Boundaries

Why am I here?

I don't mean that in an existensional Nirvana seeking, Kobain forgoing, jolly fat man rubbing, onion peeling search for personal growth kind of way. I mean that in a... "Just what the explerative deleted censored edited for public consumption, am I doing here, in this particular place?"... kinda way. We had discussed this before, a boundary set so to speak. Both of us had agreed, hugged and moved on to the more intimate affairs of the night.

Still, it's hard to ignore the basics of our initial agreement or it being up to your interpretation. It's not so much the fine print, as the bold All-caps italicized and underlined print that has me in my current position. The party of the first part, being me, will be to the party of the second part, that being you... an object, a toy, a slave, a pet, a prey, a whore, a slut, a rag-doll, an atomically correct Ken, a little puppet, a piece of furniture, a piece of meat, a soaker of juices, a loufa sponge, a... the list goes on like that for several pages. The gist is I am yours, as you well know. I can't really argue after I've signed with "for whenever, whatever, however and whomever you want, your willing, eager toy," as a post script in my own handwriting.

Sigh, it's not like I'm regretting that either. It's just, Mistress, you and I TALKED about this. Still, how can I complain? It was my own request that pushed me over the fence.

It seemed a simple enough comment to make, you certainly weren't in one of your crueler moods. To be honest, you were still half asleep, eating Cocoa Puffs in a white tank top and sweat pants. Yawning and stretching, rubbing at recently loosened straps, I had absently tugged at a black leather studded collar as we grunted our good mornings.

I had begun filling my own bowl up with Captain Crunch. The night before, this morning had been deemed a time of rest and relaxation. I was honestly a bit thankful for the reprieve. Our relationship is the Mind-Bending Cannon-Balling Screaming Meamie roller coaster I love best, but sometimes it's nice to get some solid food into your system before the next loop de loop. It wouldn't be a very long respite though, my Mistress was off work tomorrow, to be followed by the drudgery of a highly caffinated stressmatic work week. This would be our last full night together for some time and I knew you planned on squeezing it... and me... dry.

I was just getting ready to enjoy my crunchitized balanced breakfast when you asked me, innocently enough if there was something wrong. I smiled, at you, errant milk running now my goatee and commented, off handedly. "Nah, everything is fine. Just, this collar doesn't fit right that's all."

Setting your bowl down, you got up and suddenly invaded my territorial bubble. Nothing unusual about that, it was, after all, long since conquered territory and the Queen may stroll through her colony at her leisure. You finished up a last bit of unchewed puff and tugged on the leather, unsnapping it and examining the red and swollen flesh it left in it's wake. "Hmmm, that's no good. You wear this much longer and it's going to sore and probably get infected."

I stood there, straight, trying not to spill my bowl as you flooded my senses yet again. I never can get used to it, never can take it for granted. I'm like a grade school youth in the hairy grip of puberty, being tended to by the newest, youngest school nurse. From a boyhood perspective, acres and acres of sexual frustration, tending to your every need with a kind, sympathetic manner. Lost in the fantasy, I barely registered your question.

Luckily, the survival instincts of a toy in training kicked in and I pieced it together quickly enough. You stood there, your warm breath on my boo boo driving me to distraction waiting for the answer to your question. I nodded, smiling. "Sure, we can go get a new one if you want."

I nearly fainted when your eyes began to glitter.

And so, here I am. Standing in an Adult Toy Store like I used to stand in K-mart while my mother searched for Husky jeans for her overweight son. A young female sales clerk giggled as she walked by, pausing just long enough to nod a greeting to you. Of course they know you here. The store specializes in a particular sort of clientele. There are no men here. Well, none except that really nervous looking gentleman in the back, feeling quite overwhelmed as dildo's stretch and buzz and quiver as far as the eye can see.

Oh and I forgot... ME. I'm here too. I idly wonder if the other man is homosexual and shopping for himself, or if he has a wife at home and has an itching to surprise her with a seven inch, five speed, lavender rubber shaft of love. I'm brought out of the muse by your voice.

