Under His Mistress' Hand

This story is a 40,000 word novella which runs to 16 chapters. It starts as a slow burn but goes on to explore the journey of a novice as he discovers the joys of loving Femdom. I wrote it as a gift for my real life sub, David, and we hope you enjoy it.

If Femdom is not for you, then please do not continue reading. However, if you like the idea of a powerful woman controlling every aspect of a helpless sub's pleasure, then please read on.

Storm abated, David left his Mistress' home soon after, having had to stuff his aching cock into his constricting jeans which grated like sackcloth over his scorched cheeks. As he walked back along the bank of the Thames, now reflecting the lights from the river boat cruises, pubs and apartments, he felt more alive than he had done for years, and he had not even had a release.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. Yes, his balls were still swollen with unspent seed and his shaft throbbed with a heartbeat of its own, but his mind, his soul felt a newfound freedom which was a release in and of itself. He had willingly handed his body, his freewill, over to an intoxicating stranger and she had proven herself worthy of his trust. She'd taken him in hand and had been delighted by his responses, both verbal and physical, impressed with his fortitude. So much so, that she wanted to see him again the next day and she'd set him a task which he had no intentions of failing -- not to touch himself until he saw her again and was given explicit permission. It was not going to be easy -- two rubs and he'd go off like a rocket -- but he would endure it for her.

The bracing chill off the water was already helping, and if the heavy cloud blotting out the stars was any indication, he'd likely be drenched before reaching his hotel, so that should go a long way in helping him to fulfil his task. London weather could always be relied on for cooling the hottest ardour.

The next morning dragged by. David had awoken at 5.30am, partly due to the effects of acclimatising to Greenwich Mean Time and partly due to excitement. He'd desperately wanted to jump up and return to her apartment so that he didn't miss a moment in her presence, however, he was not required to return until 3pm, so he had a long day to fill.

Steadfastly ignoring his throbbing morning wood, he'd taken a cold shower then dressed for another changeable day. Currently it was bright though cool, and he slipped on a jumper and light jacket before heading out for breakfast. Earlier in the week he'd found a café nearby that served an amazing full English breakfast, and, even at this early hour, it was full of commuters heading out, shift workers heading back and taxi drivers grabbing a cuppa between fares.

After a leisurely breakfast, eschewing the milky 'builder's bum' tea in favour of a second mug of extra-strong black coffee -- 'liquid bitumen' they'd called it in the café when he'd first explained how he wanted it, David found himself walking the same route as yesterday. He enjoyed passing the historic buildings he'd learned about before leaving the walking tour until he reached the exact spot where he'd bumped into Kate, less than 24 hours ago.

Standing on that otherwise unremarkable stretch of pavement, David felt there should be something to commemorate that momentous meeting; a blue plaque maybe, such as he'd seen marking key historical landmarks on his tour? Turning once again to the antiques store, he felt drawn inside, as though some part of her remained, some molecules of the air she'd breathed that he could draw into his lungs. Just being there again, reliving the moments they'd shared, made him feel closer to her as he tried to fill their time apart.

Wandering around the shop, David again considered buying some maritime curio, something he could take back to the States to remember his time here - as if forgetting might ever be an issue. But that thought brought pain. He didn't want to think about leaving, and even when, eventually he would have to, no souvenir made of polished wood and brass was going to fill the hole left behind.

It was then that David stumbled across the odd machine that had tickled Kate's fancy yesterday. He didn't know what it was, but thought it could be some type of kitchen gadget or early power tool, perhaps? She had not shed any light when she'd picked it up, turned the rotary handle, and smiled enigmatically, but the very fact that it had caught her attention meant that it warranted a second look.

The object came in a brown carboard box and looked a little like an egg whisk. The packaging proudly announced it was Dr Macaura's Pulsocon Hand Crank, which really didn't give much information away. However, on further perusal of the packaging David saw that maker's boast that the use of this revolutionary piece of medical equipment could help aid women with ailments such as poor circulation, rheumatism, and hysteria. It included a quote by the estimable Dr Gerald Macaura, that his goal was to

'help women loosen their joints and increase the circulation of blood.'

