This picks up the storyline of Emma, aka Candy Kane, the Rosy Bottom Queen as chronicled in “Spanking Theater” a few years after she settled into the life of a performing spankee.
It is ironic that, as Master’s slave, I have found the freedom and happiness that was so elusive to me when I was the spider playing a web-like instrument of control and manipulation. How can I be free when I must wear whatever Master tells me to wear? How can I be free when I must follow perfectly the list of rules posted on the dungeon wall? How can I be free when it is my duty to perform the actions and tasks that are given to me and to perform them instantly and without question or complaint? I will confess to you that there was a time, in my former life, in which some, well, many of the activities that are now part of my daily routine would never have occurred to me as something a rational girl would ever do, yet now, for example, if I am instructed to expose myself to a stranger in the grocery store, I will lift my dress without question or hesitation and gift that lucky soul with the brain-burning image of my perfect pelvis until I am told to do otherwise.
I am free to do many things now. I am free of all the fucked-up puritan nonsense of my upbringing. I am free to enjoy my sensations. I am free to relish the feel of pussy juice trickling down my inner thigh. I am free to live out my sexual fantasies. I am free to dress like the slut I love to be. I am free to share my body in whatever way and with whoever Master deems worthy.
I mentioned, a moment ago, my perfect pelvis. I know it is perfect because Master monitors it during inspection every day and studies my large posterior muscle group most carefully during my weekly maintenance spankings. He can tell if as little as half a pound extra has crept into that area. He really is quite amazing. If any unwarranted fat has begun to accumulate, Master will deal with it immediately by restricting my diet and adding exercise. Since the condition of my body is my Master’s responsibility and my only responsibility is to follow his orders precisely, I am freed of all body shame. The insecurities and feelings of inadequacy that used to plague my subconscious constantly are gone. I am free of them. I now revel in the perfection of my bone, muscle, skin and hair. Knowing that it pleases Master gives me the confidence to display my body, to share it with all that Master chooses for me.
I am also free to not be a part of any of this. Everything is completely consensual. I can take off the collar and walk out the door anytime I want to.
Master is constantly pushing my limits, but we have had many late-night, cuddled-together conversations and I trust him and know that he will not take me places that, deep in my heart I don’t want to go.
I don’t know if this arrangement will last forever, but I do know that in the last couple of years I have lived, been thrilled, and experienced more fully and completely than in the previous thirty-two combined.
That is how, by voluntarily surrendering my freedom, I am able to grant myself more freedom than I ever could on my own as the buttoned-up daughter of a Presbyterian minister.
Let me tell you some stories about experiences we have shared. This happened last Thursday. The doorbell rang and Master sent me from the kitchen where I was preparing some snacks as instructed.
Well, I answer the door without looking through the peephole as is my standard instruction and the couple on the other side does not seem surprised to see me standing before them wearing only my studded leather collar. My collar is my prize possession. Every night I clean it and polish the studs. It fits both my neck and my needs perfectly.
My gaze is diverted, as master requires, so I don’t know yet if these are people with whom I have interacted before.
” We are here at the invitation of your Master,” says the lady, so I step aside and gesture for them to enter. I can smell the lady. She is wearing a scent, perhaps her shampoo, but emanating from much deeper inside her, is the odor that is the real her. The jungle floor, the tangled birth and death of an excited pussy. I dearly hope that she has retained her pubic hair so that some of these molecules of primal desire will be trapped and linger in her bush for me to inhale deeply and fully later if Master should see fit for my nose to be buried in her cunt at some future point in the evening.
“Ah! Rebecca! Steve! Come in,” says Master. I am aware of the irony in this statement in that later they may be invited to come into some rather more intriguing places, but I am careful to keep this thought to myself and not allow it to be reflected on my face.
” Close the door, slave.”
Rebecca and Steve follow Master down the hall. We are, no doubt, heading straight to the playroom/dungeon. I follow along behind them without instruction because this is standard procedure. Since they are all in front of me chattering away, I am able to steal a glance at them. I look first at their asses, since that is my favorite part of the human anatomy to gaze upon. There is not much to see yet, but what I am able to discern from the bounce of the buttocks before me appears promising and I harbor a secret smile.
The dungeon is hidden behind a bookcase in Master’s study. He pulls forward on a hard-bound copy of “The Story of O” and the right side of the bookcase pops loose allowing it to swing open.
