The Bag Lady And The Domme (F/F, M/F, D/s, BD, Spanking, WaterSports, Scat, Humiliation) by bigrimmstales =============================================================================== The Bag Lady And The Domme Chapter 1 - Successful businesswoman discovers perverted tramp ============================================================================ It was strange how we met. I was searching for my dog in the park and she was collecting discarded cans, hoping to make some money from them. Her clothes were tatty, yet I could see from the stitching on those rare areas not caked in grime they were at one time expensive. Maybe she had got them from a charity or she had been rich and famous then fallen on hard times? I kept looking at her, glancing so as not to appear rude by staring. The more I looked, the more I thought I remembered her. She smiled. A surprisingly white set of teeth showed behind all that dirt. Oh and her eyes! They were a beautiful bright blue and so clear I swear I could see my own reflection in them. I looked away, embarrassed at being caught out. She laughed. "You don't recognize me do you?" she asked, chuckling. "No, no, I don't," I replied, still embarrassed but sufficiently curious to turn and face her. We must have looked so incongruous talking there together. I was in my best work clothes, expensive but severe dark tweed suit over a pure white blouse with its ruff at the neck. My shoes were Jimmy Choos, stockings Woolsey and underwear by La Perla. There was not a thing on me that cost under £200 bar the stockings and they had not been cheap. I'd worked hard to get to where I was and no one was going to deny me the chance to show off my success. Yet there was she, someone who knew me as I struggled to recollect her, wearing something that was once designer I was sure, but what I had no idea. "It's Gucci and Versace if you want to know," she said, kindly and in the plumiest of English accents. I was shocked that she knew so well what I was thinking. "You were always one for the fashions at school and so envious of me when I got that modeling assignment. Well, I'm not exactly on the front of Vogue anymore, am I?" I was stunned, puzzled, and then it dawned on me. "Clarissa!" I could not believe it. The sexiest, most beautiful girl at the Academy was in front of me and down at heals. Flashes of images filled my head. I remembered her walk to her desk every day. I'd had a crush on her. When she was in the shower after games I'd always ensure I was next to her, ready with a bar of soap or offering to scrub her back. I'd make it look as if I was doing her a favor, by saying she could scrub mine for me in exchange, but I longed for those lessons where I could touch her naked flesh. Of course, it had just been a girlie crush and now I was married with two lovely children, soon to leave school, and a husband. Well, I was married but Jonathan was always away on some International assignment and with my busy job I'd packed my two girls off to boarding school. To the Academy of course, where three generations of girls from the Harmondon family had gone. Now they were close to university they'd been packed off to a Swiss Finishing school, just like I had been and my mother and hers before her too. I had to hug Clarissa. I didn't care that her clothes probably smelt of piss and were as dirty as hell. I was going to hold her. She had been my idol and yes, so kind then too. She'd known I was besotted with her but never made fun of me nor took advantage of it. She always returned any favor in some way. In the shower she would carefully and very sensually rub my back and buttocks, making sure plenty of soap caressed my skin and washed away the sweat and grime of the hockey fields. Once, just before we left that school forever and as young adults, she surreptitiously left a kiss on my neck and whispered Thank you. I will miss this time together. You have been a true friend.' I'd not wanted to wash away that kiss. I felt it reverberate right through my body, stopping to excite and inflame my young clitoris. "Clarissa!" I said again, advancing and putting my arms tightly around her. She winced, but not from rejecting my hug. No, she was in pain. I pulled back and looked at her, concerned. "What has happened?" "Oh, I was sleeping under the arches. You know, where all the homeless sleep? A..." Yes I did know. It confirmed all my worst fears. That was it. I knew what I had to do. "You are coming home with me. No arguments." I interrupted, "I live over there, on the edge of the park. See the house with the Georgian wrought iron railings along the balconies? Right, forget any belongings I'll sort you out. We were always the same size and I guess we still are, though I have a few extra pounds from allegedly being a content mother and wife." I laughed at myself, seeing the irony in it, knowing it was a lie. I was unhappy as a wife and useless as a mother. Sending them to boarding school was not about their education, it was about me having the space to think, to define who I was at work and home without them under my feet and dividing my attention from this one goal. I liked to be in control. I took her hand and almost dragged her after me, leaving the big bag of empties she had collected where they lay, though she did scoop up a rather incongruous black leather briefcase as we moved. She was laughing, not hysterically like some demented bag-lady but with joy and seeing this as fun. I imagined too it was with a sense of relief. And I was like a woman on a mission, taking control, pulling her along behind this ship in full sail. When we reached the door I was reminded of what I was meant to be doing in the park. Sitting on the step, as if nothing had happened and he hadn't been missing for two hours was Max, our English Pointer; the most mischievous young dog on the planet. "There you are!" I couldn't scold him, he'd come straight back for the first time ever. Previously I had collected him from a Dog's Home, a person' s house and the family butcher where Max was found crunching through their best carcass of beef. It had cost me a fortune appeasing the butcher, but the new assistant Penny had been lovely to me and we had become good friends. I used to look forward to meeting her in the park with Buster, her cocker spaniel. Work had stopped that for a while, though we talked regularly on the phone. We entered the vestibule of my house, the warmth greeting us like a comforting blanket. I closed the big red door behind us, the sound echoing on the black and white diamond tiles. I opened the next set of doors to the vast hall, the log fire between the twin staircases blasting out a wave of heat. In the absence of my Czech maid, I realised I'd banked it up rather too well. The dog ignored this stranger, shot forward and lay as close to the fire as he could, ready to roast on the hearth. I laughed at his predictable antics and then turned to look at Clarissa. "Strip!" I said, taking command of the situation and the opportunity the over-sized fire presented. "There is no point you keeping those cold and wet things on." I avoided saying dirty' for fear of offending her. "You sure?" She seemed suddenly hesitant, clutching to her bosom that briefcase. This was a woman who had walked the catwalks of Europe and the Far East, shown her body regularly when wearing the most skimpy of dresses who was now questioning being naked. She read my mind for me. "It's different on the catwalk. Most of the men are queer, but what if your husband ...?" She trailed off. Did she know I had a husband or assumed it? For some reason I was struggling to admit I had one, but I had to reassure her. "No problem, Jonathan is in Tokyo for a month. He is away a lot. I have a young maid, Anya, who is here to learn English, but she has gone back to Prague for a few days so I am alone. Take off your clothes. Get warm by the fire. I'll go find you something to wear" I turned to leave, but found myself rooted to the spot. It was like when at school, where often I had been watching and waiting for her to change for her shower. Now I was the observer again. She seemed to be struggling with the coat. Her bruises must have hindered her movement. "Just stand there, let me do it," I said, taking complete control again. I unbuttoned the top-coat that somewhere under the dirt hid a definite Gucci design of last season. Perhaps her sudden demise was recent? It did smell faintly of piss, but not too much for me to handle and no more than when my children were in nappies. Underneath was a Versace dress with a very incongruous Pringle sweater on top. I pulled the jumper over her head very gently. The smell of sweat was nearly overpowering, yet the sweetness from her armpits strangely erotic. She seemed to be so devoid of the perfumes and potions that blots out our natural hormones and scents, so the real aroma of a woman was wafting over to me. I could hear her breathing, slightly breathless. Was I hurting her? Did