SOME CALL IT PLAY
By Charles E. Campbell
This story is dedicated to Master David, for His generosity, and to His slave girl diana, for her openness and candor in researching this saga. It was not written with the intent to portray them in any way, but there were a number of coincidental aspects of the story that turned out to have an uncanny similarity to what they share, both as a couple and as a Master and His slave. It was my intent, however, to attempt to describe the depth of their commitment to each other as they make their mutual journey. I am profoundly renewed by their relationship and all that it signifies. My gratitude to them both is heartfelt and sincere.
I had done her up pretty well. Naked. Wrist and ankle cuffs buckled securely. Her legs spread uncomfortably wide, locked to a three foot spreader bar. Her arms hoisted high over her head, held fast by a steel cable on an electric winch, pulling her into a tenuous position up on the balls of her feet. The cold concrete floor useless in relieving the building pressure in her shoulders. A symmetrical pattern of sixteen thick needles piercing her right breast. The outside of her left breast the current object of My attention. The slap of My hand, the short flogger, the crop, a wooden spoon, all seeking out the same target. What was once pale white, soon becomes pink, then deeper reds begin to appear, raised welts, and even hints of dark blues. She twists and dances, squirming to the staccato rhythms I perform. She sings out, accompanying Me. A duet? Or is it really a solo? Never does she try to duck or dodge, even though I have left her eyes uncovered. She sees/knows, accepts what is to come.
Respites are frequent. Soothing caresses. Kind encouraging words praising her efforts to please/serve Me. Water is proffered. Courteous, I ask if she will accept more. She acquiesces, knowing that each assault will be all that much harder, more severe, than the previous ones. She requests a gag, in order that her screams will not distract Me from My purpose, or even worse, cause Me to hold back. It is granted. It is, after all, her limits I seek to abolish. Her soft tender flesh bearing witness to her devotion.
It isn’t long before tears are freely flowing from her eyes. Her mascara is ruined, streaking down her cheeks, creating a macabre mask that does nothing to hide the expressions on her pain-filled face. Of course none of this brings even the slightest degree of leniency as the attack on that most obviously feminine part of her body continues, unabated. Her mind is wracked by the relentless stabbing pain. “My poor breast,” she thinks to herself. That most feminine part of her, responsible for sustaining new life. The universal symbol of comfort, succor, giving, gentleness, now being reduced to a battered and bruised swollen source of intense pain and suffering.
She can feel the sweat now running from her up stretched arms. Making it’s way down her sides. No deodorant hiding the smell of fear mixed in. Drool seeps from the corners of her grotesquely open mouth. Leaking past the large red rubber ball invading her, causing her jaws to ache. She can feel her heart pounding madly in her chest, underneath the battered breast. Blood forcing in, engorging the veins and capillaries that lay so close to the hot tender skin.
We are, for a short time, one. She reading me, as I read her. Complimenting. Completing. When it is through, a long heartfelt embrace tells us both that we had met , somewhere between she and me. Connected.
It really isn’t a series of opposites that attract like magnets: Dom and sub; Pain and Pleasure; Master and slave. In actuality, these things aren’t really opposites at all. Rather, they are two sides of the same one coin, joined eternally together to make one. Creating a whole, a different entity, by their acceptance of what role they accept in the greater scheme.
What I do “to” her, I do because I know it is what she needs, and therefore in doing so, through Me, she receives that which she needs, as she gives Me what I need, and that is her sole concern. A completed circle or sorts. She weaves a new being from us together for that short time we spend. Not extracting from one or the other, but in reality, combining the two and creating a one. It’s not giving and taking, or accepting and relinquishing. It’s joining and uniting. Combining. It is Symbiosis.
By now, I’m sure, you must wonder how we got to this juncture. How we arrived at this understanding in our lives. To answer those questions, I must go back in time about seven months, because it was then that all of this began.
It was a quiet Saturday evening. Diana and I were enjoying a light supper. Just the two of us, basically empty nesters now. One had married and moved out of town, the other a Senior away at college. We had spent the day relaxing at a leisurely pace, strolling tree lined streets near the Hudson River. Walking the narrow streets, admiring the nineteenth century houses that had been refurbished as this small waterfront community reinvented itself and revitalized itself as a weekend haven. Here and there, popping into various shops that piqued our interest: antiques shops, a book store, art gallery, vintage records, coffee shop, that sort of thing. Lunch was outside on the terrace overlooking the river. Spring had taken hold now, summer was approaching, slowly, as it is want to do in the Mid-Hudson Valley. Sailboats gracefully tacking, the light April breezes filling their colorful sails as they glided along. In short, a picture perfect day highlighted by postcard memories.
“What’s on your mind,” Diana queried , a brief lull in our reminiscing about the day. “Something’s bothering you.”
“It’s nothing, Diana. Really. Nothing.” Hurried response. Trapped. Embarrassed. I had been found out.
“After thirty years you know I can read you better than that, David. Tell me.”
She gave me the space to form my thoughts into cohesive words. Our years together had made things like that possible. “I want to go deeper into our ‘playing,’ “ I blurted out. “God, I hate that word.
“Playing. It’s like some feeble attempt at a codeword. A cliched codeword.”
“What would you prefer to call it,” she countered, not seeming at all shocked at this new direction in our conversation.
“I don’t know. I just know I hate calling it playing. It’s anything but playing. It’s exploring. It’s delving into ourselves, mutually, consensually. It opens us both up to each other. Nothing hidden. Everything exposed. It allows us to examine who we are, both as individuals and as a couple.
“I don’t know a ‘better’ word. I just know I don’t want to call it playing any longer.”
“That’s fine. We’ll think of some other term for it then. But that’s not what’s on your mind. Not what’s really on your mind.”
While I had rehearsed this speech many times in my head over the past few weeks, I knew it wouldn’t come out right. At least not the way I wanted it to be right.
“We’ve spent a lot of time over the years with you submitting to me,” I began, formulating my thoughts as I went. “We started light, even before the kids were born. And we continued it, as best as we could while they were little.
“We even took a few weekend trips so we could explore ourselves while they were growing up. Well, they’re basically gone now. Grown up. Moved on with their own lives. We have the whole house to ourselves really. And,...........well,..... I want to experience more with you. I want to make it a regular part of our lives. Our daily lives. I know it’s important to you too. I just want to recognize the importance of it to us both, and act upon it.”
Diana’s eyes never left mine, listening intently to each word. “What do you have in mind, David?”
“Well, to start, I want to convert a part of the basement into a dungeon. Notice I said dungeon, not a ‘playroom.’ We can keep it locked so if Jeff comes home, or the boiler man goes down there, or something like that, it won’t be found.”
“And.....?”
“Diana, you know me too well.
“I guess the ‘and’ is that I want to enslave you. I want you to accept your place as My slave, and give yourself over to Me. Totally. No questions asked”
The silence hung heavily in the air. I was afraid that she no longer had the urges we shared when we were younger. After all, we were both near to becoming grandparents. Then, taking My hand in hers, she said, “Build our dungeon, Master, and make me Your slave. I will do whatever You demand.”
After we had finished our coffee, Diana headed for the neighbor’s house to help pick out wallpaper for their kitchen. I cleaned up the dishes and went down to the basement to start some preliminary sketches and collect some measurements. I also wanted began a list of materials the job would require as I drew up the plans.
The finished dungeon would be 20' by 25'. Five hundred square feet in total. A good and ample amount of space. By excavating the basement floor to a depth of five feet, the ceiling would become twelve feet, more than high enough by my way of figuring. Cinder blocks, concrete, decorative stone and some rental tools should get it going. Using a calculator I did some rough estimates on quantities, erring to the high side, so as to insure that no labor time would be lost once I got started.
Monday morning Diana and I left together for our places of employment, she as a paralegal, and I as a semi-retired college professor. I told Diana that the basement was off limits to her until I told her otherwise. I could see she was about to ask why, but something inside her told her not to. So, with a quick peck on the cheek and a fast ‘good-bye,’ we parted. I called the department secretary at my University and told her a made up story about having car trouble, and to please cancel my student appointments. She was to reschedule them for after spring break. That taken care of, I headed for the local masonry supply with my list.
The people at the masonry supply were extremely helpful. They were able to get my materials estimates much closer than I had done, and they had all the tools I would need available for rental. They were even able to give me contacts for some local laborers to help with the heavy work. I wrote them a check and got it all set up for the following Monday, when I would have a week off for spring break.
Monday came, and Diana went off to work. Six laborers arrived less than an hour later followed by a truck from the masonry supply with the tools and materials. I had already set down the chalk lines on the floor where we would use electric jack hammers to break up the concrete floor. While two of the men did that, the other four dug a deep hole in the ack yard to bury the broken concrete.
By noon we had the floor broken up and removed from the basement. Having a door that leads from the basement to the yard was a monumental aid in easing the work load. After lunch, they started digging. Three men dug and three men ran wheelbarrows removing the dirt that was excavated. Every half hour or so the men would switch jobs. By quitting time, they had excavated down about two feet.
The following morning they returned and set right into the digging. They had it dug down to five feet by the time we broke for lunch. Next we set up the steel grids to reinforce the new concrete floor. Two of the men began mixing the concrete in large rectangular troughs. The work was arduous and slow, but gradually the floor was poured and smoothed out.
Wednesday we began putting up the cinder block walls and the staircase that would lead down to the dungeon. Thursday that was finished and the men shot some metal lath into the block to help hold the decorative stone to the blocks. By Friday afternoon, all the masonry work was complete.
Diana had made previous plans to go out to Pennsylvania to visit her sister over the weekend, so I got the lumber yard to deliver the rest of the materials. My laborers came back Saturday and Sunday. We built a heavy wooden door with iron hinges that could be locked from both inside and outside. Using two 12 by 12's for support, we hung another 12x12 beam across the ceiling. The beam was supported by a pair of 12x12's bolted to the wall, and another pair standing vertically, eight feet apart in the middle of the room. We packed the ceiling with fiberglass insulation and put up a suspended ceiling that looked like an old fashioned tin ceiling.
Over the next few weeks, as time would permit, I worked on the dungeon. Alone. I built a Rack, a Pillory, and even St. Andrew’s Cross, which I bolted to the wall. The cross was made from 2x6's. I didn’t sand them, preferring instead form their rough weathered appearance. I did stain the wood, however, which made them look even older still. I installed soft lighting that flickered like old torches. Two heavy duty electric winches with 3/8 inch steel cables running up to pulleys on the main beam would take care of any suspension needs I might have. I constructed racks for the whips, hoods, cuffs, chains, and all the other implements. I wanted these things to be constantly on display, to enhance the visual feel of the dungeon. I also wanted them at arm’s reach whenever I might require them for their primary function, as instruments of torture.
Six weeks after I had begun, the dungeon was completed. I spent one entire evening down there alone, taking it all in. Fantasizing on the possibilities it would afford us, and trying to decide on the most symbolic way to christen it.
After giving the matter a great deal of thought, I finally came upon, what I considered to be, the most appropriate way to consecrate the dungeon. The Saturday after it was finished, I told Diana that I had some errands to run. She wanted to know if I wanted her to come with me, but I told her to stay home and catch up on her reading, a favorite pastime of hers. The weather wasn’t nice, steady rain and gusting winds, dark ominous clouds filling the skies. She didn’t need a second opportunity to stay in.
About an hour after I had left, a floral deliveryman arrived at the front door of our house, with a dozen long stemmed red roses, and an envelope written in my hand. Diana tipped the man and retreated to the living room to open the box and read the note.
Of course she recognized my handwriting immediately, and opened the envelope. Inside, she found a formal invitation which I had printed on heavy stock. It read:
diana
the Honor of your presence is requested this afternoon
at precisely 3:30PM in Our Dungeon
you are expected to be meticulously prepared in all manners.
I Love you,
David
She felt a tingle emanate from the base of her spine and travel upwards like a lightening bolt to the bottom of her neck. Glancing at her wrist watch, diana realized that she had a little over an hour to get ready. And being fully cognizant of what “Prepared” required, she headed hurriedly for the stairs.
The luxury of a bath was not feasible within the given time restraints, so instead, she turned on the shower and got undressed. Loading a new blade in her razor, she got under the hot water, adjusting it to make it as hot as she could stand it. She washed herself throughly. And then shampooed her short auburn hair. Using the razor, she shaved her armpits and legs. Then she lathered up her pussy and shaved herself there as well. Satisfied with the smooth baldness, she spread her legs and went in search of errant hairs along her labia and around he puckered rear entrance as well.
Taking a large soft towel from the bathroom closet, diana dried herself while standing before the mirror. She sized up her image. The fifty-three year old that looked back at her was still pretty good. Belly a bit soft, but still flat for a mother of two, who might soon be a grandmother. Her 34c breasts were sagging, no way around that. Time and gravity working their relentless and inevitable deeds here. Round hips capped by a small, and still very taut butt. Not the body of a twenty-five year old for sure, but not too shabby either, she thought.
3:15. Fifteen minutes to go. Pulling open the door on the medicine cabinet, she found a Fleets, and assuming the position on the floor, she gave herself the enema. The familiar cramps started up right away, but she fought against the urge until she felt she would lose the battle. Squatting over the bowl, she relieved herself. Empty, she used the bidet to freshen up. Knowing My dislike of chemical fragrances and any things that hide our natural scents, Diana skipped her usual perfume and deodorant, opting instead for an unscented powder. She dusted herself freely under her arms, on her belly, under her breasts and between her legs, repeating the process twice, not wanting to miss an inch. Eye liner, eye shadow, mascara, and a deep red lipstick finished off her face, highlighting her chiseled features. Make-up applied tastefully, she knows I don’t want her to appear the tramp.
She selected a long white gown, almost a see through material, more like an ankle length sheath. Thin spaghetti straps crossing her shoulders, holding it up. She tied a pair of tan thong sandals around her ankles crisscrossing up her calf about half way. Then she stole a look at the clock. 3:25. Time to head downstairs.
Her mind was in a frenzy, wondering what to expect. What was in store for her. True to My wishes, she had not set foot in the basement since I spoke My edict, so she had absolutely no idea at all as to what awaited her.
Her feet made little noise as she descended the stairs filled with trepidation. As soon as she had reached the basement, she was overwhelmed by the sight of the cinder block wall which now traversed the once open space, wall to wall. To the right side of the wall she saw the dark wooden door. Moving slowly toward it, her eyes taking in the hinges and hardware, she knocked. “Come in,” I called to her from the other side.
Struggling with the weight of the heavy door, diana pulled it open slowly, gradually revealing the dim candle lit interior to her eyes, which had not yet become accustomed to the darkness. She had not yet seen me, standing in the darkened recess of a corner. But I could see her perfectly from my vantage point, and I relished the look of the emotions that played across her face as she took in the sight of our dungeon for the first time. Crossing the threshold, I called out to her again. “Close the door and bolt it, slave!”
She jumped at the sound of my voice, her eyes scanning the room for the source, but without locating it, she turned her back to me, and replied, “Yes, Master,” as she slid the thick iron bolt into the latch, locking us both in.
“Come in and see what awaits you, My slave.”
“Yes, Master.”
Diana glided down the cold hard steps very slowly, looking at the flickering lights that illuminated the whips and crops, chains and shackles, that hung. from the wall. These things all waiting patiently to bring her senses alive. Her head looks up, and I watched as it followed the steel cables dangling from the pulleys and back down to the pair of winches. Their use, she knew, would be to hoist her from the floor. The St. Andrew’s Cross was illuminated with a spotlight, making it the focal point in the gloom. Eye bolts running along each beam of the cross at six inch intervals so that she could be completely bound to it, unable to even flinch in response to whatever she was to endure.
“Put your back to the cross!”
“Y...yes, Master.”
She walked to the cross, never taking her eyes from it, and turning her back to it, she leaned against the rough wood. I watched with rapt intent as diana leaned back against the cross, her nervous fingers softly caressing the splintered wood. Her eyes closed, shutting out that sense and allowing the pressure of the wood against her spine to envelope her.
Patience is one of my better attributes, so I allowed her to remain like that, awash in her own thoughts and images for a number of minutes. I know her well enough to know where her mind was taking her now. My hard cock straining inside my jeans. “I hate to disturb your fantasies, slave, but you have broken a cardinal rule.”
“I...I have, Master?”
“Yes, My pet, you most certainly have. You have entered our dungeon clothed. A slave must always be naked in a dungeon. Nothing is to be hidden from view. Every part of her is to be exposed.
“Remove that gown at once!”
“Yes, Master. Right away, Master.”
Diana is well aware of My preference for slow and sensual, so her hand motions, though liquid and graceful, are equally slow and deliberate. Reaching up with her right hand, she slowly pushes the strap of the gown off her left shoulder, allowing it to hang limply across her elbow. She repeats the move with her left hand, so that the only thing keeping the gown up is her bosom.
She drops her hands to her sides and gradually shimmies the gown down, revealing more and more of her soft pale skin to the harsh spotlight that is bathing her in bright light. The gown is snug fitting, and doesn’t fall freely to the floor until it has been pulled down past her hips. Her naked beauty is no longer hidden. The gown, a pile of wrinkles puddling around her sandaled feet. She doesn’t move. She knows where My eyes are, and she too has been blessed with patience. I am pleased with the smooth freshly shaven cunt, the thick inner lips dangling down from the slit, no longer hidden in the tangled forest of her pubic hair. Openly on display, as per My wishes.
“Shoes as well, cunt. Naked is naked.”
Leaning over, she lifts a foot and unstraps the sandal. Then the other foot, and she is barefoot as the well. The cold of the concrete seeping into her feet instantly. She leaned back against the cross, as if for self assurance.
“Open you eyes, My pet, and tell me what you think.”
Diana’s eyes open at the same speed she divested herself of her gown, gradually, allowing the entire diorama to register. I watched as her eyes panned the room, left to right, right to left, ceiling to floor. All the while clutching the cross behind her with her hands, a security blanket of sorts.
“It is incredible, Master. I feel truly blessed that You consider me worthy of such a place. I hereby vow, that anything, anything at all that You desire from me in this room shall be Yours. I will strive to have no limits placed upon You. No safe words. In this place, our dungeon, I place myself completely into Your hands, to do with as You please. For your pleasure and enjoyment, only.
“I love You, Master.”
“I accept your vow, and I thank you for it, slave. Know that I fully intend to test it today!
“I have given a great deal of thought as to how we should appropriately dedicate this dungeon to us both. To find a suitable way to christen it. And, after much consideration, I have decided that the only way to do this properly is for us to mark both you and the dungeon, permanently.” I see the quizzical look in her eye, not understanding what I mean by “permanently.” But, she knows better than to ask. She knows I will explain it to her in My own way.
I stood up at this point and walked to her. In my right hand, concealed behind My leg, I held a branding iron. I stopped right in front or her. Mere inches away, and leaned in to kiss her long and hard on her eager mouth. Our tongues entwined, probing, searching, exploring, yielding. This kiss was one of the most memorable of our thirty year marriage. Neither one of us seemed willing to have it end. When at last we broke the kiss, I took a step back and lifted the iron up before her eyes, watching as they opened wide in recognition of the iron and it’s pending significance.
“I am going to brand you with this iron, and then we will together, as one, brand the cross as well. Marking both you and the cross as Mine. Forever.”
Beads of sweat appeared on her brow, but true to her word, she mustered the courage to say, “I am truly humbled and honored that, after thirty years together, You wish me to bear Your mark, symbolizing Your ownership of me. I am deeply indebted, and thank You for giving me Your mark. I will be proud to display Your brand.”
Taking both her hands in Mine, I kissed her once again, and said, “Come, my Pet, and let’s explore.” I lead her by the hand over to the rack .I waited as she looked it over, giving her time to take in the rough wooden bed, the large wheel, the heavy aged rope, and the rusted old chain. “On your back, slave.”
“Yes, Master,” she replied, sitting down on the rack.
I had used old pieces of discarded wood that I had scrounged to build the rack. Solid as it was, the surface was scarred and nicked, even deep gouges in some places. I had stained it a dark color, but no sanding or polyurethane finish to even it out.
The rough weathered wood against the soft skin of her taut buttocks elicited a startled little yelp, but she lay down on the rack anyway, extending her arms over her head. I fastened on a pair of ankles cuffs and attached them to the thick iron chain at the base of the rack, a wonderful find from a metal scrap yard. Next came the stout heavy hawser around her wrists, binding them together tightly. This aged piece of rope had spent the past twenty-five years in a school gymnasium somewhere. Checking My knots., I went to the top of the rack and took hold of the handles on the wheel. “Ready to begin, My pet?”
“As it pleases, You, Master.”
There wasn’t much slack in the stiff old rope, so it only took one turn before she could feel her arms being pulled up. She slid a bit on the wooden bed, a few splinters forced into her, adding to her pain.
I didn’t stop turning the wheel until diana was stretched tight between the chains and the rope. Then, I gave it one more quarter turn before I locked the wheel, preventing it from slipping and easing her suffering. I leaned over and caressed the skin of her breasts and belly, feeling how tight is was. Her breasts had been pulled flat against her chest under the strain, making her chest look like that of a young boy. The muscles in her groin and arm pits were sticking out under the strain as well. Checking her cunt, I was happy to find her soaking wet. I knew that she enjoyed this as much as I, but this was a surefire method of making sure. This she couldn’t fake, it always gave her away to Me.
Using a soft leather flogger, I warmed her up, chest to knees. Her belly and thighs receiving the bulk of the lashes. Tears were flowing from her eyes and she was crying out loud, but never once did she beg or plead with Me to stop.
Pleased with her color, I loosened the wheel, undid her ankle chains, and told her to flip over onto her stomach. Then I reattached the chain and stretched her out again. Her warmed pink skin chaffed on the rough splintered wood. In mock courtesy, I asked, “May I continue, slave?”
“Please, Master, do as You will. Have no regard for Your lowly slave,” came her reply, as she steeled herself for more.
Shoulders to ankles I flogged her. Harder this time. Much harder, putting My weight into it. With each lash she would strain against the restraints, trying to lift herself off the rack. Futile efforts, of course, but instinctive. Unavoidable.
I released her from the rack, and helped her sit up. I offered her water, and watched as she sipped it. Gently I massaged her shoulders, easing the cramps that I’m sure she had. Her head rolled as she relaxed. I didn’t proceed until she had consumed the whole bottle.
The Pillory was next on our exploratory tour. I am very proud of this device. It looks just like what we used to see in our junior high school social studies books. I built it out of a 4x4 post, that had, at one time, supported our mailbox outside. Gluing together 2x3's and 2x4's, I made the upper and lower sections and cut holes in it for her hands and head. I found an old hinge from a barn at a garage sale and cut it in half, attaching it to the upper and lower sections. A hasp with a bolt bent in the shape of a U was all that was needed to hold it in place. Her hands would be useless in trying to get free. Simple, but very effect. Her position would be slightly bent at the waist, thrusting her ass out for the whip.
She looked so inviting bent over in the Pillory. Her tight ass sticking out, beckoning, no begging for the cane. I hadn’t bothered lining the wrist and neck holes with any padding. The unsanded holes should add to her experience, I felt. The marks would be difficult to disguise for her at work. Too late in the season for turtle necks and long sleeves. But that would be her problem.
I allow Myself the luxury of caressing her flanks. Smooth skin, still tight over firmly defined muscular thighs. How often I have languished here, but this time it is different. This time she is presenting to Me herself as a gift. I detect a slight twitch as My fingers explore the deep cleft between her cheeks. I let a finger linger at her puckered rear hole. Not her favorite thing. Not at all. She’ll tolerate it whenever I want it. But if she could avoid it, she would, at any cost. In an instant.
I choose a cane form the wall. Rattan. I’ve always preferred natural materials to acrylic. They feel better in My hand somehow. Even seem to sound different slicing through the air. Gently, deliberately, I rub the cane along the back of her left thigh, knee to cheek. Then I switch to her right leg and allow the sensations to flood that one as well. Letting the anticipation build. She hates this part. I know she does, for she knows that once the softness ends, the burning begins.
Pulling the cane back from her leg, I pause. Making her wait. Thinking about the white heat she will endure for us both. The first stroke is hard, very hard. No warning. Nothing held back. She screams. Not a short chirp, but a long blood curdling scream from the depths of her soul. She twists in the stocks, wrists and neck abrading so soon. The welt from the cane is already swelling and bright red. She fights to control her breathing and the screaming stops.
“Nineteen more, My pet. Or, if you wish, I will allow you to opt out. Instead, you will give Me pleasure in your ass. Which do you choose?”
She absolutely hates to have to make these choices, feeling very strongly her stature is not high enough to allow her to make them. Only the Master has the rank and privilege to decide these things. But, the quandary is, that she knows she must answer Me. “If it were to please You, Master,” she begins softly, “ please give me nineteen more strokes, and then my ass should be pleasantly warm for You when You fuck me in my ass.”
“A wise choice, slave. Very wise indeed.
“Very well. I shall grant your wish. You shall have your nineteen more stokes of the cane, and then I shall take My pleasure deep in your ass. Maybe I will even deign to fill your ass with My cum. Would you like that, cunt?”
“Only if You wish it, Sir. I am not worthy to be a recipient of Your seed unless You wish it to be so.”
“I wish it. Now, I want you to count for Me. Properly!”
“Yes, Master.”
No light caresses of the cane this time. The wicked swishing sound of the cane slicing through the dungeon air a split second before the impact, and again her screams. Fighting for control, “One, Master. Th...thank You.”
“One? You don’t want the first one to count?”
“Oh, no, Master, please,” she tries to correct me. “Your slave didn’t know if You were starting with one going to nineteen, or two for twenty. Please. I am so sorry. It is my mistake, and mine alone.”
“That goes without saying, you dumb whore. For that, we will start again at one. And for your error, you shall receive twenty-five. Have I simplified it enough for even you to understand?”
“Y....yes, Master. Your stupid slave understands and is truly sorry. Please, give me twenty-five, hard.”
I do not show her the courtesy of a reply. Bending over slightly, I take aim for both cheeks at once, very hard. She twists in the stocks and yells. Tears streak her face. “One..........Master. Th......thank....You.”
The next stroke is right where the buttocks curve meets the thighs, a very tender spot. Dancing and screaming, it is better than ten seconds before she can muster the reserve for the required count. Strokes three through ten rain upon her, and the stocks are scraping her skin. Nasty scrapes, bleeding lightly. Her ass and thighs have been crisscrossed with horrifying welts. I place a wooden box on the floor in front of her and step up on it. She hasn’t watched, her eyes shut tight. My raging cock needs some attention. Loosening My belt, I drop My Levi’s to My ankles, and step free of them, saying, “Thank Me properly, cunt.”
Her eyes open through the tears. She lifts her head as far as the stocks will allow and opens her mouth, extending her tongue. No patience involved here. I drive deep into her mouth. The force of My thrust pushing her head back against the hard wood, her nose buried in the thick mass of My pubic hair. I don’t retreat, remaining where I am, allowing the reality of her oral rape to sink in. Fastened as she is, there is little she can do to pleasure Me, so I start to pull out. Slowly. Then I slam forward even harder. She gags. Spits up. Vomit seeping from the corners of her stuffed mouth. I don’t pull out, trapping a copious amount of the vile liquid in her mouth.
Satisfied, I fuck her mouth, hard and fast. Guttural gagging moans as she tries to time her breathing with my relentless pounding. I feel it building up, and abruptly pull out. Mucous and saliva coating my stiff cock. Stepping down from the crate, I walk behind her and rub my cock in her crack, drying myself all around her puckered rear hole. “What a fortunate slave you are, having a Master who is willing to get you wet so He can enter you with ease.”
“Thank You, Master. I am not worthy of such kindness and consideration.”
“Of course you aren’t, cunt. I’m only doing it to make it easier for me to take you as I please. Now, where were we?”
“It was ten Sir. Eleven is next.”
“Very good. Let’s begin again.”
The final fifteen come in a furious flurry, not taking more than a minute to bring them all. She is out of control now. Her wrists and neck are bloody, tears are streaming down her cheeks. Sweat is running from her armpits and down her heaving udders. A puddle of urine has pooled at her feet. Pure evidence that I have taken away all control of her, even to the extent of her own bladder.
I step back up on the box and shove my hard cock back into her open mouth, efficiently stifling her screams. I don’t pound into her this time, instead, I just stay still, deep in her mouth, letting her tongue work around the thick meat that I feed her. I’m not overly endowed, just under six inches is all, but My cock is better than two inches in diameter, so her mouth is forced open very wide to accept Me.
I don’t pull out until her breathing has slowed. Then, as I pull out ever so slowly, I say, “Beg me, cunt.”
The words I am demanding from her are the hardest of all for her to utter. She hates anal sex more than anything. There is, quite literally, nothing she wouldn’t do to avoid it. But, she is a good slave, and has promised Me no limits. “Please, Master. Please. I beg You. Take this worthless slave, and fuck her in her ass cunt.”
Truth be told, anal sex isn’t My favorite either. Not by a long shot even. I actually prefer oral. Watching her eyes as she strives to accept and pleasure Me. Nothing in it at all for her. My satisfaction. My pleasure. That’s what it’s about. That’s all that matters. But I do anal with her for two reasons. Because I can, and because it is the hardest thing for her to submit to. That’s it, really. And it’s mostly about her submission to it. Accepting it even though she reviles it. Because I expect it.
I position my wet cock at the entrance and spread her cheeks apart with both hands. I look at the hole. She’s trying so hard to relax, but it is puckered up good and tight. No patience here. One hard thrust, and I’m buried deeply in her bowels. She screams, tenses up even further. The sphincter grabbing Me. Caressing Me. Milking Me. “You’d do well to relax, or this will hurt a lot more than it needs to,” I remind her.