“Whoa,” says Rebecca ” that’s impressive Bruce.”
Bruce is his real name. My name is Emma. When we are in public or in vanilla situations like having dinner with my parents or having a game night with some friendly neighbors we call each other Bruce and Emma, but at home I call him Master and he calls me either slave or slavegirl or pussybearer or something like that although if he is displeased he will sometimes call me “six” just to let me know I am not the first and may not be the last if I don’t mind my p’s and q’s. When he calls me six I get cold all over even though I rarely get cold anymore since I spend so much time naked.
“Thank you,” says Bruce to Rebecca. “I want to have the best set-up I can afford, just as I want to have the best slave I can train.”
I am stopped in my tracks by this unexpected compliment but I don’t allow my face to reveal my pleasure. I am well trained.
Rebecca and Steve go down the stairs and enter the softly lit dungeon and Master turns to me and says, “bring us refreshments, slave,” so I turn and hustle back upstairs and grab the chips and salsa, the veggie tray and some olives. I balance all that on a tray along with four glasses and a bottle of red wine. Quick as a bunny I am back downstairs. When I enter the dungeon I can see the three of them sitting in the lounge area talking. Rebecca has her hand in Master’s lap and is massaging his bulge. That was quick. I pour four glasses of wine and hand one to each of them but leave the fourth on the end table. Then I go to my spot and kneel with my head bowed.
“Isn’t she a delightful little slave?” says Master. I glow.
“You may raise your head, slavegirl.”
When I look up, I can see that Rebecca and Steve are studying me. Rebecca is looking in my eyes but Steve is concentrating on my breasts.
“Dance.” I rise and began to sway slowly.
“Fortress” by Vedan Kolod is pulsing from the various hidden speakers. The strangely erotic vibrations of the jaw harp drone in sympathetic vibrations that stir deep in my pussy.
I am rocking my hips in the figure eight pattern I learned in the belly dancing class that Master enrolled me in. I raise my arms over my head because this lifts my breasts. My breasts are still quite firm even though I have crossed a couple of age barriers, but with my arms in the air, they are perfect. Raising my arms also exposes the delicate light brown hair that grows in my armpits. Master loves every hair on my body and won’t allow me to remove any of them.
I turn in a slow circle and present my ass to Steve and Rebecca for the first time. I don’t have to look. I know they are staring. As my hips gyrate, my buttocks rotate hypnotically. Master has shown me videos of this and I became quite horny just watching myself.
I finish my slow circle just as the music ends so I stop dancing and just stand before them. My eyes flicker from Steve’s crotch to Rebecca’s tits, to the hand in Bruce’s lap and then back again.
“So,” says Bruce, “do we have a deal?”
I will be told what the deal is when the time is right. Until then I can imagine and fantasize. It’s certainly not the simple exchange of sexual favors that seems to be in the air. No I’m certain Master has just signed my ass up for an adventure much more exotic and probably much more perverted than this.
I was far from a virgin when I met my Master of course. The truth is that I made my living being naked in front of strangers for more than three years before we met. I have also been a life-long exhibitionist. I have flashed dozens maybe hundreds of men and women. It was a compulsion and while it was thrilling to plan and execute, I was often left with feelings of shame. There were episodes where I was unkind to my body in an effort to deal with the guilt drilled into my skull from birth. Now, not only am I free of shame, I am also empowered to take my exhibitionism to places and levels I could never have achieved on my own. Instead of a two -second flash of panty, I can and will, at the direction of my Master, share the splendor of my totally naked body in public places or at private parties. If it pleases my Master, I will bend over and allow a group of strangers to inspect the glory of my inner workings. I have strolled down city streets and through the mall wearing nothing but a smile. Once I crashed a full-court basketball game for five minutes wearing only a sports bra with the nipples cut out. Nobody complained and I scored two points!
“You may join us,” says Master.
I leave my spot and, taking my glass of wine from the end table, go over and sit next to Steve.
“Hi Stevie,” I breathe into his ear. I know the hot moisture from deep inside my body is stirring now in his loins. I mirror Rebecca’s posture and actions and, laying my hand in his lap, begin to massage his pants. All of this is standard protocol so I know it’s okay with Master. Master and I can communicate with just eye flickers and subtle facial gestures. I always make sure I have permission.
“Hello, Sexy. What do I call you?”
“Sexy will do just fine, Stevie. Did you like my dance?”
