A Mistress and Her Slave

Jared, Laurel had to admit (at least to herself) was doing a fantastic job, by and large. Not only her tub, but the entire bathroom, had been spotless. The bedclothes were clean and the bed made expertly. And dinner, as she walked into the room clad in a satin robe and nothing else, was served right on time, piping hot and smelling amazing. Roasted salmon in a soy-ginger reduction, steamed asparagus spears with lemon juice and salt, rice pilaf (made, apparently from scratch—Laurel knew she had had no sort of rice mix in the house), a green salad offered with a choice of dressings, and a glass of white wine. Once she had been served, she commanded her slave to get on all fours beneath the table and suck on her toes while she ate, another task which he performed admirably. It wasn't exactly what she wanted him to suck on, but at the same time, she didn't want to let him get too intimate with her yet. His wet tongue and lips on her toes kept her aroused throughout the meal, which was by any measure delicious. By the time she was done, she found herself with another dilemma. She desperately wanted to get fucked, and in fact found herself longing for her slave's ejaculate in her mouth, an experience she hadn't had in quite some time. But again, she did not feel he had yet earned the right to fuck her, and coming in her mouth, she felt, would actually put him in a position of dominance, however briefly, and however much she in fact wanted it. This is all getting rather tricky, she smiled to herself as the man under the table continued to fellate her toes.

This activity had obviously aroused him at least as much as it had her. She commanded him to rise, and was pleased at his firm cock, standing almost straight up toward his bellybutton. God, I want that inside me, she thought. What to do?

"I am finished, slave," she said. Without prompting, Jared pulled her chair back as she stood up.

"Well, aren't you the perfect gentleman?" she teased. "You've earned a reward. Go to my room and retrieve the butt plug you wore last night. Insert it and put it on high. Then return, clear the table, and do the dishes."

Jared did as instructed, returning in a few minutes, the control for the plug's vibration dangling down around his knees, his gait altered noticeably. Laurel paid him no attention at all, however; she had excused herself to the other room and had put on a movie to watch. Partly this was to see what her slave would do when he had finished the dishes, and partly it was because she didn't really know what to do with him right then. She owed him punishment, to be sure, but she knew that in her current state that would only push her arousal to greater heights, and she didn't think she'd be able to keep from fucking him if that happened.

As the minutes ticked by, she found her concentration on the movie flagging, and felt more than a little agitated at his failure to appear, although in truth he was merely acting as a good slave should, remaining unseen and unheard until bidden. Finally, her mind fixed on a solution. In her toy chest was a chastity sheath, a hard plastic case that fit over an erect cock, locking around the base of the shaft and balls. Not only did this device give the wearer added girth, which would, Laurel thought, be only that much more pleasant, but it kept him from feeling anything. In fact, it didn't even matter if he stayed erect inside it. She could mete out her slave's punishment, get fucked to her heart's—her pussy's—desire, and not allow him any pleasure at all, besides that which he might take from her enjoyment. Her craving for cum would, unfortunately, not be met, but she felt that a reasonable exchange for having formulated a way out of her dilemma.

"Slave," she called, not too loudly, after switching off the TV. Her appeared within a few seconds, butt plug still in place, cock swollen but not rigid.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Go to my bedroom. I will join you shortly."

Once there, she had him remove the butt plug, and then she placed the hood and the gag on him as she had last night. "I don't want to look at your worthless slave face, and I don't want to hear anything from your worthless slave mouth," she said cruelly.

Utilizing the steel frame of her bed, which consisted of two-inch square posts rising from each corner joined by vertical and horizontal crossbeams along each edge about seven feet from the ground, each containing numerous eyelets, hooks, and other attachment points, she bound her slave spread-eagled but standing. She stretched his arms up such that he stood on tip toe, and tightened the bonds so that he could move neither forward nor back more than a couple of inches, this last effect completed with a strap around his waist that was connected tightly to the bedposts on either side. Finally, she secured the cage around his erection.

"Despite the fact that I will take great pleasure from this," she said, "I want you to fully understand the reasons for it. You do not—you will not—achieve orgasm except at my explicit command. 'I couldn't help it,' as you so lamely tried to offer by way of excuse this morning, is not an excuse. There is no excuse. Your cum is mine, to be issued when and if I see fit. This punishment will be fairly severe, but it will be nothing like what you'll experience if it happens again. And if it happens a third time, I will have no more use for you. Understood?"

A very muffled "Yes, Mistress," barely recognizable, was Jared's response.

At that, she let her robe drop to the floor and began to flog his ass with a soft but heavy leather flogger. Though capable of inflicting a not insignificant amount of pain, even when swung at her hardest it was not enough to make him cry out. This was by design. She gradually worked up to harder and harder blows, thirty, forty, fifty. His ass began to turn a satisfying red. But she knew the flogger was child's play, essentially. At sixty strokes, she stopped.

"Lesson learned, slave?" Again the muffled response. At this she laughed aloud.

"And do you really think that light flogging was your punishment? You disappoint me." She reached around and dragged a riding crop across his chest. "That was just to warm you up. If you're lucky, I may stop after this..."

She struck him firmly across both buttocks with the crop, inflicting a terrible sting. Jared screamed into his gag as a satisfying welt began to rise from his agonized skin. Again she struck, and again a scream, his whole body convulsing against his bonds, trying desperately to escape from the inevitable next blow. It came swiftly, and three more, seconds apart. Little drops of blood appeared just under his damaged flesh. The next blows, spaced apart by ten or fifteen seconds but, if anything, harder than the previous ones, landed on the backs of his thighs. His screams seemed to go right to her clit, driving her wild with a lust that only made her strike harder, three more back across his butt cheeks. Speckles of blood broke through his weakening skin now.

