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A Mistress and Her Slave Ch. 01

By: MistressTrinityJones



Wanted: Male Slave

20-35, reasonably attractive, reasonably fit, NS/ND. Your attitude will be your most important trait. You will live in, 24/7. Please familiarize yourself with the dictionary definition of "slave." This is not about your fantasy or your pleasure. Serious inquiries only. Attach photograph.

The responses were more than Laurel had anticipated. Many she could weed out from their inappropriate tone, many more from the pictures. To those she wished to see, she sent the briefest of replies: "3391 Palomas Dr. 8 PM." So far there had been six. None had passed her first test. She began to wonder if anyone would be up for her particular challenge. 

Gradually, as she'd grown into adulthood, Laurel had come to accept that she was not a loving person, that compassion and caring, at least on the level required by a functional relationship, took more energy than she was willing to put forth. And yet her dark desires had only grown in strength as well, something else she had struggled to come to terms with but by now, at 28, had fully embraced. Few of the men she'd dated had embraced her kinkiness wholeheartedly. Even the so-called "submissives" she'd found on local alt personals were more interested in seeing her in tight leather or rubber, of having their own fantasies fulfilled, than they were in actually serving her. In the last year or so, she'd satisfied herself entirely with vibrators and pornography. Not that either of those were entirely satisfying. 

When the doorbell rang precisely at 8, Laurel was pleased. Through the peephole she saw an average-looking man, perhaps a bit taller than most, skinny without being gaunt, medium-length wavy brown hair, and a frightened look in his eyes. Not too frightened, she thought, but just frightened enough. She opened the door.

"Jared, I presume?" The man nodded without speaking. Good again, Laurel thought. 

Jared felt his cock begin to swell in his pants at the sight of this woman. Her straight black hair, pulled back into a tight ponytail, accentuated the paleness of her face. Her eyes were a very light blue, almost white. She looked more than a little like a vampire, her dark red lipstick accentuating the effect. She was slender but with fairly large breasts and, to his eyes, a perfect curve from her waist to her hips. She stepped aside and ushered him in.

She led him to the living room with a simple, "Follow me" and sat herself on the couch. He remained standing, awkwardly. Good again. And now for the first test.

"Let's see how well you follow directions," she said. She slid a small glass across the coffee table toward Jared. "Masturbate into that." Invariably, the response from previous candidates had been something like, "What? Right here?" In each case, Laurel had terminated the interview then and there. She felt her pulse quicken when Jared, without the slightest hesitation, dropped his pants, picked up the glass, and began to stroke his rapidly-stiffening member. While his behavior pleased her the most, she was also happy at his size. A bit longer than what she'd usually experienced, although the girth seemed about average. Perfectly serviceable, she thought. 

Jared's arousal was already at a fever pitch from the situation he found himself in, and Laurel's attentive eyes upon him only pushed him further along. In just under a minute, he was spurting warm semen into the glass.

"Squeeze it all out," Laurel commanded. When the last drop had been wrung from Jared's still-hard phallus, she issued her next test. "Now, pour it into your mouth, but do not swallow until I tell you to." She expected him to balk, at least momentarily, but almost as quickly as she said it, he complied. She rose and approached him. At five-foot-six, she realized, she would not be able to see clearly into his mouth, as he stood a solid six feet in height. "On your knees," she said softly. Again, without a moment's hesitation, he complied. "Show me." He opened his mouth. Laurel felt a warm tingle in her nether parts as she saw the creamy white liquid coating his tongue and teeth. "Very good. Now swallow." Again, his compliance was exemplary. She slapped him hard across the face.

"Thank you," he said quietly. At this she stiffened. 

"What?" she asked.

"Thank you." Laurel slapped him again, harder this time.

"Did I ask you to speak?" Jared shook his head. "Then do not do so," she continued. "Now, why do you think I slapped you the first time?"

"I don't know."

"Guess."

"You wished to."

"True. But that is not the only reason. I wanted to illustrate a point. You have, up to this point, apart from your unwanted interjection a moment ago, done exactly as I have asked, without hesitation or question. Your behavior thus far has in fact been magnificent." She paused; Jared said nothing, made no sound, did not even look at her. "I wanted you to be aware that even if that is the case, I will subject you to pain. Granted, this pain will be more severe in intensity and duration when I am displeased. But even when you make me deliriously happy, should you prove capable of doing so, I will hurt you. Your pain is primarily for my pleasure, and only secondarily to teach you proper behavior. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Can you cook?"

"Yes."

"Can you iron?"

"Yes."

"Show me." Laurel pointed toward an ironing board in the corner, upon which a rumpled silk blouse sat. She was pleased that he made no effort to pull up his pants, but instead hobbled over to the ironing board with them still around his ankles. 

The shirt turned out serviceably, though not perfect. Still, all things considered, she felt like Jared had the makings of a excellent slave.

"Where do you live?" she asked.

"I have a small studio apartment near Koreatown."

"Are you in a relationship?"

"No."

"Have you been in the past?"

"Yes."

"Any D/S relationships?"

"No."

"Why do you want this?"

"May I speak freely?"

"Please," she said, returning to her seat on the couch as Jared stood before her, still naked from the waist down.

"I'm recently divorced. There's no single reason for it. In fact, it was fairly amicable as far as those things go. But among other issues, our sex life was very...plain. And very much not to my liking. As time went on, I could only get aroused so long as I was fantasizing about being dominated, something she would not do, at least not beyond a very basic point."

"I am not going to dominate you, Jared. You are going to serve me. There is a distinct difference, and one that I hope you appreciate."

"That's just it. It is the ultimate domination. I want nothing of free will. My choices only seem to make my life worse as it goes on. I want someone else to make those choices for me."

Laurel nodded slightly. She understood, and even more, she felt this was a good place for Jared's head to be at coming into the situation.

"Do you work?"

"Yes. Clerical stuff."

"Parents?"

"Dead."

"Friends?"

"A few. I don't get out socially much."

"Anything you feel you can't leave behind?"

"No."

"Pets?"

"No."

"Strip," she said, and watched him with satisfaction as he removed the rest of his clothes and took his pants from around his ankles. "Turn, slowly." He did so. His body was nothing spectacular. Relatively shapeless, thin, no well-defined muscles. A slight paunch, just enough to let her know he wasn't vain. A little hairier than she might have liked, but all things considered, she though, he would do.

"Here is what I propose," she said. "You will live here. You will perform every domestic chore. Cooking, cleaning, vacuuming, laundry, ironing, folding, dusting, grocery shopping, everything. You will perform it all to the utmost of your abilities. The yard is taken care of by gardeners. If there are things that need professional attention—plumbing or electrical issues, say, beyond your ability, you will deal with the appropriate people to get such issues resolved. Understood?"

"Yes."

"You will call me 'Mistress' or 'Mistress Laurel.' Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"You will, at all times in my presence, remain fully nude, unless I give specific directions to the contrary. You will have no access to or contact with friends or family, unless I give specific directions to the contrary. You will not masturbate unless told to do so. You will be monitored at all times via video cameras. You will serve my sexual needs at my discretion, whenever and wherever and in whatever way I desire, without hesitation. I reserve the right to engage in sexual activity with other people of my choosing. If I desire it, you will also participate with these additional parties, performing as I see fit and regardless of the other parties' gender or appearance. Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"In exchange, I will provide you with shelter, food, and clothing. Your room will contain a computer with internet access (whose usage will be monitored – no pornography unless I command it), a TV and blu-ray player, an assortment of reading material. You may bring with you what possessions you wish, limited to four bankers' boxes. Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"There will be no restrictions on what I may command you to do. You will have no safeword. This is not a D/S relationship. This is ownership. You will be my slave, and all that that entails. Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Excellent. Let me say that you will come to no lasting physical harm, nor will your life be threatened, although you may feel it to be at times. Finally, we have a problem whose resolution I do not see. Legally, there is nothing you can sign which will make you my slave. Legally, I cannot keep you here against your will. Which means, essentially, you can leave whenever you want, that fact of which undermines exactly what we both appear to want. Now, as far as I can see, this only works as long as it, well, works. For both of us. If you don't want to be here, I don't want you as my slave. And if I no longer want you to serve me, I would assume the benefits for you would be equally removed. So we have only our words to each other. What do you say to that?"

"I give my consent to all these conditions, and any others you may impose, freely and cheerfully, Mistress. I will serve at you whim, so long as you desire, and will do nothing to undermine the rigid distinctions between our relative positions."

"Excellently stated, slave. Shall we begin tonight?"

"As you desire, Mistress."

"Follow me." Laurel led him down a hallway to her master bedroom. From a large cedar chest, she removed a leather hood. This she placed over his head, locking it into place around his neck. His eyes were covered, but his mouth exposed. Next she inserted a large rubber ball gag into his mouth, securing it tightly over and behind the hood.

"Take three steps forward," she said. He did so, and as he finished the third step he could feel the bed just above his knees. "Lie down on your stomach." After he was prone, she secured tight leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles, and then bent his, pushing his ankles up towards his ass. She rather expertly connected each wrist to its opposite ankle via the cuffs d-rings and some hardware, and then rolled him onto his side. His cock, semi-erect, stiffened instantly at her touch. She thought about taking him into her mouth, but decided he didn't warrant such pleasure yet. She wrapped a leather cock ring around the base of his balls, snapping it tightly into place to ensure his erection would remain constant. From her chest, she took a large vibrating butt plug. She lubed it up carefully, spreading some of the cold gel around his asshole, and then slowly inserted it. His muffled grunts pleased her ears, and she could feel herself grow wetter and more aroused. Finally, she took a thick leather strap and worked it underneath his hip on the bed, securing it tightly around his ass, holding the butt plug inside him, and then turned on the vibration to its maximum level.

It had been a long time since a man had shared her bed, and she missed the warmth and the companionship. She removed her clothes and disappeared into the bathroom, tending to her teeth, brushing out her hair, and completing her usual pre-bed routine. Jared was gently squirming as the plug throbbed away at his prostate. She lay beside him, taking her favorite vibrator from the nightstand drawer. As aroused as she was, it didn't take long for her to come, and she let forth a long series of moans and sighs as she did so. It was easily the biggest orgasm she'd had in years. She looked at the naked body beside her, at the drool pooling on the sheets, and the erect cock which twitched now and then, and then she switched off the lights and said, "Good night, slave." At that a faint whimper escaped his mouth. She slept as soundly as she ever had.

A Mistress and Her Slave Ch. 02



As Jared lay there in the dark, he began to realize the seriousness of his new arrangement. And while he had entered it with an open mind and a genuine embracement of the idea of servitude, he had expected, while being trussed up, that his new mistress—his owner—would use his body for her own pleasure, and then allow him release as well. Neither, at this point, seemed to be the case. And yet her almost callous disinterest in him physically, as he viewed it, did nothing to dampen his ardor. His rigid cock felt like it would burst, not into orgasm, but literally burst through its own skin. He'd never been so hard, nor for so long. The non-stop stimulation from the vibration in his rectum drove him wild with lust. Eventually he was able to shift his weight such that he could rub the head of his cock along the sheet beneath him by twitching it up and down. This brought him just enough pleasure, that, combined with the butt plug, he began to approach orgasm. But, remembering his mistress's warning against masturbation, which, he assumed, this qualified as, he reined himself in. It was no matter, though. The constant attention being paid to his prostrate did the job for him. He could feel it welling up inside, and began to think of anything else other than the pleasure the vibrator was bringing him, and of the pressure building up in his balls. But it was too much, and after some time, he knew not how long, he felt blast after blast of hot semen spring forth. He awoke some hours later, having dozed off, to find his member still erect and the vibrating plug still relentlessly stimulating him. He pictured his mistress's face—perhaps not a traditionally beautiful face, though far from unattractive. To him, however, it seemed perfect. The image of her lips wrapped around his shaft, and then of his cum spurting into her open mouth, took hold of his mind, and, perhaps becoming more attuned to the sexual possibilities of his prostrate, he came again, quite against his will.

He was woken by the feel of his gag being removed. His joints, given the relative severity of his restraints, actually ached only a little, but his jaw, he now realized, was in near agony. He could barely manage to close it, and opening it again was even more painful. 

"Good morning, slave," Laurel said. "Keep moving your jaw. It will feel better in a few minutes." She reached down and undid the leather strip around the base of his still-rigid member, which to her delight was a deep purple, though still warm. His erection gradually subsided as his color returned to normal. 

"It looks like you had a bit of an accident during the night, slave," Laurel said, undoing the hogtie behind his back. The hood and the butt plug, still vibrating, remained in place, although she undid the small lock that held the hood securely around his neck. "Take a few minutes to gather yourself. I need to go to work. I generally return about six o'clock. Dinner will be ready between 6:45 and seven. You'll have a bath drawn for me upon my arrival. Make sure the tub is spotless prior to that. The sheets will need to be laundered, and some vacuuming couldn't hurt. Please shave your pubic region and around your asshole, and keep your face smooth. Your overall cleanliness is of course paramount. You may also take two hours to retrieve what belongings you desire from your apartment, and make whatever arrangements you need to make regarding your lease and your job. The cameras will note your coming and going. Two hours. Any longer and it will add to the already significant punishment you are due for your unauthorized ejaculation. Or was it more than one?"

"It was two, Mistress. I'm sorry, I couldn't..."

She cut him off. "No, you're not sorry. Later, you will be. But not yet. There's a small safe in the back wall of the entry-way closet. It is open now. Please deposit your car keys there when you return from your errands, and close it afterwards." And with that she was gone. 

Jared reached back and turned off the vibration, and then took the hood from his sweat-covered head. He then undid the strap around his hips, and slowly removed the plug from his anus. He had a lot to do, it seemed. Best to get started.

As Laurel drove to her office, she felt a pleasant warmth radiating from her clit. The memory of her powerful orgasm the night before seemed to fill more than the nerves in that particular part of her brain. Too, she beamed with a certain satisfaction at having acquired what she had truly desired for so long—a genuine slave. And she could tell he was genuine. She knew in her heart he would be there upon her return that evening. The thought of hurting him that night gave her libido no small boost, and she could feel the moisture begin to dribble out between her labia. And, perhaps more than any other aspect of the whole situation, her freedom from basic household chores gave her a feeling of lightness and joy. It would be, she thought, a great day. Every day would be.

Her secretary, Jessalyn, noticed a spring to her boss's step that she'd rarely seen before. But as the day drew on, Laurel seemed troubled. Little could Jessalyn have known what was on Laurel's mind. Indeed, Laurel was having trouble concentrating on her work. Her thoughts kept drifting toward her new arrangement, and although on the whole this bought her pleasure, one aspect kept troubling her: what punishment would she unleash upon her newly acquired property? She wanted it to be serious; unauthorized orgasms seemed to her among the most egregious of transgressions. But at the same time, she felt the previous night must have been hard on him. Her worst fear at this point was scaring him away. While she was quite confident he was indeed willing to be her slave, body and soul, she knew she would be walking a thin line these first few weeks. Or so she thought.

Laurel was still uncommitted to any particular course of action as she pulled into her garage. She could smell something delicious cooking. So far, so good, she thought. She entered the house to find Jared naked, tending several pots and pans while simultaneously assembling a salad. She noted with satisfaction that one place was set at the table, and quite expertly at that.

He looked up with something between furtiveness and rapture on his face, catching her eyes only briefly and saying nothing, before returning to his work. "Is my bath ready, slave?" she asked.

He nodded. "It's been sitting a few minutes, Mistress. I should like to add a bit more hot water, I think."

"Duly noted. Unfortunately for you, it was a yes or no question. If I wanted to hear stupid excuses about your apparent inability to do something so simple as draw a bath at a specified time, I would get a boyfriend. Are you my boyfriend?"

"No, Mistress."

"On all fours, slave." Jared complied. Laurel coolly selected a long-handled wooden spoon, with which she struck her slave squarely on the ass so hard as to leave a bright red imprint exactly in the shape of the spoon's head. Jared gasped in pain but made no sound. Laurel repeated the blow on the opposite buttock, a little harder if anything. Again, a gasp but no audible sound beyond that. Then four more rapid blows, alternating cheeks, each a little harder than the last. Finally a whimper escaped Jared's lips. Laurel then walked calmly around the his naked body until she was standing just in front of his face.

"If you look up before I tell you, our arrangement is ended. Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress."

