A Visit to Dom House

I wheeled my little Mercedes-Benz Kompressor into the gravelled area in front of the solid metal gate, supported by high brick walls on either side, just off a leafy lane in the Surrey stockbroker belt.

The video camera surveyed the vehicle and a metal voice message machine intoned its impersonal: "Dominie House, state your name and business."

"Member 69," I replied, still ridiculously proud of the number I had been given, "for a session with Slave Roger."

A human voice, that of a young woman, now came on: 'Hello madam, and welcome back from your holiday. Please drive up to the house."

I was delighted with the personal touch, but expected nothing less from Dom House, as we privileged members call it. I had been a member of the exclusive organisation for about a year, the membership a gift from my husband, an extremely important executive of the British Government. Yes, I'm afraid he's that awful thing, a civil servant.

Dominic - I call him "Dom", of course - is a lovely old thing, well, if you call 50 old. I'm 10 years younger, with a rather ripe 42-28-38 figure, which is currently superbly covered with a near-chocolate, all-over tan thanks to a month's holiday in the Caribbean.

And when I say "personal touch" about Dom House, not many organisations of which you are a member know, or care, that you have been away on a month's holiday, It's just one of those special little things which make membership of the top-secret organisation such a pleasure.

I drove the Kompressor up to the parking area, in front of the stately old mansion and placed it between a rather ostentatious Bentley Arnage and a rather sweet little Mini Cooper. Give me the Kompressor any time, something about the strict, Germanic efficiency that I like. I suppose it's the dominatrix in me.

You see, I just love to dominate men, young men in particular. Ever since my darling husband found out that I was of the more demanding persuasion, he has funded my desire to flog naked young men. Sex with darling Dom is very satisfactory, but sadly he's not a submissive by nature. Luckily - and I am a very lucky woman - he is very generous and very broad-minded.

I walked into the foyer, was greeted warmly by a stunning little blonde who had spoken to me on the metal machine at the gates, and entered the beautifully-appointed lounge.

There I was met by an older, but equally stunning brunette, who offered me a champagne flute: "Good morning, madam, I'm afraid this is only Laurent Perrier, but the usual bottle of Dom Perignon is chilling in a bucket in your suite as we speak," she informed me.

"Thank-you Greta," I replied, accepting the complimentary glass. Dom Perignon in the room - such a lovely touch and, of course, such a perfect name for bubbly at Dom House!

"Your suite will be ready in a few minutes, if you don't mind waiting here in the lounge for a moment or two," she informed me. I nodded my head in what I hoped was a gracious acceptance, although secretly I was a little peeved. After a month away I could hardly wait to begin flogging the lovely Roger!

I took a seat in a large leather chair, nodding aloofly to a famous black model and an equally famous blonde movie star. Both were 10 years younger than me and both had equally sadistic tastes, I had been told. Neither, of course, were on the same social level as myself, so conversation was utterly out of the question, but I pondered who drove what. I decided on the Bentley for the model, who I knew was of the nouveau riche, while settling for the Cooper to go with the movie star. She was from a well-to-do family, which I knew vaguely, and she had nothing to prove, unlike the appallingly haughty black woman.

I leafed idly through a Tatler magazine, saw some well-known faces on the society pages who I recognised from membership at Dom House - wouldn't that knowledge have titillated the editor - and then the brunette arrived again.

"Your room is ready, madam," she said, quietly, and I threw the Tatler onto a table and followed her upstairs down a long corridor. Rooms to both sides were, I knew, the scenes of considerable debauchery for members of the all-female club. At last we reached the room where I had spent so many enjoyable hours with my lovely slave, Roger.

The brunette opened the door and let me in. "Shall I open the Dom Perignon, madam?" she asked.

I checked my watch. Just gone 10am. "Why not?" I smiled.

The woman did as I asked, then poured one flute - slaves get to do a lot of drinking at Dom House, but one thing they don't get to drink is champagne. "Slave Roger will be along directly," she said, and left quietly.

I sipped on the champagne, then there was a discreet tap at the door. "Yes?" I inquired.

"Slave Roger reporting for your pleasure, mistress," said a beautifully-modulated, deep, rich voice.

"Come," I called, and the gorgeous beast entered, wearing the Dom House slave attire - a crisp white shirt, black slacks, bare feet. It's such a lovely touch, because dominatrixes love the feeling of power they get from ordering their slaves to strip naked.

Roger is tall - 6 feet 2 inches - with jet-black dark hair which is cut in almost a feminine pageboy style. He is beautifully built, strong thighs, strong arms, a great chest, a superb arse and - apart from his head - is totally depilated. His cock is thick, measures a cunt-watering nine inches and is circumcised. I simply adore him!

"Welcome back, mistress," said Roger, stepping into my welcoming arms and kissing me warmly on the mouth. I love touching his body, and the only thing which is forbidden in Dom House is fucking the slaves. But I have a plan in that regard which we'll talk about later!

