by Ella Ford
At the time, I was curled up on a cushion beside Ms. Jones’ feet, trying to ignore the endless crash and flash of the thunderstorm outside. I’d never liked such storms, not since I was a small child. They filled me with a feeling of fear and dread that I found hard to come to terms with. So I’d attempted to find comfort in the warmth of my mistress’s feet as she periodically stroked my back with her stockinged toes.
When the power went out, I leaped up onto my knees, suddenly terrified with a feeling I can barely describe.
“Shhh, shhh,” said Ms. Jones reassuringly. She placed a hand on my back and stroked me gently. “It’s just the power. Probably one of those lightning strikes hit something it shouldn’t have.”
I felt myself calm down slightly, but still my heart hammered in my chest. I looked up at my mistress imploringly, not really sure what I expected her to do, yet seeking solace wherever I could find it. She stared back at me, her features faint in the near darkness of the room, lit periodically by the harsh white glow of the lightning flashes. She gazed back at me, and I became aware of a peculiar expression on her face, though it was difficult to pinpoint without seeing more clearly. But there was definitely something sinister about her, something predatory. The way she peered down at me with hungry intent.
Without warning, she reached down and gripped me beneath my chin and angled my head upwards so that I was staring back at her. Outside, the storm continued, bursts of lightning illuminating the house every few seconds, and I found myself paralyzed with fear - a fear of the storm and a fear of this change in my mistress’s demeanor.
Slowly, she slid forward from the sofa, still holding my chin. Then she fell down to her knees beside me. I felt her breath on my face, warm and quick and heavy with desire.
“It’s time that we took your training to the next level,” she whispered, then leaned forward and licked my face, sweeping her tongue up my cheek. I shuddered at the warmth of her touch and closed my eyes.
“Wh-what do you mean?” I stammered, unsure about this new side of the mistress that I was seeing.
“You want to learn to please your mistress don’t you?” she asked.
“I … yes, yes of course mistress,” I replied.
“Then lie on your back,” she said.
I did as I was asked, lowering myself down onto my back on the thick rug. Then I looked back up at her, my mind racing with a mixture of apprehension and desire. I had no idea what she wanted, no idea what she was going to do to me and the lack of control thrilled me.
She stood up above me, straddling my body with her legs, then began to undress. Every lightning strike that lit up the room revealed more of her nakedness to me. First came her jacket and skirt, then her blouse, thrown to the floor across the room with no concern about where they ended up. Then her bra and panties. The bra joined the other clothes, but she retrieved the panties and dropped them on my face. I shook my head and they fell lose, I wanted nothing to obscure my view of the mistress’ naked body.
After an eternity, a flash lit up the room and I saw her towering above me, a statuesque vision in black nylon stockings. Her breasts were large and full, with perky nipples that stood out like coat hooks. On the second flash, my eyes found her crotch and the dark mound of her pussy. With her legs spread, I caught the faintest glimpses of her lips, emerging from the perfect slit of her entrance. In that split second, I saw my destination, my destiny and a surge of desire washed over me. I longed to taste that forbidden fruit, to sink my tongue into those complex folds, to explore that new geography and chart its furthest reaches.
The room fell into darkness again and within a split second, she was on me. Falling to her knees, she pinned my arms above my head with her lower legs and positioned herself so that her pussy was inches from my face. I longed to raise my head and taste her, but she placed a hand on my forehead and held me in place, unable to move, the scent of her sex driving me wild with desire.
“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” she whispered, undulating her hips so that her lips brushed the end of my nose and came maddeningly close to my mouth. “Every pet needs to learn how to please her mistress, don’t you think?”
“Y-yes mistress,” I whispered from between her legs. “I want to please you so badly,” I added and realized that I genuinely did. Pleasing her like this was the next logical step in our arrangement, so obvious and inevitable that I felt genuinely stupid for not seeing it before now.