"I'm going to have to try some of these out. Shirley, can you open the umm... changing room?" A large woman that must look a sight in black and spikes when her urges hit nods and gives me an appraising look. By the time she's done, I have to wonder if she's correctly guesstimated the weight of my testicles and peak length of my erection.

I stand there, burning for a moment, red running from forehead to feet, like an unstoppable emotional fever. THIS is the boundary we've broken, the uncharted territory we're running the blockade for. Only Mistress's come here, both amateur and professional. Sure, anyone CAN come, and often do. To peruse or on accidental tour. Most leave with pale faces, or simply disappointed.

There's no pornography to speak of here, no dolls, no realistic feeling latex vaginas with kiwi banana berry flavored lubricant included. Here, it's a very much, make your OWN fun, sort of establishments. Harnesses, leather accessories, whips, chains, dildos; both hands on and strap-on affairs; line the walls. Everything a Mistress might need and a pet might fear.

I suppose a Master might find a home here as well, but I somehow doubt it. Everything is fitted wrong for a male to be really comfortable. The leather outfits are definitely of feminine proportions and shapes, even if they come in a wide range of sizes. All the restraints seem geared toward humbling something larger and more massive then the one doing the restraining. Somehow, I know a male Master that walked into this store would leave quickly, with a very hunted expression on his face.

Only a Mistress would really feel comfortable here, only a Mistress would brush through leather chaps and nine tailed punishment with such a hungry look on her face. Therefore, only a boy-toy would be by her side, looking at everything with equal parts wince and wow. The women know, the young girl tagging crotchless panties, she knows. Shirley whose looking at me even more impatiently, she knows.

Everyone in here knows, with the possible exception of the guy gingerly picking up a pink French tickler and looking aghast. And thus, have you herded me beyond myself, once more. I am known, known for the world to see. Alright, for a select few that I'll probably never see again, but it's still a step beyond where I'd ever thought I'd be.

Suddenly I realize not only am I known but if I don't hustle my buns, I'll be in trouble as well. Trying to appear nonchalant as I move past vinyl bustiers and padded thumb cuffs, I slide to your side, waiting patiently on Shirley who fumbles with some keys.

She gives me that knowing look, as though to reset my shame kettle to boil before leaving me to you. I look into your eyes and I know you know too. They shimmer once more as you gesture me forward into a small cramped room with a wide stool and a mirror. You grin, giving your lips a lick and ask, with just a hint of tease, "Something wrong my toy?"

I sigh, closing my eyes, focusing on settling frayed nerves and near molten epidermis. "I'm just a bit... uncomfortable, Mistress, that's all. Nothing to worry about, it'll all be over soon enough."

The smile you direct at me nearly makes me swallow my tongue, to say nothing of my heart. "Oh dear, sweet, lovable pet, it's just beginning. Shirley?" The last was said with a slightly raised voice and has the older woman sticking her head into our ever enclosing room. "I think I'm ready to pick up those toys I've been letting sit in your store for ever so long. Get the girls and have them start brining things in, one at a time, for testing. I don't want a repeat of that collar."

Shirley grumps, "I TOLD you it was too small, I mean look at the boy. You ought to think about putting him on a diet or something."

My Mistress is ever so lovely when she bares her teeth. "I think I'll manage him fine without input, dear. He's on a rather strict and exhausting work out program as it is, something you might consider yourself. Now then, the toys?"

I know better then to comment or even smile at this point. I forgive the collar you bought to lure me in here. I even forgive the toys you must had picked out ages ago when you first worked this out. I forgive everything for the look on Shirley's face. Of course I swallow that mirth quickly enough when the first young girl walks in with a selection of multicolored crops.

Shirley seems to nod to herself as her composure is easily regained watching the look on MY face. It must have been a sight as I try to figure out just HOW you are going to test such things out. She never even blinks as you begin fumbling with my belt, though the younger girl starts going red and has to fight a giggle.

You pause just long enough to look up at me and say, "A little help?"

What can I do? I pull my pants down, bare my buttocks and lean on the stool as instructed. I don't know if it was watching the mixed reactions of the crowd, or the sting of whip against flesh that makes me wince more. Rubbing the area, discussing the red mark with Shirley, you got another crop and try a different cheek.

