seconds before she began applying pressure, gradually increasing
it until I let out a high-pitched moan. Claire didn't let up. She
continued until I was panting and trying desperately not to wriggle. At
last she relaxed her grip and removed her hand. "At least you're
learning," she said with satisfaction. "Now for lesson two."
I was still holding my legs in that bent-up position when she reached in
and began to toy with my nipples. I gasped but stayed still. It was
heavenly to be stimulated like that. Except that, when my pleasure
reached a peak, she switched to pinching my nipples, slowly tightening
her fingers. I whimpered and a quiver ran through my body. She twisted
them and stretched them. I hadn't ever been into pain and yet,
something about the way she was doing it, her measured, unhurried
pacing, made it part of something larger, of her total domination over
me. She kept it up until I was mewling non-stop, a bit ashamed of
myself for the weakness the sound revealed. She appeared to like that
and switched back and forth several times between teasing my genitals,
using her vice grip on my balls, fingering my nipples and then hurting
them. I was in a confusion of arousal and suffering.
"I could really get into this," she said, sounding like she was talking
to herself. "Deep into it." Claire went to her dresser, opened a
drawer, and produced a pair of cuffs. They went onto my ankles, leaving
only a few inches of play between them. Next came a spreader bar, which
she fastened just below my knees, to hold them wide. Finally she cuffed
my wrists. As I was still gripping my ankles it was easy for her to
then use a short chain with a clip on each end to join my wrists to my
ankles. I was cleverly hogtied with my knees far apart, feeling
terribly vulnerable. She wanted to know, "What's the matter, Dee Dee?
Aren't you comfortable? Afraid I might do... something?"
She took a riding crop from another drawer and swished it through the
air. I swallowed with difficulty and forced myself to keep quiet. I
had begun to perspire slightly. She tapped the length of the crop
across both my buttocks experimentally, as if getting her range. Then
she did the same to the backs of my thighs. I shuddered. Claire set
aside her tool of discipline and shifted me on the bed, so that my head
was hanging over the side, face up. She stood with her legs astraddle,
one on either side on my face, and grinned down at me. I had a sexy
view of the juncture of her long legs but I didn't feel exactly sexy at
that moment. Again I was feeling the curious mixture of concern and
longing. My Mistress -- that's how I was thinking of her already --
gave me another round of teasing and torment, roaming over my
defenseless form at will, stroking my ears, running a fingertip over my
lips, pinching my buttocks (first lightly and then HARD), giving my
scrotum a few extra squeezes, the last one accompanied by a sharp twist
that left me breathless.
After a few moments during which she observed me and appeared to be
thinking, Claire swung me effortlessly back to my former position.
Then, to my surprise, she rolled me over, being careful of my bound
limbs but still being rough. That left me with my backside stuck up in
the air. She sat alongside me and patted my rump possessively, running
one hand over it, locking eyes with me and wordlessly daring me to
protest. I was in a daze but still knew that, as unsettling as some of
what she was doing had been, I didn't want her to stop. She stood back
up and shifted me once more, so that my toes were over the edge of the
bed, my bottom extremely accessible.
My Mistress told me, "What you need right now is some layered pain. I
think your satiny hairless bottom can take quite a bit. Don't you
agree?"
What was I going to say? I didn't have any voice in what she was doing.
I mean, maybe I could have made some comment, but being absolutely at
her mercy was intoxicating. So I simply told her, "Yes, Mistress. I'm
sure you're right."
Claire gave a single laugh at my lack of defiance. She got to one side
of me and tested her range of swing, in slow motion bringing her palm
down against my rear. She took the elastic of my panties and slipped
them down onto my thighs. With my legs apart that way they couldn't go
far. But my sitter was bare and I felt even more subject to her whims.
I heard Claire take a breath, smelled the light perfume she wore,
mingled with a hint of her womanly scent. Her hand went up and came
down to land a solid blow on one butt cheek. Before I could catch my
breath she smacked the other and then continued aggressively, whacking
left-right-left-right. I was half counting the swats as the pain
mounted and I think she delivered an even two dozen. She stopped, but
only for a few heartbeats. Then she was pinching the insides of my
thighs, pinching and twisting. I panted and made shamefully un-stoic
noises.
All at once the biting pain of being pinched was over and she was
retrieving the crop. This time she went to work with a will, bringing
it down rhythmically, purposefully, laying it across both halves of my
bottom at once, spacing the blows to cover every inch. She was, as she
had said, layering the pain, adding to it with expertise, not taking it
too far too fast. She even applied the crop up and down the backs of my
thighs, which hurt terribly because there is less padding there. Her
eyes were lit by a wild fire and her pretty mouth wore a twisted grin.
I couldn't contain myself and began wailing steadily, which kept up for
the next few minutes until she was done. Without a break she went back
to teasing me with her talented hands, toying with my still sore
nipples, brushing fingertips against my straining, now uncovered dick,
massaging my balls (with the constant threat of grabbing them hard
always in the forefront of my consciousness). Slowly she decelerated,
until I was breathing more normally and her hands were barely moving at
all.
Claire returned to her dresser once more, this time to procure a collar.
It was leather and fitted with several D-rings. She put it around my
neck and fastened it, snugly but not too tightly. I lay there passively
while she pursed her lips and checked my battered bottom. She left the
room and I couldn't do anything but lie there, feeling the burn. I took
a mental inventory of my smarting nipples and throbbing testicles. My
rump would probably hurt for... how long? She had never spanked and
cropped me like that before. I understood that the love pats I was
accustomed to -- realized now that that was what they had been in the
past -- were no longer what I could expect. Obviously Claire was
serious about not being so soft on me.
