Ariella slowly drifted back to consciousness, delicious thoughts of the dungeon she had just ‘visited’ and her spanking experiences turning over in her mind. Shallara never hurt her; Ariella preferred to think of it as heavy stimulation. She always came out of a spanking feeling aroused and alive and with a closer bond than ever to Shallara.

Sometimes the spanking were pure pleasure; she loved those most intimate ones, draped across Shallara’s knee on the warm leather couch in front of the fire. Shallara would caress her bottom between strokes, playing her fingernails around the patterns that the hand smacks left. The arousal would grow slowly and surely, and as the spanking progressed, she would often feel Shallara’s massaging hands probing between her moist thighs. And it always ended in long cuddles, creamy liqueurs and a feeling of love and well being.

On other occasions, Shallara would play the domme; sometimes a teacher, sometimes an assertive matron…or whatever the mood drove her to try. The role play excited them both, and the sexual excitement came as much from the play as the punishments that Shallara laid on. She found it humiliating and arousing to be bent over, sometimes over a chair, sometimes with hands on her knees, and made to offer her bottom in such an unconditional way. She could sense her private parts on display, open and vulnerable, and aware that she was unable to hide the swelling and dampness that always occurred. There was that ever present element of arousal, the stickiness between her thighs, the dewiness on her lips, and that feeling that her breasts were on fire and wanting to burst out from their skin.

Although playful and exuberant, Shallara hated to hurt her. There were times when Shallara thought she had over-played a stroke, and Ariella loved the compassion and attention that would follow: gentle massaging of a soothing cream into the offending welt, kisses and apologies. She often joked afterward that Shallara was really too soft, kind and compassionate to really be her domme.

So it was with surprise, that as Ariella tuned in more closely to the voices in the entrance hall, she heard Shallara saying: “I thought you weren’t meant to come back, Tim ? What are you doing here? “.

“May I come in please? I have to speak to you. ”

Shallara felt less than pleased. She had just been leading Ariella down into a wonderful trance, and this interruption was really unwelcome. Seeing who was now standing there, Shallara felt acid.

Tim stepped through the door and had a flashback to his thoughts when he had last entered the apartment. When he had last stepped through this door, he had challenged himself to get Shallara in bed within two weeks. He had left impotent and with an invisible restraint around his crotch. That target now seemed very remote, and in fact was at the back of his mind. It was his sexual freedom he wanted. Tim remembered the padded trestle he had seen in the sitting area on his last visit, and his mind had been churning over the possibilities. Maybe, just maybe, she would accept his offer?

He half expected that she would respond mockingly; more likely that she would reject his suggestion out of hand. In fact he was a bit stunned at what did come back to him: “Tim, are you sure you are prepared to be spanked? Do you know how much that hurts? Actually….I don’t think you are man enough to take it from me!”.

There was a low murmur from someone with a male voice. Ariella could only pick up the trailing words: “……but if I do, then it is all over? I get my libido back? I don’t need to get yours or Mrs Stern’s permission anymore?”.

“Agreed, Tim. But the right hand ring stays on. You are never going to abuse women again…”

The voices trailed off as she heard Shallara take the man into a spare room that led off the entrance lobby. Ariella got up and walked over to the liquor cabinet to pour herself a Baileys. It was creamy and sweet, just right for her mood. The fire flickered in the hearth reminding her of the dungeon dream she had just had. She sat and waited for Shallara to rejoin her, her lips caressing the glass’s rim, savoring the drops of nectar that seemed to trickle down the edges. Her tongue darting in occasionally to lick at the creamy contents. As she waited Enya played on, and her existence had merely seemed to drift from a sleeping dream to a waking dream.

Ariella turned to the doorway as she heard Shallara enter. Shallara’s fingers came up to her lips, indicating her to remain silent. Then she was gone. A few moments later, Shallara came back through the door leading a man by the elbow. He was naked; Ariella wanted to giggle as she caught sight of his semi erect member which seemed to point the way ahead. A red silk cloth was wound around his eyes in a blindfold, and his breathing seemed heavy. Well built, not too much flab – Ariella’s mind did somersaults as she tried to figure out what was going on. Shallara’s fingers remained on her own lips, urging her to remain silent.

Reaching the center of the room, Shallara stopped, and whispered in the man’s ear. He stood erect, hands at his sides, his mouth deadpan. Shallara moved quickly over to the padded trestle in the corner, and brought it back to the center of the room, placing in front of the blindfolded man.

“Bend over this trestle Tim…..are you sure you really want to go through with this?”. The man reached forward, feeling for where the trestle was and then bent forward. “Grip the front legs, Tom…..spread your legs as wide as they go…make them touch the back legs…there you go!”