“Then please your mistress,” she purred and lifted her hand from my head, allowing me to move once more. I responded immediately, lifting my head and plunging my tongue into her inviting pussy. She tasted amazing! An intoxicating cocktail of desire that thrilled my senses in ways that I could not have imagined possible. I lapped at her, eager for more, not bothering to tease with slow exploration. Instead, I dived deep, plunging between her lips and slurping her juices into my mouth. She moaned at my undisciplined behaviour and squeezed her legs around my head in protest.
I took the hint and slowed down, taking my time, attempting to orient myself in this foreign yet familiar land. First, I pressed my tongue into her hole, enjoying the response as my tiny cock forced its way into her. I thrust forward twice, three times, noting the change in taste inside her compared to her labia. Then I worked my way upwards, finally locating the throbbing nub of her clitoris. I set up camp there, made it my focus and began to work it with lazy rhythms.
She cried out and I felt her body tense. Her stockinged thighs tightened their grip on my head and I found it hard to move, to achieve the angles that I wanted, yet I persevered still. I was driven then by a primal instinct that had no place in my experience. A need, deeper than any I’ve known, to taste her, to please her.
My tongue picked up pace, swirling around her clit in tight circles. I sucked at it, pulling as much of her into myself as I could and holding her there, applying light pressure with my tongue, then I licked across it, pushing it against her pelvic bone until she cried out with pleasure. Faster and faster I worked, my arms bent and I hooked them around her legs, touching the lace tops of her stockings and the creamy expanse of the flesh beyond them. I anchored myself in place, pulled myself upwards with this new leverage to push my face deeper into her.
She responded by reaching down and gripping my hair, pulling me upwards and supporting the weight of my head, freeing me to concentrate only on that sensitive bud. Her moans were coming faster and faster now, an almost constant panting that matched the motion of my tongue. Her hips began to move, grinding herself forwards onto my face, using my head with no concern for my wants or desires. Yet I didn’t try to resist. I was hers, to do with as she pleased. I relaxed, allowed her to use my mouth, my tongue, my nose, my chin.
Her movement became quicker, more frantic and urgent. Her moans were a constant wail now, and I sensed that she was close to her climax. The thought filled me with a longing that seemed impossible, and I felt a warmth growing inside me. My pussy throbbed, sending waves of pleasure outwards into my body. A hunger took me, a deep need for fulfillment, fueled by the sensation of being used for another’s pleasure.
Suddenly, she cried out one last time and her entire body shook. Her hips stopped moving and she pressed herself onto my face. Her leg muscles went rigid and her fingers tightened their grip in my hair. I felt a warm wetness spread over my face, soaking me with her desire and I lost myself in the moment of my mistress’ orgasm, riding it with her.
After an eternity locked in this tight embrace, the tension left her and she collapsed on top of me, allowing my head to fall backwards onto the floor. She was breathing heavily, matching my own short gasps.
“I think,” she whispered, her voice quivering with exhaustion, “that’s enough training for one day.”
Chapter 4: Breaking Her In
After the night of the storm, our agreement changed. Whereas previously, it had been a slightly peculiar arrangement of domestic servitude and domination, it soon transcended into a more physical, inten
se relationship. My role was still ostensibly that of Ms. Jones’ pet, but my list of duties expanded to encompass the new scope of our relationship.
I was leashed more and more often. Leading me around the house seemed to thrill the mistress, and it also allowed her to signal her intent without words.
On more than one occasion, while curled on my cushion beside her feet on an evening, I would sometimes feel a gentle tug on the leash. I’d look up, and Ms. Jones would be staring down at me, a look of filthy intent on her face. Dutifully, I would hop up onto my knees and allow her to direct me with the leash to whatever she required me to do.
Sometimes, particularly after a hard day at work, she would have me worship her feet. Nothing more than that. She would simply hold up her toes and I would know instinctively that this was what she needed. I would then spend the next few hours playfully licking and nibbling at her feet, sometimes through stockings, sometimes naked. I enjoyed the times when she was barefoot most of all, the taste of her skin narrowly beating the soft warmth of her nylons.
