Cindy 5

I knocked on the door, lightly, hoping against hope that it would not be answered. Cindy greeted me, smiling sweetly, with a typically unaffectionate kiss on the cheek, then took my coat and placed it in the closet. She turned back to me and smiled again, but this time it was one of her phony half-smiles that were always trite and contrived. She was wearing a medium-length, tight- fitting, jet-black skirt, with four inch slits on each side, and a long-sleeved, white, cotton blouse with the three top buttons undone to reveal more than a little of her lacy bra cups which were more than amply filled. Besides being well built, she was pretty and had a sexy air about her that attracted attention from men and women alike.

"How are you today, BethAnne?" she asked with a honey-dewed drawl.

"I'm fine, thank you," I replied curtly. I didn't reciprocate with the formality of asking how she was. I was "on loan" so to speak from Darlene, my Mistress, having disobeyed her one evening (I don't even recall my infraction, but it was serious enough, in her estimation, to require a weekend "correctional visit" to Cindy's "Playroom"). To say the least, I was not looking forward to this weekend, knowing Cindy's reputation for cruelty, and felt more scared without Darlene's presence as a buffer if things should get out of hand.

She approached me from the closet like a tiger stalking its prey, then, upon reaching me, raised her hand to my chin and pulled my lower lip down, as if she were a mother about to discipline her teenaged daughter. My lip quivered at the touch. I know she could sense my fear.

"I promised Darlene a changed woman come the end of the weekend. When I am through with you," she continued, her eyes like hot embers staring into mine, "you will know the meaning of obedience, which you seem to forget from time to time."

I gulped. Trying to swallow when your mouth is completely dry is impossible. She then moved both hands to the sides of my shoulders, still looking directly into my eyes. "I think it is wise to begin your discipline sooner than later," she said with a wicked smile. "Are you ready, BethAnne?"

Afraid to answer lest I begin sobbing, I nodded affirmatively, my heart beating a thousand beats a minute. She massaged my shoulders, gently, almost soothingly, as her eyes trailed down the yellow sun dress I was wearing, pausing at my slightly heaving chest to examine the tight bodice. Since I wasn't wearing a bra (Darlene had ordered me not to wear one), my nipples poked out defiantly from the inside the thin cotton.

"I've always liked your body, sweetheart. It's nice and compact, jutting out in just the right places." Without warning, she moved her hands from my shoulders to the sides of my breasts, cupping them, then used her thumbs to brush my nipples into erection, reflexively, beneath the soft material. I closed my eyes, feeling the pleasure of the moment despite my growing trepidation.

"A girl with firm breasts like yours doesn't need to wear a bra," she husked, as she softly squeezed the conically shaped pears in the palms of her hands.

Satisfied that she had aroused me slightly, she moved her fingers until her thumb and forefinger from each hand was tweaking my now turgid nipples. At first the sensation was pleasant, as she twisted each nubbin between her fingers, but soon she increased the pressure along with the twisting and my face began to contort in obvious pain.

"Does that hurt?" she asked, squeezing both nipples tightly.

"Yes!" I blurted, inhaling sharply as she pulled the nipples outward. I tried to turn my face away from her.

"This is too easy for you!" she exclaimed. Undo the front of your dress!"

The sun dress was a button-up-the-front type, from hem to neck, and I wasted no time in fumbling with the buttons in order to obey her quickly, knowing I did not want to give her any more reason to be cruel to me. In a moment, I was undone to the waist. Cindy boldly reached inside the split halves of the top of the dress and spread the bodice from side to side, exposing my bare breasts.

"Very nice," she said. "No sag. They just stand there, nice and proudly!"

She had seen my breasts before, but never when we were alone. She leaned over slightly and took my left nipple between her pursed lips. At first she suckled it, running the tip of her tongue over the fleshy protuberance, finding nerve endings that made my body shiver uncontrollably. Soon, however, the suckling turned to nibbling, and finally to biting, softly at first, but then increasing in intensity until I cried out in pain.

"QUIET!" she ordered, pulling her head a few inches away from my already swollen nipple. "If you can't take a little hurt now, what will you do when things really get going. Do you want me to gag you?"

"No, please don't," I answered with a faint sniffle.

