‘Oh that’s so great ….bring your pussy up here … I want to taste you too … come on … please, turn yourself around.’
Before I assumed the 69 position over her I stripped out of my stockings and panties, positioning my cleanly waxed pussy just inches from her mouth.
‘Stop teasing me,’ she moaned. ‘Let me taste you.’
Lowering my pussy over her waiting mouth, I could feel her breath on me, tantalizing my skin, before her tongue touched me, sending a fire searing through me, making me feel more alive than I have in my whole life.
This little mouse was now a tiger. She lifted her head into my pussy, licking furiously, her tongue locating my clit as she flickered it over me like a madwoman. As she buried herself into me I untied her legs, grabbing at the stocking, tearing them in my haste to free her.
I turned myself around and untied her arms while her legs wrapped around my waist. She flew at me, grabbing me, kissing me, her scent and mine mingling together as our lips and mouths met.
‘Oh fuck,’ I moaned, never having felt anything so good.
‘You taste great,’ she breathed as her tongue trailed down my neck and into the cleavage of my bra.
‘Take off the rest of your clothes,’ she demanded.
In a flash I was naked and from under the bed she produced a switch. This little mouse had played this game before.
‘You were very naughty,’ she said, grabbing at my breasts. ‘Very naughty not to untie me earlier. Now you will have to be punished.’
I couldn’t wait. The thought of that switch whipping me was driving me insane. I wanted nothing more and eagerly waited for her instructions.
She jumped from the bed, demanding I kneel on the floor and rest my torso over the bed. She stood behind me and I heard the switch whistle through the air before a thousand tiny fingers ignited my skin.
On and on she lashed, my back, arms and then lower to my cheeks and thighs. I’ve never felt anything so amazing in my life.
My pussy throbbed as the welts rose. She whipped me again and again while I buried my moans in her pillow. Then she turned the switch around, traced a pattern on my back, then lower down the crack of my arse. I tensed as she played around my puckered hole.
‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’ she demanded.
I said nothing, unsure of whether or not I should speak.
She pushed my thighs apart and her hand went underneath cupping my pussy.
‘Oh, you love it alright,’ she laughed. ‘You’re so wet it’s dripping down my fingers.’
‘No I don’t,’ I whimpered.
‘Don’t lie to me,’ she commanded, as the handle plunged straight into me.
‘Oh yes,’ I whispered as she fucked me with it. ‘Oh yes.’
‘You horny little bitch,’ she said. ‘Roll over onto the bed. Get up there and spread those legs.’
I did as she said. Lying there with my legs splayed open for her to see every inch of me.
The porno movie was still going on in the background and I snuck a look over at it, saw three women rolling around on a bed together, before a slap on the thigh reminded me it was her I was suppose to be focused on.
Then she was slapping at my pussy, the switch tantalizing me, hot fingers igniting my passion further until my clit swelled, the blood pooling there as my passion increased.
‘Masturbate,’ she demanded.
I didn’t need to be asked twice, I was itching to come.
‘Oh, yeah, she said.
I wanted nothing more than some sexual release and eagerly rubbed myself as she watched. She pushed the handle of the switch into my pussy and began to fuck me with it while I orgasmed around it.
She fell on me bringing me to a height I’d never thought possible and later we lay together, our fingers stroking and exploring, eager to touch every inch of each other’s bodies.
Thank God for long weekends and her endless supply of videos. We spent all three days and nights enjoying each other and now sometimes when we’re feeling randy at work we sneak off into the storeroom to relieve each other.
I can with absolute certainty say that my Personal Assistant knows exactly what my needs and desires are.
Mistress Satina’s Slutmaid Academy
by Alexia Falkendown
Weekends are always interesting when I have a full class of six trainees attending my Satina’s Select Slutmaid Academy at my elegant Regency residence in Brighton’s Royal Pavilion Square. They arrive from London on Friday afternoon and Adelaide, my collared submissive partner and Academy Supervisor, soon has them sissydressed and ready for my inspection when I make my first entrance at Evening Assembly in my bijou ballroom.