Ariella could sense the sexual tension. The semi-flaccid member had sprung upright, and seemed to be stabbing at the underside of the padded trestle. Shallara glided back to the wall unit in the corner of the room. In the one hand she had a whippy little cane they had purchased once at an adult shop. It stung like crazy and left angry red wheals; in the other, her favorite little strap. About two inches wide, eighteen inches long, it ended in two tails. In skilled hands, it was versatile – it could sting, it could bruise, it could burnish, it could bite! She seemed to be breathing deeply; a look had entered her eyes that Ariella had never seen. She paced around the bent and blindfolded man, rubbing his back lightly, caressing his buttocks.

Time stood still. The bent over man shifted uncomfortably. Shallara looked around, and cast one of her impish smiles Ariella’s way. Suddenly she was gone. When she came back into the room, she was carrying the wooden spoon and a baking tray. The silence prevailed, and she barely acknowledged Ariella’s presence. Shallara bent down gracefully, her knees together, and placed the baking tray directly beneath the man’s hanging head.

She stood in front of him, and gently took hold of handful of his hair, pulling his head up. “Open your mouth, Tim…”. A measured pause as she played out the drama. Even sitting 5 feet away, her feet curled up under her, Ariella could start to smell the musty scents wafting off these these two players. “It’s a bite stick, Tim…..now close your teeth around it. …..You have to grip it tightly Tim. If you drop it ……you will walk out of this room, and never see me again. And don’t…do not, under any circumstance, leave go of the trestle legs in front of you! Do you understand Tim ? This is going to hurt you. Hurt you more than you have ever experienced! You are going to wish that you had never asked me to do this to you! But you have, and you know what?” “Shallara’s voice seemed to get huskier with each sentence. It was as if she was battling to control herself. “ I am going to enjoy it. It excites me Tim. I know how you feel about women, and on behalf of each of those ladies out there who you have ever put down, I am gong to whip your scraggly butt with a cane. I am gong to watch you jiggle it Tim. And I am going to get off on it!”

Ariella watched her closely. Her excitement was evident; it was lust, and for the first time, she saw the latent sadistic streak in her Domme. Until now it had always been about control, and power with some sensuality and rough play thrown in. But this time it was something different. This man had brought the animal out in her, and she was hot. Ariella found her own feelings starting to build. She desperately wanted to play with herself, but she knew she had to keep absolutely still, to keep undetected.

Ariella stepped back and watched. The head seemed to droop, but the stick stayed grasped in his mouth. “You did say no more than six, didn’t you Tim ?”. The nod was almost imperceptible. “So if we aim for around 5..or maybe just a touch more, that works for you?”. Shallara picked up the cane from the coffee table. She held it lightly in her fingers, almost like a violinist gripping her bow. Her red painted nails seemed to be set off against the ash white cane. And with a slight flick of her wrist, she sent it searing across the man’s bottom. The man yelped and jerked his bottom in. But the bite-stick stayed gripped between his teeth.

Shallara paced around him, He could not see her, but her presence was obvious. She was breathing deeply, and flicking the cane rhythmically. The next three strokes were delivered in quick succession. It was as if a thick red crayon had been used to draw a line of pain, joining his two bottom cheeks. His hands stoically grasped the front legs, but he seemed to be doing a dance with his pelvis. He looked silly as he waved his bottom around, trying desperately to find some relief. His penis flopped around under the trestle, any vestiges of an erection long gone.

He jerked as her fingers traced the lines. The welts stood out from his skin, white in the center, a multi-colored red on either side. She massaged his bottom gently, and lent forward to whisper in his ear, “Hurts’ doesn’t it ? mmmm…..I like that. It excites me to see you like this, Tim. I am all hot…and it is you who has done it.” Her body heat had seemed to release the scent of her perfume. Chanel No 5 flooded his senses. The warmth from the fire; this closeness of this vibrant and spunky woman. The blood flooded back into his penis. “…and we are still within the limit Tim. I have only given you 4 strokes…should we carry on? Don’t forget the bite stick, Tim !…and don’t leave hold of the legs of the trestle. I will tell you when we you can leave go.”

Shallara took up her position again. Like that violin lead, her balance slightly back on her right leg, the cane at the ready….then that delicate flick of the write again. She played the proffered bottom like a musical instrument. The crack as the whippy rod met his tensed buttocks. She watched it vibrate against the trestle. The cheeks vibrating open and closed in desperate attempt to find some relief. But at last he settled. “Don’t drop it, big boy” she whispered huskily, “we’re still under six……”. The pause hung in the air….”if I give you another half, I am still within the limit, aren’t I ? Just nod, your had, don’t say anything. Or…you can walk away right now?”

They waited for his response. At last it came…..a slight nod. The wooden spoon trembled in his mouth. “The reward will be worth it, Timmy, don’t drop it…how bad can half a stroke really be? Think about what we discussed, Tim…picture it in your mind. And if you agree, push your bottom out. Offer yourself to me Tim.”