She returned with a gleam in her eyes and said, "You really have been
getting fresh with me, as well, managing to rub up against me and steal
a feel now and then. Let's get straight on THAT, too. I've decided
that you will be allowed to perform as my sex slave. Being mean to you
has gotten me into the mood for it." She effortlessly slid me toward
the foot of the bed, then lay down before me, so that my head was in the
V of her legs. She inched closer until her mound was pressed to my lips
and gave me a few simple instructions. As I began to lick she advised
me, "This will be your sex life. Don't expect anything in return. No
more free feels for you. If you're good I may let you play with
yourself while I giggle at you." Still in that inventive bondage,
backside on fire, I managed to perform to her satisfaction, eventually
giving her a pair of satisfying orgasms. I was in mild shock to have
had my situation so decisively reversed in such a short time.
Two weeks later, we had settled into a comfortable situation. Well,
comfortable for her. Full of bondage and spankings for me. And plenty
of oral service. But I didn't want to go back to what we had before. I
still knew that Claire had feelings for me. We were able to have quite
moments. At the same time, I definitely knew who was boss and what was
what. One evening I found myself kneeling before her as she sat in a
big overstuffed easy chair. Her shoes were off and I was applying
lotion to her feet, massaging it in. She watched TV and ignored me. I
had also brought along another cream, one which she sometimes had me
spread on her legs... and other places. After I felt her feet were
done, I looked up at her and waited until she deigned to notice me.
When she did, I said, in my most respectful tone, "Would you like me to
sooth your legs, Mistress?"
There I was, wearing only a ruffled orange vest that didn't close, black
panties with orange trim, and stockings she had found in a costume shop,
with wide orange and black horizontal stripes, obviously meant for a
witch costume. My black heels were set carefully to one side. On my
face I had the slightest application of eye shadow and a coating of lip
gloss that was called Hint of Pink. Even though I still resembled
myself, it was a feminized version of me. She eventually looked down
and sighed, saying, "You may do my legs," sounding like she was agreeing
just to keep me from pestering her. Claire could say so much with so
few words, her tone and facial expression conveying plenty. I didn't
mind. All I wanted was to be permitted the honor of pampering her legs.
I put a dollop of cream on my palm, rubbed my hands together, and
started just above one ankle. Her skin is so delightfully soft. I felt
dreamy as I worked my way higher on her firm, well formed calf. I moved
to the other leg and covered the same area. She didn't tell me to stop
so I sat up higher and spread fresh cream on the top of one thigh. She
was wrapped up in her show and let me go on and on, let me savor the
perfection of her upper legs. I kept it at for a while but then it was
over, much too soon. It was always too soon.
Her program ended and she glanced at me. As if it was an afterthought,
she said, "Now that you understand I'm not going to play Ms. Nice Gal
around you, there's something else I'm going to do to you. I don't want
you forgetting your status. You need to have a new look. Something
even less masculine."
Her words made me shiver. LESS? Really? I didn't know how I felt
about that. Wouldn't it create a space between us, me being more female
looking? Was that what she intended? How would I feel after it
happened? Or would it lead in some other direction? Those were all the
thoughts I had time for because she said we were going to the bedroom.
Claire clipped a leash to one of the rings on my collar, which I wore
whenever I was around her, and often when I was sent home. She stood,
wearing just a short belted robe. I couldn't stop my sudden intake of
breath. She had me bewitched. My Mistress smirked at me and began
walking. I had to crawl behind her, hurrying to keep up with her long-
legged steps. Like a naughty boy I stole peeks under the back of her
robe, wishing that I could be rubbing cream on her there. My balls
throbbed. She hadn't allowed me any relief for a while.
Once we were in the bedroom she had me sit on a chair in front of her
dresser. I could see myself in the mirror. At the same time I noticed
an array of cosmetics spread out in front of me. And there was a pink
shopping bag on the floor, out of the way. I felt tingly at the
prospects of what might be about to happen. Claire got busy with
foundation, powder, blush, eyeliner and shadow, mascara, and finally an
outrageous shade of lipstick, Candy Apple Red, over which she put gloss.
Her movements were deft with confidence. I viewed myself becoming
someone else. It was breathtaking. As much as I liked being put into
lingerie and such, this was more than I was used to. I wasn't entirely
sure how to respond. She examined her handiwork and decided to outline
my lips to, as she put it, 'make them pop'. Pop they did. I almost
couldn't believe the face in the mirror was mine.
Claire told me, "I want you to fetch that shopping bag that's in the
corner. BUT..." She paused for effect. "... starting now and whenever
I have you looking this way, you are to move in an overly girly way,
with loose wrists, chest thrust out, bottom wriggling, feet placed one
in front of the other when you walk. Right?"
I said, "Yes, Mistress," in a hushed voice. But that wasn't enough for
her.
"You will also speak differently. Suit your speech to the action. I
want to see you simpering AND hear a voice that goes with that.
Beginning immediately."
I took a moment to gather my thoughts and sort of reprogram myself.
With knees together and hands held directly in front of me like a
begging dog's paws, I rose deliberately and moved as she had said, hips
in motion, steps precise. When I got to the bag I bent forward at the
waist and took its handle between two fingers, lifting it as I
straightened. Claire chortled as I made a fashion model's practiced
turn. She watched critically as I returned to the chair and primly
placed myself back on its padded seat. She had me reach into the bag
and remove what was inside, which turned out to be a hat box. But it
contained not a hat; it held a wig, which was short and curled under at
the ends, blond with long bangs, and a big yellow, butterfly bow
attached to the front. I looked to her for directions and she merely
nodded. With great care I positioned the wig atop my head. The make-up
had done much to change me and this completed the look. The effect was
dizzying. She clipped earrings to my lobes and fastened a modest
necklace on me.
"Obviously," she stated, "those clothes don't go with your new look.
Take them off."
I whispered, "Yes, Mistress," putting a bit of hiss on the final sound
of each word.