“I loved everything I saw.”
“Well, you saw almost everything I’ve got to show.”
“Oh no, Sexy. You’re still hiding the best parts.”
Stevie was pretty hard already. Most men get at least a semi when a naked female dances in front of them.
“You’re the one hiding things. May I have the pleasure of opening your pants?” Stevie smiled so I unbuckled his belt and whipped it from the loops. I doubled the belt and made it go crack loudly twice. I laughed and pitched it aside. In a slave ti slave situation any power dynamic is possible and I was trying to dominate Stevie. Just a little. While I took the zipper handle in two fingers and ran it down the track and over the hump slowly my eyes stayed locked with Stevie’s until the zipper had run it’s course fully. Then I looked down. He was wearing red silky boxers. A decided lump pushed out against the material.
“Let me help you from your trousers, Sir.”
Stevie lifted his hips and I slid them down to his ankles. He still had his shoes on and the pants would go no further. Now there was another power dynamic to resolve. Should I remove Stevie’s shoes and socks for him? I wasn’t his slave, but he was a guest in my Master’s house. I glanced up at my Master and he flicked his eyes. Master and Rebecca had been watching us closely. She did have his dick in her hands, but her eyes were on us.
I dropped to Stevie’s feet and attended. Then I folded his pants and made a tidy grouping of the clothes and shoes. I stood up to my full height and towered over Stevie by several inches since he was sitting down. He was wearing a button up shirt and the red boxers. I unbuttoned him without asking. I spread his shirt and admired his smooth hairless chest and stomach with my eyes and hands. The shirt disappeared.
“And, may I, Sir, have the very great pleasure of removing your last item of clothing?”
All eyes were on Stevie. He gulped and nodded.
“I’m sorry, I need verbal consent. May I satisfy my craving to behold your magnificent manhood by removing your silken underwear?”
“Yes. You may.”
He lifted his hips again. Fingers hooked under waistband slid over the ass and I have to stop and lift the front over the tip of his erection then the textiles are a thing of the past as if in a parallel universe. I am naked. Stevie is naked. I have succeeded in arousing him fully. He possesses beautiful meat. A statue of tension and potential throbbing like a heartbeat. A delicious cock. I love cocks. (More on that later. A lot more.)
I knelt between his spread open legs and used the thumb and first finger of my left hand to encircle the base and allowed his balls to rest in the other three fingers. With this grip, I was able to gently stroke a patch of taint with the pad of my middle finger. Then with the tip of my index finger of the right hand, I gathered up a dollop of the lubricant leaking out of the slit and twirled it around and around the rosy end of his penis.
I looked him in the eye-soul one more time and said, “May I have the honor of taking you into my mouth?” He nodded. His mouth was sympathetically open, his eyes wide. Then I leaned over and gave his pecker point a kiss, just a kiss. I felt a strange energy from Rebecca. When I looked up again, I was looking right into her smiling eyes.
Well, I guess I misjudged the state of Stevie’s arousal, because as Rebecca and I were staring into each other’s souls, I suddenly felt Stevie’s testicles retract and then begin to spasm. I had two seconds and I used them to open my mouth and direct the cum stream into my O-shaped face-hole. That saved a big clean-up problem and I would have been the cleaning girl.
I went ahead and stuck Stevie’s peter into my mouth and sucked it. A promise made and kept. Not every encounter is epic.
I was unsure how Master would react to this event, however. I doubted that anyone intended this eruption to occur so quickly. I didn’t feel like it was really my fault. I barely touched him! But, gulp, this was for Master to determine.
A little voice in my head said, “way to go girl. You just turned a maintenance spanking into a butt whooping.” This is the negativity of my id which used to dominate my internal monologue. Endless recriminations and self-doubt. Now that I have released myself to Master’s domination though, the voice is largely quiet. When it does speak up now, I use a yogic technique my Master taught me of breathing in through my cunt and out my nose to regain internal stillness. I don’t understand how cunt-breathing works, but it does. Sometimes, if I’ve been fucking for hours, you know, those timeless nights with a lover when you been locked lips, bellies and genitals doing missionary for hours and you notice it’s starting to get light outside, I’ll cunt-breathe with the cock buried in me. Maybe its energy more than air, but the energy makes the body flow automatically.
“Take your spot, slave,” said Master.
Quickly, but with reluctance, I released Stevie’s still pulsing meat and returned to my spot.