I feel the muscle loosen just a bit, but I don’t retreat as yet. I wait for her to relax more, make My work less strenuous. Then, and only then, I slowly start to take her ass. Pulling back out, all the way, and driving back in. A steady rhythm follows, set at a slow tempo. Adagio, perhaps. Dragging the anal fucking out, prolonging the act as long as I can. The pressure builds and I can’t hold back, so I drive hard and fast. Five or six thrusts, and I spill My seed deep within her.
I wait until I am soft before removing my cock from her belabored hole. I get back up on the step and dangle the flaccid meat in her face. She doesn’t need to be told what I expect from her. She knows. Her mouth opens, her tongue comes out, tears fill her eyes in total humiliation, and she sucks me into it. Cleaning me, while she taste what she left on my soiled cock. She detects a slight taste of blood, as it has been quite some time since I last raped her anally.
Leaving her in the pillory, I went to the winch and lowered a cable down to shoulder height. I attached a spreader bar to it, and then opened the pillory. Unlocking the pillory I helped ease her to an erect position. Cramps straining her back and neck. Her wrists and neck scratched and bloody. I hug her tightly from the rear, cupping her breasts and covering her chaffed bloody neck with kisses. She feels my cock growing erect once more against her battered and bruised cheeks. I put unlined leather cuffs on her wrists and clip them to the bar. I kiss her again, deep and passionate. My fingers probing her hidden cleft, feeling the total saturation that emanates from deep within. Her own cunt giving her away, pleading for more, begging Me to continue. No mercy.
The winch makes a whirring sound as it pulls her up. A soft moan from her mingles with the sound of the electric motor as her feet are pulled up off the floor. She is hanging helplessly from her injured wrists and by her up stretched arms. I take a set of heavy chains and bind her legs spread open to iron rings in the bottom of the 12x12's. Taut, bound, unable to move very much to dodge the blows she knows will soon come. I caress her breasts, and ask, “Are you ready, My love?”
“Yes, Sir,” she answers, a mixture of pride and defiance in her tone. A second wind of sorts, as she adds, “If it will please You, please whip Your willing slave. I am Yours!”
I knew she was following My movements with her eyes, so to increase her anxiety, I made a big display of pondering which whip I would choose from the rack. I took a flogger down, handled it, and put it back. I did the same with a cane, and a few crops, and the single tail, which I’m sure caused her to shudder in silence. Each time, I made it look like I was contemplating the choices before Me, knowing she was mentally experiencing the kiss of each whip in turn.
When I turned to face her, I had the tan leather crop in My hand. Her eyes darted many times from the crop to my eyes and back as I neared her. A few quick swipes through the air to test it’s suppleness added an aural input to her anxiety. I rubbed the crop across her belly and breasts. I slid it between her legs, making it glisten with her dew. “Kiss it,” I ordered, holding it a few inches in front of her mouth.
Straining against her bonds, she leaned as far forward as she was able, lips puckered, but not quite in reach of the target. I admire her perseverance, but she can’t reach it. She doesn’t stop trying, however, and so I reward her by bringing the crop within reach. She smothers it with kisses. Passionate, heartfelt. This is no display for My benefit. She is truly worshiping the implement of her torture.
The object of My attention now is her breasts and belly. I establish a steady rhythm on her breasts. Left, right. Left right. Soft strokes, gradually gaining in intensity. The milk bags dancing to the blows, seemingly trying to get out of the way by themselves. She is weeping. Occasionally her eyes are downcast, watching her breasts was they are beaten. Dark red splotches are growing on the sides of the fatty tissue. She doesn’t beg me to stop. She cries and screams, and twists, but she accepts it. For her. For Me. For us.
Then I stop. I leave her hanging by her wrists. The time has come. My slave and My dungeon are to be christened in proper fashion. The pain which she is about to bear foe Me will be ten times worse than any she has ever accepted, and the mark she will bear will be permanent. There is no turning back. This is something our relationship has lead us both to, together. It is not with resignation that she will accept My mark, it is , rather, full in the knowledge this absolutely must be. For Us!
I picked up the iron and held it before her eyes, to let her see it one last time. Of her own will, she strained her head forward and kissed the cold iron. Slowly, she nodded her head in assent, then she let her head sink to her heaving chest. I know where she has gone. It is deep into her own mind, the mind of a natural born slave, accepting a will that is greater than hers. A will she was born to accept, without question.
I place a pedestal table a few feet from the cross, but still within her field of vision. Silently, she watched Me set it down and then place a small Hibachi on the table. Fear shown on her face. The purpose of the Hibachi was clear. I had set the charcoal briquette into the Hibachi earlier, so the strike of a match was all it took to ignite them.
She watched the flames engulf the coals, slowly turning them gray. I set the iron deep into the coals. Twisting it, burying it in the center of the fire.
Pushing the controls on the winch, I lowered diana back down to the ground and undid her bindings. I hugged her tightly, and felt her shaking slightly as she squeezed me in return. Taking her hand I brought her to the St. Andrew’s Cross. I left her facing it and went to get her a second bottle of water. She drank it greedily. Wordlessly, diana turned her back to the cross and I used several long lengths of rope to bind her fast to the cross. I used each and every eye bolt that I had screwed into the cross beams. I also buckled a thick leather cinch around her waist, making her completely immobile.
My strongest concern was her head. I feared she might be injured if she flailed her head against the cross as the pain from the iron overtakes her. I decide that using a hood would be the only way to minimize the potential for injury. I take a soft black kid leather hood from the chest. My slave’s eyes are following My movements. Diana is aware that I do not like hoods. Yes, I am well aware that they can add to a slave’s torment with the sensory deprivation, but I like to watch diana’s face as she reacts to the stimulus I give. But in this case, practicality wins out over all else.
I zip the hood on her head. Closing the eye slits with the zippers, making sure the airway to her nostrils is open.
“Please, Sir. If i may make a request,” she murmurs from behind the closed mouth of the hood. “Might I please be given a gag? My screams, i fear, may not allow You the time to brand me properly.”
“Yes, My pet,” I reply calmly. “I am going to allow you the gag. But it is not for the reason you ask. I intend to gag you solely to prevent you from biting your tongue.”
I went to the chest and found a thick penis gag. I unzipped her mouth, and she willingly opened her mouth nice and wide. She didn’t have to be told. Taking the black nubby rubber penis between her teeth, she held it fast while I buckled it behind her bowed head. Once again she nodded in acquiescence, before shutting her eyes behind the darkness of te sweet smelling leather hood.
I ran two pieces of rope from the rings in the hood to the eye bolts on either arm of the cross. Her head is held up now, secured to the cross. She can move it slightly from side to side, but not front to back. Her head should be safe now. I can proceed.
I looked down at her right thigh, the smooth flawless flesh about to be burned and scarred for me. I bent over and placed a gentle light kiss on the spot, on the outside of her thigh, just slightly lower than her crotch. She twitched reflexively, now knowing where she would bear My brand. I stepped back, taking in the wondrous sight of My lovely, naked submissive. Bound for Me. Offering herself to be branded by Me. For Me. For Her. For Us. My Wife. My Slave. My Soul-mate. I wondered to Myself, ‘How could people in a plain vanilla relationship ever comprehend the levels of trust and love that were displayed here, at this moment, in our dungeon?’‘ How could they ever get past their Puritanical prejudices and see the pure unadulterated beauty of this moment?’ The story of Abraham portrays this degree of self-giving love. Why could they all not see it? Embrace it? This was the embodiment of devotion. This was two people joined forever as one.This was the epitome of Love!
I removed the iron from the glowing coals and let it cool down a bit. A branding iron can both be too hot and too cold. As the color changed, I approached her and knelt down to line up My target. Bringing the iron slightly closer to her leg, she could feel the heat. About an inch away, I had it lined up as I wanted it, and slowly brought it even closer. She was trying to struggle in the tight bondage, but there was no backing out now. The ropes and cincher held her fast to the cross.
The room began to fill with the sickening odor of burning flesh as she screamed behind the gag that filled her mouth. Her head flailed wildly, even bound as it was, it was still banging against the cross. I watched, transfixed as the iron burned into her. Deeper and deeper. I kept the pressure on the iron, letting it burn in to a depth of about half of an inch. Looking up, I saw that diana had passed, out. I removed the iron and looked at the mark on My slave. I replaced the iron in the coals and undid her gag.
I strong whiff of smelling salts brought her back to the present. As soon as she got her bearings, I removed the hood and whispered, “I love you, diana,” and kissed her ever so gently on her mouth. Keeping an eye on her for signs she might faint once again, I loosened her bonds, beginning with her arms. I helped her to lower them slowly to her sides, letting the blood flow back into them gradually. Her legs were next, followed lastly by the leather cinch that encircled her waist. The cinch had left a dark red mark, grim witness to her struggling on the cross.
Taking her by both hands, I lead her to the full length mirror I had mounted on the wall. I knew she wanted to see My mark on her.
I expected a completely opposite reaction from her than the one I got. I had felt certainly that she would gasp in horror at the sight of the angry burn, but that wasn’t what happened at all. Rather, she stared at it for a long time, turning her body to improve the angle. Then, she faced Me, and said, “Thank You, Master, for marking me as Your own.”
We hugged each other and kissed in an embrace like no other we had ever shared. Both of us weeping in each other’s arms. The final culmination came, when I placed the iron in her right hand, and I placed My right hand on top of hers. Our hands together, we placed the brand in the center of the St. Andrew’s Cross, right where her back had been. The smell of burning wood rising in the dungeon, mingling with the smell that still lingered from her burned skin.
I picked diana up in My arms and carried her from our dungeon all the way upstairs to our bedroom. There, I dressed her wound and we made slow and passionate love to each other. Taking our time, exploring each other as if it were the first time we had ever joined as one. Making it last as long as possible, before falling into a deep and sound sleep, entwined as one, My spent cock cupped in her hand.
AFTER WORD
The relationship we have is not a 50/50 relationship. There is no way it could ever be described as that. It would not be possible for us to be who we are, do what we do, if it were. Rather, it is more a 75/25, or better still, a 90/10 relationship. Each one giving to the other much more than receiving from the other, and in that way, sustaining, nurturing, growing in the knowledge that the two are, in reality, one.
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SOME CALL IT PLAY
By Charles E. Campbell
CHAPTER 2
STRENGTHENING OUR COMMITMENT
This Chapter, like the first one, is also dedicated to Master David and His slave girl, diana. I can find no words to express my thanks to them for all their candor, patience, and forthright assistance in creating this story. It is important to note that this story bears no intentional suggestion of their life together. That is their personal shared commitment, and relationship. Thank You, Master David. And thank you, slave diana.
I know that many people would say that I am making this next part up. Fabricating it even. Just in an attempt to create a positive spin on what diana and I do. They would, however, be wrong. Horribly wrong. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. Our relationship became even stronger, more committed to each other as a direct result of our renewed exploration of our true selves in the dungeon space we call our own. Our love became deeper, more complete, as a result of My enslaving diana, and from her total submission to Me. We developed a closeness that neither one of us could have ever thought was possible. And furthermore, it is important to note that we do not engage in bondage, S & M, or any other like activities 24/7, or even daily. We sometimes have gone as much as ten days or even two weeks between our visits to our dungeon space. Our need for fulfilling this portion of our lives is real. As further evidence of our collective need for this fulfillment, I submit to you that it has been diana, as often as Me, who would suggest we spend time in the dungeon.
Before I continue, I wish to make it absolutely clear that I am in no manner, shape, or form, trying to make what diana and I share seem typical, common, or even normal. Those of you living in a vanilla world cannot possibly grasp the concept of what we do as being anything other than deplorable degenerate activities. However, for diana and I, there can be no other way to fuse ourselves from two into one.
By the beginning of the summer, I had begun to formulate a plan to make diana even more subservient to Me and My wishes. I knew that the only way to effectively do this would be if I was to make her submit to all sorts of things which she would never ever consider doing otherwise. To make her obey me in doing things she would vehemently oppose and avoid. By breaking down these barriers of hers, she would become more fully My slave, and therefore, happier.
A typical summer for diana and I usually revolved around mutual free time spent together. I always teach a workshop or two early in the summer. Grad students and local area teachers looking for a few extra credits are the enrollees. Generally, these workshops run for a week, sometimes two. Six hours per day, four days per week, garnering the student two credits each. Other than that, the summers are mine. We get to spend more time together because diana always works a reduced schedule, usually Monday, Thursday, and Friday. This leaves us a mid week “weekend” for our enjoyment.
As hard as it may be for some of you to grasp, slave diana is not at all comfortable with her body. She does whatever it takes to keep it hidden under wraps. Since she reached puberty, only her doctor and I have seen her naked. In fact, the first few months of our marriage, she would only undress in the bathroom, donning a nightgown, which she would only removed when safely tucked under the bed covers. It has taken her many years to get to where she is today.
Whenever we have gone to the beach, she always wears a bathing suit of a matronly one piece style. And this is hidden under one of My long sleeve dress shirts, or even a caftan to conceal even more of her. This was something I knew had to change.
The first Monday after My final class had ended, I announced to her, over dinner, that we would be going down to the Jersey shore on our mid-week “mini-weekend” for an overnight. Neither of us is much of a beach buff, but we both enjoy reading and relaxing in the sand, strolling the boardwalk at night, and dining in small clam bars. Over coffee I reached out and took her hand, saying, “I’ll clean up the kitchen. I want you to go and prepare yourself. Then meet me in our dungeon.”
Her training kicked in immediately, as she dropped her head down, averting her eyes as she replied, “Yes, Master.”
I cleaned up the kitchen and could hear the water running in the shower as she began to get herself ready. I knew that the butterflies in her stomach would be a constant companion to her as she prepped herself for the unknown that was to come. I wrote some directions on a sheet of paper and stuffed it into an envelope. Descending the basement stairs, I taped the envelope to the dungeon door and slipped outside before she could discover me.
Once she was ready, diana put on her white silky gown and went straight for the basement and her rendezvous in our dungeon. She stopped at the heavy wooden door when she saw My note. Opening the envelope slowly, her hands shaking slightly, she read My instructions:
“Remove your gown and enter our dungeon naked. Put cuffs on your wrists and ankles and make certain they are fastened snugly. Select three different whips for us to enjoy. Master”
Unceremoniously, she slipped the gown off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Pushing the heavy door open revealed the dimly lit dungeon. A shiver coursed up her spine, as it does each and every time she enters our private place. Heading straight to the chest, she removed the cuffs and buckled them tightly on her wrists and ankles. Then she approached the wall where all of our whips are in prominent display. Her eyes scanned through them all, her mind reliving the sensations each one was capable of. She selected a riding crop, a leather strop, and a soft, black suede flogger. Placing her chosen instruments of torture on the table, she knelt with her back to the cross and waited for me to join her.
I let her remain like that, kneeling, for almost half an hour, letting the cold hard concrete do it’s work on her knees. I knew her mind was running wild over the possible scenarios she might have to endure. I also knew that perspiration would be dripping down her sides from her unscented armpits, and that her pussy would be soaking wet as well from the anticipation.
At long last, I pushed the door open ever so slowly, letting the hinges creak under the strain. Instinctively, she looked up at the shrill ear piercing sound. And then, just as quickly, she lowered her head, hoping I hadn’t seen her infraction, and knowing that she would be punished if I had. I didn’t say a word, preferring rather to let the tension build in the absolute quiet of or concrete dungeon. A few moments later, I stepped down the stairs and strode over to My slave..... My wife. I studied her in her submissive nudity as she knelt before Me. “Worship My cock, slave,” I ordered her.
She raised her face only up high enough to see where My crotch was, and she undid My Levi’s, unbuttoning them and pushing them down around My ankles. Her hands folded behind her back, she sucked My already stiff cock into her warm, wet, inviting mouth. Touching Me with her hands, without My express permission, is a major infraction, and is subject to harsh punishment. She knows this, and she is more than satisfied that I deem her mouth worthy or receiving me.
I reveled in her technique. Her tongue sliding all around me as she sucked me deeply into the back of her mouth. Tears streamed from her eyes as she fought to overcome the gag reflex that threatened to make her expel me from her caresses, but never once did she look anywhere but up at Me. A women’s face must be studied as she sucks cock. The nuances in the eyes , the stretching of the mouth, the lips distorted, the nostrils flaring as she breaths.
I am enjoying this too much. She brings Me to the brink far too quickly. Abruptly, I pull out and slap her across the face, hard. “A greedy slave, aren’t you? I thought you ate enough at dinner. Have no fear, you’ll get more after you’re marked.”
“Thank You, Sir, she whispers,” saliva dripping from the corners of her mouth.
“Let’s see what choices you made for Me tonight, shall we?”
It’s a rhetorical question. Requires no response. I take the three steps to the table and pick up the flogger, handling it, feeling it’s weight. Setting it down I examine the crop and then the strop. “I think we’ll warm you up with the flogger. Then we can use the strop for color, and the crop for accents. After that, I have a wicked little surprise just for you!”
Before she could catch herself, her eyes shot up and met mine. I glared back at her, and she lowered them to My feet. “Insolence will not be tolerated, slave. You’ve been trained better than that!”
I helped her to her feet and then lowered the winch and spreader bar. I clipped her wrist cuffs to the bar, then I attached her ankle cuffs to the rings in the floor, forcing her legs apart. I raised the winch, pulling her arms up. Not too tight. Just enough to stretch the skin on her belly and flatten her breasts a bit.
The flogger played all over her, shoulders to knees Front and back. A light pink hue replaced the normal pale white. No hard strokes now. I just wanted to get the skin to glow and start to heat up.
“You look ready to Me,” I assessed, laying the flogger down on the table. Let’s see what this will do, shall we?”
I held the thick black strop in front of her face before slowly and sensually caressing her pussy with it. The oiled leather glistened as her juices gradually coated it. Both sides. She was moaning softly as the waves of pleasure ever so slowly began to radiate to her core. Her eyes were closed. She was lost in the gentle ministrations she was receiving.
With a gentle tap on her clit, I stopped, and I waited. She lifted her head to look at Me, and then spoke: “Please Master. Whip Me.”
“Certainly My pet.” I grabbed a handful of her thick hair and brought her face to mine, raping her mouth with My tongue as I kissed her deep and hard. Her breasts were heaving as she fought for air, before I broke the embrace. “I’m wish to mark you tonight, slave. Heavily. I may find it necessary even to draw blood.”
She didn’t hesitate even for an instant. “If it pleases You, Master, I would be proud to wear your marks and earn them with my blood.”
I didn’t answer her. Rather, I raised the strop high, and slashed it across her belly. She screamed loud and long as her skin erupted in fire. I didn’t wait. I had no intentions of making tonight a long sensual evening in the dungeon. This was to be different. I wanted, and we needed, to get past our “accepted” limits. Lines had to be crossed, barriers broken down. There would be no limits tonight. This was to be a beating.
To accomplish this, I was going to have to get past My natural instinct of stopping when diana had reached her limit. I was going to have to flail into her, not heeding her screams, her begging Me for mercy, or even the damage I would inflict. I meant to hurt her. For her part, diana would have to place a never before required level of trust in Me. It wouldn’t be about strength or resolve for her, it would be finding the acceptance in her inner being for what I required of her. Somehow looking inside herself and offer herself up for us both. I raised the strop again and again; one stroke aimed at her breasts, the next her thighs, then her belly. Her back, ass, rib cage. I wanted the welts to meld together into one swollen angry testament to our commitment to each other. She twisted and turned with each lash, screaming, her head flying back and forth, as a nasty series of two inch wide welts emerged.
When it was over, she hung from her wrists. We were both bathed in sweat. But it wasn’t finished. Not yet. She had forgotten about the crop, but I hadn’t. I wasn’t going to shirk My duty now. We had come too far.
I lifted her head, and she opened her tear filled eyes. They focused on the crop. Our love took a giant leap at that very instant, as she took a deep breath and said, “Please, Master.......... I beg You. ............Please. ............Beat me with our crop.”
Her head dropped back down. Broken. Resignation. Submission. Acceptance. Love. The limits had been removed. The barriers broken down. She had just given her body to Me, completely. I owned her now. No going back.
She took her beating, I won’t say she took it stoically, because she screamed and pleaded with me the whole time. She would have sold herself to the devil to make it stop. But deep within her she knew it would do no good. By the time I was through diana was a mass of welts from her armpits, which I learned were an exquisite target, to just above her knees. I put the crop down and stepped behind her, cupping her red hot tender breasts in my hands, and kissing her gently on the neck.
“Thank You, Master,” she whispered faintly.
I slid my right hand down and over her pubic mound, toying with her sopping wet engorged clit.
Her breathing quickly picked up it’s pace, and she shuddered as the violent climax took control of her.
I held her tight as the climax slowly ebbed and her body relaxed. Kissing her neck once more, I nibbled her ear and said, “Are you ready for your surprise, slave?”
“Yes, Master. Thank You.”
I kissed her and gave a big squeeze before letting her go. Her eyes followed Me as I left her alone for a few minutes in the dungeon. Upon My return she spied the bundle of cuttings I had taken from a forsythia bush in our yard. They make excellent switches. Something we had never experimented with before.
I selected a relatively short hard one and let her see it, before I rubbed her belly and breasts with it, so she could sense the texture of the fairly rough bark. “The switches are for punishment, diana. You raised your eyes to Me at least twice tonight. You will receive your punishment on your breasts, individually, and your thighs, front and back. I think three each should be sufficient, don’t you?”
“If I may differ, Master. Three is not enough for my lapses in training. Please give me five each.”
“So be it.”
I tapped her left breast with the switch, watching as the tortured teat bounced and jiggled. Then I slashed it with the switch. A thin dark line appeared almost at once as diana danced and screamed. The right breast received the same identical treatment. First bouncing and jiggling obscenely, then the slash. Left and right thigh front, then back followed, and each had received one blow.
By the fourth blow, blood appeared on her thighs and breasts. Scabs would form on these I knew. The fifth and final cut of the switch was administered with a bundle of five switches held together in my hand. These were delivered with great intensity, drawing blood along the length of the five lines.
She was ready for the second stage of My plan. I undid her bonds and left her to sleep alone, on the floor. Locked in our dungeon.
Tuesday morning dawned bright and cloudless. A touch of humidity in the air told of a scorcher in the offing. We got up early, 5:30, packed an overnight bag, and hopped into My fully restored 1960 Triumph TR 3 for a leisurely drive from the Hudson Valley to the Jersey Shore. Diana had no idea as to where we were actually going. She has always left arrangements of this kind to Me exclusively. The sun was bright and the sky a vibrant blue, now highlighted by wisps for high clouds scattered occasionally. We enjoyed the ride and the occasional looks My car always draws. We arrived at the motel at 10:00, too early for check in, but the desk clerk was kind enough to let us use the back office to change into our suits. We grabbed a couple of towels from a room service cart and headed for the beach at Sandy Hook Two lane roads wound from the small no name motel out to Gateway National Park, and My intended destination, Gunnison Beach.
I parked the car, we gathered up our things, and headed for the sand. Each time I would spot one of the signs warning visitors that it was a clothing optional beach, I would distract diana’s attention in a different direction. I wanted for her to experience the hundreds of naked bodies without a hint of what was going on. Cresting the dunes, she stopped dead in her tracks as a grossly over weight naked woman walked right in front of us. Her meaty and pendulous breasts swaying back and forth as she strode through the loose hot sand. The fat on her massive thighs rubbing together from her groin to her knees, and sloshing around with each labored step.
“Strip yourself, slave,” I commanded, before diana could get a word out.
I saw the fear in diana’s eyes as she realized what it was I wanted from her. This was the first time I ever had carried our Master/slave commitment away from our house and our dungeon.
“Please, Master,” she implored Me. “Please. Don’t make me do this. I can’t! Not this. Not here!”
“Silence, cunt. Remove your bathing suit at once. I will not tell you again.”
She paused. Not moving at all. Her eyes scanning the sea of naked bodies that confronted her. All varieties and types of bodies. Hairy/Smooth. Fat/Rail skinny. Black/White. Male/Female. Straight/Gay. All manner of forms and shapes. Her breathing had become shallow and I knew her heart was racing out of control, so I intervened.
“It’s alright, My pet. It’s alright. You have nothing to be ashamed about. Most of these women would give their right arm to have the body you have.” I kissed her gently on te lips and said, “I will tolerate your insolence no longer. I wish to display that which is Mine! Strip!”
Gathering what little resolve she still possessed, diana slipped My denim shirt off her shoulders and handed it to me. Then, slowly, and with great trepidation, she pulled one shoulder strap of her bathing suit down, followed by the other the other. She pulled the suit down, exposed her welted breasts first. Bunching the suit up with her hands, she bent over at the waist, pulled it to her ankles, and stepped free of it. Standing up, she handed that to Me as well. I took it from her and looked proudly at My wife. My slave. Standing in the hot sand as I ordered her. Naked and heavily welted, for all to see.
“Follow me, slave, “I ordered her.
We found a spot to park our blanket down near the water’s edge. I wanted to make her walk as far as possible first. I applied sun screen all over her body, except on her breasts. I wanted them to receive a good burn as punishment for her reluctance to obey Me. I wasn’t sure whether she was more embarrassed by her public nudity or the fresh stripes and scabs her body bore from last night’s whipping.
I kept My cut-off jeans on but removed My T-shirt. A Master shouldn’t be seen naked with His slave unless, of course, he is taking her. We stayed at the beach about three hours, occasionally strolling the shoreline among the nude bathers, cooling ourselves off in the mild surf, and reading on our blanket.
When it came time for us to leave the beach, I wouldn’t allow her to get dressed until we had reached the showers. Then I allowed her to put her suit back on and have My denim shirt as well. Her breasts had gotten a bright pink color from their first ever exposure to the sun. Tonight would be particularly uncomfortable for her I was sure.
We discovered a small seafood restaurant a short few blocks from our motel and then we strolled the boardwalk for a few hours, people watching and holding hands as we went. Upon returning to the motel for the night, I pleasured Myself in her mouth and ass for a good hour. I placed her soiled panties in her mouth as a gag when I took her in the ass, as I didn’t want her confined by the thought of disturbing the other guests with her screaming. I hadn’t brought any implements with us for the overnight stay, so her tender burnt breasts were treated to being slapped with My hands as I fucked her in the ass doggy style.
We weren’t in any particular hurry the next morning, so we stayed in bed til about 9:00. I spoiled her with a pre-breakfast of cum deep in her throat before we headed off to a diner for breakfast. After eating a light meal that consisted of bagels, juice, fruit and coffee, we went back to the motel to check out. Diana started to get dressed for the car ride home, but I stopped her saying, “It’s a beautiful day again today. Why don’t he go back to the beach for a while this morning. We’ll check out of here, pack the car, and then we’ll be ready to leave right from there later this afternoon.
She agreed and started for the shower. I reached out and grabbed her arm and said, “I have a new rule for you, My pet. From now on, I want you to keep your cunt freshly shaven. Daily. Maybe we should investigate having a Brazilian wax every month or so. We’ll talk about that later. Anyway, I want you smooth at all times. Also, I want you to let your armpits go natural. No more shaving there. Is that understood?”
I could see she was about to protest. She detests the natural look of hairy armpits on women. The punishment of her sunburnt breasts must have stopped her mouth from saying something she would later regret. “Yes, Master. As You wish.”
After showering, diana started to don her bathing suit, but again I stopped her. “No suit today. Wear this.” I handed her the denim work shirt, the tails of which would just barely cover her buttocks and crotch. And then, only if she was standing up straight.
Her eyes pleaded with Me, but she held her tongue and obeyed. Her training was paying off.
I sent diana to the front desk to check out and settle the bill while I loaded th car. On the way over to the beach, I stopped at a gas station to top off the Triumph’s small tank. New Jersey has a quirky law that requires a service station attendant to pump the gas, so we both sat in the TR 3, the top down, as the man filled up the tank. His eyes kept ogling diana’s bare thighs. She tried to pull the shirt tails down and maximize her limited coverage. “Leave it alone, slave,” I corrected her. I was certain he caught more than a few glimpses of her smooth naked lower lips.
She was mortified. The embarrassment showed clearly on her face as the unkempt attendant snuck “covert” peaks at her. His ogling got progressively more bold when he realized that neither diana nor I was doing even the slightest thing to conceal her nakedness. He even went so far as to offer to wash the Triumph’s minuscule windshield to prolong his treats.
As we pulled out of the has station, I caught diana wiping a tear from her eye. “I could go for a cup of coffee. You want one,” I asked, not ready yet to confront her misery.
“I don’t care,” she answered curtly.
I spotted a Dunkin’ Donuts up the block and headed for the drive through. “Unbutton the shirt, cunt,” I ordered her as we pulled off te road. Without looking up, she did as she was told, allowing the sides of the shirt to droop open, exposing about four inches of her from her throat to her lap. I ordered and drove up top find a sixteen year old girl taking the money and handing out the orders. Her jaw dropped when she saw us pull up. The TR 3 sits so low to the ground that the girl hand to bend way out and down to give me the two cups of coffee. I thanked her and pulled out onto the road.
“Do you no longer love me,” she half whispered.
“What,” I countered, simultaneously floored and yet half expecting the question from her.
“Have you lost Your love for me,” she whimpered, fighting back the tears, and losing.
I knew she was upset, and I also knew why she was upset. The Dom in Me said to ignore it, make her work through it herself, while the Husband, and lover, in Me said I had to comfort her. Reassure her. I pulled the TR 3 into the parking lot of an abandoned Burger King and drove to the most remote corner. Killing the engine, I turned in My seat to face her. “Diana,” I began, wanting to make her say what she needed to say. “What’s wrong?”
