1 Have you ever wondered what it's like to be a woman? I doubt you have. You
enjoy a position of power and control that few women ever experience. You revel
in stature and status that is given to you as a birthright. Do men understand
this innate superiority? Do men recognize the power they have? I know most of
them use it, but do they question it, analyze it, turn it over and over in their
minds? And it comes as no surprise that few women even dream of seizing this
power for themselves. Few women realize that their femininity can be as
persuasive a weapon as the natural power of maleness. If men are the hereditary
oppressors, as contemporary feminism would have you believe, then women have
been their willing toadies. There is power in femaleness. There is a secret
influence that women can wield. Most women never suspect this. Have you ever
wanted to experience the other side of the coin, then? I have. As a woman I have
hungered to feel as though I am the unquestioned master. Have you ever wanted to
submit, to feel as though you exist and behave as the consequence of another's
wishes? Yes. I simplify. I oversimplify, perhaps, but in questions of sexual
politics it is sometimes more effective to use a blunt tool than it is to use a
sharp one. I want you to understand me. I am not one of these unsuspecting
lackeys that make you comfortable. I reject that position. I do not style myself
as your equal--this time I am your superior. I want to know how that feels, to
control and manipulate as you, quintessentially male, have done without thought.
And you look at me with raised eyebrows--one beautiful dark brow shoots up as I
tell you quietly that you are to take off your clothes. You laugh, then realize
that I'm not smiling. You realize that this isn't one of our playful moments.
You realize that this is somehow different. You do as you are told. You take off
your clothes, item by item. I watch as your body emerges from its protective
cocoon, and, as always, I am moved. This time, however, I maintain a position of
bored hauteur. How many times have you remained unmoved by my nakedness? I want
you to know how it feels. I want you to be me. And your skin is smooth, white
and fragile-looking in the dimness of the room. You look somehow vulnerable,
penis not yet erect, puzzled look on your face. I like this. I like knowing that
I have thrown you off-balance. I like knowing that the exercise has begun. And
will you do as you're told? "Lie on the bed," I tell you, my tone neither
playful nor soft, but impersonal and cool. There is a lesson to be learned, you
see, and I choose not to cloud it with tenderness. Your lips curve as you begin
to protest, and I curtail the flow of words before they begin. "You ill do as
you are told. Otherwise, you will be punished." You start to speak, chuckling
slightly, perhaps a bit nervous. "Hey, you're in charge, then." "Correct," I
answer, neither sharing nor acknowledging your amusement. "Here are the rules.
You will not speak unless you are spoken to. You will not move unless requested
to. You will address me as your mistress, and you will function as my slave. Is
that clear?" You look puzzled, but I can see the beginnings of arousal as your
upper chest begins to flush pink in the dimness. "Yes, mistress." And you still
think this is a game, don't you? You are playing along, humoring me, but that
isn't enough. I desire your submission and compliance, and I will have it. "Lie
on the bed," I tell you. "On your back, arms and legs spread." You move to obey
me. This is good. As you participate, the playful mood will leave you. I plan to
make sure of that. You arrange yourself on the bed, with your legs slightly
parted and your arms reaching above your head towards the bars of the headboard.
Turning my back on you, I open the top drawer of the bureau and withdraw two
sets of handcuffs, modified by the substitution of long chains for the shorter
ones. As I turn, you see me holding them and your whole body stiffens in
apprehension. You and I have toyed with restraints before, scarves and
stockings, loosely tied. But this is something different, and the symbolism of
the handcuffs in comparison to the fabric ties is as powerful as the actuality.
These are stronger, more definite, certainly more menacing. Certainly more
erotic. With no hesitation I affix the first set of cuffs to your ankles,
passing the chain between the bars of the footboard. Any movement on your part
will cause the cuffs to pinch your skin uncomfortably, but you have been
instructed not to move. It is really in your best interests to remain still. As
I turn to attend to your wrists, your hands come down to stroke my breasts in
the teasing manner that you know I always crave. Oh, not this time. My tone is
deliberate and low: "You have been commanded not to move without my permission.