“Position four.”
I turned around, stood erect, and laced my fingers behind my head.
I heard Rebecca’s voice say, “I apologize. I thought my slave was better trained than that.”
So R and S are in a dom/sub relationship also. There are all sorts of combinations and agreements in the dom/sub world.
“No, no the fault is all that of my slave. She misjudged. A male cannot control his autonomic reflexes. My worry is that you remain unserviced. Shall I have my slave perform cunnilingus on you?”
Sometimes Master speaks in a formal tone when referring to sexual matters. He thinks it makes him sound more strict. Mention of Rebecca’s pussy and of the possibility of me burying my nose in her warm entrance thrills my inner core. They can’t see my smile. I am naughty.
I imagine it is different in different parts of the world, but here in the Midwest, it is common, although not universal of course, for masters to share their slaves with other masters. This of course vastly increases the pool of sexual possibilities. I am not the jealous type and I do love to lick pussy. Sadly my Master does not own a pussy, other than mine. Allowing me access to other random vaginas is just one more way of keeping me satisfied in this relationship. It is a two-way street although it may not appear that way to vanilla people on the outside.
My desires, however, are secondary and must be put on hold when I hear Rebecca say, “I’m sure that would be delightful and I hope that is something we can arrange a little later, but right now, Bruce, I would like to observe your technique as you administer her maintenance spanking. Besides making the deal, that is one of the things I hoped for when I came over here, purely for educational purposes you understand.”
There it is, THE DEAL. What the heck was the deal anyway?
Well, it is Thursday so, I am scheduled for a maintenance spanking today. Some slaves I have talked to don’t agree with the maintenance spanking concept. “What the heck is the point of being good all week and avoiding discipline if I’m just going to get one anyway for no good reason,” they complain. (And yes, slaves do get together and talk all the time. We meet in clubs and at parties. There is even a bar downtown that does a sideline specialty in slaves on furlough.) I am not a complainer. I accept my maintenance spankings because Master decrees them. Of course, it helps that I love to be spanked. For several years I was able to pay the rent just by charging people to watch me get spanked. I have written all about why I love to be spanked in the story entitled “Spanking Theater”. It was a good gig and all, but the nature of the situation required the spankings to be quite severe and eventually, I got tired of sleeping on my stomach all the time. I also experienced serious and unrelenting bouts of depression in the intervals between performances where I would hide in my room and eat cereal and my ass would get fat and then I would tell myself that no one wants to see a fat ass girl get spanked and spiral down further into embarrassment and contempt for my own body. And then I met Master.
“Your wish, Mistress Rebecca, is my command.” I don’t know if I like the sound of that. “Slavegirl! Go and prepare the spanking bench.”
I have a beautiful spanking bench which was custom built for me by my former handler, Louie. It’s getting a few miles on it. Some of the red velvet on the arms and leg rests is wearing thin. There are stains from oils, sweat and tears, real tears, but these all add to the patina. I have earned the right to call this piece of furniture mine.
As I walk across the room to the discipline area, I wiggle my hips a bit more than necessary. I love having my ass admired. I know soon my ass will be the center of attention and I want it to start now.
I pull the spanking bench from its storage area into the center of the room and into the pool of light made by the overhead fixture. I then arrange the side table precisely six feet away and to the right. I unbuckle the restraints and wipe them carefully with oil. Then I go to the cabinet and remove the implements. Master likes to have a good selection of implements to choose from. Even though it is just a maintenance spanking I know I must put out not only the ones I like, but also the ones that he likes and at least a couple that I am really hoping he won’t use. I select the slapper which I like because it makes a lot of sound without too much damage, a crop which is just a small slapper on a stick, a hairbrush, a flogger, a yardstick, a 2″ wide belt and a cane. I hate the cane. I am pretty sure I won’t get it today unless Master starts showing off for Mistress Rebecca (I must call her this now that Master has.)
I also lay out a bottle of oil and a bottle of aloe, two dildos, a ball gag, and my favorite butt plug. Finally, I lay out Master’s top hat and long tailed jacket which sometimes he wears to add context. This is a lot of equipment for a maintenance spanking but I don’t want to shame Master in front of his guests by appearing unprepared. I inspect carefully and when I am satisfied I go back to my spot and stand quietly awaiting further instructions. I can’t help but observe on the way back that Master and Rebecca are playing with each other’s parts. The little bitch I mean, Mistress Rebecca, has gotten his pants open and has his magnificent cock in both her hands. Master has a casual finger hidden between her legs. Stevie is sitting quietly on his end of the couch looking down. I can imagine his inner turmoil as he contemplates his premature ejaculation.