Sniffles greeted me at first, then a brief but torrent flood of tears, before she mustered the strength and asked, “Do You still love me?”
I knew how deeply this ran, and I also knew she had more going on, so I answered, “What makes you feel that way, diana?”
She was sobbing more freely now. I saw her tits heaving. So it took several minutes until she got herself together enough to continue. “Why are You doing this to me? Why are You making me do this? You know how uncomfortable I am being naked. It took me years to get to where I could even let You watch me get undressed and not feel sick to my stomach at the thought. And now you have me naked on a beach with hundreds of people. You have me expose myself in front of some filthy man in a gas station, and a teenaged girl in a drive through.
“Have You stopped loving me?” Her red eyes brimming with tears looked into Mine. I held her gaze for what seemed an eternity before I replied.
“You ask if I have lost My love for you. If I still love you.
“I love you more right now, at this very instant that I ever would have believed was possible. I loved you more as we sat in that filling station and you didn’t cover yourself in front of that stranger. I was overcome with My love for you at the beach yesterday as you disrobed and followed me across the beach, naked, and wearing My whip marks in front of all ths people.
“You are My wife. You are the mother of our children. You are My best friend, and closest confidant. You are My lover. You are My slave. You share your life with Me, and for that I can never give you enough thanks.
“Why am I doing this, you ask? It is because I must take you to the most difficult places you can go to in order that you become more fully enslaved to me. It is because true and absolute slavery mandates that comfort, be it physical or emotional, must be stripped away. Forgotten. Relinquished. Banished. It is because you must learn to give yourself over to Me, in all fashion, manner, and form, if you are to really be My slave, and I your Owner and Master.
“Love? Do I love you? I ask you, slave, could I even entertain My expectations of you if I didn’t love you with My entire being?”
She reached over to Me with her tiny fragile hand and squeezed My hand tightly in hers. “I guess that when You told me you wanted to more deeply explore our S & M interests together that it was just going to be bondage and whipping. Forced sex. Those sorts of things. Making me do things that I secretly wish to do, but could never think to do. I never anticipated that it could, or would, go outside and beyond that.”
She stopped for a minute, looking at her bare feet. “I am sorry David. Both as my husband and as my Master. I am sorry that I could ever have doubted Your love for me and Your intentions with me. I hereby make this vow to You, that I will never again question Your reasons for doing anything with me. Furthermore, I give myself over to You completely, and I will strive to never again hesitate to follow a command.
“I ask that you please punish me for embarrassing You and questioning You. I have no right. Please punish me severely. I must be made to understand what my doubts could do to our love”
“Rest assured that I will punish you, slave. Be certain of it. And also, be certain that it will be the most severe punishment you have ever received.”
I leaned over and we kissed long and hard, holding each other tightly. Tears were running from both of us, mingling on our faces as we kissed and cried together, as one. We both became cognizant of the pinnacle we had just reached, and crossed, successfully.
“Now, let’s get back to Gunnison Beach. I want more people to see your welts, and I want your breasts to be burnt some more.”
My slave remained true to her word, doffing My denim shirt as soon as it was legal to do it. We walked hand in hand through the nude bathers, but this time, her welts, stripes, and bruises were a source of pride for her, and therefore, for Me as well.
A few weeks after our initial beach excursion I remarked to diana how much I liked the contrast between her bald pussy and her densely furry arm pits. It was My deepest hope that the hair would grow long enough to be easily spotted peeking out even when her arms were down at her sides. .Tank tops would be in order. I was pleasantly surprised when she informed Me that she really didn’t mind having hair under her arms, and that she felt having her pussy smooth made it that much more prominently displayed and exposed. It was she who suggested getting a Brazilian wax to make the area even more smooth. I told her to call Francine’s, her regular salon, and make an appointment to have that done. She had no idea of how much I intended to display and expose her. But she was to find out three weeks later.
We got back down to Gunnison Beach one more time after her welts were all healed and had disappeared. I wanted her to experience being displayed and exposed one more time before the next stage of My plan of action. Like the first trip to the beach, I allowed her copious amounts of sun screen everywhere but on her breasts. The sun was more intense on this visit, as it was a hazy and muggy two days, and she even developed some blisters on the skin of her breasts.
After getting home late Wednesday afternoon, I informed her that we would be having three guests for dinner Saturday, and that they would, in all likely hood, be spending the night with us as well.
“Who are we entertaining,” diana asked, clueless at My not having spoken with her about it before this.
“Marie and a couple she’s been teaching summer courses with.”
Silence was her reply. She has always detested My step sister Marie, from the first moment they were introduced, better than thirty years ago.
Marie was the eldest daughter of My step father. My mother married Marie’s father five years after My father had died. I was already in My teens and Marie was long past adulthood, and living in a city in Europe, teaching at University there. We never lived together, Marie and I, and we saw each other very infrequently, but we did stay in touch with the occasional phone calls, Christmas cards, and the ever so rare meetings.
Marie is an adjunct Professor of Gothic Literature now at a small college in Georgia. She holds three Masters degrees and a PhD, has published a few books and numerous articles in prestigious journals. She is a much sought after lecturer and travels globally in response to the many requests she receives.
Diana has always found Marie to be pretentious and arrogant, two qualities she has little use for. In Marie’s defense, I must say that she never did anything or said anything to make diana feel this way, but the two on them are barely able to maintain a polite tolerance when in any proximity to one and other. Saturday would push that tolerance to the limit.
“They’re coming in Saturday afternoon after they visit West Point,” I explained. Marie’s guests are from New Mexico and have never been in this area before. They’ll spend Saturday night here with us, and then they’ll take the train down to New York Sunday, maybe catch a Broadway matinee, and then they’ll board their plane for New Mexico, and Marie for Atlanta.
Diana remained silent. “I’ll take care of dinner,” I offered. I was thinking a barbeque would be easy and nice. That way you won’t have to do much, diana. Having two other people here with her should make it easier for you.”
“I’ll try, David. You know I will. I just can’t stand Marie. You know that.”
“I know, I know. But it’s been over four years since she last came through here, and I’m sure that at seventy-five she’s slowing down some in her travels.”
“I know. I’m sorry, I’ll try and make it as pleasant as I can. I promise.”
“Thanks, honey,” I cooed as I hugged her. “I know you will.” I smiled to Myself, thinking of what was in store for My slave.
Diana had gotten the appointment at Francine’s for her Brazilian waxing for Saturday morning at 10:15. She had explained to me when she made the appointment that she would have to stop shaving for it to work. “You’ll just have to offer it up, Master,” she kidded Me, “if You want me that clean and smooth.
“I want all the details when you get home,” I said as she headed for the salon.
Upon arriving at the salon, she was ushered discreetly into a small private room in the back by a young very gay male hair dresser. “Joanne will be with you momentarily,” he said, holding the door open for her. “Please get undressed and put on a robe from the drawer.” He indicated to a small cabinet with draws in it.
After he closed the door, diana looked around at the stark little room with a chair very much like the kind one would find in a gynecologist’s office. Diana got undressed and put on the flimsy paper gown, but she opted to stand, rather than climb into the chair. Looking around, she found a few magazines, but just as she was picking one up, a soft knock on the door caused her to jump. Joanne walked in.
“Good morning, diana,” she said cheerily. “Not the usual color or trim today, I see.”
The instant redness on diana’s face gave away her shyness and embarrassment. Joanne picked up on it right away, and quickly added, “Nothing to fear, diana. I’ve done dozens of these, even get them myself, see?” She lifted her short dress exposing her smooth white mound, with thick rings in each labia as well as another even thicker one through her hood. “Much easier than shaving around that steel,” she quipped. Dropping the hem of her skirt, she said, “Up in the chair now, feet in the stirrups.
It took all of an hour or so for Joanne to complete the waxing. “You’ll need to have this done about every five to six weeks,” Joanne admonished her, as they stood together in the full length mirror admiring the immaculate smooth expanses of skin. She paused a moment, tugged on the tangle of arm pit hair and asked, “You’re sure you don’t want me to do your underarms too. It’d only take a few minutes.”
“No, thank you, Joanne,” she said matter-of-factly, as she started to get dressed. “ I like them natural.” diana tipped her and came home, dreading the evening with My step sister.
Marie and her friends arrived sometime after 4:00 Saturday afternoon. It was obvious that diana was taken aback when she realized that the “couple” who were accompanying Marie weren’t a husband and wife as she had assumed, but were instead two lesbian women. One in her early thirties and the other was around our age.
The younger of the two, Carole, was a stunning blond, with much more than a trace of Scandinavian genes in her angular and well articulated features. Very thin, almost too thin, no chest at all to speak of, with long slender legs that brought her to a solid six feet in height. A wide beaming toothy smile and shockingly blue eyes added to her girl next door beauty.
Lesley was just the opposite. Short, barely five feet three, round in shape, and a good fifty pounds over weight. Overly large breasts sagging freely under a loose fitting t shirt. Her salt and pepper hair was cropped short, never requiring much more than a quick comb running through it.
Carole was wearing a very short pair of shorts, which allowed the curve of her buttocks to be seen clearly, with a pair of stiletto heels, which added a few more inches to her towering height. She had a skimpy tank top on which exposed almost all of her flat belly and pronounced rib cage. If you’ve got it, flaunt it, I guess. Lesley, on the other hand, wore a well worn pair of white Chuck Taylors with a pair of cargo shorts that came well below her knees.
They each were wearing a silver necklace with a large pendant shaped like half of a heart. The pendants, if joined together, would create one whole heart. They walked into our house with Carole’s arm draped causally over Lesley’s shoulder, and Lesley’s right hand buried deeply in the rear pocket of Carole’s shorts.
My wife is very liberal, and she is definitely not a homophobe, but she was really sideswiped by Carole and Lesley, and her initial reaction was surely obvious to the two women. “I’m Lesley,” the shorter one said, not offended by diana’s facial expression. She extended her right hand to Me. “This is Carole. She belongs to Me.”
I wasn’t sure if the true implication of her introduction was lost on diana or not, but I certainly understood it, and followed in kind, “It is My pleasure to meet You, Lesley,” I answered, meeting her more than firm handshake. “Let Me introduce you to diana, She is My wife,...........and My slave.”
Diana’s eyes shot wildly to mine as she heard My words. I could tell she was about to say something, but the intensity of My glare caused her to think twice before opening her mouth.
Acting as if this was an every day occurrence, I leaned in to Marie and hugged her, saying, “You look great, Marie. How was your trip?”
“It was fine, David.” Her voice sounded quite a bit older and weaker than I remembered. “I’m doing well, thanks. Not as much energy as I used to have, I fear. I’m thinking this may be my last year of teaching. I’d like to retire next May and maybe move to Portugal. We’ll see.”
Carole showed no uneasiness at all in being left out of all conversation, but diana was completely bewildered by what she was seeing and hearing.
“Marie tells Me you’ve had Your slave branded, David. May I see it,” Lesley asked.
We all heard diana gasp out loud when she realized I had told Marie of our new relationship.
Lesley gave diana a stern look as she admonished her, “No one is speaking to you, slave. Kindly show Us the courtesy of being polite.”
“David, I’m afraid her training is far from complete. I would never tolerate such an outburst from Carole. You shouldn’t either.
“Now, I would like to see the brand.”
“I’d be pleased to show you, Lesley. I did it Myself, You know.”
“Really? Now I’m even more anxious to see it.
“May I?”
“By all means, Lesley.”
“Slave,” Lesley said to Carole, “Undress Master David’s slave for me.”
“Of course, Mistress,” Carole responded.
Tears were filling diana’s eyes, but she held her ground and didn’t move as the soft hands of Lesley’s slave unbuttoned the light summer dress she had chosen to wear. Carole stepped behind diana, unhooked her bra and slid it forward off her shoulders, exposing her now tanned breasts. Then she hooked her fingers in the cotton panties and pulled them down diana’s legs, slowly, holding them for her while diana stepped free of them. Finished with her appointed task, she knelt back on her knees.
“Here it is, Lesley. On her right thigh,” I pointed.
“Very impressive,” she offered. Her short stubby calloused fingers feeling the texture and depth of the scarred skin. “It’s as fine a brand as I have seen.”
“Look Marie,” Lesley said, “feel how deep He burned her.
Marie let her hand glide from diana’s buttocks to the brand and then all the way around to the front of her smooth waxed mound. Now diana’s humiliation was complete.
“I might consider doing that to carole,” Lesley reflected aloud. “Something small, not too ostentatious. Maybe on one of her little titties. Or even a more intimate location.”
A true slave, carole grinned slightly at the prospect of bearing her Mistress’ mark on her body. Diana’s face was was ashen at the thought of such tender young skin being seared and burned away forever.
“Slave carole, present yourself to My friends.”
“Of course, Mistress,” she replied very eager, hopping up from her knees and pulling off her top in one fluid motion. She deftly pulled down her shorts and stepped out of them. A casual toss and they were discarded as she assumed a practiced posture of presentation with her head held high, hands clasped behind her head, legs spread apart, eyes closed and mouth invitingly open.
She possessed the body of a nubile young teen. Very slight at the hip, perfectly flat hairless belly, and only the faintest hint of swelling at the breasts. Her thick nipples stood out proudly from her nickel sized areolas. She looked so fragile on her pencil thin legs atop the stilettos
Marie helped herself to a handful of the long honey blonde hair and pulled carole’s face down to meet her’s. The kiss was open mouth, and their tongues alternated exploring each other’s deepest recesses. It was twenty seconds before they broke the kiss. “Beautiful,” Marie half whsipered to her, licking her wet lips.
“Thank You, Mistress.”
“Slave diana,” I said, “bring our guests some wine and cheese. Slave carole, would you assist her?”
“Of course, Sir,”she answered happily.
Diana and carole headed off for the kitchen as I lead Martie and Lesley out to the patio in the back of the house. They made themselves comfortable on the cushioned wrought iron furniture while I lit the grill up.
“So how are you, Marie,” I asked, it’s been a long time.
She sighed and reflected before answering, her voice a shade weaker than I remembered. “I’m doing fine, thanks. Not as much energy as I once had. Even considering making this my final year of teaching. I’d like to retire next May, maybe move to Portugal or Andorra. We’ll see.’”
“So she’s okay with being Your slave, David?” Marie asked after I sat down across from her.
“Well, as I told you on the phone, we’ve engaged in S & M ands bondage activities throughout our marriage, Marie. But we are just now starting to take it to an entirely different level. I’m hoping that having Lesley and You here with Her slave will help in that regard.”
“Marie told Me that you’ve installed a basement dungeon, David,” Lesley inquired.
“Yes, we have, Lesley. I designed it and built it myself. I even built the devices that we have in it, like the pillory, the St. Andrew’s Cross, and the rack.”
“I’m so eager to try them all out,” She sais smiling, just as carole and diana came back carrying the wine, cheese and crackers. “It’s always such a pleasure toi use new equipment on such willing slaves,” she added, mostly for the benefit of carole and diana. The sparkle in Her eyes was obvious to us all!
The two slaves remained naked on the patio as the three of us talked. They were excluded f4rom all conversation, except when one of us was discussing our slave. I cooked up some chicken, beef and veggie kabobs and served them with a fresh tossed salad and French bread. We sat at the table on the patio, while the slaves ate theirs out of bowls on all fours at our feet.
When the meal had concluded, I suggested that Lesley, Marie and I clean up, and let the two slaves go and prepare themselves for the evening’s activities.
“Why don’t we send the slave to the dungeon and let them get ready. We can relax and have another cup of coffee while they prepare for Us.”
“That sounds like an excellent idea, David,” Marie responded, staring at diana. “I’m really looking forward to seeing what you’ve done down there.”
“As am I,” Lesley added. “I’m ready to play.
“Carole,” She barked, “I want you to go down to the dungeon and diana and prepare yourselves for Us! I fully expect you to make Me proud of you when we arrive. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Mistress. As You wish.” She took diana’s hand and they left us alone in the yard.
“Lesley, David doesn’t .like to refer to His dungeon as a play space,” Marie corrected her friend.
“No?”
“I have a pet peeve about it actually, Lesley,” I explained. “I don’t think that what we do is playing. It seems to Me that it trivializes what we’re doing. It’s a wasted attempt at rationalizing it, or making it seem normal.”
“I see what you mean,” she said, her furrowed brow showing that she was mulling the idea over. “I guess I have also fallen into that trap of using euphemisms to disguise what we do.
“I agree wholeheartedly with you, though. It isn’t playing at all, and it shouldn’t be made light of like that!”
After their second cup of coffee was cold, Marie and Lesley excused themselves so they could go upstairs and get ready for the evening. I said I would straighten out the kitchen and wait for them there.
The kitchen was clean and I was sipping a third cup of coffee when My sister and her friend came in. Lesley was topless, showing all the rolls of fat around her belly and under her sagging breasts. All she was wearing was a tan buckskin breechcloth like the Plains Indians wore. On her feet were a pair of flat thong sandals.
Marie was dressed in a ruby red skirt. Very tight, very short. Her breasts were modestly covered by an alluring red and black lace push-up bra that lifted her smallish breasts up, accentuating her cleavage. She was barefoot, and in her right hand she held a small satchel.
“Are we ready to enjoy our slaves,” Marie asked?
“Certainly, Marie. I’m so happy you could be here with us, and I’m equally happy that You could be her as well, Lesley.”
While the three of us were upstairs, diana had given carole a quick tour of our dungeon, showing her the St. Andrew’s Cross, the stocks, the electric winches, the rack, and the whip display. “This is so amazing, diana,” carole remarked with obvious excitement as she tried to take it all in. “We must really do our best to present ourselves to them!”
“I’m guessing your husband likes the St. Andrew’s, judging by the brand you share with it.”
“He does bind me to that more than anywhere else, I suppose,” diana replied sheepishly.
“Then you’ll be presented on the cross for them. Get some cuffs on your ankles and wrists and we’ll get you set up. I have something else in mind for me!”
Carole set about binding diana tightly to the cross. Her arms were locked to the topmost eye bolts near the end of the beams. And her legs were spread apart very wide at the bottom. Carol’s hand found diana’s open pussy and she dipped two fingers in. “You’re as excited as I am, diana,” carole observed, much to diana’s embarrassment, as she licked her glistening fingers.
When diana was prepped and ready, carole lowered one of the winches as low as it would go, almost to the floor. She put cuffs on her own wrists and ankles and then placed a lock between the ankle cuffs, hobbling herself. She locked her wrists together and then hooked them to the cable from the winch. There was enough slack in the cable for her to slowly make her way to the switch the activated the motor. She made her way back under the winch and waited as the cable slowly pulled up her hands, then her arms, and then the rest of her, until she was finally hoisted to the top of the ceiling, dangling by her bound wrists. Her already flat belly was now taut. Beads of perspiration were forming in her clean shaven arm pits.
That was the spectacle that greeted us as we opened the door to the dungeon. I was mesmerized by the sight I beheld of the two naked slaves bound in My dungeon. Marie and Lesley, however, seemed far more enthralled by the dungeon itself, and they spent the better part of fifteen minutes examining the room and the various implement I had built.
“I love the stocks, David,” Marie commented, running her hands through the rough hewn wrist holes. I could see that she had spotted the dried blood from diana’s abraded wrists in the wood. “I can’t believe you built this place. It’s amazing!”
“Yes it is,” Lesley chimed in sitting on the rough wood of the rack. “I’m truly impressed with the attention to detail. It’s sop well thought out, and really looks like an authentic torture chamber from the Spanish Inquisition or a medieval castle somewhere!
“The decor sets the mood the instant you walk through that massively heavy door. The lighting, the devices, the whip display. Everything!. I can’t wait to try it out on our lovely and fortunate slaves!”
“Then let’s begin,” I offered.
Marie strode over to the cross and by bound wife and slowly began to caress diana’s naked flanks, her hand feeling the brand, lingering there as she inspected it more closely then she had upstairs. She supped diana’s left breast and watched as My slave’s eyes closed to half slits as the hands massaged the soft skin. Her hand slowly slit it’s way down across the belly and sought out the furrow between her splayed legs. Marie was enjoying the sensation of the smooth hairless mound. And then she suddenly shoved her middle finger deep into diana’s pussy, eliciting a sharp gasp as diana’s eyes flew open wide in startled shock from the unexpected intrusion.
Marie probed the soaking wet hole, sliding it in and out freely as she rubbed the already swollen clit. She leaned forward and whispered in diana’s ear, “I know how much you dislike Me, cunt slave, and tonight I intend to give you even more reason to loathe and hate me even more! But know this, when all is done. When it all is over. I will present you and your Master with a present that will overwhelm you both. And possibly even soften your feelings toward Me.”
As she said the word ‘Me,” Marie pinched diana’s clit hard between her thumb and middle finger. Diana screamed in pain. Lesley, carole and I all looked in tyheir direction as she wailed. Marie held on for almost fifteen seconds, twisting and pinching the delicate bud before finally setting it free. She stepped back slightly and slapped diana hard between her legs. The sharp crack filled the concrete dungeon.
As if nothing was amiss, Lesley said, while fingering the pussy and ass of Her dangling slave simultaneously, “You have a lovely display of whips hanging on the wall. But there is one whip which is glaringly obvious in it’s absence.”
“What whip is that, Lesley,” I asked, scanning the wall foe a missing whip.
Lesley picked up the satchel Marie had brought and said, “This one!” as She produced a beautiful dark brown leather single tail. “It’d My favorite of them all. Have You used one before?”
“No I haven’t,” I responded. “But I have seen the damage they can cause!”
“They don’t necessarily have to cause damage. With practice, and in the right hands, they’re capable of covering the entire spectrum: Soft tickling caresses to searing slashes of ice and fire. Light soft pink lines decorating the skin, to deep gashes leaving permanent scars. D all this with every degree in between.
“Would You care for a little demonstration? I’d be more than happy to provide You with some instruction to get You started. Both You and Your slave will become even closer through it’s kiss.”
“Certainly Lesley. Thank You. I’d like that very much.” I looked over at diana and saw th panic in her eyes, as she heard My answer. She too had seen videos of single tail whippings and it always made her shudder in fear.
“Darling,” Lesley whispered to carole as her hand became a blur of activity in Her slave’s pussy, “Would you mind terribly?”
“Of.......c....c.....course n....not, M.....Mi.....Mistress,” she stammered as a wave of orgasm took hold of her. P....Pl.....please.........please....wh.......whip me!”
Lesley took the whip in Her right hand and lest the rest of it crumple to the floor at Her feet. My eyes went back and forth between Mistress and slave. I could see that they were both going inside themselves to some inner place. A place they had both been before. A place where they both shared what they were once again about to share.
Carole’s eyes opened first, as she hung by her wrists, her hands now a deep reddish purple color. Lesley’s eyes opened few moments later and met and held those of her slave. An ever so slight nod of assent from carole indicated that she was ready.
“I’m not a believer in warm-ups, unless the slave really requires them. I much prefer to watch the reaction to the initial strokes. Before the endorphins have a chance to kick in. Better for me. Better for the slave.”
Lesley walked behind carole and studied the naked body hanging in waiting for the kiss of Her whip. She seemed to be sizing up, measuring even, the distance between Her and Her subject. Then, suddenly, and with lightning speed, Her arm came back and then forward as the whip swished and snapped, wrapping completely around carole’s slender waist, and cracking just above her pierced naval. The ensuing scream from the slave was unlike any I had heard before. More like the wail of a banshee, as the skin tore in a three inch long gash half an inch wide at the point of impact.
“Some pointers,” Lesley began, speaking over the screams and tears of Her slave, seemingly uninterested in her suffering. “You must keep Your eye right on the spot where You want the whip to strike. Never take Your eyes from that spot. Your hand will quickly learn to place the kiss of the whip, the tip, right where You want it to kiss the slave’s flesh.
“Try and use Your wrist, not Your arm. If done properly, You shouldn’t break a sweat during a lashing. Have patience. Allow each stroke to ne savored, both by Your slave and by You. Allow the welt to develop so You can determine if You want the follow up stroke harder or softer. You will learn how to read the welts as the swell. Also, waiting between the strokes allows the slave to calm down a bit. To get past the pain from the previous lash. And, most importantly, to anticipate the next stroke. Where will it land? Will it be harder than the last? Listening for the telltale swish of the leather just before the kiss cause the skin to explode in a precise fiery ball of pain.”
Carole’s wails had ebbed down to short sobs. I could see by how she hung in her bonds that she had gained control of herself, and was, in fact, anticipating the next stroke. She didn’t have long to wait. In a blinding flash, Lesley struck. The whip coiled around carole’s pelvis, wrapping itself around her until it’s evil snap struck her left cheek, a mere inch from the deep crevice in back.
Instantly, carole was wailing again, Twisting on the chain that hung her in offering to the whip. Drool escaping from the sides of her mouth. A swollen red line began to appear, encircling her tight ass.
Lesley didn’t wait this time, instead, She brought the third lash right away, slicing the slave across her narrow chest, culminating on the areola of carole’s boyish left breast. Carole had lost it now. I saw a steady stream of urine running down the insides of her legs.
“She’ll clean up after herself when we’re through,” Lesley said, angry at her slave’s inability to control her bladder under duress.
The suspended slave’s lithe body dripped in sweat as she hung suspended off the floor. Her hands had long lost feeling. I glanced over at the bound diana, who just stared with her eyes transfixed at the spectacle she had been witnessing. Marie stepped over to carole and dipped the fingers of Her right hand into carole’s pussy. “She a slopping wet mess, Lesley!”
“I’m not surprised, Marie. I’ve never come across a pain slut like her before. Pleasure her a bit for Me, would You? Just don’t let her get off just yet. She needs to earn that. Don’t you, cunt?” She added rhetorically to Her slave.
“Yes.....Mistress,” came the weak reply. “Whatever pleases You.”
Marie had obviously spent some time with carole before, as She had her twitching almost right away. But Marie kept a close watch on the slave’s face, looking to telltale signs that her release was nearing. Then, at just the last possible moment, she pulled her fingers out and raised her hand to carole’s face. She waited while carole licked and sucked her juices from the extended hand.
“Another thing the single tail is useful for, David,” Marie started again, “Is that it can isolate specific targets. This technique is more difficult to master. One must become very accustomed to the length of the whip so You can judge exactly where You should stand. Again, keeping Your eyes fixed on the intended target is even more crucial for this.
“Notice, if You would please, how her mound stands out. Pale. Raised. Untouched?”
“Yes,” I said, staring at the gentle rise above the hairless slit.
Lesley stood stock still staring at her chosen target, measuring the distance, making mental calculations. Then she waited. She raised the whip and lashed out in a smooth, practiced motion. The thin leather strip at the tip kissed carole’s mound an inch above her slit. The high pitched snap instantly making her jerk and scream. As she continued to dance dangling from the chains, a thin bright crimson line erupted on the tender skin. Lesley picked another target and laid the whip just under the navel this time.
“Have You ever whipped your slave in the arm pit?”
“Yes, I have. Not often, though.”
“I thought You might have. An excellent spot. Ultra sensitive. The softest skin. Easy to damage. One must be careful here. But still, all in all, it is one of My own favorite places.”
Expertly, the whip snapped in the taut right arm pit of Her slave. Carole passed out mid-scream, hanging limply from her cuffed wrists. The whip had bitten so hard that it split the tender skin, opening a two inch long cut.
Nonchalantly Lesley strode over to Her slave and back handed her across the face, splitting her lip and rousing the inert woman. She turned Her back from carole and said, “Would You like to try it, David?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Fine. Stand here,” She pointed, handing me the whip. “Let’s try a few wrap-arounds first. That’ll help You get the feel of it. She turned My shoulders square to carole. “Move up a bit. A little more.......Good!. That’s fine
“Now remember. Keep Your eyes where You want the whip to strike. Don’t take Your eyes from Your target.” I stared at carole’s all but nonexistent breasts for a few moments and then lashed out. The whip cracked as it sliced around her back and across both tits at once, snapping on the outside of her left one.
Carole’s response was to jerk and scream, causing me to flinch. I had used only the barest minimum of effort, far less than what the crop would have required to elicit that level ofresponse for sure.
“Not bad for a beginner. I think You’ll pick this up quickly. Why don’t You wrap her thighs with the next one.”
“Okay.” I lowered My eyes a bit to the long shapely legs and raised My arm. Again the wicked swish of the leather cutting through the quiet of the dungeon as the whip wrapped around her legs. Twice, before snapping on the back of her right thigh.
“Her legs aren’t as wide as her chest. That’s why the whip went around twice. You’re too close,” Lesley admonished Me. She had to raise Her voice for me to hear her over carole’s screaming. I looked over at diana. She was ghostly pale, mentally placing herself in carole’s bonds.
I whipped carole three or four more times before she passed out again. The single tail is an exceptionally cruel and wicked whip. Very effective.
“I would be very pleased if You would accept this whip as My gift to You and Your slave, David,” Lesley said, as I tried to hand the whip to Her. “Your display needs a single tail in it.”She nodded towards diana adding, “And she needs to learn the touch of it’s kiss!
“Would You please be so kind as to lower her?” Lesley gently caressed Her slave’s flanks as I hit the button to reverse the winch. As her feet made contact with the cold floor once again, her knees started to buckle. “Stop!” Lesley called out.
I shut off the motor. Lesley looked into carole’s half open eyes and leaned in to kiss her fully, but softly on the mouth. The intensity of the kiss grew rapidly, and Lesley’s right hand found carole’s clit hidden in the smooth folds. She started rubbing it hard and fast. In less than ten seconds carole was moaning and shaking in the throes of a powerful orgasm. But the Domme didn’t stop, rather, she redoubled Her efforts with both hand and mouth, brining the slave to a seemingly endless succession of cumming.
