Nothing Like The Sun: Two (F/m) Friday Afternoon It was about a ten minute walk from the strip mall where Mistress Catherine had ordered me to park my car, to the subdivision where She lived. i was dressed, as per Her explicit instructions, in my finest suit, which no longer looked good on me, considering all the weight i'd recently burned off at the gym. Between the warm Spring afternoon, the heavy wool of the suit, and my own wild sexual arousal, i was feeling awfully warm by the time i arrived at Her front porch. The house, located in one of the nicest neighborhoods in town, was situated midway down a steep hill. From the front approach it appeared to be a modest, two-story building, and my instructions were to go right up to the front door and proceed directly inside. i paused only long enough to admire the long front porch and the old-fashioned hanging bench, before entering into the Mistresses' domain. The interior layout of the house was skewed so that the middle, "ground," floor was actually off to one side, stacking the upper story directly over the basement. Directly to my left was a small closet and next to that a table and mirror. To my right was a large, sunken living room, delineated from the "hall" by an iron railing. If i were to walk straight ahead, i'd eventually enter the kitchen, and just before that, again on my left, were two sets of stairs; one going up, one going down. i opened the hall closet and began to strip off my clothes as my morning E-mail from Mistress had specified. i hung my suit up next to a variety of plain, ordinary overcoats; and put my shoes - socks balled up in one, underwear in the other - down among Her winter boots and galoshes. What impressed me most about my surroundings, what i could see of them, was an incredible sense of austerity: bare, white walls, white carpet and very little in the way of furniture. The only decoration i could see anywhere was a print hanging in the living room, above a plain, off-white sofa. It was a Nagel, and depicted a woman either crawling or stretching languidly. She had no top on, but her arm was positioned so as to strategically cover her breasts; and she wore skintight pants with an tiger print. On the table next to the closet was a pink nylon dog collar with a bone-shaped plastic tag. The tag read "michael." i put it on. i was supposed to wait in the living room, so i went over to the break in the rail and stepped down into the room. The sofa was bracketed with two end tables and there were two easy chairs against opposite walls, and that was it. No television or stereo, and nothing on the walls except the Nagel. As i studied the picture, something soft and furry tickled my ankle, causing me to start. i looked down to see an orange-striped tabby peering back up at me. "Hi little fella," i said, squatting down to scratch it behind the ears. It began to purr. "She likes you." i nearly jumped again as Mistress' voice came from behind me. i started to stand. "No, wait," She ordered, "I like you this way." She walked past me and sat down on Her sofa, crossed Her legs, and dangled Her left foot in front of my face. It was the first time i had ever seen Her and i knew immediately that i was out of my league. But then, i suppose every slave believes their Mistress to be the most beautiful woman in the world. She had pale skin, hair the color of wine, and was dressed all in black to match Her dark eyes: black jeans, black tank top, and even the sides of Her sneakers, which looked well worn, were made of black canvass. She sat quietly for a moment or two, drinking in my awe of Her, before asking, "So, michael, what do you think of my home?" "It's, uh, it's not quite what i expected..." Storm clouds crossed Her features. "That's because it's the LIVING ROOM and not the dungeon, you stupid shit!" i swallowed hard and stared at the floor. "I should have known you wouldn't appreciate the honor I'm bestowing on you. Most my slaves enter only from the back door, directly into the dungeon. They're never allowed to see this part of the house!" "Please Mistress," i begged, "i am honored! i'm honored by everything you do for me!" "Then why, michael, have I been offering my foot for over a minute and yet it's still not clean?" i quickly stuck out my tongue and ran it across the sole of Her sneaker in a long, full stroke. Her shoes weren't especially filthy, but they weren't especially clean, either. The taste of the dirt that came off them wasn't nearly as bad as the way the individual granules scraped against my teeth. After the first few long sweeps across the whole shoe, i began to concentrate on the individual whorls and valleys formed by the tread. i tried to keep the residue on the back part of my tongue and away from my teeth, swallowing frequently. my mouth rapidly began to dry out; and the grit began to scratch up the back of my throat. At some point i must have gotten Her left sneaker clean enough as She re-crossed Her legs, forcing me to crawl around to the other side. She watched dispassionately for a few minutes as i went through the same routine, then pulled Her foot away from me. "All right michael," She