As if by magic, the cane seemed to have been replaced in Shallara’s hand by the strap. She sensuously dragged it through her left hand, fingering the supple leather, twisting the tongues backwards and forwards. Without warning, she raised it and brought it crashing down across the left check of the upturned bottom. The strap’s tongues snaked in-between the tender thigh flesh, kissing the highly sensitive skin. Exquisite agony as the one tongue licked at the top of his scrotum. The other caressed the perineum with a scorching flash.

Time stood still for Ariella. But it could only have been a fraction of a second later that Tim groaned uncontrollably, and ejaculated the bite-stick from his mouth, the spoon clattered down onto the baking tray at his feet. He writhed in a climax of pain, pounding his hips into the padded trestle. His penis jabbed backwards and forwards uncontrollably. His hands shot around to clasp and caress his backside. Slowly he stood up.

“You dropped it !”, Shallara accused him. “It was only half a stroke…I didn’t even touch your right cheek!”

Tim tore off the red silk blindfold and spun around. His eyes found Ariella’s and a flush of red streaked up into his cheeks. “What the …who is this? ..what is she doing here ? You …!”.

“You dropped it Tim…you lost the bet”, Shallara reiterated. “Better go and get dressed and be on your way like a good boy.” Ariella watched silently as Shallara escorted him out. As he exited the front door, she saw Shallara hand him something. “Perhaps I will see you again Timmy, once you have taken in the lessons on this CD. I would suggest listening twice a day, as soon as you wake up and before you go to bed. And Timmy, cold cream will do wonders for your welts!”.

