by D. M. Dewey
Chapter 2
I moved on. I found some other pets to play with very quickly. I became interested in one little slave named Sam. He was little, about 5’8”, cute, very physically fit, and very nearly covered in tattoos. I had my doubts about how attractive he was, but not everyone can be a Gavin. Those kinds of sluts only come along once in a blue moon. But Sam was very eager to be an owned slave and very nearly begged me to consider him.
He told me that he had been a live-in slave for a couple in Florida for nearly two years. He ran their errands, did their housekeeping, and was there for any of their sexual desires. He told me that the Mistress was more or less the one he pampered with massages and pedicures, but the Master was the one that required him sexually. His Master would order Sam to take his cock both in his ass and in his mouth. He would hang a sign on the doorknob letting the Mistress know that Sam was “in use” and to not disturb them. Sam claimed that being a slave was not about his wants or preferences.
Sam had also told me that they held him in chastity and that he was milked once a week at a special time each week to keep his prostate healthy. He said the longest he had been in chastity without release was three months.
Hmmmmmm…. I love me some good chastity. SOLD! I was so happy that I may have found a good, albeit subpar, slut to replace Gavin that I was extra eager to meet. However, something told me to hold off. I had found a very in-depth slave application that was nearly thirty pages long and went into extreme detail about expectations, experiences, fantasies, limits, and fears. So I decided, if this bitch wanted to play ball, he could go ahead and do this hideous application. Let’s see just how bad he really wanted this.
When I told Sam about it, he eagerly agreed. He would get home from work that night and complete it while enjoying a glass of wine. Sam asked if, while he provided answers to my questions, he would be permitted to wear his butt plug that stimulated his prostate in just the right way. I granted him permission. Why not? He thanked me and I told him I would call him in one hour. He waited for the file to come via email, but when it did, he was less than enthusiastic.
An hour passed and I nearly forgot to call. I am so easily distracted… What’s that shiny thing over there?!
Anyway, I called. He answered the phone and I could just tell it felt like a famous superstar were calling him. He sounded small and shy. “Hi, Goddess, I’m so honored you called. Thank you for keeping your word.”
“Get on your knees, bitch!” I ordered.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said. “I am on my knees, Goddess. May I ask a question, Goddess?”
“Go ahead. You have thirty seconds to ask.” Where does this come from? I don’t even recognize my own voice!
“Goddess, I will do this, but it seems very generic. Can’t I just come over and tell you about myself?” he whined.
“No, slut! This is the process. The very notion of an application implies generalization. Do you think you are so very much more special than another slut who takes the time to complete these pages thoughtfully?”
“No, Goddess, but it is so long. I can’t just type on the document and I’m going to have to print it out…”
“Shut up, you stupid piece of shit,” I interrupted. “This is the way I do things. I don’t give a shit about your time or your fucking printer. If you don’t complete this, you won't be considered, plain and simple. ”
“Ohhhh, please don’t make me.”
Oh my God, I am going to kick this motherfucker’s ass when I meet him. That's IF I decide to meet him. I roared back at him, “DO the fucking application, stop wasting my fucking time, or I will take that dirty plug in your ass and jam it down your throat, slut!”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied sheepishly.
I win!
The next day the application came via email. It was beautifully detailed, spelled correctly, and showed much thought had been put into it. The application came with a simple note.
“Thank you, Goddess. I see now why you require your subs to fill this out before consideration. It made me look closely at myself in a much different light than before and showed me clarity where there was only darkness. Your hopeful slut, Sam.”
Again… I win.
One night a couple of days later, I was walking my dog and texting Sam, and the thought occurred to me to ask for some references. He said that he had previously served for that couple as well as a few other local Dommes, so I figured, why not find out what they had thought of him?
So I texted: Before I see you, slut, I would like to see references from your former owners.
Dead silence.
