Prologue:
In case this is the first of my stories you've read, there are a few things I've skipped over in this story since there are several other stories I've written about this same sub. I tend to write a story after almost all of my sessions with my toys. But I publish very few of them online.
My name is Pepper Rodgers. I'm a 19-year-old Domme, living downtown Mobile, Alabama. I have a decently well-stocked playroom in the second bedroom of my fourth-floor apartment (most of my neighbors are corporate types who aren't always around, giving me a lot of privacy, even in the halls and elevators). I also have a decently stocked toybox. I prefer my toys to be older than I am, around 30-42 years old. I prefer men for myself, however not for my toybox. When it comes to toys, I find women and couples to be far more amusing. Single men tend to be needier, and often too clingy. But that doesn't mean I don't have a few of them in my toybox. I do. They just don't have the same chances of getting there as couples and single women do.
I'm petite. Actually more "tiny" that petite. I'm 5' 1.75" and 91 pounds. I'm not bony, though, I've curvy, like a small-sized woman. I have blond hair down to my shoulders and blue eyes. Oh, and my chest is the only place I'm not small. I'm a 32-D, and I'm very pert. Which makes me popular with the boys.
I'm also slightly bisexual. I'm attracted to men, not women. I would never choose a female partner for even a date, let alone for sex. But I'm not opposed to masturbating with a female toy. Sophie happens to be my favorite sex toy to pleasure myself with. Her tongue has two big advantages over my vibrator: one, it's very delicate and tender. Two, no matter how much I use it, its batteries never die at the worst possible moment! It's better than fresh bunny batteries, it just keeps going until I want it to stop. And I don't even have to hold it in place!
When I want sex I never use one of my toys. I never allow a toy touch, or even see, all of me. And I never bring a toy to my bedroom. Nor do I chose a woman. I pick a man, usually one I find in a club or cafe, or wherever. I flirt, dance dirty a little and if he meets my standards, I ask if he's interested in a one-time-only, no-names-exchanged, hook-up. I've never been turned down.
I have a few standards for my hook-ups. I never pick a guy I know or even just see around. And I insist on a cock between 7 and 9" long and 1.5" across, plus or minus a small bit. I won't touch a guy who isn't circumcised, either. I hate the way the foreskin feels inside me. I want to feel that fat head. The dirty dancing gives me plenty of time to tease a guy hard and feel for myself what he's got. It's the only way not to be disappointed. Guys always lie about their equipment!
Sophie is my 19-year-old live-in slave-girl. She's slightly petite at 5'4" and 119 pounds. She's pretty, too, with long honey-blond hair, green eyes, and a 34-B chest. Sophie is extremely devoted to me. So devoted, and so happy as my slave, that despite not being attracted to women, she's a virgin with men. She serves and pleasures only me, and those I give her to. And while I use her, even with my male toys, I won't allow any man to touch her pussy or penetrate her bottom. Those are mine. Only mine. I've owned her since she graduated high school, but I've known her longer. Since about two months after her 18th birthday, which was also about two months before she finished high school.
I have three BFFs, (Isabelle, Reagan, and Ellie) none of whom are into my little games. But all of whom occasionally creep into my stories. After all, they are my BFFs so they tend to be around. Luckily they're not offended by anything they happen to see. They're just not eager for me to put on a show on their account.
I also have a circle of five other women friends, all of whom are Dommes as well. Andrea (26), Janelle (35), Colette (39), Diane (43), and Olive (44). we usually get together every couple of weeks for coffee and a little chat about who's doing what to whom lately. We sometimes share, or loan, our toys to each other, but not that often. Sometimes we do a favor for each other, such as providing something different for a toy. Mostly we do what girls do: we gossip.
I get all of my toys through networking. It's almost always either one of the women in our circle who has a toy she doesn't want and offers to point it at another who is interested. Or sometimes one of my toys tells someone, who tells someone, and so on until someone asks my toy to introduce someone to me. Rarely it's someone I don't play with, but who knows what I'm into, who asks me to meet someone. I get plenty of emails inquiring about meeting me, and while I will email and maybe chat with a sub online, I haven't yet met any. I won't rule it out, but meeting online is risky enough that someone would have to convince me before I'd think about it. A girl's gotta be careful!
[Note: Mistress Pepper and Sophie are "anonymized" versions of me and my slave-girl. The real me. All of my stories are (or should I say will be) my memories of a session with a sub. Thus, they are true stories, only in this version details have been changed to protect the sub. I do live in Mobile about 10 months of the year (the remaining two I spend in Nizhny Novgorod, Russia, where my father is from and lives), and almost all of my subs live in Mobile or a bordering county. I'm originally from Baldwin County, next door to Mobile. I moved across the bay to attend USA. As is/did Mistress Pepper. But I'm not a blond. And you'll most definitely have to guess at my bra size! Enjoy the story!]