she find this mildly erotic too? I was trying to be as gentle as possible as I moved to unbutton the dress. It was a typical black number with the softest of silk, useless in the current temperature, and as each button released, so I tried to hide my horror at the amount of bruising on her neck and chest. She had no bra and I was soon looking at a perfectly rounded, still wonderfully pert, pair of breasts that belonged to the woman I had not seen this way since those shower days. Yet there was horror mixed with joy mixed with, well dare I say it? Her breasts were covered in marks that clearly represented where the drunken bully had landed his kicks. There were at least ten blue-black circles that lay close around her dark, pierced nipples. Was he really drunk? The marking was so deliberate, almost uniform. The piercings were large, heavy rings. Her dress was now hanging around her waist as I inspected her front and back, which other than her breasts and some on her arms, was clear. "Let me strip you of the rest of this dress and then I can go get some witch-hazel to tend to those bruises while I also get a bath running." "Thank you," she said, simply and kissed me on the neck as I leant forward to release the waistband on her dress and let it drift to the floor. I remembered that last kiss at school. A tremble passed through me. I struggled to keep a focus on my duties. She seemed to just accept that I was now in control. I felt I needed to reassure her that she was safe with me, though my body and subconscious clearly had other ideas about how to comfort her. "No problem, it is so good to see you. I will...." I was suddenly tongue-tied, just like all those years ago. It was good to see her but the reference to seeing' that popped into my head was sexual, seeing her naked, not just meeting each other. The kiss and the sight of her had had their effect. I could feel my panties beginning to become awash with my juices; something that had not happened to me in a very long time, least of all with my husband. How could this be? I was an avid, hetero pillar of the community. I told myself that my damp knickers were a coincidence. "R-right, I better get the lotion and some clothes for you." I turned and ran up the stairs two steps at a time like a little schoolgirl. I was back at the Academy, chasing round for Clarissa! Yet something was different. There was another more controlling voice in the back of my mind. When I came dancing down the stairs, again two at a time, carrying a silk robe and the ointment, I felt so happy, only to stop at the bottom and see Clarissa curled up naked and asleep on the rug, right next to Max. Her panties I could see burning away at the edge of the fire. She had clearly had no strength to throw them in properly. I gazed at her firm and perfectly rounded bottom. "Jessica Harmondon-Smithers, what are you thinking?" I said aloud to no one in particular, except myself who was suddenly feeling hotter and hotter as I stared down at the beautiful nude form of my old school friend. I realised it was not the banked up fire that was creating the temperature. Primitive, long-suppressed desires flooded my body. I could smell my own scent wafting up from beneath my thick tweed skirt. I'd discarded my knickers, too damp to be comfortable. Yes, even my dowager duchess wear' as Johnnie called it could not hide my desires. Only my head kept trying to deny what Clarissa the catalyst had re-surfaced. I knelt quietly beside her, reaching out to stroke her tousled hair. It was futile adjusting the straggling mess which held God knows what creatures, possibly even lice, but I was back at school in that instant offering her all the love of a doting young woman. I put the gown by her side and sat, waiting for something, I don't know what, other than her awakening. I imagined her turning to me, reaching for my face and pulling it to her with both hands. In my romantic and lustful state, her dirty body did not exist. She was the embodiment of beauty that topped her class, won the modeling contracts and went on to be a famous celebrity. She moaned, a little pain expressed, but did not wake as she turned on her back. I could see the bruises, noting faint stripes too that were visible on her belly and down to her pubis and inner thighs. What had someone done to her? It was then I looked again at the dramatic statement of the rings through her nipples, something I had always wanted but never had the courage to do. What was so strange was that when inspecting for the marks I had failed to register the significance of these adornments. It was as if my brain had accepted them. And when I looked down again just as her thighs parted in her sleep, so I saw the six gold rings in her labia (three each side) and the bar across her clitoris that was now large, engorged or naturally that way (I had no recollection). It seemed perfectly reasonable to reach out and gently, then more vigorously, play with the bar and rings using the tips of my fingers. She moaned again and I shot my hand back as if I'd touched fire. Fire seemed to be everywhere. My hand was hot and appeared disconnected from me. It had been somewhere forbidden, somewhere I had not had permission to go. It was a sinful hand and I had an intense desire to wash it, but instead brought the sinning digits to my mouth and licked each one ever so slowly. I could smell a light mix of a woman's juices and piss from days of being unwashed, but still I licked each one clean. And this created an almost unquenchable fire in my cunt or `yoni' as I remember her telling me once.
Also, the heat from the fire seemed to burn my skin, until I realised it was the singeing fur of Max who had foolishly got too close. When did dogs ever learn? I pulled him backwards and he woke with a yelp and then a series of barks. He was barking at the flames as if it was their fault. Clarissa woke suddenly, a product perhaps of learning to do so when sleeping rough on benches and under railway arches, always sensing danger. She smiled at me. More fire raged. I felt the flames licking around my labia. I was struggling to control deeply suppressed desires. I was that dormant volcano on a Pacific atoll that just needed an underground test nearby to upset the equilibrium. Everyone had run for their lives and I was now alone, feeling the seismic pulses. I had to move, to act, to do something. "Come with me now," I blurted out, no pleasantry in the tone. "I have a bath running upstairs, some toiletries for you and a nice warm bed." "Yes Mistress," she said, in all seriousness, slowly and painfully getting to her feet. Wow, again the flames burned around my thighs. "Oh, no, no, I'm not your Mistress. Sorry, I was just overzealous in wanting you to get up and cleaned before sleep loses you to me for a while..." Oh, what was I saying? I was starting to apologies and bluster over my words
like a teenager caught out. "I mean I did not intend to be so commanding." "Pity," she said simply. "A great pity." "Pardon?" What was she telling me? Did she want me to be commanding? She didn't want me to be a dormouse, like I'd become with Jonathan? Ok, anything to please her. "Come on then, up those stairs and get cleaned up." "Yes mistress!" she said, smiling and lowering her head slightly. I quite liked this new, commanding me. Could it ever last though? I doubted it. I had only done it with the children, in my job where I was top dog and sometimes in play with Johnnie when we were newly weds. I remembered with a sense of loss how he had loved me so much then, how he'd bring me flowers and bathe me, and yes, how subservient he had been and yet, so aroused, his manhood seeming to never be anything but vertical! I giggled. "What is making you laugh my Mistress?" What was she doing? She was still calling me Mistress! "I was thinking of my husband and our early marriage together. We had such incredible fun, with a capital `F'. Doesn't life knock the spots off you?" "With respect Mistress Jessica, it is we who rub those spots off, telling ourselves we have to stop doing those things because we have family or we are too old, or we have too many work responsibilities. We make our own dungeon where we then lay and fester." "Clarissa, why do you keep calling me Mistress?" I asked, more than a little intrigued now. I was bending to the marble bath, a huge one that we had installed so that Johnnie and I could bathe together and then when the children came along with them. In fact, one of them was birthed in that tub. The back of my hand tested the temperature. "Perfect," I said, to no one in particular. "I knew it would be Mistress. It always was with you and I'm sure it always will be so." Clarissa was smiling at me. Her legs were parted as she stood by the bath. How beautiful she looked, the jewelry adorning her most intimate places seemed perfect. Yet now something had changed. I no longer wanted to dash over
