Mr. Bennet worked in an office in the business district, while Mrs. Bennett worked at home. As a result, I spent a lot of time alone with her. She made certain that I never forgot that she was in charge, and I was just her naked plaything. If she ever thought I was getting arrogant or willful, she would find some way to humble me and put me in my place.
An example of this would be last Tuesday. Mrs. Bennet sent me down to the basement to fetch the hedge clippers and other gardening tools that she kept down there. The basement was shadowy and poorly lit. Also, it had a mildew-y smell and a disturbing number of cobwebs. Some of the furniture down there was old and had splinters. When I returned from the basement, I complained about the inhospitable environment down there and decreed that she shouldn't be sending a naked and barefoot teenager down there. Delicate parts of my anatomy were shamelessly exposed. And getting a splinter on my foreskin, the shaft of my cock or my nipples would be distressing and grievously painful.
She responded to my complaints with a cold glare, and I immediately realized that I'd made a huge mistake.
"Stephen, have you forgotten who you are?" she asked. "You're my slave. You're my whipping boy. If I send you down into a dark, disturbing basement and you get splinters in your boyish nipples, that's part of being a slave. You're supposed to be willing to endure pain for me."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I withdraw my complaint. Forget I said anything."
She stalked forward, gave me a dark look, and took the box of gardening tools from my grasp. Then, she said, "It's too late for that, Stephen. You'll have to be punished for your inappropriate attitude."
She set down the box and picked up a leather strap. I knew from experience how much that strap could hurt, and I feared it.
"You think you're too good for the basement?" she asked. Then she gave me a stern look and said, "Slaves aren't supposed to think that way. Back to the basement now!"
I was marched back down to the ominous confines of the basement and my heart pounded urgently in my chest. Mrs. Bennett followed close behind me with her wicked strap at the ready.
There were boxes of old magazines, tax forms and newspapers stored down in the basement. Mrs. Benner informed me that all of this was trash and ordered me to carry the boxes upstairs so they could be taken to the dumpster later. There were about a dozen boxes, and they were all heavy. They had also accumulated a thin coating of soot or some sort of grime. As I clutched these boxes to my chest and carried them out of the basement, my naked body became smeared with whatever disgusting substance was on the boxes. I wisely chose not to complain about this indignity, as complaining had gotten me this humiliating chore in the first place.
When all the garbage had been cleared out of the basement, I assumed that I had paid for my earlier insolence, but I had assumed incorrectly.
"Your next labor is to scrub the basement floor," Mrs. Bennett informed me. "Get on your hands and knees."
Scrubbing floors is hard, tedious work, and Mrs. Bennett made certain that it was humiliating as well. I was naked, on my hands and knees, and Mrs. Bennett insisted that I keep my legs apart as I worked, thus leaving my anus and balls indecently exposed.
And she was a real stickler for legs-wide-apart rule. She kept her stinging leather strap at the ready. And if my knees ever drifted too close together, she'd slice the cruel leather across my naked backside.
At one point I was on my knees, scrubbing a stubborn stain from the floor and Mrs. Bennett took advantage of my vulnerable position. She crouched down behind me, fondled my naked hindquarters, stroked the smooth flesh of my perineum, cupped my balls, and even pried my buttocks apart and gently stroked the soft flesh of my anus.
I felt a finger pushing into me and I gasped. I was already naked and in a vulnerable, degrading position. I felt helpless enough without being anally raped.
"Keep scrubbing," she said as she wriggled a lubricated finger inside of me, "Nobody said that you could stop."
It was difficult to concentrate on my chores while my anus was being oiled, stroked, and pried open. However, my overseer had a leather strap, and if faltered in my labors, I would feel the red-hot sting of her strap across my buttocks.
My mistress's goal was to humble me and remind me of my inferior status. She was admirably successful in her goal. Being forced to crawl, naked across the hard basement floor while my anus was touched and opened stripped me of all my pride and dignity. I felt utterly subjugated by my mistress. I was just a naked slave, and she was an esteemed woman with authority and an intimidating collection of painful paddles and straps.
I spent two hours crawling around on that hard basement floor. By the time I was finished, my knees were bruised, and I was filthy. I was also sweaty, and my cock was painfully erect and throbbing.
When I was finished scrubbing the basement floor, I thought that Mrs. Bennett was done humiliating me, however, I thought wrong.