said, " Enough. Get on your knees for Me." i awkwardly shifted my position, glad to be out of the crouch. Even so, there was still a tremendous strain on my thighs as i labored to keep my upper body straight. "Hands." For a moment i stared at Her blankly. Suddenly getting it, i quickly moved my hands to the small of my back, as i had the night before. She nodded and got up off the couch. "Stay," She commanded, touching the top of my head with the tip of Her finger. She walked away, and from the sound of it, proceeded to take the stairs leading down. i held my position, more than a little nervous. The cat brushed up against my leg, and i heard it "meow" inquisitively but i didn't even dare move my head to look at it. Straining my eyes, i could just make out the arch of its back and the long, lazy sweep of its tail. "Good kitty," i said, trying to sound friendly. Four tiny fishhooks raked the tip of my penis in reply. It was really more a playful pat than an attack, but the distinction was lost on me at the time. i sucked my breath through my teeth as my nerves down there lit up with pain; my reaction causing the cat to leap backwards out of fright and begin hissing at me in return. i had to look down and see the damage. It wasn't bad - just four thin scratches - but it hurt like wildfire, and tiny beads of blood began to well up along their track. The cat crept forward on its belly, eyeing me cautiously for any further signs of attack. i've always liked animals, better than people usually, but at that moment all i wanted to do was swat that little fucker across the room. However, smacking Mistress' cat around hardly seemed to be the best way to ingratiate myself, so i resisted the urge as best i could, and watched it as it stalked me, wondering if i could endure a second attack with retaliating. The cat, however, had other plans. It raised itself up off the floor and, once certain that i wasn't going to do anything, began to lap at the freshly drawn blood; its sandpapery tongue scraping harshly across my most sensitive of flesh. "Well," Mistress called out behind me, startling me even worse than the first time, "You haven't been here twenty minutes michael, and twice now I've caught you playing with another pussy!" Before I could sputter a reply, I heard the snap-hiss of a camera and the room lit up with the flash. Forgetting myself, I turned my head around to look at her, surprised and a little angry. "Just a souvenir, micheal, she said tauntingly, as she shook the developing picture. She moved around again, putting the camera on an endtable and scooping up the cat as she sat back down on the couch. She studied the photo for a few seconds. "You really are a stupid shit, you know that michael?" she finally asked, sounding almost as if it were a rhetorical question. i didn't know how to answer that, so i just sat quietly and hoped that it was. "Most slaves I've known would've been content to come in their little entrance, do their thing and go home, but not you. You want more. You want all of it, maybe. "Well, nobody will probably ever get all of me michael, but you needn't concern yourself. You'll have more than enough on your plate to keep you busy. Painslut, domestic, and yes michael, to some extent even boring old vanilla 'boyfriend.' My slaves before you only had to worry about performing in a single category. You'll have to perform, and perform well, in all three." "Now," She said, standing. "If you'll excuse me, I have to get dressed. My boyfriend is taking me out to a very expensive restaurant for dinner." my heart skipped a beat until i realized She was talking about me. "There's a phone on the end table. You have my permission to use it to make whatever arrangements are necessary. Then get yourself dressed again. If you get done before I return, you may go downstairs and have a little peek at my little playroom." She swept passed me. "One last thing michael: now is the time for you to go overboard to try and impress me." And then She went up the stairs. i stood up, glad to be out of that crouch. The cat was now splayed out on its back on the sofa, but i knew better than to join it. The beast took a few playful swings at the cordless phone as i removed the device from the cradle. Praying softly that my dad picked up, i dialed the number of my parent's house. "Hi... Mom?" my body convulsed with Oedipal discomfort. "Are you guys still members of the S- Club?" * * * * After the most uncomfortable conversation of my entire life, i went to the closet and put my suit back on. i dressed quickly, but i wasn't certain what to do about my collar, so i opted to keep it on and just drape my tie around my neck and leave the top few buttons of my shirt undone. After that, i loitered a bit at the foot of the stairs until curiosity got the better of me. The steps down into the basement were steep and narrow. i made it about halfway down before i had to stop and catch my breath. The dungeon was amazing. The room itself was a twenty-by-twenty foot square, with an extra little kink jutting off beside the stairs. The floor was all done in gray linoleum and the walls, what exposed