Please Mistress Not In Public

Underneath my flowy sundress, I could feel the vinyl straps of my harness digging into my fleshy torso.

I should lose weight

, I told myself, for the thousandth time since Carly had made me hers.

For her sake

. But really, I was simply embarrassed that small folds always puffed out around the straps which she insisted on pulling as taut as possible across my naked body. I had no illusions that losing weight would make me more appealing to her -- I knew she was only interested in the power she held over me, not in reciprocating the head-over-heels love in which I had fallen.

She was, as always, several paces ahead of me, and moving further away in the foot traffic every second. I concentrated my gaze on her perfect peach of a rear end, mercifully displayed in some very tight velour shorts, and tried not to be conspicuous about licking my lips. The flawless globes of her ass shifted to the left and right as she walked at a pace she knew I had trouble matching; sweat began to bead under my mousy brown fringe, even though the day wasn't warm. But looking at her, and feeling the straps she had cinched tight across my body in the café restroom only a few minutes before, only exacerbated my shortness of breath as I stumped hard to try to catch back up with her on legs that felt mammoth compared to her slim, tapering gams.

Not gams

, I scolded myself disparagingly.

What are you, a gangster in a noir movie? If anything, only what she has deserve to be called legs. You can call yours pillars.

The vinyl cut viciously into my jiggling breasts as I tried to speed up to match her pace, and I could feel myself whimper, although nobody around me seemed to notice. I wanted to call out to her to ask her to wait for me, but she had strictly forbidden me from calling her anything but Mistress, and I couldn't say that in public.

Suddenly she darted down off a side path, out of the flow of heavy traffic, and disappeared from my sight.

I broke into a panicked run, terrified that if I lost sight of her for even a moment, she would disappear entirely and then only communicate with me the rest of the afternoon in cruel, demanding, jeering text messages. She'd done it before: once she had forced me to stand alone in a mall elevator with a vibrating wand up my pussy and ride it up and down, smiling at any woman who got on but never saying anything, until I had orgasmed twelve times. This particular mall had glass elevators, and people on every floor could see me as I rode. My knees had buckled by the eighth orgasm, and I was sure the next person to get on the elevator was going to call paramedics. I don't know how, but I staggered back up to my feet, weeping, and survived another three trips up and down while the cursed vibrator sent another five orgasms tearing through my body. I was jelly by the end of it, barely able to scrape myself out of the doors.

Very good, pet

, was all she texted me at the end of it, and left me alone to find my own way home, a sopping, worn-out, blubbering mess. I had sworn to myself then that I was done, that this capricious eighteen-year-old could not be allowed to have any more power over me, that I would block her number and ignore her at school and file a restraining order if she tried to come to my house again. But I did none of that. All she had to do was walk by my office the next Monday, quickly pull up her skirt to show me, and nobody else, black lace panties pulled tight against her puffy crease, and walk away, and she had me wrapped around her finger once more.

It was almost with a sense of fatalistic despair that I rounded the corner of the path in the park, puffing with more than the effort my out-of-shape body had put in to reach it. But she was sitting coolly on a bench, one arm stretched lazily out across its back, her eyes up on some tree branches. She barely flickered them over me as I came up to her.

"Down," she said. I gave a nervous glance around us -- there were still people streaming by not far away, a free concert was about to be held only a few hundred yards off, and the trees we were nestled in provided very little screen if anyone happened to look our way -- and she said it again, with a snap. I fell to my knees, wincing a little as they hit the concrete path. They were almost always bruised these days: whenever Carly saw fit to favor me with any alone time, I spent nearly all of it on my knees.

She pulled one leg up so that her foot rested on the bench a few inches away from where her butt sat perched on it. I could see a glisten where the lower hem of her shorts flared out, exposing her nethers to air flow. She flung her other leg over the arm of the bench, and now both of her shorts' leg holes were open, exposing at least a fraction of her delectable crotch from a near angle. She was not wearing panties, of course.

She looked me directly in the eyes, and I shivered. She did that so rarely. Her black almond eyes, set in a perfectly symmetrical face, stared into my watery blue eyes, eyes that I thought of as small and piggish in a broad, soft, pasty face, mottled at the moment with the pounding blood of mingled effort and fear.

