Birthdays Bones and Boundaries

It was My Lady's birthday. Funny how you just can't find a Hallmark card for the woman who taught you to heel, sit, spread, and thank her with every stroke of the belt. I know, I looked. I would, as the saying goes, give her the sun, the moon, the stars, and my curvy redheaded ass if only she would accept them. My redheaded ass she already owns, and her flat hasn't room for the sun, moon or stars.

I wanted to pamper her for the evening. I had baked a cake, which is not all that unusual for me, I bake lots of cakes for birthdays. Usually for my daughters, for my co workers, or for Girl Guides in some fashion. This one was not one of those cakes, this was two layers of red velvet sheathed in snow white butter cream icing edged with white chocolate flakes. The middle was the same sweet crème I turned inside every time her eyes touched my body, her fingers, her lips, her whip.

White icing for my skin, which was the kind of pale that allowed mosquitos and vampires to pick a vein from the other side of the room, and which burned if the thought of the sun crossed my mind. Red velvet for my flaming red hair, and the flaming red blush that crept upon me every time I thought about My Lady.

My Lady has specified the present I was to get for her. I had it wrapped in a pretty box with white Confirmation wrapping paper (yes you can get wrapping paper for Catholic and High Anglican confirmation and baptism. Little white cherubs blowing trumpets and little falls of ribbons on white paper), wrapped in red ribbon tied in a pretty bow.

I arrived at her flat dressed in a way that would give my students, my Girl Guides, my husband, and my daughter a collective heart attack. When I dress for school, my red hair is up in a tight French or Dutch braid, not a wisp allowed free. My blouses are cut loose and long, because 48G is not something that gives you choices between bursting buttons, or deep cleavage unless you go really oversize. I wear dress slacks under the long blouses, trusting the long peasant blouse to cover the fact my muscular heart shaped ass strains the slacks to yoga pant tightness.

When I dress for Girl Guides, its loose blue Girl Guide shirts and dark blue cargo pants, honestly civilian copies of my old combat pants. Again, cut to minimize my figure, my hair in a single tight braid loose down my back. Not sexy, but functional.

Now I am not Jan the teacher, Jan the mother, Jan the Girl Guide leader. No, now I am My Lady's little Wendy Doll.

My hair is braided in two little girl braids, tied with ribbons. I almost wear a little blue dress like a traditional Dirndl, with sheer white blousing straining to contain my breasts, and failing utterly to conceal them. The dress is so short, my ass is peaking out, even when I stand primly. I wear white schoolgirl stockings to mid thigh, and blue velvet shoes with 4" heels that once belonged to me, and now belong to My Lady.

I am not wearing any underwear, but I do boast loops of green paracord tied to my wrists and ankles as tokens of my submission. Some days My Lady chooses to use them to restrain me, but always the remind me I am not free, I am property. I slide out of my car, and the edge of the seat catches my butt plug, causing me to gasp. My Lady likes me to wear it when I drive to her. She understands she owns my ass, and it is my job to arrive with it ready for any use she chooses to put it to. I love every reminder of her power, and my servitude. Lastly, I sling a bag over my shoulder that has massage oil, phone, keys, and nipple clamps, and of course well wrapped China from my wedding set.

Logistics is an issue, as I finally settle on balancing the present on the top of the cake carrier, using my finger to pin the ribbon to the Tupperware strap on the cake carrier. I would not ruin the presentation of My Lady's cake just because my mind is in my pussy, and it is making me clumsy.

I knock on My Lady's door, and she opens it. I blush and curtsy, in the best tradition that years of Royal Academy of Dance ballet will teach, causing My Lady to sigh deeply.

"Honestly pet, Victoria isn't on the throne anymore. Stop curtsying. You are my pet, not my maid." My Lady says as she steps away from the door and allows me into her flat.

I rush to the kitchen, and carefully unbox the cake, rotating it carefully to be sure none of the icing was disturbed. I place the single candle she has allowed me in the middle. At our age, turning a cake into central heating or a bonfire is less celebratory and more depressing.

In my best singing voice, which is not good, I trill out a joyous happy birthday. My breath catches a little when my Lady slides her hand up my stockings, along the bare flesh above and gives a little tug to my butt plug to remind me for whom I wear it. I feel the blush flame down my chest, not just my cheeks as I sing somewhat smoother with the feeling of My Lady's direct control of me.