As she continued to bite my nipples, taking turns from side to side, she pushed the sides of the bodice over my shoulders and half-way down my arms, then left it there, pinioning my arms to my side. The torture lasted perhaps five minutes, but it seemed like hours. I held back, with all my might, and didn't utter another sound, save some heavy breathing, despite the suffering I was going through. When she finally finished, my nipples were sore and swollen, but they continued to tingle pleasurably as soon as the pain dissipated.

She then pulled my bodice back over my shoulders, leaving my breasts exposed, but freeing my arms. "I think we need a little closer 'inspection' of that sweet little body before we get on with the formalities. Go into the living room and stand there for a moment," she said, pointing to the center of the room.

She left my blouse wide open, my breasts naked and crudely exposed. I moved into the living room, fearfully, having no idea what to expect from her. She followed behind me, then sat down in a high-back, velvety-cushioned arm chair, facing me. She crossed her legs, slowly and purposefully, and noted, I am sure, that my eyes glanced furtively at the action, catching a nice glimpse of her long, sleek, prettily stockinged legs.

"What is there about you that gives you such a sexy look, BethAnne? Even without your tits hanging out like that you look so enticing. I'm really looking forward to this weekend. Clasp your hands behind your head--I want to see those breasts poke out some more."

Moving my hands in back of my head made me feel even more exposed. I wanted to crawl into the soft carpet beneath my feet and disappear. I never minded displaying myself for Darlene, as she often made me do, but Cindy's calculated and cold manner only heightened my feeling of nakedness as I stood before her, staring over her head, afraid to look into her eyes. I felt her staring at me for what seemed like an eternity. My fingers fidgeted nervously all the while, wondering what might happen next. I soon found out.

"Such a gorgeous body. I want to see more of it. Unbutton the rest of your dress and loosen the belt," she commanded.

My face flushed as I moved my hands first to the thin leather belt, nervously fumbling with it until it came undone, then leaned over slightly to take care of the three remaining buttons on the lower half of the sun dress. Without being told, I straightened back up and clasped my hands once more behind my head.

My light, cotton dress was now opened from top to bottom, although, thankfully, for at least a moment, my actions had moved the top halves of the dress over my breasts. I was glad I had worn a half-slip and pantyhose; their presence made me feel less revealed to her lustful stares, though I knew it would not be long before Cindy would soon find a way to eliminate what little humility remained.

She was being slow and deliberate, making my humiliation all the more unbearable. "Mmm, the more I see, the more I like," she said softly. "But I think things would look even more pleasant without the slip. It gets in the way of your pretty legs. Take it off, BethAnne, and give it to me."

My face reddened once more as I drew the silky white material over my hips and, bending over, lifted each leg, in turn, to whisk it completely off. This time I looked right at her as I moved forward a few feet and handed her the garment. She smiled appreciatively as she took it from me and folded it neatly over her lap.

Remaining near enough to her that our toes were almost touching, I resumed my position, this time knowing the front of my pantyhose and most of my legs were pretty well exposed to her unending stares. Somehow, I felt more humiliated than if I had been standing there stark naked, which I assumed would soon be the case anyway. Without a word, she leaned forward and thrust her hands inside the split halves of my dress, placing her fingers over my hips.

"Your body is perfect, BethAnne," she said thickly, squeezing her fingers, gently kneading the area close my upper buttocks, over the top of my pantyhose, before moving her hands all the way behind me to test the resiliency of my ass. I looked down at the top of her head. Her short, dark hair was right next to my tummy. Her skirt had ridden more than half way up her pretty legs, all the way, in fact, to the darkened circle near the top of her stockings. Had she been leaning back, or had I been standing further from her, I am sure I would have had a pleasant view all the up her slightly parted legs.

Despite my predilection for submission, I am also a lesbian; I guess I always have been and I know I always will be. I was not offended in the least, therefore, when Cindy stood straight up, wrapped her arms around my back, still inside my opened dress, and plastered her warm body against me. Reflexively, willingly, without reservation, I returned the kiss she began giving me with an equal amount of passion and conviction. I wanted her to be close to me, even right at this highly embarrassing moment, more than anything else in the world.

