by Jillian Boyd
She moved in front of me and took my face in her hands. “Peter? Peter!”
I snapped back. A slow smile crept across my face. “Green,” I said. “I am green, Mistress.”
Her face relaxed and she sighed with relief. “Do you want to continue?”
“Oh, yes, Mistress,” I said. “Thank you for my discipline.”
“Good. Now answer me, why did I discipline you?”
“I’m unsure, Mistress.”
She rolled her eyes. “Your clothes. You were told to fold them and put them on the table.” She paused. I didn’t move. “I’m waiting.”
I scooped them up and rolled them.
She knocked them out of my hands. “No, do it right.”
“Mistress, I’m sorry, but Sarah folds the laundry at home. I don’t know how to.”
Trisha made a disgusted tsk sound, picked them up, and folded them. She held the neat stack out to me. As I reached for them, she threw them on the ground.
“You saw how I did it. Now you do it. I am not your servant, Pet. You’re mine.”
I did my best to fold them. My stack was not as neat as hers, but good enough to win a nod of approval. I crossed to the table and laid them down, and hurried back to her.
“I think you’ve won a reward,” she said. She sank to her knees and engulfed my soft cock in her mouth. She ran her tongue around the head. I grew harder in response, craving to fuck her beautiful face with her pink, fleshy lips around me, like I had so many times before. I laid my hands on her head and moved my hips in a single, shallow thrust. She jumped up like she had been shocked, grabbed the back of my hair, and yanked my head back.
“Did I say you could move? Did I give you permission to fuck my mouth? Your orgasms belong to me. Your pleasure belongs to me,” she hissed.
“Yes, Mistress!”
Her other hand found my balls. She gave them a tug and I automatically tried to shuffle away from her grasp. She held me firm.
“If you dare to try to take pleasure again that I did not give to you, you will not come tonight at all. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good boy.” She released me and stood back. Her clothes were off in a flash. She kicked them over to me and demanded I fold them and put them away, as I had done with my own. I rushed it, and the pile was even less neat than before. She scowled at them.
The riding crop came across the backs of my thighs once, even harder than before.
“Sloppy,” she snapped, gesturing at her clothes across the room.
My thighs were stinging, but I was relatively sure that rubbing them would win me another stripe. I wasn’t even certain that I didn’t want another. “Yes, Mistress. I’m sorry. Thank you for my punishment.”
“You’re forgiven,” she muttered, almost lazily. She sat on the bar stool, just barely on the seat, and spread her legs.
“Come here. Get on your knees, and lick my clit until I tell you to stop.”
I hurried to her. My breath quickened. I felt so alive, but I worried that she may come, then have me fuck her, and that would be it. I wasn’t done, couldn’t be done. I wanted more servitude, more freedom, more reward, more punishment.
I opened her folds with my fingers. She was already wet. I stuck my tongue tentatively in her pussy, just for a moment, mostly just to taste her, but partly to see what she would do with such very subtle disobedience. I glanced at her. Her eyes met mine, and her mouth turned down, just ever so slightly. Good. She noticed. My tongue returned to her clit, lapping up and down, then tiny flicks on her nub. Her hands combed through my hair, her hips raised to press even harder on my mouth. She leaned back and moaned.
“Stop,” she demanded. “Stand.”
“But, Mistress, don’t you want to come?” I asked. Speaking out of turn, I thought. Let’s see what she does with that.
She slid off the bar stool but ignored the question. Had I stumped her? Did she not know what to do when I hadn’t truly disobeyed, but hadn’t really obeyed either? My heart sank in disappointment.
“Colour, Pet?”
I raised my eyebrows. Really? She wasn’t going to punish me at all for my flirting with the boundaries?
“Green, Mistress,” I sighed.
She ran her fingers down my jaw. “Good. Because I’m nowhere near done with you. Do you see the spanking bench? Get on it. Now.”
I strolled over, my disappointment growing heavier.
“Face down.”
I lay down, my head resting at the top, my cock just barely hanging off the end, arms and legs dangling. My glasses slid down my nose and I pushed them back up.
“I’m going to strap you to that bench, Pet. If you have an objection to this, claustrophobia, worried about not being able to move or anything now is the time to tell me.”
“No, Mistress,” I said with an edge of nervousness. This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? What I had been waiting for? To be in this position of absolute helplessness? I knew Trisha. I loved Trisha. If anyone could guide me through this, help me through this, understand this when even Sarah couldn’t, it was her. Still, she must have heard the hesitation.
“The colour rule stands. If at any point you feel uncomfortable, or too restricted or restrained, you safe word out. Do not wait. It is easier to back off a sub and stop play than to re-establish trust and heal one that feels their boundaries have been pushed too far. I mean it.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
She reached down and strapped my arms and legs to be base of the bench. She moved to the end and stroked her fingers down my arse crack to my cock, giving it a couple of pumps.
“Of course, you will need to get punished,” she said.
I turned my head as far towards her as I could.