When She finally stopped, Lesley just watched carole’s face until the eyes opened once again and some degree of awareness replaced the blank spent look. I saw Lesley raise an eyebrow, and carole took the cue, saying, “Thank You for whipping me, Mistress. Thank You for whipping me, Sir David. Thank You for allowing me to cum, Mistress.”
Lesley nodded to Me and I lowered the cable until Lesley could undo the cuffs without having to reach up for them. “Clean up your mess, cunt,” Lesley ordered sternly, pointing to the puddle of urine carole was standing in. She dropped to her hands and knees, bowed her head, and started lapping up the cold urine. “Now,” Marie announced, “I want to use diana!”
“Nothing would please Me more, Marie. Lesley, please feel free as well. What is Mine, is Yours!”
Marie stood in front of the cross feeling diana all over on her breasts and belly. Occasionally she would let her hands drift over the hairless mound and down onto the puffy pouting lower lips. She toyed with the dense tangle of hair in the arm pits, all the while never taking Her eyes from diana’s. At long last, She dipped two fingers into diana, one in her pussy, the other up her rectum. “She’s a wet one. Especially for someone her age. She’s more of a slut whore than I thought.!”
Diana’s face reddened deep as her secrets were revealed by the person she most detested and reviled. Marie started to slap diana. Her face, breasts, belly and thighs. No rhythmic pattern. Sometimes hard, other times lightly. Some times the same place would get slapped four or five times without a break, sometimes She would adhere to a sequence: face, left breast, right breast, stomach, left thigh, right thigh. Repeated. Marie kept at it until diana was glowing a pink to light red splotches. Then she stopped.
Slipping a finger through the labia she wallowed in the dank wetness, then made the slave lick her own juices from the fingers.
Marie was now primed. Still using just her hand, she began the assault anew, redoubling Her efforts, only this time it varied between an open hand and sometimes a closed fist. Diana started to cry. Her lower lip was split. Marie pummeled My wife’s breasts, working like a boxer on a speed bag. A few times she even kneed My slave in the thigh and crotch.
When it had ended, Marie was winded, and diana had slumped over, hanging off the cross, bathed in sweat and crying freely. I tried to catch My wife’s eye, hoping she wouldn’t forget her manners, but it turned out I had nothing to fear. Ever so slowly. Proudly. Defiant even. Diana lifted her head and said, “Thank You, Mistress Marie, for paying attention to this worthless cunt slave.”
Lesley was watching the broad smile grow on My face. “Nice training, David. Very impressive!”
“Get over here, bitch,” Marie screamed at carole, grabbing her by the upper arm. “Eat this cunt out. I want to hear her screaming and begging to cum!”
The young slave got down on her knees at the foot of the cross and buried her face in diana’s open legs. Leaning in, she covered the wet hole and stated sucking and nibbling. Marie resumed her punching of diana again. No slaps anymore. Just hard balled up fists to the stomach and breasts. Diana was lost in a sea of pain and pleasure, no longer able to separate one from the other. Unable to distinguish one from the other. She succumbed to the overwhelming sensory input. Just as diana started begging for permission to cum, Marie hit her under the left eye with a hard right cross that drove diana’s head back against the cross, and knocked her out cold. She never enjoyed the incredibly intense orgasmic waves that coursed through her.
My slave awoke a few minutes later, aching and sore. She could taste the blood from her split lip, and her left eye had swollen almost shut. She had a persistent Charley Horse in her left thigh and her stomach hurt like mad. As the fog that swirled around her head began to clear, she became aware of a strange sharp painful tugging sensation on her breasts. Gazing down, her eyes focused a bit more, and she saw that both of her nipples had metal alligator clamps biting into them. Each clamp had a cord tied to it, and the cords ran from the clamps up to the ceiling and then down, culminating in heavy weights, which effectively pulled the breasts up and out at the same time.
“I see you’ve deigned to join us, slave,” Marie mocked her. “Glad you could make it.”
“Thank You, Mistress Marie,” diana offered feebly, her tone had lost it’s sarcasm, replaced, instead, by sincerity. “I hope I wasn’t disappointing to You.”
Marie studied the bruised and battered face, cupping her chin gently. “You are welcome, slave. And no, you didn’t disappoint Me at all. Quite to the contrary in fact. You far exceeded My expectations of what you could take.”
I flicked the weights slightly, getting diana’s attention immediately. “Lesley has a gift for us, darling. What do you say?”
“Thank You, Lesley, but it really isn’t necessary. This has been our pleasure to have You all here with us!”
“Nonsense, My pet. The pleasure has been all Mine!
“Carole, fetch My bag!”
“Yes, Mistress.” carole sprang to her feet and padded over to the table where Lesley had set down Her bag. Handing it to her Mistress, carole resumed her place kneeling at the foot of the cross on the cold concrete.
Lesley reached into the bag and removed a small wooden box. She opened the box and held it toward Me. The box contained two different sized pairs of nipple jewelry. The larger pair had a bar three inches in length and about 3/8 of an inch in diameter. Suspended from the bar was another piece of 3/8 inch metal in the shape of a “U.” Half inch balls capped the ends of the bars.
The second pair was identical, except that it was smaller, the bars being 3/4 of an inch long, made of 1/8 inch metal, with the “U” being just large enough to hang under a nipple. All of the jewelry had been crafted out of the finest surgical steel.
“Marie, would You please be so kind as to prep her for Me?”
“Of course, Lesley.
“Carole, please?”
Marie pulled on a pair of latex gloves that carole handed her. She poured some alcohol on a sterile pad and bathed diana’s breasts in it. Satisfied, she took a bottle of Betadyne solution from carole and painted diana’s chest. She stepped back slightly when She was done.
Lesley took diana’ left breast in Her hand and placed two marks on it, deep behind the areola. Eyeing it carefully to see that it was straight, She nodded to carole, who handed her Mistress a long thick needle. I saw diana close her eyes in anticipation of what was to come. Marie set the point of the needle against one of the marks and slowly pushed it through the soft flesh. My slave was stoic in her acceptance, whimpering, not crying as the needle bored through her tit. Once it popped through the other side, carole handed a bar and “U” to Lesley, who pushed the bar into the fresh hole as the needle was pushed out. It was a tricky maneuver, requiring three hands, so carole held diana’s breast, so that Lesley could juggle the bar, “U”, and needle.
Once it was set in place, Lesley tightened the ball caps at the ends. She didn’t stop to admire Her work. Instead, She pierced the other breast exactly as She had the first one.
Carole handed Lesley a smaller thinner needle. “Here, Marie. This should be the proper size.”
Marie got a pair of gloves and the pen from carole. After donning the gloves, she marked diana’s nipples with the pen, deep. Right at the base of the nipple where it grows from the areola. Accepting the thin needle from Marie, she lined up the needle with the mark She had put on diana’s right nipple and slowly increased the pressure, wanting to make the pain last as long as possible. Diana gritted her teeth to strengthen her resolve. I know she didn’t want to give in to the pain. A loud hiss came from her clenched teeth as she inhaled, but that was it, and the needle was through. Marie fitted the smaller bar and “U” and then did the left nipple.
With the four bars set and the ball caps tightened, Marie opened the alligator clamps. “Ow!” diana chirped. We all looked and admired the steel in My slave’s breasts. The fit was snug enough to force the nipples to stand out hard and straight, and her areolas were pinched together just slightly, causing them to appear more puffy and pointed.
“I think the track is next,” Marie said? “Carole, remove this slave from the cross and bind her to the rack.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Carole undid the bonds that held diana to the St. Andrew’s. She had to help lower her arms, as they had gone to sleep. Once she was down from the cross, carole took her by the arm and helped her over to the rack.
Of all of the equipment I made for our dungeon, I think that I am most proud of the rack, both from an aesthetic view as well as from the carpentry skills it required. All of the wood I used had been salvaged from construction sites and junk piles, so it has a weathered, used appearance. I modeled the spool for the rope from the idea of a garden hose caddy. Even the ratchet was made of wood, with the locking mechanism controlled by a bungee cord. The rough bed was littered with gouges and splinters, and I found an old piece of hawser from a school gym to coil around the spool. I left the feet chocks rough, like the stocks.
Diana laid back against the bed and lifted her feet into the chocks. Carole locked them in place and then tied diana’s hands together with the stiff thick rope. It only took a few turned of the handle on the spool and diana’s hands were above her. Not tight, but already inescapable and uncomfortable.
“Marie, if You would be so kind as to do the honors,” I offered.
A sly grin on her face told us all that She was looking forward to this. Taking the handle, Marie began to turn the crank. The slow steady click, click, click, of the ratchet the only sound.
Diana slid up as far as her chocked feet would allow, and then the tension really started to build. All of her joints began to ache at the same time. Marie stopped her cranking and leaned over to feel diana’s tight skin. She lingered at the hairy arm pits, twirling the hair and giving it a few teasing tugs. “Three more clicks, diana,” She said. “I want you to take three moire clicks for Me. Will you do that?”
“Y......yes...........Mistress. Th.....thank You.”
Fear covered diana’s face as Marie once again took the crank ion her hand. Slowly she turned it. “Click.” She paused and assessed diana’s reaction. Diana nodded slightly to Her, and Marie turned the crank again......”Click.”
“That’s two, diana. Only one to go. Ready?”
“Y.....yes. Please.”
Marie clicked the ratchet once more. Sinews showed the tightly stretched skin on diana’s tortured body. Her hands had already gone a deep red and her feet had been pulled into an awkward angle.
Marie unzipped Her skirt and stepped out of it. Stepping up on the rack and straddling diana’s face, She squatted down, lowering Her crotch onto diana’s mouth. “Pleasure Me, slave. And make it last!”
I saw Marie’s eyes close as diana’;s tongue sought out it’s moist hairy goal. Lesley nodded to carole who then wiped diana’;s cunt with alcohol. She twitched a bit at the sudden cold in her pussy, but the rack didn’t allow any freedom of movement. After the alcohol bath, carole applied Betadyne to the area. Lesley had the same thin needle that had been used on diana’s nipples. Taking a pair of forceps, she pulled on diana’s clit, exposing the hood. She lined up the needle by eye and in one quick stab, She ran the needle through the clit hood. A muffled scream escaped from under Marie’s pussy. carole handed Lesley a ring with a short chain and disk attached to it. Marie slid the ring into the new hole and closed the clasp. She held the disk for me to read. On one face in bold raised letters it read: MASTER DAVID. On the obverse side, engraved in lower case letters, it read: slave girl diana.
“Thank You;, Lesley,” I said admiring it in My hand. “It’s beautiful.”
Diana’s humiliation and enslavement was almost complete. So many milestones had been attained. Limits passed, removed, destroyed. She had been naked in front of strangers before at the beach. But now she was naked. Before strangers and submitting to them, for Me! She was also naked and submitting to someone she knew! Someone she abhorred! Detested! Reviled! She performed oral sex on a person other than her husband for the first time in her life, and it was a woman! There was just one remaining barrier that had to be removed. Torn down. One last taboo that had been be exposed.
Marie removed the latch on the spool and cranked the handle in the opposite direction, loosening it. While She untied diana’s hands, carole unlocked the chocks that had held her ankles. Diana lay still, the dull ache in her joints now different than when she was bound. Different, but still intense. Still painful.
I ordered her to get on her hands and knees on the rack. Head down, resting her arms from hand to elbow on the rough wood, with her ass facing us. I knew this was going to be hard for her, but I also knew it was going to be the easiest thing I had planned for her.
“Carole,” I commanded, “Ready My slave’s ass for Me. I want to use her.”
“Yes, Sir,” she answered. She knelt on the concrete floor and bowed her head in, her tongue seeking out the tightly puckered musky hole. Diana buried her face in her hands, trying to hide form the shame of it, but this could not be allowed. “Lift your head cunt. Open your eyes, show us your face.”
Her head came up slowly. Her face red. Mortified. Tears welling in her eyes. No one had ever performed analingus on her before, and the dichotomy of the pleasure she was receiving and the repugnance of what was happening was tumultuous to her.
Lesley wanted in on the action and removed Her loincloth. She laid it with reverence on the rack and sat with Her legs open in front of diana. “Taste Me slave. Pleasure Me.”
She took hold of diana’s head with Her right hand and pulled her face down into the tangled mass of salt and pepper pubic hair. Carole was rimming diana now, her head thrusting back and forth as her wet tongue pushed more easily passed the tight sphincter.
I couldn’t wait any longer. Grabbing carole by the hair, I tossed her aside, sensing her sprawling to the floor. “Open yourself for Me, cunt.”
Diana reached back with both hands and spread her cheeks as wide as they would go. Her cunt glistening and open. Her ass soaked in saliva and ready. Marie leaned over and let a long dribble of spit fall into the open hole. I spit on it as well. I stepped out of My jeans ans slid My rock hard dick up and down in the crack, lubricating it in the wetness.
“I’m waiting, slave,” I mocked her.
She reached back with her right hand and took hold of Me. Guiding the tip to her rear entrance, she held it there. I waited, wanted her to have to anticipate it all. Not knowing when the oresurre would begin. She held My cock poised at her ass, while Marie and carole watched, and all the while, she was lapping at a strange woman’s cunt.
Very slowly and deliberately I pushed forward, watching as the hole expanded, growing wider to accept Me. I pushed forward until I was buried as deeply as I could go. Diana had put her hand back on the rack, moaning from the pleasure deep within her. I stayed still. Not moving. Feeling her muscles involuntarily trying to expel Me When the contractions ceased, I pulled out almost all the way, and then drove forward. Hard. She yelped in shock. I stayed buried again and waited for her to relax. Then I began a slow steady rhythmic assault. I never took My eyes from her hole. Watching as she caressed Me with her tightness.
Lesley came first, diana’s ministrations brining Her to a noisy cum. I started pounding into her harder, and faster. Fury overtaking My ravaging of her ass. I felt My own release near. I dumped My seed deep within her bowels, something else she can stand the thought of, and I didn’t pull out until I had gone soft.
“Clean her, carole,” Lesley commanded. Carole got back on her knees and worked to suck all My cum from the still gaping hole. I didn’t know she was saving it in her mouth until Lesley said,” You had better share, slave.”
Carole got up and walked around the rack. Kneeling in front of My slave, she cupped her chin, bringing their faces together. As they kissed carole spit my cum into diana’s open mouth and held the kiss until diana swallowed the concoction of semen, saliva, and ass.
I took diana by the hands and helped her off the rack., her breasts and their new adornments jiggling. When I was sure she was steady on her feet, I pushed down on her shoulders, making her kneel at My feet, next to carole. “Have you anything to say, slave,” I asked rhetorically?
“Thank You, Master David. Thank You, Mistress Marie. Thank You, Mistress Lesley. Thank you, slave carole.”
My wife/My slave. Complete.
.
SOME CALL IT PLAY
By Charles E. Campbell
CHAPTER THREE
A SLAVE IMPRISONED
As always, My sincerest thanks and gratitude to Master David and His slave diana for their input and inspiration. I owe this story to them.
Our life together had gone back to the same basic routine after Marie and Her friends Lesley and Carole had departed. Quiet dinners at home, with diana naked of course. Weekend forays into north western Connecticut to go antiquing, or visiting fall festivals in small tucked away villages and quaint towns.
I was fascinated by diana’s areola and nipple rings. Maybe mesmerized would be a more accurate term. I couldn’t stop looking at them, touching them, and tugging on them. I was infatuated by them. I have always found the female body to be a wonderland of amazement, what with it’s soft curves and contours, graceful hills and dales like gently rolling countryside. But I have always been most particularly drawn to the female breast. The round soft globes projecting outward from the body, Free. Independent. Welcoming, reassuring, offering. A place of respite from strife. Calming, begging for caresses, both gentle and harsh. Now, all the more intriguing and beguiling with the steel piercing them.
I constructed a leather harness for diana to wear, made from stout and stiff cowhide. Like a thick heavy belt. It went over her shoulders and across her back, much like a brassiere, which is, in fact, what served as a template for the harness. Leather encircled her breasts, with a tripled thick studded section placed directly between the orbs. From this, I had attached apiece of threaded 1/4 by 20 rod, held fast with lock washers and nuts. I took apart a pinch type skirt hanger and soldered some large fender washers together on it. A simple, and yet, highly effective way to camp her nipples, and then, by screwing a wing nut on the rod, pull the breasts straight out from her chest, defying gravity. The sprigs on the clamps were very strong, crushing her areolas between their smooth jaws. Many a night, diana would dine with the cruel instrument of torture working it’s magic for My enjoyment. Lifting and pulling her breasts taut, stretching them to their limits. Often she would be reduced to whimpers and sobs between bites of food, but never once did she balk or refuse when I would produce the harness and watch silently as she would put it on, and buckle it in place herself! Most nights, I would make her clamp her areolas herself as well, and even tighten the wing nut. I was usually very pleased with the outcome, as she would generally tighten it much more than I would consider feasible.
There just seem to be times when the fates work together, out of the clear blue, and provide My imagination with the necessary jump start for new ideas and creative ways to broaden the horizons for My slave and Myself. One afternoon, on the Wednesday before the Columbus Day weekend, I ran into my next door neighbor as I was leaving for school. He informed Me that he and his wife would be going out of state to visit their daughter for Parent’s Weekend at college. They would be catching a flight Thursday night, and get in early Tuesday morning. He wondered if I could bring in his mail on Friday and Saturday. I assured him that it was no problem and that I would. That same evening, we received a phone call from our neighbor on the other side of our house, informing us that they were going to be leaving for the coast first thing in the morning to attend a wedding out there. They told us they wouldn’t return home until Monday night, late. They wanted to know if they could trouble us to take in their mail and feed their house cat. Two vacant houses on either side of ours! My mind began to work in overdrive.
Where diana and I live, the houses are all set on perfect 80 x 120 foot rectangular lots. Each house is the same distance from the street, each front yard and back yard the same size and dimensions. Both of our neighbors have stockade fences surrounding their back yards, demarcating their little slice of Americana, due to their having pools. This inadvertently gives us decent privacy when they aren’t home. The houses on our side of the street all abut the golf course for a private country club, A perfect scenario!
Thursday night, I surprised diana by taking her out to dinner at a quiet bistro near the college. A music major from the school was moonlighting on piano, taking requests and working for tips. As we sipped our after dinner coffee together, and tried to play “stump the band” with the young musician, I anno8unced to diana that she was going to endure a weekend of forced slavery. From the time when she got home on Friday evening, until sunset Monday, she would be an imprisoned slave. Bound, beaten, and used. Her face flushed over as I stated the terms to her so matter-of-factly in public. No one overheard Me, but she was quite flustered nonetheless.
I have a late class on alternating Fridays, so I didn’t get home until after 6:00. l
Like a good and proper slave, diana greeted Me at the door when I arrived, naked, except for her collar. Iron shackles on her wrists and ankles. A good omen by any standards.
I left her kneeling in the vestibule, saying nothing to her, as I hung. up My jacket and headed for My chair in the living room. After a couple of minutes, I called out, “Come to your Master, slave girl diana.”
Diana crawled on her hands and knees into the living room and knelt at My feet, her eyes closed, knees spread wide, mouth slightly open, and her arms folded behind her back.
Patiently, I let the tension build before pronouncing sentence. Her body was already quivering from the discomfort of kneeling in that position.
“Slave, I have decided that you are to be an imprisoned slave for the duration of the weekend. From this moment, until sundown Monday, you are not to speak to me unless I grant you permission, You are not to look in My face. But rather whenever your eyes are not closed or blindfolded, they are to search out My cock to search out My cock You will do exactly as you are told, without question or hesitation, or else you will be soundly punished. You will please me in whatever manner I wish, and you will do it with pride and enthusiasm, or you will be beaten. I want you to know, that it is My intention to beat you until I draw blood. This is something that should give you a great sense of pride. I may even entertain inflicting permanent damage to some part of your body. I want to hear you grant Me consent to harm you, even though we both know I do not need it.”
Diana opened her eyes slowly, and looked straight at the bulge in my gabardine slacks as she said, “If it will please You, Master, I want nothing more than for You to do with me as You wish, even if it means causing permanent damage to me, or even causes me to bleed. I will be filled with pride that You find it desirable enough to do so. If I happen to scream, or beg You for mercy, I humbly ask that You show me none, for I am not worthy of such consideration. I am Your slave, and I only exist to be of service to You.”
“So it shall be, slave.” I bent over and gently cupped her chin in My left hand, lifting her face up. In response, she re-closed her eyes, probably expecting a loving kiss. But instead, I hit her hard with a back hand slap across the mouth, sending her sprawling on the floor, blood trickling from the cut in her lip.
The force of my attack made Me recoil at first. The slap had been harder than I intended, and over the top for us. Her split lip was already getting puffy, and blood was building in the cut. I wanted, no, rather, I needed to check to see if I had really hurt her, but I didn’t want to break the mood I had established. I knelt between her played legs and pushed My fingers into her pussy. It wasn’t just moist, it was soaking wet! She was turned on! I continued to probe her hole roughly, all the while rubbing her clit hard with My thumb, extracting moans immediately. Release for her was, of course, quite out of the question. I did, however bring her to the brink several times before offering her My hand to her mouth for cleansing.
As she regained her composure, I decreed, “From this moment forward, you will not leave your hands and knees, unless you are directed to stand. Walking erect like a human being is strictly forbidden. Slaves are the lowest of creatures, and therefore, they are meant to crawl. Also, you will neither eat, nor drink, unless I tell you to, and then, you will only eat and drink what I provide for you. Lastly, your toileting needs will be decided by Me. Slaves are chattel, and are expected to take care of their toilet needs outdoors, and then, only when given permission. They do not, however, ask for permission. They are to relieve themselves only on command.
“Am I understood?”
“Yes, Master,” she replied meekly, the rules sinking in. She knew full well that our backyard would be her only toilet for the whole weekend, and she was terrified by the prospect of being seen naked outside. Even without our neighbors here, the constant stream of golfers on the course over the long weekend would surely provide a lot of voyeurs.
“Meet Me in the garage, slave,” I ordered, turning heel and leaving her.
I went to the garage and found an old tackle box that My sone and I used to use when he was little and I would take him fishing on the Hudson. I blew the dust off the top after pulling it free from the shelf. Opening it, I found what I was looking for. Lead sinkers.
Diana arrived a minute or so after Me. Our garage is detached from the house, and so she had to crawl out of the house, down the steps, across a short patch of lawn, and then through the blue stone pebbles that the driveway is made of.
Just as she reached Me, I commanded, “Kneel slave!”
Diana complied right away, kneeling at My feet, making sure to spread her legs apart and fold her hands behind her head. I took some of the sinkers and clipped them to her four piercings in her nipples and areolas. Not too much weight, mind you, but just enough to give her something to focus on when I wasn’t paying attention to some part of her lovely body.
“Go and light the grill, I want to eat.”
“Yes Master she intoned, and crawled off to the patio grill.
I have the grill set in concrete on the edge of the patio at furthest point from the house. Anyone on the golf course would have but to look into the yard to see it, and her, and she knew it!
I stayed in th garage for a bit, replacing the tackle box on the shelf, before joining her on the patio. She had just gotten the grill going when I got there, “I want your mouth, slave. Worship My cock!”
Diana reached over and undid the belt and then the buttons on My Levis. She pulled down the jeans and shorts in one fluid motion. Folding her arms behind her back, she sucked me into her mouth. The soft wet mouth greeted Me, as she licked the underside of the shaft, taking Me as deep as she could without gagging. I savored the sensations of her tender ministrations, but had no intentions of cumming just yet, so I pulled out and wiped saliva on her face.
While my marinated chicken and veggie kabobs were grilling, I made a modest tossed salad. Diana knelt passively on the patio, her hands folded behind her head in the twilight.
I dined at the wrought iron table, with My slave underneath it, fellating Me lightly Occasionally, I would pass a scrap of food to her, just like one might a favorite pet. She would open her mouth and accept it, and then return to her primary use and function as a cock sucker.
When I was full, I placed my plate with it’s food scraps on the patio. She took her cue, bending over and eating the meager fare. I dumped the remainder of my glass of water into My salad bowl and placed it on the ground as well. I enjoyed hearing the sounds of her slurping and lapping as she struggled to ingest the mixture of water, oil, and vinegar.
I longed on the chaise, relaxing, as diana cleaned the grill and did the dishes. Her tasks completed, she returned and knelt at My feet, awaiting further commands.
“Go to our dungeon, and prepare yourself for Me, slave,” I ordered.
“As You command., Master,” she replied. I could detect enthusiasm in her tone of voice, and it made Me swell with pride. I certainly intended to put that to the test.
I stayed on tne patio until well after dark, a good forty minutes, before going into the house and down to the basement to see what awaited Me.
“Nicely done,” slave, I complimented her upon entering the dungeon. “You have made Me happy!”
“Thank you, Master,’ came her mumbled response from around a large penis gag she had strapped into her mouth.
All of the dungeon candles had been lit. The electric lighting was soft and muted, just enough to enhance the flickering candles. An array of whips had been chosen and lovingly laid out on the table next to the St. Andrew’s Cross. She had put iron shackles on her wrists and ankles, using old locks to secure them in place. Her thickest butt plug was straining her rear hole, and she waited on all fours, her face to the floor, for My commands.
I took My time, enjoying the sight as I slowly walked around her, watching her breath, studying every preparation she had made. A slight quiver was bouncing her weighted breasts ever so slightly. She was frightened, which was good. Anticipation is a good thing. She had no idea what I had planned for us.
As I made My way around her for the third time, I quietly picked up a stiff flogger. Her face was on the floor, so she never saw Me pick it up. I stepped over her, straddling her shoulders. Lifting the flogger, I brought it down on her ass as fast and hard as I could, unannounced. Three fast slashes driving her yelling to the hard concrete floor.
“Hold your ground, slave,” I admonished her sternly. “Take what I give to you!”
She got back on all fours, face to the floor, and steeled herself. She didn’t have long to wait, a I slashed at her ass, left than right, left and right. Her cheeks first pale white, then becoming a tangle of pink stripes, and finally dark reds. Swollen lines intersecting all over her buttocks and the backs of her thighs.
The both of us were now bathed in sweat before I stopped. “Knell,” I ordered her, panting. She got up on her knees with her eyes closed. I moved toward her and brushed her lips with the zipper of My jeans. “No hands, slave. Caress Me.”
I undid the buckle on her penis gag and pulled it from her mouth, before undoing my belt.
It was a struggle for her to undo the button on My Levis, but finally, at long last, her perseverance paid off, and she got it open. Then she took the zipper between her teeth and pulled it down. She had to alternate sides to get the jeans and shorts down. Sensually, she licked a thick dollop of pre-cum from the slit in My cock, before taking it deeply all at once. I grabbed her hair in back of her head with both hands and pulled her face into My groin, forcing My cock as deep as it could go. She was gagging and chocking, even retching a few times, but I kept My cock buried, giving her no respite from the oral assault. Yellowish bile was leaking from the corners of her mouth around My cock and dripping to her breasts.
Wanting to maintain My own high level of intensity, I abruptly pulled out before cumming, and wiped the slobbery mess from My coated cock onto her face, all around her eyes. “Get on the rack, slave. Face up.”
“Yes, Master.” She got up on all fours again and crawled across the concrete to the rack. She got up on the rack and laid down on the rough splintered wood that makes the bed, stretching her arms up. Offering. Waiting for the chains that would be attached to her wrist and ankle shackles, binding her to the primitive, but cruel instrument of her torture.
I chained her down and began turning the wheel, pulling her arms up and away from her legs. I watched as her breasts began to flatten out on her chest, the gauge I use to determine how tight to make it. Satisfied that she was very uncomfortable, but not in too much pain, I locked the wheel in place, and went to the wall for a heavy leather strop. Her breasts were now going to be the center of My attention. I wanted them not pink or even red. I wanted them to be bruised. Severely bruised to black and blue. I didn’t replace the penis gag because I wanted her screams to fill the room. I wanted, needed to see if I would be able to continue to viscously beat her through her cries, tears, screams, and pleas for mercy. This was to be a test of her resolve. My resolve. Our resolve.
There were to be no soft caresses. No warm up strokes letting her get accustomed to the feel of the heavy strop. There would be no teasing. No making her wait, or count the strokes. Instead I began right away, flailing at the taut tender mounds, alternating left breasts, right breast, top, bottom, inside outside. No pattern to the strokes. No way for her to even begin to anticipate where the next would strike. Sometimes I would hit the exact same spot five or six times in a row. Tears were pouring from her eyes as her head tossed back an forth in wild abandon. Screams like none I had ever heard filled the dungeon as I flailed away.
Her breasts quickly passed from pink to red, then purple, as the tight pulled skin erupted in searing fiery pain. Guttural animal sounds began to replace the screams as she succumbed to the beating. I did not ease up. Not even once. Doling out over one hundred strokes. All hard. Never a pause or brief respite from the attack. Pushing her/our limits as far as I dared go.
When finally, at last, I decided she had taken enough, I laid down the strop on the rack, and left the dungeon, leaving her bound to the rack. But before making My exit, I unlocked the wheel, and ratcheted it up tighter by two clicks, hearing her moan as the pressure in her joints intensified. I went upstairs to the kitchen for a tall glass of ice water. I had really worked up quite a sweat from the exertion and My efforts. Sipping the cool refreshing liquid, I indulged in a crossword puzzle, taking My mind from the plight of My imprisoned slave, and extending her time alone, to think and assess, bound to the rack in our candle lit dungeon.
As is the norm for crossword puzzles and me, I quickly became completely engrossed in it, and lost track of time. I even got up once to refill My glass of water. It was just about forty-five minutes before I returned to the dungeon to visit My bound slave.