This is a warning. The next time you misbehave, you will be punished." Smiling
uncertainly, you withdraw your hands and return them to the headboard as I
resume the task of binding you. Really, it is a pleasure. You are now secured
and I stand to survey my work. You are incomparably beautiful, impossibly
helpless. Your skin is now covered with the flush of arousal, though I can still
see uncertainty and apprehension on your face. I think it is time to reassure
you. I bend to kiss your lips, brushing them only gently with my own, the first
gesture of affection yet. Your tongue hurries to meet mine, and I move away from
you with a warning glance. Careful. Careful. "It's time to begin," I tell you
calmly, and you smile once again, certain that the lesson you will be taught
will be a pleasant one. It will be, for me. And I hope that you will be a
willing, eager pupil. That, however, remains to be seen. Careful discipline will
ensure your cooperation, that much is certain. I kneel on the bed next to your
prone form, looking you up and down with a calculating glance. Already my
dominance is beginning to excite me; seeing the peachy tint of your skin and
your partially erect penis curving against the flatness of your belly has always
moved me, but never in such a proprietary, gloating manner. As I imagine
mounting you and possessing you thoroughly, feeling you withhold your climax
until I instruct you to fill me with your heat, I become impatient. It seems
that I have a few lessons to learn as well. I look at you at length, waiting
until I have mastered the wave of arousal that threatens momentarily to
undermine my authority. Then I begin. "You'll be a good slave, won't you?" I ask
you softly, testing the efficacy of my training. You nod vigorously, becoming
intrigued with what you think is a game. "You will speak when I ask you a
question," I inform you. "Now, you will be a good slave, won't you?" I repeat,
directing the warmth of my breath into your ear. "Yes, mistress," you answer,
and I can tell that you feel a bit silly, a bit self-conscious. This, too, will
change once you become fully entrenched. I'm sure of it. Because my fingers
suddenly move to your nipples, pinching them hard between thumb and forefinger.
"Good," I whisper, squeezing the pink buttons, not quite enough to hurt, but
enough to remind you of your position. And your nipples are uncommonly
sensitive, rather like my own--usually you become erect with only a few passes
of my fingertips. And as I watch you, I can see that such an abrupt approach has
the same effect: your penis quickly becomes stiff as I roll your nipples between
my fingers, pulling them gently, watching your reaction at my leisure. Your eyes
are close now, and your mouth opens in a sigh of pleasure. "Mistress?" you ask,
and I am so pleased that you remembered my new title that I permit you a
question. "Must I remain silent?" "No," I assure you, stroking your now-tender
nipples idly. "Sounds of pleasure are entirely appropriate." As I play with your
nipples more, you become restless and start to shift on the bed, unconsciously
moving your hips in a steady rhythm. This displeases me; you do have explicit
instructions not to move. "You've been instructed not to move," I remind you. "I
warned you before. Do you understand that you have disobeyed my orders?" Your
eyes widen in surprise. I can tell that you hadn't even noticed the motions;
they were purely instinctual. That, however, is no excuse. For me to control
you, you must learn to control yourself. "Yes--mistress," you answer hesitantly,
and I can see that you want to offer some explanation. I can also see that you
know that it will not be allowed. Good. You are learning. "You have disobeyed
me, and I will have to punish you. Do you understand?" "Yes, mistress." You
answer this question more readily, and you seem almost eager, and curious, to
see how I will chastise you. My fingers caress your nipples slowly and gently,
returning you to the peak of arousal once more. Your eyes close in pleasure, and
you seem to think the punishment has been forgotten. But I remove one hand from
your nipples and strike you on the cheek, hard. You gasp in shock and your eyes
fly open. You didn't expect this from me, did you? I have always been so
gentle--did I hurt you? I did. But I see that your penis is now fully erect, and
it looks almost painfully hard. "You won't disobey me again, will you, slave?" I
purr, stroking your chest once more. "No, mistress," you answer, panting.
"Whatever you ask." Whatever I ask. Good. I want you inside me, but it will be
at my convenience. I think of the times you have satisfied yourself with my
body, leaving me unfulfilled. I think of your helplessness and your utter
submission, chained before me. I think of your fast heartbeat and the red mark
my hand has made on your cheek. I think of the hunger in your eyes as you look
at me, and I am ready. I am damp and warm from this short lesson, and I stand to
remove my clothing. You watch me as I undress, and I make my movements
purposefully lascivious to tempt you more. In other situations you would run
your hands up and down my body as I disrobed, squeezing and probing in your
impatience to have me beneath you. I mimic your motions with my own hands. "You
want to touch me, don't you?" I taunt you, recognizing the covetous look you
direct towards me as I slide my hands over my small, firm breasts, pinching my
own nipples as I had yours. With one hand I reach between my thighs and stroke
myself, feeling the slick warmth of my surfaces, imagining the eager pink hue
that I take on when aroused. I masturbate as you lie there, unable to move or to
take part. I am tempted to continue to orgasm, but I can do that whenever I
please. Having you chained to my bed is not an opportunity I choose to take
lightly. I straddle you then, and lean over so that my breasts are just above
your face. "Lick my nipples, slave," I command you. "Just use your tongue."