Turning the handle, the machine pulsed noisily and, looking closely at the nobbled rotating head, made of India-rubber if he wasn't very much mistaken, David realised that he held in his hands an early Victorian vibrator. Wanting to know more, he brought it to the desk at the front of the shop.

The young woman behind the counter looked at the object in his hands and smirked knowingly, 'Oh, yes, that is quite fun, isn't it? A gift for a friend, is it?' making David flush with embarrassment.

Mumbling, his accent now stronger due to his humiliation, he replied, 'Uhh, yes. I know what it is, Miss, but I just wondered if you could tell me anything more about it?'

'Oh yeah, I know all about it! My dad owns the shop and he made me do research on some of the stock as part of my apprenticeship. That one was totally the most interesting I found. The inventor, Dr Gerald Macaura, was one of yours,'

David was mortified for a moment. Did she know by looking that he was a submissive to a powerful Domme? Dear God, how could he ever face his friends again?

'American,' she went on. 'He was thrown in prison and fined for fraud for the sale of a

'vibratory massage instrument',

' she confided salaciously, accentuating her point with air quotes. 'Turns out, he wasn't even a doctor, and he couldn't prove it did any of the things it said on the box. It certainly is a beauty though,' she continued enthusiastically. 'That vibrator was made in 1890 and it's still going strong!'

At this point she looked a little sheepish, as though she'd revealed rather too much. Okaay, thought David. Sounds like she really did her research. Thoroughly and repeatedly. Still, at less than £100, it was a snip, even if it might need a spritz down with sanitising spray.

'Do you gift wrap?'

---

After lunching at

The Prospect of Whitby

, unashamedly ordering the fish and chips she'd eaten yesterday, the time had finally arrived, and David was standing outside Kate's warehouse apartment. Under his arm was the box wrapped in tissue paper and tied with string. Not exactly gift wrapped, but hopefully enough to intrigue her, nonetheless. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, David pushed the intercom to signal his arrival.

'Hello, pet,' came the purring voice through the speaker.

Looking up, he saw the CCTV camera and waved awkwardly. As the door release buzzed, David pushed his way into her small, private hallway and looked at the pegs. He wondered if there were cameras in here too, but really, what did it matter. When he saw Kate, he'd be buck naked anyway so if she chose to watch him undress then that was entirely her prerogative.

Mindful that she might be taking note, he stripped quickly and efficiently, hanging his clothing on the pegs, and piling his underwear and shoes on the wooden bench that lined the wall, before calling the lift. As the doors opened, David's smile broadened, and he gazed fondly at the Turkish rug he felt connected them. Even before the doors had slid shut with a hushed breath, he'd turned and sunk to his knees, sighing as the silken threads caressed his low hanging fruit.

Moments later, the door reopened, and there, before him, was a vision that simultaneously made his pulse race, his palms clammy and his cock turn to stone. This power did not come from any Medusa-like qualities She might possess, rather it was the impact of seeing her kitted out in full equestrian garb, as though she had just this minute come back from a canter around Hyde Park.

David was speechless as his eyes took in Her long, shiny, back riding boots, over form-fitting tan jodhpurs that hugged her hips and thighs. Her white blouse had the top three buttons undone to reveal a goodly expanse of tantalising cleavage and her midriff was accentuated with a tightly fitted waistcoat which acted like a corset to draw the eyes to the nip of her waist and the generous flare of her hips. Her hands were encased in snug leather gloves and were flexing a braided leather riding crop.

Lifting his chin with the tab of the crop, Kate smiled down at him. 'Welcome back, pet. I've been expecting you.'

She was magnificent. Dear God, David's cock was so hard he was almost bursting out of his skin like an overstuffed bratwurst, and he had to grip his knees with his sweaty hands to stop himself from reaching out to touch her.

However, she did not have the same restriction, and held out one gloved hand to him. He followed his instinctual reaction to take it reverently in both of his large, lightly hairy hands and kiss the knuckles, like a knight before his queen. He breathed in the scent of fine, soft leather as he pressed his forehead to her fingers. Her other hand cupped his chin, raising his head once more to meet her eyes as she smirked, 'Stand, pet, I do not intend to spend all day in my lift.'