She allows me to cut her a piece of cake, and present it to her on a gold rimmed China plate, from my wedding set.

Looking down her nose at the plate, My Lady raises an eyebrow and gives me a stinging slap to the ass.

"Wendy, we talked about this. Paper plates are fine." My Lady says sternly. I let my eyes go wide in as close to innocence as a slave can have when planning on ignoring her Mistress orders.

"Oh no, My Lady. It is your birthday. My wedding China is the very least I could serve you with." I say, casting my eyes to the ground before your feet.

You reach up and tug my Dirndl, popping the white lace covers below my breasts, leaving my 48G pushed up and forward by the lace attached to the corset like dress. Taking the back of your fork, you spank my breasts half a dozen times, then scoop up some icing and smear it on my nipple.

Looking me in the eye, you reach behind me to grab my ass and pull me forward. Fastening your mouth over my icing covered breast, you begin to suck me clean with the slow lazy attention of a cat after a kill. I shudder and moan as your mouth and hand make free with my body.

I kiss My Lady's auburn hair as she sucks my nipple, shuddering and whimpering when she takes it in her teeth and puts pressure on it slowly until I whimper. Letting it go suddenly, replaces teeth with lips and kisses my nipple gently.

"You are getting entirely too free with your kissing, and entirely too free in arguing with me. I think it is time I opened my present." My Lady spoke. I rushed back into the kitchen to get the box.

Rushing back to My Lady's side, I curtseyed again, then dropped to both knees, bowing, as I extended the wrapped box on my two upturned palms, with my eyes cast demurely to the floor.

"Honestly Wendy, your brains are all in your cunt. I will whip you for every single curtsy." My Lady continues to think she does not require honorifics, and I continue to believe I cannot stop treating her as the noble lady, the great lady, the rightful owner of my body and soul, that I know her to be. I will take this beating, like the rest, with a smile on my face.

Opening the box, angelic wrapping paper and long jewellery box might lead one to wonder if this was a rosary, some other religious votive necklace. No. Inside is a ice white rubber dog bone, sized for medium dogs, complete with squeaker.

"If my pet can't control herself, cannot keep her mouth from kissing without permission, or saying silly things, then pet can keep herself muzzled. Now, keep this in your teeth until ordered otherwise!" My Lady says firmly, placing the rubber dog bone in my mouth like a bit, as she drops her mouth to my other breast and sucks my second nipple to aching hardness.

"Clamps." She says, snapping her fingers, and I rush to get the two clamps and bell weighted chain from my bag. My Lady fastens my nipple clamps on, then tugs the chain to make sure it is set firmly. I whimper, causing her to smile softly.

She allows me to clear away the dishes, and amuses herself by letting me clean up around her flat. It used to drive her bonkers that I would turn into a Victorian maid every time I entered her flat, wanting to bathe and dress her, clean her house, do her dishes and laundry. There have been nights she put me on all fours with a gag in my mouth, a vibrator in my pussy, my elbows bound to my knees with My Lady using me as a footstool because my constant tidying was making her feel tired.

Now she is feeling playful and allows me to clean and putter about the house. I make a production about leaning over as often as I can, drawing riding crop strikes to pink both my ass cheeks and breasts as we each tease the other while pretending, we are not.

My Lady watches as I set up the massage table and lay out the massage oils I had brought. She gives me a long smoky look. It is hard to look innocent with your tits hanging out, now spattered with drool, and a dog bone in your mouth. I try hard to look innocent anyway.

My Lady smiles and rises from her chair. She walks over to the table and starts to undress. Before she can do more than undo the button on her slacks, I am already beside her, undoing the buttons on her blouse.

She pulls the bone out of my mouth and slaps my face sharply, but not strong enough to turn my head.

"I am perfectly capable of undressing myself. I do not need a Victorian lady's maid." She says as I knee before her, unbuttoning the last of her blouse, then unzipping and pulling down her slacks, holding them as she steps free.