Eagerly you comply, and I place my hands on my shoulders to steady myself as the
delicious warmth of your tongue strokes me in just the right way. I lower my
hips so that I can feel your hardness against me--I am not yet ready for you to
enter me. I want you to feel the frustration that I sometimes feel. I want you
to whimper in anticipation. Your tongue flutters over one nipple, then the
other. The soft wetness is pleasing to me, and I hum my approval as I guide to
your mouth first one breast, then the other. At the same time, I slide myself
along the length of your shaft, feeling you grow slick with my moisture. I am
growing more impatient, and increase the pressure and speed of my movements so
that the head of your extended penis slips over my clitoris. I imagine myself
opening like a flower as I become more excited, and I visualize the way you must
look now, engorged and tight, with the velvety head shiny and wet. I think about
the moisture your own body produces as you become more intensely aroused, that
pearly drop of liquid that quivers as your pulse throbs there. And your lips
have now closed around my nipple, beginning a delicious sucking that makes me
gasp-- a nip of the teeth now and then, how well you know. "Slave," I say, and
you understand my warning: you have not been permitted that intimacy. I briefly
consider a punishment for your unwelcome initiative, but decide that it is not
warranted. Really, you are doing quite well for such a new pupil. I am ready now
to take you inside me. As I have moved myself against your erection I have come
closer and closer to orgasm, and I know tat the moment I bring my body down upon
yours I will no longer need to hold back. Angling my body, I guide the head of
your penis to my opening, and with one smooth motion I slide down onto you,
taking you inside me deeply and fully. And my wetness holds you close, like the
friendly embrace I've been withholding from you. I feel the heat and hardness as
you throb impatiently within me, and I know it is taking a great deal of
restraint for you to remain still and silent. How long can you maintain such an
obedient attitude? I wait. I wait for you to move, and you do not. You look up
at me with a proud gleam in your eye: your compliance has been noted and met
with approval. For that I am willing to reward you. Raising my hips, I let my
full weight carry me down onto your erection again. I know you've always liked
this, you see. "I will use you for my own pleasure," I tell you, and you smile
as I come down upon you once more. You've always liked this. I become more and
more excited as I watch you behave so submissively; to have such control is
immensely arousing to me. I ride you slowly and deeply, adjusting my position so
that the tip of your penis strokes me in precisely the right places. My speed
increases as I become lost in my own pleasure, lost in using you as a tool to
obtain my orgasm. And it comes, lurking with a menacing intensity, then bursting
forth like a gorgeous surprise. My body shudders around you as I continue my
hard, deep strokes. I come again and again, riding you with a determination that
is perfect in its single- mindedness. Your lower body is covered with my
wetness, and I notice the scent of my arousal as I slow my motions, panting from
my exertions. The contractions of my climax subside slowly, and I open my eyes
to see you smiling at me, a lewd, joyous smile that is deliciously wicked. I'm
not sure I like that smile, though, and, since my pleasure is complete, I
quickly disengage our bodies so that your penis, still hard and long, slides
wetly from me to rest against your belly. I admire its rosy red against the
whiteness of your skin. Your eyes have widened in deprivation. "Mistress,
please!" "Please? Please what, slave?" I ask, assuming an indifference now that
I have obtained my own satisfaction. "Please, mistress--fuck me some more!" Your
tone speaks of urgency, of your eagerness to be enveloped in my warm confines
once again. "Do you want to come?" I ask you softly, and as I speak to you your
hips sway in deprivation. "Yes! Oh, yes!" You are moving in earnest now, and I
am no longer interested in depriving you of some sort of satisfaction since I
have had my own. But I will not furnish the means to attain it. You are now
responsible for your own orgasm. I fetch the key to the cuffs from the bureau,
and I loosen the cuffs at your wrists. Taking your hand in my own, I guide it to
your erection, wrapping your fingers around the shaft to make my intention
clear. "You may pleasure yourself now, slave. But you may not come until you
have gained my permission." You briefly manage a disappointed look before the
pressure of your own hand begins to provide some stimulation. My slickness is
still enough to furnish lubrication, so your tightened fingers slide easily over
your hardness. I watch you caress yourself, becoming excited once more. Your
sounds are intoxicating--I love the soft grunts and sighs you produce as you
stroke your erection. My own hand steals downward as I watch you, and I slide my
fingers inside myself, mesmerized by the motions of your body as you masturbate.