Clambering to his feet - he was going to have to practice rising more gracefully - he stood before her, very aware of his nakedness against her tightly outfitted body.

Suddenly, his hair was seized, and her lips crashed down on his, taking his mouth cruelly, possessively, her tongue battling his in an erotic show of dominance. David groaned low in his throat at the passion of her claiming, and when she pulled away, releasing his smarting scalp, he was breathless and from more than just the kiss.

'I missed you last night, slave. I had to dine alone,' her voice rough with passion and resentment, as though it was his fault he hadn't stayed to take care of her needs.

'I'm so sorry, Mistress. I missed you too. I would have loved to take you to dinner and look after you in any way you desired.'

David's words were laced with a deep longing. Every moment away from his precious Mistress was worse than the harshest punishment she could possibly dole out.

Seeming appeased by his answer, she smiled as she took in his wild eyes and kiss-swollen lips. Taking his hand, she led him to a large, leather armchair in front of a picture window looking out over the river, where she sat, gesturing to him to kneel.

Another ornate rug, larger and in deep red and gold, adorned the floor, so he was protected from the harsh bite of the wooden floors to some extent, and he was happy to kneel again, rather than stand with his nudity on full sight to anyone who happened to look up whilst sailing down the Thames.

'Now, pet, there is something that you should know. I am a very jealous woman. I treasure what is mine and I do not play well with others. I never share what I own, and I expect 100% loyalty.'

Her eyes were glaring fiercely down at him, as though he'd been entertaining thoughts of other women. As if anyone could tear his focus away from his glorious Goddess even for a moment!

'Consequently,' she went on, 'I require you to wear my mark of ownership at all times. This is as much a lesson for you as a warning to anyone else. Every time you see my marks, every time you shift uncomfortably in your seat, or run your finger over the tender ridges I have placed on your flesh, you will know that I have chosen you, that I own you and that you are mine. Now, in years gone by, a Mistress would mark her property with a brand, seared directly into her slave's flesh. Can you imagine the honour of bending to receive my brand, pet? The long wait for the irons to become white hot, then the two overlapping initials, M and K being pressed one after the other and held, hissing for ten long seconds into your vulnerable flesh? Do you think you could bear it bravely, silently, like a tribal initiation ritual? Or do you think that would be the limit to your stoicism? Would it wrench a verbal reaction from deep down in your soul?'

David's heart was racing. The picture she painted was so terrifyingly erotically charged that he almost wished he could endure it for her.

'And after,' she continued, 'how proud you would be to wear my mark all your days. Even if I tired of you and cast you off for younger, fresher meat, you would have to wear my brand to tell the world that you were owned. What self-respecting Mistress would take on used flesh? I fear, sweet subbie, that you would spend the rest of your days wondering where you went wrong and how you could have served me better, pleased me enough to keep you.'

The anguish that David felt at her words gave actual pain. To lose her, to pine for what he had, when that fear was already at the back of his mind. His vacation was not endless. He had a return ticket booked in less than a week. Although he was retired, so it was not as though he had a pressing reason to return, and tickets could be rebooked...

'However,' she murmured regretfully, 'such practices are considered rather barbaric in this day and age and so, my pet, I shall have to make time to ensure that you are marked regularly. I shall inspect your marks daily and refresh them whenever I deem it necessary. And, of course,' she chuckled 'whenever I fancy it just for fun. So, rest assured, there will never be a time under my care when you are sitting comfortably. Doesn't that sound lovely?' She beamed down at him.

'Yes, Ma'am. Very lovely. Thank you for your generosity, Mistress,' he replied, without any hint of irony.

'You are most welcome, pet. It is my very great pleasure,' she responded fervently, slowly removing her leather gloves, one finger at a time, to reveal her slim, pale fingers whose nails had been painted a deep rich burgundy.