He walked away furious and uptight. His backside hurt like crazy and the area between his legs where the strap had caught, stung remorselessly. But even worse, he felt humiliated and double-crossed. He was just about to drop the CD, but the writing caught his attention. If this was the way into her pants, maybe he had better listen. On it, there were two lines: “Hypnosis: The joys of submission” and “Red Silk by Lady Julia”. Maybe…..maybe….

~~~~~~~

Shallara: Taken Over the Edge by a Short Stroke is a post from: Femdom Fantasies. Authors retain copyright. If you enjoyed this story or have something to add, please leave a comment. Remember, feedback typically encourages writers to write more ;)

We connected frequently online. Goddess Vivienne is a very experienced Mistress. There was no doubt, from our conversations online that she was expert at controlling her submissives. Our chats went for hours, lasting long into the night. It’s common on CB to say you know someone from “the inside out.” I felt that way about Goddess Vivienne. We connected over the span of many months.

I learned much about my need to be submissive and to be controlled by a powerful woman. We had many “scenes” online. I followed her directions exactly and reported the results and my feelings to her. I wondered if we would ever meet in person and for me to be allowed the honor of serving her.

Although we had never met, or even spoken to each other by phone, we did live relatively close to each other. It was knowing how close we were in reality that made the anonymity of connecting online that much more exciting.

From the start, I harbored thoughts of serving Goddess Vivienne in person. To be able to see her standing in front of me, while I kneeled to serve her as She saw fit.

As I usually do, I logged onto the system first thing in the morning to check my email and sometimes to see who might be up early enough to be lurking on one of the CB channels. As I logged on, I could see the message flash that “Mail is waiting.” I typed the commands to get into the mail system and found “One message waiting.” The message was short but filled the screen.

_slave…

The time has come for you to prove your ability to serve me. I will allow you the honor of serving in my “clinic.” You will follow my instructions precisely. Any deviation from my explicit directions will result in immediate and irrevocable dismissal. You may NEVER have another opportunity to meet or serve me.

I will meet you this evening at the Hotel Washington. you will have no difficulty in identifying me, as I will be in the hotel’s bar, wearing a red carnation in my hair with long fingernails to match. I will have no difficulty in identifying you, because at precisely 6 PM you will be the man on his knees, kissing and licking my high heeled shoes. You will continue until told explicitly to stop. You will not utter a word unless asked a question or told to speak.

You will wear regular street clothes, but will wear no underwear. You will have your large butt plug inserted.

Goddess Vivienne_

My heart sunk into the pit of my stomach. Could this be true? Is she really allowing me the honor and priviledge of meeting her. The thought was at the same time, frightening, daunting and very exciting. Isn’t this what I’ve wanted all along, but, will I be the slave I am in my fantasies. Certainly the pain and discomfort I’ve experienced at her hand online could not compare to what I will experience with her in person. I had the day to think about it.

My productivity at work that day was clearly not up to par. My concentration was non-existent. I could think of nothing but what lay in store for me that evening. I would finally be meeting my Goddess and experiencing, first hand, her expert domination skills.

Throughout the day, I thought about the scene that awaited me. The timing, it appeared, was selected for maximum humiliation, Happy Hour! How would I be able to get on my knees in a room full of people to kiss my Goddess’ shoes? How long would she keep me there? There was little doubt I would find the courage to do it, to experience a meeting with Goddess Vivienne. Will it really be that easy to find her in such a crowded room? What if by chance there were more than two women wearing red flowers in their hair? Long red fingernails aren’t THAT uncommon among professional women. What would I do? What did she have in mind to do with/to me? Would I actually be given the opportunity to see and serve in her “clinic?” These thoughts, and more, swirled around my head all day. I could think of nothing else.

Just before I left to go to the hotel I retrieved the butt plug I had been instructed to keep available in my office by Goddess Vivienne. Many times, after meeting her online during the day, I was instructed to insert the plug and keep it in throughout the day, usually until we can meet again online in the evening. I used a small bit of lube to insert the plug while in the bathroom. The plug is large enough to cause considerable discomfort when being inserted but I tolerate it pretty well once it is in. When inserted, it is a constant reminder of my submissive status.

I drove the short distance to the hotel, parked, and entered the hotel bar at about 5:45PM. The bar was full with its usual happy hour crowd. I surveyed the room looking for the woman with the red carnation in her hair and equally red long fingernails. My heart almost came through my chest as I spotted a red carnation in blond hair at the bar. I was thankful that I could only find one flower in the crowd. I stood and looked closely to see if I could spy the trademark long, red fingernails. Suddenly, she raised her glass to her lips and her magnificent nails came into view. She was everything I had imagined her to be. She was wearing a flowing flowered silk dress, almost conservative. There was nothing very revealing about her dress but it was clearly one of the more beautiful dresses in the room. Even from my distant viewpoint, I could sense her elegant, aristocratic aura. She may not have been the most beautiful woman in the room but she certainly had the greatest “presence.” That feeling that fills a room when you can’t mistake the fact that someone is there. Some call it charisma, some call it aura, but whatever it is, it is unmistakable.