Remembering to move in those same flowing motions, showing no signs of
masculine body language, I got out of the vest, panties and stockings,
making a mental note to retrieve my heels later. Claire examined me,
enjoying the sight of my nude, silky skin, untouched by a single sign of
manly body hair. I stood with my thighs touching each other, hands
clasped in front of my tummy, eyes demurely lowered. She patted the
sides of the wig and ran a brush through the bangs. I felt myself
blush. She licked her forefingers and used them to stimulate my
nipples, which got me halfway hard in seconds. I stood there
experiencing an almost out-of-body sensation. Or at least an out-of-MY-
body sensation. She had me swish around the room, then out into the
hallway where I had to strike several saucy, pin-up type poses.
We returned to the bedroom and she said I could pick something from the
bottom drawer of the dresser. I bent at the waist again, aware of how
it showed off my bottom, and found that she had bought numerous items of
lingerie and sleepwear for me. My main concern was to select something
that would complete the look she had created for me. I had no desire to
tempt her temper. My punishments, since the night she changed her
attitude, had continued to be harsh. I picked a filmy baby doll top
that was open in the front and closed with a series of fastening bows.
It was the palest red and there were heart shapes stitched around its
short hem. She watched me slip into it, still using those increasingly
natural-feeling movements, and close it up. Then I chose a pair of
matching stockings with elastic tops, which I sat primly to smooth up my
legs. There were a pair of slippers with two-inch heels tucked
alongside everything else, and I gingerly took them with two fingers,
setting them a few inches apart and stepping into them as smoothly and
seductively as a vixen tempting her date. Claire approved.
She had me sashay around the room, down the hall once more, and into the
den. Everything was going perfectly. That was when she said I was
going to get a hard spanking, first from her hand and then with a new
paddle she had acquired, which she called her Board of Education. I
didn't say anything but my expression made it clear that I didn't
understand what I had done to earn discipline. She smiled smugly and
let me settle down some. Then she explained, "You have to understand,
Dee Dee. I don't need to have a reason to punish you. I can do it
simply because it excites me. Or to let off a little steam. Or maybe
just because..." She shrugged. "... I feel like it." I nodded meekly,
fully under her control by then. She sat on a wooden chair, snapped her
fingers, and pointed to her lap. I put myself over her warm thighs and
felt her flip up the back of my brief garment. My poor bottom was
bared, waiting for her cruel touch. I had never felt so helpless
before. My new appearance, combined with my humble status, and that
submissive and revealing pose, left me feeling weak in her presence. I
waited passively for the swats to begin, remembering her earlier comment
about layering pain.
In no hurry to get it over with, Claire rubbed my cheeks with a circular
motion several times. I bit my lips. She shifted slightly and I could
tell her hand had gone up. It came down and connected with my tender
bottom solidly, making me jerk on her lap. My dick got hard and slipped
between her desirable thighs. She peppered me with blow after blow,
making me twitch and then squirm. I kept yelping and gulping, unable to
control my reactions. She slowed down, let me get my hopes up, and then
resumed with even greater effort, not stopping until I was blinking back
tears. Claire had me stand and hold up my lightweight garment in the
back to show off my reddened backside. Having been punished so
effectively, like a misbehaving girl, and then being required to stand
and walk in my newly over-feminized way, with all those sissy
mannerisms, made me feel like I was sinking into a bottomless pit of
servitude and suffering. But my penis remained hard and I couldn't stop
thinking about my Mistress and her wicked form of loving me.
Claire said, her voice frighteningly calm, "Go to the bedroom and fetch
my paddle. It's under my pillow."
On shaky legs I went to get it. My sore, brightly marked bottom swayed
properly. I licked my lips and tasted the gloss and lipstick that
covered them. She must have put a spritz of perfume on me when I wasn't
aware of it, because I had heated up from the spanking and could smell a
sweet scent rising from my pink-white skin. I got to the bedroom, bent
correctly even though my Mistress wasn't there to see or judge, and
found the paddle where she had left it. I returned, taking those dainty
steps, and held out the length of wood, handle first. The instrument
looked very threatening to me. She accepted it with dignity and patted
it against her open hand. I had a bad feeling about what was going to
happen. She ordered me to bend over as far as I could. Next she pulled
my arms behind me to trap them in an elbow-length bondage glove that
held them uncomfortably close together. Then she got on one knee to
lock manacles around my ankles and clip them to an adjustable spreader
bar. She lengthened the bar until my feet were precariously far apart.
"There's a pretty picture," Claire said with amusement. She checked my
wig to make sure it was firmly in place. She put a finger under my chin
and tilted my head up, so she could lock eyes with me. There was what
could have been a staring contest, except that it lasted only a few
moments, with me averting my gaze almost immediately, giving in at once.
My Mistress stepped away, got a grip on my wrists, and raised them until
my shoulders hurt, making me push out my smarting bottom for the paddle.
The backs of my legs were taut. I awaited the discipline that I had not
earned. She drew back her paddle arm and let me anticipate for a few
extra seconds, then slashed the slapper through the air and cracked it
hard against my unprotected backside. There was a loud smacking sound
and I wailed uncontrollably, humiliating myself. Her attack was
furious, again layering the pain, but now doing it at double speed. I
jerked and kept crying out, sounding piteous but getting no pity. She
tanned my cheeks thoroughly and left me standing there, hot tears
rolling down my beardless cheeks. We had turned another corner.