"Lick," she said, letting the word fall from slightly parted pink lips that I would have given anything to kiss, but I had only ever known to sneer.

"Now?" I asked, horrified. "Here? Oh please, Mistress, not in public!"

Her black brows snapped down over her eyes, and her pink mouth turned hard.

"I gave you an order, pet," she said through clenched teeth. I quailed, sure that her next course of action, if I hesitated a moment longer, would be worse than the worst that could happen if I obeyed, and I bent down and buried my face into where her shorts flared open at her right thigh. I had to worry my mouth past the fabric somewhat, and she did not adjust her posture to help me in the slightest, only continuing to stare disapprovingly until she felt my tongue make contact with her slit.

"Good pet," she said, and stroked my hair with one hand. I almost froze in shock, but continued licking out of fear of what would happen if I stopped.

She had never vocalized approval of anything I had done to her in the past. The most I had ever gotten was a text telling me that my obedience had been satisfactory this time.

"You want my cummies, don't you?" she murmured to me. This was another shock. Feeling unmoored, unused to my desires being consulted in this way, I spluttered slightly, and nodded, my nose rubbing in her public hair. But my tongue flattened against her crease, and I licked with stronger purpose than I had before.

"That's right, my middle-aged slut, give your teenage mistress a good cum," she said, continuing to run her fingers through my unfashionably long, rather unkempt hair and cupping both hands against the back of my head. I couldn't understand what was happening, but my heart (not to mention my loins) were bursting at this positive reinforcement after months of being treated like something nasty on the bottom of her shoe.

I had licked her many times before, but always in complete silence, as she seemed to sit -- or more frequently stand; she was never lying down -- in judgment of me, my technique, my obedience, my willingness to subject myself to her demands. The first time had been in my office at school; she had come to see me, the teacher's note said, because of period cramps, but she had refused the painkillers I offered her and insisted that I soothe her alleged cramps orally. Kneeling on the carpeted floor of my school nurse's office, a thin privacy curtain the only thing keeping us from being discovered, while she stood, her panties around her ankles and her hands holding her skirt up while she watched me with calculating eyes and a little triumphantly twisted smile on her lips, I knew that I was in deep trouble. Not just with the school administration if anyone ever found out, or even with the law, the local news, her family, my entire social circle, the God I still if infrequently prayed to -- but within myself. I seemed to get a presentiment that this was only the beginning, and because I had done what she told me to do this time, her demands would only grow harsher, more all-encompassing, more dangerous in the future.

This had been true. She had made me lick her all over the school grounds, in every girls' bathroom (and once in one of the boys' bathrooms, when the basketball game was happening), in supply closets, in the storage room of the gymnasium, on the desk of a teacher she particularly disliked, in the principal's office after hours. I was sure that security cameras must have caught us at least a dozen times, but the hammer never fell, and I was by now too madly in love with her to deny her anything. She had shown up at my house, made me strip for her, made me masturbate while staring critically at me, and flogged me with the only thing I had in the house that was fit for it: an extension cord, wrapped so that the outlets dangled from her hand and only the cord left red marks on my thick back and pasty ass. I came while she flogged me, and thanked her through tears. She sneered, told me she had expected me to be that weak, and walked out.

Then she had progressed to taking me out. She took me with her to buy lingerie at a high-end boutique, and made me lick her in the dressing room. She took me to the local library, shoved a vibrating egg in me, and told me that she would whip me for every time I made a sound. She whipped me twenty-three times that day, with a whip she made me buy because the extension cord left her hands dirty. She took me to a hotel, dressed in a tight dress I could barely breathe in, let alone move, and made me tell her which of the women who passed through the lobby I would pleasure for her. There was not a single woman I would not have, as I reported faithfully, and she smiled contemptuously at the end of an hour and told me that I was even more of a slut than she thought. It did not feel like praise.

Today she had taken me to a park. It was not the first time she had dressed me in this vinyl harness, but the previous times had only been in the privacy of my home, where she made me perform menial tasks, looking up from her phone occasionally to glare at me and tell me I was her stupid, slutty pet, her mindless sex toy, her obedient little bitch. "Yes, Mistress," I had replied. At the end of which she let me lick her a few times before shoving my face away, looking bored, and walking out without a word.