I glanced at my watch and it was 5:50. I still had 10 minutes to think about meeting her. I was to kneel at her feet and kiss her shoes. I spotted the shoes I was to kiss. They were classic black pumps with what appeared to be 4 inch heels. While I had certainly performed this subservient task before, I had never done so in a public place. Never in front of strangers. I didn’t have a lot of time to think about what would happen, it was already very close to 6PM.

My heart beat faster and harder as I made my way across the room. She was sipping a drink and looking out at the crowd at no one in particular. My digital watch said 5:59 as I stood in front of her and caught her eye. Without looking around, or trying to think about what any of the other customers would think, I dropped to my knees and took her right shoe in my hands. I kissed the toe of the shoe and licked along the sides to the heel. As I reached the heel, I looked up to see her looking at me with a satisfied smile on her lips. I continued to lick the shoe and took the heel into my mouth and sucked on it. I avoided looking at anyone and focused on my task, hoping to please my Goddess. Silently, she moved her left foot into a position that made it apparent she expected me to do the same thing to that one before I would be allowed any recognition by her. I performed the same submissive task on her left shoe. When the heel was being sucked she said one word, “up.” I released her foot and immediately stood up in front of her. She looked into my eyes with a smile and spoke the words I longed to hear, “very good slave.”

She got up from her stool at the bar and started to walk to an empty table in the back of the room. As she turned towards the table, she looked down on the floor at a leather carrying bag and said, “My bag.” It was instinct that made me understand that she expected me to pick up the bag and follow her to the table.

“Sit,” she said, as we reached the table. She immediately explained that she expected me to come to H\her “clinic,” but that I would have to do something before we could leave. I was to drink 5 glasses of water. By my estimation, it probably amounted to about 2 liters of water. She said the sooner I finished the water the sooner we could leave and get on with the evening’s activities.

While we sat and I drank the water, I felt increasingly uncomfortable as the water filled my stomach and the butt plug irritated my ass. We made small talk while she waited for me to finish, occasionally glancing at her nails, inspecting them, almost admiring them. As soon as I had gulped the last of the water, she rose from the table and said, “Follow me.” Glancing at the bag I had put on the floor, it was obvious I was to carry it out.

We walked through the room to the exit. I couldn’t help but notice some of the looks we received as I walked behind her. We walked across the parking lot to the far corner where she parked her red Mercedes 280 sports car. As she reached the car, she stopped and turned to face me. Reaching for the bag I was carrying she took it and opened it up. Without saying anything, she reached in and retrieved two leather cuffs which she fastened around my wrists. Next, she took out a leather collar, about 2 inches wide and fastened it around my neck. The collar had a number of “D” rings attached around it. She told me to put my hands behind my neck and, with small padlocks, locked the wrist cuffs to the “D” rings on the collar. She told me it was important that I be blindfolded while on the way to her clinic. A full leather hood was placed over my head and secured in the back and around the neck. “Now,” she said, “get into the car.” I heard her open the door and guide me into the passenger’s seat. It was a bit awkward, but I managed to sit comfortably into the seat, as comfortable as I could bound the way I was and with a butt plug.

The trip to her clinic was uneventful. She said very little. My heart continued to beat harder and faster as I thought about what awaited me in her clinic. The trip could not have been longer than about 20 minutes. I had no idea which direction from the hotel she went or where I might be. The car stopped and I could hear and feel her get out and come around to my side of the car. The door was opened and she said, “Out!” I struggled to my feet with a bit of support from her. She grabbed my extended elbow and led me up a few steps through a door. Once inside we walked a bit turning here and there as I sensed we were going through some doors. All at once we stopped.

She released my elbow and moved behind me to unfasten my hands from the collar. She removed the hood. I stood in the middle of a “white” room. Everything in the room was white. I quickly looked around to see what I could identify as bondage equipment, but unlike other “dungeons” I had been in, everything in this room was white. While it had the same feeling of a “dungeon” the whiteness of the room gave it a very special quality. Differences in the room were identified as differences in texture. The lighting created special effects with the shadows. Before I could do or think of anything, I heard the command, “Strip! Put your clothes on that hook,” as She pointed to a hook on the far wall of the room. As I began to take off my shirt and pants, she left the room. It only took a few seconds to be naked and standing in the middle of Goddess’ room. I stood in the middle, in the position I had been instructed to assume, legs spread shoulder width, hands behind my neck, eyes cast down to the floor. It seemed like hours before Goddess Vivienne entered the room again. She had changed her attire. She was dressed to contrast completely with the room I had desired to be in for so long. She was wearing a black corset with garters attached to black seamed stockings and continued to wear the black high heeled pumps I had so devotingly kissed and licked just minutes before. The sight of her made my cock stand up immediately. She did not let this go unnoticed, as she said, “Mmmm…so you must be pleased with my clinic!” It was not a direct question so I maintained my silence.

