I do not have direct experience of what I have attempted to describe in this story, it is almost entirely from my imagination. I enjoyed writing it though. Please, all you experts hiding behind your anonymity, do not spend too much time correcting technical niceties. I know that I have not done these things and I might have got bits wrong here and there. Honestly though, it's not that big a deal. It's just a story designed to entertain you. Thanks for reading.
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Mavis and The Mayor
Mavis raised the teacup to her lips and sipped before replacing the cup on its saucer which she held in her left hand. A nice cup of Earl Grey in bone china on a sunny day, what could be better?
She looked down at the cup and frowned in dismay, the smudge of the red lipstick on the rim of the sky blue cup jarred with her. It spoiled her mood and she had been having such a lovely day up to then.
She leaned forward to place the cup and saucer on the occasional table, she had been discombobulated by the irritation of the lipstick smudge and this had so affected her equilibrium that she just wanted to dash the cup at the wall. But today was not a day for histrionics, today she would exercise restraint and control.
So instead she reached down and grabbed a clump of her slave's hair and, clamping his head tight between her legs, she ground his face hard into her wet pussy. This was a perfectly reasonable response, after all it was he who had bought her the lipstick and therefore it was his fault.
She pushed him away from her, casting him aside, before closing her legs and smoothing her dress over them. It was safe to say that her stockings had better be dead straight after that because she would be checking and if he had disturbed their perfect positioning while he was serving her then he would be doing without for weeks.
She unlocked his leash from the chair, slipped the key into her clutch bag and dismissed him with a cursory wave. He scurried away on his hands and knees, his leash dragging noisily behind him. She grimaced at the unwelcome sound.
Today she was dressed in a floral print, it was warm out so she had a couple of buttons undone exposing her decolletage which she had adorned with a thin gold chain and locket. There was the teeniest glimpse of her black lace bra showing. She believed that the odd imperfection such as this simply enhanced her perfect look.
She stood and walked over to her mirror. It was full length and beautiful with an antique indian wooden frame with intricate carvings. It was fixed securely to her wall now but she had preferred it when she had needed four of her slaves to hold it up for her but they could never keep it completely still despite her admonishments, so she had called in favours from a local builder who knew her specialties and had done other work for her. Her slaves had suffered for that, two of them could not sit down for about a week, the other two were clearly made of stronger stuff.
She checked herself in the mirror, her round breasts looked fabulous in this dress, she did like it when she could display her impressive cleavage and there was just a hint of nipple. Her two inch black leather belt accentuated her waspish waist and her dress hung neatly clinging to her ass. She was especially proud of her ass and would ensure that it was worshipped several times a day, regardless of where she was in the world she could always find someone to comply.
She checked her stockings and with a tiny twinge of regret noted that they were perfectly straight.
Pulling up the front of her dress she admired her shaven pussy, her outer lips still slightly engorged from the slave's administrations, her suspenders and stockings matched her bra. She liked what she saw.
Dropping her dress she walked over to her dining table and gently rang, just once, the silver bell that was always placed there, in exactly the same place.
As he crawled out from his corner she ordered him:
"Fetch the shaving kit and warm water and bring it to my bathroom." He scurried off. She called after him "and the clippers and I will need my apron."
She took her time, sipping on a small glass of Barolo, before she sauntered through to her bedroom; placing the glass down on her dressing table she went through to the ensuite. Her long black leather apron was there, hanging on the hook next to the shackles where he had hung it. She looked at the apron, was he being presumptuous, was he trying to say something, was he trying to manipulate how she dealt with him, did he want to be shackled? She wondered all this as she took the apron down and put it over her head, tying the strap around her waist and in a bow at the front.
"On your knees bitch, head up" she declared firmly. The slave sat up on his haunches and she cuffed his hands behind his back, then, bending down she cuffed his ankles together before joining the two sets of cuffs with a short chain. She loved the way her breasts hung and her nipples poked out of her balconette bra as she bent like this, the sensation of her nipples grazing the cotton of her dress made her moisten slightly.
"Boy" she called out. A slim, young brown-skin lad dressed only in a black leather belt attached to a cock ring appeared immediately from his post outside her bedroom door.
"Some fresh warm water in the bowl and lather up the brush."
She took the clippers and grabbing her slave by his hair ran them from the front all the way to his neck at the back, his beautiful full head of hair looked comic now with a trail running through it, she then roughly clipped off all the hair of his head. Once complete, she walked back into her bedroom coming back straight away with the offending lipstick. It was a Guerlain Rouge, in brick red, prestige edition. A pity, she thought, this was probably expensive. She picked up a mirror and wrote the word 'cunt' in red on his forehead, holding the mirror in front of him as she did so. The word offended her, but then so did he.
"Boy, lather his head."