and bury myself in her breasts and cunt; I wanted her to come to me. Worse, or was it better, I wanted her to worship me. I sensed the electricity in the air. It was hot and humid in the room, like in the hours before a heavy storm. Her head was down, as if unable to look me in the eyes. She still had not answered my question but I did not care any more. "Get in the bath, now." Was that really my voice being so commanding? She walked in, down the white marble steps, and then squatted with all the grace of the model she was. There was the sound of the water parting and lapping at the sides, but no other noises. A silence hung in the air. I sensed that it would only end if I made it end. "Clarissa, tell me how you came to be a bag lady in the park. Leave nothing out." There I went again, commanding. I stripped off my clothes, without a hint of ceremony or even a thought as to whether Clarissa wanted me in the bath with her. I picked up the overhead shower nozzle and again without asking sent shots of warm water over her matted scalp. "Carry on," I ordered, ignoring the squirming that reminded me of when my now 18 year old daughter was five and had her hair washed. The tale was a long one and I have to admit I was at first shocked, in the way a mother often is as the amnesia of the years makes her forget her own strong sexual and individual identity when tending first to a husband and then her children. Here was a woman who had never married, had a long career but somewhere along the way had followed her most base instincts to become who she was now. So as shock turned to recall of my own adventurous spirit and then to envy of her experimental and daring life, I listened enraptured by the tales that took us all over the globe, into the strangest settings and the most exotic locations. I wondered if there was anything this woman had not tried. Perhaps what was intriguing in the here and now was that I continued to completely control her as she talked. I had washed and conditioned her hair, which took more than four soaps, rinses and final treatment. I had shaved her armpits and her pussy, making her sit legs wide open on the side while I lovingly scraped away dirt and stubble. The smells of piss and shit between her legs were replaced with the herbal scents of Crabtree© products. She had not objected at all when I had bent her over, opened her buttocks and inspected her little rosebud (that I noticed when touched opened more than I might have expected and as if on command) ensuring all dirt and hair was removed. Interspersed between these washing rituals were the tales. None were dull, all left me intrigued, curious, and yes, sometimes envious of her adventures. There was some sadness along the way, including the death of her father (though even that was not uneventful and surrounded by a story of sexual daring and a lot of BDSM activity). Let us just say at this point that when he died he was an extremely happy man, who like the actor whose only wish is to die on the stage whilst working, managed to pass away at the end of a week of intense sexual joy that involved both his new wife and - though not I hasten to add in an incestuous way - his daughter. However, if incest can be defined as when there is a sexual act between stepmother and daughter then there had been more than a family affair. By the time it was recalled, even that did not shock me. "So Clarissa, having gone into modeling and become your Svengali's' puppet, you were saved by Mistress Raven of Leinston who took over your management and then started to develop your modeling agency. I think that week in Paris on the catwalk by day and in a cage at the bottom of her bed at night was justified, given the naughty things you got up to in daylight. Yes, the Saudi Prince seems at once cruel and yet on another he seems to really understand your, er, needs. How did I not see them at School?" "They were there all the time Mistress Jessica if you had looked. It was daring for me to kiss you before I left. You see paradoxically my underpinning subservience meant I could not ask you for what I wanted, or that is what I thought at the time, based on the limited knowledge I had. My father..." "Your father?!" I suddenly shouted. "Yes," she continued, in a hushed voice, bowing her head even lower in response to my shouts. "He had noticed my proclivities at an early age but waited until I was of age, i.e. an adult, before confronting me with the truth about myself. Do you remember how many times I was sent to the office for a caning or the ruler based on my rudeness to certain teachers?" "Yes, I do and come to think of it you never came back in tears but with a wide smile even if your head was down. My God! You clever bitch, you got those spankings deliberately! And you knew the teacher who dominated or in fact could have been dominatrix? You did it at home as well didn't you?" "Yes," she said, clapping her hands in childlike glee. "My birth mother and then my stepmother who had been my maid from childhood regularly spanked me. However, when my father spanked me that was when I knew I had had a satisfactory punishment. He was so severe, but so loving too." I wiped the tear that suddenly surfaced from her right eye. "Let's stop a while," I suggested gently. I pulled her naked body to me in the bath, noticing for the first time that the water was no longer warm. "Go to bed now." "Yes Mistress," she said, tears still streaming down her face. "You know, I will always miss him." "Yes, I know." Oh, how I knew. My father was so kind to me but I never understood why he packed me off to school. My mother was the same, though I realised much more dominant than him, much stronger. For her sending me away was to make me tougher, make me stand on my own two feet, not be dependent on others. Yet here was I in a faltering marriage, two children sent away to finishing school and now with a waif and stray on my doorstep. Or so I thought. I held her hand as she rose up out of the water. She looked so beautiful, suddenly innocent and younger than her years. Her shaven sex accentuated her womanly qualities, contrary to my expectation that I might have made her forbiddingly childlike. The gold rings now shone under the powerful down lights that lit her pale skin and dried her subtly as she walked. I watched as she squatted over the toilet and pissed a stream of golden liquid without shame or embarrassment. I wondered how many men and women had seen her do that. I filled the bidet and encouraged her to wash again between her thighs, not wipe with paper. "Good girl," I heard myself say, as if she was my daughter not my more senior friend. "Now lie down over on the bed." I pointed to the room with its circular bed and a ceiling made up of expensive mirrors. It was a legacy from the days before time stopped and our daughters ruled our days, our nights, and most of all our privacy until with no real spontaneity for each other our marriage became a ritual. Our reflections now confronted us only with our dullness, our conformity, out routine, our loss. And then I realised she was watching me intensely, so much so the hairs on the back of my head were standing up. Alert. A signal. "Mistress," she called, in a little-girl-lost' voice, "Will you sleep with me a while? I need your safety." So I gave it and slept spooned behind her, naked. I was on a settee, my legs open and splayed lewdly. Jonathan was slowly licking softly, maddeningly at my shaven labia. He had found my clitoral hood and was nudging it back with his teeth. He stopped. "Open yourself more Mistress. Open your cunt so that everyone at the party can see it." I looked around, seeing hundreds of guests who did not seem to care about my nakedness except one. He was staring, his tongue moving lasciviously over his lips, his hand stroking his hard erection that poked lewdly from his grey flannel trousers. He had a whip in his right hand and whenever Johnnie stopped licking he flicked the thongs viciously over Johnnie's naked arse and heavy balls. My husband cried out into my cunt then lapped harder, stronger. I pulled his head down onto me, cruelly grinding his nose and mouth onto me. I was writhing now, shouting to the people at the party to watch. It was amazing, at my command everyone turned to watch me being tongue-fucked and my breasts teased by my own fair hands. I moaned and groaned in ecstasy. My body was moving like a soul dancer, grinding my pussy. I held on to his head like I was possessed. Then I heard his cries change from masculine to feminine. I didn't question it, I just wanted to cum. And I came, screaming and screaming with delight. The orgasm rushed through me and I held on to my partner's head with a vicelike grip. "Ohhh, it's been so long. It's been so long," I kept saying, in a voice that was part whisper, part moan. "So long." "Mistress," I could hear, "Mistress." And that is when I realised I had Clarissa's hair in my hands. She was locked between my thighs and I was sweating, exhausted from the power of my