She walked around me, inspecting her slave. My hands were fastened to the collar again. I heard her say, “No sense in wasting time, lets get started. I like to see my slaves in dilemmas. That’s what we’re going to do today. I’d like to see how you deal with this dilemma.” It was about this time, that I began to notice the pressure building in my bladder. She had given me no indication or opportunity to ask to be allowed to urinate and I knew better than to talk without explicit instructions. I would have to hold it until she allowed me the opportunity to talk to her.

She moved me to a pole in the middle of the room. She walked over to one of the walls and retrieved a number of items I could not identify. She knelt down beside me and put leather cuffs, similar to those on my wrists around my ankles. Using padlocks, she fastened the cuffs to rings in the floor, securing my legs in position, separated about 3 feet. Next, she went behind me and grabbed my balls around the top of my scrotum. She gave them a firm pull which made me moan. Because of her instructions not to cum for the last week, my balls were very full and achy. I felt her fasten a parachute ball stretcher to the top of my scrotum. It pinched my skin a little but I knew it was on firmly when she pulled on the ring attached to the chains.

Going to the other wall she obtained a number of other items and returned to stand behind me. I felt her reach to touch the butt plug and heard her say, “Very good.” The butt plug was removed, not too gently and immediately replaced with another one about the same size. I heard the sound of her squeezing a rubber bulb and immediately felt the butt plug expand in my ass. She continued to pump it up until I thought it would explode in my ass, but she stopped just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore. She continued to make arrangements behind me. I couldn’t see exactly what she was doing but I knew it had something to do with the pole behind me. In my peripheral vision, I could see her hanging a rubber bag on the pole. The tube coming out of the bag had some kind of device on it with a wire coming out of it. The tube was attached to the butt plug firmly in place in my ass. She reached down and connected something, a chain or rope, to the ring on the parachute harness and attached the wire to a device on the rope. Suddenly, I felt a strong pulling on my balls. The pull grew stronger and stronger until I was forced to bend my knees in a crouch position to keep my balls from being pulled from my body, or so I thought. The pull on my balls continued as she fastened the rope to a ring in the floor directly beneath my balls and between the rings fastening my feet to the floor. As she released the rope attached to my balls the pull on them stopped and I realized that a warm fluid was filling my ass. She stood and came to my front. Looking me in the eyes, she told me that I could stop the flow of liquid into my ass by simply pulling the rope on my balls. So, that was the dilemma she mentioned. I could receive an enema or punish my balls. The force required to keep the liquid from flowing was significant. The position I was in did not allow me to stand up fully, so I had to maintain a semi-crouched position.

Goddess Vivienne stood in front of me and began to feel my stomach just above my cock. “Mmmm…a bit loated?…Arent’ we?” “Yes, Mistress,” I answered. “I’ll allow you to empty your bladder when your ass if full!”

She then left the room and left me to my dilemma. My bladder was beginning to hurt. I couldn’t make up my mind if it was better to be pulling on my balls, or to have the enema. After what seemed like an eternity, I realized I needed desperately to urinate and succumbed to the full enema by crouching down and releasing the tension on my balls. My stomach filled up immediately with the enema. I began to have cramps. I pulled on my balls to stop the flow but it did no good. It was done. I had retained all the fluid. I felt completely full between my bladder and the enema.

Goddess returned to the room to find the enema bag empty. She told me how pleased she was that I accepted it so well. I watched as she walked over to a rack filled with various whips and paddles. She selected a crop and returned to stand behind me. She spoke into my ear saying, “You’ve done very well. I will now reward you with a cropping. After you’ve received 20 lashes from my crop, I will allow you to empty yourself. Do you understand?” “Yes, Mistress,” I replied. “You will count each stroke as it is delivered. Any miscount will result in me starting from the beginning.”

She began to strike me in earnest as I counted each stroke. The combination of being full of liquid from both sides and the pull on my balls every time I jumped from the strokes was more punishment than I had ever experienced before.

When the final stroke had been delivered, she stroked my ass and told me how well I had received my punishment. She knelt down to release my bonds from the floor rings and pointed to the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet, I emptied my body into the toilet. My ass was hot from the whipping but the feeling of release was great.

When I was done, I returned to find her sitting on a chair in the middle of the room. On the floor in front of her lay a mirror. She told me to kneel in front of her with the mirror between my legs. She then asked me if I wanted the privilege of cumming. I replied if it was her pleasure I would very much like to cum.

She released my right hand from my collar and told me to hold it out. As I did, she filled my palm with Ben Gay. “OK…you may masturbate until you cum…but…you must cum on the mirror.”

I began to stroke my cock. I felt the heat of the Ben Gay as it entered the pores of my cock. It only took a few seconds for me to cum in large spurts onto the mirror.

I looked up and saw her smiling. “Very good, slave. You may now lick up your mess.” As I bent down to lick up my cum, I could feel the heat in my cock build. Watching myself lick my own cum I thought of the humiliation of licking my Mistress’ shoes in the bar and now licking my cum in front of her.

When I was done, she released all my bonds and told me to get dressed. The hood was again placed over my head and I was led again to her car and driven back to the hotel.

After parking in the same area of the parking lot, She reached over, and released me from the hood.

“Good nite, slave,” she said, “I’ll be in touch!”

