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Subject: Lession in Control (01) (FemDom)
Date: 30 Mar 1997 09:53:38 -0500
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The THC Adult Text Archive: LES-CON1.TXT (445 lines)
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Saltgirl: Lessons in Control, 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, quintesentially 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.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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From adultarc@tommys.spydernet.com Sun Mar 30 09:53:36 1997
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From: adultarc@tommys.spydernet.com
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Subject: Lession in Control (02)
Date: 30 Mar 1997 09:53:36 -0500
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The THC Adult Text Archive: LES-CON2.TXT (419 lines)
Please do not allow anyone under 18 to read the contents of this message.
Note: I did not write any of these stories. They are being posted from the
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See the footer for important information.
==========================================================================
Lessons in control: part 2
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 cliched 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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-=( Tommy )=-