When Gepetto got in, Dimity was unsure of his mood. "Are-do you want a beer, Master?"
Gepetto was such a glorious creature. He wore one of those vests that emphasized his muscled chest, and those enormous arms. But he was getting older, and it annoyed him that he wasn't receiving the attention from the young women that he'd once had.
When Dimity had told Gepetto about her fantasies to be whipped and humiliated, but also to serve his girlfriends, after all, even if she was his wife, she was only a Pig-Slut, Gepetto had been somewhat enthused.
"Get in here, Lard Ass." he said, as he lit a Cigarillo. Dimity stepped in, biting her lower lip. She had a beer for him, and she did feel apologetic, somewhat, about that extra ten pounds.
No one else noticed it except her loving husband. Men everywhere were transfixed by the demure red-head. But who cared, if Gepetto was still unimpressed?
"Take off that God-awful dress, Dim." His eyes gleamed.
Dimity was worried now, but she pulled her dress off, letting her full breasts tumble.
"Oh Jesus, watch them flop. They look like saddle bags."
Dimity's legs began trembling, and she began feeling a bit excited. Fearful, but excited.
"Yeah, take off the underwear, too, and then you can bring me my beer. Wait--have you shaved?"
"I didn't get to the-the depilation place--"
Gepetto rose. He couldn't stand a badly done bikini wax.
Dimity had already had a difficult afternoon. Her other dominant Mistress, Casriel had required that Dimity come to her house to "entertain" a group of drunken lesbians, in fact a roller derby team!
After a full four hours of going down on woman after women, enduring the scourge, the knout, and the blacksnake flogger, Dimity had been quite exhausted.
But, after everyone left, Casriel had cuffed Dimity's wrists behind her and ordered the naked submissive to clean up the party, and there was garbage everywhere!
"That's right, I want you to do it all with your mouth, no hands, girl."
Perplexed as Dimity was over this chore, and terrified of possible repercussions for not doing an adequate job, Dimity still looked with love at Mistress Casriel.
Once a quiet typist at the publishing house Dimity owned, Casriel had awakened to her employer's enthusiasms.
And the tables had turned, and the two had had a happy eight years, though grueling for Dimity, sometimes.
"And if you don't do a great job," Casriel warned before retiring to her room for some bong hits, "I'll be back with my bullwhip!"
"Yes-yes ma'am." Dimity had answered hesitantly. She knew the swinging power of Casriel's right arm, and Cas's cane had danced quite a lot across Dimity's naked rear quite a lot that day.
Dimity, who had a full time housekeeper at home, had looked at the mess with revulsion.
So disgusting. Discarded pizza, lipstick stained cigarette butts all over the floor.
Her balance was a bit off, as Dimity was cuffed, but she dropped to her knees and picked up a china plate in her teeth.
Crawling across the floor, Dimity had used her chin to push the disgusting assorted garbage onto the china plate.
Some two decades before, Dimity had had a Mistress who ordered her to manipulate the vacuum cleaner with her anus, so she was a bit adept at this.
But she was exhausted as she moved around on her knees, holding it in her mouth.
It had been so hot, serving all those nasty dykes, getting her twat and asshole alternately plunged with various strap-on dildos.