~~~~~~~

My Dilemma is a post from: Femdom Fantasies. Authors retain copyright. If you enjoyed this story or have something to add, please leave a comment. Remember, feedback typically encourages writers to write more ;)

The warmth from the fire coupled with the peaty pure malt whisky was having a soporific effect on him. He felt mesmerized by the flames dancing across the top of the burning log in the hearth, and Lady J’s soothing words seemed to be dropping him deeper and deeper into a warm comfortable and very private space. Vivalid’s Four Seasons played harmoniously in the background, creating an erotic ambiance. It was so cozy sitting on the couch next to her, her delicate fingers massaging that spot on the back of his hand, painted nails tracing a pattern of red against white.

“Deeper down, down deeper”, she hushed. “Tonight you are going to perform for me and excite me. You are going to be my orchestra and puppet dancer, and I am going to be your conductor, musician and audience. You are going to long to please me, excite and thrill me, show off your talents”

“To do that, we will need you to change into your performer’s attire – no clothes will be best! And what dancer doesn’t have their finger and toe nails painted – a bright red will do best I think! Raise your arms, pet and let’s tie them to those velvet ropes hanging from the rafters. Up on your toes, for tonight you will swing like a puppet. But first a warm up”

The leather strap swung lazily across his buttocks, leaving a broad red stripe. He shifted on his toes uncomfortably, as stroke after stroke burnished his glowing behind. Glowing red in the firelight, warm from the hearth and fiery from the strokes, he began to hum in pain. It was the first kiss of the cane that made him kick his legs up. Swinging wildly as Lady J picked up the rhythm and began to stripe the glowing flesh. Candy stripe welts sprung up, as her conductor’s rod beat the rhythm across his flesh. As he spun wildly on his strings, he glimpsed her flushed face. Her hands held the rod delicately in her fingers, her red nails picked out in a startling red white pattern against the lightly grasped ash white cane. Swish, swish, swish as she flicked the gyrating thighs and bottom, painting a pattern of stripes and exquisite agony.

“And now for the choral, my little Puppet”, she cooed, her mellifluous voice starting to get husky with sexual excitement. Her finger danced a light waltz across his engorged organ, teasing and denying release. A pair of nails reached up to pinch his erect nipples, causing exquisite agony, and a song of pain and pleasure to sing from his open mouth.