I insist that trainee Slutmaids commence their scheduled weekends of intensive disciplined training by submitting to Adelaide’s strict but enjoyable feminization routine; a sensual bubble bath followed by body depilation and creaming, (I abominate hairy Slutmaids), a manicure and a facial. Only then are they ready to be tightly laced up into their form-shaping satin corset, and step into their custom-made Slutmaid’s uniform. Adelaide supervises each postulant Slutmaid as she masters the feminine art of facial make-up and checks her dress prior to my inspection. Woe betide Slutmaid (and Adelaide), if I am displeased with their appearance.
I make my entrance on the dot of 8 o’clock and six tightly corseted and newly curvaceous Slutmaids, feeling deliciously feminine in their satin and heels, make a low curtsy and chorus a greeting, “Good Evening Mistress Satina!” Adelaide has them charmingly dressed in their black satin ruffle maid uniforms with short flouncy skirts that show off frilly white petticoats and allow a tantalizing glimpse of black satin-and-lace ‘slut-hole’ knickers. Their fetching sissy ensemble is completed by sheer black, lace-topped seamed stockings held tautly against their creamed and smoothed thighs by their corset suspenders.
I like to compliment each Slutmaid on her turnout and course progress. Sometimes, however, I must discipline a Sissyslut for wayward behaviour the previous weekend and give her solemn notice to present herself for a bare bottom spanking the following evening.
For serious misdemeanors I give a naughty Slutmaid 24 hours warning before caning her in front of her assembled sissymates at my weekly Saturday evening ‘Punishment Parade’. The wait heightens her apprehension, allowing her to anticipate the impending pain and the humiliation of baring her bottom in submission before all.
I am a strict disciplinarian, but I am also a loving Mistress! I reward a novice Slutmaid who has been diligent and amenable in her studies the previous weekend with a sensual lovestrapping on Friday evening. Stripped to a figure-hugging white corset that enhances and shapes her sissified body and displays the beauty of her rounded bottom, I have Adelaide bend her over and tether her to my punishment block in the ballroom. After lowering her knickers, I give her squirming butt 100 teasing lashes with my velvet-suede flogger, occasionally flicking the jewels dangling enticingly between her legs or pausing to caress her pussycock to tumescent arousal. My sensual coordination of caress and sting brings her writhing body to a euphoric pitch that can only be satiated by Mistress Satina’s gloved hand stroking that heated slutcock to its ecstatic peak of spurting slutcum.
There would be no slutcock ecstasies handed out by me this Friday, however. But there would be a severe caning for a tearful Slutmaid on Saturday.
Clumsily breaking one of my precious Royal Worcester teacups the previous weekend while pouring my Earl Grey at Sunday afternoon tea in the garden, Slutmaid Candy had stained my favourite satin blouse. Although she had telephoned from London during the week to inform Adelaide that she had purchased a complete replacement bone china tea service at Harrods and had spent £160 on a pleasing new blouse at a Knightsbridge designer boutique, such waywardness cannot go unpunished!
I left Candy until last in my inspection. She knew her inevitable fate and knelt at my feet.
“I am a very clumsy Slutmaid, Mistress! Please punish me!”
“I s
hall whip you tomorrow evening!” I said curtly.
A titillating thought struck me. “Since Adelaide is your supervisor, she is equally culpable.”
I smiled frostily. “I shall cane her too!”
Adelaide’s sharp intake of breath and the excited murmur of salacious anticipation from the assembled Slutmaids were music to my ears as I swept haughtily from the room.
The prospect of bending Slutmaid Candy and Adelaide over the punishment block and caning their bared bottoms to an erotically arousing picture of sunset red put me in a festive mood. The rounded cheeks of a bared bottom, framed by corset, suspenders, seamed stockings and high heels, create a visually beautiful, sensually arousing and emotionally alluring picture. My darling Adelaide looks her most adorable, vulnerable and beautiful when she willingly positions herself for punishment. I love the sweet symmetry of her upended plump bottom, quivering with loving and slightly fearful anticipation of the pain to come. It bounces provocatively to each stinging kiss from my cane.
Having often been caned myself by Pandora, my first sapphic lover and Domina lifestyle mentor, many years ago, I appreciate the dread thrill of anticipation such a humiliatingly helpless yet provocative stance engenders in the bosom of both the chastised and her chastiser. It is an addictive and emotionally charged bond between every Domina and her submissive.