I felt his strong arms encircling my body. "You've got such a lovely tan, mistress," he said, warmly.

"Thank-you, my darling," I replied. "You may see more of it when you have stripped."

"Thank-you, mistress," he said, unbuttoning his crisp white shirt to reveal his superbly-muscled torso, also well-tanned. Then he slipped his slacks down, placed the shirt and trousers on a chair and turned to face me. His nine-inch beauty was erect, paying suitable homage to me!

"I've missed you," I said, unable to keep the excitement from my voice, as I stepped to him and cupped his heavy ball sac. "Now disrobe me, you wonderful slave, you."

Roger's hands unclipped the back of my severe little black dress and slid it from my body. I stepped out of it, naked now but for my black high heels and a tiny little black g-string. My breasts were full and my nipples erect, my pussy already weeping its joy at being re-united with my favourite slave! I stepped into his arms once more and kissed him.

"I've missed you so much," I whispered, nibbling on his left ear. "I've not flogged anyone since my last visit to you. Have you missed me, dear Roger?"

"My penis is proof of that, my dear mistress," he replied, in a deep, dark brown voice that sent tingles down my spine. "Your caresses are the best, you know that."

I stroked his stiffness and smiled: "Soon you will become reacquainted with my loving lash, my darling Roger, but first tell me how your little nest egg is getting along."

Roger, at 25, has been a slave at Dom House for almost as long as I've been a member and he is currently putting every penny away for when he can branch out as a freelance slave. He needs a decent car, and then he can leave the routine at Dom House and ply for trade. He already has four or five guaranteed clients, and when he is freelance he can visit me at my Mayfair apartments, or our Berkshire villa, and there we can forget Dom House and its "no fucking" rule and let our hair down!

"Very well, my darling mistress," he said. "I reckon in another month or two I'll be able to give my notice, which will be both a pleasure and a sadness, as I've really enjoyed my time here - especially with you, my magnificent mistress!"

"Just think of the fun we're going to have when we're not restricted by the house rules, my dear Roger," I smiled. "But now, time for business. I'm going to flog you, you are going to provide me with some oral adoration, and then - if you're really good - I may have a gift of my nectar for you. Now, fetch the flogger!" The beautifully muscled slave went to the large drawer on a bureau set on one wall of the well-appointed bedroom and from it produced a four-foot long flogger with a four-inch square punishment flap at its tip.

He handed it to me, then adopted his slave pose - hands clasped behind his neck, feet spread wide. His cock swayed sublimely in front of his belly, his balls were bunched in his large scrotum, its dark brown colour possibly revealing that he had not been pumped to climax for some time.

I pondered at this glorious sight of submission. Running the flogger through the fingers of my left hand - my right arm is the stronger of the two - I spoke my thoughts out loud: "Where first, eh darling slave? Buns or balls? What a decision, so hard, just like your lovely penis, my sweet slave."

Roger smiled. "My buttocks have missed your crop for so long, mistress," he answered, "but my balls are heavy with lust for your caress as well."

"That doesn't help me, slave," I snapped.

"Then a suggestion if I may be so bold, mistress?" he replied.

"Very well, only make it a good one," I grinned, my fit of pique now completely gone.

"Why not alternate, mistress? One on my balls, one on my buttocks, and so on."

I liked the idea. "Done," I cried, "but first another sip of the Dom, and then I'll get to work."

I tasted the superb bubbly, then stepped up to my expectant slave. "Up onm tip toe, my darling slave," I hissed and up he went, the pose now accentuating his superb build. Standing a yard or more away from him I swung the flogger and the flap thwacked against his ball bag. Roger's eyes squeezed shut with a grimace as the pain coursed through his lovely scrotum. "Thank-you, mistress," he said, dutifully, with gritted teeth, still savouring the agonising pain - there's an agreement between us, I don't make him count out the number of the strokes he receives, but he must thank me for each one.

I then walked behind him and marvelled at his muscular back, strong thighs and calves, but most of all at his remarkably rounded bottom, its cheeks a lovely deep brown from the summer sun.

With a wide swing, I struck the flap against his right cheek, which gave an erotic little bobble as the persuader hit home. "Thank-you, mistress," he intoned, his voice calmer now.

Back in front I flogged his ball sack once more. Again his eyes jammed shut as the pain pulsed through him, his cock jerking wildly as he absorbed the blow. "Thank-you, mistress," he gasped.

And so my first flagellation in more than a month continued, until I had thwacked a dozen blows onto his balls, and six each on his left and right buttock cheeks.

"Stand easy, rest a while," I commanded, after my first foray against his flesh. He sank back onto the soles of his feet with a sigh, grateful for the relief I had afforded him. His penis was now totally limp.