The next morning, while my shoulders still ached and my bottom suffered
dull pain, she declared that I would finally be permitted to play with
myself... unless I wanted to wait for my next opportunity. As long as
it had been already, and as much as I wanted to avoid the humiliating
scene that I knew would be involved, I didn't say no. She had me put on
a filmy apricot-colored nightie that didn't even reach my waist, and a
pair of matching panties -- with a cut-out crotch. I had to kneel on
the bathroom floor while she stood over me, wearing pants and a man's
shirt, her hair tied back, but still looking impossibly sexy. Claire
was more than enough visual stimulation for me as I began to tentatively
stroke my underused penis. It felt marvelous, at the same time that I
experienced deep shame. My Mistress giggled at my plight and made
kissing noises. She regulated my action, not letting me finish but not
allowing me to stop, either. It went on and on. She moved to put her
back to me and had me kiss her wonderful posterior through the pants. I
whimpered and kissed and continued wanking. At last, with my balls
drawn up tight, breathing deeply from unmet needs, I was allowed to
squirt while she watched and grinned.
I humbly thanked her and was surprised when she scowled down at me. The
explanation followed as she said, "Look at that yucky mess you made on
my nice clean floor. That has to be cleaned up." I muttered, "Yes,
Mistress," and looked around in confusion to see what I was supposed to
use for the job. When my gaze returned to her she warned, "If that
puddle's not gone in one minute, you are going to get a spanking like
you won't believe." She glanced meaningfully at her watch. Desperate,
I searched for whatever I was supposed to use. She sighed, rolled her
eyes, shook her head and told me, "You silly little twit. Or should I
make that twat? I expect you to LICK up that mess you made. Now." I
bent to my unappetizing task and lapped the creamy spatter from the tile
floor. She guffawed and rocked with laughter, leaving me feeling about
one inch tall. At last it was done and she told me I might get to
repeat that scene... eventually.
Another three weeks passed. Claire's practiced ministrations of
suffering would often send me into sub space, a trancelike state of
worshipful submission. I somehow craved the punishments she inflicted,
partly because she was getting me addicted to such abuse, and largely
because I knew using me that way pleased her, and I wanted nothing more
than to please my Mistress. My sitter was often sore, along with my
nipples and balls, but it was all worth it. More than worth it. I was
honored to be able to worship her body with my mouth, giving her
climaxes on demand. I often kissed her ass, and NOT through the seat of
any pants. Where could she take me next? I found out when one small
package arrived in the mail and another, much larger one, was delivered
by a trucking company.
The first turned out to be a chastity device. It was called the CB-
3000. Claire made a ritual of putting it onto me. She used her
talented hands and lots of suggestive talk to get me aroused, over and
over, each time leaving me more frustrated and needy. At last she had
me hurry to the fridge, nude except for a big floppy bow around my neck,
and bring back a freezer pack. She made me use the ice cold pack to
shrink my penis down to its smallest possible dimensions. Then, while
it was unable to regain any size, she slipped the chastity device over
it and locked it into place. Talk about a symbolic act of emasculation.
Then she started over with the teasing, except that now I couldn't get
erect, instead feeling my member stain to grow hard and always fail. It
was tormenting but she thought it was hilariously funny.
Next she put me over her knee for a spanking. Claire said it was okay
for me to try to get away. As if I had a chance against her superior
strength. But I couldn't help making the attempt as she heated up my
rump with a barrage of unrestrained blows. I kicked and squirmed to no
avail. Afterwards, as I stood there shamefully rubbing my sore sitter,
she told me that all my struggles had gotten her worked up, and that I
could do that every time she smacked me. "After all," she concluded,
"it's not like all your writhing around on my lap is going to get you
anywhere." I had to admit she was right.
In the way of speaking that she made me use, I conceded, "Silly me,
thinking I could ever accomplish anything against you." She decided
that there was a trace of arrogance in my voice, though I couldn't
detect any, and grabbed me, marched me to another part of the house like
a disobedient nephew -- or niece -- and bent me over the kitchen counter
for an especially long spanking with a large wooden spoon. She followed
that with an extended teasing session in the bedroom, which was an
ordeal because I was still in my chastity tube. You can't imagine how
my balls ached by then.
The following day she opened the larger box in the den, not letting me
assist. The unspoken thought was that the job was too 'butch' for me.
Claire used some tools to open the carton before she easily broke it
apart. What was inside was a cage. More correctly, it was an indoor
dog kennel, intended for a medium sized dog but almost too small for a
man. I watched with horrified fascination as she expertly assembled it.
Soon it was done and she swung open the small barred door. I had to
strip out of the transparent harem outfit she had me in, complete with
curl-toed slippers. She ordered me to bend forward and grip the criss-
crossed bars that made up the top of the cage. After a few adjustments
she had me exactly as she wanted me. That was when the cat came out, a
short whip with multiple strands of leather hanging from its wooden
handle. She had recently bought it and had been telling me for days
that I would soon feel it against my back and bottom. As I stood there
in that position, feet well apart, she thrashed me thoroughly, making me
bark and beg while she swung, then mewl and sniffle as I tried to
recover.
Dramatically marked, I had to get down on the carpet and back-up into
the cage. She reached in to pat my head and give me an air kiss. I
looked up at her longingly as she shut the door and, to my surprise,
fastened it with a padlock. My Mistress snapped at me to put my thumbs
through the openings, close to each other. I did and she fitted them
into thumb cuffs, which she then tightened until they were pressing
uncomfortably and there was no way to slip out of them. There wasn't
much room in the enclosure. All I could do was stay on my hands and
knees, my sore bottom pressed against the back wall of the cage, the
flesh pressed firmly against the bars and pushed slightly through them.
She went around behind me and used a nail file to give my exposed butt a
few dozen hard jabs, not breaking the skin even thought it felt like she
had. She laid down on the couch and opened her cell phone. Claire hit
a pre-set number and waited for a pick-up.