Diana’s eyes were closed when I got to her, but she was not asleep, just trying to cope with the pain. The pressure in her arms, hips and legs would never allow sleep. Her eyes opened slightly as I softly tugged on her left nipple, they sought out My cock. Their Master.
In silence, I loosened the wheel and unlocked the chains. “Kneel,” I commanded, trying to sound apathetic to her sufferings.
With obvious effort, diana pushed herself off the rack, and knelt before Me.
“Is My slave thirsty,” I inquired?
“Oh yes, Master. Terribly.”
“Then open your mouth!”
She knew what I meant right away. Her face registered it instantly. Something she detests even more than anal sex. She closed her eyes and slowly opened her mouth. I slipped My flaccid cock between her lips and began to piss. I could see her working hard to swallow the warm acrid amber liquid as it streamed into her mouth. The second cup of coffee I had at dinner insured a copious flow to sate her thirst.
When My bladder had emptied, I let her keep Me in her mouth, sucking out any last drops, before pulling away. Looking down, I was able to see the damage I had caused to her breasts with the strop. Swollen and badly bruised, they would be very tender for quite some time, I was sure, making even the softest garment an agonizing torment for her to remember our weekend together. I pulled the weights a little, and let them drop. My cock now hard again, and aching for release. I fucked her face. Driving deep and puling all the away out with each thrust. Diana was retching as I sought to invade past her tonsils. It wasn’t long before I was startling to cum. I yanked My cock from her mouth and plastered her face with thick strands of warm cum. I shot it in her eyes, in her hair and across her cheeks.
“Go,” I ordered her, pointing to the cross.
She crawled wordlessly to the foot of the cross. I locked her left ankle to the base of the cross and then lifted her chin up close to My face. I spit on her face. “Sleep well, My pet!”
Tonight she would enjoy no comfort. She was to sleep on the cold concrete floor, licking her wounds. No blanket or pillow. Alone in the dim fading light, as one by one, the candles would burn out, leaving her in the pitch black darkness of our dungeon.
I hit the light switch just as I closed the heavy door, and locked it closed.
After luxuriating in the soothing steam of a hot shower, I sat up reading for a while before turning in. Amazingly, I slept like a baby, alone in our bed, while My wife, My imprisoned slave, spent a fitful night on the floor of our dungeon. Her weighted and aching breasts a constant reminder of the night’s events, and a threatening portent of the two days yet to come.
I awoke to an absolutely gorgeous sunny autumn day. I got up quickly, not wanting to waste any of the day sleeping. Big plans were in store for diana and I, and I wanted to get right to them. Jeans and a flannel shirt donned in haste, and I went straight down to the basement. Diana was in a semi sleeping state. I could tell by the dark circles under her eyes that she had gotten little or no sleep at all.
Keeping in character, she only looked at My crotch as I unlocked her ankle chain. “Time for the slave to toilet,” I decreed. “I’ll meet you in the back yard.”
I headed up the stairs and sat on a patio chair to await her arrival, like a dog on all fours. There was a crisp bite to the breeze as the mid October chill was hinting at the cold winter that was rapidly approaching.
A few minutes after I had sat down, diana crawled out of the house. Quite obviously stiff and sore and in a lot of discomfort, she slowly crawled across the flagstones to where I was seated. I just pointed nonchalantly to the loosened, dug up soil, that was her litter. Her face reddening, she crawled into the dirt, spread her legs and began to pee. It was her first time to pee in over twelve hours, and the stream was strong and long, splattering urine soaked mud onto her legs. Finished, she began to crawl out of the litter, when I chided her, “ That’s all you need to do, slave? This could very well be your last opportunity for most of the day, unless I’m feeling generous.” Mortified, she stayed stock still in the urine mud puddle. I could tell she was concentrating as hard as she could on the humiliating task at hand. Finally, her ass bud began to swell, and a large turd emerged, falling into the soft dirt, as her sphincter forced it free.
“You may wipe your ass in the lawn,” I offered, “Bit remember, slaves are not to use their hands!”
Diana crawled out of the dirt, small clops of it clinging to her legs, ever so cautious as to avoid her smell dropping. She sat on the lawn and dragged her ass across the dewy grass by way of cleaning herself. She was totally broken now. Her most private bodily functions were now those of a common animal.
Out oif the corner of My eye, I spied some early golfers on the far fairway. They were over 100 yards away, so unless they were fully aware that a naked female was in our yard, there was no way they could have just noticed her at that distance. I knew, as I know diana did too, that it was just going to be a matter of time before they got to the closest fairway to our yard, and would then be hard pressed to not see her if she remained outdoors. (Which was exactly what I had planned for her today.)
I had diana stay on the patio while I prepared our breakfasts. Different breakfasts, of course. After all, she was an imprisoned slave, not a treasured house pet. While I enjoyed a fruit cocktail, whole wheat toast with jam, orange juice and black coffee, diana’s repast was cold oatmeal, no milk on it, dry burnt toast and tepid tap water. All of which was consumed on her hands and knees, face in the bowls, no hands allowed for feeding.
I read the morning paper at the table on the patio, savoring a third cup of coffee, diana underneath the table, savoring My cock. When I was through reading the paper, without allowing her to finish Me, I said to her, Wait here,” and I got up to go to the garage. I retrieved a bag I had purchased the previous day from a local nursery, containing over two hundred spring bulbs. Returning to My kneeling slave, I ordered her to plant the bulbs around the perimeter of the yard. I stressed that it was to be the entire perimeter, meaning that the section closest to the golf course was not to be avoided. I informed her that I had some errands to see to, and that I would expect that she would complete her chore by the time I returned.
I saw the trepidation on her face. The thought of being alone and naked in the yard. I had thought I would lock the house and garage to insure that she remained outside, but thought better of it. Leaving her to struggle with the choice of disobeying Me and seeking shelter in her nudity would only serve to heighten the experience for her.
I left her and went off to the lumberyard. I had some modifications in mind for the stocks in the dungeon and I needed some supplies to make them.
I purchased an old worn oaken pallet, very used and chewed up, two pairs of hinges, and a can of dark stain to match the color of the stocks. My intention was to build a box to encase her feet in when she was pilloried, so that she would have a lot less mobility when confined in the stocks.
I got home earlier than I had expected, and was gladdened to see diana kneeling in a garden bed, only three feet from the property line, where the fairway runs along side. I walked over to check on her progress, and was pleased at how filthy the work was making her. The cooler air of the early morning had been giving way to a pleasantly warm day, and a sheen of sweat had captured the dusty soli as she dug and planted.
“Almost done, slave?”
“I still have five more packages to plant, Sir. Then your slave will be done.”
“I’ll be in the garage. Join Me when you have finished.”
“Yes, Sir!”
Since the basement to dungeon conversion, My workbench was now located in a corner of the garage. I set about drawing up plans for the box and cutting the wood from the old skid pallet.
I had been thinking about the problem the box was being designed to correct for quite some time. I wanted it both functional and not looking like an after thought to the stocks. What required the most thought were the calculations on the optimum distance diana’s feet should be from the pedestal, how far apart it should holes her feet, the diameter of the openings for her ankles, allowing of course for shackles. Additionally, I wanted it to be uncomfortable for her to be locked in. Not necessarily painful, but a nuisance presence.
I built the bottom of the box out of the rough and splintered slats of the pallet. No sanding required. Chaffing and abrasions caused by her own movements were what I wanted. I placed the slats far enough apart so that her feet would have to bridge over two of them, resting on the wood, but not able to get between them and rest on the floor. The sides of the box were simple, as they’re sole purposes were structural support raising the top of the box high enough to restrict her ankles above a pair of iron shackles. I sawed half moon cut outs into the top slats, screwing the hinges onto one of the cut outs. This would make it easier for Me to place her in and remove her from the device, and, at the same time, insuring a snug fit, so that escape would be an impossibility. A simple hasp was all that I needed too hold the half moons together, I had the option to use locks, but they would only be for aesthetics. With her neck and wrists secured in the stocks, it would be impossible for her to reach and release the hasps anyway. Two long pieces of would to anchor the box to the pedestal, a coat of stain, and it was done.
Diana crawled into the garage just as I started applying the stain. Not wishing to spoil the surprise, I said, “Toilet yourself, slave, and wait in your litter for Me.”
Crestfallen, she crawled back outside to pee. I watched through the side window of the garage. Her humiliation a huge turn on for Me.
The stain applied, I carried the box to the dungeon, and with the aid of a drill, a wrench, and some bolts, I got it all set up. The christening would be tonight!
I ate lunch on the patio, diana servicing Me under the table. A nice tuna salad sandwich and iced tea for Me. Left over stale oatmeal, cold burned toast and tepid water for the prisoner. Occasionally, as I ate and she sucked, I toyed with her bruised and battered breasts, Tweaking, pinching and puling on the weights. She whimpered around My cock, her sore tender breasts ultra sensitive to the attention I gave them.
After lunch, I went back to the tackle box in the garage and took out a few more sinkers. Clipping them to her breasts, I ordered her to do some calisthenics in the yard. I kept her facing the house, back to the golf course as I watched from the patio chaise lounge. This let Me see the reactions of the golfer as they spotted her movements.
I ran her through a wide gamut of exercises: sit ups, push ups in the litter box, squat thrusts, jumping jacks, deep knee bends, jogging in place.... In short, the works. Her breasts tormented by the added weights as they bobbed up and down and bounced around. She was sweating profusely by the time I allowed her to stop. A drink from the garden hose, a glance at My watch, and I was ready for her next humiliation. “Follow Me to the kitchen, slave!”
Happy to get out of the open yard, she crawled as quickly as her scraped hands and knees would allow. She had no idea what was in tore for her inside.
As she knelt passively on the tile floor in the kitchen, promptly at 2:00, the front door bell rang.
It startled her, and she jumped instinctively, cowering, she scanned the room for someplace to hide. “Well, answer it, slave. It isn’t polite to keep someone waiting at the door.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but she kept her stare at My crotch, “Oh please. Not this. Please, Master. I beg You! Anything. I’ll do anything, j.....just please don’t make me do this.”
I slapped her across the face, hard. She fell on the floor. “How dare a slave ever think to question her Master. You will be dealt with, dealt with severely for this gross insubordination. Is this the level of trust you have in Me?”
Instantly, she saw the error of her ways and bent over to kiss the top of My shoe. “P.....Please forgive Your worthless slave, M....Master. I.....I’m sorry.”
The bell rang a second time, and she crawled, obediently, and broken, to the front door. “I expect a proper and polite greeting to anyone,” I called to her, watching her pussy peek through her crotch. “Yes, Sir, she returned over her shoulder.
It was very hard for Me to not follow on her heels to the door, it was important that she face this alone, having no sense of false security in My presence. But I did follow at a distance, wanting to witness first hand her embarrassment. The bell rang again, twice in quick succession, indicating that the caller was rapidly losing patience. Diana arrived at the door, knelt, and opened it wide, her head bowed, and her hands folded behind her head. “I am slave diana, how may I service you,” she asked, not looking up.
I had been expecting someone at the door, but the people who were on My stoop were strangers to Me. It was a very well dressed black couple. Jehovah’s Witnesses, hawking their pamphlets and beliefs. They stood agog at the spectacle of the naked slave, her badly bruised breasts, rings, and weights. When diana heard no response to her query, she looked up and saw the shock on the couple’s faces, as they blanched and turned heel in haste. I saw diana’s head sag as she shut the door and started to crawl back to Me. But before she even got out of the vestibule, the bell rang again. Resigned, she turned to open the door once more.
This time, she knelt and only opened the door a crack, opting to peek around the door, using it to her advantage as a modesty device. “I am slave diana, she whispered meekly from behind the door. How may I serve you?”
“I do not speak to closed doors, cunt!” came the severe reply. “Open this fucking door now, if you know what’s good for you, and exhibit yourself to Me with pride!” The voice was a woman’s, and it was anything but gentle and understanding. In the very least, it was agitated and extremely angry. Diana jerked the door open wide and kept her face pointed to the floor.
The woman said nothing. She wanted to make diana wait with the door open. A door, which I might add, is a mere ten feet from the -public sidewalk, which is only four feet from the curb and the street.
Brusquely, the woman brushed past diana and entered our home, looking for Me, fire in her eyes. “David, I am not at all pleased with the manners of Your slave. I strongly suggest that You make her aware of her impertinence. Either that, or it will leave me no alternative than to do it for You! Her actions are a disgrace! Deplorable!”
“Please, Francine. Accept My apologies,” I soothed her. “Her training has only recently begun in earnest. The last two months is all. She has made immeasurable strides. She has a long way to go yet. I know that, but if you could have seen some of the barriers we have torn down, the progress we have made, I’m sure you would agree.”
Francine stared at diana as she crawled into the living room and knelt quietly, legs spread apart, hands folded behind her back, head down. Francine scrutinized My slave, paying particular attention to her severely bruised breasts. “You seem to have been busy with these,” she commented reached down to fondle diana’s left breast. “They could be made to color more, You know.”
“I do, Francine. As a matter of fact, I am planning to redouble My efforts in that regard tonight.”
“I’ll expect pictures.”
“Certainly. It would be My pleasure.”
Francine kept her eyes on diana, but reached into her mammoth oversized shoulder bag and extracted a small box. “I believe this will suit Your needs, David,” she said, passing the box to Me.
I took it from her hand and sat down on the couch to open it up. Inside there was a nine inch length of stainless steel chain, constructed of small delicate looking links. I hold it up from one again, mentally picturing it’s effect.
“Would you be so kind as to do the honors, Francine. It would mean a lot to me, and to My slave as well.”
Francine took the chain back from me and said, “On your back, cunt. Spread your legs wide. Bring your feet up so your heels touch your ass. Keep your hands at your sides. Move even once, and I’ll flog those ugly breasts until they bleed!”
Francine knelt between diana’s legs and extracted a small pair of jeweler’s needle nose pliers from her bag. Using the pliers, she removed the disk from the clit ring, and attached it to one end of the chain. She then fastened the other end of the chain to the clit ring. It took less than a minute and she was done. “Stand and present yourself, slave,” she said.
Diana stood stiffly, it was the first time she had been on two feet for almost a day. As she stood, she made sure she spread her legs apart and folded her hands behind her head. The disk was now dangling freely from her clit hood, stretching the skin, and, thanks to the chain, the disk now hung almost midway down her thigh.
I offered My guest fresh baked pumpkin pie and coffee, and she accepted My offer. “Slave, escort My guest to the patio and see to it that she is seated and comfortable, while I prepare the refreshments.”
“Yes, master.” diana crawled toward the kitchen and the back door, her face reddened knowing that her naked flanks were providing such a nice view to a perfect stranger. The weights hanging from her tits swung back and forth as she moved.
I got the coffee going and sliced some pie while it brewed. “Ice cream, Francine,” I called through the screen door?
“Ah, no thank You, David. The pie and coffee will be just fine, thank You.”
I carried a tray with the refreshments out to the patio, and was greeted by the sight of My slave kneeling facing Francine, who was toying with the nipple rings, swinging the weights, and just generally causing diana a great deal of discomfort.
As I set the tray down on the table, I asked, “cream or sugar?”
“Just black, thank You,” she answered still tormenting diana. “How broken is she, David,” Francine asked, lifting and dropping the weights repeatedly,,and studying diana’s reaction.
“I think she has made fantastic strides Francine. Amazing really, when you take into consideration how short a time she has spent in training. Watch!
“Slave. Toilet!” I pointed to her litter.
I could read the embarrassment in diana’s eyes, and the way they pleaded to me to not make her do this, but she crawled into the smelly muddy dirt anyway. I know Francine didn’t pick up on the nuance in diana’s face, but I did. Squatting down on all fours, she peed, with her ass facing us, so we had a clear view of the golden stream.
“You’re not done, bitch,” Francine admonished her. “Finish your toilet. Modesty does not become a slave at all!”
Diana bent slightly at the waist and started to push. Her tight read hole began to blossom as a small turd was forced out and fell to the mud between her legs. She remained in the litter waiting for another command. Francine ignored her plight, and sampled the pie and sipped her coffee.
I followed suit, and started to eat as well. Francine leaned over to Me and whispered, so diana couldn’t hear, “I’m having a small gathering tonight, David celebrating my latest book release. It’s small, maybe twenty people r so, at Koenig’s Bavarian Haus. I would adore it if You could join us.”
“Thank you for the invitation, Francine, but regrettably, I must decline. I am keeping diana as an imprisoned slave for the weekend, and I don’t want to leave her unattended.”
“I’m sorry,” she jumped in quickly. “I musn’t have made myself clear. I would like You and Your slave to attend. She can be clothed, or naked, as You wish. Chained, shackled, unfettered, leashed, collared, whatever You prefer. Whatever You feel would be appropriate.”
I gave it a moment’s thought and then I agreed, but with one stipulation.
“Of course, David. What would You need?”
“My slave is not to be spoken to, or touched, except by you or Me. She is to be treated like a decoration, an inanimate object, a piece of art even. Nothing more.”
“I couldn’t agree more, David, but I don’t think I could completely control people touching her. Just as one might run their hand over an antique table to feel the finish, or someone might pick up an object to examine it more closely.”
“I see what you mean. That would be acceptable, I think. But I want absolutely no penetration, no sex. I want it to be like the scene in Story Of O at the end, when Sir Stephen takes her to the Commander’s party. I want diana to feel like O did. ”
“Agreed. How is 9:30?”
“Fine, thank You.
“This could provide some excellent training for her. I haven’t really displayed her. Just My sister and two of her friends and you so far.”
“This crowd will be perfect, then. None of them are lifestylers. Mostly just trendy elitist wannabe types. They’ll be stumbling over how they should react what response they should give to seeing a naked slave in their midst. It should be fun times for all!”
“9:30, then, and I’ll use your mask.
“Oh, I have one more thing to show you before you leave.
“Slave, come here,” I ordered.
Francine and I watched as diana negotiated her way through the messy litter and crawled to My feet. I stood up and asked, “Thirsty?”
I spied a tear form in her eye as she undid My jeans pulled the pants and shorts down, and sucked My cock into her mouth.
I started pissing right away, pleased with diana’s efforts to consume all of the elixir I was proving her with.
“I’m quite impressed< David,” Francine commented as she watched My slave drinking My piss. “Have You given any consideration to going 24/7 with her?”
“Yes I have Francine, as a matter of fact. I have given it quite some thought. I’m not too sure if she’s ready for the level of commitment that would require, though, but she’s definitely headed in that direction.”
Francine pulled her over sized shoulder nag up from the ground and set it in her lap. Rummaging through it, she took out a small lavender velvet box and passed it to Me, just as diana was finishing with her drink. “These would be much more appropriate foir this evening, I would think, than those fishing weights. They’re quite excellent for training, they help You keep tabs on Your slave, and are more fashionable as well.”
The box contained a small dainty pair of silver bells with clips to attach them to the piercings in diana’s nipples. “These are lovely, aren’t they, slave,” I asked as I held them in diana’s face for her to see.
“Yes, Sir, they are.
“Thank you, Ma’am, for your kindness and generosity,” she added politely.
“Wait here for Me,” I told diana and I walked Francine down the driveway to the street. We finalized our plans for the evening, and she left. I took diana to the dungeon as I wanted to freshen up the marks on her body before allowing her to get cleaned up for the night. I whipped the fronts and backs of her thighs with a riding crop, giving her a series of strips. I used a rattan cane on her ass, welting and discoloring the mounds. I used the strop again on her breasts. They were still very sore from the whipping they had received only eighteen hours previously, so it didn’t take much effort to get them fiery red and angry looking. Some of the welts had swollen and ruptured, seeping blood.
I chained diana to the base of the St. Andrew’s Cross again, and said, “Get some sleep. We’re going out tonight for a little celebration. A sort of parole from your imprisonment.”
A quizzical look on her face told me she hadn’t heard any of the plans Francine and I had concocted.
At seven, I returned for her and unlocked her chains. I sent her to the shower and told her to get cleaned up. I added that I expected her to be made up completely, in the most elegant and slutty manner. I expected her to be in the living room by 8:45, dressed like a whore, wearing her new bells, and iron shackles on her wrists and ankles.
I was already showered and ready to leave, having taken care of all that while diana slept. I was dressed casually in a pair of tan corduroy slacks ands a collared blue shirt, no tie, with dark brown leather cowboy boots. I knew diana would look out of place dressed as she would be, but that was of no consequence, as I had no intention of allowing her to remain dressed anyway.
She met Me promptly at 8:45, looking like a common street walker. A tight tube top, exposing her bare midriff, a short tight skirt, with the disk and chain peaking below the hem, stockings and garter belt, and high open toed black heels. She was heavily made up. Eye shadow and liner thickly applied, rich ruby red lipstick caked on. She reeked of perfume. I could see clearly the outline of her breast jewelry and the bells through the stretchy material of the tube top.
“You may walk on your feet, upright, for this evening, slave. Consider it a temporary pardon, a reprieve if you like, as a reward for your excellent behavior so far in your imprisonment weekend.
“At the party tonight, you are to speak to no one. Even if they speak directly to you, or ask you a question. You are only to respond to Francine or Me, and even then, only if we grant you express permission. Understood?”
“Yes, Master,” she answered, taken aback from My stating that Francine was going to be wherever it was that we were going. I helped her into the TR 3. I left the top up, it was chilly already.
We arrived at Koenig’s and pulled up to the valet parking booth. A young man, college age, came up to My door and waited as I climbed out. I handed him a $10 tip, as I said, “Please park it away from any cars. If it looks like it does now when I pick it up, I’ll double your tip.”
“Yessir,” he said with great enthusiasm. Then he jogged around the car to help diana get out. I know he got a show as she removed herself from the car, as the seats are only about twelve inches from the road. When she was standing, I sais, “Stand still, slave.”
She stood stock still. The valet took a step back.
Lifting the skimpy skirt, I clipped a chain dog leash to the chain that hung from her clit hood and lead her to the back door of the restaurant, which leads directly into the private dining room, where the affair was being held.
Diana was weeping softly as we strode across the brightly lit parking lot. She held her head up, though, and acted like it was natural for her to have a leash clipped to her clitoris. I felt enormous pride in her feat, but her resolve would soon be put to the toughest test.
To say she was a fish out of water or a turd in a punch bowl wouldn’t begin to describe how out of place she was. The instant we walked into the room, the room fell totally silent, like a heavy snow had blanketed a street and muted the sounds. No one spoke, but all eyes were upon her and her leash.
I took her to the center of a small dance floor and dropped the handle of the leash. “Undress yourself, slave, everything. Shoes as well..”
Her eyes opened wide not believing what she had heard. I met her gaze and held it for a few moments, before her head bowed in acquiescence. Ashamed, but with a modicum of pride, she pulled the tube top over her head, exposing her badly beaten breasts and their metal adornments. Then she stepped out of the short skirt, exposing the whip marks on her thighs and buttocks. The shoes, garter belt and stockings followed suit, and she was naked.
The ensemble’s eyes were transfixed, drinking in the image of the fifty year old woman, naked, on a leash, her body covered in what were, even to the most casual and naive observer, whip marks. Her breasts oozing a little blood and decorated with tiny silver bells in the pierced nipples. To say she was a fish out of water, or a turd in the punch bowl would not do justice to how out of place she was here. Silence blanketed the room like a heavy snow fall mutes the sounds of a city street.
No one spoke. No one pointed at her. Everything just stopped , frozen still. No one did anything, except stare in total disbelief of what they were witnessing. All eyes were fixed upon her, trying to comprehend the spectacle.
Francine walked over to us, quite casually, as if she were greeting an old friend, and welcomed Me to her party. No mention of diana was made at all. It was exactly as if she wasn’t even there. The guests were looking and Francine and me for clues as to how they should behave and react in this very awkward and completely unexpected situation.
“Everyone, this is David, a very dear friend of mine,” Francine announced.
“David, this is everyone. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble mixing in.” Then she left us. I started to head for the bar for a drink, and diana started to follow Me. I stopped her in her tracks, when I said, “Stay!”
For the longest time, people would give diana a wide berth as they walked around her to get to the bar, or the buffet. The looked her over surely, and they were obviously discussing her. Many of them never seemed to take their eyes from her.
One woman, who was more than a little drunk, walked straight up to diana, martini in hand, and glared at her for a moment. Then she strode purposefully over to where I was standing, and in a too loud, too inebriated voice, said, “Is this some kind of Story of O thing?”
Not taking the bait and rising to her sarcastic tone, I just answered, “No Madam, it isn’t. That was just a novel. A teasing piece of erotic fiction. This, however, is real. This is our life. This is My slave!”
The woman began to stammer, totally flustered, floored by My matter of fact response. I watched as her husband whisked her out of the restaurant, before she caused any more of a spectacle.
An hour after our arrival, I could see that diana was becoming noticeably fatigued, standing still on the dance floor. I spied a waiter and waved him over. Slipping a twenty dollar bill into his hand, I told him what I wanted. He seemed not the least put upon, and agreed tp carry out My request.
I watched as he bused a few tables, scraping the scrapes off the plates onto another plate. He poured some water from an abandoned water goblet into a used soup bowl and carried the plate and bowl out to where diana stood. He bent over and placed the pate and bowl at her feet. He then flipped the plate over, dumping the contents on the floor. Diana looked for Mem uncertain about what was going on. I nodded slightly, and she picked up My intentions. I watched, as did everyone else, as she got down on her hands and knees and pressed her face into the food scraps and began eating. The crowd was hushed, all eyes on her humiliation, eating off the floor like a common cur. Every now and again, diana would stop eating an lap at the water in the bowl. The tastes mustn’t have been very appealing, but with her meager diet today, she was happy just to get fed, and she finished every bit. Even to the extent of licking the floor clean when it was gone.
I mouthed the word ‘kneel’ to her, and she got on her knees, presentation position on the floor. It was a few minutes before any conversations started up again in the room. The show apparently over.
The people seemed to have become more relaxed about diana, by now, and more and more of them drifted over to inspect her more closely. Gentle fingers lifted her bells and listened to their delicate tinkling. A few people lifted the chain that hung from her clit hood, and looked at the disc. Tentative fingers probed the brand, feeling the coarse texture of the scar.
About 10:30, I thanked Francine for inviting Mer and picked up diana’ chain. She followed me out of the restaurant on her hands and knees. Silence followed our parting. The valet got My car quickly. He held diana’s door and watched her crawl in. I did not allow her to get dressed for the ride home.
“I am very proud of your performance tonight, slave. You have done well,” I said to her as we drove.
“Thank You, Master.”
“Tell Me your feelings”
“I’m totally confused, David,” she blurted out, not staying in character. “I could never have even imagined, in my wildest dreams, doing what I have done in the last day! I’ve peed and pooped outside, in the dirt, and in front of a woman I have never met! I have been beaten more harshly than I ever could have believed I could tolerate. I have been exposed in front of strangers, eaten off the floor like a dog.........” Her voice trailed off as she fought to control her breathing.
I waited a few minutes, knowing she was wrestling with something. Something big. “And.......?” I prompted her.
“When you were beating my chest last night, David, I wanted nothing more than for it to stop. To tell You to stop hurting me. I wanted You to look at what You had done to my tits and stop! But then, when You did stop, I was relieved, of course. But.....but I also wanted You to do it more. Even harder. I was happy, really happy that You had beaten me way beyond any limits we had before. I looked at my breasts last night as the candles burned out, and was actually proud that they were swollen and bruised. Proud!
“How can this be? Why? None of our friends do this. The neighbors.....my sisters....no one I know does this. I just keep asking myself the same question, ver and over again. Why do we do it? Why do I need to do it? It’s just.............I’m just so confused, David.”
“Diana, I have a question I must ask you, and I will only ask it once. I will never again ask you this question. How you answer the question will have no impact on how much I love you, or on our marriage. I will love you forever and always. No matter how you decide to answer.
“Is that understood?”
“Yes,” she said, not looking at Me.
“We have reached a crossroads in our relationship, diana. It is something I have seen coming for about a month now. We have reached a place from which we cannot retreat. We can only move forward. Or stop. There are no alternatives. No other options available to us. Either we enter into it one hundred percent, or we abandon it completely.
“Your confusion, I believe, stems from the fact that you are ready to become a 24/7 lifestyle slave. All ties to the vanilla world have to be broken. Eliminated completely. You need to experience total absolute servitude for the rest of our lives together. That is why you are confused. It is simply the fact that you are trying to live in both the vanilla world and in our D/s world at the same time.
You have reached the turning point. You must choose. We can stop what we are doing, and return to being the college professor and his wife. Husband and wife. Mother and Father. Never again experience of even dabble with S & M. Or, you can choose to become My slave. Full time. No more job. No more hiding what you are. What We are. Reduced to being a slave who is owned my her Master.
“Tonight, I am going to beat you again. I will again leave you chained in our dungeon. When I return to you tomorrow, you will tell me what you have chosen to do. The decision is yours. It has to be. Remember.....I will love you always and forever, no matter which choice you make.
When we got home, I sent her to the litter for her final toilet of the day. Then I bound her to the St. Andrew’s Cross and flogged her belly and thighs. I removed the bells from her nipples and took the strop to her breasts again. She screamed and twisted against her bonds. But she never, not even once, begged me to stop.
When I finally stopped, I removed the straps that held her to the cross, and she literally fell into My arms. I kissed her, and then chained her foot to the bottom of the cross. I left her alone in the darkened dungeon, facing perhaps the most monumental decision she had ever made, or would ever have to make in her life.