When her tongue sought my mouth, I accepted it greedily, playfully fought it with mine, then moaned softly as she moved her pubic mound seductively back and forth across mine, grinding herself into me. I dropped my hands from behind my head and embraced her warmly, pulling her closer. Surely she felt my passion, my desires, my needs.

She broke the kiss long enough to husk, "Give me all of your tongue, you little whore!"

I pressed my tongue past hers, as deep into her mouth as it would go. I was purring like a kitten now, flowing along subconsciously, getting ever deeper into the abyss she was creating for me. In the back of my mind, perhaps, I thought that the weekend might turn into a prolonged bout of female to female delights, which I would have readily accepted. Perhaps that is why gave myself so freely to her, drifting further and further into her spidery web.

I felt her sliding my dress over my shoulders. It fell silently to the floor behind me. "Take your pantyhose off," she whispered, and we broke our embrace long enough for me reach inside the elastic top of the hose and push it down, over my hips, then down my legs. When I stood up, I was left with only my tiny, white, bikini-styled undies.

"My panties, too?" I asked timidly, hoping inside she would agree.

"Yes, BethAnne, be naked for me," she husked.

In seconds I was standing there in my birthday suit, and she drank in my nakedness only briefly before we resumed holding and kissing each other. Our bodies seemed to meld together, and I wanted nothing more than to feel her warm skin rather than her clothing against mine. Her fingers roamed all over my back, down to my buttocks, then back up, then back down, scratching lightly, kneading gently. I could feel the warmth inside my loins growing with each passing moment. The juices were beginning to flow freely now, and I wanted so badly to feel her tongue or finger--or anything--inside me.

It was too good to last long, and it didn't. I had been sent to Cindy's for "correction" and, to my dismay, she was merely "warming me up" for her own lustful desires. She broke the embrace abruptly, then stood back, looking flushed from the experience, but she had an almost wild look in her eyes.

"Did you think you were sent here for pleasure?" she asked with a sneer.

I came quickly out of my reverie. "No, mistress," I haltingly replied.

She sat back down in the chair, then ordered me to turn, slowly, in a circle before her. I had never felt so naked in my life. I was afraid to look at her. My heart was pounding inside my heaving chest. My face was crimson in color, and the hue seemed to drift down my entire body. I am a blond--a natural blond--and my pubic hairs, though somewhat sparse in growth, are only a shade darker than the long, straight hair on my head. She made me stop turning when I was once again facing her, and she seemed to be completely fascinated with my pubis.

"Beautiful. . .just beautiful," she said softly, staring intently at my lower abdomen. Once more, I wanted to crawl into the floor. She made me keep my hands clasped behind my head the whole time, though I wanted so badly to cover myself with my arms and hands.

Cindy leaned forward and ran her fingers through my pubic hair, at first only at the very top, but then ordered me to open my legs wider. I looked down and watched momentarily as her hand foraged between my open legs, beneath my sex, before I closed my eyes in fear. Had she inserted a finger between the puffy lips of my pussy, she would have found a completely soaked entrance to my house of pleasure, the result of our recent but too soon interrupted foreplay. Instead, she merely brushed her fingertips along the length of my sex, feeling the silky softness of the hair which adorned it.

"Your pussy is so beautiful! I think this is going to be a real fun weekend," she sighed.

She played with the pussy hairs for several more humiliating moments, never once doing anything other than lightly grazing over my burgeoning clit and never, unfortunately, insinuating a finger into my steaming vagina. She seemed content to play finger music only on the golden curls while I waited, even hoped, for the penetration of my sex which never occurred. Instead, having had her fill of my downy-soft curls, she withdrew her hand from between my legs and bade me turn around to display my posterior.

I am not one to brag, but I am proud about rather nice behind. Those who have seen it, just as Cindy was doing now, have expressed their compliments over its perfectly sloping curves; its firm, muscular feel; its alabaster whiteness; its perfect roundness. Because I know how nice it looks to others, I often wear clinging jeans or cut-offs to show it off, and I delight in watching heads turn-- male and female--when I walk by someone on the street or in a shopping mall.