“This is a very beautiful dress you are wearing.”
“This old thing? Just a rag. I didn’t want to wear anything fancy in case you tried to tear it off of me.”
“Have you heard something about me?”
“A girl hears things, yes. A lucky girl sees things. A good girl tastes things and a naughty girl fucks things.”
“What kind of girl are you?”
“I’m the kind of girl that likes to be in charge. Do you have any strap-ons in that cabinet?”
“Not a one.”
“Well. Hmmm. Christmas is coming. When the time is right we’ll test that asshole of yours.”
“Big talk.”
“Show it to me. Right now. Get naked, bend over and show me your hole.”
“What? Do you want me to be your slave now?”
“A delicious idea, but no. I want you to acknowledge to me that you know that for the rest of the time, until the project is completed, I am in charge. You will do as you are told without question or hesitation. You don’t have to, ‘yes, Mistress’ me or anything, but follow orders. More of a lieutenant than a slave.”
“Ok.”
“Ok, what?”
“Ok I will be your lieutenant and follow orders.”
“Then, drop and spread.”
Master stands up and lets his pants and underwear fall to the floor. I rush over and pick them up, then I fold them neatly and place them on the end table. I help him out of his shirt and fold and place it. Master is naked.
“Oh, Bruce! What a wonderful body you have. Turn around. Ummm ummm those are the buns of a god.” Master basks in her praise and presents his ass to her which she fondles briefly. I try to remain neutral about this. Master is, of course, allowed to fuck anyone he desires but I still don’t like it when girls come on to him. I don’t want them thinking they can become more important to him than I am. He is my Master. They are just someone he is fucking that evening.
He slides his feet shoulder width apart as he takes his stance. Master bends his frame slowly from the waist as he does every day in yoga and dance sessions. He is a linen napkin draping itself over a lap, He moves smoothly, with grace. At the apex of his presentation dance he is at Rebecca’s eye level and mere inches away. He is not just showing his anus, he is engaging with her in a primal display of slowly pulsing sphincter awaiting it’s fate.
Rebecca contemplated the arrangement of flesh before her, confident she could take all the time she needed. She put a hand on each cheek, framing his center with her thumb and forefinger. The she touched a few places lightly, tracing a ridge down towards the entrance. She made a feint down towards it like she was going to kiss it, but stopped short and blew a puff of warm air onto it.
Master shivered.
“All right then!” Rebecca slapped Master on both buttocks and started to get up, gently shoving Master out of the way as she did so.
“Let’s go now!” Rebecca was ready to move things along.
“Slave! To the bench.” His proud member points the way and I lead the group to my place of discipline at the other end of the room. First me, then Master, then Rebecca, tall and proud her head rotating on a slender neck like a bird of prey. Stevie follows, his head down. He does have a beautiful body and it would be fun to explore domination with him some more another time.
When we get there Master puts on the coat and hat, but his penis remains prominent. He can hold an erection. If something has his limbic attention, his penis responds.
“Assume the position.”
These words are supposed to make the recipient clinch their butt cheeks as a cold shiver runs from their anus all the way up their spine, yet for me, it is like waking up and hearing, “it’s Christmas morning!”
I hop up merrily onto my horse and drape myself over the warm walnut as I would over the body of a lover. Master fastens the supple leather of the restraining straps, first the ankles and then the wrists. I involuntarily test them as I would test a penis before taking it into my mouth. The position of the leg supports requires my thighs to be spread apart. I know that my crotch is now revealed and open like that Christmas present after the paper has been ripped away. I know this because I have seen pictures and videos. I know what it looks like. My inner thighs, my pussy and asshole, my taint, and the curve of my buttocks, all tender, succulent, and tasty as Thanksgiving dinner. A holiday treat. The cunt for the main meal and the butthole for dessert.
I have all my pubic hair. Lots of it. A light brown beard, extra long just before my well-developed clitoris and trailing off as it dissipates into the tiniest trickle of sparse and filament fine sprinkles decorating and hiding in the wrinkles of my star-shaped anus.