'Now, to signal your eagerness to receive my marks, I desire you to kiss any implement I choose to use on you -- be it my hand, a crop, cane or paddle -- both before and after your appointment. Know that this is not a punishment, it is a sacred commitment to our relationship -- a reaffirming of my dominion over you and your willing submission to my will. You can think of it rather like the renewal of one's marriage vows, although ours will be much more regular and should make a much more lasting impression, don't you think?' She laughed with pleasure, and he couldn't help but smile back.

'So, let's get those first marks in place, as I don't imagine there is any lasting redness from the little spanking I gave you yesterday.'

David wasn't sure he'd have called it a

little

spanking, but it was true that there was no lasting redness or bruising, much to his chagrin. For something that had stung so badly at the time, it would have been nice to see some lasting memento. Well, he thought, I'm sure today's reaffirmation will take care of that!

'Now, before we start, I wish you to have a safe word. This is a way we can monitor how things are going and you have a chance to let me know if it becomes too much for you. You will never be punished for safewording, but I don't recommend that you cry wolf, boy. I will know and it will only land you in more hot water.'

David made to speak but was cut off with a stern look. 'Now, before you start to protest, I am not suggesting that you will need to use it, but it is my duty as your Domme to ensure it is there should you need it. We will use the traffic light system for when we are playing. Green is for when things are going well, and you do not wish to stop. Amber is a chance to take a break, to discuss any concerns or redirect, and red will stop the scene immediately. You can also use a safe word of your own -- do you have a word you would like to use?'

David thought for a moment and gave her the name of the Shawnee warrior chief who organized a Native American confederacy in an effort to create an autonomous Indian state and stop white settlement in the Northwest Territory. 'Tecumseh, Mistress.'

'So be it, boy.' Kate stood and bought David up to face the leather chair. 'Bend over, slave, forearms on the arms of the chair. Further back now, arch that back. I want you to push your bottom up nice and high to give me unrestricted access to my target.'

David did his best to comply. 'That's it, up on your toes now, so that little butt is begging for its marks. Perfect. Now hold that pose, boy. No breaking position or you will receive a real punishment on top of your claiming marks. If this were a punishment, I'd also have your legs apart, toes turned out to leave your vulnerable jewels hanging free to receive their measure of chastisement. However, today you may keep your legs closed.'

Once David was in this stretched out, hard-to-hold position, Kate made her way around to his head and held out her exquisite Coco de Mer riding crop across both palms. David dutifully, reverently, bowed his lips to kiss the cool dark brown plaited leather of the shaft, breathing in the rich scent of the leather combined with the subtle perfume of her skin. As Kate left his field of vision, and returned to her place at his quivering flanks, David firmed his resolve. He would bear the crop for her, however many strokes she deemed fitting, and not make a sound of protest.

'I do so love the crop and I just know that you will too. It's so versatile. I can create vivid red lines, similar to a cane, or little pink rectangles that bruise so prettily, or a combination of the two, depending on the angle and severity of my strokes. As you are new to this, I will start easy. For today, I believe just six strokes with the shaft at medium intensity will suit, my pet. The perfect number, don't you think? Enough to remind you of your place, but not enough to completely cover my canvass should I wish to add more later. Afterwards I will check to see how much you have enjoyed it. Brace yourself, boy.'

Thwack!

Although David had braced for his first stroke, he was still shocked by the intensity of the crop, as opposed to her hand yesterday. He saw now that she was being merciful then, easing him into this new lifestyle that he had been seduced into. Now she was apparently 'starting easy', showing him what a daily marking would entail at medium intensity, and he knew that as his relationship with this exacting Goddess progressed, he was going to find his limits pushed beyond what he ever thought he might endure.

Whack!

As the second stroke blazed a line directly below the first, David's mind turned again to her words on branding. Both lines seemed to be burning into his flesh and he felt he should be able to smell searing as it crisped.

The third stroke followed soon after and he almost moaned out loud. The pain was bright, intense, but the burn was easier to bear than the sheer eroticism of the vision he could see reflected in the window in front of him. Kate was mid swing -- her right arm was raised, pulling the thin fabric of her blouse taut against her thrusting breast. He could even see the lace of her bra cup pressing against it and he fancied that he could see the jut of her pebbled nipple showing her excitement at the power she was wielding over him.