I feel like a cauldron, being stirred by the virgin, the mother and the crone. The young virgin stifles smiles and her own flush while still trying to hold onto her selection. Meanwhile my Mistress, the mother, debates with Shirley, the crone, over what leaves the best impression on the canvas of my ass.

I toil and trouble there for what seems like forever before one young woman is sent away... only to be replaced by another.

How long this goes on, I can't even begin to tell. Time loses meaning as my submission is put on display, like a new store model at a car show. We test everything from dildos to nine tails to collars to cuffs to indefinable bits of rubber and mesh to masks to.... It becomes a blur as my doors are slammed and my tires are kicked over and over again, all for a live studio audience.

Finally, sweating, panting, gasping for breath and for an end, you walk over to me in newly acquired heels and tug my head up with a rough grip on my hair. For just a moment, I find refuge in chocolate mocha eyes that mirror my own, but just for a moment. "The new strap-on."

I swear Shirley's eyes were glowing at that moment as she nods, letting the first girl from before in with something black and wide and stiff. Cynthia was her name... right? It's hard to remember, especially with my thoughts drifting over something so, disconcerting. It's a hard thing to swallow, let alone what you intend to do with it.

Still, used and ragged, I lay there, waiting for the inevitable.

"Everyone else out," you say. My heroine, dressed in squeaky new leather, you place your hands on your hips as you wait to be obeyed. Shirley shoos the other girls out of the room and the doorway where they have been watching my reflection for some time and pauses just long enough to give me an encouraging smile before leaving.

I hear the door click shut and watch you through the reversed world of the mirror as you stand there, looking at me, watching me. You walk over and lick a tear off my face, and then another from the other side. "Your embarrassment is something we can share, share with other people, people I know and love and trust. In that way, they are a part of our family now. But... but your agony is for your Mistress alone."

I can barely even whimper.

I flinch as I hear a zipper zip and close my eyes, waiting. Then I feel wet fabric against my lips. Actually, that's out of order, I smell it first, taste it. Even in your hands, a foot away from me, I can sense your wetness, your soaked panties. They're so wet now, they're virtually rags. Automatically I open my mouth and accept them, the first moisture I've had all day. I suck on them noisily as you walk behind and begin to work the attachment, fitting the black mass of rubber in place.

The smell of strawberries fills the enclosed area as you spread an extra thick coat of lubricant on the new toy. For me, it's just flavoring, I can barely smell it with the full blown fragrance of your sex so completely overwhelming my senses. I barely hear your words of comfort, so odd to hear them before as opposed to afterwards. Then you begin working my rectum with a gloved finger.

Four more slip in before your satisfied, leaving the hole as dilated as it's likely to become and beads of fresh sweat on my forehead. I close my eyes, and continue to suck your panties dry of you and wet with myself as I wait. It starts with the pressure, then moves to a burning, then stumbles into agony.

By the time the head of the new accessory pops inside, I can taste blood. Body quivering, sweat sheening, eyes blinded by stars and multicolored popping lights, I feel you sink another inch inside. I shudder under your weight as you rest against me, a bit worse for wear yourself. But like a glacial event, you can't be stopped once you've started.

You get up, steady yourself with hands firmly, roughly, lovingly squeezing my butt, before sinking in again. The sounds of the rubber stretching flesh, plunging depths never plunged so well, seems to rumble like thunder in the room. You only grunt with the difficulty of this reverse labor, while I scream... hoarsely with throat soaked in your juices and oral opening stoppered with your panties.

By the time your body is flush against mine, I swear I'm going to come apart at the seams. I hear you humming softly to yourself, a hand running through my hair from behind. I arch my neck and back for you, not enough though as you take a firm grip and seemingly try to bend me over backwards... just before you begin to slip out.

Then you slip in... *grunt*

Then you slip out... *groan*

Then you slip in... *grunt*

Then... you speed up.

Somewhere in all that, a woman and man scream, voices harmonizing in frantic, heated discord.

I'm not sure, but I think it was us.

By the time the door opens, I'm wrapped in your overcoat, shuddering, sniffling and leaning on your for support. My pants are in a bag you've stuffed with the toys we'll be taking home. It will be awhile before I sit down without a wince. A reminder I'll suppose, later when I'm thinking in coherent sentences, during the long absence ahead.

