Quivering with conflicted emotion, I spread my knees wide apart, feeling my labia partially open as they adhered slightly to my inner thighs. One of my labia became her target as her fingers now seized it and gave it a painful twist. The pain intensified as she kept turning her wrist, millimeter by millimeter. The bra that tied my hands together was not very strong -- I probably could have broken it, and freed my hands -- but I feared what she might do to me if I did. Worse yet was the thought of disappointing Mistress Polly. So instead, I cried out "Please stop Miss. Please -- I beg you -- stop!"
This is apparently what she wanted. She said "Begging is delightful -- I like that." And she let go. My mind reacted strangely: pleased that the intense pain had stopped; saddened at the loss of physical contact, and yes, even the loss of feeling disciplined.
Fortunately for my tormented pussy lip, it was only a short ride to her house. Unfortunately, this was only the beginning of my night as her guinea pig. Normally, I enjoy submission and discipline, as Mistress Polly well knows. But I was sensing a strong streak of sadism in Miss Amanda. I admit this triggered in me a wave of fear. Before having me get out of her car, she unbuttoned the overcoat covering me completely, I had to walk hunched over to prevent it from falling off of my nude body. Entering her house, I found it comfortably warm. This was good because I was naked for the rest of my time there.
Amanda fetched a dog collar, which she buckled tightly in place. The wide band of leather closing on my neck was very evocative; another step in being claimed. Being collared is a very significant act to me. I must admit that my neck feels taller when I am collared, because it gives me a feeling of pride that someone finds me valuable enough to claim, even if they refer to me with derogatory names. Miss Amanda clipped a leash to my collar, adding to her control. She also produced a butt plug with a bushy tail and I flushed with the realization that I was indeed being transformed into her pet. She commanded me to kneel down, lower my shoulders to the floor, and spread my ass cheeks. The burning sensation of her screwing the butt plug into my dry anal opening made me whimper. Pulling on the leash, she made me crawl around her house, wagging my tail as I moved. If I failed to wag it vigorously enough to satisfy her, or if I was unable to grip it firmly enough, and it managed to fall out, she swatted my ass with a flyswatter, striking harder and harder with each infraction.
Tiring of this play, she discarding the butt plug, and led me to her basement. Still crawling, I felt the absence of the butt plug almost as keenly as its presence; my anal opening probably gaped open for quite some time. Crawling down the steps and reaching the basement floor, I knelt on the cold and gritty concrete surface, my head lowered, staring down. Miss Amanda's hand came into view, holding a ballgag, which she shoved roughly into my mouth. Buckling the straps behind my head resulted in some hair being caught and pulled painfully. She now had me stand up -- a relief for my knees -- but tied my wrists tightly together in front of me and lifted my arms to place the loop of the bindings over a hook dangling from a floor joist overhead. This made me stretch up high, standing on my tiptoes, my body completely unprotected. The worst thing about my situation was that Miss Amanda and I had not agreed upon a safeword or gesture. There was no way for me to signal my need for her to stop, if necessary. I tried protesting loudly through the gag, but could only make incoherent sounds.
Miss Amanda picked up a long, thin, supple wooden rod and swished it through the air several times. "Lift your left foot up behind you," she demanded. As I did so, the rod cracked harshly against the tender sole of my foot. "Lower that foot, and raise the other," she directed. I obeyed, and was rewarded with another stinging blow to the sole of that foot. This went on for an indeterminate period of time, until both of my feet ached as I placed my weight on them. My mind was losing its grip on reality, the pain suffusing my entire consciousness. Yet inexplicably and simultaneously, something peaceful possessed me.
My agony increased as she took a handful of clothes pins, clamping their cruel jaws around the periphery of each of my breasts, adding a couple to my labia for good measure. She left me like this for several minutes while she went back upstairs, returning with a nasty looking flogger. She began striking me with its strands, lightly at first. She walked slowly around me, methodically covering my back, belly, ass, and pussy -- apparently not wanting to dislodge the pattern of clothes pins on my tits.
As the pain built, the sounds I was making through the gag began increasing in volume. This seemed to goad her into hitting me harder, until she went into a frenzy -- staring at me with an almost manic expression as I danced and twisted in my suspension, trying desperately to anticipate the blows in an effort to soften them. With my garbled vocalizations, head movements, and pleading expression, I was trying to signal 'red light' (my safeword) to her. But either she did not understand, or she chose to ignore my plea . She had me jerking so hard that the clothes pins fell off -- the now numbed, discolored skin suddenly awoke as the pressure came off of my nerve endings, flooding my nervous system with such a shock that I slumped unconscious. I'm not sure when she finally noticed this, and stopped.
I came to, and found myself laying untied and ungagged on the basement floor, doused with cold water. If I was expecting an apology from her for her excessive behavior, I did not receive one. She did, however, help me get to my feet, and rubbed the dirt and water from my body with a towel. Administering my beating had aroused her so much that she took me immediately to her bed.
She hastily tore off her clothing, and pulled me up onto the soft surface with her. "I need you to make me cum," she said. "Use your mouth and your fingers." I was so angry because of the way she treated me that I refused. But instead of using The Voice and her natural authority to overcome my objections, she began pleading with me, begging me to lick her. Propped on her pillows, her hands playing with her tits, she even offered them to me to suckle, to try to get my mood to change. She adopted a wheedling tone, betraying such a need that my mood began to soften. She groped her pussy with several fingers, and offered me those to taste. At that, something seemed to break loose inside of me. After sucking her fingers clean, I allowed her to position my face where she wanted it. I wanted to please her, it felt right, so I worshiped her pussy and slid my fingers into her cunt, fucking fast and deep. Her sighs let me know it was appreciated.
Her manner changed again after she had several (yes several -- the inner slut in me demands that once I start, I find it difficult to stop) mind-blowing orgasms (giving me none in return). She chained me naked to the floor at the foot of her bed for the rest of the night. So much for the greedy, needy girl that had inhabited her body briefly. The full-fledged Dominant had returned with a vengeance. The house cooled for its night cycle and I shivered on the cold floor. The coolness helped with the burning sensations left from her flogging.
In the morning, I explained to her that I had to pee. She led me on the leash to the bathroom, pulling me past the toilet to the bathtub. She commanded, once again in full control of The Voice, "Climb in, slut. Lay down on your back. Raise your hips. Spread your labia open." Desperate for relief, I assumed this awkward position. "All right, pet. Piss!" I certainly did not want to, but my bursting bladder finally lost its battle. My piss arced up, curving into a yellow fountain, and splashed on my tummy and lower chest, running in a hot stream up to my shoulders and neck. She laughed at my humiliation, of course. When I had finished, she said, "I probably cannot return you to class smelling like a public urinal. Take a shower, slut."
Toweling off, afterwards, I looked in mirror, twisting and turning to examine most of my body. I was horrified to see welts and bruises everywhere! Fortunately, my clothes covered them all, but I winced as I dressed gingerly. On the drive to the school, I learned that I could neither put all my weight onto the seat cushion, nor could I rest my back against the back of the seat. My feet ached in my tight shoes. I was constantly reminded of the brutal and magnificent power that Miss Amanda had displayed.
And I could not help but worry, "What will my Mistress say, when she sees the state I am in, when I return home after school?"