Your whole body begins to quiver as your release approaches. "May I come now,
mistress?" you plead, thrusting strongly into the warm tunnel formed by your
fingers. "Not yet, slave," I answer, and a look of utter despair crosses your
beautiful tense features. "First I want you to taste me." And my words have the
desired effect: I know that it takes a monstrous effort for you not to erupt
just then. But the motion of your hand slows, and I position myself
appropriately, with my hips straddling your shoulders. "You may begin," I tell
you, lowering myself against your lips. Your tongue steals out and licks me with
urgency. I imagine being in your position, under a woman as you are, and I
wonder what it must be like to kiss her so intimately. As your tongue stabs at
my clitoris with increasing fervor, I feel the pressure building within me once
more, and I direct you, "Put your tongue inside me." Instantly your tongue is
driven deep inside me, and the delicious thrusting propels me closer and closer
as my fingers tug at my hardened nipples. And I can tell by the muffled sounds
that you make that you are nearing your climax once more. Just as I feel the
explosive pleasure begin to radiate from the insistent probing of your tongue, I
whisper, "You may come now, slave." With a loud groan, your body tightens,
though you try valiantly to continue the movements of your mouth. You quiver and
gasp in release, and the pumping motion of your hand stops abruptly. I move away
from you just in time to see your penis as it produces that hot, whitish fluid
that signals your satisfaction. And you breathe hard, and your chest rises and
falls for several moments as the force of your release subsides. "You have been
a good slave," I purr approvingly, and I just catch your smile before I bend to
lick the semen from your skin. I relish your taste, love the heat of you. Once I
have finished, I unlock the cuffs from your ankles, and you stretch luxuriously,
bending your joints to remove the stiffness. "Thank you, slave," I whisper,
returning to your lips for a final kiss. "Yes, mistress," you sigh, closing your
eyes with a gentle smile of pleasure.
part II
And I've been planning your next lesson, you know. You did rather well in your
first, I think, though there are still some refinements that must be learned.
You seem to have grasped the balance between yourself and me, slave and
mistress. You seem to be aware of the fact that disobedience will bring
punishment. Now what can you do for me? That is the best part of having a slave.
I have fantasized for months about having you at my command, not only
controlling your pleasure, but controlling my own through you. Demanding that
you satisfy me with detailed, explicit instructions. How well do you follow
directions? This remains to be seen. I speak to you in my new tone of command.
You look up from the diversion you have been pursuing, and aim a questioning
glance at me. You seem to recognize the tone, but I'm not sure you understand.