The younger girls just watch, Cynthia even moves forward when, pale and breathless, I almost collapse. Your expression warns her away. "Mine!" You almost hiss. You walk me the rest of the way out, not even a word for Shirley who seems suddenly very interested in a new shipment of ball gags.

Later, I'm laying on your bed, half asleep, my body vibrating, still pulsating from punishment, while my mind reels in a warm comfort. I replay your words, both before and afterwards as you cooed comfort all the way to the apartment. Even more so, a hissed exclamation of ownership warms me in ways I could never explain to anyone not in my... *ahem* position.

Mine!

I sigh softly, taking notice of your shadowy form as you walk into the darkened room. Oh yes, the rest of the night, I'm still yours. Whenever and whatever and... yes, I'm still very much yours. "What is your pleasure tonight, Jen? What is your command Mistress? What is your wish, Goddess?"

You stand there, looking at me, devouring me. I can't see your eyes, but I can feel my flesh and soul being picked clean. Then, "Lay there, just... lay."

I feel the bed shift as you get on at the end, away from me, your back against wall. Then, your feet are on my back. I can smell the nylons, feel the satin of their touch, as you begin to stroke, making circles with your toes and curling them where my muscles are knots.

It is a fantasy I've shared with you, but never seemed right given our roles. A pleasure I set aside for others, a soft, simple almost vanilla pleasure that hardly seems to count for much given the intensity of our sessions. A boundary between relationships from one sort of fantasy and another. And yet, I begin to melt into a complete and utter blissful pudding.

I suppose it's the closest thing a Mistress can give to an apology. NO! That's one boundary that must never be crossed, it negates the whole purpose of the role. You must take me where and when you feel I'm ready, without regret or remorse. This is just another place you've decided to take me, another unexpected journey I've made this evening.

"Can you... turn over, sweetling?"

I nod. It causes me more pain then I thought it would, but that's easily forgotten when your hosiery clad feet begin a steady, slow massage over my penis. Oh Goddess, just when I think I'm bound as tight as a parcel can be, you find a place for a ribbon and a bow.

That night we both come again, softly this time, but no less hard.

The next morning I walk into the same store proudly. I give a dreamy smile to Shirley as I explain a certain lavender dildo had caught your eye yesterday and I had been sent to retrieve it. She scoffs and smirks, "I doubt she needs one boy, chances are, she'll be giving it to you, with commands on it's use."

I shrug and grin, "Whatever and whenever." Then I walk proudly to the row of motorized mayhem that had so unnerved my fellow male just the day before. While I'm messing around, going so far as to price shop and check for features, I feel a gentle tap at my shoulder.

I turn to see Cynthia there, once again, trying to suppress a grin and giggle that wants to eat her body and soul. I smile, not caring what she thinks, not with the day I'm having, certainly not with the night I've had. Instead, as though to remind this poor dumb male that I should NEVER get smug enough to think I have some special, profound insight into the female psyche, she hands me a card.

It's off pink, smells of roses and has a phone number printed on one side. I stare at it dumbly for a few moments, and then grin. "I'll be sure the Mistress gets it, Cynthia, right?"

Cynthia blushes, then shakes her head, "It's for you... just you."

I stand there, pole axed and then slowly, offer the card back. "Then I'd be even MORE sure she got it Cynthia, haven't you heard? I'm hers."

Now it's her turn to look in wonder, as though trying to piece me together, a task only one person I've met has ever managed. A person that's likely wondering what's taking me so long getting home with a simple dildo. Finally, she nods, taking the card and sliding it into my jacket pocket. "Then that's what you should do."

I nearly fainted, then and there. I wonder if I'll ever come close enough to understanding the species, let alone another gender. I should probably throw the card away. I mean, honestly, another woman? Not another Mistress, but likely, another pet?

Picking up the dildo, I make my purchase and then my way home, the card snuggly in my jacket. Another boundary I suppose. But then, it's not my job to determine when and where they'll be tested and overcome.

That's what a Mistress is for.

End

For my Mistress, currently looking for boundaries new.