Loading...I look at the dashboard clock as I pull up the driveway. It reads half past eight. She must be nervous as hell, at this point. I’m never late. It was the unexpectedly dense traffic that caused me to arrive half an hour after the appointed time but as I consider it, it’s not so bad to keep her waiting in anticipation, once in a while. She’s used to me being punctual and this must really freak her out.
Good!
It wasn’t foreseen, but is nonetheless convenient. I know how much she likes mind games, so I might as well start one before I even enter her apartment.
I push the button on the intercom and without delay I hear the door buzz open. When I arrive on the second floor, the door is already ajar. I push it open and enter, as she comes out of the living room to greet me. She smiles and takes my coat off my shoulders to store it. Standing in the middle of the hallway, I look her over, my face neutral, waiting.
She turns to me, still smiling and in a soft voice, she murmurs: “good evening, Mistress.” She comes closer and kisses me on the cheek. Finally, I permit myself to smile back.
“Hello sweetie, been a good girl today?”
For a second, I see a glimpse of doubt flashing in her eyes but it disappears as fast as it came. She smiles again and gives the slightest nod, “Uhuh!”. I decide to ignore the prickling sense of deceit in the back of my head -at least for now. I know she’s lying but I’ll get to it later.
I follow her as she enters the living room while I admire her sensuous figure, clad in a tight fitting mini dress.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asks, already walking towards the kitchen door.
“Tea please,” I reply. I hear a faint “OK” as she rummages through the drawers and cupboards, slightly humming. Right! She doesn’t seem to be that nervous, after all. She thinks I won’t let her down and she’s damn right, too. Bloody well aware of the fact that I like her a lot.
I find myself annoyed over the fact that she’s way too confident at this point and I memo to myself that, later on, I’ll have to do something about that.
She’s a very self-assured girl, aware of her abilities and in the way she displays them, she’s practically petitioning for reprisal. I know she likes to taunt me to make me punish her. And she knows I like a bit of a handful of a sub, too. I hate the grovelling kind of submissives that writhe at my feet. But this girl isn’t like that at all.
As I sit and ponder about that blond tramp in the kitchen, she re-enters the living room with a serving tray, loaded with a teapot, two empty cups and a small sugar bowl. Ah! First chance of undermining that smugness of her. As she puts down the tray on the coffee table, I look at her, raising one eyebrow. “No cookies?” I ask, while I maintain a rigorous expression on my face.
Bingo! Her eyes go wide and she stares at me for a full two seconds, before it occurs to her, I’m not jesting. “But… I mean… you never wanted cookies with your tea before,” she stammers, still looking like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. I decide not to react and after another few seconds, she whirls around and rushes off to the kitchen.
Finally, I can let go of the hard task of keeping a stern face and I allow myself the pleasure of a covert smile. Actually, I don’t want any cookies. I never take anything while enjoying a good cup of tea. But it was so gratifying to see that startled look on her face and watch her run off to get them, that I’d gladly break with this self-imposed discipline.
When she comes back with a plate filled with Swiss cookies, I notice her avoiding my eyes at all costs.
It gives me the chance to get my face back into ‘Mistress mode’. She sits down and fills both cups with the greenish fluid out of the teapot and puts a lump of sugar in mine. After handing me the cup, she takes hers and leans back on the couch. She seems to have recovered from her confusion and she starts a lively conversation about her adventures from last weekend. I decide to play along and we chat for a while in a relaxed atmosphere. After a while, a moment of comfortable silence sets in and I seize the opportunity to get to business.
“So,” I ask, “we’ve been a good girl, then?” I can practically see the red alert sign start to blink in the corner of her eye. She recomposes herself in a second and looks me straight in the face. I got to hand it to that lass, she’s in control of herself. I’ve always known she wasn’t your average submissive girl. Much too wilful for that. Too much obstinacy crawls its way through her behaviour and I know for sure she would make a reasonably good domina. She’s aware of it and I also know she’d love me to be her mentor in learning. But for now, she’s my slave girl and she has a few things coming.