Your look speaks of uncertainty. That uncertainty should not be there. When I
speak to you, you are to respond with speed and accuracy. "Go clean yourself
thoroughly, slave," I command you, and you seem surprised that I intend to
further your lessons. Oh, this is only the beginning. Obediently you rise and
begin to walk towards the shower, shedding clothing as you go. Perhaps you hope
to tantalize me with premature glimpses of your body. Isn't power a delicious
thing? I hear the water running as you wash. I take this time to walk to the
bedroom, checking to be sure that all is in place. Satisfied with my
preparations, I undress and sit on the bed to wait for you. As I wait, my own
private erotic movie flickers through my mind, and it comes as a slight surprise
when you step into the room, patting yourself dry with a towel. "Tonight, slave,
you will learn to please me as I direct you. We have already established my
control over you, haven't we?" I look at you from under my lashes with a
flirtatious wink. "Yes, mistress," you answer unnecessarily. We both know that
I'm in charge. "What do you ask of me first?" "Sit down," I tell you, gesturing
towards the bed. You do, and I return to the top drawer of the bureau where I
keep my secret things. I turn around, and you gasp aloud when you see the riding
crop in my hands. I caress the crop as you watch me, and twirl its loop in my
fingers. "Now. Tonight I will demand specific tasks of you, and you will execute
them. You will execute them to my satisfaction, at my command, or you will be
punished. Do you understand?" "Yes, mistress." Unnecessary again. Your agreement
is implied; disagreement would be unspeakable. "Very good. Do as you're told,
and you will be rewarded. Fail in your tasks, and you will be punished. I think
that's fair." I smile at you, a predatory, smug smile. I never knew control
could be so exhilarating. Just knowing that you will perform my every whim-- Ah,
well. "I want you to make yourself hard for me, slave. I want you to stroke your
cock while I watch." "May I lie down?" you ask, and I decide that there is a
better position for you to assume. "No, kneel in front of me." You kneel before
me on the carpet, and your eyes are level with my hips. I know my nakedness
excites you; you have on occasion adopted this position to please me with your
tongue. I look down at you as your fingers close around the shaft of your penis,
already beginning to harden from the command that I've issued. One hand wanders
up to touch your nipples, one, then the other, as the other begins to slide up
and down along your erection. And what an enticing sight. You would confess from
time to time having masturbated of a morning, and your admissions always excited
me, always. I am enjoying the sight of you as you handle yourself. I watch your
penis grow and harden, and it becomes a pleasant purple-red as you touch
yourself. You look up at me with a degree of humility that pleases me immensely.
"I'm hard now, mistress." "Yes, I see that." I lie on the bed now, on my back,
and motion you over. "Come here." You sit beside me on the bed. "I want you to
make me wet now. You are allowed to touch only my nipples. You are allowed to
use only your hands. Is that clear?" You nod as a slow smile winds its way over
your features. I make sure that the crop is within easy reach if you happen to
deviate from my specific directions. You arrange yourself over me, as if you
planned to enter me, and support yourself on your elbows. Your hands come up to
touch my breasts, cupping them in your hands. They are small and firm and
extremely sensitive to touch; you know the way. You do. Your fingers begin to
caress my small, pinkish nipples, just the tips of your fingers at first, then
the palms of your hands, stroking me gently, teasing me. This is what I like. As
my breath comes faster, you delicately seize a nipple between each thumb and
forefinger and squeeze, hard. An involuntary moan escapes me, and I realize my
hips have begun to move in arousal. I also realize that I have become quite damp
with your exertions. Nicely done, slave. And I am about to commend you on your
expertise and subservience when you lower your head to my breasts and take a
nipple into your mouth. Your lips are gentle and caressing at first, but then
become assertive and challenging as you nip at the hardened peak with your
teeth. I hope you are prepared to face the consequences of such impertinence. My
crop comes down across your buttocks with enough force to sting, though not
enough to welt. I know--I've practiced. You yelp in surprise, and I notice in
that moment that you have brought your hips hard down against my legs, so that I
can feel your penis straining against my thighs. This has excited you, hasn't
it? I hope disobedience won't become a habit. "You disobeyed me, slave. You must
learn to perform my commands when I issue them, and not before." My tone is
harsh as I stroke your buttocks with my crop; this is a gentle reminder that I
wield the power in this instance. "Yes, mistress," you gasp, grinding your
pelvis against my thighs for one last moment before you lunge away from me.
"Please forgive my disobedience. What may I do for you next?" "Continue with
your mouth now. Perhaps I will be persuaded to forgive you if you behave well
this time." So you bring your mouth down to my breasts once more, using your
lips on one nipple and your fingers on the other. You suck them gently, then
harder, and you nibble gently from time to time. Soon the combined feel of your
soft lips and fingertips mingles with the rough pinches and bites to make me
weak with desire. Power is the best aphrodisiac. Is this what was meant? "Lick
them," I tell you, and you eagerly comply; I notice that you are sliding your
penis along my legs, stroking yourself against my skin. I decide not to
reprimand you, however, for you are really summoning up the most delightful
feelings from deep within my body. With my eyes tightly closed I think of having
you on your knees before me once again, thoroughly trained, beautifully
finished. We have made a good start. Eventually I realize that I am as excited
as such play can make me, and it is time to move on to another stage of
instruction. I look up at you meaningfully, and you move away from my breasts.
