Mistress Makes Some Changes free porn video

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