She took off her heels, and let her skirt drop to the floor. Next came her jacket, which she folded carefully and laid on the counter behind her. Her shirt, and then her bra, joined the clothes already on the floor. Then slowly, seductively, she rolled down her stockings, pulling them off and letting them fall on her slave's back. Finally her black lace panties fell to the ground, directly below Jared's face.

"Now, look up at me." He did as he was commanded, seeing for the first time her cleanly shaven pussy, a thin barbell piercing through her clit and two rings on each outer labium.

"Do you see my beautiful pussy, slave?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Do you think you're going to get to touch it tonight?"

"That is up to you, Mistress."

"What you think is up to me? I asked what you think will happen, not what will actually happen. Yes or no, do you think you'll get to touch my pussy tonight?"

"No, Mistress."

"No? Why so negative, slave?"

"You seem displeased, Mistress."

"Do I? Did I not warn you that I would hurt you regardless of whether or not I am pleased?"

"You did, Mistress."

"Then should you be reading my feelings into my actions as you just did?"

"No, Mistress."

"Very good, slave. Now, open your mouth." He did so. She smiled down at him. "When will you close your mouth?"

"When you tell me to, Mistress."

"Excellent." With that she bent her knees slightly, arching forward until her pussy was just inches from his open mouth.

"Stick out your tongue." Again, compliance. 

"Now, the beating was just because I enjoy hurting you. This is for the bath." And with that, she let loose a powerful stream of urine, all over his tongue and into his mouth, covering his face and wetting his hair. To her pleasure, his tongue and mouth stayed in the position she had demanded of him. When she had finished relieving herself, she said, "I will see to my bath. Please clean yourself, and the floor. You will serve dinner at precisely seven o'clock."

Laurel was so aroused by his submissive consent to her rather rough ministrations that she managed to rub herself to another stunning orgasm while in the bath. She looked forward very much to the rest of the evening.



A Mistress and Her Slave Ch. 03



Jared, Laurel had to admit (at least to herself) was doing a fantastic job, by and large. Not only her tub, but the entire bathroom, had been spotless. The bedclothes were clean and the bed made expertly. And dinner, as she walked into the room clad in a satin robe and nothing else, was served right on time, piping hot and smelling amazing. Roasted salmon in a soy-ginger reduction, steamed asparagus spears with lemon juice and salt, rice pilaf (made, apparently from scratch—Laurel knew she had had no sort of rice mix in the house), a green salad offered with a choice of dressings, and a glass of white wine. Once she had been served, she commanded her slave to get on all fours beneath the table and suck on her toes while she ate, another task which he performed admirably. It wasn't exactly what she wanted him to suck on, but at the same time, she didn't want to let him get too intimate with her yet. His wet tongue and lips on her toes kept her aroused throughout the meal, which was by any measure delicious. By the time she was done, she found herself with another dilemma. She desperately wanted to get fucked, and in fact found herself longing for her slave's ejaculate in her mouth, an experience she hadn't had in quite some time. But again, she did not feel he had yet earned the right to fuck her, and coming in her mouth, she felt, would actually put him in a position of dominance, however briefly, and however much she in fact wanted it. This is all getting rather tricky, she smiled to herself as the man under the table continued to fellate her toes. 

This activity had obviously aroused him at least as much as it had her. She commanded him to rise, and was pleased at his firm cock, standing almost straight up toward his bellybutton. God, I want that inside me, she thought. What to do?

"I am finished, slave," she said. Without prompting, Jared pulled her chair back as she stood up.

"Well, aren't you the perfect gentleman?" she teased. "You've earned a reward. Go to my room and retrieve the butt plug you wore last night. Insert it and put it on high. Then return, clear the table, and do the dishes."

Jared did as instructed, returning in a few minutes, the control for the plug's vibration dangling down around his knees, his gait altered noticeably. Laurel paid him no attention at all, however; she had excused herself to the other room and had put on a movie to watch. Partly this was to see what her slave would do when he had finished the dishes, and partly it was because she didn't really know what to do with him right then. She owed him punishment, to be sure, but she knew that in her current state that would only push her arousal to greater heights, and she didn't think she'd be able to keep from fucking him if that happened. 

As the minutes ticked by, she found her concentration on the movie flagging, and felt more than a little agitated at his failure to appear, although in truth he was merely acting as a good slave should, remaining unseen and unheard until bidden. Finally, her mind fixed on a solution. In her toy chest was a chastity sheath, a hard plastic case that fit over an erect cock, locking around the base of the shaft and balls. Not only did this device give the wearer added girth, which would, Laurel thought, be only that much more pleasant, but it kept him from feeling anything. In fact, it didn't even matter if he stayed erect inside it. She could mete out her slave's punishment, get fucked to her heart's—her pussy's—desire, and not allow him any pleasure at all, besides that which he might take from her enjoyment. Her craving for cum would, unfortunately, not be met, but she felt that a reasonable exchange for having formulated a way out of her dilemma.

"Slave," she called, not too loudly, after switching off the TV. Her appeared within a few seconds, butt plug still in place, cock swollen but not rigid.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Go to my bedroom. I will join you shortly."

Once there, she had him remove the butt plug, and then she placed the hood and the gag on him as she had last night. "I don't want to look at your worthless slave face, and I don't want to hear anything from your worthless slave mouth," she said cruelly. 

Utilizing the steel frame of her bed, which consisted of two-inch square posts rising from each corner joined by vertical and horizontal crossbeams along each edge about seven feet from the ground, each containing numerous eyelets, hooks, and other attachment points, she bound her slave spread-eagled but standing. She stretched his arms up such that he stood on tip toe, and tightened the bonds so that he could move neither forward nor back more than a couple of inches, this last effect completed with a strap around his waist that was connected tightly to the bedposts on either side. Finally, she secured the cage around his erection. 

"Despite the fact that I will take great pleasure from this," she said, "I want you to fully understand the reasons for it. You do not—you will not—achieve orgasm except at my explicit command. 'I couldn't help it,' as you so lamely tried to offer by way of excuse this morning, is not an excuse. There is no excuse. Your cum is mine, to be issued when and if I see fit. This punishment will be fairly severe, but it will be nothing like what you'll experience if it happens again. And if it happens a third time, I will have no more use for you. Understood?"

A very muffled "Yes, Mistress," barely recognizable, was Jared's response.

At that, she let her robe drop to the floor and began to flog his ass with a soft but heavy leather flogger. Though capable of inflicting a not insignificant amount of pain, even when swung at her hardest it was not enough to make him cry out. This was by design. She gradually worked up to harder and harder blows, thirty, forty, fifty. His ass began to turn a satisfying red. But she knew the flogger was child's play, essentially. At sixty strokes, she stopped.

"Lesson learned, slave?" Again the muffled response. At this she laughed aloud. 

"And do you really think that light flogging was your punishment? You disappoint me." She reached around and dragged a riding crop across his chest. "That was just to warm you up. If you're lucky, I may stop after this..."

She struck him firmly across both buttocks with the crop, inflicting a terrible sting. Jared screamed into his gag as a satisfying welt began to rise from his agonized skin. Again she struck, and again a scream, his whole body convulsing against his bonds, trying desperately to escape from the inevitable next blow. It came swiftly, and three more, seconds apart. Little drops of blood appeared just under his damaged flesh. The next blows, spaced apart by ten or fifteen seconds but, if anything, harder than the previous ones, landed on the backs of his thighs. His screams seemed to go right to her clit, driving her wild with a lust that only made her strike harder, three more back across his butt cheeks. Speckles of blood broke through his weakening skin now. 

"How many is that, slave?" she asked. "And if you're wrong, we start back at zero."

Jared tried to count the blows, but the pain still coursing through his nerves clouded his mind. "I don't know," he said as best he could through the gag and the sobs which he could no longer control.

"Oh, my poor slave!" Laurel said. She pressed up against his bloodied backside and wrapped her arms around his chest, caressing him lightly. "Did I make you cry?"

"Yes, Mistress," came the muffled reply. She released her grip and, picking up the crop again, savaged him with four more rapid blows. His body went almost limp, supported only by the bonds that held him in place.

"Good!" she screamed at him. "Do not—EVER—come again without my permission!" She was a little taken aback by her own viciousness, even at the rage that she felt for his having committed the transgression. She realized, as much as this whole thing was a type of roleplay, that she was not at all acting. She was both startled and thrilled by this realization. She even felt a bit of remorse at the damage she'd done to his skin. 

Jared, too, was shocked by the amount of pain he had just endured—was still enduring, although the throbbing ache on his backside, while severe, was nothing like the sting of the blows as they landed. And yet as his head hung down, he felt with satisfaction that his encased cock was quite erect. The pain was a marker. It meant he had fully submitted, or so he thought at the time, and the feeling of arousal he maintained despite the physical agony he was in told him he should have no regrets about having placed himself in this position. 

Laurel climbed onto the bed in front of her bound servant. She first lay on her back, opening her legs and rubbing the glistening moisture around her labia and inner thighs, paying more than a little attention to her engorged clitoris. Then, turning around on all fours, she backed herself onto his sheathed member, gasping as it filled her up. She began to fuck herself on it vigorously. Jared, who could feel the pressure of her pushing against him, but little else besides the still-potent stinging on his ass, tried to thrust himself forward to meet her but his motion was so restricted it had little effect. As she came, screaming into the sheets, he longed for his own release.

Laurel paused for perhaps thirty seconds before she started to move herself around on the hard plastic again. This time she rocked back and forth for nearly ten minutes, gradually impaling herself harder and deeper each time, until she was thrusting back as violently as she could. Another few seconds brought her to climax again, and to her surprise she squirted several ounces of liquid from her swollen cunt.

She stayed there, the hard plastic phallus buried inside her, for several minutes, panting, feeling the warmth of her pleasure still tingling throughout her body. Finally she pulled herself off and rolled over, looking at her helpless slave and his still-erect, unsatisfied manhood. Thinking of the welts she'd inflicted on his backside, she began to feel a tinge of remorse, although she still felt he deserved such harsh punishment. Nor would she have traded the charge she'd received from delivering the blows for any reduction in severity. But she felt his suffering had in fact earned him a reward. Or perhaps it was just that she still wanted to feel the warm spurts of his semen roll down the back of her throat. She retrieved the key to the plastic cage that enclosed his member and released him.

"You have pleased me, slave, both sexually and with your competence around the house today—despite your shortcomings with the bath." As she spoke, she gripped his rigid cock firmly in her hand, squeezing but not stroking it. Already a drop of pre-cum began to issue from its tip. "As a result, I am going to be extremely generous, and suck your cock. There's one catch, though. I'm only going to suck it for thirty seconds. If you do not come before that time, you will not be given another opportunity to do so for a very long time. Understood?"

The muffled response sounded enough like "Yes, Mistress." Laurel took the shaft into her mouth, slowly but as deeply as she could. A little out of practice, she thought, as she felt her gag reflex nearly trigger, and backed off accordingly. Making a tight seal with her dark red-lipsticked lips, she bobbed up and down on the cock rapidly, counting the seconds in her head. At seventeen, she felt Jared's body stiffen, and two seconds later a blast of cum smacked into her tonsils. She kept up her movements, his semen swirling around her mouth and mingling with her saliva, coating his dick in a mixture of warm slime. But the bulk of his ejaculate she greedily swallowed, an event that always made her feel deliciously dirty, and never more so than in this instance.

Jared remained hard as she released him from her mouth after sucking every drop she could from him. Smiling to herself in satisfaction, she released one of his hands from its bonds. "Undo the rest of your restraints, and retire to your room, slave. I'll expect breakfast at 7:45. I think pancakes will do. Also, today I issued you several specific tasks. I'll not be doing that again. I expect you to see what needs doing, and to do it, without being told." She unbuckled his gag, and asked, "Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress," he said.

"Good. The hood will stay on tonight. I'll trust you can find your room without bumping into anything too roughly."

She disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, casting a glance back at Jared as he stretched to undo his remaining bonds. Overcome suddenly with a burst of compassion, she grabbed a jar of soothing balm from her medicine cabinet. She watched with satisfaction as her slave, now free, walked carefully toward the hall, his outstretched hands feeling for any obstacles in his path.

"Wait," she said softly. He stopped, unsure what fresh torment lay in store for him, expecting more pain in exchange for the pleasure he'd been granted. For a moment, when he first felt her apply the balm, he suspected her sadism was reaching new heights, that she was applying alcohol or some other stinging substance to renew his agony. But as she rubbed the substance gently over his welts, he began to feel its effects, and smiled underneath his hood. Had he been able to see the genuine concern in his mistress's eyes, his smile would have been much broader.

"There you are. That should help you get some sleep, slave," she almost whispered. Then, more mischievously than meanly, added, "Good luck setting the alarm. If you're not up in time to get breakfast ready for me, you're going to wish for a whipping as gentle as the one I gave you tonight."



A Mistress and Her Slave Ch. 04



Jared slept only fitfully. First of all, his backside still stung quite badly. Secondly, he was worried equally that he would sleep beyond the time he would need to get breakfast ready for his mistress and about how he was going to make it with the hood blinding his sight. Laurel, on the other hand, slept wonderfully again, the last two nights having been more restful that any she'd had in years. When her alarm went off at 6:30, she awoke, not groggily as usual, not lying in bed hoping for a few more minutes of warmth and comfort, but eagerly, refreshed and ready to face the day. 

She felt a bit cruel, both for having whipped Jared so viciously and for her parting comment the night before, which she rightfully thought had negatively impacted his sleep. But she didn't feel bad for feeling cruel. Quite to the contrary—it sent a little charge through her that radiated outward from between her legs. She put on her robe, grabbed the balm she had used on him before bed, and went to his room to wake him. 

She caught him in one of the brief periods of sleep he had enjoyed since finally dozing off around two in the morning, though of course he had no idea what time it was when he finally managed to drift off. She unlocked his hood, which was enough to wake him, and then pulled back the covers. She was pleased to see his limp penis immediately begin to swell.

"I'm so glad, slave, that my mere presence arouses you. Now roll over." He did so, at which point she applied more of the balm to his damaged skin. "There. I hope it's feeling better. Though not too much better, as I want there to be no mistake as to why you hurt. Something light for breakfast this morning. Toast, a grapefruit half, and coffee should suffice. You will get some groceries today. Please check for anything I'm almost out of and get whatever you see fit for meals for the next week. Your keys will be on the counter. Please return them to the safe when you get back. Be gone no longer than ninety minutes. I've also thought about your contact with the outside world. Please continue to correspond with friends or family electronically, by e-mail or on Facebook or whatever you normally do. However, no mention will be made of me or our situation. Before I leave for work, you will write your passwords down for me so that I may keep tabs on your communication. Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, Mistress," Jared replied.

"Good. I have a cellphone for you as well. I'll put it on the kitchen counter before I leave. It is to be used solely for communicating with me. I am the only one who has the number, and you will give it to no one else. You are only to receive calls or messages from me; under no circumstances will you contact me unbidden except in the most dire of emergencies. Primarily this is so I can let you know if I am running late, or if something has come up that will keep me away in the evening. I also may have tasks for you from time to time. Any failure on your part to respond to a text, when requested, or to answer a call, will result in punishment. I'll see you at breakfast, slave."

Her control over this man was becoming more and more exciting for her, to the point that she was in an almost constant state of arousal throughout the day. Jared was as well, as she could tell from the way his cock never dropped much below half-mast, at least when she was around. In fact, this state continued for him even when she was away. He'd been used to masturbating at least a couple of times a day, certainly since the divorce but even during most of his marriage—some days even four or five times. With the inherent eroticism of his current situation and his mistress's restrictions on self-pleasure, he was rarely not at least somewhat turned on, even while cleaning the house. And despite the four ejaculations he'd had in the last two days, he was feeling the dull ache of unrequited arousal. 

Laurel's workday went from bad to worse. Several meetings with normally-difficult clients went as expected, but even clients she enjoyed seemed to be going out of their way to make her life difficult today. One meeting went so poorly she dropped the client on the spot in a fit of anger, saying goodbye to nearly $40,000 in annual billings. After she stormed out of the conference room and slammed her office door behind her, Laurel fell heavily into her desk chair, seething inside but trying to regain her composure. After a few minutes she heard a quiet knock on her door.

"Ms. French?" came a tentative voice through the door.

"Come in, Jessalyn," she said.

Jessalyn, her young secretary, entered, shutting the door behind her. Jessalyn had proved quite an asset to the office in her relatively brief tenure, rising from receptionist to Laurel's personal assistant in less than a year. 

"Is everything ok?" the younger woman asked.