She cheerily said, "Hello. Good to hear your voice." Between pauses to
listen to what the other party said, she went on about me, and the state
to which she had brought me. I was hugely embarrassed to be discussed
like that. And I didn't even know the gender of whoever she was
chatting with. Could it be a man? I hugged my elbows against my sides
and wished my bottom wasn't smarting so much, since I couldn't even rub
it to make it feel better. I was trapped in that narrow, low crate,
staring out at the woman I adored while she described my current
demeaning dilemma. Claire laughed and began discussing some sort of
plans. I could tell that they involved me, but not in what role. It
was deeply disturbing. When she was done, my Mistress came to me and
stood there, giving me a lowly dog's view up her legs. With mock
sympathy she said, "Poor Dee Dee, locked in her cage, with Mommy about
to leave her. Does Dee Dee have anything to say?"
I snuffled and said, in my smallest and weakest voice, "No, Mistress.
Thank you, dear Mistress, for this lovely cage. And for that well
deserved spanking. On my misbehaving bot-bot. I'm sorry for being such
a wussy." She was wearing black shoes with square toes and three-inch
stacked heels. It was hard not to stare at them. Everything about
Claire and what she wore mesmerized me. I was more under her spell than
ever, and she knew it. I couldn't stop speaking in that ridiculous,
high-pitched voice. And using girlish language, like a moment later
when I said, "I hope you're not mad at your funny little Dee Dee." Why
had I made that statement. Did I actually WANT her to go after my butt
again? Maybe with something else as bad as that nasty cat whip? She
was always surprising me with new instruments of pain. Wasn't what she
had already done to me bad enough? And that cage? As I cowered there
in that cramped space she turned and sat on the top of my prison. I
managed with difficulty to turn my head up so I could admire her
tempting bottom, clad in only a shorty robe that left her legs bare. My
need was rising again, unlike my imprisoned dick.
She asked me, "Are you wondering who I was talking to on the phone? And
what it was about?"
In a cartoonish girl voice I said, "Yes, Mistress dearest. Your Dee Dee
was... um... thinking about that." Ouch. My IQ seemed to drop every
time I used that way of speaking. Then I added, "Or will I get into
trouble for saying that?" Really, I was inviting more bad treatment? I
hadn't learned from my previous misspeaks?
Claire tilted her head to the side and stuck out her lower lip, as if
she was concerned. But all she said was, "I was talking to somebody.
And it was about something. Maybe you'll find out on the weekend. And
maybe you'll be sorry then."
That didn't sit well. For the next several nights, when I was at the
home of my Mistress, and during the days when I was at my colorless job,
drudging away, I couldn't stop thinking about what might be in the
works. Friday night passed and all we did was stay at Claire's place.
Well, that wasn't ALL. She dressed me in a maid's cap and the world's
tiniest apron, which tied in the back with a huge flouncy bow. That,
fishnet stockings, and a pair of spike heels were all I was allowed.
With my face made up -- which I had learned to do myself -- and wearing
a brunette wig with a modest pixie cut, I had to act as her servant all
evening, assuming a faux French accent at the same time I maintained my
usual simpering speech. It sounded absurd even to me as I said things
like, "Doos Madame Mistress weesh to have zee tea, served by err pretty
pansy, Dee Dee?" Even though I committed no infractions and
demonstrated a pleasant and obedient attitude, she still declared that I
was due for some 'attitude adjustment'.
My unpleasant correction began with bondage. Claire made me don opera-
length leather gloves, remove my foolish little apron, and don a corset.
She tightened the latter herself, making sure it was as snug as she
could make it. With her considerable strength, that was awfully tight.
And she made me put the apron on over it. I had a collar on, though it
was wider than my original one, so that I had to keep my chin up high.
She attached a short chain to the collar and then made me bend forward,
the corset cutting into my middle, so she could attach the loose end of
the chain to my waist, keeping me in that unbalanced pose. I had to
totter about on my heels for her, while she tittered at my predicament.
To make it even more awkward, Claire hooked the inside surfaces of the
gloves to the sides of the corset, with some sort of attachments that
were there for that purpose. After that I was doubly hampered, having
to move without even the use of my arms for balance.
My Mistress made me go to the den, with her walking alongside me and
patting my exposed rear end. She wanted to know, "You're not worried
that I'm going to smack your pretty bottom, are you, Dee Dee? Hmmm?"
As I fought to stay upright, I had to answer, remembering how to speak.
I told her, "Dee Dee eez sure Madame Mistress would only spank her eef
Dee Dee deserved eet. And Dee Dee almose always is deserveen eet."
Again I seemed to by trying to invite a bottom warming.
"Wellll," Claire considered, "I wasn't going to tan your tushy, but
since you bring up how difficult you are, and how you need your regular
butt burnings, I guess I'll just have to do that. You don't mind if I
leave you in that clever bondage, do you?"
"Non, Madame Mistress. You are soooo nice to zee Dee Dee. She weeshes
for what you weesh."
"Good girl. Now how about if I use something new I got in the mail the
other day. I know your bottom can't wait to experience some different
and extra exciting stinging. Can it?"
"Oh, non, Madame Mistress. Dee Dee's naughty bottom ees wanting the
special spanking."
"Heh, heh. Right. I'm sure that's the truth." She went to the closet
and took something from a hook on the wall. I was startled and upset to
see that it was a leather strap, thick and split down the middle, with a
wooden handle. I looked like something from a dungeon. Actually, at
the rate my Mistress was adding to her collection of 'playthings', she
would soon have enough to equip a home dungeon. And I knew she would be
eager to take me there as often as possible. From the time she had
begun indulging her desire to get rough with me, her passion for it had
grown, keeping the cycle of her inflicting it and me craving worse,
going more and more powerfully. She had even mentioned that she wanted
to convert an upstairs bedroom for exactly that purpose. My Mistress's
dungeon. Claire reached into the closet again and this time came out
with a nasty looking bamboo cane. She looked at me in my hampered
condition and mused, "I wonder how these two toys, used together, will
be for layering your pain, Dee Dee?"