Other times, she would tug the leash until I hopped up onto the sofa beside her. Then she would slowly unbutton her blouse and offer me her breasts. I would then suck her nipples and lick her soft skin until she clicked her fingers to signal that she was satisfied.
And then there were nights when her pussy demanded attention. I knew when these nights would be without needing to be told. Something about the way her eyes sparkled and shone as she led me into the living room, or the way that she tugged on the leash with a particular insistence. On those nights, I knew that I would taste her, that I would get to please her in the most intimate way possible.
But there was something missing. While I tended to mistress’ needs every night of the week, I achieved no such release myself. Pleasuring her was pleasurable itself, but my own needs only built, they were never fulfilled. The mistress showed no inclination to help me out, despite my moans of anguish as she came on my face for the third time in a week.
Finally, the situation came to a head. Several weeks since the storm, I found myself alone in the living room. The mistress was away in her study, working on a report that needed to be submitted the following day. She’d instructed me to lie on my cushion and wait for her to return, and I’d obeyed without question.
As I lay there, my mind began to wander, and I felt a familiar warmth building inside me. I began to imagine how the mistress might use me later, how she might seek pleasure from me. I filled my mind with thoughts of her smell, the soft touch of her skin, the way she tasted. And slowly, the feeling grew, radiating out from my pussy and flooding my body with its familiar warmth.
Without realizing it, I flipped over onto my back on the cushion and my legs fell open. Then slowly, inevitably, my hand made its way down my torso and settled between my legs. I gasped as I found my pussy to be dripping wet, and tenderly began to work my fingers through my lips.
I felt a stab of shame. The mistress had made it clear that I was not to touch myself there. She’d caught my hand sneaking between my legs during one of our sessions and had immediately pulled back and dragged me to my knees. “Only naughty pets touch themselves down there!” she’d cried out, and proceeded to forbid me from ever doing so again.
Yet despite the shame, my fingers continued to work. The strength of my desire and the accumulated pressure of weeks of arousal had created a force so powerful that even my subservient nature was unable to prevent what was happening.
My fingertips fell on my clitoris and I began to work it, gasping as an electric jolt of pleasure rippled through my body. I moaned out loud, and immediately caught myself, worried that I would alert the mistress. My hand began to move in tight circles, and I suppressed another moan as the feelings of pleasure intensified. I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed my head back into the cushion, losing myself in the glorious feeling of release.
The orgasm loomed into view quickly, the built up of pressure making it easy to find that inevitable tipping point. Faster and faster my fingers moved, squeezing, massaging, manipulating in that oh so familiar way. But less familiar were the images that accompanied my self-pleasure. Mental snapshots of the mistress and her strict discipline. Walking to her heel on the leash; taking her warm toes in my mouth; the rich aroma and intoxicating taste of her exquisite pussy; her pretty face beaming her approval as I pleased her once more.
This sordid mental cinema led me forwards, dragging me towards the perplexing fireball of my orgasm and I allowed myself to be dragged. Pushing down, harder and harder, squeezing my clit, my breathing quickened and my heartbeat pounded in my ears. Oh, sweet release, sweet release. The point of no return approached and I sped up, fingers moving faster, mind leafing through mental images of the mistress and her glorious body. Closer, closer, closer...
“Pet! What the fuck do you think you are doing?” a voice shouted behind me.
I snapped my eyes open and pulled my hand back from my pussy, the gathering wave of the orgasm crashing down around me, its power lost. I flipped over on the cushion and scrambled to my knees, bowing my head and staring at the mistress’ feet.
“What did I tell you about touching yourself?” she snarled. I’d never seen her this angry, so consumed with rage.
I shook my head, but said nothing, painfully aware that she didn’t want me to respond vocally. I merely continued to look at her feet.
She sighed and folded her arms across her heaving chest. “I suppose it’s my fault. I haven’t been a good owner. I’ve been too wrapped up with using you for my pleasure that I forgot about your needs.”