"It's fine," Laurel said. "Just...having a bad day."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"As a matter of fact, there is." Laurel pulled out a file from her desk drawer and slid it across her desk. "I'm stuck on this one. Take it home and look it over and see what you can come up with."

"But...I'm just a secretary, Ms. French," Jessalyn said.

"You've been working here long enough to have a pretty good understanding of what it is we do. I've been impressed with your work. Consider yourself promoted."

"I...I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. Just rise to the challenge. I'm going home early." Before she left she sent a text to Jared's new phone that read simply, "Bath in one hour, dinner to follow."

The traffic on the way home was atrocious, even though it was well before rush hour. This soured Laurel's mood even more. By the time she got home, she felt like beating her slave's ass just to vent her frustrations; but, given its condition from her attentions the night before, she knew she couldn't, not unless he gave her a very good reason. 

He didn't, somewhat to her disappointment. But the steaming bath, which had been scented lightly with lavender bath oils (not because of her direction, but quite pleasing nonetheless) made a tremendous difference, and she once again felt immensely satisfied at having a legitimate slave, quite apart from the sexual elements of the arrangement. Another outstanding dinner removed much more of her tension, as did the foot massage she received, at her command, while she ate.

She retired to the living room to watch a movie while her slave cleared the table and washed the dishes. When he was finished, she called him in.

"Slave, fetch your hood. There's also a mouth panel with a gag built in. Bring that as well."

"Yes, Mistress." When he returned, she noticed his cock had gone from semi-rigid to almost fully erect. She paused the movie and smirked up at him.

"Do you think this is for your enjoyment, slave?"

"No, Mistress."

"Then why is your pathetic little slave dick getting hard?"

"It's involuntary, Mistress."

"So in other words, you can't control yourself?"

"No, Mistress. You control me."

"So I do. In that case, make it limp."

Jared tried with all his might to reduce his erection at least a little, but the situation proved more than a match for his will power, and the presence of his mistress giving him an order and watching him expectantly with her piercing blue eyes only made him grow firmer. After thirty seconds or so, Laurel had had enough.

"Crop," she said simply. Jared went to retrieve it. The fear of being whipped across his backside actually had some of the desired effect, and when he returned he was closer to half-mast than to fully erect. Still, there was an undeniable level of arousal communicated by his cock.

Laurel wrapped her thumb and forefinger about halfway down his dick, squeezing tightly until the head began to darken with blood. Holding the crop far up its length to maximize her control, she struck the tip of his penis sharply. She repeated this every few seconds, pleased that her slave was not uttering a sound, although she could tell from his body's movements and his breath that she was indeed administering an ample amount of pain. She could feel the diameter in her grip begin to diminish. After fifteen or twenty blows, she released him, and saw with some satisfaction that his cock was almost entirely flaccid. 

"I can see that's something we'll have to work on. If I want you limp, I expect you to go limp, just as readily as I expect you to be hard when I want you hard. This is my cock, and I expect it to behave as such. Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good. Now, hood on." Jared put it on, securing the zipper in the back. Laurel locked it around his neck and then placed the gag into his mouth. It was a soft leather plug, nowhere near the size of the ball gag she had used the first night. But, when the mouth panel was snapped into place, it was every bit as effective, and even his loudest screams would not be audible much beyond the confines of the living room. Still, she felt she had to test this.

"Turn around," she commanded. He did. The welts on his backside still looked quite raw. She applied one sharp blow with the crop, and the scream that issued from his mouth, covered and filled as it was, was pleasantly muffled. 

"Don't worry, slave. I was just testing your gag. I find it satisfactory. Do you?"

"Yes, Mistress," was what she assumed his response was.

"Now, I'm going to finish watching my movie. You will stand behind me and massage my neck and shoulders until I tell you to stop, which will not be any time prior to the end of the movie."

His hands were a little clumsy at times, she thought, but the ardor with which he worked more than made up for whatever expertise he lacked. For over an hour he kneaded every last drop of tension from her muscles.

As the credits came up, Laurel stopped the film and waited for a transgression, but to her delight Jared continued unabated. She let him go on for a few more minutes.

"That will do, slave. Are you hard again?"

"Yes, Mistress," he tried to say through the gag and the thick leather. She turned to see his full erection.

"Very nice, slave. For a pathetic slave cock, that is. Bedroom. You may relieve yourself in the bathroom on the way, if necessary."

He picked his way carefully around the sofa and through the room, finding the doorway with his hands, and proceeded down the hall, Laurel following at some distance behind. He turned into the bathroom and urinated, careful to sit down on the toilet to prevent any unwanted drips. Laurel watched this with more than a little satisfaction. When he had finished, washed, and continued on to the bedroom, she said, "Stop," and then removed the mouth panel from the hood. She couldn't believe how relaxed she felt, especially considering the tension that had built up in her body during the course of the day. The bath, the meal, the massages, the feeling of utter freedom from housework, and, maybe most satisfying of all, the fact that she didn't have to care—in fact, didn't care—about the comfort or needs of the man that was doing all this for her. In the past, any time she'd been massaged, or had dinner cooked for her, there was always an unspoken notion of quid pro quo attached. "I cooked you dinner, now you'll go to bed with me." But now...now there was none of that. Just her needs being fulfilled. It made her pussy practically throb.

"Now, what should we do with that hard little cock of mine this evening?" she asked.

"Anything you wish, Mistress."

"Anything I wish. So correct, slave."

From her cedar chest, Laurel took out several leather straps, about 3 inches in width and of varying lengths, each with a rolling buckle and several holes—belts, essentially. She laid them on the bed.

"Lay down on the straps, slave." He did so. She proceeded to fasten them around his body, first his ankles, then just below and just above his knees. A fourth went around his waist and also pinned his wrists to his sides. A fifth did the same for his forearms, and a sixth his upper arms. She pulled them taut enough to be uncomfortable; they dug into Jared's flesh but not enough to restrict his blood flow to any significant degree. Finally, she fastened each of the buckles with a little padlock. Jared was more or less completely immobilized. He could probably have rolled over, but anything else was beyond question.

From the chest, Laurel took another mouth panel to fit the hood, identical to the first on the inside portion but with a large silicone phallus projecting outward as well. She inserted it into Jared's willing mouth and snapped it into place. 

"I have decided, slave, that we're not going to anything at all with my cock. Does that disappoint you?"

"No, Mistress," came the muffled reply.

"I find that hard to believe, slave. Be perfectly honest. Does that disappoint you?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"It does? Well, I'll tell you what." She reached into her nightstand drawer and took out her vibrator and a pump bottle of lube. She squirted some of the lube onto his erection and watched the thick clear liquid slowly dribble down his shaft. "I'm going to stroke your cock five times. Just five. If you can come in those five strokes, you're welcome to do so. If not, too bad for you."

She wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft and slowly slid up it, but was careful to lift her index finger off as she approached the tip, not wanting to stimulate the underside of his head. As she slid back down, a bit faster, she counted, "One." She could feel him stiffening against his bonds. She repeated her movement at the same pace, counting, "Two." Then she gave two quick up-and-down strokes. "Three four." She held the base of his cock firmly, and began to press down into his balls. Finally she moved up and down at an intermediate pace, counted, "Five," and let go of the rigid member. 

"Oh, that's a shame, slave. I know you were so close," she said, drawing out the last two words teasingly. "I, on the other hand, will have no difficulty coming." With that, she squirted some lube onto the dildo that jutted from Jared's leather-encased face, swung one leg over his chest, and lowered herself onto the fake cock. She teased herself at first, experimenting with depth of penetration and the speed at which she moved up and down, but then fell into a steady rhythm. She rested her hands on Jared's chest for support and soon had the dildo buried deep inside her, no longer riding up and down but instead grinding it around inside her. Normally she had difficulty achieving orgasm without the aid of a vibrator, but her arousal was such that she knew she wouldn't need it this time. With one hand she reached down and began to rub her clit. A few seconds of this was all it took as the walls of her cunt convulsed around the slick silicon. She knew she had another one in her, though. Temporarily dismounting, she swung around so that she was facing the head of the bed, and then re-impaled herself on the dildo. With both hands, she grasped the back of Jared's hooded head and simultaneously mashed herself down onto him while pulling the dildo up into her sopping vagina.

Jared knew of course exactly what she was doing, although he could feel nothing but the pressure of her hands on the back of his head and the leather of the hood pressing into his mouth and lips. The pain of his lips being pressed down onto his teeth was building as she repeatedly pushed down onto him, harder and harder until it was almost as if he was being punched in the mouth. He longed to be able to see his mistress's body riding him in this way, her breasts heaving up and down, the look of ecstasy on her face. As it was, he could only imagine the sight. The tightness of his bonds kept him from being able to do anything with his body, and though straining against them was pleasurable, he eventually let himself go limp. All except for his cock, which was aching for a release he knew would not come, although a glimmer of hope for mercy from his mistress remained. 

Finally, Laurel cried out in pleasure as she came again, this time without any manual stimulation of her clit, but simply from the pounding her pussy was taking. She stopped her movements as she came and instead concentrated on pressing the dildo as deeply inside her as possible. 

Now sated, for the time being, she rolled off onto her back. She couldn't help but admire the bound, naked body beside her, rigid cock straining against the confines of its skin. She ran her hand over Jared's chest, said, "Thank you, slave," and turned out the light.



A Mistress and Her Slave Ch. 05



Several weeks went by as mistress and slave grew more and more comfortable and attuned to their roles. Laurel found herself becoming extremely content. Even the most arduous workdays ceased to bother her; knowing what awaited her at home, the ways her slave could remove her tension, actually prevented the tension from developing in the first place. She was more productive, more relaxed, better rested, and quicker to smile or laugh than she had ever been.

Jared, too, was greatly enjoying his servitude. He had always disliked housework; now, given the context in which he performed it, it was actually fun, a game. In his eagerness to please his mistress, he found himself going to great lengths to ensure things were not just clean but spotless, that his meals were not just ready on time, but were expertly seasoned and served with careful presentation. Making the bed, folding clothes, ironing, all things which he had previously done begrudgingly and with no real attention to detail, he now took great pride in.

He'd given her no reason for punishment since those first days, although, as good as her word, she still gave him floggings or whippings from time to time, for the simple fact that she legitimately got aroused from inflicting pain. As Jared was equally aroused by receiving it (or, more accurately, by knowing that inflicting it aroused Laurel), it was a good match. She allowed him two or three orgasms a week. These were sometimes the result of a rough handjob from her, or, on rare occasions when she genuinely wanted his cum in her mouth, from a quick blowjob, always when he was bound severely and always with a time constraint applied. More commonly, though, she allowed him release by having him masturbate to orgasm, invariably into a glass from which afterwards she would command him to drink. She had not yet allowed him to penetrate her except when wearing the hard acrylic sheath over his cock, nor to place his mouth on her pussy or breasts. These were treats she was not yet ready to yield.

Laurel knew that time would come, and she found herself longing for it more and more as the days went by. But a fear persisted in her mind, the fear that once she allowed him that intimacy, his attitude toward servitude would somehow change, that his performance outside the sexual realm would diminish in quality. When she examined her feelings, she realized that she loved him—not as a person, for she didn't really know him as a person. She had not engaged in any deep conversation with her slave, hadn't asked him his likes and dislikes, his personal history beyond the little she already knew, his politics, his religion (if any). No, she loved him simply as a slave—loved the fact that he kept the house spotless, that her laundry was immaculate, that her meals were delicious, that she was pampered, massaged, and otherwise physically satisfied in every way she could think of. She loved every moment of it, and she recognized that had her slave been someone other than Jared, her experiences would, she thought, not be quite as satisfying as they presently were. Perhaps most of all she loved that she did not have to care about this man at all. His needs and wants were utterly immaterial to her; she could use him to her own ends and give nothing in return, at least nothing in terms of emotional energy.

But there was one problem—she was starting to care. She found herself wondering if her slave was as happy with their arrangement as she was. He'd given her no reason to think otherwise, but she was beginning to realize how devastated she would be if he decided he wanted out. She knew she didn't have to meet his needs or desires in terms of a traditional relationship, but she wasn't so naïve as to think he didn't have needs and desires that had driven him to seek such a situation to begin with. Part of those, she knew, revolved around his desire to avoid personal responsibility for his life. But she worried that was a reaction to his divorce, that as he healed from those emotional scars, he would grow out of that phase. Such thoughts only troubled her vaguely at first, but in recent weeks they had been occupying more and more of her mind. The annoyance this caused her, though, gave her sadism a renewed force, particularly in light of the fact that her slave's exceptional performance had not otherwise allowed her many opportunities for punishment.

Jared, for his part, was head over heels in love with Laurel, although he knew as little about who she really was as she did of him. But he was keenly aware that serving her brought him a contentment—happiness, too, but more importantly a contentment—that he had never experienced. Apart from this, he had come to think of her as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And while the constraints on his sexual pleasure were demanding, the nearly constant state of arousal in which he found himself made the orgasms he was allowed of a quality and intensity far beyond those he'd enjoyed in his previous life of pornography, masturbation, and less-than-satisfying sex with his former wife. Still, he longed to be inside his mistress, to deepen their connection (he hoped it was their connection, and not just his), and he often wondered what her feelings toward him really were.

One evening at dinner (her latest whim was to have him lay on the table and stroke himself while she ate), Laurel had almost decided to ask him to speak candidly about his thoughts on their mutual arrangement. Just then her phone rang. It was her older sister, Lydia.

After the usual pleasantries, Lydia said, "Well, I'm sorry for the short notice, but this just came up. I'm flying in tomorrow for a meeting, but I figured I might as well stay for a few days and we can catch up. Since you didn't make it for Christmas last year, it's been almost a year and half."

Laurel loved her sister, but wasn't sure a houseguest would be a good idea. Still, she couldn't very well say no. 

"I can't really take much time off from work, but...how long were you thinking?"

"Well tomorrow's Wednesday. I figured I could stay through the weekend and fly back Monday, so at least we'll have the weekend."

"Sure, it'll be great to see you. Do you need a ride from the airport?"

"No," said Lydia. "I'll be picked up for the meeting and I can have them drop me at the house afterward. We'll probably be done by 3."

"Ooh, I've got some late meetings tomorrow so I won't be able to get home before six."

"Well, just put a key under the mat for me."

Shit, Laurel thought to herself. "Yeah, sure, of course."

"Great! See you tomorrow, Sis. We'll hit the town."

Laurel put the phone down and tapped her fingers absentmindedly on the table. She watched Jared's prone body, his hand sliding up and down his rigid pole.

"Slave, you may stop." She indicated with her hand that he was to sit on the floor beside her chair, a position she reserved for him whenever she didn't want to send him away and yet didn't require any particular services from him.

"My sister is coming to visit for a few days. Obviously, this presents us with something of a problem. I see three solutions. The first is that we put you in a hotel during that time. This is the most secure of the three, but I am not partial to it for the simple reason that during that time you will be beyond my control, and that does not appeal to me. Second, we continue our arrangement. This will be incredibly awkward for all of us. I am not eager for my sister to be aware of my...proclivities. Finally, and I think this is the best, though not a perfect, solution, you can pose as my boyfriend, and our interactions will have to assume all the trappings that would entail. Will that be a problem for you?"

"No, Mistress."

"Good. You'll be clothed, of course, and call me by name, as I will you. You'll continue your domestic duties. Under no circumstances will you kiss me or otherwise touch me, say, by holding my hand. I may hold yours, if I see fit; if that happens, you may reciprocate, but do not reach for my hand first, or do anything else that would compromise your true standing as my slave. You'll share my bed during her stay, but will not touch me while there either. We'll say you are a freelance writer. Otherwise, if the need arises, provide accurate details of your own life. We don't need a bunch of clumsy lies floating around. She'll arrive sometime after three tomorrow. Please let her in, get her settled, etc. I'll be home at the usual time. We can dispense with the bath. She and I will go out for dinner tomorrow, from which you will excuse yourself on the grounds that you have work to do. You'll be in bed before our return. Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good. Now clean up and retire to your room. I'll have no further need of you this evening."

"Thank you, Mistress."

Laurel was annoyed by the impending visit, annoyed at the lengths she would have to go to in order to hide the true nature of her relationship with Jared, annoyed mostly because of the disruption of her routine. It would be good to see her sister, she admitted. It had been too long. But would it be worth it?