“Uhuh.” The same avoiding answer as before. She’s not getting away with it this time, though. “Hmmm,” I muse, giving her a considering look. “You haven’t touched yourself, like I told you?” I inquire. She freezes but keeps staring me in the eyes. In her sweetest voice she says: “No mistress, I haven’t masturbated.”
That was easy, wasn’t it? It wasn’t even a lie, I can tell. But when I specifically ask her if she’d been TOUCHING herself, not masturbating, I see the guilt clouding her pretty face. Right! Just as I thought.
Her eyes now wander off to lower regions and her cheeks take on a slightly deeper shade of pink.
“Well?” I insist. She knows there’s no benefit in lying to me. I despise lying and she’s well aware that my trust in her will be severely damaged if she does. By this time, she’s looking at the tips of her bare toes, her head slightly bent forward. When she finally answers me, her voice is merely a whisper, hardly audible.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?” I ask. “And speak up! I can barely hear you.”
“Yes Miss, I did touch myself.”
“But only once,” she adds swiftly to her confession. “And I didn’t come, I swear!” I see the plea in her eyes, begging me to believe her.
“But didn’t I specifically tell you NOT to touch yourself AT ALL?”
“Yes, you did.”
“Then, why did you ignore my instructions?”
“I felt a bit horny, thinking of you; knowing I would see you soon.”
There’s that puppy look again.
“I… ehm…” Her shoulders slump as she struggles to find the words that might get her out of this predicament.
At this point, I’m not going to help her out. It feels too good to see her in distress, after the smug, conceited brat I was confronted with before. So I simply sit there, waiting. She looks at me, helpless, trying to squirm her way out but not finding any exit. After a minute, she capitulates and with a deep sigh, she continues: “I was looking forward to be of service to you, Mistress. I’d love to give you pleasure.”
“So, you assume you can give me pleasure by giving yourself pleasure, do you?”
“No! No, that’s not what I meant. But I got so excited thinking about you, that I couldn’t resist touching myself.” And after a few seconds of contemplation, she adds: “But I just caressed myself for a while and didn’t do anything else, really. I stopped right away, knowing I wasn’t behaving like I should. But you see…”
“Alright, enough!” I interrupt her. “No matter how briefly and no matter what you did or did not do, the fact remains that you disobeyed my orders.” I let it sink in for a moment and then continue: “do we agree on that?”
She takes a deep breath, shrugs her shoulders and then falls back into the cushions of the couch. Looking me in the eyes with that defiant look again, she mumbles: “I suppose so.”
***************
Now, what’s this change of attitude again? I wonder where she’s driving at but obviously she’s not in a very obedient mood, today. I decide I had enough of her playing around and move on to the next level. I rise from my seat, take three steps towards her and without hesitation; I grab her hair, twist it around my fist and yank her to her feet.
She clearly wasn’t expecting this outburst of harsh action and she squeals like a kitten, her eyes wide with fright. Still not giving her a chance to recover, I head straight for the bedroom, dragging her behind me.
I hear her moan in pain, as she stumbles in an attempt to keep up with my resolute pace; out of the living room, through the hallway and into the bedroom. I was planning on pushing her onto the bed but in a flash I change my mind and with a swing of my arm I throw her down on the floor in front of me.
She whimpers as her knees hit the wooden floor with a dull thud. Sitting on hands and knees she turns her head to look at me, her face twisted in pain and confusion. My voice sounds harsh and loud as I utter the command: “Kiss the floor, slut!”
In a split second she obeys, knowing full well what I mean. She presses her forehead against the floor and in a synchronous motion, she spreads her knees slightly and pushes her ass up in the air. I hear her ragged breathing as I walk to the dresser. I know my way around her bedroom, so it only takes me an instant to fetch the cane out of the top drawer. Although she likes to be whipped, the cane is not exactly her favourite tool. I know how much she hates it.