My heart thudded in my chest, but I began to relax a little. The fire seemed to have gone out of her a little. Perhaps I would get away with a warning this time.
She cocked her head to one side and studied me. Then finally, a mischievous smirk spread across her face. “Very well. I will give you the release that you need.” My heart skipped a beat. “But first, we need to deal with the issue of your disobedience. As you know, I value obedience over everything. My pets must obey me unquestioningly. As such, when one of my pets disobeys me, it should be punished. Do you understand?”
I nodded hesitatingly. Feeling the rising tide of shame again.
“Good, then I’m glad we understand each other,” she said cheerfully. Then she walked across the room and lowered herself into her reading chair, but didn’t recline back. Instead, she shuffled forward until her bottom was on the edge of the seat and her knees were together. “Climb across my lap, pet, quickly now.”
I blinked, unsure of what was happening, but I began to move with only a split second of hesitation. I reached where she sat and paused, looking up at her face. She peered back at me, a look of harsh indifference on her face. Then she tapped her knees, indicating that I should jump up. I did so, stretching my body across her lap and reaching my hands down on the other side until my palms were flat on the floor.
After a few seconds, I felt the soft warmth of her palm on my bottom, tenderly caressing me, and I realized with horror what was going to happen. I braced myself, tensing my muscles and squeezing my eyes shut. Then I felt her other hand press down on my back, holding me in place. “I’m sorry pet, but this is the only way you’ll be broken in. The only way you’ll learn.”
Her hand left me ass. Then seconds later, I felt a swish of air and a sudden, sharp sting as she brought her palm down hard on my cheek.
I threw my head back and dug my fingers into the thick shag of the rug, but I didn’t cry out. The pain was intense, but tolerable, and I genuinely believed that I deserved it.
The mistress moved her hand from my back and grabbed a handful of my long hair, wrapping it around her fist and holding my head up. With her other hand, she lightly stroked the tender skin where she’d struck me, the softness of her palm contrasting with the pain of the strike.
Then, without warning, she lifted her hand once more and brought it down a second time, harder than before. I yelped, unable to control myself. The pa
in flashed up from my ass, igniting my nerve endings. I kicked back and struggled against her grip, but she held me tightly and stroked my ass once more. I felt tears well in my eyes and roll down my flushed cheeks. But it wasn’t pain that was causing them, it was shame. Shame that I had disobeyed the mistress, shame that I’d given into my base desires. In fact, the pain was almost a relief - a cleansing ointment to wash away my disobedience. I began to crave it, to feel the sweet release of punishment.
For the third time, her hand left my ass and returned, seconds later. The crack of skin on skin was louder than ever and I actually screamed out this time.
Again and again she spanked me, and I slowly came to relish the slap of her hand. With each sting of pain, I came closer to being the perfect pet, serving her without question and being perfectly obedient.
Eventually she stopped and helped me up. I fell back onto my knees, wincing as my tortured bottom touched my heels. I stared at the ground, face streaked with tears and heavy with shame. She reached down and touched me under the chin, forcing my head up to stare at her.
“There now. That wasn’t so bad was it?” I shook my head. “Now comes the fun part. I’ll be right back.”
She stood from the chair and hurried out of the room. There was an energy about her, a spritely bounce that I’d never seen before. I settled back and wiped away my tears, desperately trying to prepare myself for whatever else she had planned for me.
---
After fifteen minutes, I sensed a presence behind me and I turned to look. Standing before me was the mistress, legs spread to shoulder width and her hands on her hips. She’d stripped down to her stockings and heels, the pristine tan nylon covering her long legs invitingly. Otherwise, she was completely naked and she looked radiant. I felt my stomach flutter at the sight of her, and the prospect of what might happen.
Then I noticed something else, something new. Hanging from her waist was a thick appendage, a strap-on dildo of immense proportions. It was fastened to her body with a complex array of leather straps that passed around her ass and between her legs. The nine inch shaft was flesh colored and rippled through with veiny details. Its head was bulbous and grotesque, a cartoon rendition of a real, human cock.