The question didn't surprise me. We'd played before. Sandra and I were in the car just about a mile from my home. I said I would.
"Then go to the apartment."
Not a word was spoken during the time it took for us to get to get there. It was only when the car had been manoeuvred into the underground lot, parked and the ignition turned off that she said: "When we get upstairs and the door is closed behind us, I want all your clothes off and piled on the floor. You will kiss both of my shoes and then you will crawl to the bedroom, get the toy bag, grasp it in your teeth and bring it to me on your hands and knees."
"Yes, Mistress."
*****
She was only 21. I was 33. I held a senior job at the company while she was a messenger. Her bright personality and sharp attention to detail endeared her to many of us who'd been through the wringer with others who seemingly had no idea of even the simplest of chores. This one was not only pretty, she had a grip on what needed doing. Sandra was brunette, about 5' 2", well-developed and intelligent. She would go far.
Because she was what she was, many of us would spend extra time with her teaching the fundamentals of what we did. We enjoyed the repartee and her enthusiasm. It wasn't much of an extension to include her in after-work pub crawls and it wasn't long before hers and my intimacy extended to private outings. We liked each other and enjoyed the pleasure of our mutual company. Without belaboring the point, a first hug led to a first kiss led to a first grope led to a first... well, you get the picture.
Sandra was an intense and giving lover. The more we made love, the more we shared our private thoughts. And that sharing led me to reveal my need for submission. I showed her some of my subtler periodicals -- written and pictorial –– that had been collected over the years. She took some home with her wanting, she said, to "crawl into the head space."
At our next private get-together, Sandra commented on the fetish items she'd seen and read about. She asked about collars, leashes, whips, shoes, boots, restraints and wondered if I'd ever had any. The fact was, I did. Not the female shoes and boots, mind you, but snuggled deep in my bedroom closet was a bag containing a small cat'o'nine tails, a cock and ball harness, wrist and ankle restraints, a 6' leather thong, a bit-gag harness and a collar and leash.
I told her as much.
She asked if she could see them so I dug it all out and spread the bag's contents on the bed. Sandra explored everything, understanding the workings of each implement. But the cock and ball harness stymied her, understandable because - if you've never seen one - the application of the thing is practically indiscernible. She asked.
"It's a harness for my cock and balls," I responded. "The thin strap of leather encircles my bag while the thicker one goes around the base of my cock."
"Does it hurt?"
"No, only if the skin somehow gets pinched when it's being put on."
"Show me how it works," she said, fondling the leather.
Dropping my pants and underwear and standing in front of her, I extended my hand in an unspoken request. Sandra held it a moment, raised her arm so her hand was at my lips and said, "Before you put it on, kiss it and know that this time, it's going on because I want it there."
That was our absolute first overt step into the FemDom relationship. I admit it rattled me somewhat. Up until then, the conversation had been purely academic. I felt awkward, clumsy and incredibly self-conscious pursing my lips and kissing the harness. But I did it and Sandra, bless her, exhibited nothing in her behavior which I might perceive as a put-down. Instead, her body language sent a message that the act was a natural one; my obedience to her command.
She watched as I worked the straps around my scrotum and engorging cock. When I snapped the closures, my ball bag looked like an inverted pair of balloons at the end of a string. She visually inspected the effect then did so manually, stroking my cock in the process. She was amused that, in their bondage, my balls also moved back and forth to her ministrations. She let go and sat back on the living room sofa.
"Leave it on and tell me more. All of the material you gave me - no, I want your pants around your ankles - all the material talks about foot worship, bondage, discipline, humiliation, the man being on his knees and calling the lady 'Mistress'; it all portrays the man doing exactly what the woman wants and, if he's lucky, she lets him get lucky. Is that how you understand it, too?"
"Yes, that's true," I said. "But it depends on the relationship. If it's a one-on-one, intercourse may be a part of the scene. But many dominant women don't permit it because they come to believe their slaves aren't worthy; that it would denigrate them to have intercourse with a mere slave. Instead, they may provide their slaves release by allowing them to masturbate, usually how, where and when they decide. Most often it's in a humiliating position. The other thing is that Dominas will demand masturbation as a symbol of how attractive and desirable they are to the slave."
"What kind of humiliating positions?"
"Well, the Domina is the object of his desire. Knowing that, she might tantalize him by wearing provocative clothing - or lack of clothing - and by her body language. One way would be for her to be sitting on the bed or whatever. She would have him on his knees at her feet. She might have him lick her shoe while he masturbates. She might teasingly reveal certain body parts to make him that much hotter. It's true that a slave's orgasm is not his own, it belongs to his Mistress. He dare not cum without her permission. When she does give permission, she invariably picks the spot where she wants to see his cum - on her foot, her ass, the floor, in a glass, in his hand, sometimes even into his own mouth. The inventive Mistress can find all kinds of places where she wants it. After he cums, she - to seal his submission - might have him lick it up and swallow.
"Invariably, the slave masturbating for his mistress - at her command - does it as a tribute to her desirability and to her superior femininity; how lustful she makes him feel toward her."
"And I know you lust after me, don't you?" she said more than asked.