Properly orchestrated and enacted at a measured pace with flickering candles, euphoric incense and throbbing music to enhance the ritualistic drama of the scene, a caning becomes a sacred communion; a mystic union of unspoken bliss between loving Mistress and her whipped submissive. It is an inspirational and memorably arousing experience too, for those onlookers who are fortunate to participate as silent witnesses. Their presence heightens the ritualistic tension.
I knew my caning of Candy and Adelaide would lead to a most satisfactory climax for us. There would be a mutual explosion of sensual desire and orgasmic surrender to the imperious demands of my aroused body when I took them both to my boudoir for my ‘Afterglow’ partyplay of tongue, pussycock and dildo.
When Adelaide finished her Saturday evening deportment lesson, she dismissed the class, sending them to their rooms to prepare themselves for the ‘Punishment Parade’ in which her own bouncy bottom was to feature in such delightful prominence alongside Candy’s.
Before sending her off to prepare for her appointment with pain, I gave Adelaide precise instructions on the dramatic setting I required for our punishment scene when I entered the ballroom: lighted candles in the antique corner candelabras, jasmine incense slowly curling from a brazier on the Chinese lacquer sideboard and, most importantly, the positioning of the Victorian whipping block which serves as our ‘altar’ to Nemesis, Goddess of Punishment. I required Ravel’s Boléro to be throbbing in the background. It builds to an arousing crescendo and intensity; the perfect slow beat for my purpose. I would time my caning strokes to Ravel’s hypnotic beat.
Adelaide’s lovely face turned a lighter shade of pale beneath her make-up at my instructions. Her anal flower was doubtlessly twitching in thrilled but fearful anticipation of the searing pain I intended to inflict upon her delectable derrière; pain that she knew would prelude a night of mutual lust and orgasmic ecstasy when I took her proffered body in ‘Afterglow’ partyplay.
She was waiting in my boudoir when I arrived to dress for the evening’s activities after enjoying my evening champagne cocktail in the drawing room. She had put up her long auburn tresses into a tight chignon at the back of her head to display the hammered gold torque with which I had collared her as my Submissive Bride. She had provocatively ‘undressed’ for the occasion. She was sans knickers beneath her crimson sateen corset that supported the ripe fullness of her exposed breasts with the large brown aureoles I so loved to nibble. It framed the smooth softness of her Venus mound that I so loved to tongue. The matching sheer stockings and lace-up high-heeled boots completed her come-hither ensemble.
Disrobing me of my pencil skirt, satin blouse and Agent Provocateur bra, she helped me into the black sateen corset I wear for flagellatory exercise, fastening its six suspenders to my black stockings. My corset fits like the skin of a cobra, molding itself to the contours of my well kept body; emphasizing my trim waist, the swell of my rounded hips and the curve of my firm buttocks. It erotically displays my ‘Brazilian’, emphasizes the ‘cameltoe’ of my ever hungry lovelips and supports my bared breasts, giving them proud prominence while leaving them free to swing as I wield my cane.
My sensual arousal did not pass unnoticed by Adelaide as she ran her hand lasciviously over my breasts and down the smooth curves of my body to my cunt, her eyes fixed longingly on my thrusting tits. Sensing her excitement, my nipples stiffened to her passing touch. I cupped a breast and guided her wanton lips to its erect succulence.
“Suck me, my sweet slave!”
She smiled and began to suck greedily. I felt a flowing moistness that needed a mouth to assuage the hidden turmoil building in the pit of my uterus. I pressed her down and crushed her head to my cunt.
“Tongue me, sweet slave! Worship your Mistress before she whips you to Elysium and back!”
Adelaide has a serpentine tongue! My now engorged clit responded to her oscular ministrations in very short time and her agile tonguing quickly brought me to a quivering peak, bringing a flooding cumsquirt to her adoring lips that had her gasping as she lapped my joyjuices.
It was time for Mistress to retake control before this party got out of hand!
“Enough of your salacious dallying, Slave! Get your plump ‘partygoods’ down to the ballroom and prepare to entertain me!”