The next day at a quarter to four, Jared nervously opened the door to reveal a rather petite and attractive blonde. She was heavily made-up, though attractively. Her clothes and hairstyle expressed none of the alternative, slightly Gothic appearance that Laurel embraced. She looked, in fact, perfectly ready to present the evening news.

As the door opened, Lydia startled; she had just started to bend down to look for a key under the mat.

"Sorry," said Jared sheepishly. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm Laurel's boyfriend, Jared."

"Oh. Boyfriend? I didn't know...she didn't tell me. I'm Lydia."

"I assumed. Come in. Can I get your bags?"

"Please. How long you two been together?"

"Not long. A couple of months."

"You live here?"

"Um...yeah," said Jared, realizing he'd fallen into a bit of a trap.

"She's not usually so quick," said Lydia, teasing.

"Let me show you to your room," said Jared, hefting a bag over his shoulder and picking up a suitcase with his other hand.

"I meant I've been living here a couple of months."

"But that's not what I asked."

"Yeah, um, like eight. Eight months. We've been together."

"She hasn't mentioned you," said Lydia, sitting on the edge of the bed in the spare bedroom.

"Yeah, you said that," said Jared, trying to regain his composure.

"What do you do?"

"I'm a writer. Freelance...writer."

"What kind of writing?"

"Bowling," Jared said, without realizing quite why.

"Bowling?"

"Uh, yeah, you know. Articles about bowling."

"There a lot of bowling writing?"

"There's a couple, you know...bowling magazines. There's uh, well, Bowling. And, uh, Gutters and Strikes. I mean, I don't just do bowling. Just had a couple of bowling articles out recently. I kinda...kinda do...you know, whatever."

"You seem young. She's always dated older guys, generally."

"Well, I guess I'm just...her type. Where are you from?" he asked, desperate the change the subject.

"I live in New York. I'm from Denver, obviously, same as Laurel."

"Right," said Jared, not having had any idea where Laurel was from. "Well, make yourself at home...I have to, uh, you know. Write. I'm writing an article."

"On bowling?"

"No. Something else. Make yourself at home. I'll, uh...Laurel should be home around six, usually."

Fucking hell, thought Jared to himself as he ducked out of the room and into his own. What the fuck was that? It had been nearly two months since he had spoken with anyone other than his mistress, beyond a few words to grocery checkers. He hoped he hadn't made Lydia too suspicious, although he relaxed when he realized that she had no idea there was anything to be suspicious about. She probably just thinks I'm incredibly awkward, he told himself.

The rest of the afternoon and evening went more smoothly, once Laurel arrived home. The two sisters seemed excited to see each other, and Lydia didn't ask anything about Jared. The girls put on evening clothes and prepared to go out to dinner. Jared made his excuses.

"Well, don't wait up, Jared, we might be out late," Laurel said as they left.

"Have fun, you two!" Jared replied, trying to sound like a sincere boyfriend but coming across, he thought, as far too enthusiastic. His relief when he heard the garage door close was palpable.

At dinner, Lydia began to ask Laurel about her boyfriend.

"He seems a little...goofy," Lydia said. "Is that why you haven't mentioned him?"

"He's very sweet. And a hell of a cook. I just...I didn't know how serious it was."

"He's living with you. That's pretty serious, isn't it?"

"Well, it was just more convenient that way."

"You're not gonna marry him, are you?"

"Haven't thought about it," said Laurel. "What about you? How's Tom?"

"Oh, same old same old. Going on eight years now. Not that you've ever been in a relationship that long, let alone married. But you know...it sort of alternates between boring and comfortable, and every once in a while you realize you're pretty happy."

"I guess that's as good as it gets, huh?"

"I guess," said Lydia.

Laurel kept the conversation away from Jared for the rest of the night. When they got home, both women were fairly tipsy, and it was already nearly midnight. Laurel found Jared in her bed, in a t-shirt and boxer shorts. He was curled up well to one side. 

"Slave," she whispered, not thinking at all about what she was doing but merely letting happen what felt natural at that moment.

Jared turned his body and said, "Yes, Mistress?"

Laurel didn't know if it was the wine, or the fact that her sister's words about her lack of successful relationships had stung her more than she was willing to admit, but she suddenly wanted this man to make love to her, and she wanted to be very, very audible about it.

"Strip," she said, simultaneously taking off her own clothes. Once naked, she clambered heavily onto the bed and kissed Jared deeply on the mouth. She felt his body stiffen for a moment, taken aback by her display of affection, but after a second he was eagerly reciprocating. She'd almost forgotten how good it felt to kiss, to have another person's warm tongue entwined with hers. She reached down and wrapped her hand around his rock-hard cock, squeezing and stroking it. She could feel how ready her cunt was for it, but she didn't want to stop kissing. It was like her first kiss all over again, she thought, when it seems like the most wondrous thing one will ever experience. She found herself smiling down at Jared as their lips finally parted.

She swung around, her ass toward his face, and took him into her mouth while lowering herself onto his face. The sweet-salty taste of her pussy on his tongue, the taste he had longed for all these weeks, was like water to a man dying of thirst. He thrust his tongue deep inside her, and then began to lick back and forth from her vulva up to her clit, flattening his tongue and pressing up into her as hard as he good, occasionally taking the time to suck her clit into his mouth. Meanwhile, he could feel her saliva dripping off his cock on either side of his balls and trickling down along his thighs. Her mouth moved effortlessly up and down his shaft, her moans mingling with the slurping sounds she was making. Given that she usually gave him very strict time limits in which to come, he was used to ejaculating as quickly as possible. He knew he could not do so now, besides which she had not yet given him permission. It took every bit of his willpower to keep himself from climaxing. 

Laurel must have realized the predicament he was in, and reluctantly let his cock fall from her mouth. She sat up straight, pressing her cunt and ass down onto his face. Arching her back, she began to grind down onto him, the pressure of his tongue on her clit immensely pleasurable. She could feel a climax building inside her, and in a few seconds she was moaning loudly as a wave of pleasure swept over her. She squeezed her tits tightly with her hands as she came, waggling her ass over his face as her orgasm subsided. 

In one steady, graceful movement, she reversed herself and, now facing him, slid her cunt over his cock. Almost before either knew it was happening, he was fully inside her. Even when she had allowed him to fuck her with the sheath over his dick, he had never had the pleasure of doing so without the hood on, blinding him. To see her in all her glory, her perfect breasts dangling over him, the look in her eyes, was for him more rewarding than actually feeling the walls of her pussy around his cock. The two together were more than he could bear, and he felt his cum begin to rise toward the end of his cock. Reflexively and without thinking he grabbed Laurel's hips to hold her still. Her cunt felt so unbelievably hot, he thought, not metaphorically hot but physically, almost burning. 

She realized what he was trying to do and kept herself very still. Delirious with passion, she locked eyes with him, smiling but deadly serious at the same time. "I swear to God, Jared, if you fucking come before I tell you to I am going to hurt you so bad." They both realized it was the first time she had called him anything other than "slave." He nodded as his cum retreated back up his urethra, and she began to slowly rock up and down, varying the depth of her strokes, sometimes just taking in the tip of his cock, sometimes burying it deep inside her. Jared made only the slightest of movements, flexing his buttocks and arching his hips slightly upward, trying to match her rhythm but mostly letting her ride him as she saw fit. Despite the fact that she had not let him inside her without the plastic sheath on in their two months together, it was Laurel who had been deprived of such intimate contact the longest. She realized it had been over a year since she had felt the pleasure of an actual warm, living cock inside her. 

She began to moan loudly as she increased the pace of her movements, and as she started to slam down onto him, her moans turned to guttural cries of a volume that would have been impossible for her sister, two rooms down, to ignore. She slapped Jared hard across the face, partly to distract him and she hoped (for both their sakes) to keep him from coming, and partly because of the erotic charge she got from it. Every few seconds she would issue another blow, not too hard, but enough to hurt. They had the desired effect. Jared wasn't sure how long he could hold out, but the slaps directed his attention away from the sensation of her cunt sliding up and down his cock. Still, he was right at the edge.

Laurel's grunts grew in intensity as she felt her orgasm building. "Fuck me!" she yelled, thrilled with Jared's immediate response as he began to thrust upward. She fell forward, her tits pressed into his chest, and then lifted her pussy slightly up off of him to allow him more room to maneuver his cock. "Faster!" she cried, ceasing her own movements and making her cries louder as he began to jackhammer into her. 

The only thing that kept Jared from coming was the fact that, as he watched Laurel's face contort with the sweet agony of her climax, he suddenly felt as one with her. Her pleasure was his own. Physically, he felt nothing now squeezing his cock. It was as if his body was utterly numb, and yet the sensations his brain was processing were still immensely pleasurable. They were, literally, he felt, her sensations, her pleasure, her orgasm. It was not something he could have ever accurately described—it was something spiritual, other-worldly, something beyond the physical realm—but nevertheless something very real. He almost didn't hear her as she cried, "Come for me! Come for me!" She wanted to feel his orgasm even as hers was still going. 




A Mistress and Her Slave Ch. 05



As the words registered in Jared's mind, it was as if he snapped out of whatever shared physio-spiritual state he had been in. Suddenly pleasure, his pleasure, shot through his body like a jolt of electricity, and he fired spurt after spurt of hot cum into Laurel's throbbing, burning cunt.

They lay like that for a long time, Jared's flaccid member still inside her, Laurel's face nuzzled into the juncture of his shoulder and neck, both numbed from the endorphins they'd released. And then, in a voice that wouldn't have been audible had her ear not been so near his mouth, Jared spoke, unbidden, for the first time since he'd offered an excuse about her bath on their second night together.

"I love you, Mistress Laurel." 

She waited for several seconds, expecting anger to well inside her, fury at this transgression, delight at the thought of inflicting an appropriate punishment. But she felt none of that.

"I know," she finally whispered. And she did know, now, what she had been wondering about more and more the past few weeks. She had known, she realized, all along.

Down the hall, Lydia, who had started out annoyed by her sister's cries of pleasure, had ended up aroused by them, and jealous of the apparently healthy sex life Laurel shared with Jared; jealous because her own marriage was far from satisfying sexually. Almost unconsciously, her fingers drifted down to her pussy, and she began to rub her clit, bringing herself to a rather desultory orgasm some minutes later. By then Laurel, an arm and a leg draped over Jared beside her, was already in a deep sleep.



A Mistress and Her Slave Ch. 06



Laurel awoke with a start, her body still pressed up against Jared's. It was already nearly eight o' clock. Jared was sound asleep. Well, she thought, too late for breakfast anyway. She quietly slipped out of bed and got showered and dressed. She gazed somewhat wistfully at Jared's sleeping frame. She wondered, briefly, if she had ruined everything by making love with him. But, the more she thought about it, the more she realized it had been perfect. Nothing would change. They were both getting exactly what they wanted, and now she could have him fuck her and eat her pussy as much as she wanted. Things would only be better now, Laurel decided.

When Jared woke up almost an hour later, the same sorts of thoughts ran through his mind. He was blissfully happy, of course, with the events of last night. But what if he had ruined everything by expressing his love for Laurel? She probably didn't want love, he thought, which was why she had sought a slave to begin with. Of course, perhaps she could use his own love against him, to push him to even further lengths of servitude. He decided worrying about it wouldn't do much good. Besides, things probably wouldn't even be broached until after Lydia had left.

By the time he stumbled out to the kitchen for a bowl of cereal and some tea, Lydia was already up, scrambling some eggs.

"Good morning," Jared said, avoiding eye contact.

"Sounded like you two had a good time last night," Lydia said coolly.

"Sorry. Laurel gets a little loud sometimes, I guess."

"I guess."

Jared decided to take his cereal back to his room, and generally avoided Lydia as much as he could.

After breakfast, Lydia realized her phone was dead, and she could not find her charger in any of her luggage. Must have forgotten it, she thought. Wanting to check her email, she got on her sister's desktop computer in the den. After messing around on the Internet for half an hour or so, she was about to go take a shower when she noticed a desktop icon that said, "SecureCam." She had noticed small cameras throughout the house but had just assumed they were part of a household security system—which they were, although for a purpose far from anything Lydia could have imagined. Almost absentmindedly, she opened the program. This brought up two icons: "Live Feed" or "Archives." She clicked on "Live Feed" and this pulled up a grid of screens, 24 in all, that covered every inch of the interior of the house. There were no cameras showing the outside of the house, which Lydia thought was rather strange for a security system. She watched Jared for a few minutes, who didn't seem to be doing much except reading a book. 

Lydia then clicked on the "Archives" and this pulled up a series of subfolders, each with a date, going back two weeks. She clicked on the one from yesterday. Zooming in on Laurel's bedroom, she saw her sister sleeping, alone. Skipping forward several hours, Laurel awoke, and then disappeared from the frame. Unable to help herself, Lydia skipped ahead to yesterday evening, and there the two lovers were, going at it. Lydia felt a warmth coursing through her sex, and began to rub herself. I wonder what else these two get up to, she thought, clicking back to another day's archives. She saw much more than she had bargained for. Jared, naked, cooking. Jared, naked, vacuuming. Jared, naked, on his hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor. Jared, naked, lying on the table masturbating while Laurel ate dinner, Jared wearing a hood massaging Laurel's shoulders while she watched TV, Jared tied to the bed frame, Laurel on all fours in front of him. What in fuck's sake was going on, thought Lydia to herself, simultaneously horrified and fascinated.

After seeing much more of this than she really wanted to, but finding time slipping away as she was unable to bring herself to stop clicking through the videos, Lydia finally called her sister, using the land line.

"So, uh...you wanna go out again tonight?" Lydia asked.

"Sure," said Laurel, relieved that she could again not have to worry about maintaining the façade of having a real boyfriend—although she wondered if, perhaps, she did have one after all. She texted him as she got off the phone with Lydia: "Going out again tonight."

As the two sisters ate, Laurel could not help but feel that something was bothering Lydia, as indeed it was. Lydia wasn't sure how to bring it up, and she grew more and more nervous as the meal dragged on. The wine she was downing at a rate that far exceeded her sister's consumption was helping a lot less than Lydia had hoped. But finally, she mustered the nerve to say what was on her mind.

"Laurel...I...well, I wasn't trying to snoop. I was just checking my email cuz my phone died. Anyway, I'd seen the cameras around the house, and I wondered...well...I don't know what you two have going on. But it's a lot more than just some kinky sex thing!"

Laurel could hardly believe what she was hearing, but there was no point in denying it now. "You're right. I don't really know how to explain it. No, that's not true. I know exactly how to explain it. Jared isn't my boyfriend. He's my slave."

"Your slave?"

"My slave."

"Like, sex slave?"

"No. Slave, " said Laurel.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I provide room and board for him, and he does all the household chores—and he does them very well—and services me in whatever other ways I desire."

"So sex."

"Yes. But it's not just that. Lyd, I haven't done a batch of laundry, or washed a dish, or even opened my refrigerator in two months. I haven't vacuumed or dusted or wiped up a crumb from the counter. And my house has never been cleaner. Apart from work, I don't have a care in the world. I fucking cum two or three times every night, and I don't have to exert the slightest bit of emotional energy on making him happy, or worrying about whether I'm good enough for him, or any of that relationship bullshit."

"God," said Lydia. "And what, did he lose a bet or something?"

"I put out an ad."

"Why is he naked all the time?"

"Because I want him that way."

"Laurel...it's all kind of...sick, don't you think?"

"It's not sick. It's wonderful."

"So you keep him, like, prisoner?"

"No. He could technically leave whenever he likes. But he loves it as much as I do."

"But he's not your boyfriend? I mean, who is this guy?"

"I told you, he's my slave. Nothing more."

"I don't get it."

"There's nothing to get. How about," Laurel said, a plan slowly developing in her mind, a smile creeping over her lips as she reveled in the deviousness she was dreaming up, "you get a little taste of it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'll give him to you for the night. Make him pleasure you."

"What? No!"

"You have no idea, Lyd. He's really quite incredible."

"I mean...you guys look like you have fun, and God knows my life could use a little spicing up in the bedroom department, but..."

"Tom won't find out. C'mon, Lyd. It'll be so much fun for you! He will do anything you can dream up. Absolutely anything."

Although she loved her husband, Lydia hadn't felt satisfied sexually in years. Between the wine and her sister's imploring, she finally relented, all the while feeling moisture and tension begin to build up inside her pussy.

As they drove back to the house, Laurel asked, "You and Tom, you never do anything...kinky?"