“You didn’t think I didn’t notice, did you? When you stuck your naughty tongue in my cunt, and when you spoke out of turn and dared to presume to suggest to me, your Mistress, what I wanted? Pet, I will tell you what I want. What you have is mine to take, not the other way around. And you will be disciplined for it.”
She went back to the chest and pulled out a long, wooden paddle, dotted with holes.
“I’m going to hit you with this,” she said matter-of-factly. “It will hurt, but in a different way than the crop. Each time I hit you with it, you will count out loud. You will receive ten strokes. Do I make myself clear, Pet?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good. I will begin now.”
I heard her retreating footsteps to the other side of the bench, followed by the slice through the air. It landed with a hard thud on my upturned arse. I shuddered.
“Count!” she snapped.
“One,” I panted. Then, “Two, three, ow, four!”
I struggled against my bonds but they held. I did well until the eighth stroke, when I cried out my pain and ecstasy. I wanted her to keep going, keep using me, but when she asked me my colour, I breathed out a defeated, “Yellow.”
She placed the paddle back in the box and rubbed a salve on my aching skin. She leaned close to my ear and whispered that she would be right back. She returned with a glass of ice water with a straw. She put the straw to my lips.
“Drink, Pet.”
I took a few ragged gulps while she stroked my head and upper back.
“There, isn’t that better?” she asked.
I nodded.
‘Ready to continue?’
“Yes, Mistress.”
“I have one more test for you. Has Sarah ever played with your arse? Penetrated it with anything?”
“No, Mistress.”
“I plan on pegging you, Pet. I’m going to put on my cock and fuck you up the arse, right here, while you are strapped to my bench. And you’re going to take all of me in you, aren’
t you, Pet?”
There was a loud buzzing in my ears. My uncertainty returned. But, so far she seemed to know what I needed, how much I could take, what I would need to recover. I could not possibly submit any further than granting her this part of me that no one else had taken.
“Yes, Mistress,” I said at last.
Again to the chest. This time she removed a strange knickers-like garment with a hole in the front. A purple and silver marbled dildo jutted out of the hole. Another reach into the chest produced a bottle of lubricant and a latex love. I watched her pull the dildo harness on and slip the glove over her right hand.
She positioned herself behind me. I heard the pop of the lubricant cap and the tip of a gloved finger found my hole. I jumped from the cold slickness being spread on me. She held still for a moment, then carefully, slowly, worked her finger in to the first knuckle. Then the second. She added a second finger and a third, patiently opening me, massaging me, caressing me inside and stretching me further than I ever thought I could. Her other hand stroked my cock, stiffening it even further, which turned the discomfort of her fingers into something I craved.
She removed her fingers. I heard the discarded glove hit the floor. Another pop of the lubricant cap, and her dildo pushed at my entrance. It wasn’t much larger than what her fingers had spread me to, but it was enough to feel the difference as she inched into me, slower but smoother than her fingers had been. Her hands grasped my hips.
“Please, Mistress,” I begged. “Please, may I make a request?”
“Yes, Pet.”
“Please let me stroke my cock while you fuck me.”
She laughed, but leaned forward and released one of my hands.
“I’m going to fuck your arse in earnest now, but do not come.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
She buried her silicone cock inside me. Stroking my own cock complimented the fullness in my rear. Her pace increased until she was fucking me the way I sometimes fucked her, with long, even strokes. Her nails raked down my back and I moaned.
“You are mine now, aren’t you, Pet?”
“Oh, yes, Mistress! Fuck me like I’m yours!”
“You are mine!” she whispered.
She gave three more hard thrusts into me, and then slowly pulled herself out. The harness landed next to the discarded glove. She scurried around the bench, removing the rest of bonds.
“You’ve done well, Pet. Now is time for your reward.”
She helped me sit up on the bench and handed me the glass of ice water again. I sucked greedily and handed it back. She pushed me back down on the bench, face up this time. She climbed on top of me and positioned my aching cock at the entrance to her pussy.
“Your reward is me fucking you. And you are going to come.”
She slid onto me and bobbed up and down on the tips of her toes. Her fingers rubbed her clit furiously, building up her orgasm. Her walls grew tighter against my cock until she finally came and I felt her muscles rhythmically contract on me. Still she stayed on, alternating between bouncing and grinding until I finally exploded into her. She climbed off of me and lay on the floor, panting and wiping away sweat. I lay down beside her. She rolled over and put her hand on my chest.
“Thank you for my reward, Mistress.”
“Mmm...” she hummed. “You’re welcome. I loved playing with Pet, but I need to talk to Peter now,” she said.
“I’m here.”
“Are you all right?” she asked. Her eyes searched my features.
“I feel... I don’t know how to describe it. It was difficult, but rewarding. Even though I placed myself under your authority, I feel free.”
She laughed, high and melodic. She reached up and kissed me. Our tongues danced together.
“I’m glad you feel that way. That’s how you are supposed to feel,” she said.
“Do you think we can do this again sometime?”
She laughed again. “Of course, my love. My Pet is just as welcome in my home and my heart as my Peter.”