In the park, on the bench between the trees, I could feel her lips beginning to moisten under my tongue. This wasn't exactly unusual -- I had successfully licked her to orgasm several times over the course of my service to her -- but it was by no means a guarantee. She seemed to believe that being allowed to lick her was more of a treat for me than a pleasure for her; and as far as I was concerned she was right. I barely thought of anything but the taste of her pussy, and whenever she made me stop before she moistened, much less climaxed, I felt like a failure, barely worthy of being called her pet, her toy, her slut, her bitch.

But she was actually groaning now.

"Ooh, that's good, my little pet bitch," she hissed between her teeth. "Keep that up and I'm going to come all over your slutty face. Yeah, you want my cum all over your slutty nurse face. Your slutty high school nurse face. Where you work. At J.M. Carruthers High."

I heard something then, a stifled gasp, or laugh, or something, coming from a direction I couldn't pinpoint, but she clenched her hands hard against the back of my head.

"Keep licking, pet," she said. "You're not going to look at anything or hear anything or think about anything until I come, is that clear?"

I nodded again, my nose now rubbing against a hardening clit, and I felt her shiver. Adrenaline was pounding in my head now. Someone was watching us, or at least overhearing her, and she had as good as told them who I was and where I worked. At the same time, she was genuinely responding beneath my tongue, and the triumphant anticipation of getting to taste the rare treasure of her orgasmic discharge was overriding all my terror and anxiety about being discovered. I might not have a job on Monday, but I would have made Mistress Carly come, and for now at least that would be enough.

"Oh my God," I heard a voice say. "Is that Nurse Kravitch?" It was my name. I kept licking remorselessly, even as my heart clattered in my chest. My Mistress had instructed me not to hear anything, and so I would not react, even if I couldn't stop my ears.

"Yes," said Mistress Carly shortly. She was breathing harder than I had ever heard her breathe before. Joy at making her lose composure raced through me. "But call her slut today. That's all she is to us."

The giggles that followed were not stifled, and told me that there was more than one person nearby. Probably female, probably around my Mistress' age.

She lifted her pelvis and began to grind crudely against my face; the bunched fabric of her shorts dug into my cheek and rubbed it rawly. I kept licking as hard as ever, trying to attack her clit, which I had never seen so red and engorged, as much as she allowed me.

Suddenly she clutched my face hard against her crotch, panted, shuddered, and gave a long quavering moan. Her pussy pulsed, and little gushes of clear, delicious liquid came seeping into my waiting mouth. I couldn't catch it all; some of it soaked into her shorts. But she held me pressed to her in a way she had never done before; normally she would push me away irritably after a shallow, unruffled climax.

She hauled in long, hoarse breaths, and straightened back up, but kept my face buried in her dripping crotch.

"Is that satisfactory?" she said.

I hesitated. This could not be meant for me. There was a note in her voice she had never used with me before, a vulnerability, a fear of rejection, even a pleading. I wanted to say

Yes, oh God yes Mistress, more than satisfactory, it was divine, you've given me such joy that I can never repay you, thank you thank you thank you for allowing me to make you come.

But I stayed still. My instructions had been to hear nothing, and she had not specifically addressed me.

"That will do, slut," said a voice. It came from behind me, on the path. I couldn't quite place it, but it didn't sound unfamiliar. My Mistress let go of my head.

"On your knees, pet," she said. I raised my dripping face from the mess of flesh, fabric and liquid that was her crotch and straightened my back. I saw her, legs still splayed, nipples stiff through her t-shirt (I had never seen them so erect), her eyes gazing over my head, a waiting look on her face.

A hand grasped my shoulder. I glanced at it instinctively, and was surprised to see that the fingers were dark brown. I looked at my Mistress questioningly, but she did not meet my gaze.

"She is yours," she said to the people who stood behind me. "Do with her what you want."