"God, no. It's like a minute of foreplay and two minutes of missionary and bam. I might get him to go down on me a couple of times a year."

"No bondage or anything?"

"Nothing."

"Hmm. Well, I'll give you a little Bondage 101 before I hand Jared over to you...he'll do what you say no matter what but trust me when I tell you that having him totally helpless is such a turn-on."

Walking down the hallway, both sisters felt strongly aroused, although for different reasons. Laurel turned on the lights to reveal Jared in the bed, curled up on one side as he had been the night before.

"Slave," she said. He opened his eyes and blinked against the brightness of the light, looking back and forth from his mistress to her sister, unsure exactly how to respond. Only after a few seconds did he assume that, since he had been addressed as "slave" he'd best behave as one.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Out of the bed. Go wait in your room until sent for."

"Yes, Mistress." And with that he was gone.

"See?" said Laurel proudly. "He's at my beck and call, 24/7. Now, let's show you the ropes, so to speak." Laurel opened the cedar chest that sat along one well, revealing a wealth of sex toys, bondage gear, and the like. "Here is everything you could need or want. How about handcuffs to start? They're super easy to use. Not the most comfortable but definitely the quickest. Hop on the bed."

Lydia climbed onto the sheets.

"Now, this bed is very versatile," said Laurel. "All kinds of attachment points for you to use. Here, give me your hand. So you just go like this..." One end of a pair of handcuffs snapped closed around Lydia's wrist. "Then, the other end through here, and voila," Laurel continued, stretching Lydia's arm toward the corner of the bed and slipping the other end of the cuffs through a heavy eyelet bolt that protruded from the steel bed post.

"Lots of different positions you can put him in, but the spread eagle is a nice one to start with." She repeated the process with her sister's other arm. "The great thing about handcuffs is they work just fine around the ankles, too."

Lydia was starting to get a little nervous. "I get it, Laur. It seems really secure."

"Just let me show you real quick with the ankles. I want you to be completely aware of how helpless he'll be for you." In seconds, Lydia's ankles were cuffed to the bed posts at the foot of the bed, her petite frame stretched into a x-shape.

"See?" Laurel said. "No way anyone's getting out of that without the keys." She dangled the keys on a little chain, teasing her sister.

"I do see...Look, Laurel, I don't know about this," said Lydia, her resolve to go through with this waning.

"It's too late to back out now, sister." Laurel strolled over to the chest and took out a dental gag. Returning to the bed, she straddled her sister's chest. "Let me show you how this works. Open wide."

"I don't think I..." Lydia stammered. Laurel slapped her hard across the face.

"Ow!" Lydia cried. "What the..." Another blow.

"Open your mouth," Laurel said coldly, with a look in her eyes that sent a jolt of fear into Lydia. Hesitant, she nonetheless obeyed.

After Laurel had secured the gag, which prevented Lydia from closing her mouth, she climbed off her sister and called out, "Slave, come in here."

In three seconds, Jared was there, still clad in a t-shirt and boxers.

"Why aren't you naked, slave?"

"I apologize, Mistress. I was...unsure of the current situation in regards to your sister," he said as he shed his clothes.

"Understandable, slave. I forgive your transgression. Are you clearer now on the...situation?" Laurel asked, gesturing toward her sister, spread-eagled on the bed.

"As always, Mistress, I serve at your command."

"Good. Fetch the scissors from my desk drawer, and then cut her clothes off."

Lydia, terrified, tried to yell through her gag, and though it didn't keep her silent, it did prevent her from forming anything like words.

"Make as much noise as you want, sister. The neighbors are far enough away that they're not going to hear you." The look of terror in Lydia's eyes was immensely satisfying for Laurel, as was the sight of Jared's almost-full erection when he returned from his task. Without any further direction, he cut Lydia's shirt and bra off, then her skirt, hose, and panties, until she was completely naked. Her tits were smaller than her sister's but she had large nipples which at the moment were erect from fear. Her bald pussy glistened with the wetness that had been building since dinner, although she was anything but aroused now.

Laurel, riding crop in hand, approached the edge of the bed. She ran the tip of the crop over her sister's breasts, and, with lightning quickness, delivered two strong blows to each nipple. Lydia screamed, although with the gag in place it came out more as a guttural, strangling noise. 

"Now, dear sister, first of all, as you are well aware, this entire thing is being captured by my cameras. So, unless you want your husband to see your tied up and getting fucked by some other man, there will be no mention of what will go on here for the next few days. Understood?"

Lydia nodded her head.

"Good," said Laurel. "Now, you're about to learn what happens to snoops. Because that's what you are. A snoop. You violated my privacy. Now you're going to be violated." With that she issued two more sharp blows to her sister's nipples.

"Do you remember Ron Alforth?"

Lydia made no response for several seconds, her mind straining against her panic to recall the name that rang no bell. Finally she shook her head and tried to say, "No," but it came out as merely, "o."

Laurel applied the crop again, this time to Lydia's inner thigh.

"Wrong answer. Try again."

Lydia began to cry.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Lydia." Laurel struck her several more times about the thighs, and then two hard blows that landed right on her exposed clit. More guttural screams issued from the gag, and the tears began to flow more strongly.

"Well, I guess I'll have to refresh your memory. Ron was a nice boy, good-looking, athletic, on the basketball team. He was a sophomore, like me, and you, dear sister, were a senior. A cheerleader. Voted "Best Smile." I hadn't blossomed quite yet. I was in that awkward phase. But I spent all year trying to get Ron to notice me. I'd help him with schoolwork, and I'd flirt with him in the hallway, and I'd brush up against him or touch his arm while we were talking, and finally, I guess, he got the hint, because he asked me to the Spring dance. And then what happened, Lydia?"

"I on't o," she said through her tears and her gag. The crop slapped down onto her clit again.

"I got sick, Lydia. I got very sick, and I couldn't go to the dance. Ron went stag, and I sat at home, puking and crying. And Ron, I guess, had a real good time that night. Because when I got better and got back to school a few days later, I heard all about it from friends, and acquaintances, and people I didn't even know. You know what I heard, Lydia?"

"Ease, op. Et e o," Lydia said.

"What did I hear from every goddamn person at that school, Lydia?"

"I ucked eh."

"That's right. You fucked him. You fucked a lot of boys, I came to find out. But that was the one I wanted, and you fucked him. You were a real slut back then, weren't you?"

"Ease," Lydia mumbled.

"Weren't you?" yelled Laurel, lashing her sister's breasts again.

"Es," Lydia said, nodding.

"You know who else likes to fuck, Lydia? My slave likes to fuck. But, contrary to what you probably think, he hasn't been able to fuck much lately. In fact, last night was the first time I let him fuck me. I don't even let him come that often. Certainly not as often as he deserves, because he really is a very good slave. In fact, I'm feeling very generous towards him right now. So I'm going to let him fuck you. As much as he wants to. And you're going to lay there and take his cock, like the filthy fucking slut that you are, you're going to take his cock in whatever holes he wants to put it in."

Jared's cock was rock hard, and while he was a little taken aback by Laurel's cruelty toward her sister, he wasn't about to question her commands, not after last night, not when he was this close, he thought, to achieving everything he wanted from this. If his mistress wanted him to fuck her sister, fuck her he would. 

Lydia could hardly believe what was happening to her. She thrashed ineffectively against her bonds, causing the metal of the cuffs to rattle loudly against the bed, but otherwise only hurting her wrists and ankles. She began to scream as loudly as she could, but she knew her sister was right. The stately ranch houses in this hillside neighborhood were much too spaced out for anyone to hear her.

"Now, slave," said Laurel. "Fuck my sister. Fuck her hard." She still held the riding crop in one hand. She slipped her other hand behind the waistband of her skirt and panties, and was already sliding two fingers up into her dripping cunt.

Jared's cock slid roughly into Lydia's pussy, her lubrication having begun to dry up. But despite herself, as he pressed hard into her clit with each stroke, she started to get aroused, and her juices began to flow once again. Jared put a hand on each of her breasts and started roughly pinching and tweaking her nipples, increasing the speed and power of his thrusting until he was pushing her entire body toward the head of the bed, painfully stretching her legs, the metal of the cuffs biting into her flesh. Just before his cock exploded, he pulled out, quickly maneuvering himself toward her head, the tip of his dick just outside her lips. He stroked himself rapidly for a few seconds, and, just as his cum started to flow, shoved his cock deep into Lydia's helpless mouth, sending what felt to her an endless stream of semen down her throat. She swallowed as quickly as she could, fearful that she would otherwise choke on the thick white semen.

Laurel's face was twisted into a cruel grin as she watched her slave shoot his cum into her sister's unwilling mouth. As she slid her fingers in and out of her cunt, she drew so close to an orgasm of her own, but she resisted. She wanted to really let it build up to a fever pitch, because when she did come, she wanted it to be spectacular. And it was going to be Lydia's honor to finally bring her release.



A Mistress and Her Slave Ch. 07



Laurel could see with satisfaction that Jared's cock was still very hard. She took a pair of thigh cuffs from the cedar chest and secured them just above Lydia's knees. Then, one leg at a time, she released her sister's ankles from the posts at the foot of the bed, and attached the thigh cuffs with thin chains to the posts at the head. This had the delightful effect, to both Laurel and her slave, of pulling Lydia's legs back and out, exposing both her pussy and her ass. Next Laurel removed the gag from Lydia's mouth. 

Lydia immediately started screaming with renewed vigor, to which Laurel responded with one very sharp blow of her riding crop across both of her sister's exposed ass cheeks. Lydia howled in pain until Laurel clamped her hand hard over her sister's mouth. 

"Now, dear sister, if you continue to scream, we can go down the road of pain. As much as that last blow hurt, it was nothing compared to what I could inflict if I so desired. And if it's pain you want, I'll be happy to oblige. The other option is to take a nice hard fucking like the dirty slut that you are. It's really up to you. Now, tell me what a fucking whore you are."

The fear in Lydia's eyes felt to Laurel like a laser beam of sexual energy aimed right at her clit. Lydia mumbled something into the palm of Laurel's hand.

"What was that?" said Laurel. Lydia mumbled it again, somewhat louder. Laurel took her hand away. "Again."

"I'm a fucking slut," whimpered Lydia.

"Louder."

"I'm a fucking slut," she said again.

"Louder," Laurel repeated, roughly pinching one of Lydia's erect nipples.

"I'm a fucking slut!" Lydia yelled. As she said it, she could scarcely believe the feeling of arousal that was beginning to build up between her legs. Tied up as she was, the taste of Jared's cum still filling her mouth, her own naked sister tormenting her—she wondered if it was really just a dream, but she knew it wasn't. Part of her was horrified at her arousal. The other part of her couldn't stop thinking about how long it had been since she'd had an orgasm at someone else's touch. Years.

"Now," said Laurel, "Tell me what you want."

"I want..." Lydia began, unsure. 

"You want want?" Laurel prompted, her voice taking on a gentle tone.

"I want cock," Lydia finally said, and as the word left her lips, she knew that she did want it, that she wasn't just saying it because she thought it was what her sister wanted to hear, that it would prevent her from tasting the pain of the crop again. No, she desperately wanted to get fucked more, harder, longer.

"And where do you want it?"

Lydia wondered how Laurel knew to ask that. She wanted it in a place her husband refused to touch her, a place that in her younger years had brought her great pleasure. It felt like a great relief to her to say the words.

"My ass. Tell your slave to fuck me in my ass."

Laurel grinned a placed a dollop of lube on the head of Jared's cock, stroking it a few times to spread it around.

"Slave, fuck my sister in the ass. And don't come until I tell you to."

Jared wasted no time, gently guiding his cock into Lydia's tight asshole, pushing slowly but steadily until he was buried all the way inside her rectum. 

"Ohhhhhhh myyyyy Goddddddddd," Lydia moaned as the rigid cock penetrated her. Laurel climbed onto the bed and straddled her sister's face, her Hitachi Magic Wand in her hand. She placed the head of it on Lydia's clit and turned it on high.

Lydia could hardly believe the intensity of the pleasure this dual assault on her was causing. While in the back of her mind she was still aghast at the fact that she was essentially being raped, she couldn't help the feelings that were pulsating outward from her clit. She moaned and gasped loudly as Jared started to increase the pace of his thrusting. As Laurel lowered her dripping snatch onto Lydia's face, the older sister almost instinctually opened her mouth, her tongue working eagerly into Laurel's throbbing hole, the salty taste only adding to Lydia's pleasure. 

Laurel watched with satisfaction as Jared's cock plunged in and out of Lydia's ass. The visual stimulus of this combined with her sister's rather capable tongue and the fact that she was already so close to the edge led to a blistering orgasm in just a few seconds. She could feel a surge of her own lubrication flowing out of her pussy onto her sister's face and she ground down onto it.

As she felt Laurel's cunt press down onto her, the juices flowing into her mouth as her sister came, Lydia's own arousal reached fever pitch. The relentless vibration of the wand was making her feel like her clit was going to burst, and the pistoning of Jared's rigid member in her ass was the icing on the cake. Wave after wave of pleasure flooded her nervous system, her body straining against its bonds, the constriction only heightening the sensation radiating from her pulsating cunt.

As Laurel lifted herself off her sister's face, Lydia was still in the throes of her orgasm. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh Godddddddddddddddddd," she moaned loudly, the twin sensations of the vibrator and the cock sustaining her climax far beyond anything she had experienced before. Her moans became animal-like in their intensity, and it was nearly a minute before her orgasm faded. Laurel switched off the vibrator, but Jared's cock was still sliding in and out, in and out, with a steady but relentless pace. 

Satisfied from his earlier ejaculation but still keenly aroused, Jared felt like a superman, his cock still perfectly firm but having no urgency to reach another orgasm. His mistress's smile as she watched him pummel Lydia's helpless asshole was like a jolt of electricity. It was almost, he thought, a look of pride on her face. He began to pump harder, and as he did so Lydia began to grunt and moan with every thrust, her long-neglected asshole reaching a new accommodation with its fleshy invader. 

Laurel told Jared to climb underneath Lydia. He maneuvered himself into position, Lydia's petite 5'2" frame causing not too much difficulty. As he did so, Laurel took a strap-on harness from the chest and secured it around her waist and thighs. She applied some more lube, first to her rubber cock and then to her slave's engorged member, which she then guided back into her sister's ass. Next came her strap-on, sliding effortlessly into Lydia's dripping cunt. The two, mistress and slave, began to pump alternately in and out of the chained woman's orifices, Jared's hands roughly groping at Lydia's tits, paying special attention to her pert nipples. 

By this point, Lydia was like some sort of simpering, primal being, her rational consciousness abandoning her. She felt like her only reason for existing was to get fucked, that if the two cocks that were ramming into her stopped she would disappear. Her eyes rolled up in their sockets and the guttural noises that escaped from her mouth with every thrust became less and less human.

Jared could feel Laurel's rubber dick pressing against his through the thin membrane that separated Lydia's pussy from her rectum, and the familiar pressure in his balls was beginning to build. Laurel, meanwhile, was so aroused from the situation she had created that the pressure of the base of the dildo on her clit threatened to drive her over the edge, which it soon did. As she came, she pushed the large rubber phallus as deep as possible into her sister's cunt and ground her clit up against its base.

Lydia almost couldn't tell now when she was coming and when she was merely enjoying the sensation of fullness. The orgasms came hard and fast, not long-lasting like when the vibrator had been on her clit, but rapid-fire little climaxes that made her twitch and moan and growl. After four or five of these she managed to regain some semblance of normal consciousness, and her eyes looked up to focus on her sister's beautiful face, her pale breasts bouncing as she rocked her hips back and forth. Her mind briefly wrestled with the fact that her own sister was fucking her, while a strange man had his cock buried in her ass, but as another climax began to take hold of her, she realized she didn't care—or, more importantly, that she did care, that the particulars of her current situation were the very things that were driving her wild with lust. 

Jared breathed a sigh of relief as Laurel pulled out of Lydia's cunt, reducing the pressure on his cock. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out. He slowed the pace of his thrusts until Laurel said, "Slave, get out from under her. Clean your cock and then fuck her pussy again."

Thirty seconds later, he slid his cock back into Lydia's cunt. Restrained as she was, she nevertheless arched her hips forward to meet his initial penetration. He moved with long, steady strokes, the tip of his penis moving back to just inside her, and then forward, pressing up almost against her cervix.

Laurel watched this for a few minutes, positioning herself behind Jared.