"Now kneel and thank me, remove the g-string with your teeth," I told him.

Roger's lovely mouth grabbed one side of the garment and dragged it down, then the other, and soon the g-string was around my ankles, I kicked it off, then stood with my feet a yard apart and felt his warm hands cup my lush bum and drag me onto his mouth. His tongue was soon working away at my anus, cunt, labia and clitoris in an exciting display of devoted oral slavery, lapping and licking at what I knew would be an extremely wet task! Soon my level of arousal was dangerously close to climax point and I didn't want to come yet!

I pushed the panting slave from my pussy, aware that I too, was also panting. "Later, dear slave," I whispered, "time for more of my luscious little flogger." And with that the obedient oral slave rose and once more entwined his fingers behind his neck. His penis was now aroused again, jutting north in a fine display of excitement after the task he had just been performing.

"Bend!" I snapped, and he went into the classic position for a caning, thighs and calves looking lovely, buttocks even lovelier, the cheeks taut and wantonly inviting the flogger's attentions.

I began by warming his anal area, his lovely little brown arsehole puckered and pretty and hairless. I rained a dozen blows onto his slit - things seemed to be arriving by the dozen today!

Then I worked the implement of correction across his arse cheeks, laying broad brush strokes across both at the same time, leaving lovely red stripes over his beautiful bum.

"Stand!" I snapped and he stood to attention. "Now thank me again, my dear slave." Once more he knelt before me in supplication and pressed his already pussy-stained mouth to my sex. Once more I felt the climax arriving with indecent haste, so again I had to order him to cease oral operations and resume his flogging pose.

This time, I attacked his beautifully broad back, with his rippling muscles, until I had left it criss-crossed with stripe marks. Again I permitted him a brief period of oral adoration, before making him adopt a kneeling position, with his hands clasped behind him to his ankles, forcing him into a sort of coiled crossbow pose.

Now my friendly flogger caressed his belly, then his upper chest, leaving more marks of evidence across his heaving pectorals as he thanked me for each and every stroke.

Again he thanked me with his mouth, before I ordered him back up onto tip toe for the final little frenzy of flogging. Once more, my cruel flap made its agonising arrival on his scrotum, only this time I doubled his dose to an almost ball-breaking 24 strokes!

Then I threw the flogger away, ordered him to stand comfortably and took him in my arms, kissing his cheeks where the tears were coursing saltily down.

"Thank-you, my darling slave," I whispered, as his sobs calmed. "Now I need an orgasm. Show me you still love me." And I then climbed onto the lovely four poster bed, whose posts had often had him held and tied naked while I attended to his disciplining. But today he had been spared the indignity of bondage. Today I had been merciful!

Finally I lay back and relished the glorious attentions of his mouth and tongue on my sopping wet pussy. His oral servitude was something special, he was a practised and perfect cunnilinguist and now I entirely abandoned myself to the lust of giving in completely to his charms.

Soon his servile attentions became those of a master, not a masochist, as I climbed up the hills to reach that wonderful plateau of near complete fulfilment, before once more ascending to the peak of pleasure and screaming out: "Oh yes, my darling slave, tongue fuck me, tongue fuck me!"

Then, as his tongue flickered from my cunt to my clitoris, I writhed my way to a totally awe-inspiring climax, shuddering and shouting in ecstasy as my orgasm crashed around his ears. Fuck, can this slave eat pussy! Pardon my language, it's so unladylike, but with Roger I'm afraid I'm no lady, I'm a whore!

He licked me slowly, as I descended from the peak, down to the plateau, down the hills and into the valley of sublime contentment. Then, another thrill coursed through my body as I realised I had yet more domination in store for him!

I ran my fingers through his now-matted jet-black hair and peered down at his sweat-stained face.

"And now, my darling slave, I have one final treat for you. Can you guess what it is?"

He looked up at me with his deep brown, puppy dog eyes. "Perhaps I can, my darling mistress, but would you like another glass of champagne while I ponder the question for a while?"

Ordinarily I would have slapped his face for daring to be impertinent, but I'd been away for a month and he was being such a darling!

"A lovely idea, you sweet little slave," I laughed. "Fetch me one more glass, then after I've drained that I've got one more taste treat for you."

The stiffly-pricked slave climbed from the bed and poured me another flute of the delicious Dom. I drained it in two gulps, then patted the bed between my splayed wide thighs.

"I'm afraid this isn't going to taste like Dom Perignon, my darling," I smiled down at him, as he settled back with his mouth close to my satiated pussy.

"I'm sure it's going to taste even more divine, my wonderful mistress," he replied, his breath hot on my sex trench.

Then I pinched his nose - a totally unnecessary move on my part because he loves my urine. Roger opened his mouth and I released my stream. He gulped it down, then cleaned me with his divine tongue.

Like I said, I simply adore him!

To be continued...