SOME CALL IT PLAY
By Charles E. Campbell
Chapter 4
The Book Club
After I had extracted diana’s commitment to total slavery and servitude our lives initially only changed a slight amount. She needed only another five months at her job in order to make her eligible for the next pay grade change for her pension, so retiring now wasn’t wise. I did not hold fast to a dress code for her to adhere to when it came to work. Skirts and dresses only, no slacks allowed. Stockings were required with garters or a garter belt. Panty hose were strictly forbidden, as was any underwear. Her feet were to be in heels at work, flats weren’t acceptable to me. I liked the way heels stretched her long lithe legs. Make-up was to be applied heavier than it had been prior to her slavery.
I was pleased at how well diana accepted all of this, at least outwardly. There was one co-worker of hers, a younger woman, with whom I knew she confided many things. I never asked her if she had told her friend of her new condition. Time will tell has long been a favorite motto of mine.
Being naked at home was a rule she seemed to acclimate to very quickly. She was top strip in the garage, and was not allowed to be clothed in the house, ever. I did allow one exception top this rule, and that was if one or both of our children was home visiting us. Our new lifestyle arrangements was not something either of us felt they needed to know about.
The first few times diana answered the door for a deliveryman or a salesman, she blushed quite profusely, but she never once complained, or even mentioned it to Me. She even seemed to really relish her nudity one Saturday morning when three Jehovah’s Witnesses showed up at our door in the bright morning sun, only to be greeted by a pierced and branded naked woman, who seemed all too eager to hear what they had to say. After a while, I joined her at the door to experience first hand their collective looks of bewilderment. With no cut whatsoever from Me, diana dropped impromptu to her knees, undid My jeans and started to suck Me off. The three religious missionaries, two women and a man, beat a hasty retreat. I’m sure we’re now at the head of some “Do Not Visit!” list with their sect.
It was at this time that I had begun to formulate the plans for My slave’s formal collaring ceremony. Where it was to be held, who would be in attendance, what rituals were to be observed....... I was in no rush. I wanted ti to be done right, and advanced planning would help to insure that it would be an event that would be a high watermark event for us both. In the meantime, I wanted to keep diana fresh and off her guard. Complacency was to be avoided.
A colleague of mine at school, an adjunct and a lesbian, hosted an informal unsanctioned book club whenever the spirit moved her. Women only. Lesbian and Bi only. Nothing on any calender somewhere, or listed in the University’s clubs and activities booklets. Basically what would happen is that one of the six women in the group would suggest a book, they would all read it, and then they would decide on a location where they would meet and discuss the book over dinner. Often nights they would end up paired off in a bedroom or on the most convenient carpet. Needless to say, this all too conservative university where we were employed, knew nothing of the existence of this group. Students were strictly forbidden. My colleague, Kim, wasn’t the leader of the book club, there wasn’t a leader really, but she suggested books and provided a meeting place more frequently than any other member, so I knew she would be the one to approach about adding a new “member” to a meeting.
I had suggest a book to Kim which I felt might “stimulate” the group in their discussion, and quite possibly afterwards as well. It was the French novel “L’Image,” by Jean deBerg.
Kim seemed receptive to My suggestions, especially when I told her that I would like for My wife to attend their book club meeting when they discussed that particular book. I added that diana would be amenable to “anything”, absolutely “anything” that Kim, or any of the other women present might like. I also informed her that even though diana didn’t meet the group’s requirement regarding sexual orientation or pe=references, she was totally obedient, and would avail herself in any manner whatsoever.
I told diana virtually nothing about the book club. I had handed her a copy of the book and said, “ I want you to read this book, slave, and be prepared to discuss it in three days time.”
“Yes, Master,” she replied, taking the book from me and scanning the cover.
At dinner the next night, diana said, “It’s similar to “The Story of O” in many ways, isn’t it?”
“There are many obvious similarities, of course,” I countered, “but there are many differences, both subtle and outright as well. Have you finished it yet?”
“Yes, Sir. I finished it at lunch. I want to read it a second time, though. Some sections were too intense to assimilate in one reading.”
“I have a friend at school,” I told her, “a colleague of Mine. She’s an adjunct in Women’s Studies. She runs a small impromptu book club. They are reading your book and will be meeting tomorrow night to discuss it. You are to attend the meeting and see what else you might derive from the book club members discussions.”
My slave looked at Me quizzically, but agreed, “As it pleases You, Sir.”
Friday night, I gave directions to diana on how to get to Kim’s house and sent her on her way, admonishing her to be open minded.
When diana arrived at the house, she walked up the flagstone path to the front door and knocked. A huge bull mastiff charged the door, tail wagging furiously, slobber flinging wildly as he shook his gargantuan head. “Down Samson,” a husky voice barked from within.
A short stocky woman appeared, wearing an oversized men’s flannel work shirt, baggy khakis, and tasseled loafers. “I’m Kim, you must be diana, David’s wife. “Please come in.”
Kim stepped aside, allowing diana to enter. She made no attempt to restrain the beast alongside her as he immediately shoved his wet snout up under diana’s skirt, burying his nose in her crotch. Before either woman had time to react, Samson’s thick tongue got in two laps on diana’s bald nether lips.
“Heel, Samson,” Kim commanded powerfully, grabbing hold of the studded leather collar that encircled his muscular neck, and jerking the dogs’ head out from between diana’s legs. “Sorry about that,” she offered half-heartedly. “He can’t help himself. He’s hetero!
“Come in, and join us. We’re still waiting for two of the ladies, but I’ll introduce you to the ones who are here.”
Diana followed Kim, who was dragging the dog along with her into the kitchen. It was a roomy country style kitchen that obviously belonged to a culinary afficionado. Heavy expensive stainless steel pots and skillets hung from a rack that was suspended from the ceiling over an island type work station. A large double door refrigerator was on one wall, with an institutional gas range and oven on the outside wall.
Three women were standing around the perimeter of the room, leaning against the sinks and cabinets. One woman was a but older than diana, her white hair worn tightly in a bun. She was wearing a dark Scottish tartan skirt and a pleated white blouse with a tightly buttoned collar. Knee high blue woolen socks and penny loafers finished her ensemble. She was introduced as Maggie. The other two women were much younger, early thirties tops. They were dressed similarly to each other in form fitting t shirts which showed off the outline and color of their small puffy nipples that capped their all but non-existent breasts. Bicycle shorts hugged their thin legs and accentuated their taut buns. They were both barefoot.
Christina and Sharon were their names, although diana quickly forgot which one was which.
“This is diana,” Kim announced. “She’ll be joining our discussion tonight. I believe she will be able to give a fresh and relevant perspective to out talk.”
At once diana’s eyes shot over to meet Kim’s as she realized what the implication of the introduction meant. A slight twinkle in Kim’s eyes finalized the discreet communication between them, and signaled that no further discourse would be required.
“Hi everyone,” two voices called out cheerily from the front door as Samson broke away from Kim and bounded joyously to greet the new arrivals. “Oh, Samson,” a wishful voice wined, “You always greet Donna first!”
As the two women joined the assemblage in the kitchen, one of the woman had hiked her skirt up in back, making it easier for Samson to invade her. “This dog really has the most heavenly tongue in the world, Kim, she said, as Samson lapped away. “I really would like to borrow him forma weekend sometime!”
All of the women laughed at the little joke together.
“Donna and Bea, this is diana. She is the wife of a friend of mine from school, and she’ll be sitting in on our discussion tonight.”
“Wife,” Bea mocked sarcastically?
“She’s much more than just a wife, Bea. Much, much, more, as I am sure she will be glad to tell us all later.
“Come on, now. Let’s all sit down and eat. I’m starved!”
The dinner was tasty. A chicken dish of Thai origin with herbs and served over a bed of rice. Fresh asparagus spears and a green salad, a simple white wine and pop overs rounded out the main course. Dessert was a scrumptious seven layer cake served with espresso coffee.
The dishes were piled neatly in the sink and the women retired to the living room to begin their discussion of “L”Image.
The group reconvened in the living room, which was hardly much more than a cozy den, filled with overstuffed chairs. The chairs had been prearranged into a circle, and each of the six women moved instantly to what seemed to be a pre-ordained position in the circle, leaving one chair vacant for their guest. Diana took her cue and sat on the old ladder back chair with a wooden seat, and no cushion.
“So that our guest may understand our rules,” Kim began, “I will go over them now.
“The first thing we do, is that we vote, by a show of hands, on who liked or who didn’t like the book. The ones who didn’t like it go first, explaining their objections, criticisms, reservations, what have you. They are followed by arguments from the ones who enjoyed it, stating their reasoning. After that, an open discussion follows, which can get pretty heated up at times, as I suspect tonight’s discussion will be.
“Any questions?”
“N....no, I don’t think so, thank you,” diana responded.
“Alright then,” Bea started, “Who the hell liked this piece of crap?”
Diana looked around the circle and saw Kim raise her hand, followed by Maggie and Donna. Diana meekly raised her hand in agreement.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Bea chided them.
“Foul,” Christina chirped.
“What do you mean, foul? You didn’t like it either,” Bea countered angrily.
“Regardless, no bias statements are allowed until after the vote is taken. You know the rules, Bea.”
“Alright. If it’ll make you feel better. I rephrase.....All those who liked this book, please raise your hand.” Once again, Kim, followed by Maggie, Donna, and diana all raised their hands.
“And who didn’t like it?” Bea shot her hand up the second she had asked the question and looked around the circle for some support. Only Sharon’s hand went up.
“Is anyone neutral about the book?”
Christina raised her hand alone.
“Fine. Donna, you go first. What didn’t you like about “L’Image?”
“My initial thoughts,” Dona began, “Were that it was just a rehash of ‘The Story If O.’ I really would have liked some explanation as to why Anne was the slave of Clare in the first place. How she got to where she was. Some in depth background would have helped me a lot It would have at least made me neutral about the book.”
“That’s all you can say?” Bea asked, stunned.
“Yes. I’m close to being neutral about it, maybe even enjoying it somewhat if there was more. Another fifty pages, a hundred even would have been good.”
“What about the fact that these books are always for straights, Donna? Why’d they have to ruin it by bringing in the male character of jean? Anne could have been shared with another woman just as well, if not better! Why a male? In O there is at least that whole chapter at Anne-Marie’s.
“I’m just sick of women always submitting to men,” Bea continued. “What was Anne’s motivation to submit. Wasn’t belonging to Clare enough?”
She paused for a moment, and then continued somewhat more calm, “I mean, while I can’t understand Anne’s need to be a submissive, I would think that Clare was taking care of those needs pretty well. The public humiliations, the beatings, the way she made Anne kneel and present herself. What purpose did Jean’s character serve?
“If I’m going to read a novel like this, just once I’d like it to remain female/female. I also agree that the author needs to spend a great deal more time explaining Anne’s background. Why she is submissive. What she gets in return from it. It seems to me to be a male fantasy thing more than a reality. I need to be made to understand Anne’s needs and what she derives from the tortures she endures.”
A long silence followed as everyone mulled over Bea’s words. It was Maggie who broke the silence. Standing up, she poured herself a second cup of espresso and said, “I’ll go next.
“I like the writing style best. The words painted crystal clear images in my mind as I read each page of the book. I read it all in one night, by the way, and re-read it over the next two days, slower. More deliberate. The book intentionally caused an ebbing and flowing of my emotions, first turning me on, then, slowly, easing me back down. I am forced to admit that some of the pages got a little slick that first night I read it.
“And that is, I guess, the reason why I liked it. It was never intended to be a great literary work. It was intended to stimulate the reader at a much more base and gutter level, and it succeeded handsomely. I have never indulged in Dominance and submission myself, but after reading ‘L’Image” I think I might like to experience it.”
Throughout the rest of the discussions, diana remained silent and sat still, trying to blend into the room and not be seen. Finally, Christina seemed to notice their guest and said, “I’d like to hear from our newcomer. Especially since she’s hetero. I would like to think she may have some different perspectives to present.”
Diana saw something register across Kim’s face that told her the evening was about to take a dramatic turn. “I liked the book,” diana offered, still seated in the uncomfortable chair. “I think that there are a lot of women who have the ‘damsel in distress’ or ‘captive princess’ sort of fantasy still with them from their childhood. This book takes all of that to a whole other level, of course........but it’s really the same thing.”
No one spoke, and the silence made diana nervous, so she continued, “The whole thing is really about trust. A level of trust, mutual trust, that I’m not sure can be attained in a straight relationship, whether it be gay or not.”
That last sentence perked a couple of ears to. “To give one’s self over like that,” she continued, almost arguing for her lifestyle, “To place yourself in their hands, completely. To take the responsibility of that trust as a Top is very difficult. In many ways it is harder than the act of surrendering yourself.”
Further silence ensued. Everyone, except Kim, had no idea what they had just heard. Then Kim said, “ diana, I think it time we share your secret with my friends, don’t you?
Diana gave no reply. Her face flushed slightly and she held her head down. She suddenly felt very warm.
“Stand up,” Kim commanded!
Diana stood slowly. “I wish to see you naked,” she ordered. Strip yourself, but leave your heels on!”
The slave only hesitated for a moment before she began to remove her clothing and stamnd naked before the group of women.
“Diana is a slave,” Kim explained as all eyes were on the naked woman in their midst. “She lives a life of servitude and submission. She has entered into this life willingly and of her own accord. It is what she wants. It is what her husband and Master wants.
“Her Master needs to exercise His will over her, and she needs to surrender her will to Him in exchange. As you can plainly see, she bears His brand on her leg. She has been pierced by Him and she still shows recent whip marks of His on her thighs, belly and breasts. All of these things are a constant source of pride for diana. She is the living embodiment of Anne in the novel, except that with diana, this is not the figment of some author’s imagination. For her it is real. It is what she is.”
Then, back to diana, she said, “Quite lovely indeed, but I know you have received far better training than your posture would indicate, haven’t you? I’m not sure if it is forgetfulness, or insolence on your part, but this is hardly the proper posture you should assume when presenting yourself formally.”
“Hands behind your head! Lace your fingers together!”
Diana complied instantly.
“Spread your legs apart..............Wider!
“Modesty is quite unbecoming in a slave.
“Pull your shoulders back. Sticks your tits out!
“It should make you feel proud to stand before us, naked under our gaze and scrutiny. You are much lovelier like this. Whenever you present yourself, it must always be done in such a manner as to draw your attention to your servitude and submissiveness, while at the same time, allowing an unobstructed view of your complete openness.”
Kim got up and strode around diana, adding, “you should derive a strong sense of pride at being placed on display like this, especially in front of total strangers, without your Master being present.”
Kim continued to slowly walk around the naked slave. Ever so lightly, she would touch her, or caress her. Gently she lifted diana’s breasts, feeling their heft. Then she patted te bald pussy, allowing her finger to drift into the furrow, and feeling the wetness that was already present.
“Clean me,” she ordered, holding her moist finger under diana’s nose. As ordered, diana licked and sucked on the digit lightly, tasting herself, and reveling in the humiliation of it.
“It is my intention to present you with a gift this evening, slave. A very profound and meaningful gift. I am going to present you with the gift of my marks upon your body. I am going to adorn and decorate your body with stripes and welts for your and Master David to enjoy. And, as I whip you, you will reciprocate, by giving me in return, your gift of pain as you receive my marks.
“Kneel!”
Diana fell to her knees at Kim’s feet.
“I will now teach you the position of the proper supplicant. You would do well to remember it. This is the proper position whenever you beg for forgiveness, or when you have been granted permission to ask a question.
“Spread your knees. Wider.....Wider! Arms straight up, over your head. Hands open. Arch your back, push your chest forward.”
Not a sound was heard from the other five women as they all sat there, transfixed. So complete was their collective astonishment as they witnessed the spectacle that was unfolding before their eyes.
“You will now beg me......., no, not beg......Implore me to whip you. Prove to me and my friends that you are worthy of receiving my marks upon your body. Tell us all how blessed it would make you feel. Tell us how proud it will make you if I consent to whip you, welt and stripe you, and quite possibly, even draw your blood.”
Diana paused a few seconds, gathering her thoughts. Then, with her head lowered in total submission, she simply stated, “There is nothing I could ever do to make myself worthy of your attentions and ministrations, Mistress. For I am not now, nor will I ever be elevated to the level of status that would require. I can only beg you to use me in any way you see fit, for your enjoyment, and for your honored guests. I wish you to know that I will endeavor to do all that I can to accept that which is given me, and entertain all of you however you may wish. My sole purpose is to serve. To be used for the enjoyment of others. It is only through that service that I can truly serve my Master.
“I implore you, on my knees before you all, to please be as severe with me as you desire. Use me as you wish. I ask only one thing, Mistress, if I may be so bold?”
“And what might that be, cunt?”
“I only ask that you please ignore my screams, my cries for mercy. Exact your pleasure as each of you pleases, but give no consideration to me.”
“Ladies,” Kim announced, “If any of you might like to inspect our evening’s entertainment before we proceed.....?”
Christina got up first from behind diana. She slid her hand down the crevice of diana’s buttocks and shoved a finger into each of the two orifices at the same time, roughly forcing her fingers deeply into the slave and twisting them around inside of her. A second finger was added into each hole on a forward push, eliciting a high pitched chirp from the throat of the startled slave.
Maggie unceremoniously got up and left them all in the living room. All eyes followed her as she made her hasty exit, but no one questioned where she was going.
Bea seemed most fascinated by the brand on diana’s leg. Her fingers timidly explored the deeply burned scar, feeling the depth and rough texture. Her inspection completed, she then began tugging on the nipple rings, watching the holes as they distorted from the jewelry being pulled.
Kim sat back and watched it all for a few minutes. Then Maggie returned with a small bundle of forsythia branches in her hand. Diana’s eyes widened as she recognized the switches and what they would soon be used for.
“Does anyone have a plausible suggestion as to how we can equitably enjoy our slave,” Kim inquired of the group? Shall we draw straws, or should we all just take turns?”
Christina suggested, “I think you should go first, Kim. After all, you’re the person responsible for her being here with us tonight. We could all take turns after you have a go of her.”
“Thank you for your courteous offer, Chris, but I should like to be last, actually. I have something very special in mind for her, and I think that by the very nature of it, it must be the last thing before we send her home to her Owner.”
All this time, diana knelt there, stock still, listening, waiting. She felt a bead of perspiration slowly make it’s way from her right armpit and work it’s way down the outside of her chest. She worked hard to focus her mind on the drop’s progress, rather than on who would be first with her.
It turned out to be Donna. “Open your eyes and look into mine, cunt!” she barked.
Diana looked up into the twin steel blue eyes. “I’m going to whip those titties of yours, bitch,” she proclaimed. Ask me to whip your titties!”
“If it would please you, Mistress, please whip my breasts. It would be an honor to bear your marks.”
Donna began by slapping diana’s breasts with her hands. Left, right, left right, developing a steady rhythm, slapping the orbs each in turn, and watching as they bounced inward with each blow.
The pale white flesh quickly turned pink as the slapping continued unabated, and began to increase in severity. Diana felt the burning sting of the onslaught, but only moaned softly in response.
Donna stopped slapping and reached down to undo the thick leather belt that encircled her tiny waist at the top of her short skirt. She made a ceremony out of holding it up in front of diana’s eyes as she doubled it over and slapped it against her own palm. Donna said nothing. She just began to use the belt on the same area of each breast that she had assaulted with her hand only a few moments before. The belt, however, drew an immediate cry of pain from the kneeling slave. Donna recoiled at the scream, and stopped whipping her.
“Please, if I may speak, Mistress,” diana said softly. “Please show no concern for me. Treat my cries as a Hymn of praise to you for your consideration and for giving me such lavish attention. Pay me no heed. Allow me to present you with the gift of my pain.”
Donna’s face registered total disbelief, but she raised the belt and brought it down on diana’s chest even harder than before, seemingly outraged by the slave’s comments. Diana screamed at the top of her lungs. The belt fell again and again, Donna seemed to by hypnotized by the damage she was bringing to the soft flesh. Dark red and purple blotches and welts covered the skin as diana fought to kneel in place
A thick tangle of bruises and welts covered the slave’s breasts, almost no pale white skin remained. Tears poured freely from her eyes as she screamed anew with each vicious stroke of the leather heavy belt. Finally, Donna seemed to have had enough, and dropping the belt at her feet, she panted, “Who’s next?”
Maggie stood up, holding her forsythia branches. “I’ll need some help here. I want her on her belly across the coffee table. Bea, please?”
The two woman helped diana get up and lead her to the table. They then helped her lay down on her freshly beaten breasts. Her head hung over the edge of the table and they pulled her arms and legs apart, making her lie obscenely spread eagle. Maggie removed her white blouse, revealing a breastless chest covered in surgical scars, the obvious and painful reminders of two radical mastectomies.
Maggie selected a branch, feeling it’s suppleness, and then she began to relentlessly whip diana across her shoulder blades. Each stroke left a red mark on contact. White hot flames of fire tore through diana as she screamed with each blow. The switch didn’t last too long in the furious barrage, and was splintered. Maggie indifferently picked up two branches and simply started again. When those two were ruined as well, she picked up the remaining six switches and started on diana’s back. And thighs. She beat the slave so hard that she had to call Christina and Kim over top help her friends hold diana’s arms and legs, limiting their range of motion. The backs of her thighs were bleeding, with many splinters imbedded in the torn skin.
Sharon was beckoned by the wide spread legs. The shaved holes inviting her imagination to run wild. She inserted one of the empty wine bottles into diana’s pussy, fucking her with it until she was moaning in pleasure. Then she removed it, happy with it’s slick wet coating, and shoved it up diana’s ass as far as it would go. A shriek from diana’s startled lips told Sharon that the slave was not enjoying the anal intrusion.
As Sharon continued the rape of diana’s ass with the wine bottle, Christina was busy as well. Having stripped herself naked, she started to buckle the leather harness of a strap on. The three inch thick ten inch long black runner phallus firmly protruding from her groin, Christina knelt in front of diana and slowly introduced it into her mouth. “Get it good and wet, cunt. We wouldn’t want it to tear at your insides too much,” she said mockingly.
Diana tried her best to comply, working hard to cover the huge surface with as much saliva as she could muster. Christina started thrusting her hips forward, ramming the rubber dick to the back of diana’s throat, causing her to choke and retch, coating it with a thick tan colored bile. Sharon pulled the wine bottle out, and switched places with Christina, who plunged the entire ten inches deep into diana’s bowels in one violent push. Bea squatted in front of the slave and said, “Get me off, slut!”
The slave began lapping at the bald slit that had been pushed into her face. The rhythmic thrusts from Christina’s strap on forced diana’s face into the wet pussy as her tongue vigorously sought to bring to pleasure. It didn’t take long before Bea was clutching diana’s head by her hair and holding it against her mound to get the fullest treatment from the eagerly probing tongue.
When Bea was sated, the assaults ended at both ends of the slave at the same time.
“My turn, now, the hostess proclaimed. “Here Samson!”
The beast required no prodding at all, seeming to sense what was expected from him, as he began exploring the wet holes at the juncture of diana’s wide spread legs, which she now held open herself.
Bea allowed the canine to continue lapping away long past the point of diana’s initial humiliation. Then she pulled the dog away by his collar and had him place his meaty front paws on diana’s back, bringing his cock to her face. The swollen knot popped out, and diana felt it’s blood red wet thickness enter in through her lips. She closed her eyes and sucked the dog as he fucked her mouth. In less than ten seconds, he shot his vile load into her mouth, which she knew she was required to swallow.
Christina and Donna helped diana get up off the coiffee table. Althougn most of the bleeding had stopped and clots dotted the backs of her thighs, there were still many welts that blood was seeping from. Her breasts were grotesquely swollen and bruised, turning dark shades of purples and reds, with the outline of the belt clearly visible in many places.
Kim put a towel down on the couch and diana sat down deliberately, slowly. Obviously very fatigued from her ordeal. “Diana,” Bea asked softly, sitting next to her and gently stroking the slave’s hair, “Why do you do this? It’s almost like you are living the life that Anne chose in ‘L’Image’?”
Her head remaining down, diana responded, “I’ve asked myself that same question countless times since my Husband and I embarked on this journey together. In all sincerity and truth, Ma’am, I really have no idea what it is that drives me to do this. I really don’t. But I also recognize that it is a strong need that I have. That David has, and that we both have together as a couple, as partners. It fulfills us. Completes us. It binds us closer together than I ever would have believed possible. I don’t wish to sound insolent, but I don’t think any of you can understand, and please believe me when I say that it has nothing what so ever to do with your sexual orientation. I know gay and lesbian couples who live as Master David and I do, and I know that they also understand what we share. It’s just that I can’t see how anyone, gay or straight, could possibly fathom what we derive as partners in a D/s lifestyle relationship.
“And I must stress the use of the word ‘partners’. David and I have both entered into this lifestyle freely. Equally. We lived as a regular married couple for a great many years before we made this commitment to ourselves and to each other. There can be no turning back now. This is who we are.
“I know that I am to undergo a formal collaring ceremony fairly soon. At this ceremony, I will be publically renouncing any claims I have over anything, including myself. I will be giving myself up to Master David to become His slave. His property. I will no longer have any possessions at all. Even my body will become His to do with as He wishes. For His pleasure alone. His needs.
“It will be the happiest day of my life when I am permitted to present myself to Him. I will then become totally free.”
No one offered a response. They all sat staring at her in silence for a few minutes, and then, their hostess said, “I guess we’ve pretty much covered tonight’s book. Thank you all for coming.”
As a group, they all left together, chatting quietly as the walked down the path to their cars. Only Kim and diana remained. They kissed and hugged on the couch and slowly enjoyed each other, taking and giving pleasure in return. Then Kim sent My slave home to me, alone and naked in the car.
SOME CALL IT PLAY
By: Charles E. Campbell
Chapter 5
A SATURDAY AFTERNOON IN MASSACHUSETTS
My plans for the formal collaring ceremony of My slave were progressing nicely. I was in no hurry, preferring instead for everything to be done right. It wasn’t a constant topic between diana and Me, but every so often she would ask about it. Vague hints really, not direct questions. My slave was well aware that everything was now based upon My decisions. She no longer had any say at all in anything. She had relinquished all of that when she agreed to formally give herself over to Me. She accepted this, and understood it, but that didn’t make it any easier for her to live with her natural insatiable curiosity.
One evening, we were in the den after dinner. I was seated in My recliner, relaxing while watching the television, diana was naked, as she is required to be, and on her knees between my legs, fellating Me. In our entire marriage, I had never been at all satisfied with diana’s oral skills. Her abilities were always mediocre, at best. I truly believe that no woman really likes sucking a man’s cock. They do it for reasons like feeling an obligation to, or because they assume they must because we enjoy it. Her lack of enthusiasm was always evident in her performance. I had her watch porn movies years ago, in hopes of her learning and improving, but she never really picked up anything, so it was relegated to a foreplay activity mostly.
This is all well and good for the typical bored married couple. But for a Master and slave, this was totally unacceptable, and could not be tolerated. It is an absolute requirement that a proper slave must be a top notch fellatrix. I was being remiss in her training by allowing her shoddy skills to continue unabated. It was for this reason that she was between My legs that evening, learning how to properly worship Me. This was an evening ritual which we had been carrying on now every night for a few weeks. She was not allowed the use of her hands, they were cuffed behind her back. We had worked up from fifteen minutes, our initial starting point, to forty-five minutes. My goal for her was one hour of her ministrations before rewarding her with My seed.
Our regimen seemed to be working. Her endurance had improved immensely, and her technique was vastly improved from what it had once been, although there was still much more she needed to learn. There was, of course, no need for reciprocity on My part. Why should there be? This was simply a Master providing much needed requisite formal training to His slave in an area in which she was obviously quiet deficient. She, in turn, was grateful for My attention to her deficits and was more than adequately rewarded at the end of each training session by My allowing her to be the receptacle for My sperm, which she was required to hold it in her mouth, savoring the taste, relishing the gift, until I gave her permission to consume it.
When the nightly training session was complete, she was free to do as she pleased. Some nights she stayed at my feet and watched the television with me, while other nights she might curl up on the couch and read. Her legs always apart, her pussy always open for me. She is always free to speak in the evening without having to wait to be spoken to. This night, she glanced over the top of her book and said, “Master, may I inquire as to how Your plans are coming along?”
I turned from the flickering images on the screen and said, “Yes, you may. As a matter of fact, the invitations have arrived. Would you like to see one?”
“Oh yes, please! May I?”
“Wait here,” I said as I got up from the chair. A package had arrived at My campus office the day before from the printer and I had hidden it in the bottom drawer of My dresser. Retrieving the package, I returned to the den, and my anxious slave.
I opened the package and handed her one of the invitations. I could see she was impressed by the weight of the paper, a very heavy stock. They appeared to be very expensive wedding invitations, in fact, that was what they were originally designed to be. An envelope for an address held the formal invitation, a smaller envelope which contained the RSVP card and envelope, directions to the location of the event, dress requirements and entre options.
Diana read the invitation out loud, softly. “Master David and His slave girl diana proudly request the Honor of Your presence at the Formal Collaring Ceremony of slave diana. Saturday August fourteenth, Two Thousand Eight. 8:00PM Reception immediately following. The Cloisters, Sandy Dune Road, East Hampton, New York.”
she fell silent, and just stared at the invitation, soaking in it’s significance. “This is not unlike a wedding, is it?” she offered, half to herself.
“There are a number of similarities,” I concurred.
“But this is more, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Much more.”
“Yes.”
“More of everything.”
“Yes.”
Again she fell silent, deep in her thoughts. “Is there anything I can do to help.” she offered?
“When the time comes, yes. I will tell you when, as I will tell you what is expected from you. Just not yet, it’s too soon.