Part I: Naughty Boy
My toy tonight is a 40-year-old man named Ken. It's the fifth time I've had him over to my playroom to serve as my entertainment. He's slightly tall and equally thin. Plus he's an accountant by trade. I hate stereotyping people, but in this case, it fits. He's rather boring out of the dungeon. Or rather his life is. But once in my dungeon, he eagerly serves my whims.
About three years ago, Ken's wife told him he was "utterly boring and pitiful" of a husband, then she ran off with a 25-year-old carpenter. I'm sure he had a much more manly physique. And I'm almost as sure he didn't have half the brains Ken does. Neither Ken nor their then-15-year-old daughter Emily heard from her for several months. In that time, their divorce became final, the courts feeling that his wife's failure to respond to its summons was as good as answering his complaint. Then she popped up, having discovered that her carpenter couldn't keep her in the lifestyle an accountant could. It was Emily who sent her packing, telling her that she chose to leave, and now she was gone. Ken would have welcomed her back. Only Emily stopped him, insisting that if mom returned, she'd leave and find her own way in life. It was an empty threat, I'm certain of that, but she made him believe it. I'm not sure what Ken would have done. But once Emily proved her point by vanishing for a night, mom gave up on coming back. She tried for alimony and only Ken's lawyer prevented her from reopening the divorce and cleaning him out retroactively. She went away and hasn't been heard from again.
I don't know Emily, even though she's the same age as my house-slave and whore, Paige. They went to different high schools. Paige is from here in Mobile. Emily is from a very rural county in Mississippi just over the state line. That's where she still lives, at home with her father. But my BFF #1, Isabelle, is acquaintances with a boy named Terrance. He's twenty, but he went to the same high school as Emily, and despite the age difference, in his senior year he briefly dated the sophomore Emily. Luckily for me, Izzy is nosy and devious about it. Over the last couple of weeks, she's gotten every morsel of gossip out of Terrance and painted me a fair picture of Emily.
Emily is flighty. And she's a bimbo, with all that entails. But she also has a little bossy streak in her. It doesn't sound like dominance, just bossiness. She can be bratty, and especially sassy, too. She's definitely a party girl who likes to have fun. And she goes through boyfriends faster than I go through cups of coffee. She's pretty (I've seen a picture) but not especially beautiful. Cute enough for the cheerleading squad, even here in Mobile, though. She's not the greatest student, but good enough to get somewhere in life. And it sounds like she's known for making snap decisions, then changing her mind two minutes later. And reversing course several times. And not appreciating it when others don't understand her whimsical mind-changes. Yup, a bimbo. Useless!
Ken has been in my dungeon for around an hour now. I have him on a table I designed and bribed a couple of frat boys to build for me. Okay, I bribed them with Shelbie's body. Their payment was to watch as I tied Shelbie to it, the redheaded 35-year-old with her firm body, nude. Then, for three hours, the two boys were permitted to do whatever they dreamed up to Shelbie. They weren't that imaginative. But they left Shelbie sloppy, like the whore I was making her be. I'm sure Shelbie enjoyed it. She always enjoys it when I give her away to total strangers (to her).
This rack is built like a giant Y. It has slats of 1x6 unfinished boards for legs, and a pair of 1x8s, side-by-side, for a stem. Underneath the slats, there's ample welded steel to brace them up. Except at the junction where all three meet. Or used to meet before they cut that part of the slats away leaving just an empty space there. At the bottom of the six-foot-long slats, there are little winches.
Ken lies on the base of the Y, his legs pulled out onto the slats. I've tied a rope around his ankles, the same as I always do. Three coils of rope wound around each ankle, the loops snugly against each other, then tied off. The free ends of the rope, those I laced through the winch. And then I slowly cranked them tight, pulling his legs taut.
To keep him from simply being dragged down the Y by his legs, there are two inch-diameter wooden dowels sticking up a few inches. Those fit in his armpits. His hands are pulled up under the base of the Y, bound together with handcuffs, and the chain of those cuffs is firmly attached to the underside of the boards. It holds his hands in place, roughly where the small of his back is, keeping him from getting to anything, or from moving his hands enough to get free of the pegs.
To keep him from simply raising his chest up, and thus his arms off the pegs, he's wearing a training collar. I have them in both baby blue and pastel pink. His is baby blue for a boy, but it's also a rather feminine shade of blue. The collar is turned around, its buckle in the back, and its buckle is locked to the table.
It keeps his body taut on the table. And that keeps him from moving while allowing him to squirm around a little. The missing section of the table leaves his bottom hanging out in the air, nothing at all under it. The wide-angle of the leg-slats leaves his cock and balls hanging out too. Or rather now just his balls dangling down. His cock is far too stiff. It stands up, or when left alone lies up along his stomach.