The lips of my vagina are only a slight upward curve that creates parentheses signs like small mountain ridges surrounding a deep, dark valley. Usually, my vaginal lips are tight together, but in this position, I imagine they have popped apart enough to reveal a certain amount of moist beckoning inner pink.
It is quiet as a library for a moment of study.
I twitch my asshole as stealthy as a mouse peeking around a corner. I want them to know something is there and to be a little scared they might scare it off. I don’t want to be obvious though. I’m not supposed to be teasing with my ass. I’m supposed to be anxious about my spanking. A gentle sway of the hips and an almost imperceptible clinch of the pucker. A girlish giggle escapes my lips. Wink.
“Stop that!” Says Master.
Maybe I am being a little bit of a brat. I give them a twerk. That’s what they get for gocking at a powerless girl’s henie instead of helping a damsel in distress. Master swats me solidly.
“I said for you to stop.”
The worst part of getting spanked on the bench is that when the cameras and screen are off, and they are right now, I can’t see anything except the floor in front of me. I don’t know if Mistress Rebecca is studying my anatomy or if the little whore is moving on my Master. (I didn’t think that!). I don know if Stevie’s manhood is recovering enough to respond or if he is touching himself. I don’t know if Master is looking at me or at Mistress Rebecca.
I am very visual. Many women respond to touch and smell better than visual cues. If you want to get them ready you give them a meal and whisper stories of love in their ears. If you want to get me hot, then show me a cock or a cunt. Even a picture will work. But here I am staring at the floor while everyone else is soaking up the splendor of my grand and glorious canyon. (I hope.)
It’s warm in this dungeon and the air is thick with pheromones and musk. The room light is soft, I am in a puddle of light. I know I am vain about my body, my tool of pleasure and sensation. But I am not vain without cause. I know that the curve of my alabaster ass makes hearts stutter. I have hypnotized many with my nipples. It is fitting that my instrument should be displayed dramatically.
Master turns up the music. Sometimes the sounds are soft, sexy jazz. Sometimes its rock and roll. The worst is Wagner. The music sets the tone for the session. Lately he has been on this bizarre Mongolian drone music with a steady jaw harp kick. It digs into you finding secret places deep in your subliminal brain. Close your eyes and listen to the blood rushing through your ears. Listen. Listen. Listen for awhile. This is where the drone music is trying to take you. Where spankings take me. The droning digs in.
“Lady and Gentleman,” Master begins using his radio announcer voice to rise above the ceaseless churning, “I give you Candy Kane the Rosy Bottom Queen!”
I had achieved some small modest fame in the spanko world during my time as a professional spankee. “The Rosy Bottom Queen, that’s me!”
I am unexpectedly thrilled to hear my old moniker used again. Returning to me like a prodigal daughter. Much like the music, I am not sure how this will affect what is after all supposed to be a simple maintenance spanking, but I doubt it means he is planning on going easy on my ass.
“Candy Kane” blurts out Stevie. “No shit?”
“Slave!” Retorts Mistress Rebecca. “Quiet your gobhole! Do you want to trade places with her?”
“Oh I am so sorry Your High Mistress. It’s just that Candy Kane is a legend.”
” Don’t you so sorry me you little worm. Put your little worm on the floor.”
I guess she was referring to his penis. I heard shuffling noises behind me and picture Stevie in a prone position with his little dinkie in contact with the oak flooring. I guess Stevie must like being humiliated. Maybe that’s how he pays the price he must pay for all the stupid things he said and did in front of the cute girls in high school who taught him he was worthless. Or maybe it was his mother that taught him he was worthless. Always a woman. He just wants women to forgive him. To forgive him and to want him. His body. His face. His penis. Women, all women to fondle his penis and balls and ass and cock. He desires the treatment he deserves.
Or else he is just so in Rebecca’s thrall that he tolerates the abuse.
“I apologize for my slave’s outburst. Please proceed.” Rebecca is staring nails at Stevie. I can’t see it but I can feel it. “I don’t know why I brought this miserable dog along? What good has he been.”
Now tell me if I’m wrong, but did that bitch just steal my thunder? It was all about me for a second and now everyone has forgotten that I am the Rosy Bottom Queen and is focussing on her domination of Stevie. She’s not my mistress. I’ll get her back someday. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m coming for her.