"Yes, My Lady, sorry My Lady." I say while folding her slacks and placing them neatly on the end table. I curtsy to My Lady with each apology, causing her to grip the chain between my nipples and give me ten hard strokes on my arse. You know what a delight it is to feel your plug shock you with every stroke, to feel your heavy breasts tug against the clamps as they rock against the chain My Lady holds steady. She owns me, commands me, disciplines me so exquisitely I cannot look upon her as the same species as me, let alone the same gender. My Lady is a goddess, and I am just a cunt.

"Curtsy's Wendy. What did I say about curtsies?" My Lady asked reasonably, but she stuck the bone back in my mouth, so I didn't think she really expected an answer beyond the puppy noises I made as My Lady disciplined me.

Allowing me to stand, I resumed undressing My Lady, carefully removing, and hanging her blouse. Un-snapping her bra from behind, I drank the scent of her skin in as I tried to kiss along her back as I let the strap hang slack. Reaching around My Lady, I allowed my hands to cup the precious treasures of her modest B cup. I felt a whimper come free as My Lady let me caress her breasts even once as I removed her bra. I folded it neatly and set it atop her clothes.

Kneeling again, I went to draw down her panties. I may have made a bit of a mess of things as I tried so hard to kiss around the bone in my mouth that I left a trail of drool down her left leg as I kissed my way down her apple shaped ass cheek, and her smooth soft leg. When she stepped out of her panties, she noticed I was panting like the dog the bone was intended for and smirked knowingly. I cannot control myself when permitted near her, and she knows it. That is why I cannot be free, and why the most I can ever be in her presence is property.

My Lady sat on the massage table and looked at me. I held up the bottle of massage oil and looked innocent. My Lady gave that the credit it deserved and shook her head, which caused her breasts to cost me eye contact. My Lady may have fun with my udders, but she has never given her own breasts the credit they deserve as objects of my obsession. They are not the size of mine, because she is not a cow, they are perfect to hold in one hand and feed to your mouth. They are enough to steal the breath when she leads forward or turns in profile. You might say we disagree on this, as in few other things.

"If I leave the bone in, you are going to drool all over me aren't you?" My Lady asks.

I blush, look down and my toes dig little circles in the ground as I give my best impression of an embarrassed schoolgirl. My Lady reaches out and pulls the bone from my mouth. She lays back on the massage table, then flops over onto her front as my eyes had already lit upon her maidenly charms perhaps more than a slave is permitted.

"You can start with my back. I think you might get distracted if you massaged my front. I don't trust you are capable of controlling yourself." My Lady said. She understands that no matter how absolutely controlled I am in my professional life, in my family life, in my volunteer work, when I am near My Lady I am little but a brainless slut whose only thought, if you can call it that, is desire for, and desire to please My Lady.

I am actually good at massage. I spent years in the army in the infantry. Women in our profession have to work twice as hard to be treated with half the respect of the men, so our bodies have to be pushed harder. We get hurt, we get used to working hurt, to recovering from hurt. We get used to not being able to trust our fellow soldiers to think with anything but their dick, so if we need a little massage for sore muscles, it must be from our fellow women. Years later, and three athletic daughters later, I was very good.

I began on My Lady's arms. She makes me feel a bit awkward. Where I hold perhaps more muscle than a woman should in any fashion ideal I have ever seen, My Lady could have stepped out of a classical painting or photo from the Edwardian era. Her arms are what a grown woman's arm should be, and I lose myself in working the tension from her. Applying my massage oil to my hands, not to her skin, because I know it needs a little warming, I begin to work the tension from My Lady's neck. I sigh, as she arches slightly under my hands, and I watch the play of her muscles and the shifting of her bum. You do not call your Mistress bum cute, even if that is always the first word that comes to mind.

Working my hands down the long muscles in her back, I start to apply more force, and allow myself to let my nipples drag over her back as I work the muscle groups below her shoulder blades, seeking out the knots that are slower to release.

I work down to the hollow of My Lady's back, beginning the muscles that sheath her hips and rise into her perfect bottom, I sense her tensing as she suspects my desire may overcome my obedience so close to her ass. I wish her to relax, and not think too much about this, so I stop at the towel I placed over her cute little bum, and come down to start on My Lady's feet, as I had earlier begun with her hands.

I hear the sigh as I work the muscled of her feet. Heels are not something that is without cost, and flats have their own support issues, so My Lady's feet are often more tired and stressed than she thinks. I hear her sigh as I work the tension from her foot, forcing her arch and ball to relax and let go the tension that had her tendons standing tight through the arch.