With a shudder he reached a climax and slumped down, help up only by the ropes around his wrists

“…and when I reach 3, you will be wide awake and feel refreshed and energized”

He opened his eyes, and looked into Lady J’s eyes, amazed to find he was still dressed. But a telling bulge and damp spot on his trousers drew an amused raised eyebrow from the Lady he adored.

~~~~~~~

The Puppet is a post from: Femdom Fantasies. Authors retain copyright. If you enjoyed this story or have something to add, please leave a comment. Remember, feedback typically encourages writers to write more ;)

I look at my watch as I hurry to the door to my apartment. Five to eight. Damn. I knew I shouldn’t have stayed for that “quick drink” after work. But what a dreadful week it’s been. Customers canceling orders, deliveries lost, nothing but complaints. On top of that, it’s been months since I last joined the other guys for a Friday evening drink. People at the office were starting to ask questions, they were wondering if I had a secret girlfriend.

If only they knew.

It would have been all right if I’d just had the one drink, but one became two became three and the train was delayed so now… I might be late.

I fumble with the key, dropping it once before finally opening my front door. I step inside my apartment and before the door has even closed I am in the bedroom. I throw my jacket on to the bed followed by my tie then the rest of my clothes. The veneer of the smart, successful young sales executive is quickly stripped away to reveal the desperate, naked male that is the real me. I grab the toy bag from under the bed and rush back into the hallway.

First out of the bag is the alarm clock. I check it’s correctly set and wound up properly – I use an old-fashioned clock in case of a power cut. The alarm is set for nine PM as always. I place it to one side, not too far away. It’ll soon become difficult for me to hear much.

The clock is already showing one minute to eight. I’m going to be late – please don’t let her come tonight. No, no, I didn’t mean that. Please let her come tonight but just not yet, not this early.

Next comes the soft plastic sheath. I slip this over my cock and lace it up firmly. Inside it is lined with many blunt but effective teeth. Any erection will be painful. Some nights I am so excited that I have trouble putting it on. Tonight my only thought is fear and my cock is quite limp.

What am I scared of? Punishment? Pain? No, something far worse.

Abandonment.

—

I first met her about six months ago in a bondage chatroom on the net. We started exchanging messages casually and realised that we had a lot in common. We live in the same city so we met up one evening for a drink at a bar. We seemed to hit it off, so we met up again and then again. After a few weeks of our conversation skirting around the subject she asked if I wanted to play.

I didn’t hesitate: “Yes… Mistress” I replied. The word felt strange in my mouth, I hadn’t called her that before. I hoped that I hadn’t been too forward and offended her.

The smile on her face told me I hadn’t. She nodded. “Good,” she said, “Here’s how it works.”

I haven’t seen her since.

—

I turn the toy bag upside down, letting the rest of the contents fall onto the floor. First I grab the ring of keys and place it carefully on the ground to my left. Then the second keyring which goes just to my right. Both hold the same keys, either set will be enough to release me. Better safe than sorry.

The steel ankle cuffs are cold and heavy as they snap around my bare flesh, the piece of chain between them just a few inches long. With the ankle cuffs in place and safely double locked I kneel in the hallway facing the front door. Next the leather wrist cuffs are locked on – I use lockable leather cuffs because it’s difficult to double lock handcuffs behind your back. It can also be near impossible to get out of handcuffs on your own and most nights I have to free myself.

Now I pick up the thick black leather hood. I had wanted to use a gag, but she wouldn’t let me. She said that gagging yourself when alone is too dangerous, she didn’t want me to choke to death. So we compromised on this hood. It’s so thick and padded that it feels restrictive and makes it difficult for me to hear anything – that’s another reason for an old-fashioned, loud alarm clock. There are no eye holes, just wide nose and mouth holes for breathing.

A final check that everything’s set up properly. One keyring on the floor to the left, the other to the right. The clock is in place, alarm set – and it’s showing five past eight. Five minutes late – I’ve been lucky.

I quickly pull on the hood and lace it up tightly. That done I put my hands behind my back. I loop a short length of chain through the D-ring on one wrist cuff, around the chain of my ankle cuffs then back up through the other wrist D-ring. I thread a padlock through the two ends of the chain and click it shut.

Now I wait.

—

The rules she had told me were simple. Brilliantly simple. First I had to give her my spare apartment keys. I hesitated for a second, but if you’re going to play with someone then trust is essential and I’d known her long enough to trust her.

Then, she told me, every night after that I was to bind myself in the agreed position by no later than eight in the evening. She might or might not come over to play, depending on her mood. She might come over every night – or ignore me for a month. I’d never know and we’d have no other contact. No phone calls, no email, no meeting for a drink. Just me spending every night waiting and hoping.

I agreed, this time without hesitation.

—

How long has it been? About ten minutes I think. My knees and legs are beginning to ache a little, they always do. So I carefully lay myself down onto the floor. The first time I did this I was worried that I might be breaking the rules. However the apartment is quiet and even with the hood in place I can still just about hear the key in the lock when she arrives. So I have time to scrabble back up into position. The rules don’t actually say that I have to be kneeling, however I know she likes it that way and I want to encourage her to come play with me as often as possible.

The beer is beginning to work its way through my system, I couldn’t risk taking the time to do anything about it. I simply couldn’t risk being late. Why not? Because there’s one more thing about our arrangement.

—

She’d had a smile on her face as she said: “There’s one more thing.”

I waited, wondering what torture she had in store. A chastity belt? Piercings? Extreme pain? Whatever it was I was willing to give it a go.

“If I ever come over and you’re not there, or not ready, then I leave immediately, our arrangement is cancelled and you will never hear from me again.”

Was that it? I’d been expecting something much worse. All she was saying was that I had to play by the rules or the game was over. What was the problem with that? I agreed eagerly.

I hadn’t realised quite how clever she was, much power over me that one little rule would give her.

Even if she ignores me for weeks on end I will still be bound and kneeling for an hour every night, waiting and hoping that she will come. I won’t miss a single night – I couldn’t bear to lose her forever.

The worst thing that could happen in my life, the thing that gives me nightmares, is that I am late home and she comes and goes before I arrive. Then I wouldn’t even know that I’d lost her and would spend the rest of my life waiting, bound every night hoping for something that would never happen.

So I am totally in her power, thinking always of her, the rest of my life a poor second. She controls me absolutely without even having to remember that I exist.

—-

What? What was that?

I jerk upright, disoriented for a second as my body automatically pulls against my bonds.

Asleep – I’d fallen asleep. Damn. Damn, damn, damn. What was it that woke me? Was there a sound?

How could I have been so stupid as to fall asleep? I shake my head, trying to remember whether there was any sound. Has the alarm gone off? I can always hear it through the hood, but I’d never been asleep before.

What time is it? Half past eight? Half past nine? Midnight? There’s no way to tell.

How long do I wait here, naked and bound in my own hallway, until I decide that I missed the alarm? And how will I know how long I’ve been here? In the sensory deprivation beneath the hood time is impossible to judge. At what point do I take the risk and release myself – only to face the prospect of seeing her walk through the door at the very moment I remove the hood.

Or do I play safe and stay bound and naked until I hear the morning traffic outside.

As if there is any real choice. The risk of losing her outweighs all other considerations. I groan quietly and prepare for what might be a long night.

—

The first evening after we’d made our agreement I was more excited than I can ever remember. I had all the toys ready, checked and double checked, hours in advance. By ten to eight I was already stripped, bound and waiting, convinced that she’d be coming soon.

When the alarm clock rang at nine I was so disappointed I almost cried. Yet at the same time I found the denial exciting, knowing that I had spent an hour naked and bound in my own hallway for no other reason than that she wanted it. Knowing that she could decide to use me or ignore me on a whim. Feeling the power she now held over me.

She did come the next night, though she left me kneeling there waiting for a long time before she arrived. The moment I’d heard the key in the door my cock had stiffened and I felt the pain as the studs bit in. I’d heard her enter and the door close. She’d said nothing, just walked round me. Was it really her? Of course. Who else had a key to my apartment?

“Yes,” she’d said, as if reading my mind, “It is me. And I’m ready for some fun.”

Fun she had, as did I. Nothing too heavy, just some bondage, teasing and the occasional slap of leather across my ass to remind me who was boss. As if I could forget.

She left my hood on all the time, not deeming me worthy to see her face again.

That became the routine. Every night at eight in the evening I would be ready. Sometimes she came and played with me several nights in a row, sometimes I was left alone for a week or even longer. Those were bad weeks.

—

The alarm! It’s nine o’clock!

Mixed emotions fill my mind. On the one hand I am relieved that I didn’t miss the alarm, that I know the time and can now release myself. On the other hand I am bitterly disappointed that she didn’t come.

I reach down for the keys. Where are they? I feel around with my hands but can’t find the keyring. I must have become disoriented whilst asleep. No problem, that’s why I have a spare set. I feel for the wall, run my fingers along to the corner and down. I always put one set of keys exactly here so that I can find them with the hood on.

Except that they’re not there.

I start to scrabble around more urgently. They must be here. Did I somehow kick them away? They can’t be far.

I hunt for the keys for a few minutes, getting more worried by the second. Then I freeze as I hear a chuckle.

“Looking for these?” she says playfully, and I hear a faint jingling sound by my left ear. “Or these”. She jingles the other keyring by my right ear.

“You were asleep when I arrived,” she says, her voice no longer playful but icy. “I find that rather insulting. You need to be taught some respect.”

I cry out automatically as I feel the sting of leather against my buttocks.

“Aren’t I interesting enough for you?” Another sting, harder this time. “Our little game too boring? Well I can fix that. So far you’ve only felt my nice side. I hope you got a good nap because you won’t be getting much sleep for a while. You’ll be phoning in sick this week.”

I yell out in pain as something strikes my balls.

Beneath the hood there are tears in my eyes, but I’m also smiling.

It’s going to be a great week.

~~~~~~~

What A Week is a post from: Femdom Fantasies. Authors retain copyright. If you enjoyed this story or have something to add, please leave a comment. Remember, feedback typically encourages writers to write more ;)