"Slave, hold still," she commanded. Then, with her rubber phallus freshly and thoroughly lubed, she gently pushed it into Jared's asshole. 

Jared winced in pain as his virgin ass was penetrated for the first time, but Laurel moved slowly, and after a few seconds the pain subsided. As the strap-on began to press against his prostate, he felt his cock grow even harder, something he would not have thought possible a few seconds before. Laurel entered him fully and then held herself there, given him time to fully adjust to her presence. Then she withdrew about halfway.

"Now, slave, start fucking her again." As Jared started to pump his cock into the juicy pussy beneath him, he also began fucking himself on Laurel's strap-on. Each thrust forward brought a wave of pleasure to his cock; each move backwards sent pulses of ecstasy outward from his prostate.

"You like that cock in your ass, slave?" Laurel said, enjoying the sight of his stretched-out hole backing onto her.

"Yes, Mistress," he said, knowing he wasn't going to be able to bear much more of this without coming. But Laurel began to thrust forward as he moved back, tempering his pleasure with a jolt of pain each time her rubber dick's full length impaled him. 

"Fuck her faster," Laurel commanded. Jared started to whip his cock in and out of Lydia's swollen cunt until he was slamming into her about as quickly as he could. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest even as the sensation of the strap-on pounding his ass with a rhythm that matched his own became almost overpowering. 

Beneath him, Lydia convulsed in the throes of another powerful climax, her bound hands clutching vainly at the air, her moans combining into one long, drawn-out wail as her cunt pulsed around the hard cock inside of her. 

"Come now, slave," said Laurel, and that was all Jared needed to hear. Two seconds later streams of cum were spurting into Lydia's pussy, and Jared's agonized moans of pleasure mingled with Lydia's animalistic cries. It was by far the most intense orgasm Jared had ever experienced; it was as if he was coming from two different places at once, which, essentially, he was.

Laurel withdrew and removed her harness, and suddenly Jared felt her hand on the back of his head, grabbing his hair and pushing his face down into Lydia's dripping snatch.

"Eat," she commanded. His own cum mingled with Lydia's juices until he couldn't really distinguish the two, the overwhelming juiciness filling his mouth. Laurel kept up steady pressure on the back of his head, pushing him firmly into Lydia, allowing him a breath only occasionally until once again Lydia began to shake with another orgasm. As her cunt contracted, it squeezed more of Jared's cum into his mouth. 

Laurel jerked his head back after Lydia's orgasm subsided and roughly pushed him away. She then climbed on top of her sister and brought her face very close to Lydia's.

"Now, dear sister," Laurel said. "You have one more task."

"Anything, Laurel."

"Mistress."

"Anything, Mistress." Lydia wasn't sure which surprised her more, the words she was speaking or the fact that speaking them turned her on even more.

Laurel unhooked the chains from Lydia's thigh cuffs, allowing her legs to fall to the bed. Next she released her sister's wrists.

"In the linen closet just outside my bedroom door you'll find a set of clean sheets and pillowcases. You will strip the bed and put on the new sheets. You will then retire to your room."

"Yes, Mistress," said Lydia, disappointed that her last task was not something that was going to bring her another orgasm. Nevertheless she couldn't help but feel a tingle of arousal at being ordered around, even to do something non-sexual. She dutifully did as she'd been bidden, and then took a quick shower and climbed into her bed in the guest room. She was numb and exhausted from the countless orgasms that had been drawn out of her long-neglected clit. Part of her wanted to be furious at her sister, but she had enjoyed herself far too much for that. Beyond that, she felt sexually awakened for the first time in years. She knew her sex life had become dull, but hadn't really realized how bad it had gotten. And it wasn't something she was going to put up with anymore. Laurel had opened her eyes to a new kind of sexuality. She almost couldn't wait to get home. Her husband was in for a major surprise. The thought of what she was going to do with him—to him—led her hand to her still-swollen clit, and she drifted off to sleep while almost absentmindedly rubbing herself.

As Lydia was making the bed, Laurel took Jared's hand and led him into her bathroom, which until this point had been, as he thought of it, a sort of sanctuary for her into which he had never been allowed. She turned on the shower and, once the temperature was adjusted, climbed in, motioning him to follow. She kissed him softly, melting her mouth into his.

"Now, wash me," she said. He paid careful attention to every inch of her body, gently massaging her with soapy hands. Satisfied, she began to repay the favor, thoroughly cleaning him as well, a process that caused him to get yet another erection. Laurel seamlessly added a handjob to the mix, using the suds as a lubricant. As she steadily and firmly jerked his cock, she leant up to kiss him, their tongues intermingling. She could feel more than hear his moans, and his rather depleted ejaculate disappeared among the soap and the warm water, but she could tell from the way his body tensed and then relaxed that he had come again. She looked up at him with a warm glow in her eyes and caressed his cheek with her hand. 

As he dried her off, and then himself, Jared asked, "Mistress?"

"Yes, slave?"

"What does...what does all this mean? For us?"

"What would you have it mean?"

"Is she...going to stay here?"

"Do you want her to?"

"No."

Laurel smiled. "No," said Laurel. "She has her own life. Although I suspect it will be somewhat different from now on."

"And when she leaves, we'll go on as before?"

Laurel thought about this for several seconds. Finally she said, "No. Not as before." She looked at Jared and saw a sort of wounded concern cloud his face. "You said something to me last night," she continued. "Say it again."

"I love you, Mistress."

She smiled. "Does that not change things?"

"I don't know, Mistress."

"I think it does, slave."

"Does it make things better, or worse?"

She kissed him again and then whispered into his ear, "Much, much better."



A Mistress and Her Slave Ch. 08



Laurel awoke some minutes before her alarm was scheduled to go off, and looked over at Jared on the bed beside her, sound asleep. He'd earned the right to share her bed, and even took meals with her now as their relationship had deepened. The fear—Laurel had realized it was fear—of caring for someone else that had driven her to seek a slave in the first place was gone. But the slave was still beside her, still did everything she asked or wanted, still satisfied her in every way, sexually or otherwise. And so she had come to care, and accepted that caring was not the burden she had always thought it was. By now, she couldn't imagine her life without Jared—not just because it meant she never had to dust or vacuum or do laundry again, but because of Jared himself. She needed him, as surely as he needed her. 

Yet Laurel found herself vaguely restless. The episode with her sister some months before had whetted her appetite for women. She had engaged in a few Sapphic encounters in college but had never really embraced that side of her sexuality as fully as she might have. Lately her mind had been fixated on Jessalyn, her young assistant.

At breakfast, she said, "Slave, I believe we'll have a guest for dinner. You'll have to serve, so please eat beforehand."

"Yes, Mistress Laurel. Should I be clothed?"

"Certainly not." This made Jared wonder what was in store for that evening, and kept him on edge the rest of the day as he went about his household duties, a flitter of sexual excitement always hovering around his groin.

It wasn't until after lunch that Laurel called Jessalyn into her office. The younger girl was a natural redhead, pale and just slightly freckled. She was just this side of plump, a size ten on a good day, sometimes a twelve. She wore little makeup, kept her hair and her clothes plain, and never did a thing to highlight her ample breasts or the perfect ratio between her slender waist and her full hips. Laurel could see a great beauty there, waiting to come out.

For her part, Jessalyn despised her body. She felt too fat, too ugly, too plain. She had always admired Laurel's sense of style, sexy without being trashy, and wished she could pull off the same sort of look. But in truth, she had never even tried.

"Close the door," Laurel said as Jessalyn came into the room. 

"What can I do for you, Ms. Arden?" the redhead asked.

"Jess, I can't help but notice that the quality of your work has been...lacking of late. You've missed several days, and when you're here, your attention seems to be elsewhere."

"Oh, God," Jessalyn said, tears suddenly welling in her eyes. "I know...I'm so sorry," she sniffled. "I've been having a really hard time. My boyfriend...well, we've been having some problems. And then he kicked me out two days ago. I've been living in my car while trying to find an apartment."

"My dear, why haven't you said anything?" Laurel got up from behind her desk and handed the younger girl a tissue. "You know of all my employees you're the one I care for the most. You've taken such great strides since you came here."

"Th-thank you," Jessalyn said, fighting back her tears. "I just...I didn't want to complain."

"What sort of problems have you and your boyfriend been having?"

"Oh...well, it's...personal."

"Sexual."

Jessalyn was taken aback by her boss's bluntness; Laurel could see it on her face.

"Come now," Laurel continued. "We girls can talk about these things. There's nothing embarrassing about sex. Maybe I can help."

Jessalyn hesitated. "I don't know..." She had endured a rather strict Christian upbringing, and had been taught that sex was neither to be discussed nor looked on as something pleasurable. While she had largely gone her own way since moving out of her parents' house, she had not yet managed to develop a more positive view of sex, and had certainly never enjoyed it. She longed to talk to someone about it, but she really didn't know how.

"Jess, don't think of me as your boss right now. Think of me as your friend. I didn't call you in here to chastise you, but to find out what's been troubling you. I can see the worry on your face everyday. Come, sit down." Laurel ushered Jessalyn over to a chair and then sat beside her. 

"Well," Jessalyn began, "God, how can I even start...Ok, so a few weeks ago, I told Mark that...oh, it's so embarrassing!"

Laurel gently rested her hand on Jessalyn's thigh. "It's ok."

"Well, I told him that...I've always faked my orgasms."

"And he reacted poorly?"

"Yes. I tried to tell him it wasn't his fault. I'm just...wired wrong or something."

"I'm sure that's not the case," Laurel said. "Tell me, was he an...attentive lover? Or did he seem more concerned with his own enjoyment?"

"Oh, I don't know. I've only been with one other guy and that was...well, a mistake. I guess he tried." 

"My dear, if your pleasure was not his main concern, he was not trying."

"Do you...come...easily?" Jessalyn asked, beginning to feel both comfort and relief at finally having someone to talk with about her problems.

Laurel felt a spike of pleasure race through her clit. This was going to be easier than I thought, she said to herself. "I do, although it's something I've had to work at. Our culture does a poor job of teaching women to embrace their sexuality, even to understand their bodies. We're not like guys that can just...shove it in someplace warm and moist and move around for a few seconds and voila."

Jessalyn giggled. "That's true."

"This is a very common issue for a lot of women. Do you ever masturbate?"

Jessalyn cringed at the word. "Oh, no! That's...I just don't feel right doing that."

"Well, you'll have to get over that," Laurel said. "You need to get in touch with your body!" 

Jessalyn was turning bright red by now. "I really don't..."

"What else I think you need is more confidence. Come on, grab your purse. We're going shopping."

"But I...the Taylor account..."

"Forget about it. This is more important."

Their first stop was a salon. "We're going to give you a makeover, Jessalyn. You're so beautiful under there and you're always hiding it."

Jessalyn was taken aback by the complement. No one had ever called her beautiful before, not even Mark. She didn't know what to say, and simply murmured a quiet "Thank you."

Laurel had the stylist dye Jessalyn's hair a few shades darker, until it was a rich burgundy color. He also turned her hair from flat and straight into a rich cascade of waves. Finally it was on to the make-up chair. When it was all over, Jessalyn could hardly believe she was looking at herself. The girl in the mirror was pretty. Heck, she was gorgeous, Jessalyn thought. That can't be me.

"You look like a 1940s pin-up girl, my dear," Laurel said proudly, pleased not only at the younger girl's transformation but also at her own accurate assessment of the potential she saw in Jessalyn's normally drab appearance. 

"Ms. Arden, I can't really afford all..."

Laurel cut her off. "Everything is on me today."

Next it was clothing and shoes. Laurel spared no expense, and two hours later Jessalyn had half a dozen new outfits and several more separates, two pairs of tall boots, three pairs of heels, and a pair of strappy sandals. 

As they drove down Santa Monica Blvd., Laurel said, "Jessalyn, I want you to stay at my place. At least until you get settled. I can't have you living out of your car."

"Thank you, Ms. Arden, but...well, why are you being so generous?"

At that Laurel only smiled. "How do you like your new look," she asked after a minute or so had gone by.

"Oh my God, I love it! I don't know how to recreate it though...I'm going to look terrible again in the morning. I'll turn back into a pumpkin!"

"I'll teach you how to do the makeup yourself and get your hair into shape. It's not so daunting once you learn a few tricks. Now, we've got one more stop. I want you to trust me. You'll probably feel awkward at first but this is going to help you, ok?"

"Ok," said Jessalyn nervously. 

The window displays of the shop they pulled up at were full of mannequins wearing bizarre leather and vinyl outfits, holding whips and bent into overtly sexual poses. Jessalyn had never seen anything like it, and it didn't seem like the kind of a place she should go. Laurel could see the hesitation in her eyes.

"Jess, trust me. Have you enjoyed your afternoon thus far?"

"Yes, but..."

"No buts. Come."

Laurel's assuredness and commanding tone removed just enough of Jessalyn's reticence, and, still reluctantly, she followed her boss—her friend?—into the store. 

"Ms. Arden!" said an obviously gay man as they entered. "Wonderful to see you again. And this is?" he asked, holding his hand out to Jessalyn.

"My assistant, Ms. James."

"Enchanteé," the man said, taking her hand and kissing it lightly. "And what can we do for you today, Ms. Arden?" he asked, turning his attention once more to the dark-haired woman.

"We need—Ms. James needs—well, everything. A corset, for sure. Hosiery. Thigh boots. I think leather for her. Perhaps a waist cincher. A collar or two. A catsuit. A harness or two of different styles. Gloves. And a hood. And anything I've left out. You're the expert after all."

"Ms. Arden," Jessalyn said quietly, "what is..."

Laurel stopped her midsentence with nothing more than a look. Jessalyn could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She felt as if she was in a dream—or a nightmare. She wasn't sure which yet.

The clerk could see that Jessalyn was unsure of herself. He put his arm around her and whisked her off, turning back to wink subtly at Laurel. "My darling, if Ms. Arden is bringing you here she has very good reasons for doing so. Come along, we're going to make you feel fabulous." Jessalyn followed him, feeling very much outside of herself.

"Now, I'm as queer as queer dollar bill," he said as they went through a curtain into a back room. "My name is Armand, by the way. Not my real name, but it's got so much more cachet than 'Brad.' But, I completely understand if you aren't comfortable with my fitting you, and I can have one of our girls in here lickity-split instead. Just say the word."

"I...I don't know...what about...Ms. Arden?"

"She's fine, my darling."

"No, I mean...do you..."

"Do her fittings? I have that privilege, yes."

"I suppose..."

"That I'll do? Excellent. Now, clothes off, come on. Let's see what you've got under there."

"No, I..."

Suddenly Laurel was there beside her. "Jessalyn," she said gently, "first off, you can trust Armand explicitly. Secondly, these outfits are going to help you gain the confidence you need to embrace your sexuality fully. Do you want to experience orgasm?" 

Jessalyn could only nod nervously.

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes, but..."

"No buts. Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Do you understand that I'm helping you?"

"Yes."

"I know you're uncomfortable right now. That's ok. This is new to you. But you can't let that discomfort hold you back."

"Ms. Arden, I..."

"Jessalyn," Laurel said, more sternly now. "Are you a happy person?"

It was an easy question to answer. "No," Jessalyn said quietly, looking down at the floor.

"I know you're not. I want you to be." Laurel gently put her hand on Jessalyn's chin and raised her head up until their eyes met. Slowly, she leant in until her mouth was a fraction of an inch from Jessalyn's. "You're beautiful," she whispered, and then kissed the younger girl, a soft, warm, wet kiss but with no tongue.

In her mind, Jessalyn recoiled from her boss's tender lips, but her body did no such thing, and as the kiss ended she let out an inaudible sigh and felt an unfamiliar tingle rising up from between her legs. Her resistance faded. It felt as if Laurel had sucked her free will from her with the kiss. She didn't feel as if she'd made a conscious decision to go along with this, but her body just seemed to do it for her. Her mind stopped thinking so much, and as she undressed, she focused on the face in the mirror that she didn't yet recognize as her own.

With everything loaded into the trunk and back seats of Laurel's BMW, the two women drove east toward Pasadena in silence. Jessalyn's mind struggled with what was happening—the bizarre fetish shopping spree, the makeover, and, most of all, the tender kiss. She felt dirty, immoral, soiled—and undeniably horny. Sex had always been something she'd done for Mark. Rarely had she really felt like she wanted to get fucked, and whenever she had felt that way, the lackluster results kept her from feeling that way again for a long time. But now, she could feel the moisture leaking out from between her legs, and she repeatedly pressed her thighs together as tight as she could, putting pressure on her clit, a part of her body she'd never really explored before. 