With a Bow on Top
F. Leonora Solomon
Annette was dressed perfectly, with grown-up bows and everyone admiring her. She knew she had presence. Beauty was her thing; she was beautiful and she surrounded herself with it. It was her privilege. It had been the driving force in her life. She had gotten everything she wanted because of her beauty.
Once, Sabrina held her cheeks so fiercely between her fingers, Annette feared she would bleed and ruin her face.
Ruin her beauty.
At the time, she had not known that Sabrina was a sadist.
At the time, she had not known that she would surrender to her, and love it.
They met in a museum café, while randomly seated next to each other. Even though Annette had never been attracted to women, there was such an all-encompassing energy about Sabrina that she felt drawn to her. Her clothes were beautiful, as was her face. At closer inspection, she was not classically beautiful like Annette herself was. But the beauty she possessed was of another desired kind.
“I saw you looking at the Delvaux,” Sabrina said quietly as she folded her napkin on her lap.
Annette didn’t even realize that she was talking to her. Until she heard the name of the artist that she had been obsessed with for years. He was a surrealist artist without all of the fanfare of Dalí and Magritte. Annette loved Delvaux. She’d been staring at the piece in the gallery for such a long time without realising that anyone was looking at her.
“You looked like you could have been part of the painting. I kept waiting for you to walk into it.”
Annette stared at Sabrina. The same look was on her face when she modelled that very same painting in Sabrina’s house. Naked, but for a huge bow about her breasts, just like the woman in the Delvaux. Sabrina wore a bowler hat, like many of the men wore in several Delvaux paintings.
And nothing else.
“You told me that you had a Delvaux, I thought you meant an original, not a replica,” she had said to Sabrina, the first time she went home with her.
But they both knew that it didn’t make a difference. Annette would have followed her home anyway. Sabrina probably could have bought a Delvaux, but the replica that she had in her home was framed in gold and so exquisite that it really didn’t matter.
“Take off your dress,” was Sabrina’s response.
Annette stared at her at first. It was weird for her to hear Sabrina say it, yet at the same time it wasn’t a surprise. They had been to several museums together by that point, including a Delvaux exhibition in Paris. Annette stood so close to one of them, that she felt like she would walk into the painting like Sabrina said when they first met. Sabrina stood behind her, close enough for Annette to feel her breasts graze against her back.
Feeling Sabrina’s breasts, or her fingers brushing her hair off her face or her lips when she kissed her, were sensations that Annette became accustomed to. She had never been attracted to a woman before like this. She admired beauty, so beautiful people were on her radar. But Sabrina had her mesmerised in a way that she did not even define as sexual at first. Annette literally was so enthralled that she could not stay away from her, wanted to know what she thought about everything. Sabrina, until she closed her eyes and even in her dreams - she could not get enough of her.
She took off her dress the way that Sabrina had asked her to. Sabrina smiled and tipped her bowler hat at her, before she slowly undressed herself.
Annette felt more than naked after she took off her clothes, standing there in just her garter belt and stockings.
“No panties?” Sabrina asked, dragging her fingernail from Annette’s navel to the beginning of her slit.
Annette bit her lip, and shifted nervously. Her nipples were hard from the coolness of the room and Sabrina being so close to her
. She knew she was damp, as Sabrina ran her finger back up to her navel again, and let her finger circle inside it. Annette started at the Delvaux replica, and. the next thing she knew, she was the sitting in the chair with a bow about her breasts. Sabrina straddled her with her bowler hat and nothing else on.
Sabrina demanded that she wore bows all the time. Annette was surprised. She never imagined herself in a dominant/submissive relationship. None of the things that she had read about or seen in the most explicit books or films would have made her imagine what she shared with Sabrina.
She had thought she would have to wear a collar; Sabrina was not interested in that at all. But she did demand that Annette always wore a bow. She could wear bows anywhere she liked: on her shoes, her panties, as a charm on her anklet. Sometimes Annette got manicures with bows - simple black or studded, depending on her mood. Sabrina didn’t care about what kind of bows, as long as at least one was present.
A jewelled bow hung from Annette’s anklet as a charm. There were bows at the very tops of her stockings, as well as along her garter belt and bra.
Sabrina looked more than pleased when she saw her, sitting at the candlelit table. Annette smiled at her as she sipped her whiskey sour and, without moving her eyes from her, tied a knot with the stem of her maraschino cherry with her tongue as Sabrina liked her to. The look on Sabrina’s face as she watched her made her hot, but she did not lose her concentration as she made a knot of that stem. The bows and knots meant something. It was like they were tying the knot every time she wore them, or made a knot with a cherry. Neatly, Annette placed the knotted stem on her dish.
Not one for public demonstrations of affection, Annette melted when she felt Sabrina’s hand high on her thigh under the table after she sat down. She could not remember what it felt like to be in love before she was in love with Sabrina. Annette closed her eyes with pleasure, as Sabrina gripped her thigh with possession.
She loved Sabrina, and it both scared and thrilled her. Her leg curled around her calf, as she shifted under Sabrina’s lazy, but possessive, touch.
“Are you wet?” Sabrina asked her under her breath.