"How many is that, slave?" she asked. "And if you're wrong, we start back at zero."

Jared tried to count the blows, but the pain still coursing through his nerves clouded his mind. "I don't know," he said as best he could through the gag and the sobs which he could no longer control.

"Oh, my poor slave!" Laurel said. She pressed up against his bloodied backside and wrapped her arms around his chest, caressing him lightly. "Did I make you cry?"

"Yes, Mistress," came the muffled reply. She released her grip and, picking up the crop again, savaged him with four more rapid blows. His body went almost limp, supported only by the bonds that held him in place.

"Good!" she screamed at him. "Do not—EVER—come again without my permission!" She was a little taken aback by her own viciousness, even at the rage that she felt for his having committed the transgression. She realized, as much as this whole thing was a type of roleplay, that she was not at all acting. She was both startled and thrilled by this realization. She even felt a bit of remorse at the damage she'd done to his skin.

Jared, too, was shocked by the amount of pain he had just endured—was still enduring, although the throbbing ache on his backside, while severe, was nothing like the sting of the blows as they landed. And yet as his head hung down, he felt with satisfaction that his encased cock was quite erect. The pain was a marker. It meant he had fully submitted, or so he thought at the time, and the feeling of arousal he maintained despite the physical agony he was in told him he should have no regrets about having placed himself in this position.

Laurel climbed onto the bed in front of her bound servant. She first lay on her back, opening her legs and rubbing the glistening moisture around her labia and inner thighs, paying more than a little attention to her engorged clitoris. Then, turning around on all fours, she backed herself onto his sheathed member, gasping as it filled her up. She began to fuck herself on it vigorously. Jared, who could feel the pressure of her pushing against him, but little else besides the still-potent stinging on his ass, tried to thrust himself forward to meet her but his motion was so restricted it had little effect. As she came, screaming into the sheets, he longed for his own release.

Laurel paused for perhaps thirty seconds before she started to move herself around on the hard plastic again. This time she rocked back and forth for nearly ten minutes, gradually impaling herself harder and deeper each time, until she was thrusting back as violently as she could. Another few seconds brought her to climax again, and to her surprise she squirted several ounces of liquid from her swollen cunt.

She stayed there, the hard plastic phallus buried inside her, for several minutes, panting, feeling the warmth of her pleasure still tingling throughout her body. Finally she pulled herself off and rolled over, looking at her helpless slave and his still-erect, unsatisfied manhood. Thinking of the welts she'd inflicted on his backside, she began to feel a tinge of remorse, although she still felt he deserved such harsh punishment. Nor would she have traded the charge she'd received from delivering the blows for any reduction in severity. But she felt his suffering had in fact earned him a reward. Or perhaps it was just that she still wanted to feel the warm spurts of his semen roll down the back of her throat. She retrieved the key to the plastic cage that enclosed his member and released him.

"You have pleased me, slave, both sexually and with your competence around the house today—despite your shortcomings with the bath." As she spoke, she gripped his rigid cock firmly in her hand, squeezing but not stroking it. Already a drop of pre-cum began to issue from its tip. "As a result, I am going to be extremely generous, and suck your cock. There's one catch, though. I'm only going to suck it for thirty seconds. If you do not come before that time, you will not be given another opportunity to do so for a very long time. Understood?"

The muffled response sounded enough like "Yes, Mistress." Laurel took the shaft into her mouth, slowly but as deeply as she could. A little out of practice, she thought, as she felt her gag reflex nearly trigger, and backed off accordingly. Making a tight seal with her dark red-lipsticked lips, she bobbed up and down on the cock rapidly, counting the seconds in her head. At seventeen, she felt Jared's body stiffen, and two seconds later a blast of cum smacked into her tonsils. She kept up her movements, his semen swirling around her mouth and mingling with her saliva, coating his dick in a mixture of warm slime. But the bulk of his ejaculate she greedily swallowed, an event that always made her feel deliciously dirty, and never more so than in this instance.

Jared remained hard as she released him from her mouth after sucking every drop she could from him. Smiling to herself in satisfaction, she released one of his hands from its bonds. "Undo the rest of your restraints, and retire to your room, slave. I'll expect breakfast at 7:45. I think pancakes will do. Also, today I issued you several specific tasks. I'll not be doing that again. I expect you to see what needs doing, and to do it, without being told." She unbuckled his gag, and asked, "Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress," he said.

"Good. The hood will stay on tonight. I'll trust you can find your room without bumping into anything too roughly."

She disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, casting a glance back at Jared as he stretched to undo his remaining bonds. Overcome suddenly with a burst of compassion, she grabbed a jar of soothing balm from her medicine cabinet. She watched with satisfaction as her slave, now free, walked carefully toward the hall, his outstretched hands feeling for any obstacles in his path.

"Wait," she said softly. He stopped, unsure what fresh torment lay in store for him, expecting more pain in exchange for the pleasure he'd been granted. For a moment, when he first felt her apply the balm, he suspected her sadism was reaching new heights, that she was applying alcohol or some other stinging substance to renew his agony. But as she rubbed the substance gently over his welts, he began to feel its effects, and smiled underneath his hood. Had he been able to see the genuine concern in his mistress's eyes, his smile would have been much broader.

"There you are. That should help you get some sleep, slave," she almost whispered. Then, more mischievously than meanly, added, "Good luck setting the alarm. If you're not up in time to get breakfast ready for me, you're going to wish for a whipping as gentle as the one I gave you tonight."