At My Lady's sigh, I let loose my control and take her toes, one by one into my mouth to suckle as I work her heel and ankle with my fingers. I see my lady rise on one elbow and look back at me to see if I was forgetting myself, so I pretend innocence as I cup her foot between my bared breasts and begin to work My Lady's calf.

The second leg I treat the same, and My Lady laughs when again I forget my place and suck her delicate toes into my mouth. I think she indulges me or does not find it unpleasant as she makes no move to stop me.

Climbing on the table between her feet, I begin to work up my lady's thighs. Stronger, deeper reaching motions are required, and My Lady loses herself to the sensation, and does not notice, or lower herself to admit noticing that as I inch my way up, I am parting her glorious legs further.

Reaching the bottom of her ass now, I remove the towel and begin to apply new massage oil to my hands. I begin to work My Lady's soft apple shaped bottom. How I delight in it. So unlike my own, like something stepped right from an old painting. I work her bum deeply with my hands, each time kneading her perfect cheeks and opening between them.

She is moaning softly, and arching into my touch. I feel her start to increase her arch, pull her knees forward a bit and turn her bottom up to me. I cannot pretend control at this point, I am intoxicated with My Lady, and as I dig my hands into her perfect cheeks to knead the muscle, I lean down and kiss between the cheeks I have spread, and the perfect rose between them.

My Lady does not protest. I begin to lick around her puckered rose, and I hear My Lady's breath catch. I let my own moan sound as my tongue begins to press itself more firmly circling, spiraling, kissing, sucking, probing as I burrow between My Lady's cheeks to her tight little bum.

At last she yields, and my tongue forces its way inside. I feel My Lady start to push back, her legs now working to raise her perfect arse for ease of access.

"You little slut." My Lady hisses as she presses her bum back into my face, and I whimper because she is right and I regret nothing.

I have my chin beneath her cheeks firmly now so I can reach underneath My Lady's perfect ass to begin to tease her pussy with my long and wicked fingers. There is no pretense now, I pull her towards me with my left hand beneath her hip, my tongue dancing and thrusting inside her glorious bottom, my right hand circling My Lady's rising nubbin as the long fuse of her arousal starts to burn hotter.

Reaching back, she grabs my left braid and yanks my head forward, demanding I go deeper. I do my best to tongue fuck My Lady's tight little bum, even as my fingers slide in her hot and tight pussy, timing my fingers and tongue to join their thrusts.

Faster and faster, the rolling waves of my lady's hips start to go from slow and stately to almost humping my face. I slide my fingers out of her pussy and begin to rub her clit in time with my tongue and her hip thrusts. I let her choose the pace, matching her crescendo, but my breathing is getting hard, as almost never is my nose free enough to catch a breath. I cannot stop, I will not stop.

With a cry, My Lady begins to cum, and drags her legs beneath her as she curls into half foetal position to ride out her orgasm. I press my cheek to the small of her back and press my breasts to her bottom as I hug her while she subsides slowly.

"I am getting up." My Lady announced. I scramble off the table with a very limited amount of elegance.

She stretches, a motion that makes my heart stop, and then gives my nipple connecting chain a sharp tug. "That was bad Wendy. You can't seem to control yourself. You will have to be disciplined."

She smirks again as I blush and cast my eyes down. She knows I yearn for her to discipline me, to put me in my place, to show me what I am to her, and more gloriously, what she is to me.

I watch her put on her strap on. Ther is a ring at its base with a vibrator on it, so when she presses into me, the bullet will be vibrating against her clit. How she can stand that so soon after orgasm is why she is My Lady and I am her little Wendy doll.

She puts my bone back in my mouth, but she locks a long leather strap around it. I realize she has transformed my dog bone into a bridle. She tightens the loop behind my head, trapping my mouth open with the bone gripped in my teeth, and wraps the long ends around her left fist.

Bending me over the table, she fills her right hand with a doubled dress belt. She gives the massage table to my left and right a powerful, intimidating slap, to prepare me for what is to come.

"Count your punishment Wendy doll." My Lady calls in an amused voice.

The first blow lances across my left cheek and makes my butt plug jump inside me. I try to call out one, but with the bit in my teeth, I can only manage animal sounds.