"Very good, slut," said the voice that had spoken before -- it came from just behind and above the shoulder that was being grasped, and I thought I recognized it now. One of the black students at the school. I didn't know her name. She didn't visit the nurse's office much. But Mistress Carly's face glowed at the words, and I realized with a shock that she was the one being addressed as slut.

I couldn't resist a glance up at the girl grasping my shoulder. I had been right. She was a tall, slender black girl, her hair pulled back in complicated, glossy braids at the back of her head, and she was wearing only a dark faux-leather minidress against her skin, the hem of which was almost exactly even with my nose.

Another hand grasped my other shoulder, and again I looked before I could stop myself. It was another black girl, one I did not immediately recognize. She was slightly shorter and stockier, dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and athletic shorts. Her hair was in a medium-length Afro, picked back from her forehead, and she looked back at me with a smile that I recognized. It was the kind of smile Mistress Carly used to give me, one that told me she held my life in her hands and would not be concerned about throwing it away if I displeased her.

"Slut," said Mistress Carly, addressing me at last. "This is Mistress Shanna and Mistress Geneva. You will obey them even more than you obey me. I am their pet slut, so you are their pet slut too. Do you understand?"

I nodded, but my head was in a whirl. My Mistress was a pet to another Mistress? To another two Mistresses? Had this whole journey, this months-long ordeal of fear, anxiety, delight, yearning, punishment and reward, been nothing but a test, not of me but of her?

I could hear the concert starting some hundred yards away. A hush fell over the busy park.

"Slut Carly," said Mistress Geneva, the taller, thinner girl. "Feed Slut Nurse your nipples."

Without hesitation, my Mistress peeled off her t-shirt, exposing a slender white torso with puffy breasts and thick brown nipples. She bent over me and lowered them to my mouth. I opened it and began to suck, still in a daze. I could not believe this was happening. I had never even dared to dream that I would be allowed to see, let alone suckle, the breasts of my Mistress, who whenever she had made me lick her had never fully removed any clothing, only lifting up or pushing down enough to allow me access to her waiting vulva.

What else might happen? What if they made her kiss me? Or -- wonder of wonders -- even lick me? My Mistress switched breasts on me, and I suckled even more eagerly at the new nipple. They had never been so hard for me. But for her Mistresses -- I was beginning to understand.

Mistress Shanna, the shorter, plumper black girl, looked down at me.

"She tastes good, doesn't she?"

"Yes, Mistress," I mumbled as well as I could with a mouth full of breast.

"Good pet," all three of them said at once. Shanna and Geneva giggled slightly, and Mistress Carly seemed a bit embarrassed. I understood that they were complimenting me on my training, on my ability to respond to every question with a "Yes, Mistress" or (more perilously) "No, Mistress."

"That's enough," said Mistress Geneva abruptly, and Mistress Carly sat back up on the bench. Her nipples, stiffer than ever, shone wetly from my saliva. I licked my lips, wondering what her and my next task would be.

"Slut Nurse," said Shanna. "Take off your dress."

I began tugging the loose sundress over my head. It was awkward, and eventually she had to tell Slut Carly to help me. The hot pink vinyl harness she had placed on me seemed to glow even hotter against my pale skin. The sun wasn't going down yet, but it was no longer at its peak. The trees had cast us all in shade, and I felt ashamed that my fleshy pallor looked unsightly in the growing shadow. Both Mistress Shanna and Mistress Geneva examined the harness, tugging against the straps and letting them snap back sharply into place against my body. I couldn't help wincing at the pain.

"Good job, Slut Carly," observed Mistress Shanna. "Slut Nurse, stand up."

Quaking with fear, I did. My knees were very sore by now, and I was glad to stand, even if my body ached complainingly.

"Walk ten paces that way," said Mistress Geneva, indicating the way back to the main path. It was no longer full of a stream of people, but it was worryingly public. I hesitated just long enough for Mistress Carly to snap,

"Now, bitch!"

I bolted, only barely remembering to count my paces before I came to a stop only a few steps away from the corner. Anyone who wandered more than a step in this direction could see me, butt-naked except for pink vinyl straps covering only the barest amount of nipples and genitalia.

"Close your eyes," said Mistress Geneva. I obeyed.