“In the meantime, you will be allowed to address the invitations. I will provide you with the list of My guests. If there is anyone who is not on My list that you wish to have in attendance, let me know and I will consider them. We will both be signing each invitation with our initials. I will use an upper case ‘D’, while you will employ the lower case ‘d.’ I will sign mine in black ink. You will sign yours with blood which you will draw from your breast. You will dip the needle into your breast in a different location for each invitation.”
Her head dropped as she obediently replied, “Yes, Master.”
When I left for work the following morning, her day off, I left the stack of invitations and the list of guests out on the kitchen table with a short note, “You may start addressing these.”
Returning home at 3:30, I found her seated at the kitchen table, working on the invitations. Both of her breasts dotted by the holes where she had drawn her own blood to ink her initial on the cards. Dried blood had formed on some of the deeper holes, and rivulets had caked over from a few as well. The stack of invitations was finished. That night, as diana knelt between My legs, working on her technique, I methodically picked off the scabs that had formed on her breasts, causing fresh blood to appear on several of the holes, and giving me the idea of what would surely be the highlight of the collaring ceremony.
It was diana’s responsibility to keep track of the replies to our invitation as they came in. One Saturday, as we were eating a light lunch at a small café on the Hudson River, diana volunteered, “There’s someone I would like to invite to the collaring, if I may.”
“And who might that be,” I asked, piqued by her wanting to bring along someone she knew.
“Stacy. A friend of mine from work.”
“And why would you want her to be there?”
“Well,...........she knows of our D/s relationship. I’ve told her most everything. She is a very liberated woman, so she isn’t into what I am doing at all. But, at the same time, she is very supportive of my making free choices with my life, and she is excited for me taking this step, because she knows how much it means to me to do it.”
“Is she married?”
“Widowed. About five years now. A few years younger than we are.”
“If you would like to invite her, you have My permission.”
“Thank you.”
“However, I want you to write her entire invitation out in your breast blood and I want you to hand deliver it to her. No mailing it. If she doesn’t ask about the blood, you are to explain it to her anyway. If she still wishes to attend, then she is more than welcome.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“You’re welcome. Now, put your hand up your skirt and play with yourself, but no cumming until I give you permission.”
Her head quickly scanned the outdoor dining area to assess the situation. A few couples occupied tables that weren’t close to us, but there was a family seated right behind diana, a husband and wife and their three young children. Her face blanched when she saw them and she looking at me, pleading with her eyes. I stared her down, and watched with pride as she slowly dropped her right arm to her lap, and slid her hand between her legs.
I let her diddle herself for a few minutes before ordering her to remove her hand and smell her fingers. Even outdoors, I could smell the sweet musky aroma of her aroused state. “Clean your fingers and start again,” I directed her.
She sucked her fingers clean, one at a time and then continued playing with herself. I could see the familiar glazed look spread across her eyes as she was lost in the rapidly building sensations. “Cum for Me, My pet,” I commanded.
She started shaking as she fought to control the moans that threatened to give her away. When it had ebbed, I looked at her questioningly, until she offered, “Thank You, Master, for allowing Your slave to cum for You.” Then she licked her fingers clean.
Throughout this time, I had been keeping My sister, Marie, abreast of everything, from the plans for the collaring ceremony, to My goal of creating a world class fellatrix in diana. It was her fertile mind that came up with the idea of exposing diana to her oral duties with strangers. I, of course, voiced My immediate concern for her safety, both from disease, and physically.
Marie, had already taken My concerns into consideration, however, and still she was able to create a plan that would not only resolve them, but it would, at the same time, enhance diana’s training. Marie took it upon herself to set it all up, so I didn’t have anything to do but sit back and allow it to happen.
It was a Saturday afternoon. The lazy kind that diana and I cherish so much. We had spent the day antiquing in the Berkshires of western Massachusetts, leisurely driving through the small towns and hamlets in My TR3, with the top down. We would stop whenever either of us spotted a shop that caught our eye, and piqued our interest. Diana was dressed in a tight fitting skimpy tank top, over a light peasant skirt, sandals adorning her feet, showing off her recent pedicure. As required, she was naked underneath, sitting on the leather seat with her skirt raised, allowing My right hand free access between her wide spread legs.
We took lunch in a tiny café in Stockbridge, enjoying the sights of small town New England personified. About 3:00, we headed east. I had memorized the directions Marie had provided Me with. Diana, as she was want to do on days like this, never questioned where we might be heading.
I located the road, if you wanted to be really generous and call it a road. We were about thirty minutes east of Stockbridge. It was more a pair of slightly worn ruts really, than a road. Easing into a dense wooded area. Slowly, so as not to harm the under carriage of the low slung roadster, I wended My way up the road until we were out of eyesight from the tow lane state road we had just traveled. “Get out, slave,” I ordered, stopping the car and setting the parking brake. Diana complied, nervous shock showing on her face.
“Strip, but leave your sandals on.”
Instinctively, diana’s head whipped around scanning the trees to see if we were actually alone. Then she complied with My order. I passed a canvas tote to her wan watched as she folded and placed her clothes in it. She handed the tote back to Me and I casually tossed it onto the passenger’s seat.
Bright streams of afternoon sunlight, shown through breaks in the leaves illuminating her naked skin. I knew she wanted nothing more than to try to cover herself, her feelings of defenselessness and exposure consuming her.
“You are to walk up this road,” I said, “and keeping walking until you reach a clearing. Once you get into the center of the clearing, you will wait there. You are forbidden to try and hide or conceal yourself in any fashion. You will do whatever you are told.
“Do you understand?”
I knew her mind was in a frenzy with a thousand questions she wanted to ask Me, but her training overruled them, and trusting Me, she answered, “Yes, Master.”
“Then go!”
Turning heel, she started up the rutted road. About ten yards up the road, I called out to her, “Take off the sandals as well. You are allowed nothing to interfere with your nakedness.”
Stooping down, she undid the straps and left the sandals, proceeding back down the road and out of My sight. My initial plans included handcuffing her with her hands behind her back, but a circumspect thought made me realize that if she fell, she would have no way to protect her face. As it was, she tripped and stumbled three times on her trek, stubbing a toe, which we later learned she broke, and scraping her knees and hands. I retrieved her sandals, got back in the car, and went back to Stockbridge. I had a few hours to kill, and I figured I might as well enjoy Myself with a cold beer or two.
What I know about the events that enfolded in the clearing came to Me from Marie, who was, in fact, present throughout the whole time, although she was well hidden from the eyes of all concerned, and never revealed her presence to anyone.
The farther up the road diana walked, the less it resembled a road. The ruts became more overgrown with live growth, grass saplings, wild rhododendron, as well as numerous downed trees. About a quarter mile in, large rocks from a disintegrating ancient stone wall barred the way to anything other than someone on foot. Diana had to deliberately wend her way through the stones so as to avoid injury. Just as the last remnants of the road had all but disappeared, diana spotted the clearing ahead of her, off to her left.
Marie watched diana approach the clearing from her hiding place behind a dense thicket of ferns. The area was about fifteen yards long and twenty yards wide, off to one side of the road. The remains of an old hunting cabin had collapsed on the old stone foundation. The rotting wood haphazardly heaped where it fell years before. Wild rhododendron and blackberry dotted the area, with patches of tall yellowed grass poking out in large clumps.
As ordered, diana walked to the approximate center of the clearing and looked around. During her walk she had almost forgotten her naked state, but now, in the hot sun, exposed, she quickly became aware of it, and she covered her pussy with one hand, while she covered her breasts with her other. Remembering My admonishment, she slowly uncovered herself, and stood still. Her arms at her sides, eyes scanning the tree line. Waiting...............for............?
Marie thought it was diana’s eyes that caught the motion rather than hearing anything, but nevertheless, diana turned and saw a group of people nearing walked down the road from the opposite direction she had come in from. It almost resembled a procession of sorts. Leading it were two naked women, each carrying a riding crop. Both women were bald, and bore no body hair at all. Trailing behind them, single file, were six men, two black, four white, also naked. Their hands cuffed behind them. As the group came into the clearing, diana could see that all of the men were held together by a chain which was locked to thick chrome rings set in soft black leather sheaths that completely encased their cocks and balls. The chain ran between their legs from one man to the next, about four feet from man to man. Following behind, a good distance behind, were two women dressed in tight black leather shorts, thigh high black leather boots, and unbuttoned black leather vests, which allowed a clear view of their unfettered breasts as they walked into the clearing. One of them had long dark red hair, over which she wore a black leather biker cap, while the other wore her bottle blond hair cut very short, a man’s buzz cut really, which didn’t cover the bright red and blue tattoo she had on the side of her head
The women in front lead the men right up to diana and positioned them so that they stood in a tight circle, about six feet in diameter, front to back, around her. At this proximity, diana could see the sheen of sweat that covered each of the men from their walk. All of the men had no genital hair. They seemed to range in age from the youngest being about forty, to the eldest being around sixty. Each bore an identical brand on their pubic area, just above the leather sheath.
No one spoke. The men looked at the ground in front of them, not at diana. The two bald women had taken their places behind the circle on opposite sides. The two women in leather took their time drinking in the sight. They walked around the circle together, slowly, then stopped. The blond said, “ rebecca, get the chain set in front of them, and ashley, remove the sheaths.”
Nodding, they replied in unison, Yes, Mistress Helga.”
Carefully stepping over the chain that connected the male slaves, the two female slaves set about their assigned tasks, as diana watched. Marie later told Me that diana had a stupefied expression the entire time, total disbelief at what she was seeing. The two women worked from opposite sides of the circle, with ashley kneeling in front of the slaves to unlock their sheath, while rebecca would help steady them as they stepped over the chain with one leg, leaving the chain connecting them all in front. As the sheaths came off, diana could see that the chains were not locked to the sheaths, but rather to a large thick ring set deeply in a Guiche piercing. Each of the males also had scrotal ladder piercings, with at least eight rings in each, as well as reverse Prince Albert piercings with thick rings that glistened in the sunlight.
None of the males had erections, their flaccid cocks hung down as if they were awaiting a physical examination. A naked female on their midst had seemingly no effect.
“So, ssssslaaaaave diana,” the woman with the tattoo mocked, “Your technique at sucking cock has been found to be lacking, I am told. Such a simple task, really, and I guess you’re too stupid to be able to master it. Madam Francine and I am here today to correct your ways. When we’re through with you, you should be well on your way to being a world class mouth whore.
“Before We begin, I want you to fully understand the significance and implications of sucking your Master’s cock, or for that matter, anyone’s cock He wishes you to suck. This is the most basic form of worship. You, on your knees, before your Master, accepting His manhood into your mouth. Your mouth, the entrance into your body for nourishment and sustenance. The source of your spoken thoughts.
“It is important for you to understand,” Madam Francine chimed in, “That this isn’t just about making your Master cum. It’s so much more than that, in fact the actual finale pales in comparison. This is about adoration, worship, and most of all, His pleasure.”
Helga stepped over the chain between two male slaves and stood next to diana. “You are going to suck the cock of each of our slaves, making each one cum. When you have finished with the last one, you will begin again, only this time, you will be instructed on the methods that will improve your techniques, and most importantly, your Master’s pleasure.
“You may start with this one,” Helga said, lifting the soft cock by the steel ring in the end.
Kneeling down at the slave’s feet, diana reached up slowly to hold the soft cock. Instantly, Helga slapped her hand away. “What are you doing? A slave should never touch a man unless expressly ordered to. Your mouth, cunt, and ass are the only parts of a slave body which should come in contact with a Master’s cock.
“Just use your mouth. In fact, fold your arms behind your back and grab your elbows.”
She did as she was told, then, leaning closer, diana opened her mouth and took the waiting cock inside. The sensation of the hard steel ring brushing over her lips was strange to her, and made her all the more aware of keeping her teeth back. She gave it her best, and listened as Helga made clucking sounds and said, “My God, Francine. She is really terrible. It’s almost as if she’s never been on her knees in her entire life!”
Diana felt her face flush with embarrassment. There she was, in the middle of the woods, in a different state, naked, sucking the penis of a naked man, a total stranger, in front of five other naked men, two naked women, and two other women. None of whom she had ever met!
“She has about as much technique as a prom date giving obligatory head to a sixteen year old,” Francine concurred, stepping closer so as to be able to better watch diana’s oral skills. “She’ll never get Alfred off,” she laughed.
“Not unless we whip him while she’s blowing him!” Helga joked.
Tears were streaming down diana’s face. Never in her life had she ever felt so ashamed. Humiliated. She kept on doing the best she knew how, and was finally, after five minutes or better, rewarded with a grunt from the slave, and copious spurts of hot semen filling her mouth. She tried as hard as she could to swallow it all, but she had never encountered so much spunk before, and a lot of it seeped from the corners of her mouth.
“Christ, she can’t even swallow properly,” Helga remarked.
Francine pushed diana over onto the ground and said, next cock, bitch. Wanting nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die, diana moved to the next slave in the ring, a tall black man, with a very long thick member. Remembering what she had done before, she folded her arms behind her back and sucked the limp meat into her mouth. Even soft, it was so thick she had to open her mouth wider to accept it. It began to expand right away, becoming thicker and longer. Diana’s natural impulse was to pull back, but Helga placed her hand at the back of diana’s head and forced it forward, making the lengthening cock push to the back of the slave’s throat.
This slave was really horny, and in a matter of seconds, he had grown into his almost two inch thick full nine inches. Helga was unrelenting behind diana, forcing her to keep as much of the massive meat in the back of her throat as she could. Retching, gagging, vomiting around the thick pole, her breasts covered in slimy bile and mucous, diana was crying aloud under the oral onslaught.
“Didn’t think she could take it down her throat,” Helga remarked, watching diana suffer.
“Would have been totally surprised if she could, Helga,” Francine agreed. “Just another area she’s lacking in. Although,............” she added, two fingers deeply probing diana’s pussy, “Judging by her wetness, I’d say she’s enjoying herself quite a bit.” Francine diddled the slick lips for a few minutes, but stopped when She sensed diana might be nearing release.
The black meat was so far down diana’s throat, that she didn’t even have to think about swallowing it, it just shot down the back, although much of it bubbled out of her nose as her mouth was blocked.
Helga stopped pushing diana’s head, and the slave collapsed to the ground. “Let’s go, bitch, that’s only two. You’ve got four more to go before We even begin your training.
The broken slave crawled to the next waiting cock. This one belonged to Alfred, the oldest one there. It was a shriveled stump compared to what she had just sucked, and no matter how much she tried, it never even began to stiffen. After ten minutes of response less sucking, Francine ordered ashley to whip Alfred. It only took three or four hard strokes across his back and his little solider was at attention. The whip continued to fall, and diana was rewarded with a small dose of watery cum.
She made her way the rest of the way around the circle, and by the time she was finished, diana was a mess, covered in cum, vomit, bile and mucous. Dirt, grass, and dried leaves stuck to her body as she lay on the ground degraded and spent.
“This is all but hopeless, Helga,” Francine quipped. “This slave would need at least two weeks with us to really develop into a mouth whore of any value.”
“This is true, My dear. This is true. However, all we’ve been asked to do is improve on her lack of skills, and that shouldn’t be too difficult. After all,.....she hasn’t any skills!”
The two Dom’s looked at each other and burst out laughing. Diana started to cry, so deeply hurt by the goings on.
“Oh look,” Francine pointed, “a whore slave with feelings!”
That made them both laugh all the louder as they watched diana sobbing on the ground.
“Get the fuck back up on your God damn knees, cunt. And quit your fuckin’ sob act. You’re going to learn to suck cock properly, and the lessons begin now.
“We’ll start again with Jonathan here,” she announced slapping his cock back and forth a number of times and making it dance. “ We’ll let rebecca begin your lessons.” Jonathan didn’t flinch as she slapped his cock around, quite hard a few times as well. In fact, diana thought to herself, he seemed to revel in the attention he was receiving from his Mistress.
The bald slave stepped into the circle and knelt alongside diana, her face mere inches from the slave’s cock. “There are really only two things you must remember,” she instructed, never taking her eyes from the drop of pre-cum seeping from the slit. “But they are most important, and you have to focus on them and keep fixating on them whenever you perform this act.
“First, what you are being allowed to do is the highest privilege a Master can give you, ever. Especially if He is allowing others to watch. And if He decides to bless you with His offering, you must treat it with the utmost sanctity and respect.
“Second, this is all about His pleasure. It is not for you that He does this, it is for Him only, which is, of course, how it should be. Him taking His pleasure and you giving it to Him. Pay attention to what His cock is doing, to any sounds He makes, tension in His body when you do something different. Read Him. If He wants a quickie, concentrate just on the things that are intense. If it’s a prolonged session, take your time and vary the intensity. Build Him up, then let H im co me down. Up and down. Up and down. Each time bringing Him a little closer, and not taking Him as far away. Basically, you must concentrate on what you are doing. Stay focused to the task and how pleased you are to be allowed to worship Him at His feet.
“Now watch. What I have found works best is to think of it like you’re eating a soft ice cream cone on a particularly hot day, licking frantically to keep any from melting on staining your shirt. Keep your tongue moving like that the entire time. Use as much saliva as you can gather, the wetter the better and keep sucking, like sipping constantly through a straw. Never stop sucking.’
Rebecca opened her mouth and sucked the entire penis in with a loud slurping sound. Then she didn’t move. Rather, she caressed him with her tongue, all around the shaft, enjoying the sensation of it growing and crowding her mouth. When she pulled away, a vacuum popping sound was made, and he was at his full six inches, and very pink.
“Oh, one more thing,”rebecca added, “This spot under here, just past the ring in the glans, it’s called the frenulum, and it is the most sensitive spot on the penis.
“Now you try it.”
Diana looked at the saliva covered pole and emulated what she had seen, sucking it deeply in, and all the while swirling her tongue around it. Her head bobbing, diana kept up the pressure sucking steadily while she licked the frenulum with the widest part of her tongue. Right away she noticed how much harder this cock was than when she first sucked it. A quick burst of pride made her redouble her efforts, concentrating on pleasuring the slave. She kept trying to add saliva to the rigid flesh as she sucked and licked and noticed his body stiffen whenever her tongue hiot a certain spot on the underside just below the cap. Concentrating her efforts there, she was quickly rewarded by a burst of hot thick semen, which she was careful to not lose any, swallowing it all.
“Not remarkable, or even noteworthy,” Helga dismissed the performance.
“Although it is markedly improved from her lackluster first try, wouldn’t you have to agree,” Francine countered?
“I’ll concede that, dear, but she has a long way to go.
“Shaun is next, bitch, I want some energy while you pleasure his big black cock!”
As diana positioned herself and got ready to start, rebecca admonished her, “A different technique is need here, slave. Unless you’ve learned the art of deep throating, you’ll never get even half of him into your mouth. Concentrate just on the head, slit and that sensitive frenulum. Another thing you can try to make him relax and be more receptive to cumming is this. Watch.”
Rebecca ducked her head between the black slave’s legs and started licking his massive nut sack. Once it was covered in saliva, rebecca sucked one ball in and treated it to a tongue massage. She repeated the procedure with the other ball, and then sucked them both in at the same time. Shaun was moaning softly at the sensation.
Gently, rebecca let the testicles skip over her lips and out of her mouth. “Very important not watch your teeth when you do that trick,” she warned her. “You must be very careful doing it.
“Now, go ahead, and remember everything I’ve shown you.”
With a nod, diana looked at the semi-hard shaft and saw the clear bead of pre-cum that had formed at the slit. Looking up into Shaun’s eyes, she slowly stuck her tongue out and made a big display of licking and swallowing the droplet. Then she quickly sucked him into her mouth as far as she could, remembering all too clearly the feel of his stout cock raping her throat not an hour before. Keeping her lips tight around the head, diana fondled the ring with her tongue, probing the slit as she sucked. After a few minutes, she slowly pulled away, leaving the thick rod straight up at attention. Then she started licking the soft ball sack, getting it wet all over, before opening her mouth as wide as she possibly could and sucking both balls in at once. Her mouth was stuffed, which made it difficult for her to maneuver her tongues around to caress his cum filled balls. But she tried her best, being extra careful not to let her teeth get involved.
A few minutes of this and she re-attacked his cock, sucking harder and flicking her tongue all around the smooth head. He let out a loud moan as he shot his salty load into her mouth. She couldn’t believe how much cum he produced so quickly after shooting deep down her throat a little earlier.
Exhausted, diana sat back on her haunches. Her jaws and tongue ached, her lips were sore, her knees were in agony, and her back was stiff, and still, she had four more slaves to get off. Crawling to Alfred once again. His pathetic little penis slipped between her lips as Helga interrupted, “Let’s skip Alfred and have her do him last, when she’s most tired.”
“Good idea, Helga,” Francine agreed. “Have her move on to Darren.”
And so, diana did as she was told and sucked off Darren and the other two slaves, always under the watchful eye and tutelage of rebecca. Taking heed to her advice and suggestions and trying to emulate what she did.
At long last, Alfred was all the remained, and then she would have accomplished her task, sucking off six male slaves twice. She didn’t know if she had it in her, so tired and spent was her body. And Alfred needed to be whipped to cum the first time, and even then he barely had any ejaculate at all. Her head down, diana collected her thoughts as she knelt before the aged slave.
“What have you learned, slave,” rebecca coaxed her, rubbing diana’s shoulders. “What have you come away from this with?”
“I.....I don’t know. I’m so sore and tired.”
“Remember to read the man you are servicing. Then exploit that which gets him most excited.”
Not really getting what rebecca meant, diana sucked the flaccid dick between her raw lips and started sucking, but nothing was stirring. The shriveled cock stayed just as soft as when she began, until, quite by accident, she nicked it with one of her teeth. Instantly, she sensed it harden ever so slightly. She did it again, only this time harder and intentionally, and it started to spring to life. So diana changed her tactic. Instead of cushioning the cock with her lips over her teeth, instead she bared them, raking the tender tissue and scratching it as she sucked it in and out.
Alfred was beside himself in ecstasy. The strange elixir of pain and pleasure awakening long dormant sensations. His frail body stiffened a bit and he trembled from head to toe as he came. Only a little, but he came nevertheless. As diana pulled away, she saw that she had scratched him raw, and he was bleeding from some of the deeper cuts. Fearing retribution from the two Dom’s, diana quickly said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think I was doing it so hard.”
“Don’t apologize, slave,” Francine stopped her. “You finally are learning to do what rebecca told you. You must learn, above all else, to read the man you are serving, and to use that knowledge to bring Him to new heights of pleasure.”
“We’re done here,” Helga announced. “Slave diana, you are to remain here for another fifteen minutes or so, and then go back down the road the way you came.
“Ashley sheath their disgusting cocks, and make sure you buckle them tightly, they won’t be seeing the light of day for a long time. Rebecca, re-set the chain between their legs.”
Again the slave girls nodded in unison and answered, “Yes Mistress.”
Their tasks completed, the two bald slave girls lead the procession out of the clearing and back down the road where they came from. No one spoke another word to diana, who stayed on her knees in the clearing watching them leave. Guessing fifteen minutes had passed, diana got up and started back down the road alone.
The return trip was a much slower go than the walk up. Fatigued and her body aching, diana walked back to me, retracing her steps. I saw her approaching long before she saw Me or My car.
I was standing alongside the Triumph, leaning casually against the fender. The closer she got, the more battered she looked. Filthy dirty, her hair a mess, some nasty scrapes on her shins and knees.
I moved to the grassy stretch between the ruts and blocked her progress. She stopped a few feet before me, and our eyes met. “Well,” I asked?
Her face sagged a bit, but she knew what I was expecting. Dropping to her bruised knees, she crawled to Me and unzipped My pants. Needless to say I was already hard with anticipation. She folded her arms behind her back and sucked Me into her mouth. In two seconds I could see a remarkable improvement in her technique. After a minute I was beyond ecstasy, and before three minutes were up, I rewarded her with a copious mouthful of cum.
Helping her to her feet, I hugged and kissed her and taking her hand, I walked her to the passenger door. Reaching down, I picked up an oversized long sleeved shirt of mine and helped her put it on. I opened the door and held her hand as she got into the low seat. Carefully backing the TR3 out of the dirt road, I headed to a small motel I had booked for us. I allowed her the luxury of a long soak in the tub followed by a hot shower and a nap. Over dinner she recounted to Me all that had happened and all she had learned. She promised she would continue to further hone and improve her oral skills. Of course, that night and the next morning before leaving for home, she showed Me some of her new techniques. A very worthwhile weekend trip to the Berkshires.
SOME CALL IT PLAY
By: Charles E. Campbell
CHAPTER 6
THE APPLE NEVER FALLS FAR FROM THE TREE
Everything was falling nicely into place, with the collaring ceremony a scant two weeks away. There really was nothing left that would require My attention until the actual day arrived. My slave had a completely different affect to her now. Ever since the day we spent in Massachusetts, there was a small, but very perceptible difference in her manner. she also seemed to carry herself differently as well. Little things, to be sure, but all still quite noticeable, at least to Me. And that’s really what mattered after all!
diana no longer had any qualms with taking the trash out to the curb naked. Sometimes she wouldn’t even wait for the cover of nightfall to carry out the chore. she no longer balked when the door bell rang. Before, she would sneak up to the door, open it a crack, and peek around it, hiding her nudity from the person on the other side. Now, she would open it completely, as wide as it would go, and confront the caller head on. Almost defiant in her insolent nakedness. she had developed an intense pride in her status and didn’t seem to care who knew what her actual place was.
Jacqueline, our daughter, called on the Wednesday two weeks before the ceremony was scheduled. She is a post graduate student at a northeastern university. Jackie said that she was leaving for her graduate internship in Illinois on Sunday, and she wanted to swing by and spend a few days with us before she headed out there. Her longtime boyfriend, Mark, would be coming in from Philadelphia on Saturday, and they would then both leave together for Illinois.
This would be the first time that Jackie had stayed with us since we entered into our D/s lifestyle about fourteen months before. We had, of course, discussed how we would handle this situation, knowing it would have to arise sooner or later. We had discussed it many times, in fact, and we decided, mutually, that there would have to be a complete suspension of everything. No use of the words salve, or Master, or Sir. No nudity for diana. Northing that could possible indicate what we were engaged in. The only exception would be diana’s piercings., They were to remain in place. But if she wore long skirts and loose fitting clothing, neither the piercings or the brand could be seen anyway, so we knew they wouldn’t pose a problem to our privacy.
In short, we really weren’t at all worried about having our secret outed to Jacqueline. We were totally confident that, as adults, we could suspend our activities for a few days and no one would be the wiser. We had also agreed that we wouldn’t push the issue either. No subtle hints that only we could understand. No discreet flashing. Nothing along those lines. A very straight vanilla time as long as Jackie was home with us.
Jacqueline arrived Thursday about 4:00 in the afternoon. We spent about an hour and a half getting caught up before I started making dinner on the barbeque. The perfect excuse for a mother and her daughter to share some time together alone while I was outside. I grilled up some salmon and veggies and made a tossed salad in a large bowl.
We ate outside on the patio, and it was there that Jacqueline told us that she and Mark had been talking about getting married. Both diana and I were very happy, as Mark is a great guy. He treats Jackie with the utmost respect. He is hard working and dedicated to her. Jacqueline said that they hadn’t gotten to the stage of discussing a date or even a time frame, but that Mark would, in all probability want to talk with us both about it since he would be here Saturday.
I let the women stay on the patio and sip their wine while I cleaned up. When I was finished, we enjoyed a fresh fruit salad and coffee. We chatted a bit, and then Jackie said, “ Mom,......Dad,.........there’s something I need to talk with you both about.”
“Of course, Jacqueline,” diana said. “What is it?”
“Well,.......I’m...........I’m not sure where to begin.”
“What’s it about, Jack,” I asked, using my pet name for her. A nervous with a foreboding feeling in my stomach.
“It’s.....it’s about Mark and me,” she replied, her head lowered, avoiding eye contact.
“What’s the matter,” diana jumped in? “Is one of you sick?”
“No,.....no. It’s nothing like that. Really, We’re both fine. Both of us are fine.”
She fell silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts, and neither diana nor I said anything, preferring rather to wait for her to get it together and tell us what she had to say.
“Mark and I have a very good relationship,” she began softly. “Really, we do. We love each other very much. And we are very happy together. We work well together too. We work through our petty differences and little fights or arguments. We listen to each other. We trust each other, we respect each other......................”
She paused again. “All of those things are very important, honey,” diana offered. “They help us to build strong bonds and a firm relationship between two people.”
“Yes, I know, Mom. It’s.....it’s just that..........it’s just that we do things that normal people don’t do,” she finally blurted out. “We do things you find in porno movies and magazines.”
We were all silent again. Jacqueline from embarrassment, diana and I not from shock or disbelief, but because we were both thinking the same thing. Had we been found out?
When neither of us spoke, Jackie started explaining. “Mark likes for me to tie him up sometimes. He likes to be submissive to me, and have me make him do things. He likes for me to punish him when he does something wrong. He likes it when I embarrass him, or make him do things in public for others to see.”
“And what about you, Jack,” I asked. “How does it make you feel to do the things he asks? Do you like to do them?”
“Yes. Yes,....I do. I like it very much. I like it so much in fact, that we almost never have regular sex at all anymore. It’s always a bondage thing, or a pain thing incorporated into it somehow.”
“There’s nothing wrong with two people expressing themselves together how they see fit, Jackie,” diana said calmly. “ What two people do together in their lives is up to them. No one is in a position to judge. Who is in a position to decide what is normal and what isn’t? Just because something isn’t considered common, or isn’t typically portrayed on family television doesn’t mean that’s it’s wrong. Just different, maybe less common. That’s all. If you both enjoy these activities, then they are what’s normal for the two of you.”