For once I was at a loss for words. I tried to put on a brave face but
couldn't. She took me by the ear and walked me to the far side of the
room. I hadn't noticed it before but there was a new hook in the wall
from which hung a chain, on the end of which was a clamp. My Mistress
opened the clamp, fitted its ends into my nostrils, and tightened it
back up until it pinched my nose painfully. There was a single small
point on the inside of each half of the device, and they dug into my
septum, making it impossible to yank free without damage. I was stuck,
bound in that difficult posture, more than half naked, my hairless pink
body on display. She stood directly behind me with her crotch pressed
against my rump, reached around, and teased my nipples. I moaned and
involuntarily pushed back, like some slut urging a man to use her.
Claire laughed softly and switched from toying to tormenting, her strong
fingers pulling and twisting my sensitive nipples until I cried out.
She reached between my legs and gave my scrotum a punishing squeeze,
making me yell even louder. My penis, confused by the positive and
negative stimulation to my body, tried to get hard, but it was in its
chastity and could only attempt futilely what it was meant to do. My
Mistress kept busy moving her hands around, teasing and hurting, at the
same time whispering in my ears to raise my level of excitation,
stroking my smooth skin, telling me how absolutely I was under her
control, subject to the most heartless mood of the moment that might
seize her. As if to prove that, she stepped back, seized the cane, and
began slashing it against my defenseless ass, heedless of how often she
laid it across the same space, intent on producing the maximum of pain.
I was soon at my breaking point, when she stopped unexpectedly. I took
one deep breath and then, just as suddenly, she had switched to the
strap and started her second round with renewed fury. My beleaguered
backside suffered molten pain as she traded off her implements twice
again. I jerked uncontrollably at my nose ring, causing fresh agony to
my pinched tissues. I struggled against the corset, which only reminded
me of how useless my efforts were.
At last it ended. I sagged but could go only so far with the ring still
in my nose. My face was hot and my rear end much hotter. She observed
the damage she had done with pleasure. Claire described the welts and
the general swelling with enthusiasm. She said she liked me with a
fuller bottom like that, and might put me on a diet to make it that way
all the time. Then she noted how the corset pushed up the softness of
my chest and created a hint of breasts, adding, "If I can make it look
even more like you're sprouting boobies, I could trick you out to some
of my friends. I bet you'd love that, Dee Dee."
Not wanting to give her any excuse (thought she never needed one) to put
me through more hell, I found my voice long enough to say, "Dee Dee
would love, love, love zat, Madame Mistress." Of course, by giving her
what she wanted, I was also encouraging her to do what I didn't want.
Keeping with the French theme she merrily said, "Ooo, la, la." And
raked her fingernails over the flaming skin of my ass.
Late the next afternoon, while I was still getting over the battering of
my bum, Claire surprised me with, "Don't forget, Dee Dee. I made
plans." When I visibly didn't comprehend, she added, "You know, from my
phone conversation the other night." I had put that out of my mind, so
terrible had been the bondage/caning/strapping combination. But she
said we would be leaving in an hour and that I should put on a nice top,
something sleeveless, snug, and colorful... and nothing else. I did as
I was told, stealing a peek in one of her many mirrors to see my ass,
still discolored and somewhat bruised. My nose hurt, too. I found a
top I believed would satisfy her and tugged it down over my upper half,
feeling more naked somehow than if I was fully undressed. It was
decorated with bright yellow and green splotches on a cranberry
background. She left me in that state, not giving any orders to add to
my non-outfit. And then it was time to go. Her car was parked
alongside the house. It was nearing dusk, with long shadows covering
the driveway. Still, it was far from dark and I had to scurry to the
car with my hands over my chastity tube and balls, and scramble into the
back seat, a minute after I arrived, when she finally, in no rush,
unlocked the doors.
We drove for a while, with me crouched down, praying that no one would
see me. I had on light make-up but no wig. Maybe Claire just wanted to
drive me around like that for her amusement. We would return home and
it would all be over. Right? No such luck. My Mistress drove us to a
remote park and followed a winding drive that snaked through it, until
we were far from the main road. She pulled into a secluded area,
circled by trees, and down a gentle slope, ending up in a parking area
big enough for two cars. I was relieved that the spot wasn't more
public but still distressed to be outdoors at all in my current state of
semi-undress. She took a moment to check her lipstick in the rearview
mirror, touched it up, and then told me to get out and get the blanket
that was in the trunk. I looked around warily and dashed to the rear of
the car. She let me stand there for a moment, smooth unmanly ass on
display, before she popped the trunk. I snatched the blanket and
started to wrap it around me when she interrupted with, "No, no, Dee
Dee. That's not for you. That's for my picnic. Now spread it out on
the ground like a good girl." Not believing how far she was taking
this, I nevertheless did what she instructed. Claire made me move the
blanket twice before she was happy with where it was.
My Mistress went to it and sat down. She said I should get the bag that
was on the floor of the front seat, on the passenger side. I did and
was thrilled to see that it contained clothing. There was... a woman's
one-piece bathing suit? And a big floppy beach hat with flashy hatband
and three large plastic flowers on it. Plus a pair of flip flops...
with high heels. As foolish as it would be to wear, it was much better
than what I presently had. So I stripped out of the bright top and got
into the bathing suit, which was tight and skimpy, shaping itself to my
contours and leaving much too much bare. She had me tuck my confined
penis back between my thighs, where the crotch-band of the suit held it,
and my nearly crushed balls, uncomfortably. I set the hat on my head
and tugged it down. It wouldn't go, so I checked inside and found there
was a long wavy, redheaded wig waiting for me. Feeling more embarrassed
by the minute, I fitted the wig to my head and resettled the hat atop
it, then stepped into the sandals. By then I had learned to walk in
heels, but now I was outdoors and had to contend with a whole new set of
challenges.