patches i could see, were covered in black, egg carton-style foam rubber; to deaden the noise. The walls were further covered by peg boards which were themselves festooned with every kind of device and implement you could ask for: whips, clamps, lead sinkers, plastic spatulas and elaborate strap-and-buckle affairs whose purpose i could only guess at. There were two small chipboard wardrobes in one corner, and a large cage, known as a "crate" to dog trainers, in another. The ceiling was at least twelve feet high and the plaster had been stripped off, revealing the heavy beams underneath; which in turn had eyebolts sunk into them at various intervals. The rich, heady smell of leather filled my nostrils and i had to sit down on the steps and savor it. my dick became as hard as i ever remember it becoming in my life, and i was sorely tempted to begin masturbating in my pants right on the spot. Then i saw the cameras. Two were small, boxy security type models, mounted up in the far corners of the room. The third was a large camcorder mounted on a tripod in the small niche alongside the stairs. At long last, i stood up and strode reverently down the last few steps; entering Mistress Catherine's dungeon. A tiny flash of red light caught my attention and i turned toward the alcove. The camcorder was on. i immediately went over to check if there was a tape in the machine, but there wasn't. Instead, several cables streamed out of the back of the unit, and snaked along the floor and into the wall. She was watching me. i was all at once very glad i hadn't played with myself after all, even though my cock was now screaming for attention worse than ever. And there was no place to look, nothing to focus my attention on in that Stygian wonderland that could ease the erotic tension that so completely enveloped me. i fixed my gaze upon what seemed to be a wine rack made of black, lacquered wood; but when i removed one of the "bottles" i saw that the object was rubber, veined, and possessed a prominent glans. "One of my slaves made that." i fumbled over myself to try and put the dildo back into its slot. "The rack, I mean." She'd put Her hair up and dressed in a simple, but elegant sleeveless evening dress - black of course. The neckline was conservative, and the hem kissed the floor. Much to my surprise, but not necessarily disappointment, She was also wearing glasses. They made Her inky eyes look like two gaping mouths, swallowing everything that fell under their gaze. She smiled at me with unsettling warmth, and began towards me. The tips of Her sneakers peeked out from under Her dress as She moved. "You have good instincts," She purred, pressing Her smoldering body to mine. i thought we might kiss, but Her hands found my throat instead; undoing the buckle of my collar. "Only I may release you." She withdrew with the collar in Her hands and i took the opportunity to hastily do up the remaining buttons on my shirt and fix my tie. When She returned, She offered me Her arm. "Shall we?" * * * * We took Her car. She drove. It was worth the eventual astronomical bill just to see Her reaction when i gave Her the address of the restaurant. She didn't believe me until we were actually inside and the maitre d' asked us to wait in the lobby while our table was made ready. Frankly, i had a hard time believing she'd never eaten there before. The S- Club was the most elite restaurant in town, members only; and i couldn't believe that none of their our-shit-don't-stink clientele didn't wallow in some serious depravity. Unlike pure middle-class me. While we were waiting for the table, i pointed out a yellowed, blurry photograph of my great grandparents on the wall honoring the club's founding members; thus giving Her the explanation She had wordlessly been demanding since we entered. We were seated by the large plate glass windows overlooking the lush inner courtyard. She had the steward bring us a bottle of an Austrian Sauvignon Blanc with a tongue-twister name and an eye-popping price tag. When i politely declined a glass, She gave me a funny look and asked, "What's the matter, michael, don't you drink?" "No, Mistress." "Well, I know you don't smoke. My goodness, michael, don't you have any vices whatsoever?" "Aside from being your... 'painslut,' Mistress?" She smiled and took a long drink of the golden, sweet-smelling wine. "Touché." When the waiter showed up to take our order, Mistress ordered the Alaskan king crab for herself and a dinner salad for me. i thought it was because She knew of my tendency to put on weight, but when the food arrived, She gave me a toothy smile. "There's only room for one carnivore in our relationship, wouldn't you agree, michael?" "Yes, Mistress." She must have kicked off one of Her shoes, because each time She would split open a piece of shell with a bone-jarring snap, Her bare foot would sneak up into my lap; gently rubbing against my crotch. The agonizing crack of rending carapace quickly became associated in my mind with extreme pleasure. Once or twice - just to tease - she'd pop open a segment without the accompanying footsie; eliciting soft, piteous groans of