I turn around to find she hasn’t moved an inch. I observe her for a while as she steadies her breathing in an attempt to regain control of herself. There’s not much left of the audacious little brat I’ve witnessed five minutes ago. Still, I’m going to give her a lesson she won’t easily forget.
Usually, when I spank her, I build it up slowly; letting the blows gradually increase in force. That way, she enjoys this game as much as I do and her body can take it for much longer.
But right now, we’re way past playing games. She was provoking me but I’m pretty sure she didn’t expect my reaction to be this vicious. I’m starting to get in the mood, here. I decide she’s in for a real treat. I step over to her, positioning myself behind and a little to the side of her tight little butt that’s still keenly sticking up. Using the bent handle of the cane, I pull up the hem of her dress, sliding it over her behind, all the way up her back. I bend over just a little to get the right angle and swing my arm backwards. In a swift lash I hit her in the middle of her buttocks.
She cries out in pain, not expecting the blow to be so fiercely. I hit her four more times in the same ferocious way, each blow followed by a yelp of agony. I pause for a moment and hear her sobbing, her shoulders shuddering. “Do you want me to put a gag in your mouth or are you going to stop squealing like a pig?” I ask in a stern voice. Sniffing away her tears, she whimpers: “It hurts, Mistress. Please, I’m sorry.”
“Of course it hurts and of course you’re sorry,” I retort. “That’s the whole idea. You have five more coming. So are you going to keep quiet, or what?” Snivelling, she merely nods her head.
I step back into position and I notice her muscles freeze as she braces herself. As promised, I whack her ass five more times, each strike branding a fiery red mark on her bum. She’s trying hard not to scream, her teeth clenched, but she can’t suppress the soft moans that escape her with each hit. After ten strikes, I put aside the cane and crouch beside that little heap of misery I reduced my slave girl to. Tears dripping down from her nose have formed dark spots on the wooden floor.
Tenderly, I caress the burning cheeks of her ass and she releases the tension by collapsing to the floor. All curled up, she remains on her knees, her forehead still touching the floor. I put my left arm around her and she sighs in relief, trying to compose herself. After a few minutes, I grab her shoulders and gently pull her back to her feet. She staggers as she tries to stand up straight and I steady her with a loving embrace. She leans in to me and puts her arms around me, giving another long sigh. I hold her for a while, my hands softly stroking her back and thighs. When I feel her grip loosening, I cup her chin with one hand and lift her head to look her in the eye. I wipe away a lost tear on her cheek and smile at her, as I ask: “Message received?” She smiles back and nods. “Yes, Miss.”
“Good.” I gently slap her butt and she jumps up with a little shriek. Her face, still damp from tears and flushed, she regains a certain degree of liveliness thinking that the worst must now be over. Suddenly, her expression turns pensive for a moment and then she spontaneously kneels in front of me, huddles the side of her head against my lap while I’m still standing and wraps her arms around my legs. In a sweet voice she says: “I love you, Mistress. I’d didn’t mean to abuse your trust. I guess my discipline failed me. Please, forgive me.”
I caress her blond tresses and lovingly scratch her through them at the nape of her neck. I know she loves that and I can almost hear her purr like a cat as she closes her eyes, pressing her temple against my belly.
After a minute or two, she slowly moves her head a little downward, turning her face towards me.
Naughty little slut! I know what she’s up to, but I decide to play along for a while and let her position her face right in front of my most intimate spot. She hesitates for a second, expecting to be inhibited. But as I just keep my hand resting softly on the back of her head, she continues her movement and nuzzles that hot little triangle between my legs. She buries her face against my abdomen and I hear her inhale deep, before her hot breath burns its way through the fabric of my gown. I can’t deny that it arouses me and she must be well aware of it, smelling my excitement through the little silk patch of cloth my panties consist of.
“Tsk tsk tsk, what are we doing, down there?” I softly reprimand her, as I grasp her hair and pull her head back, away from my pussy. I watch the disappointment slide over her face as she opens her mouth to answer. It seems she can’t think of any argument or plea strong enough to be allowed to go on at this point, as she closes her mouth again with a reluctant sigh.