"Wonderful," I purr, genuinely pleased with the fact that you can be commanded
without words. "Lie on your back." I move to allow you to assume the required
position. I then arrange myself above you so that your tongue can reach me
easily; I still hold the crop in my hands, but it is merely a symbol. I do hope
it won't be necessary to use it. "Now," I tell you in a confidential, cozy tone,
"you are going to make me come with your mouth. Do you understand?" You nod
enthusiastically, and the boyish smile that tickles me so utterly spreads across
your face. "You are rather talented, you know," I tell you, conversationally,
"and so I expect only your finest." I settle myself down so that I am easily
accessible to your tongue and lips. "First I want you to use only your tongue. I
want you to lick me, up and down. You may begin." With characteristic eagerness
you set to your task, and I feel the soft broadness of your tongue as it slides
over my most sensitive folds. You do this slowly at first, and then with
increasing speed and pressure as my enjoyment builds. Your tongue feels
wonderful, delicate then strong, as you tease me. You linger on my clitoris for
what seems quite a long time, and I look down at you, hoping you will be able to
sense my disapproval. But your eyes are closed as you continue working, and you
do not note my glance of warning. Very well. I slide the crop behind me and
brush it over your stiff penis, a warning. Your eyes fly open as I pat you with
it, and you devote yourself to your task with added fervor. Up, and down,
slowly. Slowly. My eyes close and my hands move to caress my breasts, and once
again I replay erotic scenes in my mind, conscious only of the motion of your
tongue and the warmth it creates within me. "Suck my clit now, slave," I
whisper, and immediately there is a welcome pressure there as your lips close
around me. Your hands come up to stroke my buttocks and this initiative is not
to be reprimanded. I like it. I like it very much. And as I pinch my nipples, I
begin to tingle all over, I begin to sizzle, which seems clichéd but which is
also quite accurate. You suck at me steadily, and I feel my entire body tense
up. I begin to tremble, almost there, and then my entire body seems to light up
like a garish neon sign. I imagine the flush that comes over my body when I am
exceptionally aroused, and I cry out with the warmth and intensity of it all.
"Stop now," I tell you breathlessly, for your ministrations have continued, and
it is becoming uncomfortable to feel your tongue on me. Immediately you
withdraw, and look up at me for further instructions. I move away from you, and
bring a towel to your face to clean off my juices and your saliva. You look
delightful right now, damp and pink and decadent. "Did I do well, mistress?" you
venture, and I am satisfied enough to commend you. "Quite well, my dear. Quite
well." I smile at you as I sit beside you, catching my breath. I look down over
your body and I see that your penis is stiff still--but you have always loved
doing that to a woman, watching her lose control as you drive your tongue into
her. Did I lose control? No. Control, you see, is the currency of sex now. I
happen to have a lot of it. You, dear slave, do not. You stopped when I
commanded it, mm? Enough said. "What shall we have you do next?" I deliberate
aloud, allowing you to think that I have not made up my mind. Ah, but I have. I
know exactly what comes next. "You will obey my commands, will you not?" "Yes,
mistress," you say softly, smiling at me. I know you are hungry for attention, I
know that your body is screaming to be touched. Will you ask? I do hope not. It
wouldn't do. No, it wouldn't do at all. "Good. Turn over on your stomach," I
tell you, standing. You direct a puzzled look at me, and you seem about to
question me until you realize that I have picked up the crop again, stroking it
fondly up and down, mimicking the way I handle your penis sometimes. Playful,
yet purposeful. You turn over, then, onto your stomach, and I can tell that the
pressure of your cock against the mattress pleases you. Good. This should please
you. I return to the top drawer of the bureau and take from it a small tube of
lubricant and my newest toy, a cylindrical vibrator. It is roughly the size of
your penis, and it has provided me with hours of amusement. It is time that you
enjoyed it, too "Spread your legs apart, slave," I command you, and you do so
without question, though you do not yet know what I have planned. You have not
seen the vibrator in my hand. I want to surprise you, you see. "Would you like
to know what it's like to be penetrated, slave?" "Yes, mistress," you say, and
perhaps you say so because you know that it is the only acceptable answer. But
perhaps you mean it. I think, in fact, that you do mean it. "I'm holding a
vibrator in my hand," I tell you, and your head swings back over your shoulder
to look. I gently push your head back onto the mattress. "No, moving is not
allowed. You will be still. I am going to put this inside you. Will you allow