disappoint from me. i scarcely ate a thing. Halfway through the meal, She took me by surprise by asking, "So tell me, michael, what movie are we going to see tonight?" i blanked. my jaw dropped open stupidly. "It is customary for a boyfriend to take his gal out for dinner and a movie?" She giggled at "gal." "His sweetie?" For the life of me, i couldn't think of any movies that were currently playing. i'd filled my whole life for the past three months with work, getting into shape, and the humiliating, sometimes painful, acts of 'cyber-training' Mistress Catherine had demanded of me. i could only think of two films, and both struck me as equally poor choices. i thought about stalling until we got to the theater, but i could see in Her eyes that She required a decisive move on my part, and fast. The two movies refused to release their hold on my thoughts and make way for more appealing candidates. One of the two was Howard Stern's film. Unfortunately, i was the only person i knew who was indifferent about Stern; and i desperately didn't want to find out Mistress hated him the hard way. Yet, the other movie seemed worse: much, much worse. "michael?" She asked, signaling my time was up. "Have you, um, have you seen Empire Strikes Back yet, Mistress?" i couldn't have gotten a more astonished response, short of saying, "Tonight, why don't you be the one who crawls around on the floor like a dog, 'kay babe?" She let me stew while She took careful measure of my response. i wanted so badly to beg Her to choose whatever movie She wanted, any movie. But i also knew i was being tested. i was getting used to that. She watched me with catlike concentration. The tension began to ease out of my muscles as i accepted whatever consequences my choice might bring. She finally graced me with a wry smile. "Not since college, michael." * * * * The movie went over better than i could have hoped for. When the snow creature swatted Mark Hamil, Mistress Catherine jumped, clutching at my arm. A few scenes later when he's hanging from the ceiling, She gave my arm another, more playful squeeze. As the film progressed, She rested Her head on my shoulder. Midway through She broke into hysterical laughter during the scene where Luke tries to convince his new "master," Yoda to take him on. He boasts, "I'm not afraid," and the diminutive creature growls, "You will be.. you WILL be..." Mistress carried on so loudly that we began to get dirty glares from the other patrons. An usher passed by and scowled at us. She sank into Her seat, a helpless mass of giggles. When at last She recovered, She began to tug at my coat, which i'd removed and draped over the back of my seat. Obliging Her, i leaned forward so She could have it. She played with it for a second, wrapping it around and around in Her arms, before setting it back down in my lap. i was wondering what the point of all that was, when i felt something nuzzle up against my crotch. i glanced down and saw Her arm disappearing down underneath the coat. She laid Her head back to rest against my arm again, and slowly, click by click, undid my zipper. i made a gulping sound in my suddenly parched throat, and surveyed the theater nervously. We were near the back and, thankfully, the few people who had sat near us had moved after Mistress' outburst. On the screen all was sturm and drang as ships rocketed through asteroids and blasted the hell out of one another. The noise was phenomenal Her hand slipped into my pants, and immediately brushed past my penis. Instead, She began to fondle my scrotum, manipulating it carefully until She had both testicles in Her grasp. Then She squeezed. At first the pressure was soft, but firm; and the sensation it brought forth was one of intense stimulation rather than outright pain. Then She squeezed again, longer and harder than before. i don't know exactly why, but as She was doing this, i put my arm around Her; my hand coming to rest squarely on Her breast. When She squeezed again, i did too: my actions a tender mirror of Her increasingly rough ministrations. She had on some kind of underwired bra, so i could feel Her nipple harden as i massaged Her; pleasuring Her even as She tormented me. my balls tried to shrink away from the pain, but She kept them locked in a fearsome grip. i pinched Her nipple lightly between my fingers, undulating my palm against the whole broad surface of Her tit. She collapsed Her hand into a fist, sending a tidal wave of howling agony throughout my body, yet i could give it no voice. She buried Her face into my shoulder, biting me. A spasm passed from Her to me and She bit me again: a savage, bruising chomp. Her hand compressed so tightly that there seemed no room left for anything else. i felt crushed, castrated. i don't know if She actually came, or just stopped short lest She make another scene. Abruptly, She went limp, the whole weight of Her upper body slumping against mine. She withdrew Her hand from my pants and made a disgusted face at the slight smear of pre-cum along Her index finger. With a low snarl, Mistress mashed the afflicted area against my lips. "Lick," She whispered sternly, and I did.