As they pulled into Laurel's garage, Laurel shut off the engine and then turned to the young redhead. "You really are quite strikingly beautiful, Jessalyn," she said.

"Thank you," Jessalyn replied, avoiding eye contact. 

"Are you uncomfortable?" Laurel asked.

"Yes."

"Do you wish to leave?"

Jessalyn hesitated. Say yes, she told herself. Say yes. Get out of here. But the word that escaped her lips was a simple, "No."

"At any point tonight, if you wish to stop whatever is happening, say, 'full moon.' And if you wish to leave, say, 'home.' Do you understand?"

"I do."

"Good."

Jessalyn's heart was racing. She couldn't ever remember feeling so nervous, and yet that only contributed to her arousal. As the two women entered the kitchen from the garage, she saw a naked man, wearing nothing but a leather collar around his neck. He had several pots going on the stove, and they were taking up most of his attention. Jessalyn's eyes looked quickly at his semi-erect cock, and then quickly away. 

"Slave," said Laurel, "this is Ms. James. She'll be joining us for dinner. Please unload the car. You can take everything into the guest bedroom." 

"Yes, Mistress Laurel," Jared said. Both women could clearly see his erection growing as he walked past them. As he made several trips back and forth carrying the bags from the car, Laurel opened a bottle of pinot noir that had been set out on the counter, and poured two glasses, proffering one to Jessalyn.

"How are you feeling, my dear?" Laurel asked.

"I don't know. Nervous."

"What else?"

"Scared."

"You know you can get out of this anytime you want, don't you?"

"Yes. I mean, I think so. I guess I don't really know for sure."

"You can. I promise. Just say 'home.'"

"I know."

"Then why are you scared?"

"Because I don't know what's going to happen."

"Nothing you don't want to happen will happen."

Jessalyn took a long drink from her glass. "Why do you call him 'slave'?"

"Because that's what he is."

"You own him?"

"Essentially. Not legally of course. But we have an arrangement that suits us both."

Jared returned to the kitchen. "Mistress, everything is unloaded as you requested," he said, returning to his pots on the stove. 

"Very good, slave. We'll eat in thirty minutes. Come, Jessalyn, let's get you dressed for dinner."

The two women walked down the hall to the spare bedroom where Jared had taken the packages.

"Ms. Arden?"

"Yes?"

"Why am I here?"

"You tell me."

"Because you brought me here."

"Partially, yes. Why else?"

Jessalyn hesitated. "Because...I haven't said I want to leave."

"So the question really is why haven't you said you want to leave."

Jessalyn made no response. Laurel began rooting through the bags, taking out a cupless black leather corset, a garter belt, lace stockings, a pair of full-length kid leather opera gloves, and a pair of severe black patent heels.

"You said you feel nervous and scared. What else do you feel?"

"I don't know."

"You do know. What else do you feel?" Laurel moved closer, running her fingers lightly through Jessalyn's newly-styled hair. The younger girl closed her eyes. She could smell the wine on Laurel's breath, mingling with the jasmine scent of her boss's perfume. 

Suddenly Jessalyn felt Laurel's hand on her crotch, grabbing, pressing, sending a pulse of pleasure rippling through her body, and then warm, wet lips on her neck. Chills ran down her spine.

"What else do you feel?" whispered Laurel.

"Aroused," Jessalyn said finally.

"What do you want?"

Silence.

"What do you want, more than anything?"

"I want to come."

"Are you going to come tonight?"

"I—I don't know."

"Are you going to come tonight?" Laurel's hot breath was right on Jessalyn's ear, and then the older woman took her earlobe into her mouth and sucked and nibbled on it lightly.

"Y—yes," Jessalyn stammered.

"Good girl," Laurel whispered, still clamping Jess's earlobe between her front teeth, still pushing her hand up against the younger girl's sex.

"Now, let's get you dressed."

   As Jared came out into the dining room to serve dinner, he was greeted by the sight of Jessalyn bound to a chair, her full breasts pushed up and together by the cupless corset she was wearing. Using the belt-like leather straps she preferred, Laurel had rather expertly immobilized the younger woman. Laurel herself was dressed in her form-hugging leather catsuit with black patent knee boots. It was Jared's favorite outfit in which to see his mistress, although she wore it infrequently. There was little he could do to disguise the renewed enthusiasm that flowed into stiffening member. 

"Slave, after you have served, you will feed Ms. James."

"Yes, Mistress."

He parceled out the food onto the two women's plates—a braised pork tenderloin in a red-wine reduction, herb-roasted potatoes, and chard—and then stood to Jessalyn's right, picking up the knife and fork from her place setting and proceeding to feed her, stopping occasionally to put her wine glass to her lips. Laurel ate slowly, watching every move they made, pleased with the little vignette she had set into motion.

Jessalyn felt equal parts shame, fear, and arousal. As Laurel had bound her to the chair, she had wondered why she couldn't bring herself to say "home." Why was she letting this happen to her? But Laurel's gentle solicitations about her comfort as she tightened each strap, the softness in her voice, her sweet aroma, all contributed to a growing feeling of absolute trust in her boss. Perhaps she was going to some dark, untraveled place, but she was going with Laurel, and she knew Laurel would bring her back unscathed. But not, she hoped, unchanged.

And what of this man beside her, tenderly feeding her a delicious meal? She knew nothing of him, apart from the fact that he was, apparently, Laurel's slave. Jessalyn still didn't really know what to make of that, although it was clear that he did whatever was commanded of him without question or delay. She found her eyes drifting more often than she would have liked to his erection. It certainly looked bigger than Mark's, although it was not a part of her boyfriend's—ex-boyfriend's, she had to remind herself—anatomy at which she had ever spent much time staring. It wasn't until halfway through the meal that she realized he had no pubic hair. What would she do, she wondered, if Laurel commanded this stranger to have sex with her? Would that, finally, be when her mouth would utter one of her safe words? Or would she let him?

After Jessalyn had swallowed a few bites, Laurel said, "Slave, what do you think of Ms. James' appearance?"

"She is very beautiful, Mistress."

"Her face?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"What about her breasts?"

Jared looked at them. Again. He had had difficulty keeping his eyes off of them, in fact, since entering the room, the milky white globes tipped by fat brown nipples that pointed straight forward in their constrained repose within the corset. 




A Mistress and Her Slave Ch. 08



"Magnificent, Mistress."

"Her thighs?"

Jared looked down at the creamy flesh of her legs above the ends the black lace stockings. Although she carried more weight on her frame than Laurel, she did so perfectly to his eyes, the rest of her body exactly proportioned to balance her huge breasts. 

"Her thighs are very sexy, Mistress. I find everything about her sexy."

"So that erection isn't just for me, slave?" Laurel asked with a taunting grin.

"It is for you to do with as you please, of course, Mistress."

"You see, Jessalyn, how judicious he is with his answers. Such a fine boy. I've really been fortunate to be served by one so capable."

"He does seem...well-behaved," Jessalyn said. She was flushed a bit from his careful appraisal of her body, but also flattered—no, something more than flattered; pleased—with his approval. Never in her life had she felt sexy or even particularly attractive. She felt it now, and it filled her with a wave of confidence—and a wave of pleasure. 

"Are you enjoying your meal?" Laurel asked.

"Yes, it's delicious," Jessalyn replied.

"Indeed. He's good for so many things. Tell me, Jess, how do you feel being restrained?"

"I...don't know. A bit, well, helpless. I can't even feed myself."

"Indeed."

The women continued eating in silence for a minute or two, Jessalyn with Jared's help of course.

"I can see," Laurel said, "that my slave's cock hasn't escaped your attention."

Jessalyn blushed bright red at that, and she could feel the hot pricklyness of the blood rushing to her face.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's a very nice cock. Very...adept."

After the meal, as Jared was clearing the table and cleaning up in the kitchen, Laurel said, "Do you want my slave to participate in our...activities...the rest of the evening?"

Jessalyn thought for several seconds. What answer was she supposed to give? What answer did she want to give? She didn't know. Finally, she said, "I think that...I am at your mercy. If you're really helping me, I guess I will go along with whatever situation you put me in—unless I say one of my words."

"Of course, my dear. This is all for your benefit. And I appreciate your trust in me. Did you know that my slave doesn't have any safe words?"

"No...what if he, well, doesn't want to do something?"

"He doesn't have a choice. That's what 'slave' means."

"I guess so."

"So now, dear Jessalyn," Laurel said, rising from her seat and approaching the redhead, "I'm going to suggest something to you." She pulled Jessalyn's chair back from the table and turned it ninety degrees, and then straddled the younger girl's legs, slowly lowering herself until she was sitting on Jessalyn's knees. Laurel lightly brushed the back of her hand across Jessalyn's cheek. At the touch, Jessalyn felt a shiver run up her spine.

"What is that?" Jessalyn said meekly.

Laurel bent forward and put her lips on Jessalyn's mouth. Jessalyn could feel Laurel's tongue gliding over her lips, and she opened her mouth slightly, inviting her boss inside. As their tongues met, a shock of pleasure raced through Jess's body. The warmth and moisture of Laurel's mouth surging into hers was like a wholly new sensation. Calling it a kiss, Jessalyn thought, did it no justice.

And then it was over. Laurel sat up straight, staring directly into Jessalyn's eyes.

"You may, right now, say 'home.' We'll end this right here, and never speak of it again. You may keep any of the things I bought for you today, and that will be that. But, if you don't say it now, you really will be, as you say, at my mercy. From here on, you'll have no safewords."

"I'll be...your slave? Like him?"

"No, not like him. Just for tonight."

"Can I ask why?"

"That feeling of helplessness you described...I assume you still feel it?"

"Y-yes."

"Perhaps ever more so, with me sitting on your lap?"

"Yes," Jessalyn said, breaking her eyes away from Laurel's steady gaze.

"Tell me, does that feeling heighten, or diminish, your arousal?"

"I think...that you already know the answer to that."

"Exactly," said Laurel. "Now, imagine how much more helpless you'll feel knowing that there is nothing you can say to make me stop. Imagine it, and if you don't like where your imagination takes you, say 'home.'"

"Kiss me again," Jessalyn said quietly, closing her eyes. Instead of the soft, warm lips she hoped to feel, she felt instead hard fingers pinching her nipples. 

"Ow!" she yelled, opening her eyes. But the pain was not the only thing the pinching triggered in her nerves. An unmistakable tightening sensation between her legs also appeared.

"I'll take what you said as your submission," Laurel said. "And you should take this as a lesson," she went on, pinching harder as Jessalyn's face twisted into a grimace. "You do not give orders. You do as you're told, when you're told. You speak when you're spoken to, and you'll call me 'Mistress.' Understood?"

Though her nipples burned from the rough treatment they were enduring, Jessalyn could feel a surge of moisture leaking from her pussy.

"Yes, Mistress," she whispered through her pain. At her response, Laurel released her nipples. But instead of feeling relieved, Jessalyn was disappointed, much to her surprise. The pain was the pleasure.

"Please, Mistress," she said. "Pinch them some more."

"You didn't learn your lesson?"

"Please..." Her voice was sheer yearning anguish. Laurel was momentarily taken aback by the redhead's heartfelt begging, but then she smiled in anticipation of what had suddenly become a far more interesting evening than even she had expected. She cupped the pale globes of flesh in her hands and squeezed the over-sized nipples firmly between the middle knuckle of her thumbs and the base of her forefingers. Jessalyn let out a gasp and then a low moan as Laurel kneaded the nipples roughly.

"It's no wonder you've never come, my dear," Laurel said. "No one's ever given you what you need."



A Mistress and Her Slave Ch. 09



Laurel was particularly proud of the manner in which she had trussed Jessalyn up to the bed. The redhead was on her knees, leaning forward at not quite a forty-five degree angle. Her calves were bent back behind her, each ankle encased in leather cuffs and secured to its respective bedpost with a thin chain. Her arms were pulled back behind her in a leather binder, which was secured to the crossbeam above and behind her. Her hair, conversely, was secured to the lower crossbeam, this having the delicious effect of tilting her head back while pushing her breasts forward, held as they were by the cupless corset she was still wearing. A thick leather belt around her waist, secured to the bedposts from d-rings on either side, provided lateral support. Finally, a trainer gag wrapped around her face and head. Thin rivulets of drool were already dripping from around the red vinyl ball that was pushed deep into her mouth. 

The pressure on Jessalyn's shoulders and hair was certainly uncomfortable, if not exactly painful yet. Still, the discomfort added to her growing desire. But mostly the utter hopelessness of escaping from her bonds triggered her excitement. There was absolutely nothing, she realized, that she could do. If Laurel chose to leave her there, there she would stay. She could hardly even struggle; doing so just pulled her hair that much harder, although she did from time to time, enjoying the pain this brought her.

"You look," Laurel said, "absolutely delicious." She grabbed her cellphone and took several pictures of the trussed-up redhead from various angles. Then she sat on the bed in front of Jessalyn and took one of the younger girl's large nipples into her mouth, running her tongue over it, nibbling at it with her teeth, feeling it grow harder. Jessalyn moaned through her gag. But tender sucking was not what she wanted, and both women knew it. 

With the nipple about as erect as Laurel thought it could get, she let it fall from her mouth and placed a heavy clover clamp on it. Pain shot through Jessalyn's chest, and she made a high-pitched gurgling noise in her throat. Laurel repeated the whole process on the other nipple, and, when both sides were secured, gave the chain a sharp tug to make sure the clamps were tight enough. Finally she placed a pillow just below Jessalyn's exposed pussy.

"Slave!" she called. Jared, waiting just outside in the hallyway, entered instantly. Jessalyn could barely see the bed below her, with her head being pulled back, but rolling her eyes down as far as she could allowed her watch Laurel place leather straps around his prone body, starting at his ankles and working up, although Jessalyn lost sight of him somewhere around his belly button. She could feel his breath, though, between her legs, and knew his head was down there somewhere.

Indeed it was, just an inch or so below her pussy. Jared looked up at the girl's quivering labia, visibly slick with moisture, his cock growing ever harder in anticipation of her taste. Satisfied with his bonds, Laurel climbed off the bed and retrieved a small pillow from the window seat, shoving it underneath the pillow on which his head already rested and pushing his face further up, his nose now pressing into the folds of her cunt, close enough now that his tongue with only minimal effort could press hard up against Jessalyn's clit—which is exactly what he was commanded to do just seconds later.

Jessalyn, drool dripping down her chin, couldn't believe the sensations she was experiencing at the touch of his tongue. Mark had never shown much interest in going down on her; she could recall maybe a half dozen times in their almost three years together, and never with any skillfulness. The slave's tongue pushed and flicked and ground up into this little button of pleasure she had so long ignored. Just when the sensations were almost too much, and she found herself wishing she could pull away, he would lessen the pressure, licking gently around it along the inner edges of her labia. She could feel his nose pressing up against her hole, actually penetrating her ever so slightly. 

The young redhead was clearly enjoying herself; the whimpers and moans escaping from her gag betrayed her pleasure. Laurel looked on contentedly at the tableau before her; a voluptuous, lingerie-clad woman and her beloved slave, both delightfully and hopelessly restrained. Her own desire, which she had kept simmering but controlled throughout the day and the evening, suddenly exploded. Though it had not been part of her original plan, she unzipped the crotch of her catsuit, clambered onto Jared's erect cock, and impaled herself. She could tend to Jessalyn soon enough, and in any case, this little detour wouldn't take long.

In fact, watching her leather-clad boss grind and buck her hips onto the man whose tongue was mashing up against her clit only served to deepen Jessalyn's arousal. It didn't hurt that Laurel made a point of staring directly into Jess's eyes while she pleasured herself on the stiff cock of her slave. As she began to feel her climax building, Laurel reached out and grabbed hold of the chain that dangled between the bound woman's breasts, pulling it taut.

"Nrrrggghhhh," Jessalyn grunted through her gag, the intensified pain from her nipples lending a new spike of pleasure to the sensations emanating from her sodden cunt. A little corner of her brain wondered what was wrong with her that pain made her pleasure feel that much better, but most of her didn't care—she just wanted more.

"Oh, Godddddddddd fffffucccckkkkk yessssssssss," Laurel cried as the wave of her orgasm crested and pleasure wracked her body. She pressed Jared's cock as far up into her as she could, her involuntarily closed eyes the only thing that had broken her gaze from Jessalyn's lovely ball-gagged face. As the throes of her ecstasy faded, she smiled at the helpless redhead before her.