cumming. As I came to, I realised what had happened. The clock said it was a whole eight hours since we had gone to bed. "So," I said to her, pretending to scowl, but feeling deliciously wicked and so in control. "You thought you would eat my cunt while I slept, heh? I gradually let her loose, untangling my hands from her scalp. "I - I - I wanted to thank you and..." "So you always thank by eating your hostess's cunt do you?" I spat that word out, loving its sound, loving the power it generated in me, realising that she had been unable to resist my pussy, my cunt, my yoni. All words I hadn't used since the love went out of my marriage. I had not a trace of guilt or embarrassment. I smiled, a radiant smile as she groveled between my thighs, keeping her head low, afraid to look up. "I always wanted you at school Mistress, but we were barely legal then and anyhow, I knew nothing of the pleasure of being submissive." You know, I really liked being called Mistress'. I wanted to be recognized in this place, away from work. I wanted someone, maybe more than one, to acknowledge and adore me. I realised in an instant that I also needed someone who could deal with my strong, almost violent passions, the physical controlling desires that I had had since my first serious relationship. Jonathan had shown signs of giving me that but now was a slave to his work. My head was rushing to meet my heart at breakneck speed and with an acknowledgment that I needed someone subservient, obedient but whom I could express love to, play with and have adventures. So who better than the person I had admired and wanted all those years ago and who now needed me? "Come lie by me. Tell me more." As she lay at my side, I turned to face her, telling her to lift her face. Her eyes were large and beautiful, the pupils dilated in a clear sign of lust. She had given me an orgasm and forgone her own, but the need was there all the same. I knew instinctively I was not going to satisfy that need, well not yet, but I reached to her breasts, exploring her incredibly stiff nipples. "Do those rings enhance your pleasure?" "Oh yes Mistress," she said in a breathy, excited way. "They have been positioned exquisitely. The size is so that I may be pulled or hung by them. That pleasure comes through the pain. It, it is wonderful! Prince Rahid el Samur knew so much about the inflicting of infinite punishments to achieve maximum pleasure. I can enter sub-space now with just a word." I smiled again, noticing that when she spoke of her submissive life there was an enthusiasm that was never reflected in descriptions of her modeling work, except where the two elements collided, as happened in Hamburg when she did a fetish clothing shoot that so angered her then agent that she quit. Her loss, Clarissa's gain, as her new one was a dominatrix. I did not ask what she meant by sub-space', that could be part of the adventure of finding out. Instead, I continued to play with her nipples, tugging now at the rings, twisting them, experimenting. I studied Clarissa's face, watching the hints of pain mixed with beams of pleasure. "Get on all fours above me." "Yes Mistress." "Now tell me how you ended up in the park outside my house." Her firm but bruised tits hung down, and I stretched and pulled harder and harder on the rings, insisting she continue the story of her life. I watched the perspiration begin to build on her skin. I felt my pussy lips swell and my own nipples grow hard as I toyed with her. I was beginning to not see her as a person, but as my slut, my plaything. Ok, there was some revenge deep in my psyche for leaving me at school, for NOT pleasuring me when I wanted her in my schoolgirl lesbian fantasies. So now I took great sadistic pleasure in seeing her teats extended and clearly aching. We travelled through a series of adventures, all reinforcing her need to be dominated and live an active role of subservience, arriving at the past month. "I was working for a newspaper on a story about homelessness. The editor, Klaus Von Freidrich, gave me the job. He was a member of my BDSM club when I was in Hamburg and is now working in the UK for the Daily Review. One day he called me to his London office, electronically locked the door and then told me he was going to brief me on an assignment that would change my life. I had no choice but to obey him, no matter what employment law might say, because I was collared and belonged to him." She began to cry. I stopped the teasing of her nipples. Why the tears? "No, no, ple-e-ease." "You want me to continue, er, testing you?" "Yes, you do not understand yet how, what, er, I will explain afterwards... " Oh, I was beginning to understand. She could not function without being dominated and controlled. I had some concerns that this state was too dominant in her life, but at the moment the instinct to play and be pleasured was too strong to consider it deeply. I pulled hard at her tit rings. There was a slight moan, but I knew I had sent a myriad of different sensations through her. "Thank you Mistress Jessica." I felt so powerful! I liked this role as Mistress, finding nothing awkward in it. The power was translating into sexual energy. I found myself touching my own breasts with my free hand, not caring this was in front of another woman, enjoying seeing her eyes wide again. I knew she wanted to do that. Maybe I would let her once I knew all about her life. For now, I felt the need to test, to experiment, possibly only little things, but I started all the same. "Yes, you should thank me, slut." Her head went back down for a moment, but the slight sway of her hips and a quickening of breath suggested that being a slut was part of the turn-on for her. However, for me there was a sense of amazement, which became a question. Where on earth was this language I was using coming from? I must have absorbed the terms from the women's magazines I devoured over my loveless weekends and the pornography for women that I had taken to in recent years. I had to admit it; my solitary sessions of masturbation whilst pouring over cheap, sex-drenched paperbacks had become almost obsessive. If it wasn' t for Max needing walks and the amounts of work I brought home, weekends would be completely lost in sexual fantasy. The further apart Jonnie and I became, the more this habit had surfaced. My delusion was that I craved independence. Now I knew that was an illusion. Ok, here was my chance to turn those obscene, often-perverted fantasies that I read about so avidly to fact, and why not? "Yes, thank you," she said quietly, reaching forward and kissing me softy on the lips. Then she continued, her hips swaying again, miming grinding against a hand or a crotch, reliving some strong sexual event. "Klaus ordered me to crawl to him from the door of his office. I had on the clothes you saw today or was it yesterday, I am not sure?" I said nothing, other than, "Continue." "Yes Mistress. There was a large piece of blue plastic sheeting on the floor. He ordered me to lie on it face up. He had never been like this before with me, always keeping his BDSM relationship away from the office. I knew something was going to happen, but I was unsure what. I felt really scared, not trusting him. Something had happened or was about to happen." I watched her breasts begin to heave. I kept a tight rein on her nipple rings. Was it distress or arousal? "Anyhow, Klaus told me that he wanted me to investigate homelessness and specifically a rumor that young `hobos' as he called them were being picked up by someone or some group, fed and watered, and then abused sexually and physically in strange rituals. He told me he had prepared a special pack for me with tracking devices, a hidden camera in the belt of my coat and one in the leather holdall you saw me with, a concealed mobile to be only used in emergencies and a drop-off address for my reports. These were to be recorded on a tiny digital recorder, again concealed in a secret compartment at the bottom of the holdall." She burst into tears again, but fought them back and continued. "Then he told me coldly and simply that he was no longer my Dom. I was on my own when I left the room as it was not appropriate to continue, but my pay was being increased and I would be well rewarded on delivery of the assignment. I was so shocked." She stopped again, sobbing quietly. Why did I not feel more sympathy? I liked her helplessness. "What happened next left me completely confused. He suddenly took out his cock, standing either side of my legs and ordered me to lie back. He said he was going to prepare me for the degradation to come." "How?" "He pissed on me! He just pissed all over my lovely dress, and face, then ordered me to roll in the hot stream. The strong smelling pee soaked through to my skin. It was as if he had been waiting and waiting until his bladder was as full as possible. It seemed to last for ages, especially when the salty piss hit my mouth and eyes. All I could do