“I’m not done with you yet,” I continue. “You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?”
Actually, that’s exactly what she thought, considering the look on her face, her eyes begging me to let her proceed. Hah! She should know I detest that ‘puppy look’ and it has an adverse effect on my leniency. So I decide she’s had enough respite. I reach down for the hem of her short dress and start pulling it upward, revealing her slender, naked body. In response, she lifts her arms so I can take it off all the way over her head. I drop the bundle of fabric on the floor and stroke her head once more. But now it’s time for some action.
“On the bed, face down!” I snarl, and she jumps up, startled by my sudden change of mood.
In a wink, she’s lying on her belly, sprawled on the bed. Such an obliging little pet if she wants to, that sweet blond slave girl of mine. She even has the bed rigged with steel rings on all four corners, for ‘fastening purposes’. I smile at the ironic thought that she’d mounted those devices herself, knowing full well she would be the one to get chained up on them.
I walk over to the nightstand and grab one of the bundles of rope that are lying on top of it, neatly aligned. One by one, I fasten her wrists and ankles to the provided anchor points on the bed. All that time, she remains still, lying obedient and waiting for the continuance of her punishment. When I’m done, I step back and let my gaze linger on her evenly tanned back and legs. Apart from ten bright red stripes, her back side is like an unspoiled canvas, just begging for an artist’s touch. So, let’s get to work, then.
***************
Reminding myself this is all about punishment, instead of pleasure, I’m going to add some unpleasant details to her treatment. For one, I know she doesn’t like to be gagged, so I walk over to the dressing table and retrieve a piece of linen cloth from the drawer. I twist the fabric a few times to transform it into a nice round and thick cable and I climb on the bed, straddling her back. While still holding the scarf of black linen, I clutch her hair and yank her head backwards. She lets out a gasp of surprise –just like I intended– and before she realizes what’s going on, the black cloth cable sits clamped between her teeth. She moans in protest as I pull the textile gag tight and fasten it around her head, straining her jaws apart. I double-check her restraints and gag once more and proceed to the dressing table again to pick up the first tool.
Glancing over the collection of chastising utensils, I decide to start off lovingly, using the paddle with the heart-shaped excision at the centre. I take it easy this time, considering her buttocks have already had their ‘warming up’ with the cane. Going up and down along her thighs in a fast series of short raps, I transform the tinge of her skin from sweet pink to light red. Several times I repeatedly hit the same spot in a fierce series of slaps making her start to squirm, moaning in anguish.
After having given her legs and thighs a thorough treatment with the paddle, I gently caress them up and down with both hands, causing my slave girl to utter a soft sigh of relief.
But then I move on to the heavy leather flogger, we affectionately named ‘Yuri’, since it’s made in Russia. Normally, a flogger isn’t all that painful but this time I go really hard on her. She quivers and moans frantically as the leather strips rain down her back and buttocks, ferociously lashing the tender flesh. At this point, I’m glad I gagged her. Not only because of its annoying effect on her but also because she’d squealing like a stuck pig by now.
I’m aware that her back side has had a substantial amount of abuse thus far, so I decide to give her a little reprieve. Without saying a word, I leave the bedroom and head for the kitchen, where I collect a little storage box filled with ice cubes from the freezer.
Back in the bedroom, I sit beside her, my little stock of ice at hand on the bedside table. She hasn’t moved and I can see weariness shrouding her like a blanket. Time for a little incentive to get her lively again. I take a handful of ice cubes in the palm of my hand, hold it above her spine between her shoulder blades and turn it around, pressing the ice on her burning skin. The shock does bring her back alive, and she flinches, inhaling with a loud gasp as her muscles tense. I slide my hand along with the ice, down her spine while I watch the muscles on her back shiver and flex as it passes by.