About a half hour later, I got a reply that read: Yes, Goddess. My owner in Florida has now moved to NY. She is willing to give me a reference though. She will send you an email. May I please put my toy in my ass like a good slut?
Go ahead, I replied.
Good. This should be an interesting night. Let’s see what this woman who had kept him in chastity for nearly two years and watched as her husband fucked him has to say about good ol' Sam.
Sam claimed that he had met them at a Halloween party. He said that the couple was dressed in fetish gear from head to toe. So he approached them and told them that he liked their costumes. After having a few drinks together, the couple asked Sam, “What would you say if we told you these weren’t costumes?” Sam told them that he thought that was kind of sexy and that he’d always wanted to do some kinky stuff. So according to him, they all left together and went home, where they discussed his position as a permanent slave. And the rest is history, I guess.
Anyway, I was pretty curious about talking to a woman who had kept a young man in her house to service her and her husband twenty-four-seven. I mean, Sam had gotten very descriptive about how she would punish him by making him sit on a bag of peas for a half hour before his weekly milking if he did something as small as forget to buy the right colored carrots.
Okay, right there I should have known there was bullshit a-brewing.
So when I got the email from the former owner, I was a little surprised at her tone. She sounded offended that I would dare ask her for information on her former slave—that it was her place to ask the questions. She said that since he was in her service for such a short time that she really didn’t feel like his actual owner. (???) She said that she would answer any questions that I had, but to be fair, she would not offer up any information. I remember she signed the letter “Mia.” No ending salutation. Just “Mia.”
What a bitch. But seriously, what had I expected?
So I wrote back thanking her for her time and asking for her pardon on questions about her slave. I told her that I just wanted to know one thing: did she own Sam for two years in Florida?
The answer I got back was… “I cannot confirm or deny that Sam was in my service for two years, but I will say that I have never lived in Florida and that Sam has an active imagination.”
REALLY? What a little twat!
So I texted Sam: Hey, bitch, I would like to talk to you in five minutes.
I got a message back. Yes, Goddess. My ass is so happy right now. I have been edging for an hour. I want to cum so badly.
So I told him to send a picture of his nasty ass with his hole plugged.
Ding! And there it was, the picture of him with his legs up over his head and his plugged ass gleaming in the flash of the camera, just as he answered my call.
“Hello, slut. ”
“Hello, Goddess.”
“So, slut,” I softly spoke, “ I’ve been discussing your service with Mia, your formal owner. We’ve been having quite an interesting talk.”
“Oh really, Goddess?” He moaned in pleasure.
“Yes, slut. Sounds like you’re in need of a release.” I bided my time. I wanted to make this moment perfect.
“Oh yes, yes, I am. I want to cum so badly. Did you see the picture I sent you of my plugged ass?” he asked.
“Yes, I did, slut. But let’s talk about your lies first.” I sn
apped.
“What do you mean, Goddess?” He sounded suddenly deflated and not quite so turned on anymore. (Giggle.) He knew what I was going to say before I had to say it, but he was too far down the rabbit hole to come clean. He needed to be found out.
“You mean you don’t know?” I toyed.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” He spewed more lies.
“I’m going to give you a chance here, slut. Tell me what it is I know and maybe I will still consider seeing you.” I know… What?
“Yes, Goddess. I was never owned by anyone. It was all a lie. A fantasy that I had.” He whimpered.
“Still want that release so badly?” I mocked.
“No, I’m not very in the mood anymore. This couldn’t have happened at a more awkward time.”
I thought what he meant by that was having his legs in the air with his ass all full and clicking pictures of himself. But who knows? Maybe he was just referring to general misfortune.
“How’s that clit of yours now, loser?” I couldn’t help but rub it some more in his face.
“Very soft, Goddess, and small.” Sam’s voice was getting smaller as well. “I’m sorry.”
“Why did you lie to me?” I demanded.