was obey." I secretly felt turned on by this. My God I was wet! I could imagine her not only lying there but tied up, her mouth held open. It may have been to prepare her in this bizarre way, but I found it wonderfully pervy. I couldn' t help caressing my breasts more vigorously and tugging hard on her nipple rings. I did not care about her tears. Why should I? I was convinced she could take more than a little psychological and physical pain. Was she just doing this to get under my emotional radar? If so, she would fail the little slut. "Continue," I said coldly. "He noticed I had left a pool of his piss and he made me lap it up like a dog. He beat me hard with a paddle on my wet arse. There were splashes of piss flying out from the cloth he had drenched me so much. He made me go find every single one of them and lap them up too. He had never humiliated me so much or so I thought, until he called his secretary in to see his handiwork. I-I-did not know that this new recruit was also his new submissive. He..." She began crying again, sobbing helplessly, but I held my nerve, instructing her to carry on. "He told me to take off my little leather collar and place it around her neck. I saw the disgust in her face as my piss-smelling body came close to her. He made me kiss her too, with my pee-spattered lips..." She stopped, tears streaming down her face. Now I felt her hurt, she was under my radar at last. "You have me," I whispered, taking her face in my hands and kissing her passionately on the lips. Suddenly I stopped. What was I doing? I have a husband and children! She looked, puzzled, insecure. Good, maybe that was what I needed her to feel. No longer was it going to be me chasing around tending for her. I had done it for her at school, carried on doing it for my absentee husband, my boarding children, my late mother and father, but now I knew I wanted her to serve me and care for me. In truth I was not bothered if
Jonnie and the children found Clarissa in my house and very close to me. No I wanted to be the centre of attention at home, the person cared for not caring. "So tell me about the bruises to your tits," I enquired softly, though aware my language was increasingly direct and raw. She stopped sobbing, eyes wide open, sniffed then proceeded to tell me the rest of the tale. I gestured to her to sit back, facing me on the bed. It allowed me at once to look at her and keep my distance as, what I now knew I was, a Domme (albeit a novice one). "I went straight out onto the streets. He had given me a little money and that bag, but nothing else. I had to find out about the rumors but also find
somewhere on the streets. I could not go home as I had been living with him as his subbie and my house was rented out through an agency." "So how did you manage?" I let my foot slip between her open thighs, teasing lightly at her cleanly shaven cunt, but not letting her move. I was fascinated by her slit, so glisteningly wet as I knew whatever she was recalling, my toes were arousing her. "I headed for one of the sites listed in my holdall as a place down-and-outs had been reported to disappear from. It was horrible. People were living under a roadway, in cardboard boxes. A kindly woman offered me a share of her shelter. Oh, Mistress Jessica, it stank! It had nothing in it but her body and clothes, but it stank of piss. I had no choice, I had to get used to this. I was at the bottom of the societal chain from a position where I knew I had over a million in the bank, but no way of touching it. This woman, Maggie, was under all her dirt and stink no more than thirty years old. I was shocked when she told me. She had been beaten by her husband who then threw her out on the streets. I found out why that night." She squirmed as she sat in front of me. More juice seemed to seep from her slit. I rubbed harder. She emitted a tiny moan. "What did you find out?" I asked, ignoring the sign of pleasure. "It took me hours to get to sleep. I kept one eye open, afraid of being raped or attacked. Maggie had no qualms. She just went off. Eventually I too slept. I was dozing for at least two hours when I dreamt that my face was being licked and my legs opened for a doctor to investigate my womb. I could not wake up, but neither could I stop the dream. My cunt felt aroused, hungry. Then I slowly struggled to wake up only to find that Maggie, with her unclean mouth and hands was kissing me and had her fingers up my skirt, diddling my clitoris. I didn't want to but I could not resist. She had taken me so close to orgasm that I let this filthy creature arouse me. Worse, when she pulled my hand to delve under her tatty dress, I did it. I felt her stinking cunt, its clitty large and hard, and rubbed her to mutual orgasm. For all the degradation and perversion of the situation, I had a wonderful orgasm! Worse still, I allowed her to continue to kiss me and delve around my mouth with her dirty tongue. I was accepting so rapidly my complete demoralization and humiliation. Yet, as the consummate journalist, I argued somewhere in my brain that this was necessary if I was to be effective undercover. " "Your cunt is very wet. You seem to like being degraded, slut" I was mocking in my tone. I watched her head go down, but she was making subtle movements towards my foot that was now hard against her cunny. "I made the right choice," she said proudly. "Maggie looked after me. Her husband had thrown her out because he had caught her fucking her maid, a Hungarian student and lesbian. She had never done it before, but loved it, and he had come in early from work. It was his pride that was hurt and his predictable way to deal with it was like a football thug. He needed someone to punch and Maggie was the one. She vowed never to go back." She was finding it more and more difficult to talk. My toe was focused on arousing her clitoris. Then I stopped, leaving her unfulfilled. I heard the briefest of sounds, as if she was going to plead, and then she sat silently again though let out a quiet sigh. "Carry on, slut!" I said sternly. "After that degrading but raw sex with Maggie, I helped her to clean up a bit, especially her teeth and down below." "Why so coy all of a sudden? You mean her cunt." And I spat it out with venom. I felt irrationally jealous of a dirty bag lady having sex with my friend and yes, subbie, Clarissa. I watched her head go down and there was a flinch, as if expecting me to hit her. I laughed, nervously. I had corrected her and she had reacted like it was a reflex action. "Yes, Mistress, her cunt," she repeated softly. I don't know where it was coming from, but I felt suddenly very powerful and very sadistic. Hell we had only met again after so many years and with her in a bad state, yet all I wanted to do was dominate her? Too right! "Say it again, slut, but loud. Spit it out!" She lifted her head. There was a sudden haughtiness about her. She looked me straight in the eye and said, "Her CUNT, Mistress", loudly and clearly. "Good darling. Now come lie by me and tell me more," I ordered sweetly, patting the mattress at my side. It was morning of the second day by the time we finished. Clarissa had long moments of tears, then periods of quiet, then more of intense passion, pleasuring me at my whim. I was so in control, using her I knew for my pleasure and administering to her what she needed: pain and submission, but especially to serve me totally. I kept her on the edge of orgasm but denied her the final petit mort'. What I had heard from her made my head spin. I had known nothing like it. She was lucky to be alive! What did that idiot of an editor think he was doing? If had been her then I would have kicked his balls in like that footballer had just done in the World Cup. I was angry and I felt such relief that Clarissa was alive, and even more so, in my charge. What luck! It was two days before a Bentley had driven up to the little group of tramps in the middle of the night. It stopped at their box, there was a shadowy group of two men and what looked like a woman, and the next thing they knew Maggie and Clarissa were injected with something. They stood to protest and then blacked out. They could remember nothing until they awoke in a cold dungeon, stripped and bound to two huge cart-like wheels. Maggie was upside-down, facing Clarissa. Her legs were open and a young, naked and very petite Asian woman was shaving her cunt and anal hair. When finished, she kissed the prominent folds of her sex, stepped back, bowed and thanked Maggie for the honor! Then she pressed a button on a control panel in her hand and turned Mags the right way up. Clarissa had never seen Maggie so clean! There were pools of water beneath her. Someone had given her the dungeon equivalent of a bed bath. Clarissa had laughed weakly at that, because as soon as she said it, she then added, "And then they did something so cruel. Maggie had long, albeit unkempt, hair. A man wearing nothing but a black mask had entered. His