it?" And here is where the very fine line between a consensual game and absolute
control becomes blurred. Do you want this? Do you know that you can say no? Do
you want to say no? You know that I will not force you, that I will punish you,
but that I will not force you. A look of uncertainty crosses your features, but
I happen to know that this has been part of your fantasies. You smile and tell
me, "Whatever you like, mistress," and the moment of tension is gone. "You are
quite biddable," I praise you, and I uncap the lubricant. I begin to apply it
liberally, both to the vibrator and to you. And you feel my fingers slip inside
of you, and your body tightens up immediately. "Relax, slave," I croon. "I will
not hurt you. I wouldn't damage my favorite plaything." I stroke your buttocks
and the backs of your thighs until I feel your muscles relax once more, and I
continue applying the lubricant. When I have finished I lean over and whisper in
your ear. "I want you to do this, slave. I want to watch you put this inside
you." For I have decided that it is more likely to be pleasant if you do this,
and it speaks better of my control if you will do this for yourself. "Yes,
mistress," and I can see by your expression of apprehension and arousal that I
have hit on something very, very good. You reach around and take the
now-slippery vibrator in your hands. I aid you by spreading your buttocks apart,
and you position the vibrator at the puckered opening between them. "Go slowly,"
I command you, for I know from experience that it will be infinitely more
pleasurable this way. I watch you slide the vibrator in, slowly, until it is
fully inside you. Your breath has been coming harder and faster, and I know that
the pain mingled with the pleasure excites you as much as it does me. The sight
of you is gorgeous. Just gorgeous. "How does it feel, slave? Do you like that?"
"Yes, mistress!" you pant, and I wonder if you have any idea how much better it
can get. But of course you have never felt the thrusting there, the buildup of
speed, the release that I have felt with you inside me. I reach down and twist
the base of the vibrator, and you yelp as the toy begins to hum and quiver
inside of you. "Turn over," I tell you, and I can see that it takes quite an
effort to do so--I know the feeling of being turned into jelly, responsive, hot
jelly. Your penis is as hard as I've ever seen it, and I am glad that this
pleases you. I am glad that you have done this--would you have done it on your
own if I had not commanded you? I doubt it. You have fantasized about it,
thought about having such a nice, firm object inside you like this, but would
you have done it? What a good slave you are turning out to be. I smile down at
you and caress your face, which has become contorted with discomfort and
excitement. I straddle you and brush myself against you. You can feel my wetness
against the impossible hardness of your cock. "Fuck me, please, mistress," you
whimper, and I tease you for awhile longer, watching the tension grow across
your features, your eyes screwed tightly shut. "Very well, slave," I tell you,
and I slide down onto you abruptly, taking the length of you into me in a single
stroke. You are deep inside me and I begin riding you hard, eager for my own
climax, and equally determined to deny you yours. I move up and down, grinding
my pelvis against yours to stimulate my clitoris, which I visualize as a ripe
red fruit. It doesn't take long for me to come again, because I am watching your
face and imagining the feelings you must be having with the vibrator buried deep
inside you. I caution you not to move, not to come, and frustration is added to
the stew of emotions that I am seeing in you. And my climax comes, and I remain
atop you for a moment, then begin to withdraw. Your eyes snap open, and a wild
look crosses your face as you tell me, "Don't go, you fuck!" "What did you call
me?" I ask you incredulously. But I have heard you, and I slap you, hard,
relishing the sharp sound of my palm against your smooth cheek. Your body
shudders, and with a spasm of your hips I am inside you again. "You forgot the
other cheek," you tell me, eyes open wide, watching my reaction. Very well. My
hand meets the other cheek with the same satisfying sound, and you groan with
the pleasure and pain of it all. "May I come now, mistress?" you ask me,
respectful once again. I have finished with you, I think, and so I decide to
grant your request, though such an appalling lapse will be remembered. "Yes,
slave. I want you to come now. I want you to come inside me." And with a lurch
you do. I feel your hot fluid filling me, and I hear the gasps and cries that
are your hallmark as you tense and relax, tense and relax. As soon as you have
finished, I reach beneath you and withdraw the vibrator. "Well done, slave," I
tell you, and pat you gently on the thigh. Gathering up a towel, I stroll off to
the shower, leaving you to recover alone.
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