They stood in silent apprehension when I entered the ballroom with my cane. Adelaide had stripped Slutmaid Candy of her satin and lace and she was sans knickers in appropriately virginal white sateen corset, stockings and heels. This was her first ever caning and I could see she was distinctly nervous at being Mistress Satina’s whipping ‘bride’, having doubtless heard of my flagellatory prowess and predilections from Adelaide.
I always place my ‘Altar to Nemesis’ punishment block before a full-length wall mirror to afford me and those I punish the additional pleasure, or agony, of watching their humiliation. The altar looks like a padded gym horse with six stout mahogany legs with parallel crossbars each side. Buckled leather straps attached to each leg provide secure restraints to shackle miscreants positioned for punishment.
I undid the buckles, checked the height of the padded top against the girls’ waists with a professional eye and stood back. Adelaide knew the drill and moved forward to settle herself in the required caning position, but Candy needed to be led through the punishment procedure.
“Bend over the altar and settle your stomach comfortably on the padding. Part your legs so I can tether you and, more importantly, see your jewels dangling between your legs.”
Candy opened her legs to be shackled. She gasped, overcome by the tension as she felt the cold leather padding against her belly and slutcock and reached over to grip the horizontal bar. If she had not been wearing fetish spike heels she would have been on tiptoe.”
I stood back to inspect their bottoms now bared before me, so erotically framed by corsets, suspenders, stockings and heels.
“Settle onto the punishment altar and arch your back to ‘present’ your bottom to Nemesis!”
Adelaide arched obediently and ‘presented’, enabling me to see the sweet pink pucker of her tight little fuckbutton. Below it peeked the swollen lovelips that would later welcome my thrusting dildo and questing tongue at our ‘Afterglow’ partyplay. They were enticingly open and moistly glistening in the flickering candlelight; souvenir of our earlier boudoir play.
“Raise your head, square your shoulders and straighten your arms! Your breasts must not be resting on the altar! ”
Adelaide raised her head as instructed, letting her her rounded globes dangle in pendulous freedom, but Candy had little to dangle! She gasped again at the mounting tension and a
nervous tremor coursed down her stockinged thigh.
I took my stance, rubbed the long rattan speculatively along the tender ‘sweet spot’ on the two bottoms posed before me.
“Prepare for punishment!”
They raised their pretty cheeks higher. Candy’s heavy jewels swayed with her movement. I flexed my cane, feeling its whippy springiness and enjoying the sound it made as it whisked through the air. I paused, raised the cane over my head, the rod parallel to the ground, poised as if parrying a sabre thrust to the head. Fearful eyes met mine in the mirror’s reflection. The music surged.
Crack! Crack!
I whipped the rattan down in a circular motion in quick cuts that cracked like pistol shots across each bottom. Scorching angry red lines of pain traced across the tender underside of Adelaide’s sweetcheeks and Candy’s more androgynous buttocks; two perfectly executed examples of the infamous ‘Coup de Cavalerie’, perfected by La Fouetteuse, Paris’s most illustrious Dominatrix.
Adelaide screamed as a burning fire shot through her body. She bucked in involuntary reaction to the pain, grinding her cunt against the punishment altar. Candy yelled and shot bolt upright, rubbing feverishly at her slutcheeks.
“Get back down or I shall give you an added stroke every time you move!”
She returned hastily to her ‘present’ position, snorting with pain.
I struck twice more at the rapidly reddening bottoms, each ‘Cavalry Cut’ landing a cane’s width higher than the previous one. Two bottoms now quivered before my gaze from the fire of the three cuts which had scored burning lines across the tender lower curve of their cheeks. Adelaide was crying and Candy sweating, quivers coursing down her leg as she writhed, ineffectively attempting to clench her slutcheeks against the cuts.
I changed my stance to draw the cane back parallel to the three red stripes seared across the lower curves of their ravaged cheeks. My ‘wrist-flick’ technique, which will one day bring me accolades in those esoteric Domina circles where caning technique is discussed, brought the rod sharply back and forward to strike in whipping flashes that bent the rod in its speed of delivery, etching brilliant red weals of pain across the centre of each twitching bottom. In strictly measured time to Ravel’s throbbing beat, I delivered two final flicking parallel strokes to each with cold, cruel accuracy.
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