Mistress



        She stood over me, dressed in her worn black leather jacket and

miniskirt and boots, silk camisole draped over her small firm tits, and lit

a cigarette. She took her time with it, and then looked back at me

appraisingly. "Down on the floor," she said curtly, cigarette clenched in

her teeth. I got down gingerly on all fours, that carpet rough under my

knees with sand and grit. She leaned back against the wall and crossed her

legs. "Lick 'em," she said, and I lowered my head and went to work, trying

not to gag at the residue of grime on the leather of her boots. There would

be a lot worse in my mouth by the time the night was over, I told myself.

Live with it.

        "Get your butt in the air," she said, and I lifted my rear end

higher, pressing my face to her boot with a gasp as the first blow fell on

my bare ass. The cat slammed down and I forgot everything but the sensation.

Two more blows came with me motionless, and then she suddenly kicked me over

like a footstool and pressed the sole of her boot against my throat. Looking

up at her during that moment of disorientation was terrifying. "Did I tell

you to stop?" she asked.

        "No, Mistress, I'm sorry," I had the sense to croak out past her

boot on my larynx. She pushed me back to my kneeling position with one hard

movement of her toe and stepped on my head, forcing me down again to her

boot. this time, when the blows fell, I kept licking. My mouth felt like a

desert, my tongue dry against the gritty leather, and a swamp was rising

between my legs.

        She pushed away from the wall just as suddenly and moved out from

under my mouth; I sat up, flustered, my ass stinging, wondering if I had

offended. One hand grabbed me by the hair and yanked me up, and then I was

pushed down on the bed. "Sit up," she said. "And lock your hands behind your

head."

        I knew what was coming. The soft white ropes now, wound around each

breast until they stuck out like swollen melons. Bound together with a few

more loops then, tighter and tighter. It made them look as if they were

suffering, when actually it was a rather pleasant sensation. A last loop

around my chest and then one over my shouders hiked them up, sticking

straight out for the whip. 

        Cuffs now, on my wrists, securing my hands behind my back. She

reached around, ran her hands over my swollen tits, pinched the nipples,

slapped them a few times. I couldn't help moaning and rubbing my ass against

her knee. "You like that, don't you?" she asked; I could hear her smiling

grimly. I made the mistake of assuming the question was rhetorical, and a

minute of silence later she grabbed me by the hair and slapped my face.

        I was disoriented again, my brains tumbled from lust and confusion.

But she expected an answer, I realized. "Yes - yes, Mistress, I like it." My

face was hot and stung. Did she want more? "I like it, Mistress. I like

having my tits slapped." I didn't dare meet her eyes. "Pleas hurt them more,

Mistress."

        She did, slipping a chain under the knotted ropes in my cleavage and

attaching it to the hook in the ceiling. She slapped them some more, first

with her hand and then with a pair of leather gloves. It was light, at lest

for me, which meant it didn't hurt like hell, and it was a tease. "Harder,

please, Mistress, hit me harder!" I gasped, just to see what she'd do, and

what I got was the hard rubber cock-gag shoved into my mouth and buckled at

the back of my neck.

        "That'll shut you up," she said, and picked up a cat made of thick

rubber strips and began to lay into my tits. I moaned and struggled and

squeaked and gave in to it, heedless of my usual dignity. There was

something good about givng that up for a while, although some part of me

always fears that I'll never be able to get it back again, that I'll

eventually snap during scene and end up permanently crawling after her,

begging to lick her boots, begging for the least scrap of attention, abasing

myself at her feet day in and day out, and I know she would hate me like

that. I'd hate me like that. That cat was no longer the big thuddy one; it

was now the short plastic stingy one tht hurts even worse and lays almost

instant welts. My tits were marking up red and purple now; I could see them

in occasional glances when my eyes weren't squeezed tight to endure the pain

of the blows.

        She stopped for a moment and gestured to my thighs with the butt end

of the cat, which were glued together. "Spread 'em," she said. "And keep 'em

spread. I don't want to see those legs together once tonight, unless I tie

them together." The cigarette, clenched in the corner of her mouth, bobbed

as she spoke. The smoke wreathed her face ominously. I spread my legs, the

wetness of my cunt peeling apart with a sticky sound. It lwered me and put

more pressure on the boobs that I was hanging from. She shoved the butt end

of the cat up there and I writhed on it, but it was only a tease and the

next thing was three short stinging smacks across my spread cunt. I yelped.

She chuckled and whipped the insides of my spread thighs until I screamed

around the gag.

        Then she dropped that cat and took the cigarette out of her mouth. A

chill of fear went through me. The glowing tip came closer, closer to my

welted and bound tit, circling the nipple so close that I could feel the

heat. I began to quiver and I was afraid I'd move too much, out of lack of

control, that I'd burn myself accidentally out of fear. She chuckled,

watching me try desperately not to squirm. The smoke rose in my face and

brought tears to my eyes. "Be careful now," she said. "Don't move." Mockingly.