“Many people engage in activities together that aren’t ‘the norm,’ I interjected. “You’d be surprised to know what sorts of things ‘normal’ people do in the privacy of their bedrooms. Out of fear, or ignorance people are labeled as deviants. But what is a deviant? It’s just the noun form of the word deviate, which means to change course, or go in a different direction. There is no implication in the word as to whether or not it ‘good’ or ‘bad’. No judgement is implied in the word at all.
“I’ve seen you with Mark, honey. He worships you. His feelings for you are quite apparent. If you both wish engage in a lifestyle that is consensual and mutual, then embrace it. Enjoy it. Explore it. It may just be a passing interest on your part, in which case you’ll both abandon it. It also may be something that you both adhere to for many years. And keep in mind that there are many people who do the same things. It’s just that a great deal of them just choose to keep it private.”
diana and Jackie were sitting together on the chaise lounge, diana had her arms around our daughter. A few minutes had passed with all three of us reflecting on the moment, when suddenly, diana stood up, and stood with her back to Me, facing Jackie, and said, “It’s time I share something with you, Jacqueline.” Slowly, My slave began to unbutton her blouse. Jackie just watched as the soft material hung open, exposing the insides of diana’s breasts. Then she unbuttoned her long billowy skirt, and let it fall to the ground. As Jackie looked on, diana slid the blouse off her shoulders and stood naked before her daughter’s eyes, showing off her pierced nipples and pussy and the brand I had burned into her leg.
I had never in My life felt more pride than I did at that moment. Jackie’s eyes took it all in as they scanned her mother’s naked flesh, stopping frequently at the jewelry and the deep brand. Leaning forward, she reached her hand out to the burn scar and asked, “May I?”
“Yes, you may,” I replied.
Jacqueline’s fingers probed the deep scar, feeling the texture of My brand. Satisfied, she caressed the inside of diana’s thigh high near the cleft, probably noticing the moisture that was already building up and leaking. Jackie laid back against the chaise. “Who did this?” she asked, not taking her eyes from the brand.
“I did,” I said, standing up next to My slave. “I marked her as My property. There is a matching brand that I burned into the St. Andrew’s Cross that I often fasten her to.”
“You have a St. Andrew’s,” she asked, looking at me in disbelief?
“Yes I do. I built it Myself. It is the prize of our dungeon,” I proclaimed.
“You have a dungeon?” she stammered, overwhelmed by the thought.
“Yes. Would you like to see it?”
“I certainly would!”
“slave, Prepare yourself for Me in the dungeon!”
We watched as diana bowed her head and answered, “Yes Master.” Our eyes followed My slave’s departure, then Jackie sat back and said, “Dad, I have to ask you, how long have you and Mom been playing?”
“To be frank, Jackie, I detest the word ‘play’ as a euphemism for D/s or Bdsm. What we engage in is anything but play. It is very serious, very real, and a very important, even crucial aspect of our relationship.” The tone of My voice was a bit too harsh preaching and stern I realized too late.
“Sorry,” she offered contritely, “I didn’t mean to offend.”
“No offense taken. It’s a pet peeve of Mine I’m afraid.
“Your mother and I started exploring this before you were born actually. Light stuff for a long time, bondage, spankings, that sort of thing. We allowed it to fall by the wayside when you and your brother came along. We’d experiment when we were away on a trip without you two, but we basically left it alone until about a year or so ago. Now it is at the central core of the two of us. We are basically in a 24/7 D/s relationship. We’re still exploring. Growing. Learning. A journey for us to be sure, but one we are committed to take.”
“I’m excited to see Your dungeon,” she said, enthusiastically.
“ I designed it and did most of the work Myself,” I said proudly. I built most of the implements in it as well.” I told her of the planning and the construction of the dungeon as well as some of the more impressive pieces of apparatus that it housed. “My slave should be ready for us,” I said. “Shall we?”
“Yes,” My daughter answered, taking My arm as I headed for the basement stairs.
The dungeon door was closed when we arrived, so I let Jackie push it open so she could get the feeling of the whole space all at once, beginning with the sizeable weight of the door. As she opened the door, soft light from the sconces and candles illuminated the features of Jacqueline’s face as her eyes flew around the scene before her. The whips and floggers displayed on the wall, the stocks, and winches, the rack, and the St. Andrew’s cross, before which knelt her mother, My slave, naked, her arms held high above her head, her knees spread wide apart, and her head bowed down, waiting. Thick black leather cuffs were locked on both wrists and ankles. The perfect picture of total servitude.
Jackie entered the chamber, her eyes trying to see everything at once. Initially, she paid no attention at all to her mother at all, the dungeon being her main interest, but after a few moments, she approached the naked submissive and slowly walked around her, drinking in the sight.
I had taken a seat by the wall to watch my daughter and had said nothing. Jackie looked over at me, and I said, “Use whatever you wish, Jackie. There are lots of restraints in that chest under the table, if you wish. Anything you want.”
“Thank You. I think I want to see her hanging from that spreader bar on the winch.”
“Of course. That’s always a good way to administer a whipping.”
“I would like to stretch her, though. Can we fasten her feet to the floor first?”
“Certainly,” I answered, standing up and walking to the chest. I opened it and removed a spreader bar. Handing it to Jackie, I said, put this on her ankles. Make it as wide as it will go.”
“Okay.
“Stand up, slave,” she ordered, more than a little authority in her tone.
diana stood, her arms at her sides, her head still lowered. Jacqueline knelt at her feet and attached the spreader bar to the ankle cuffs. She slapped the inside of diana’s thighs a few times to get her to spread them apart. I watched as she locked the bar to the eyebolt imbedded in the floor. I handed her another spreader bar, and let her attached diana’s wrists to it. While she did that, I lowered the cable on the winch and waited until she locked that bar to the hook on the end of the cable.
“Let’s put this on her,” I suggested, handing Jackie a black leather bondage hood. “This will make it impossible for her to know who is doing what to her, and it will also silence her, so we won’t have to endure her screaming, if we wish to elicit screams from her.
“Use these tie backs and give her a high pont tail, I’ll find a suitable gag.”
Jackie tied diana’s hair up in a pony tail so it would stick out from the top of the hood. I found a three inch penis gag that would snap inside the hood, making it fast in one place, not able to slip or be expelled under the hood.
Snapping the penis gag into the hood, I held it in front of My slave. In total compliance, she looked at Jackie and I open last time, then, resigned, she opened her mouth to accept the thick latex phallus. I held the hood in place while Jackie laced it in back of diana’s head, making certain the pont tail stuck up from the top. We pulled the buckles over her eyes tight, as well as the one across her mouth and the one that encircled her neck. No light could get in, and almost no sound could ger out. Two small holes at her nostrils were all that connected her to the outside world.
“Let Me show you how this works, Jack,” I said. Jackie came over to where the controls are for the winch. “Push the toggle switch up to raise the cable, down to lower it, and leave it in the middle to lock it in place. Okay?”
“Yup. I got it.” Jackie threw the switch and watched as the cable slowly went from loose to taut, stretching her mother’s naked frame mercilessly tight. When her feet were off the cold floor, diana started to moan. Jackie shut off the motor and went to inspect just how taut her mother had been stretched. She felt her shoulders, under her arms, her groin, and then pushed her a bit to see if she was drawn tightly enough.
“A little tighter, I think. I wouldn’t want her to be able to dodge any blows I deliver.”
“Whatever you think best,” I commented, from my chair.
Jacqueline turned the winch on again for a few seconds. diana was in agony now. I had never stretched her this tight Myself, so she was entering new territory.
She locked the winch in place and then went to the chest. She removed six substantial alligator clips. Kneeling down in front of My slave, she tugged on diana’s lower lips, and decided where the clips should go. diana jerked reflexively each time the sharp teeth bit into the tender flesh. All six in place, her outer labia were clearly prominent now, but not prominent enough for Jackie. Back at the chest she located six one pound spiked balls. She hooked one on each clamp, pulling the lips much lower now. The sharp spikes swinging menacingly each time diana moved, pricking the soft skin of her inner thighs.
“Any suggestions on what to use first?” she asked Me.
I selected the buggy whip from the wall display. “Ever tried one of these before?”
“No, I haven’t. What is it?”
It’s a buggy whip. It’s one of My favorites. I really enjoy using it on her. It can be as gentle or as harsh as you wish, and it can go from one extreme to the other with but a fraction of an inch change on your part. It’s particularly effect when the skin is tight like her’s is now.
“Let Me demonstrate for you.”
Judging My distance, I stood squarely facing diana and began flicking the buggy whip back and forth, feeling it’s suppleness. Ever so gradually, I made the tip of the whip advance until it made the lightest possible contact with her belly, just below the navel. By the instant tenseness in her body, I knew she was aware of what was going to happen. Even bound as tightly as she was, she would fight this because diana finds the buggy whip the most difficult implement I own.
Jackie watched as the tip of the whip flicked back and forth, almost a blur, between the belly button and pubic mound. No marks were apparent, but the skin was gradually turning an ever so light pink hue. I continued without variation until the skin was uniformly pink before moving the whip forward every now and then. Each time I moved it closer to diana, a wicked red stripe would seem to burst out of her skin, and she would strain in her bonds, trying in vain to elude the wicked kiss of the whip.
I moved the whip higher, the relentless swishing continuing as it rose, the breasts My new target. No warm up here, just a steady rhythm of the whip, closer to the soft skin, marks appearing crisscrossed fashion on the taut globes, not a subtle pink, but rather deep red lines, raised and painful. Jackie watched, transfixed, as My slave endured the stinging kisses.
When I stopped, the flickering candles seemed to reflect in the sheen of sweat which covered diana’s body. I removed My shirt as it was warm in the dungeon, and then I handed the whip to Jackie, not saying a word. I could see the fear in her eyes at the idea of whipping her own mother. Taking her hand, I guided it between diana’s splayed legs. Instantly, Jackie felt the considerable wetness. Recognition replaced the fear on her face. Her mother, My slave, was getting off on this.
Jackie pulled her sweat shirt over her head, and stepped out of her tight blue jeans, so she was dressed only in a push up demi-bra and thong underwear. She wiped her hand on the front of diana’s thigh and took a position behind the naked slave. The buttocks and backs of the thighs were obviously not going to get out of this unscathed. I watched her motion with the buggy whip for a few seconds and could see she had the technique, so it would just be a matter of practice for her to master getting the whip to do her bidding. I started playing with diana’s swollen clit, knowing what the combination of the whip and My ministrations would do. I was really amazed at how wet she had become. I decided I would make her cum three or four times, and then I would do something I had never tried with My slave. I was going to fist her cunt and bury My hand deeply inside of her.
diana was really on the brink, a few seconds of rubbing her and she was writhing in the throes of a powerful orgasm. Jackie paid it no mind, the buggy whip flicking more rapidly and harder as the waves of release tore through My slave. I stopped rubbing, but Jackie kept at it. Patiently I waited a few minutes before rubbing her clit again. her response was immediate, trying in vain to pull away from My hand. Multiple orgasms for diana increase in intensity almost exponentially. Jackie was now adding very hard slashes in between the light ones, the kind that raise instant angry looking welts. I heard diana scream through her penis gag as she came again, her body shaking, and the juices leaking from her cunt flowing. Jackie saw what was happening and lashed diana’s ass with powerful strokes that would most certainly draw blood.
The steady rhythmic swishes from the whip continued, unabated, as diana hung limp, totally spent. Jackie began to walk around her mother, the whip still making skin contact, the tender, already striped breasts her new object of attention. Diana came alive as the sensation of more fiery lashes on her chest brought her back to the here and now.
I brought My right hand up to the gaping pussy and started pushing the extended fingers into the hole. Diana must have sensed what was about to come, because she fought hard to relax her muscles and accept the invasion. In seconds My hand was coated in wetness, and I was able to get my fingers and thumb inside her to the knuckles before meeting stiff resistance. I could feel diana trying to push down on My hand to help get it inside of her. It was at that instant that I opted for brutality rather than gentleness in fisting her. I started slamming My hand up into her box, and yanking it all the way out. In, out. In, out. Hard thrusts, almost like a boxer’s upper cut. I balled My hand into a fist, making it as big around as possible, not long and thin.
diana was out of control now, trying to tear herself from her bonds. Jackie kept up the attack on diana’s breasts, bloody welts slicing into the tortured skin, but diana seemed to be fixating solely on accepting My fist as I battered her hole. Suddenly, My hand was entombed in her, buried to the wrist. I stopped My onslaught and Jackie ceased her flogging. diana just hung from her wrists, shaking, drool seeping out from underneath the hood. Her breasts were covered in cuts and welts. I was sure that most of the marks would still be viable at the collaring ceremony. (It turned out that more than a few of the marks were permanent. They became an everb present reminder to diana of her daughter’s marking her.)
I eased My hand from her sex and held her as Jackie lowered the winch and undid the bonds. Leaving the hood in place, I carried diana up to our bedroom and laid her in our big soft bed. Jackie administered to the most severe cuts on her mother’s breasts, cleaning them and putting an antiseptic salve on them. I nodded to Jackie to leave the room, and then I removed the bondage hood from diana’s head. I held her tightly and then took her in the ass, not wanting that hole to feel slighted by the lack of attention I had paid to it in the dungeon. After spilling Mys eed in her, I let her clean Me off with her mouth, then I put her to bed and went downstairs to close up the dungeon.
Jackie went with Me and we talked about the relationship I had with her mother, and how she thought she would probably be developing a similar relationship with Mark. She said she felt much better about her and Mark now that she knew about us, but that she wasn’t going to share this information with Mark. At least not for a long time. It would remain a secret between the three of us. Although Jackie admitted that she would like to do it again sometime, and maybe trying a single tail whip rather than the buggy whip.
SOME CALL IT PLAY
By. Charles E. Campbell
CHAPTER 7
COLLARING MY SLAVE PART 1
(Author’s note: It is my intention at this time to introduce some of my characters from my other stories to various other characters in tis chapter of SOME CALL IT PLAY. The “visiting” characters will be coming from: SARA, CHELSEA’S F. N. P. C., and NICOLE: JOURNEY OF A SLAVE. These characters will also be relating their experiences with David and diana in the first person, from their prospective, in their original stories at the same time. I am submitting the different stories either at the same time, or very close together to maintain the cohesiveness of the stories.)
My sister, Marie, had done all the leg work. Through her long time friend Lesley, a Lesbian Domme, she had known for many years, she made arrangements for diana me to meet Mistress Ilsa, a tremendously well respected and infamous part of the New York BDSM community. Lesley was working out all the particulars for slave diana’s collaring ceremony, and among the tasks she had undertaken was that she had arranged to have it take place at Mistress Ilsa’s remote Connecticut home in a rural part of the state.
Marie called me at home one afternoon and said, “Lesley has set up a meeting, over dinner, for you and diana with Mistress Ilsa. It is set for tonight, at Her place in Manhattan.”
“Really,” I said. “That was quick. Short notice too, Marie.”
“Yes, but since the ceremony is this weekend, there isn’t a lot of time. Ilsa has stipulated that since She doesn’t know You or diana, she wants to meet the two of you before going up to Connecticut. She expects you at 7:30. I’ll email you the address.”
“Great, thanks so much Marie. This whole thing is so much more meaningful for diana and me having you so involved with it.”
“You’re welcome, David. From what little Lesley has told me about it, it really is going to be memorable. Anything for my ‘baby brother!’”
I heard her laugh light-heartedly as she hung up.
I sent off a quick email to diana at work, telling her that we would be going out to dinner that night, in the city, and that our reservations were for 7:30. She could do the math and figure out what time she would need to be home to shower and dress before we drove in.
diana arrived home at 4:30. I wasn’t concerned, as she is very efficient in preparing herself to go out. A quick ‘Hi Honey,’ and a peck on the cheek and she was off to take a shower.
“Where are we going, David,” she called out to me from under the steaming water.
“It’s a surprise, really, but I’m sure you’ll like it. It comes highly recommended.”
While she was toweling off, with her long hair wrapped in a thick bath towel, she called, “How should I dress?”
“Not to worry, I have something picked out for you already,” I replied. “I laid it all out on the bed for you. All you have to do is put it on.”
She didn’t come out of the bathroom until she was dried off and her make up had been applied. Never one for excess, diana kept her makeup to a minimum. Light pink lip stick, a hint of eyebrow pencil, and a touch of blush. Her hair, originally dark, now was streaked with copious lines of white, but she wore her age with pride, a badge of honor really. I could smell her perfume fill the air as I sat in a chair and watched her walk naked over to the bed to pick up the clothes I had set out for her. A form fitting light green tank top with spaghetti straps, a tight skirt, darker green, which ended just above the knee, and flat tan suede sandals, with tie straps that wrapped around the ankles tying off mid calf. A thin pale green ribbon choker finished off the outfit.
We drove into New York, rather than taking the train. I knew I would want some private time with her on the way home that would be impossible otherwise.
We seemed to hit the traffic well, and I found a parking garage only two blocks from Ilsa’s townhouse. Having forty minutes to kill, we strolled hand in hand down Fifth Avenue looking in the store windows and generally people watching.
When I turned and we started down Ilsa’s street, diana remarked, “Is our restaurant on this street?”
“We aren’t dining at a restaurant,” I informed her. “We’re having a private dinner with someone tonight.”
She looked at me quizzically, but didn’t press me for answers to her head full of questions.
Two blocks east found us walking up the steps to an elegant looking brownstone on a tree lined street. I rang the doorbell and was greeted by a stark naked woman with absolutely no body hair, even on her head. Her breasts had been scarred and she had a massive steel rod imbedded in both of her breasts at the rib cage, with tick steel brackets hanging under her tits, suspended from the rod. She wore rusted iron, not steel, shackles on both her wrists and ankles. Her wrists were connected by a six inch length of equally rusty iron chain, while her ankles were joined by an eighteen inch length of the same chain, which effectively hobbled her, restricting her walking. About her neck she wore a collar, also made of iron. All the iron on her body was held in place with old fashion iron key locks. Chafe marks could be seen, obviously cause by the heavy restraints.
“Yes?” she asked, seemingly unconcerned at all by her nakedness in front of two strangers.
“My name is David,” I told her, “And this is diana, My wife. Mistress Ilsa, I believe, is expecting us.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said. “Please come in.”
Stepping aside, she held the door as we walked past her into the foyer. Then she closed and bolted the door after us. “This way, please,” she said, walking down a hallway. The chain that bound her legs dragged across the parquet floor, making a loud clanking sound, not unlike some gothic horror movie sound effect.
We followed her into a dimly lit old fashioned parlor, where a woman was seated on a settee, presumably waiting for us.
“I am Ilsa,” she said, not bothering to get up.
She was around my age, possibly a bit older, quite thin, almost fragile looking. Her short hair was mostly gray, and Her chiseled face was angular and lined. She was dressed in a brilliant white caftan, made of a very light weight fabric, which allowed the dark caps of Her smallish breasts to be visible through it. She was barefoot, and had rings on every finger of both hands as well as on a few toes.
“My name is David,” I said, leaning forward and shaking the hand She offered me, “And this is my wife, diana.”
Ilsa didn’t reply, She just eyeballed diana, head to foot. “This is the slave you wish to collar as your own,” She asked me, not taking her eyes from diana?
“Yes, she is.”
“I see.” She looked at diana again, and diana’s face was registering high levels of discomfort. “Get undressed, slave! It is a primary and strict rule in My house that slaves are never hidden by clothing. I wish for you to be naked,” Ilsa commanded.
In a daze, diana looked first at me, unsure and embarrassed by her situation, and then back at Mistress Ilsa. “Obey Mistress Ilsa as you would Me,” said to her sternly.
“Yes, Master, sorry Mistress,” she said, her head facing downward.
She lifted the tank top over her head, exposing her chest. Next came the skirt, which she slid down her legs to her feet before stepping out of it. I hadn’t provided her with underwear, so it was just a matter of untying the straps on her sandals, and she was naked.
She stood where she was, facing Mistress Ilsa, but keeping her head down. She stood with her legs slightly apart, her hands at her sides, fighting the urge to cover herself before the scrutinizing stare of Ilsa’s cold dark eyes.
“Lesley neglected to inform me that she was branded,” She commented, looking at diana’s leg. “I like it. It suits her. Who did it?”
“I did, Mistress,” I said.
“Really? Nicely done,” she nodded as if granting Her approval.
“Now, please fill me in on what training your slave has had, David,” she said as she ran Her hand slowly up diana’s leg and felt the brand.
I explained our lifestyle to Her, how we had gotten back into it, and spoke of our times at the nude beach, as well as diana’s day in the woods in the Berkshires and our daughter’s torment of her as well. I told Ilsa about our dungeon that I had designed and built and some of the different apparatus we used. She didn’t react to anything I told her, She kept feeling diana’s brand and nodding occasionally as I spoke.
Over dinner, Ilsa explained some of the proceedings that would take place at the collaring ceremony. Ilsa sat at the head of the table, while I was seated to Her right. diana knelt on the floor and was neither fed, nor was she spoken to. All references to her were in the third person, like she was an inanimate object or not even present. Ilsa’s slave served the meal, the sound of her chains on the hard wood floors signaled both her approach and her leaving.
Mistress Ilsa told me that she expected somewhere around twenty guests and that some would bring their slaves with them, while others would not. She explained that the setting would be very conducive to the occasion and that it would be a wonderful and memorable evening for all. diana and I should arrive by 3:00 in the afternoon. That would allow time to get My slave prepped for the ceremony, which was scheduled to begin at 6:00. We would be Her guests, of course, and were invited to stay the night with Her.
I thanked Her for Her generosity in hosting the event, and She said, “I’ve known Lesley quite a long time. There is no way I could turn down any request from Her. And besides, I do so much enjoy these formal rituals and never pass on an opportunity to host one.”
She was quiet as I said, “I have been looking forward to collaring My slave for quite a while now, and I am indebted to You for all Your help.”
Her slave entered the dining room at that moment and stood in the corner nearest Ilsa. Ilsa didn’t react to what I said, it was almost as if She wasn’t listening to Me. She looked directly at me when She asked, “Would you like to avail yourself of My slave?” She indicated the naked woman to Her right.
My eyes darted to the slave as they widened at Her suggestion, and I saw diana straighten up when she heard it.
“she has excellent oral skills, and she has been doing Kegel workouts for quite some time, which have given her cunt some unique attributes as well. Of course her ass is available for use as well.”
“With all due respect, Mistress Ilsa,” I said, somewhat nervous and worried that I might offend My hostess with what I was about to say, “I am in a situation where My slave is My wife, and My lover, and My best friend, all at the same time. She took a vow as My wife, long before becoming My slave, and I took a similar vow as her husband at that same time. I have not ever, nor will I ever involve Myself sexually with another woman.”
“Admirable, an utter waste, but admirable nonetheless. But You must realize that as her Owner it is within Your purview to do so.”
“Yes, I understand that,” I said, Her relaxed steady tone easing My discomfort. “I made a commitment to her long before we entered into this past of our relationship and it is My intention to honor it.”
“As You wish,” She said, and then added, “But what about giving her to others? Is that something You might entertain?”
“Yes, it is.” I saw diana’s head droop as she heard My words. “What is Mine, what I own, is therefore Mine to do with as I please. As I might lend a book to a friend, or My car,............if it is a possession of Mine, then I am free to use it however I wish.
“While she is my wife, in her role as My slave, she is My possession, so therefore, I am free to give her to others for their use and enjoyment if I wish.”
“An interesting dichotomy, David,”Ilsa remarked, smiling wickedly.
diana and I didn’t stay very late. After some dessert and coffee, Ilsa’s slave escorted us back to the front door, where diana was presented with her clothes and told that she could get dressed. Under the slave’s watchful eye, diana did as she was told. The slave unlatched the door, pulled it open, and said, “Good evening,” effectively ushering us out. We could hear the door being bolted behind us as we descended the steps.
We walked hand in hand back to the garage to pick up the car, not speaking of the evening. diana held my hand very tightly. However, once we were in the car and out of the garage, diana turned in her seat and said, “She’s something else, David. I’ve never met anyone like Her. I can’t even think of words to describe Her.”
“Yes,” I concurred, already thinking ahead to the upcoming Saturday.
We drove up York to the FDR north. After passing the Triboro tolls, diana said, “Master, may i speak freely?”
“Yes, you may, slave,” I allowed, and then added, “But before you are allowed to, I wish you to travel the rest of the way home, naked. Strip yourself!”
Even at night, diana is never comfortable being naked in the car, especially when I take side streets with street lights and traffic lights to increase the odds of her nakedness being discovered. However, like the obedient slave she is, she removed her clothes and placed them on the back seat before speaking.
“Master,” she began, looking straight ahead, “Your slave is frightened by Mistress Ilsa. she is also fearful about what will be expected of her at the collaring ceremony.”
“Does that mean she is not willing to follow My wishes and be collared for Me?”
“No, no, Master. Not at all. Please forgive her insolence. It’s........it’s just that she is very nervous about what will happen to her. And..........”
“And what, slave?”
“And who the people are who will be there,” she admitted.
I didn’t respond right away, preferring to let her stew over telling me her concerns.
“I shouldn’t need to tell you this,” I began, “But I love you far more than words can express. I have loved you almost since the day we met. You know this.”
“Yes, Master. i do,” she acknowledged.
“With our Master and slave relationship, that love has become even more meaningful and deeper than I could ever have believed,” I continued.
“As it has for Your slave as well,” she agreed.
“It is important for Me, as your Master, to become your Owner. It will make our life as Master and slave even more committed.”
she didn’t speak, but I saw a slight nod of her head from the corner of My eye.
“In order for Me to fully own you, I must place My collar around your neck, permanently, as a visible sign that you are a possession.
“While it is true that I could collar you at home, in our dungeon, with just the two of us present, it wouldn’t have the anywhere near the same significance and memorable meaning to Me, or to you, or to us, as it will have as a formal ceremony in front of others who are lifestyle Masters and slaves.”
I let that sink in for a minute, as I passed a tour bus on our right. I turned the dome light on in the car, exposing diana to anyone in the bus who happened to look.
The bus behind us, I turned off the light, and continued. “Marie has told me that Mistress Ilsa is one of the best known members of the New York D/s community. She has hosted collarings many times, and always makes each one a unique and special event.”
“May i ask something, Master,” she said softly, not yet over the bus passing.
“Will your sister be there?”
“Yes. Marie will be there, as will Lesley and Her slave, Carole. Beyond that, I don’t know if either you or I would know any of the guests.”
I ended it there, for a moment, as I maneuvered the car off the parkway and onto the exit ramp. When we reached the traffic light at the bottom of the ramp I said,, “Put your feet on the dashboard, slave, feet apart, and play with yourself!”
Obeying my command, diana put her feet up and placed her hand to her sex just as a mini van pulled up on my side. The street light was bright, bright enough for a middle aged mother in the passenger seat to see what was going on in our car. As soon as she realized what she was witnessing, she looked away. The light turned green and the mini van quickly shot ahead of us and up the street.
“What are you thinking, slave,” I asked her.
Without thinking, she removed her hand from her pussy. “Your slave wants to please her Master,” she began.
“Then why have you taken your hand from your cunt, slave” I interrupted her? “Were you granted permission to stop playing with your cunt?”
“No Master,” she replied quickly, putting her hand back between her legs.
“Are you wet, slut,” I asked?
“Yes, Master. Very.”
“Then clean your fingers.”
I pulled over to the side of the road. We were only five blocks from our house. Of course I stopped under a street lamp.
diana licked her fingers, tasting herself.
“Finger your cunt again, slave.”
“Yes, Master.”
“As you were saying, slave?”
“Your slave wants nothing more than to please her Master,” she repeated. “And, even though she is very nervous,......even afraid,........of what is to come, she wants her Master to know that she loves Him very much, and will never disobey any order or command He gives her.”
“No matter what, slave.”
“No Sir. No matter what You command, Your slave will obey.”
“Very well then.
“Lean forward, hands behind your back!”
I removed the set of handcuffs I always store in the center console and affixed them to diana’s slender wrists. Reaching over her, I opened the car door and swung it wide open, turning on the dome light in the process.
Shocked, she turned to Me.
“For doubting My intentions, you will be punished when you get home. But first, I want you to return home, alone.
“Get out!”
Stunned, she turned toward the open door, while scanning the street in all directions.
“Please, Master,” she pleaded.
I did not respond.
“Please,” she said again, softer, pleading, frightened.
“Is this the behavior of an obedient slave,” I mocked her?
I leaned over and untied the straps of her sandals and placed them on the floor of the car at her feet. Turning around in her seat, once again scanning the street in all directions before obeying Me and getting out of the car.
I didn’t wait for her to close the door. Instead, I sped off, tires spinning, making a lot of noise. In my rearview mirror, I saw her run for cover into some bushes as a few front porch lights snapped on to check on the commotion in the quiet neighborhood.
I was home and waiting for My slave in our dungeon for twenty-five minutes before I heard her come in through the back door. The front door was locked, but being ever thoughtful of My slave, I left the back door unlocked, with the light on for her.
I whipped her hard that night, very heard, probably harder than I ever had before, concentrating on her thighs, belly and breasts. She would have these marks still covering her at the ceremony on Saturday. I did not intend to whip her again before she was formally collared, so I was all the more severe that night.
After I unchained her from the St. Andrew”s Cross, where she had endured My lashes, I carried her from the dungeon to our master bath, and I drew a warm tub for her. I let her soak for half an hour before toweling her dry. We fucked that night with the ardor and passion of a couple of teenagers.
Sated and exhausted, we lay in each other’s arms. Just before we drifted off to sleep, diana said, “I will be proud to wear Your collar, Master.”
I kissed her on her shoulder, cupped her breasts and replied, “You will look even more beautiful collared.”
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