“Now, I know that most doms skip this step, ” explained my Master, “but I always prepare the buttocks by massaging in a coating of aloe vera gel followed by a layer of coconut oil. This promotes quick healing and prevents the skin from losing elasticity. I am here to help my slave. I want her to receive her discipline without suffering damage. I love my slave. I want her to be the very best slave she can be.”
I heard him! He said he loves me! Take that you Master stealing hussy!
Master’s hands finished rubbing in the aloe and he switched to the oil. This is one of my favorite parts. He uses lots of oil and slathers it not only on my asscheeks but also ALL over my henie area. I squirm with delight. I bet Mistress R’s pussy is jealous. I wonder if she has her hair. A generic pussy image rises un-beckoned in my brain. I bet she has one of those stretched-out used-up cunts where the lips are floppy and wrinkly and purple.
SMACK the first one lands. “One, Sir.”
Its the hand to left side this time. Then another slightly harder, also on the left side. “Two, Sir.”
I don’t know how he does it, but the sound in the air, the speed of the shaking molecules increases at precisely the instant of contact. Drama.
Three is a stinger. Definite hand-print that time.
“Three, Sir.”
Master lowers his hand and walks around to stand in front of me. Hands on his hips his pecker points right at me. I accuse! “Let’s discuss some of your behavior this week.” Master walked over to the table and after some thought, selected the riding crop. Back he strolled to his position in front of me. “Open your mouth.” He stepped forward and I took him in. Just a couple of inches. That’s all he tried for. I sucked him gently. “The bed covers were messy when I got home Monday. Did you mess them up?”
He removed his cock and I said, “yes, Sir.”
The crop was long enough to reach over my back so the small square leather tip rested on the apex of my gluteus Maximus. With a double flick, it went up, came down and stung me and then went back up again. I let a little yelp escape because it’s good to let them know it was hard enough.
“Four, Sir.”
Master re-inserted his cock. “I definitely detected a sassy tone of voice from you on Wednesday when I was instructing you on how to shine my shoes correctly. You were sassy, weren’t you?”
I made gagging noises attempting to answer him. He poked me a few times and then pulled his cock out. I cleared my throat.
“Well, no, Sir. If I was sassy why didn’t I get a demerit for it?”
“That’s exactly the type of tone I was referring to, right there.” In went the cock. “You are difficult sometimes. What shall Ido with you?” Master removed his cock from my mouth. The crop sought it’s spot. I tensed. Flick. The exact same spot lit up again. The sting magnified geometrically. I bit down. The energy jumped to my clit. All energy from now until I was released would go from wherever it enters my body, straight to my clit.
“Five, Sir.”
I began cunt-breathing. When I relaxed, Master put his cock back in and commenced a slow stroke.
“You see how compliant she is? “Master is speaking. Probably to Rebecca. ” Only five strokes in and she is like pudding, completely compliant. I own her will. ”
Master removed his cock and walks slowly around my left side trailing his fingernails from my scalp down my neck my shoulder my lower back and then dragging them over the red part of my posterior muscle group. Having achieved his new position, Master patted me gently and then bent down and spread my cheeks apart. It was silent for a few seconds. It seemed like a long time. “OK then, let’s finish this side up.” Like a magician he theatrically exposed the ping-pong paddle he was carrying twirling it like a baton in the air and then bringing it down close to me. “Now, he said we are going to discuss your treatment of Stevie.” What did I do I thought. I was too well trained to let a word escape my lips but my body language spoke volumes. “Do you have something to say young lady?” I shook my head no.
Smack “Six, Sir.”
“I don’t think you were very well tuned in to Steve’s mental state when you were tending to him. A young lady who is properly attuned to the mental and physical state of the gentleman who she is attending to know when to proceed and went to be still.”
Whack. “Seven, Sir.”
“You weren’t even looking at Stevie when he had his orgasm. Were are you?”
“No, Sir” whack “Eight, Sir”. I closed my eyes and listened to the river inside me rushing. The river of sensation and connection. The river that flows around the island in my body and out into the rest of creation.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“I was on dangerous ground here, “Yes, Sir.”
“Then don’t you think you should apologize to Steve for your actions?”
“Yes, Sir.”
” Mistress Rebecca, would you please instruct your slave to come around in front of my slave so that she may apologize?”
“I would be happy to. Worm! Go over there to the spot that I’m pointing at. Turn around and face Emma.”
“All right now slave apologize.”
“I’m sorry Stevie.”