"That, my dear, is what you have to look forward to," she said, climbing off the bound man underneath her. Jessalyn could see his cock was still rock hard, and glistening now with Laurel's juices. As Laurel had ridden him, the ministrations of his tongue had never ceased or slackened; all his focus had been on his commanded task. Of course, for him, the pleasure of Laurel's tight pussy had been exquisite; even more so had been his mistress's orgasm. Her pleasure was, for him, the pinnacle of sexual excitement, and though of course he looked forward to his own inevitable release, nothing brought him greater joy than Laurel's cries of bliss as she came.

Laurel hesitated over whether she should use the soft leather flogger or the crueler riding crop. Jessalyn obviously responded quite nicely to pain, and, from the way she was handling the nipple clamps, appeared to have a decent tolerance. Still, Laurel didn't want to overwhelm the poor girl. Later, her limits could be tested, but for now, she thought, the flogger would do—particularly with Jared's expert tongue working at her clit. Laurel honestly thought Jessalyn must be pretty close.

The first blow landed heavily across the redhead's round, pale ass cheeks with a satisfying "thwap." Laurel knew it was not a hard blow, and to an experienced recipient it would feel like little more than a firm pat on the butt. She waited to see if Jessalyn would make any sort of reaction, but she just hung there in her bonds. A second blow came harder. Again, no apparent reaction. Jessalyn, of course, felt the thongs of leather striking her, but they offered much less pain that she was hoping for, indeed much less than she was already experiencing from the clamps on her nipples, her bound hair, and her strained shoulders. 

Laurel began to strike harder and in rapid succession. This was better; Jessalyn began to tense up her pelvic muscles as the blows landed, the repeated clutching and releasing adding to the warm pleasure of the slave's tongue. But still she uttered no sound. Laurel was swinging the flogger vigorously now, putting her weight into it. It would hurt now, she knew. As the thongs continued to fall, the pain did indeed begin to build as Jessalyn's pale flesh reddened. Still no muffled cries, though. Finally, Laurel heard something, mistaking it at first for a whimper of pain. She struck again, and the sound was repeated, more loudly this time. Still not recognizing what the younger girl was communicating, Laurel once more struck home. This time Jessalyn screamed it with all the breath she could muster, silently cursing the gag that filled her mouth: "HRDR!"

Finally Laurel understood. She unleashed the most savage blow she could, and again came the muffled scream: "HRDR!!!"

"My, my," Laurel said. "You are a little pain slut, aren't you? I think I'd like to hear you more clearly." She removed the gag from Jessalyn's mouth; as she did so a large dollop of saliva poured out onto Jared's chest below.

"You were saying?" Laurel asked.

"Harder," Jessalyn said, more quietly now that she could make herself understood.

"Did you forget how to address me, slut?"

"Harder, Mistress."

"Beg."

"Please."

Laurel, riding crop now in hand, flicked it lightly at the bound girl's ass—hardly a blow at all.

"Please, Mistress. Please hit me harder."

A second flick of the crop, just slightly harder, still not enough to hurt even sunburned flesh.

"What are you going to do for me if I hit you harder?"

"Anything, Mistress. Please, I'll do anything you want."

"Anything? That's a dangerous promise."

"Anything, please, please oh God just hurt me."

Almost instantly, Laurel unleashed a vicious blow across both cheeks. Stinging pain tore through Jessalyn's body and she let loose a high-pitched wail.

"Fuck! Yes!" she cried, the burning still coursing through her nerves.

Another blow, just as hard, another scream even louder. 

"Do you feel it building inside you, Jessalyn?"

"Yes, Mistress. Please, again." Again the raven-haired dominant struck, and then 1-2-3-4 four blows in rapid succession.

"Nnnnneeeeeeaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!" screamed the curvy redhead, her flesh on fire, each flick of the slave's tongue now bringing her closer. She started to heave and pant.

"Now, Jessalyn, I'm going to strike you one more time, and when I do, you're going to come, all over my slave's face."

"Yes, Mistress," she said, already feeling her orgasm about to explode. The crop met flesh, breaking the skin.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!" wailed Jessalyn, pain searing her brain, and then wave after wave of the most delightful pleasure, her pussy erupting in spasms, liquid ejaculate squirting out all over Jared's face, her sharp cry devolving into guttural grunts and moans as her climax pulsed through her, pain and pleasure intermingled, inseparable, every sensation heightened by her inability to move.

"Oh, fuck, oh fuck fuck fuck," she whimpered, her body still quivering as the orgasm washed away.

"Slave, enough," Laurel said softly, and immediately his tongue was gone from her still-pulsating clit. Laurel quickly released Jessalyn's hair, allowing her head to fall forward. She then undid Jared's bonds before removing Jessalyn fully from her restraints, who collapsed onto the bed, rolling over to reveal a look somewhere between exhaustion and relief. Laurel smiled down at her.

"Well, was it worth the wait?"

"Oh my God," said Jessalyn. "I had no idea..." Lost for words, her voice trailed off and all she could manage was a grateful smile. "Thank you," she said after several second.

Laurel quickly picked up the crop off the bed and slapped the tip of it hard onto one of Jessalyn's exposed nipples. "Forgetting something, my dear?"

"Thank you, Mistress. And thank you, slave," she added, turning to Jared.

"You're so welcome, my dear," Laurel said. "But you're going to have to do more than that to properly show your appreciation." She lay on the bed, spreading her legs, and with a sultry gaze, said to the younger girl, "Eat."

Jessalyn had of course never gone down on a girl—she didn't even much experience sucking cock. But she was, at this point, game for anything, and she had promised as much besides just minutes before. Without hesitation then, she began to lick at Laurel's dripping pussy, trying to emulate what Jared's tongue had been doing to her. Totally anathema to her upbringing, she found the entire idea of licking another woman's sex to be extremely arousing. The taboo of it, the dirtiness, was so titillating, not to mention the fact that the woman was encased in skin-tight black leather, and a man was just inches away, watching.

In fact, Jared wasn't just watching. As Jessalyn's face disappeared between her thighs, Laruel motioned for Jared to penetrate her from behind, an unspoken command to which he brooked no objection. As his cock slid into Jess's tight, slick hole, she gasped, but didn't break from her oral activities. Jessalyn made up in enthusiasm what she lacked in experience, and with Laurel's own level of arousal already at a fever pitch, the older woman was soon coming.

"Slave, lay down," Laurel said, enjoying Jessalyn's sweet gaze up at her, her tongue still gliding over Laurel's wet-slicked flesh. Jared stopped his thrusting and pulled out of the redhead, admiring her plump, round ass as he did so. 

"Now it's his turn," Laurel said to Jessalyn. Again, without hesitation, she took Jared's erect cock into her mouth, savoring the taste of her own juices which, she thought, was noticeably different from Laurel's.

"You may come whenever you're ready, slave," Laurel said. Not being particularly adept at fellatio, Jessalyn's mouth couldn't take much of Jared's length. Laurel could sense his orgasm would be along way off at this rate, and, in any case, both for her own sake and for Jessalyn's she wanted the younger girl to be uncomfortable. She grabbed a fistful of red head and roughly pulled Jessalyn off, dragging her across the bed and onto the floor. Jessalyn crawled along as best she could but the pain from her hair burned through her scalp and coursed down the rest of her body.

"Kneel," Laurel said harshly, still clutching Jessalyn's hair, pulling her up now until she was on her knees.

"My new pet requires harsh treatment, slave," she said. "Get over here and fuck her throat until you come. You, slut, open your mouth."

Laurel stood behind Jessalyn, keeping a tight hold on her hair with one hand and the back of her head with the other, while Jared stood before her and slowly slid his cock into her mouth until she started to gag. He started to pull back but Laurel, pushing from behind, actually forced him further into Jessalyn's throat. As she began to cough, Laurel pulled her head back violently, releasing the shaft from her lips. Jessalyn immediately threw up a dollop of stringy saliva onto the carpet.

"Fuck her throat, slave!" Laurel snarled, and suddenly Jared's cock was again sliding into Jessalyn's mouth, more firmly this time. Jared began to thrust in and out, Laurel pushing Jessalyn's head back and forth to match his rhythm. Fighting her gag reflex, Jessalyn felt tears welling in her eyes, not from being upset but simply as the result of the assault on her tonsils. After twenty or thirty seconds, Laurel pulled her head away and she took several quick gasps of air. Jessalyn felt like the world's biggest slut at that moment. No—she didn't just feel like it, she told herself. She was the world's biggest slut. And the realization of it only made her hornier. She opened her mouth eagerly now, ready to swallow the hard cock of this complete stranger, and as he slammed away at her, more violently now, she could feel the tightness of her lust welling up in her pussy and clit. 

After two or three more brief pauses to breath, Laurel still controlling the movement of her head, Jared's thick cum exploded into Jessalyn's mouth. Jared pressed forward as he came, and Laurel pushed from behind, forcing the head of his cock deep into her throat, her lips pressed up against his torso. This actually made it easy for her to swallow the cum; in fact, it simply shot right down her throat into her stomach. This, too, the trashiness of it, ramped up the sensations in her cunt, and as Laurel pulled her mouth off the still-hard phallus, Jessalyn said almost involuntarily, "Make me come again," remembering at the last second to say "Mistress" but then purposefully neglecting to do so in the hopes of a physical and painful rebuke.

She was not disappointed; Laurel, still clutching her hair, hauled her to her feet, and then slapped her hard across her left breast. "Did you say something, painslut?"

"Make me come again."

Another slap on her breast, harder. Laurel knew she was being provoked, and found herself moving beyond the parameters of the role-playing they were engaged in, real anger welling up inside her at Jessalyn's intransigence. Pulling the girl's head back by her hair, Laurel quickly slid two fingers into Jess's sopping pussy, and pressed them hard against the front wall, simultaneously lifting up.

"You are forgetting your position, slut," she said in a menacing half-whisper, leaning in close to Jessalyn's anguished face. Jessalyn's eyes were alive with defiance, flaunting her new-found masochism, daring Laurel to take her pain to new heights.

"Please, Mistress, make me come again," she said.

Laurel pushed Jessalyn down on to the bed without taking her fingers out of the redhead's pussy, and, once her victim was prone, pushed her entire fist inside without taking any time to let Jess's swollen cunt adjust. A ring of fire pulsed outward from her suddenly-stretched labia, that, combined with the feeling of fullness from Laurel's hand, brought Jessalyn right to the edge. Laurel began to move her fist in and out, not retracting it entirely, but making sure she was constantly stretching Jesslayn's pussy as much as she could. With her other hand she pinched Jess's clit between her labia, grasping it hard between thumb and forefinger and tugging it up and down. 

Pain and pleasure swirled together in Jesslyn's body and mind and she let loose a series of animalistic groans as another orgasm took hold of her. Laurel looked on with satisfaction as her new pet writhed and moaned at the end of her arm. Jared had come to her fully formed, a perfect slave merely in need of someone to serve. But Jessalyn was different—Laurel felt like she had created, or at least unleashed, her own little painslut. There was something uniquely rewarding to her deeply-rooted inner sadist to have someone who wanted to be hurt for the sake of the pain itself, and not merely as a byproduct of submission. Laurel felt more powerful than she'd ever felt, and she didn't want it to stop. Jessalyn's new-found love of pain meant that hurting her wasn't necessarily an act of dominance—and besides that, there are other kinds of pain than physical pain. As much as Laurel had enjoyed Jess's spirited taunting, the girl needed some sort of punishment, and if physical pain wouldn't fit the bill, perhaps some degree of humiliation would.

"Give him your ass, slut," she said, slipping her hand from the tight grip of Jessalyn's pussy. Jessalyn had never even begun to think about her ass in a sexual way. She knew anal sex existed, of course, but had never even tried to conceive of it happening to her. But this was a night of exploration, and the breaking of what she had hitherto considered taboos was in large part responsible for her heightened arousal. And she could no more refuse Laurel at this point that she could turn back the clock and undo what had already transpired.

Jared reached for the bottle of lube from the nightstand drawer, but Laurel told him to put it down.

"The slut likes pain," she said. "She'll take it dry."

"Yes, Mistress."

"And don't treat her ass as tenderly as you did her throat. Fuck it like a goddamn savage, and come at your leisure."




A Mistress and Her Slave Ch. 09



Fuck it he did. Jessalyn, on all fours, cried out in pain as he pushed into her to his full length. He gave her one or two seconds to adjust to this sudden insertion, which was not nearly enough time, and then began to thrust in and out violently. Jessalyn's face contorted into a grimace as he pounded away at her. Her sphincter burned, and she felt dirty, used, violated—and she loved it. She reached down to play with her clit but Laurel's pulled her arm away.

"No more pleasure, slut. You need to earn your orgasms."

Jared came after ninety seconds or so; Jessalyn could feel his cum spurting into her rectum, his cock buried to the hilt, stretching her tender virgin ass. As he pulled out and the pain of her anal penetration receded, Jessalyn felt a sense of disappointment. Getting fucked in that way had blended pain and pleasure rather expertly, she thought, and she hoped—yearned—to be used anally again soon. 

Laurel rolled Jessalyn onto her back, and then straddled her, pinning the younger's girls arms above her head and grinning down at her.

"So, my pet, you're no longer a stranger to your own desires, your own body, your own needs."

"Thanks to you, Mistress."

"It was, quite literally, my pleasure. You have a very rare gift, my dear, a true need for pain. Of course you'll stay here. I want to explore your gift further. And your limits."

"I would like that, Mistress."

"That's good, because you have no choice. You're a slave now, like it or not. And I don't mean that you're my slave. You're a slave to your own desires. You'll never be the same again."

"I realize that, Mistress."

"Good. Now off to bed. The bathroom is right next door to your room. Slave will wake you in time for breakfast and work."

Jessalyn showered before bed, her clit still throbbing, wanting more. She tried masturbating, even pinching her nipples as hard as she could while she did, but it was not enough. Who am I? she thought to herself. What have I become? She thought about sex with Mark, and laughed aloud. His furtive little efforts to please her, which had never really been anything other than him trying to please himself, seemed like they had never even happened. She felt changed, as if she had lost her virginity this night, not years before. She felt a power within her now, a power that Laurel had unleashed for her, a power to go deep within herself and find the darkness that had sat hidden and dormant for years. She had been broken, she realized now, as she had so often felt herself to be. And now, now she was healed; now she was whole.

As Jared dried Laurel off after their shower, he found himself unsettled, even threatened, by Jessalyn's arrival. He knew Laurel had a sadistic streak that was rarely displayed to its full intensity in their own play. What if this new girl pleased her more than he did?

"Mistress," he said, "May I ask you something?"

"Of course, slave."

"Jessalyn...she'll be staying here indefinitely?"

"You didn't seem to mind fucking her, slave."

"I did that at your command."

"Quite enthusiastically."

"Would you have me follow your commands in any other way, Mistress?"

"Of course not. Did you not find her attractive?"

"I did, Mistress. I just...I suppose I'm worried about her presence...interfering with our relationship. I've been very happy to serve you and even happier that our arrangement has developed into...well, whatever you want to call it. A romantic relationship. We've developed feelings for each other."

"Of course we have, my dear, sweet, slave," Laurel said, kissing him lightly on the cheek. "Do you think those feelings are so fickle as to be washed away by the presence of another?"

"No, Mistress."

She put a hand on either said of his face and looked deep into his eyes. "I love you, Jared."

"I love you, too, Mistress Laurel."

"She's for both of us, my precious servant. Tell me that you didn't enjoy using her roughly as you did."

"It would be a lie, Mistress."

"As wonderfully submissive as you can be, that is not all of you. You enjoy being used, I know, but you do so out of a sense of service and devotion. Jessalyn—and I had hoped this was the case, although I had no idea the depth of her needs—enjoys being used, needs to be used, just from the sheer physical sensation of it. And using someone that needs to be used is a powerful sensation, and an impulse which you are not normally allowed to pursue. Even when you get to fuck me, it's for my pleasure. You're still the one being used. Can you honestly say that the thought of tying her up and fucking her as hard as you want doesn't arouse you? I can see that it does, anyway."

It was true. Jared's cock was swelling once again.

"Maybe I'm just a little jealous, Mistress," he said.

She wrapped a hand tightly around his stiffening member, and said, "No one—nothing—will ever please me more than you, my beloved slave. Now, come fuck me."