cock was massive, excited and pulsing but caged in some strange leather contraption like a male chastity belt. I heard the clippers before I saw them. I feared for her. He walked up, grabbing her head in his hand and proceeded to run the electric blades right down the centre of her scalp. There was no choice now and I think Maggie knew because she just hung silently in the wheel and let him do it. There wasn't even a whimper from her. All I do know is that she kept looking across at me, her eyes pleading, once even smiling weakly at me, but she did not utter a sound." So, her down-and-out friend had been shaven completely. I had to admit it turned me on to think of her body clean, hairless and naked. The naked but masked man thrilled me too, especially that his hard cock was controlled. Clarissa described what happened to Maggie so lovingly and perversely, and in so much detail; like she loved that woman and her once dirty body. I had watched a sci-fi film once that had a woman on a starship and she had a shaven head. It had turned me on then and it did again hearing her talk. Then they had started on Clarissa. She was gently and lovingly washed, using very expensive cleansing products she noticed. A man dressed in black leather from head to toe, including a face mask, inspected her hair. He told the one with the clippers to leave. There was no balding for Clarissa. However, he then placed his palm over her pubis and snapped his fingers for the girl' (she affirmed late that she was an adult, 20 years old) to come and shave her. He had whispered something to the person, caressing her firm little breasts, before walking away, leaving her nipples hard and aroused and her face radiant. She had started giggling. Clarissa thought she was Vietnamese. Then the girl proceeded to arrange her disposable razors, a bowl of warm water, a cloth, a brush and shaving soap at Clarissa's feet. "Tut, tut. What a bushy and stinking cunt you have slave," she muttered in heavily accented English, as if to herself. The girl had taken what seemed like hours over this simple task, shaving a little, washing off the soap, then testing first with her finger and then her tongue, then doing a little more, and so on. She had turned the chore into a pleasure, for both the victim and the perpetrator. Clarissa was taken to the brink of orgasm more than once through this ceremony of cleansing. However, she was left as abruptly as the girl had arrived with her cunt lips tingling and swollen, and her prominent clitoris aroused to a tortuously sex-hungry state. She would, she admitted, have done anything for that girl. They had then left the two of them for what seemed like hours hanging naked in their hoops. Somehow they knew not to talk to each other. We had a little sleep after this story, which led to me having intensely erotic dreams. I ordered my husband to fuck Maggie and then to give his satiated penis to Clarissa to revive. She fucked his cock with her mouth like a slut, but I made him come out of her and spend all over my face and body. I wanted that spunk like some elixir. Then I ordered both women to lick the gluey mix, paying particular attention to my tits. My language was foul and I saw them all as my sluts, including Jonnie. However, I noticed that in this dream his cock was never anything less than rigid, a turgid and enormous manhood. In real life he was never small, always thick in girth, but in the dream he was massive in all dimensions. I awoke to Clarissa licking gently at my slit. She seemed insatiable, intent on pleasuring me. Was this a desire for me or a conditioned behavior after hours in the hands of the shadowy group she had been with? I grabbed her hair and pushed her away. Although I desperately wanted her to minister to my desires, there was a bigger need and that was to hear the full story. She did not protest, just sat back on her buttocks and looked at me with doe-like eyes, waiting for whatever was my whim. She has been trained well, I thought. I smiled at her, delighting in seeing my cunt juices surrounding her mouth and dripping from her chin. "Carry on." She pointed down at her cunt lips, their jewelry now shiny with her juice and the cleansings she had had in my company. "It must have been the next day when the naked but hooded man arrived again. He had with him a Gladstone bag, like doctors used to carry. He knelt in front of me, inspecting my cunny, then called to the petite slave (as I found out later she was) to rotate me. Mistress, I was tired from trying to sleep on that wheel, having managed only a little doze. Maggie was still sleeping when this man arrived. Only my screams woke her." "Your screams?" I asked, sitting on the bed, part concerned, partly aroused thinking of her pain. "Yes Mistress, he took out a bottle of spirit of some type and handed it to the little Asian. She lovingly caressed my sex lips, applying the liquid on a lint cloth. Again, she treated it like a ceremony and I guess it was. I
looked up from my upside-down vantage point to see that with her other hand she was caressing the man's enormous penis. Mistress, I had not realised how big he was but now he was free of his cock cage. It distracted me looking at that huge pulsing member and the heavy hairless balls beneath from what happened next." "Yes?" "He took an instrument of some type from his bag. It was like a pair of stainless steel pliers but had a hole on one side and a large spike on the other. He had been playing with my labia, stretching and stroking them, making me fill with pleasure and plumping the lips. Then he struck, opening the jaws wide then lifting them up and closing them around my cunt lips. I screamed louder than I have ever done. The pain was immense, as the spike went through my tender flesh and threaded through the hole on the other side of the pliers. It was over in a flash. Another instrument inserted one of those labial rings that I am now wearing. The pain spread then changed, its heat permeating through me to become pleasure." "Pleasure?" "Yes, pleasure Mistress. In spite of all the pain I now had the ministrations of the petite one. She was stroking me again, lovingly applying a soothing balm to the affected area. Once done, she stopped, and he began again. Another sharp pain, another ring inserted, another loving ministration. And so it went on until the six rings you see were inserted and I had experienced such pleasure and pain. I was then pleasured by both of them, with the petite girl (later to be known as Slave One) at my mouth and breasts, and the masked man (Man Slave One) licking my aching cunt and clitoris until I forgot the pain of the jewelry. I came Mistress! The pain was no longer there, just sheer pleasure. However, I was sore for several days and Slave One visited during each day, or what I assumed to be so, on the hour to add healing balm." "But what about Maggie?" I asked, losing interest in her finished state. "I was rotated back the other way. I could see liquid glistening from Maggie's cunt. She looked strangely content, probably because she had slept longer than she would ever have been able to in cardboard city. No words passed between us, just unspoken support and love. So long as we were together... " Clarissa began to weep. I realised that I cared, but did not want her to know it. I wished to be seen as in control. "Stop those tears at once!" I snapped, "Tell me the tale and then we can decide whether it merits a tear. Come hug me tight and carry on." Tight? It was fearsome. She was clearly scared of these people, but she was in my protection now. "Man Slave One left me, his mouth covered in my juice and a little blood. He walked up to Maggie, his cock still pulsing and hard with little drips of semen clearly visible and running down its engorged purple head. He called for Slave One who turned the wheel, but this time only so his cock could be in line with Maggie's face. It was as if Slave One knew what she had to do, perhaps they had done this to many of their victims, I don't know. She had with her a wire device that fitted around their victim's mouth, opening the jaw wide, like the dentists use. Maggie could do nothing, her teeth could not close. Then Man Slave put his huge dick straight down her throat. I heard her gagging, close to throwing up, but he snapped instructions to her. He kept saying, `Swallow slut!. Swallow you useless piece of street garbage.' And he kept thrusting in and out of her mouth to a steady rhythm until he came with the loudest moan of pleasure, leaving Maggie choking, unable to spit, her mouth and cheeks spilling with his cum. Again, he shouted at her to swallow. The jaw splitter was covered in his gooey seed. I looked at the sweating, firm buttocks of the man; so muscular as they eased their pumping. I felt strangely jealous to not taste his cum. I felt the degradation and yet the pleasure, almost honor to give to a man who later I was to find was of no higher status than me. He was