I was sent back to the trunk where a picnic basket waited. Taking it
out, I found it contained a bottle of white wine for starters. Claire
had me give her that. She took a corkscrew from her purse and opened
the bottle, as if I was too feeble or technically deficient to handle
such a task. She did allow me to pour, however. A full glass for her
and none for me. Next I set out some finger sandwiches, noting that
there were more than enough for just her. Even if I was denied a drink,
I might at least get to eat something. Still thinking about that, I was
startled to hear another car approaching. Instead of going past on the
main road, it took our turn-off and came closer, headlights illuminating
me in my foolish beachwear. I turned to my Mistress, who was serenely
nibbling on a miniature sandwich. I threw my hands in front of me, like
an easily shamed girl trying to cover herself. The car kept coming and
parked alongside Claire's. A woman got out of the passenger side and
waved cheerily to Claire, saying, "We didn't have any trouble finding
this spot. I'm so glad you called the other day and told us you were
coming here."
As I stood there like a deer in the headlights (or perhaps a DEAR in the
headlights?), the driver side door was thrown open and out came a tall,
broad-shouldered man with a square jaw covered in five-o'clock shadow.
I nearly fainted as he went to Claire and hugged her, then turned
directly to me and grinned. The two newcomers chatted with my wife for
a bit and then helped themselves to sandwiches. I had to pour them each
a glass of white and then stand aside, their sissy wine steward. They
all sat and relaxed while I stood there, nervous as anything. I turned
this way and that, trying to find a position that would hide my unmanly
appearance, though there was no such way to stand. They enjoyed more
sandwiches and some other treats I had to serve them. Finally they had
small pastries for dessert and drank the last of the wine.
Still totally uncomfortable, I took a few steps back, putting myself
into the deepening shadows. But that made me chilly and, without
realizing it, I started moving my feet around in a restless dance. I
heard my wife call the other woman Betsy and her male companion Tad. He
began taking glances at me, not trying to hide what he was doing. All I
wanted at that moment was to run away and hide, but the best I could do
was to retreat another three steps. That put me up against some bushes
whose sharp branches scratched my legs and jabbed my butt. I bit my
lower lip and fought back tears.
At last the happy threesome stood up. The guy gave Claire another warm
hug. I squirmed with discomfort at the sight. That was when my wife
turned toward me and said, "Come out where we can see you, Dee Dee."
I meekly stepped forward and said, in my girly voice, "Yes, Mistress.
I'm sorry, Mistress." In an effort to please her, and heedless of how I
must sound to the others, I put the tip of one forefinger up to my lips
and said, "Dee Dee was a bad girl."
They all chuckled at my enforced feminine speech. I pressed my legs
together and hoped desperately that the strangers would just get into
their car and leave. Instead, Claire said to Betsy, "We should spend a
little time together, you and I. I'm sure both of us have lots of good
stories to tell." She looked meaningfully at me and added, "I know I
do." More chuckling, especially from Tad, who was eating me up with his
eyes. My Mistress went on, "So why don't we do this. You ride with me,
Betsy..." She paused to let me squirm before she finished, "... and my
Dee Dee can go with Tad."
My heart turned over in my chest. I couldn't leave with another man.
Dressed and made up the way I was. With him already giving me sex eyes.
When I cast an imploring look at Claire she just smiled and said, "I'm
sure you two will get along fine." I rubbed my hands against my smooth
bare thighs and worried about how finely Tad expected us to get along.
But a moment later the big man ordered me to gather up the picnic
blanket and basket, to put them into our trunk. He closed the lid,
again reminding me that I wasn't considered capable of such a simple
task. The women slid into our car and soon I was watching the
taillights shrink as they drove away. I turned fearfully to Tad and he
grinned devilishly as he said, "Want to ride up front with me?"
I nodded weakly, too scared to risk upsetting him. In a whisper I told
him, "Thank you, Big Tad."
He thought that was funny and opened the side door for me. I slid in,
shamefacedly aware of the picture I made, and folded my hands on my lap.
My bent-back genitals were squashed under me. Tad leaned close. What
was he going to do? It turned out he was just fastening my seatbelt. I
thanked him in my best impersonation of a simpering girl. He gave my
shoulder a friendly squeeze and got in on his side. Very soon we were
moving. When we reached the turn-off, he aimed away from where Claire
had gone. Suddenly I felt my stomach clench. He drove confidently,
humming to himself. I worried that someone might see me in my
humiliating state but he didn't seem to care about that or anything
else. Twenty minutes later we had driven along several streets I didn't
recognize and had turned into a residential area. He went for another
ten minutes before the houses began to thin out. At last we reached a
long road with just one large home waiting at its end. There were trees
all around. Tad stopped and swung out his side. He opened my door
again. That was when I saw three figures emerging from the woods. They
were guys, young men in jeans and flannel shirts, with uncombed hair and
a swaggering attitude. My host signaled for me to exit his car.
One of the young men noticed me and called out to no one in particular,
"Looks like somebody's going to get lucky tonight." I silently mouthed
the words, 'Please don't let them realize I'm a man.' Tad gave them a
cocky smile and just stood there. He was daring them to make a comment
directly to him. As tall and obviously powerful as he was, they decided
not to. Instead, they went on their way, bumping shoulders with each
other and laughing.
Tad explained, "Sometimes guys like that go into those woods to drink or
smoke a few joints. Or whatever. Hope they didn't frighten you."
"N... not much," I piped. "But thank you for, um, not letting them do
anything." I remembered my required voice and added, "You protected Dee
Dee." Why did I have to talk like that? Couldn't Claire have at least
let me be myself when I spoke?
Tad closed my door and said, "So now you owe me one. Don't you?"
I gripped the sides of my wide hat and managed, "Yes, Big Tad. Little
Dee Dee... owes you... something."
He strode off and called back, "Let's get you inside."
I hurried after him, eager to be off the street but anxious about being
indoors with such an imposing specimen of manhood. He opened the front
door for me and I entered, my hips swishing, wishing I could explain
that I wasn't really like this. Instead, he followed me inside and
closed the door with a bang that made me gasp. Tad moved close to me.