When I reach the round curve of her butt, I circle around each buttock a few times. She rubs her groin against the sheets moving it up and down as far as her bonds allow her to, while soft muffled whimpers escape her linen-stuffed mouth.
I leave the remainder of the ice cubes melting in the hollow of her back and reach for a fresh one. I let it invade the crack of her buttocks and push it towards her little hole in between them. It’s amusing to watch her derrière tense and shudder as I press the ice hard against her anus. Her soft moaning grows louder, the harder I poke her ass with the ice. Without interrupting the pestering of her hole, I grab another cube to slide over and in between her nether lips. She bucks her hips in a futile attempt to evade the freezing torment of her lower regions. I push the ice cube all the way in her velvety cavern and she starts mewling like a hungry kitten. Through the cloth of her gag, she’s expelling incomprehensible sounds, trying to pronounce some sort of plea for release. But I’m not done yet.
I remove the ice cubes, though, not wanting her sweet little pussy to get frostbitten. Out of the second drawer of the dressing table, I produce a small gold-colored vibrator. It actually isn’t big enough to pleasure the average woman but I’m not going to use it in the conventional way. I lube it abundantly and let the pointy tip scrape tentatively all the way from her belly, over her slit. Slowly, I tease the sensitive flesh and she starts to squirm again, trying to get her lips to embrace the vibrator’s tip. I waver the gold bullet over her labia for a while but as she opens up to welcome it inside her, I suddenly continue the backward movement up the other side, until I reach that little rosette. As I circle the point of the vibrator around the little hole, I see her sphincter tense and tighten. One more thing she’s not too comfortable with is anal penetration.
I watch her clench her arse to prevent the shiny miniature zeppelin from intruding that sweet little hole of hers. No way, she’s going to succeed. The vibrator has a rather pointy shape at the top and I don’t have to put too much pressure on it to let it slide in. A groan of protest rises from her stuffed mouth as I let the vibrator penetrate her. Being bound tightly in spread eagle position, it leaves her little chance to evade. Still she wriggles frantically, trying to escape the intruder in her ass.
I push the little bastard all the way –about five inches– in and turn it on. As it starts to buzz, she lets out another growl of displeasure. She bucks her hips in frustration, twists her head aside and eyes me with a look of fierce aversion. I grin wickedly and stroke her head lovingly, as I murmur in her ear:
“You like your holes filled well, don’t you? Just one more to go and you’ll be all set for paradise.”
I laugh out loud, seeing the defiant look on her face as she grumbles again in protest.
Nevertheless, I’m heading for the drawer again, to fetch Mona. Mona is a luxurious and expensive vibrator, especially designed for women who desire just that little extra. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind that one, for she loves her Mona. It makes it hard for her to resist using it when I do deny her that pleasure. But today, she’s going to get the full treatment, so I lube the oval shaped head of the silicone coated staff and insert it into her cunt. She arches her back and tilts her hips to lift her ass, eager and willing to welcome the smooth round baton between her legs. For a few minutes, I fuck her with it, pumping it in and out of her pussy. She’s soaking wet by now and the vibrator makes a sopping sound with every thrust I make. I turn Mona on and let it wiggle around, pushing it hard against her clit.
She bawls loud, bucking her hips to the rhythm of my movements and I hear her panting breath go faster. I thrust the vibrator deep into her tight little gorge and turn up the speed. After making sure both vibrators are well and good inserted, I turn to the dressing table again and take out the vicious-looking braided single tail whip, called ‘Ivan’. It’s a bit of a game between us, giving names to all the accessories we procure. Or at least the ones we frequently use. It adds to the mind play if I can utilize the mere expression of a name to provoke a reaction. Ivan is one of the whips she dreads the most. It really is a dangerous tool and I have to be very careful in order not to damage that silky skin.