"You've done an excellent job cleaning the basement," my mistress allowed. "But now you're all filthy. I'm going to have to clean you up."
I stood up and was about to exit the basement, but Mrs. Bennet stopped me.
"Get back down on your hands and knees," she ordered. "I want you to crawl up the stairs. I like the way your ass looks when you crawl."
It was degrading, but orders were orders. Mrs. Bennett made certain that I knew she was ogling my naked buttocks she stood behind me and watched me crawl. Then she ordered me into the bathroom, so she could clean me up.
I was ordered to remain on my hands and knees while Mrs. Bennett filled the tub halfway with deliciously hot water. When the temperature and the depth of the water were to her liking, she bade me to get in.
I crawled into the tub and positioned myself on my hands and knees, thinking that's the way she would want me; however, she ordered me to kneel up in the tub instead.
"Hands at the back of your neck," she ordered. "Legs open wide, chest, belly and genitals as displayed as possible."
It was a vulnerable and humiliating position for a naked slave, which I'm certain was the whole reason she ordered me to pose this way.
"You have a very beautiful body, Stephen. You should never be ashamed of showing it off," she commented when she saw the pouting look on my face.
Mrs. Bennett got out a bottle of bodywash and smeared the slippery liquid all over me. It had a pleasant smell, and Mrs. Bennett was gentle in the way that she rubbed it into my skin, however, she seemed to spend an unusually protracted amount of time rubbing the slick substance into the more intimate parts of my body.
She soaped up my chest and toyed with my exposed nipples. I was surprised at how my nipples responded to her touch as she stroked them. There was a sort of pleasant, warm tingling associated with her touch.
Apparently, a man's nipples can be stimulated in a manner similar to a woman's nipples. My body involuntarily responded when Mrs. Bennett stroked and caressed my nipples. I gasped and felt embarrassment as she worked her fingers carefully across my delicate nipples, causing them to respond and become hard and erect.
Sometimes it seems that Mrs. Bennett knows my body better than I do. She knew that she could stimulate my nipples when I didn't. She smiled wickedly when she saw me tremble and my breathing became labored in response to the way she toyed with my sensitive, pink nipples.
She was thirty-six years old, and I was just a teenager. I suppose she's had more time to experience things and learn secrets of the male body.
After soaping up my chest, her hands migrated down to my abs, then moved lower, eventually reaching my inner thighs.
"Spread your legs, Stephen," she said. I obeyed, kneeling with her legs farther apart, and then even farther than that as Mrs. Bennet gripped my inner thighs and pushed them apart insistently.
With my legs spread pornographically wide, she grasped the shaft of my cock with her slippery fingers and spent a great deal of time getting everything soapy and wet. She spent a great deal of time and effort working the bodywash into the head and shaft of my cock until it was throbbing and extraordinarily erect. She slid the foreskin up and down, making certain it was thoroughly lubricated before her hand moved down to my balls.
When she was finished handling my genitals, she even worked her hand into the furrow between my buttocks and rubbed the slick, oily bodywash into the tender flesh of my anus.
"You have beautiful skin and exquisite muscle tone," Mrs. Bennet said as she worked her hands all over my naked body. "However, some of your body hair has grown back. A slave should be hairless from the neck down. It looks like I'm going to have to shave you."
I was already naked, wet and felt exposed and vulnerable while she was fully clothed. Somehow the prospect of getting shaved by her made me feel as if I were going to be even more naked than naked.
"Couldn't I just shave myself?" I inquired, hoping she would leave me with that small amount of dignity.
"Don't be foolish," she said. "How are you going to shave your asshole? You can't even see it. You'll end missing half the hairs back there and cutting yourself in the process!"
I was ordered to turn around and place me hands on the wall and spread my legs apart.
"No, very wide," she said sternly, "until you feel it in those exquisite thigh muscles. That's Better."
My inner thigh muscles strained as I knelt there with my legs spread pornographically wide and I stuck my ass out towards Mrs. Bennet, leaving my anus exposed and available for her to do as she pleased.
I felt her hands on my ass cheeks and she spread them apart, leaving my delicate, pink hole even more on display. She worked pressed her fingers against my anus and I felt an appalling sense of submissiveness and surrender as she spread more of the thick gel into the crack of my ass and then rubbed it deep into my puckered hole itself.