        The lit end of the cigarette moved over my body, bound breasts and

belly and face, down to my cunt, making me spread my legs even wider in

panic, which amused her. She stuck the unlit end into my front hole, which

was really too wet to hold it there, and watched me whine incoherently

around the gag. "I could leave it there until it burns down," she said, and

then relented and plucked it out, putting it back in her teeth. The taste of

pussy didn't faze her a bit. She unhooked me then, let me fall forward

gratefully onto the bed like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

        I didn't get to rest more than a second, since she was pulling me up

onto my knees and grabbing for my tits again. Two clothespins on a chain

were attached to my nipples and yanked hard to test their grip before I was

let to fall back on my face again. Moving around to my rear end, she slid a

greased finger into my asshole and stuffed me full of lube; the tip of a

buttplug came next, and slowly the whole thing was worked into me. My

sphincter contracted in protest, but I was tilted at the wrong angle to

expel it. Then I could feel her spreading my cunt lips, working in a larger

dildo, working it in past the protrusion of the plug in the adjacent hole.

It seemed to go in all too quickly, and then I felt my leather G-string

strapped around my thighs and waist, holding the phalluses inside me. they

were strapped into me, held there until she felt like removing them, filling

me. She stubbed out her cigarette and grinned at me.

        A moment later the whip came down on my ass again, a rhythmic rain

of heat and agony that made me live from minute to minute. How could my

crotch swell up so much without my focus or attention, I wondered? I found

myself sticking my ass up higher, willing to take the pain for the chance

that it would connect with the exposed end of the buttplug and nudge my innards.

        She whipped me until I was sobbing and crying around the cock-gag

and then stopped, running her hand over my ass and poking at the trapped

dildoes. I humped her hand gladly, in that state where getting off is the

only reward in the world worth having, but she pulled away and undid my gag.

"You like having your butt whacked?" she said, humor in her voice.

        I knew what to do this time. "I like it," I said breathlessly. "I

love it when you whack my ass. It makes me so hot." She grinned and rolled

me over onto my back, and straddled my head. I could see her cock pushing

against the leather, springing free as she hiked up her skirt, and then she

spread her ass cheeks with her hands and sat on me, pressing her ass crack

down on my face and mashing it with her firm, trim buttocks. My tongue

danced along her crack until it found the right place, moving around the

sour-tasting hole in a circle as she moaned and pressed down further, nearly

flattening my face and impaling herself on my tongue. 

        They call it a rim job, but for me there's something terribly erotic

in being so close to my favorite part of her body - that smooth, damp, plush

ass - that you're practically smothered by it, putting a tentative tongue

into a demanding, pulsing hole that wants more and more until you wish the

mombrane under your tongue had been cut. My hips writhed and bucked,

pressure on the G-string straps making the dildoes move infinitesimally, and

my clit throbbed with no way to reach it.

        I felt her hands spreading lube on my cleavage - if you could call

it cleavage, those taut melons bound together - and attaching the dangling

overhead chain to the smaller chain between my nipples, so my tits were

pulled up and I had to arch my back just a hair. Then I felt her cock being

shoved between them, pulling forward and back, rubbing herself off on them.

Every time she pulled back, as much of my tongue as possible went into her

asshole and her hot  sweaty butt cheeks slapped and mashed my face. It went

on like that for a long time, she using my tits and moaning, and me groaning

too, into her asshole, my pelvis swiveling in agonized arousal that I knew

she could see and was deliberately ignoring.

        Suddenly she got off me and got up, the friction apparently not

enough to get her off. I was yanked up, pulled off the bed in a flurry of

dizziness, and tossed to the floor. "Mistress?" I gasped, not sure what to

do, struggling to move with my hands cuffed behind me.

        "Up against the wall," she ordered, her cock bouncing as she climbed

off the bed. I quickly knelt upright with my shoulders pressed back against

the cool smoothness of the wall and opened my mouth. She flattened herself

against the wall above me, her cock going straight in until it reached the

back of my throat, and then she pumped in and out of my mouth, first with a

slow rhythm and then faster. At the same time, the toe of her boot pressed

against my crotch, and I was suddenly, desperately grateful. I held my lips

and throat loose, knowing she liked it best when I could provide even

pressure for her to fuck as she wanted, and humped her boot with everything

I had, pressing down so that the dildoes in me werre moved slightly in and

out, rubbing my raw, swollen clit against the gritty leather. And she

grunted and grabbed my head, cock moving down my throat at first slowly and

then faster, fucking my mouth, slamming into the back of my throat until she

buried it there and screamed aloud. I came too, rubbing furiously on her

boot, and I didn't scream, I couldn't, because her cock was cutting off my

air and my nose was mashed into her pubic mound.

        And then it was over, and she was holding me, kissing me, untying

everything, pulling out everything, laying me down on the bed to rub my

suddenly oversensitive flesh. And in that moment, after I came, I had the

inevitable sudden flood of embarassment that I would ever want this, consent

to it, ask for it. After I'd come, it all seemed awfully silly. But I didn't

tkae it seriously. As soon as I started getting horny again, it'd all come back.