As the vibrators are merrily humming away, I take position at the foot end of the bed. Aiming carefully, I give her a first slight lash on the left buttock. More due to surprise than pain, she gives a little shriek. The next blow is harder but she’s expecting it now and she endures it unflinching. Alternating between her left and right ass cheek, I gradually increase the impact of the strokes. It’s only the tip of the whip that hits her tender flesh but it has a nasty sting that turns her soft, little pink bottom to fiery red in matter of minutes. After a while, the repeating impact of the leather is inducing a burning pain, as I can notice from the growing restlessness of her body. Her moaning becomes louder and she starts to writhe against her bonds. When she finally can’t take it anymore, she lets out a long hard cream through the cloth gag and I know that’s my cue.
I put aside the single tail whip and kneel on the bed between her spread legs to caress her reddened thighs. The vibrators have her excited to no extend but the throbbing pain in her bum impels conflicting feelings inside her. I gently stoke her ravaged back with my left hand, while the right one takes hold of Mona. I retract the vibrator out of her pussy and resume teasing her clit with the fluttering top.
The little vibrator in her ass is still buzzing and I start stirring it around in her little hole. Each hole, flooded with pulsing, electrifying waves and her ass cheeks, burning hot while she lies there tied and gagged; speed her to a climax. I know she hates most of those little things I’ve done to her but the sum of the parts goes so much further than simply adding up. The treatment is taking her to the edge and it’s a matter of seconds before her limbs tense and she clenches her fists, screaming out as the orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave.
I leave her for a moment, allowing her to recover a little, while I gather the used toys and put them aside. Still, I let the vibrators buzzing. She’s slumped on the bed, panting and exhausted. I go to the bathroom to freshen up a little and have a pee. When wiping myself, I can feel the slick love juices of my own pussy. I can handle myself well enough but this girl seems to excite me more than others.
Maybe I should consider making her my full-time number one slave girl. But I guess that’s not what she expects of our relationship. After a last check in the mirror, I go back to find her motionless but breathing steadily again.
One by one, I untie her bonds and I remove the vibrators. I stroke her head gently and she rises into a sitting position. She turns to me and I move towards her to finally free her from the cloth gag in her mouth. The gratitude shines in her eyes as she nestles her head against my breast with a languorous sigh. Hardly audible, she whispers: “Thank you, Mistress.”
I take her in my arms and stroke her abused back –which still feels quite hot– with one hand, while the other caresses her clammy blond tresses. She cuddles up against me as if she’d like to crawl inside me, while she wraps her arms tightly around me.
I give her time to get back to earth from wherever she was dwelling. Some distant fantasy world, hazed with a sweet mixture of pleasure and pain, I suppose. After what seems an eternity, she stirs and lifts her head, looking me in the eyes with a gaze full of love and affection. She reaches out and kisses me softly and I feel her tongue brush over my lips for a second. It takes me a lot of willpower to withdraw from her embrace, but I need to get back home. I cup her face with both my hands and kiss her softly on her forehead, before I leave. I grab my purse and walk to the door without saying another word to her. At this point, there’s no need for formal talk. We both know where we stand and I’ve made my point, I’m sure. By the time I open the front door of her apartment, she’s left her bedroom, leaning against the doorway. I cast one last look at her and our eyes lock for a moment. I see a world of love and desire shimmering through but she’s well aware that this is all she’s going to get, tonight.
I close the door behind me and walk down the stairs. I consider it was a good session and I’m sure she had a great time too, despite the unpleasant things I did to her. When all is said and done, she likes to be treated like a slut and as I walk to my car, I’m aware that I gave her exactly what she craves. Her desires have been sated, while mine are still raging inside of me. I’m starting to regret I took off so suddenly, before allowing her to service me in turn but I can’t allow myself to degrade my status. She desperately wanted to go down on me, I can tell. But she has to learn it’s me who’s in command, deciding what she can or can’t do. I have to be hard in order to make her understand her place in this.
Sadly enough, this makes it hard on me too. Being a dominant is a tough job, generally underestimated. Sure, she gets punished but she also gets the pleasure out of it. And I know it’s exactly the kind of punishment and pleasure she craves.
Sometimes, it makes me wonder, which one of us really is the one on top.