just a male slut given permission by his owners to have his pleasure." Now I was wet and aching between my thighs. I wanted to be Maggie! I wanted to have cum pouring down my throat and to be mouth-fucked. Me, the lady of the park! The posh London woman, with all her riches wanted to be the slut for a day. I laughed to myself, but a part of me craved degradation just as another loved the power and control of domination. "You can caress my pussy as you talk," I said in as matter-of-fact a tone as I could muster. Clarissa's fingers slid sensuously over my engorged labia, carefully avoiding my clitty that stood proud outside its little hood. "He had that bag with him again. I felt a shudder and the dulling pain in my slit reminded me of my own situation only hours before. Yet Mistress, now I yearned for the pain, I wanted it and wanted the attention of this man; the only person I'd seen other than Slave One and the fully leather clad man who never came back. They had a method to control and take us over. It was patient, stealthy, and mixed sexual favor with degradation and loss of choice." "Yes, yes, yes," I snapped impatiently, "Get on with the story. What did he do to her?" I was getting vicarious satisfaction from their misery. "Sorry Mistress," she said quietly, her head down, but her fingers never giving up on their travels up and down and around my achingly swollen labia and clitoris. I was challenging myself to hold back, to forego the orgasm, to stop myself ordering her to lick me or rub directly on my clit. "He took
another set of tongs from his bag, this time with a hole where the pincers'
spike would have been. Then, he took a large canola-like device out that Slave One cleaned carefully with that spirit she used on me. He seized Maggie's left tit in his hand, pushing up the nipple until it was hard, and pinched it between the pincers. He kissed the nipple, and told Slave One to play with his captor's clitoris. I could see Maggie half smile, then grimace, unsure what was to happen. I watched as he kept squeezing her tit while Maggie began to throw her head back as the pleasure built overcoming the cruel pain in her breast. She started to moan aloud. That was when he struck. He skewered the sharpened canola through her nipple just at the point she hit her peak of orgasm. She tried to scream her pain and her pleasure, the two mixing in confused delight, but he had left the jaw splitter on. It made her sounds hollow, somehow incomplete. Then she calmed, missing the actions he had taken in the meantime. That is, a large gold bar had been threaded into the hole he had made and more spirit was applied, together with some other cream that I was later to find acted like an anesthetic. I guess it is what must have happened when the Prince had my titty rings inserted, though that had been done when I was carefully drugged. He was such a caring man. " I was beginning to moan, struggling to keep my control more and more. As she mentioned the Prince, so she caressed more ardently. "Continue," I said, almost as a plea, rather than an order. "He took off the jaw splitter, I think realising his mistake of having left it on, and kissed her hard on the mouth, seeming to savor tasting his own cum. He dropped all pretence of ceremony with the other side, grabbing her hard, using the pincers and skewering in less than 2 seconds. The bar was in within another couple and it was all over in less than ten; with the cleansing and cream too. She screamed with the pain, free now to let her feelings out. I saw real tears in her eyes, real pain. It seemed to excite Man Slave One even more. I saw his cock harden again, pushing up against his belly in its massive tumultuous state. Then he had her turned to the upright position. I remembered how my nipple rings had hurt me for days when the Prince had insisted I be adorned with them, so I could not believe what Man Slave commanded her to do. He, he said, thank me.' Even my Prince did not expect that of me just my obedience. But Man Slave One was insistent that she appreciate him, yet he was so gentle, so respectful of her, even though it could be seen as rebuking her for not showing immediate gratitude. You know, she did! She thanked him profusely as if he had released some deep psychological demon in her at that moment of pleasure and pain. Later I would know this to be true, but then it was just an instinct, another moment where I knew more than I had ever known in my life before and I felt good. For all the weirdness, the degradation, the abduction, the complete loss of control I felt good. It was unlike anything I had known from my previous submissive life. I can't explain it, sorry." I was panting, imagining Maggie tortured yet pleasured, controlled and yet thanking the controller. I thought of Clarissa watching, analyzing, using that clever brain of hers in the most unusual setting, and I felt I wanted that experience. Maybe I was what in one women's porno book they had called a switch'? I was unsure, but I did know one thing, I wanted pleasure. "Lick my clitty slut!" And she did. She fell rapidly between my thighs, reaching her hands up to pleasure my breasts as her tongue worked wonders on my clitty, teasing and tasting, lashing it with little tongue strokes, giving me no choice but to pull her head hard between my legs and gush with my juice all over her face. If I could have pissed I am sure I would. I wanted to explode with pleasure. And I did. I screamed an orgasm in a way I had not done in years. Sex recently had been whispered encounters as if the children were still in the next door room. Now it was full on, noisy, unashamed. I lay back, sweating, happy in a way I could not have imagined. My head was full of perverted thoughts, wishing I could have seen the degradation, the adorning, the two slaves sexually used. One orgasm was not enough. I began to masturbate, rubbing my clitty hard in between my thumb and forefinger, not caring that Clarissa was watching. Besides, she was a slut. "Watch me," I said, breathlessly. "Watch your Mistress wank herself." Yes, I knew that term was used more by men, but somehow I wanted her to know that this was dirty, that I was willing to be as explicit as I could be. I felt the thrill of it all send shivers through me, reveled in seeing her dilated, hungry eyes watching me so intently, her tongue licking her lips like some porno star in those cheap productions, and her hand caressing her own cunt. I noted that for later. She would be punished, playfully of course, for not seeking permission. I smiled, loving the control I had at this moment yet where any second I was paradoxically going to go out of control. And I did. The orgasm hit me like my own Tsunami. I was shocked by its speed and intensity. And as I came, so did she; noisily. It was as if she had been trained to proclaim her pleasure. I was reclaiming mine. I cried. Happy tears streamed down my face. Clarissa slid across me; her naked breasts pressed to mine and bent her head to lick the tears away. No words, just loving, sensual gestures. Then the thought came to me. "Clarissa," I struggled to get my words out, the orgasm still sapping my strength as its ripples died, "How is it that you fear these people when all you have told me so far suggests that these actions were done to prepare you for your submissive life? No extreme cruelty had been meted out, bar perhaps the enforce cock sucking?" She was silent a while, then she spoke. "Oh, Mistress! We were kept on the wheels for ten days (or so my new keeper told me later), only being let off three times a day for meals and supervised showers and toilet. We did not speak, afraid if it was not permissible. Maggie and I learned to reassure and tell each other things with nods, eye movements and other expressions. It was strangely peaceful and comforting despite the things they had done and would still do to us during that time. We learned to sleep in the upright position, leaning against our shackles that were of the softest leather by day three and well-padded. When let down everywhere we went the Man Slave One and Slave One carried fearsome whips, but never used them. They spoke little to us, though caressed and fondled us at will. Apart from taking their sexual pleasure, we were treated well, even when a new bar was inserted through my clitoral area and Maggie was given at least a dozen rings along her prominent labia. This was on about the fourth day. When hers were done, they removed her nipple bars, replacing them with large gold rings, much larger than these." She pulled at her own fine set of nipple rings. I noticed how instantly her teats engorged, sticking hard and long from her tits. "A fine gold chain that split into a Y' shape was padlocked with the tiniest of locks to each ring, then the trailing end was threaded through the labial rings, lacing her cunt shut (though loosely so she could still pee) and locked to the last set of rings with a large padlock. She