In short, I have a beautiful ass, and Cindy was not unmindful of that as she leaned forward in her chair to examine it even more closely--first hand, so to speak. She moved her left hand around to the front of my body, resting it flat against my abdomen, just above the pubic curls, and brought her fingers to my right buttock. I shivered reflexively as she scratched the area lightly with her fingernails, from top to bottom, and then in a delicious semi-circle that sent chills all the way up my spine.

I love to have my ass played with, to be scratched lightly, just as Cindy was doing, to be massaged firmly, even to be spanked...and, yes, I must admit, or whipped. It has always been a very sensitive part of my body, sometimes even more so, believe it or not, than my clit or nipples. I've never gotten off having someone play with my ass like Cindy was doing now, running her fingers up and down lightly inside the dividing crack, but I have found such gentleness to be a highly erotic stimulant during foreplay, and I've always let my lovers know, by word or gesture, that I enjoyed any and all attention they might bestow on my posterior.

When Cindy leaned down even further and planted a deliciously tender kiss on my right buttock, I gasped out loud. She seemed to know, intuitively, just what to do and just how to do it. "I like your ass, BethAnne," I heard her whisper. "I can see why Darlene leaves it unmarked."

She was right. Darlene loves to whip my behind, and I love her to do it, but she is always careful to use methods, while still painful (sometimes extremely so!) that leave no permanent damage to the skin surface. No matter what was to happen this weekend, I knew Cindy would honor that, even as I felt her begin to knead the firm fleshiness with her fingers, at first almost soothingly, increasing the desires building to a crescendo in my loins. The gentleness soon gave way to more incessant, and finally more painful squeezing as she dug her fingernails into my ass and made me cry out in pain.

I knew the time had come for her more serious plans. She ignored my cry and slapped her palm hard--really hard!--over the already reddened area. I cried out again, only to receive just as painful a blow to the opposite side, and I soon realized that my cries of pain were the driving force behind her loudly cracking spanks. With all my might, I held back my cries, despite the nerve- wracking pain, and the blows softened commensurately. They didn't cease altogether--she reddened my entire ass as well as my hips and upper thighs until her hand become tired--but my stoic silence kept me from getting anything as hard as the first two blows.

Cindy finally sat back in her chair, quietly surveying her handiwork. My buttocks felt like they were on fire. The skin on my ass tingled all over. It was, to tell you the truth, not as unpleasant as it might sound. The afterglow of a good spanking or a whipping has always given me warm sensations, making the pain worth the pleasure. I prefer my spankings over someone's lap (that is Darlene's favorite position for me as well), maybe because the skin over the ass is made more tight, and thus more susceptible to pain. Cindy had done more than an adequate job, however, and with each deep breath I reveled in the delightfully sweet tingles of the nerve endings.

She broke my reverie once more, like a thief in the night, robbing me of my pleasures. "Drop your hands down and spread your cheeks!" she ordered.

With only the slightest hesitation, one that fortunately went unnoticed, I reached back to my glowing buttocks and opened myself up for her, exposing my pink, crinkled anus, my tiny 'O'. She slumped down in the chair to get a better view of my most private area, but soon became unsatisfied with her vantage point.

"Bend over more!" she commanded, her voice as thick with lust as it had been the entire evening.

Opening my legs even wider to gain support, I bent over at the waist and, still holding the lower ass cheeks apart, gave her a totally unobstructed view of my tiny rosebud. She studied it as I raised my head up and looked forward, eyes wide open, mouth agape, wondering when she might do something with the grossly exposed opening.

"You're not opened enough!" she exclaimed, and I used my fingertips to expose myself to the limit, stretching the anus, almost opening it for her.

"That's still not good enough," she said. "Go over to the coffee table and lie down on your side.

I released my hold on my ass cheeks, straightened up, and moved gingerly to the bare, mahogany-colored table in front of the sofa. I felt awkward, using my arms for support in sitting, and then reclining on the cold, hard wood. To accommodate the table's small size, I curled up the fetal position, knees bent toward my chest, with my bare ass conveniently facing the light-blue sofa.

Cindy stood up and moved next to me, standing just in front of my head. Her tan colored stockings were just inches from me, creamy smooth in texture. I can remember thinking just how nice it would be to turn my head and look up her dress, but I knew that such boldness on my part would be rewarded with harsh pain later, so I closed my eyes and waited, scared a bunny rabbit, for her next move.