Very close. I looked up at him, my lower lip trembling. He put his
large hand on the side of my face and move his fingers caressingly. I
felt weak and uncertain. What had Claire gotten me into? And why? He
put an arm around me and walked me through the house to a small room
dominated by a large-screen TV. Tad dropped himself into a well
upholstered recliner and leaned it back. He used the remote to put on a
sports channel and, without looking at me, called for a beer, telling me
where the kitchen was. On trembling legs and those high-heeled flip-
flops, I hurried off, got lost once, but then found the kitchen. I
grabbed a cold beer and then had the presence of mind to set it onto a
plate, so that I could present it like a good little serving girl. He
visibly appreciated the effort and sat there, watching recaps of the
day's games and taking sips of his drink. I stood off to the side,
trying not to be noticed.
An hour later he was done and heaved himself to his feet. Tad looked at
me and said, "Let's go, Dee Dee. Time for a shower."
All at once I was a nervous wreck again. He preceded me to the
bathroom, where there was a spacious shower stall. As he started to
undress I saw that he was very well developed -- muscularly -- and had a
generous amount of body hair. He urged me to lose my clothes, too. As
I reluctantly peeled off the bathing suit I was embarrassedly aware of
the contrasts between us, of how soft my body was, how smooth and pink.
Tad snapped his fingers at me and said, "Get me out of my pants, honey."
I reached out to open them and he put his hands on my shoulders and
pressed downward. I sank to my knees until I was eye level with his
crotch. When I unfastened the snap and lowered his jeans, I got an
eyeful of his jockey shorts, the crotch of which was filled to bulging.
I turned my gaze upward questioningly and he nodded, so I hooked my
fingers under the waistband and worked down his last bit of covering.
The bulge did not lie. He was hung like a stallion. A shudder ran
through me as I made one more mental comparison and again came up short.
Very short.
To my surprise, he reached down and helped me to my feet, his strength
obvious from how easily he did it. Then he turned on the water and
adjusted it. Tad had me stick my hand in and make sure the temperature
was acceptable. I told him in my wispiest voice that it was fine. He
stepped in and offered me a helping hand to join him. By then I needed
to be assisted. We both got thoroughly wet and then he handed me a bar
of soap, saying simply, "Wash me. All over." I lathered up my hands
and began at his neck, which was thick and firm. As I worked my way
lower I got to feel and envy more of his impressive physique. When I
got below his waist I hesitated but only for a few seconds. What else
could I do? I was naked, in a strange man's house, outclassed in every
possible way. Was I going to try to outrun him, hope that the front
door wasn't locked, race outside, and flee into the woods? Maybe to
meet ruffians like the ones we had passed on the way in?
So I got more soap on my unsteady hands and began to wash his oversized
equipment, making sure to get his balls as well. He smiled while I
worked. To my dismay he got an erection. I had to wash his backside,
too, making sure to get between his rock hard buttocks. Finally I got
onto my knees -- again -- and scrubbed his legs, with his long hard cock
distractingly close. I hoped the worst was over but then he insisted on
returning the favor. As Tad washed me he commented on how silky my skin
was and asked what it felt like to have absolutely no hair anywhere. I
made a lame joke about still having it on my head. He laughed briefly
and ran his fingers through my wet hair, massaging my scalp. We each
did our own shampooing, which was a small relief for me. Then we
stepped out and I dried him with a couple of large towels. He did the
same for me and said it was time for bed.
How many times could I escape what appeared to be the inevitable?
Should I use the female date's classic excuse and insist that I had a
headache? I certainly didn't have enough pride left to prevent me from
doing that. But I was swept along as he guided me to his spacious,
extremely manly bedroom. There was something for me to wear, laid out
atop the comforter that covered the king-sized bed. It was a tiny see-
through top that tied in the front with a single pair of ribbons, along
with matching panties that were similarly small. Both parts were pale
yellow. He picked up a hairbrush and growled, "Ready for your spanking,
girl?" I froze and could only nod submissively. He laughed and handed
it to me, saying I should take care of my hair. I did and he gave me
some gel to make sure I could look appropriately nice for him. There
was also perfume, something flowery that I used only two quick sprays
of. He explained that he slept in the nude, but mentioned that I looked
'good enough to eat'... 'or be eaten by'. That was another false alarm,
I discovered, as we got under the covers and he turned away from me.
For the next quarter hour I lay as still as I could, not wanting to draw
attention to myself. He drifted into sleep and was soon breathing
steadily. My tension ebbed -- somewhat -- and I hugged my pillow,
concerned about what the morning might bring.
When I awoke Tad was not there. I smelled coffee and he soon appeared,
wearing a pair of snug shorts, with a steaming mug for himself. For me
there was a delicate cup. My coffee had extra milk in it, as if I
couldn't handle it too dark. I was relieved to have gotten that far
without any deeply intimate contact. He sat on the edge of the bed
while we sipped our coffee. Tad reached under the covers to lightly
stroke my thigh. I knew it felt just like a girl's. His hand was
inching higher when we heard the front door open. Now what? A minute
later Betsy appeared, framed in the bedroom door. Behind her was
Claire, my Mistress. She saw me and got an amused expression. I curled
up and wanted to duck under the blankets, but thought better of it. The
women came over to sit on either side of Tad. Betsy wanted to know,
"So, did you rape Dee Dee?" My wife asked, "Or just used his mouth?"
He laughed good-naturedly and assured them that, tempting as I was, he
hadn't made me go all the way, or even to third base.
All of us moved to the breakfast nook and Betsy made bacon and eggs.
Well, they got that. I just got eggs. Theirs were generous omelets
with a mix of ingredients. Mine were light and fluffy, as befit the
gi