could walk, but always with her legs open, and she could piss or if needs be have her periods but she would have to wash regularly if they did not unlock her for her ablutions. There was no room for a pad or tampon, unless unlocked." "Mmmm," I said, revealing how sexy I found the idea of Maggie always open yet also sealed and shackled. Plus, I was getting more perverted in my desires. Yes, I liked the idea she was potentially humiliated by not having control over her periods and hygiene. "Ingenious." "Once, back on the wheel, I could not wait for the next ablutions. I had tried to hold back for what seemed to be hours, calling for Slave One or Man Slave to release me and take me to the large bathroom that they used for our breaks. Both were in the room, playing a game of chess at a table in front of us both, but neither seemed to respond. However, when I could hold my bladder no more, I let out a little dribble that dripped between my spread-eagled thighs. Slave One rushed from her board, knelt and lapped the hot wet piss from my cunt. I could not stop then, I let the waters gush. She seemed to be trying to take as much into her mouth as possible. Soon, Man Slave was there too, encouraging her. He was rubbing his cock hard against her head, pushing her against me as she drank. When I could do no more, he held her against my crotch, where she continued to lick at me. I had the clitoral bar in by this time, and although still a little sore, she aroused me to a point of pleasure I had never experienced before as Man Slave rubbed himself in rhythm against her short cropped hair. His hands were at my breasts, fondling me cruelly yet so sexily. She had her hands around my buttocks, her index finger seeking my little rose bud. Soon she was inside me, the anus opening for her with absolute willingness and pleasure. His hands toyed and aroused me so expertly. Her tongue was hard on my clitoris that seemed so much more sensitive and large now I had the clitoral bar. I forgot my humiliation of pissing. This was so beautiful now, not like in that bastard Klaus's office. I liked the smells of piss mingling with my cunt juice and her own sweet aroma that wafted up to me. I was aroused no end and when Man Slave came on her head, splashing my belly with his hot cum I went over the edge with a sudden and multiple orgasm. I could not stop myself, going from one spasm to another, over and over and over. It seemed ages before I hung limply between the shackles, exhausted, satiated. She was on all fours below me, licking from the wheel and floor every last drop of my piss. He sat back at the games table, clearly exhausted, idly playing with his cock which was showing signs of revival so quickly." "He was going hard already? My Jonathan does it once and then is tired for hours." I shut up, having said too much about my dissatisfying love life. Pah! What love life? The most recent time was a quick shag and only because he had had a slot between a meeting in The Hyde Park Obelisk Hotel and the offices they called the Gherkin. Very apt I thought at the time, two phallic places and one slot. It had been enough to make me surprisingly horny. My control had been slipping lately, though nowhere near as bad as now. I let my fingers stroke openly at my wet and sensitive pussy lips. It felt so good. "Oh, Mistress, Man Slave One had been snatched by The Group (as I learned the club was called) from a porn shoot in the Czech Republic. He was trained in a castle outside Prague that was owned by members of the club. He can become erect at will, never being flaccid until at least ten women, or men for that matter, have been serviced' by him. He is insatiable and we were used to keep him at his peek during the training of a large batch of recruits, or press-ganged people really. The Group preferred to break people in, it amused them. No, it did more; it enabled them to bet on when we would break, how long it would take and what methods would break us. Or, in rare cases, whether we would break at all. Huge sums of money changed hands at these betting sessions and every new recruit was watched night and day by cameras concealed around the rooms. No action, including our ablutions, was missed and the fiber optics used was placed in multiple locations, pointing at, above and below us. I was to learn that every detail of my conversion to full submission was kept, edited and distributed to the members. There is in circulation a complete record of my modification to the ways of The Group. I had no way out. These recordings were cleverly edited so that no one could tell I was not a willing party in my degradation. Every utterance of pleasure, I was to learn later, was inserted to make me look willing, with Slave One and others adding extra commentary and footage `after the fact'. That was on the tape that would be given publicly to anyone whom I reported the group to, should I be stupid enough to do so. Another, recording every sick, perverted and degrading event was for members' eyes only. There would be many tapes like that of Maggie and me." Now I was even more intrigued. "So what other things happened then?" My fingers began to ease open my pussy lips, my right index finger found my clitty, hard again. What a perverted bitch I was becoming and so turned on by these tales of The Group. I envied her experiences, however sick, degrading or perverted. I felt my nipples harden and watched that familiar dilation in Clarissa's eyes. "Tell me in a while, but for now, I want you to take control of me." Her tongue snaked over my nipples, hardening them to aching stiff buds. He fingers seized my tits, and I felt the joy of descending into hard, raw sex. I heard my words as if coming from another person. "Top me from the bottom. Take me as if I was your submissive, your slut. Show me what they did to you." I felt the hard bites on my nipples and the bruising fingers that clawed at my breasts. I had turned on a switch in her brain. There was a deep cruelty in her. Then she turned me over so quickly as if I was but a feather, showing such strength that I did not know she possessed. My hips were lifted and my bare arse made ready. I knew what was coming and I wanted it, wanted the heavy spanking that I'm sure would be the start of many more humiliations and punishments. She started with sensual, light slaps to each buttock, but her hands continued to grasp and pull at my teats as cruelly as before. I felt sensuality and pain as she knelt at my left side. I turned my head to watch her body, admiring her firm adorned breasts, the large rings swinging seductively, the slightly open thighs framing her heavily bejeweled cunt lips that shone with her juice. I felt the strokes get harder, the slaps firmer, her caresses shift and change from hard to soft, palpitating and pinching, and then she raised her arm high. My cunt was turning to liquid; my tits were on fire with pleasure and pain, my buttocks warmed and ready. I saw it coming, the raising high of her hand, and the sudden cruelty in her face that wiped away the pure love that I had previously witnessed. When it came, I screamed into the pillow as the blows rained down. At least twenty vicious strokes left me at once crying into the pillow and yet seeking the heat of pleasure that flooded out from the searing heat in my arse, then caressed and consumed me between my thighs and up and over my belly and breasts. Then the lighter blows resumed, followed by feather light touches between my thighs, then
hard squeezes of my apple red arse cheeks, followed my more light touches over my sex lips and teats. More blows followed, hard and fast. And the greatest surprise. In the midst of the pain and the torment, I received one of the lightest touches to my clitoris that by now stood like a miniature cock outside its sheath. I came, not once but many times. The screams into the pillow were of pleasure and I craved the pain that continued as I moaned like the whore and slut that I was. "There Mistress," she whispered in my ear, her hands caressing and tormenting my reddened and stinging arse cheeks, "You have been a really disgusting little slut today and you deserved that spanking making me tell you about my awful experiences. Would you like to know more?" She asked, her finger dipping lasciviously into my dripping cunt. "Or would you like to experience what it really means to be a slut and my slave?" She slid off me. I saw her walk naked to my bedside cabinet. She picked up my favorite hair brush, but I knew it would not be used to tidy my tousled head. "Show me how to be a slave," I answered hoarsely. "Bend over that chair at the dressing table." There was nothing pleasant in her tone now. I saw fire in her eyes, yet I wanted this above all else. Yes, the story could continue later, much later. For now I was her slave, at least for a while. ============================================================================
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