“Tell him why you are sorry or perhaps you would like extra strokes?”
“I’m sorry that I wasn’t paying good attention and I made you come too soon. It was all my fault. ”
“Don’t you think you should kiss and make up?”
“Stevie, may I guess the end of your strong perfect cock to show you I am sorry?”
Steve looked at Rebecca and she gave a slight nod so he stepped forward and I kissed the end of his sweet penis. I was glad all that was behind me. The next time Master had me attend to another human, I would focus on them and make sure that I gave them the best experience I could. A lesson learned.
A sudden stroke made me try to stand up, but the straps held. I grimaced made a tight face. I tried to let go. “Nine, Sir.” Then the last one. I let that one propel me. I relaxed into it and roll with the flow of energy. The tangles of adrenaline all up inside my orifices and into my cavities and I stood on the threshold of Orgasmo land. If another one or two had landed in rapid succession, I would’ve definitely let go of some liquids. The left side was pretty well glowing. You could warm your hands on it but not roast a marshmallow. I’ve been there many times before but I’m sure it would’ve reduced a great many slaves to tears. Pussies.
Now all discipline in our relationship proceeds at the whim and discretion of the Master. It can change, depending, but an average maintenance spanking will be ten on each side so, half-way there I hope. The music gets louder. The drone of the jaw harp is getting to me. Is it possible my vaginal walls are vibrating in sympathy?
Then my Master makes an offer to the bitch that rearranges my rectum. “Would you like to do the other side?”
My inner voice rages. Whatthehell? We are going to talk about this later, Master!
But that’s later. This is now and I keep my mouth shut. It’s so unfair!
“What a delightful offer. Thank you. Do you mind if I use this?”
Well, this is wrong. She should use her hand because Master started with his. Everyone knows that whatever you do on one side you mirror on the other. It’s a simple matter of balance. Spanking 101. I can’t tell what she is holding but I know it’s wrong.
Then I feel the first burst of sensation on my right glute. It’s the flogger. I can hear the swish and I know the way it stimulates a tight set of nerves. “One, Ma’am.”
Flick, flick, flick. “Two, Ma’am. Three, Ma’am. Four, Ma’am.”
“Oh this is fun!” She rubbed my buttock with her hand and laughed a trilling little girl giggle of delight. I hated her, but then she did something unexpected. She leaned in and kissed me right on the butthole! My sphincter was ambushed. It clenched and released three times in rapid succession. “Oh look,” she said. “Isn’t that cute?” and she kissed my hole again. Maybe even a little tongue tip,
My heart began to soften. I heard the sound of her putting down the flogger and picking up something else. This was another spanking faux pas in my book but I let it go. Did she really stick her tongue up my butthole?
I felt the flat wood of the yardstick slide along my right butt cheek as if seeking the bullseye. Then it stopped and built tension for a second. She walloped me. Then she flattened my left ass as well.
“Five, Ma’am. Eleven, Ma’am.” Master had taught me that each side received it’s own count. More blows fell.
“Six, Ma’am. Twelve, Ma’am. Seven, Ma’am.” I was getting all out of ‘whack.’
“Four more,” said Mistress (Bitch). “There is a hairbrush, a crop, the wood, and a cane still on the table, so…one each? Let me consider this.”She walked over to the table on which the implements were spread out. She picked up a small buttplug and took a look at it? She set it down and picked up a medium size glass one with a rose on the end that doesn’t go in.
She picked up a small bottle of oil and strolled back over with these two items in her hand. She positioned herself on my right side with her hip pressed into my right armpit so that she was looking down at the cleft. as she dribble the first dollop of oil onto the ridges of my anal sphincter, I could hear that she was singing, humming a little tune. What is a “Eastside Westside?” The oil felt so good and she massaged it with two fingers. I relaxed I was already very close to La La Land so I just let my body sink into the horse and let everything go loose and floppy. She slipped two fingers right in and oiled the entrance well. Then she ran the butt plug up and down the slippery slope of my ass crack and then pointed the tip and with the most delicate and natural of motions slipped it right in. this was my first penetration of the evening, if you didn’t count the very tip of Rebecca’s tongue, or masters cock in my mouth, I guess. But I meant penetrations in my lower area, I guess. So anyway I felt pretty good. I was hungry for it. I guess what I really was wanting was Stevie’s cock filling me. Nobody to blame but myself there I guess, but the night was young.