I heard him shift uncomfortably on the other end of the phone. I might have even heard the pop of the plug. (Gross.) I wanted to hear about why he needed all of the elaborate scheming. He must have asked this woman Mia to lie for him.
Another email came in from Mia right then. “Sam is a good guy. A bit stupid at times, but he means well. I can’t recommend him as a sub for you, but I can say he is harmless. He said he just really liked you and wanted to impress you. He is foolish, but that’s it. He only served me in a couple of sessions, but we remain friends. If you are looking for some really good subs, I do know a few that I could recommend to you. Let me know. Warmly, Mia.”
Ha! “Warmly.” I was happy with that change in tone from her. Now back to the loser at hand.
“What do you have to say for yourself, loser?” I snarled.
“Not too much, Goddess,” he said sadly. “I would like to be allowed to get off the phone now, please.”
“You can’t help but be a loser, slut.” I comforted him. “It's in your DNA. Write me a letter of apology and I will consider another chance.”
“I’m too embarrassed to face you.” He groaned.
“You should be.” And with that, I hung up.
Damn it! What an asshole! I was so fucking pissed at myself and at him. What kind of gullible idiot am I for believing such a story? What is wrong with me? What is wrong with him? But I just so wanted to believe that there was a well-trained slave out there that wanted a new owner to serve. It was so hot! It was exactly right up my alley! Okay, I’ve got to be smarter next time, but something inside me still wanted to beat his dick.
The next day, as I was bottling liquid health at my juicing job, he sent me a text claiming how horrified he felt when he was found out and that he applauded me on how I broke the news to him. On the verge of orgasm was always a good time to humiliate someone. I was glad he appreciated my workmanship. I let him know that I would still consider having him come serve, against my better judgment.
We continued to chat via text. I had a bad habit of just texting, “Slut,” to him at any given moment of the day. It drove him crazy because he was afraid someone from work would see it and he would be outed as the little freak that he was. He was very paranoid. So finally, after lots of back and forth, we decided on a date. Saturday. Two days away.
I had gone a little hog wild with purchasing some key items for my dungeon/apartment: under the bed restraints, a leather mask, sounding rods, chastity device, a crop, lots of rope, vibrators, nipple clamps, clothespins, a pinwheel (not the fun pretty ones, an actual pinwheel), and lube. I felt very prepared for my first encounter with a lying loser slut. I had even gone as far as to read a book about domination sessions, sort of the Domination for Dummies if you will, and had been studying other Dommes in videos online, my favorite being Mistress Gemini. God, she was a bitch but pretty funny at the same time. I could tell she had a good sense of humor about what she did.
I know… right about now you’re wondering what the hell this all has to do with Gavin. I am a strong believer that everything happens for a reason and all things happen in due time. At this point, though, I was convinced I would never hear from him again, and I tend to have a strong “moving on” mindset when it comes to men and romance.
So Saturday arrived as Saturdays always do. I was ready. He was to arrive at 2:00 p.m. exactly. My little place was all ready and organized. I lived in a cottage that had been gutted of its tiny rooms and replaced by one high vaulted area with a bedroom nook. It was small, but it had a nice patio that was completely private and lots of French windows that let in the California sunshine. It was mine and it made me happy.
I wore my Domina costume, which entailed six-inch black patent leather stilettoes, fishnet stockings, garter belt, bustier bra, and a sort of long black Kimono-type robe left open at the waist. I had paid very close detail to my makeup, making sure it was evil in its severity: dark extended eyebrows, catlike liquid eyeliner, blood-red lips, and pale powder. My hair was piled on top of my head in a tall topknot. I wanted to make sure he felt very small in my presence. He was short, if you remember, just 5’8,” and that probably meant closer to 5’6”. After all, he was a bona fide fucking loser liar. (Evil grin) AND (a snicker).
So here is where I had a stroke of genius. I don’t even know where it came from. Suddenly, I knew exactly the way I wanted all subs to enter my place from this moment on. I wanted to make sure they knew who was in control right from the moment they showed up. I wanted them uneasy. Scared. Nervous. I told Sam to come wearing his butt plug, and since he was so attached to that thing, he was more than happy to oblige. Then I told him to text me once he pulled up in front of my place. I said I would give him very specific instructions on where to go once he arrived.
Then the text came. GULP. I’m here, Goddess.
Here are your instructions, slut. Come in the front gate and go to the second patio on your right. The patio is private. There is a door. Go through the door to the patio. Strip off your clothes, go to my door, kneel… then knock.
Yes, Goddess, he answered.
YAY! Well, at this point, I should mention that I had a little dog named Charlie. He was a very sweet Chihuahua mix. But we all know those little fuckers like to bark and protect their territory… So next I heard the loud squeak of the patio door being forced open. Then I heard a little wrestling of items. Charlie barked away on high alert, obviously trying to convey, “Mom, there is some bullshit happening outside!” Then I heard the door open again. Then my front door jiggled. Thank God I'd locked it. Then I heard the patio door open again. Okay, is this guy retarded or something? What the fuck?
I was sitting on my couch, Charlie barking, and my crop in hand waiting for this loser to get to the right door. Finally, the knock came. I stood, adjusted my tits, and Goddess SinPlay now had center stage. She was real and he was now late, by six minutes.
I opened the door. Kneeling in front of me was the little lying worm that had been causing so much uproar. And I was right. He'd lied about his height.
Charlie was all excited about this new person on all fours at his door. So I decided to rub it in Sam’s face a little more. “Let my dog sniff you, slut. Even he knows he's higher on the food chain than you are.”
“Yes, Goddess,” he mumbled as Charlie smelled him. Charlie decided Sam wasn't that interesting after all and went back to where he’d been napping moments earlier. I feel ya, Charlie.
“Get in here!” I ordered. Sam crawled into my apartment on all fours. I stood towering above him. I forced his head down to the floor with my heel. “You’re late, slut!” Sam tried to look up at me, but I jammed his head back down to the floor with my shoe. “I didn’t say you could look at me, loser!”
“Yes,
Goddess. I’m sorry, Goddess.” His voice shook a little.
“Kiss my boots, slave.” Sam began to kiss my boots like it was his job. He kept trying to steal a glance up at me, and when he did, I pushed his face into the floor. “No, get over here,” I said and cracked his ass with my crop. With a little jump, he crawled over to the center of the room. I saw the plug in his ass so I went over to him and pushed it in deeper. He let out a little cry. His dick was hard. We had an excited little monkey on our hands!
“So, slut…” I cracked his ass cheek with my crop. “You think it's okay to make your Goddess wait for your pathetic ass, huh?” I cracked his other ass cheek. He flinched. “I should make you swallow this dirty plug for being such a pathetic lying late loser!” I slowly pushed the plug in his ass again. Sam squirmed.
“No, Goddess. I’m sorry,” he whimpered.
“You should be sorry, slut!” I scolded and pushed the plug again. He shivered. “What’s wrong, loser? I thought you liked having your ass all full of cock?”
“When you push, Goddess, it hits my prostate and makes me feel weak,” he answered.
“Good!” I laughed. “You are weak. Now, I’ll deal with your insult of being late to your session with me. I counted six minutes.” Okay, ladies… Here it is. Wouldn’t you like to be able to do this to all of the assholes who’ve kept you waiting over the years? Make them pay for every minute they kept you wondering if they were even going to show up? My suggestion? Get a riding crop.
I stood above him with my legs on either side of his head. I keep his head there in case he tried to get away. My legs would seize up on him like a vise if he moved. I cracked him on the ass hard. “Count bitch, thank me, then ask for another. Understand?”
“Yes, Goddess. Thank you, Goddess. May I have another please?” he croaked.
“You didn’t count!” I cracked him hard on the ass again.
“Two, thank you, Goddess. May I have another please?” he cried.