4 comments/ 144816 views/ 34 favorites Mistress Debbie By: Best709 Part One: Background Half Spanish, half Afro-American, Debbie was the most beautiful women I have ever seen: her skin color, a smooth bronze, and her body --exceptionally proportioned, very large well-rounded breasts, incredible legs leading to a fine, round heart-shaped ass, and a mind, intelligent and artistic. She did art restoration when not telemarketing. Sexually uninhibited--accepting my bisexuality without hesitation—she even encouraged me to talk about my sexual exploits, using leading questions to allow me to reveal the most intimate details. We began a habit I am still addicted to today, sharing sexual adventures over the phone late at night. We dated and I was as honest about my situation as possible; a strong bond grew between us, but gradually I become psychologically impotent when it came to straight sex. Lying in bed with her sucking on my flaccid cock, trying to get me up to fuck her, was the most unrewarding experience of my life. I revealed my desire to experiment with S&M at that point, and we experimented two or three times with it. [I had no erection problem during those experiments. But I didn't feel owned.] We also talked about our sexual adventures, usually on the phone. I revealed my promiscuous homosexual escapades in the back room of The Lotus Theatre and The Baths, how I’d spend hours on my knees sucking a couple dozen or more cocks in an evening, or bent over in the corner with cocks, one after another, pounding my ass all night. Talking about it turned me on more than doing it; I would manage to jackoff sometimes twice in a row --it was so hot. She told me of the men she had been with who had very large cocks, for example, her ex-husband whose ten inch member was so thick it couldn’t get down her throat and almost every act of sex ended up hurting her. For quite some time, the knowledge that she knew how much I craved abuse more than anything else in the world sustained my lust, each time I thought of it, a fresh wave of humiliation coursed through me. Then, months passed; we remained friends, but, because she met someone else and began what became a long-term sexual relationship, we didn’t do any more experimentation. Although, she continued to share with me his peculiarities in bed--especially about his nine inch cock. I kept asking her to take me as a slave and she kept saying maybe --but not now. I became somewhat of a pest about it, sending her to Internet sites, writing out ideas for sessions—but through this all we maintained a quasi-business relationship. She had left telemarketing and began art restoration full time with a partner who was in his 70’s. They shared a house/place of business. Debbie and I also shared an inside spot at a flea market on Saturdays and Sundays, so we continued to see each other every weekend—and sometimes during the week because of our mutual interest in computers. On the Sunday in question, we hadn’t discussed S&M for several weeks, so I was quite surprised that day. You might say I got more than I bargained for—much more. Part Two: The Humiliation Session After we set up that AM, Debbie said she had to go get something and would be right back. I sat, smoked and drank coffee for 10 minutes or so. She had told me she would make me lick and suck her boots completelty clean and use my mouth as a toilet when she took possession of me as a slave. So when she returned, she had a bag with her shoes in it and was wearing new black, patent leather boots that went to right below her knees --and they had 4 inch heels. "Move!" she said. I stood, she sat --in the only chair we had. On a milk case, directly across from her, I sat, almost drooling and staring at her boots. I experienced a not so subtle, erotic intoxication, a mind altering one, a penis engorging one. My cock--harder than ever before in my life; my mouth opening slightly, my tongue darting about, my saliva flowing--and my hand reaching and squeezing my hardon. I could picture me on the floor laboriously licking and sucking clean every square centimeter of her black leather boots. My emotions vacillated between gut wrenching fear and absolute joy. I dared to look up her short skirt [not something she usually wore] and saw her smooth , shapely bronze thighs; their rounded perfection touching, forming a dark sensuous line, and my eyes ran up that interior line of dark flesh to the space beneath her skirt's edge, to a sight I had seen many times before--but now, shame overwhelmed me as my eyes begged to see the pussy of this magnificent, dominant female. My erotic intoxication focusing, my submissive soul falling prostrate before her; my eyes and soul captured, so I stared adoringly into the darkness beneath her dress' edge. I dared raise my eyes to her face as she lit a cigarette slowly, and then sharply French-inhaled to perfection as our eyes met. Her onyx eyes burned through me as she lowered them --and my eyes followed as if led by an attached, invisible leash--down...down past her ample, full bosom, where her bronze orbs cleaved to one another forming another arching, dark sensuous line, and down to the space under her skirt's edge. Once there, a personal miracle as amazing as the parting of the Red Sea: slowly, achingly, the dark sensuous line disappeared as my eyes folowed her parting thighs again to the space beneath her skirt's edge, revealing she wore no panties; my eyes, pleasured beyond description, gazed upon a moist, many-faceted jewel crown, or brazen altar, her shaved pussy, with its full moist, pouting lips glistening as my cock, at full mast, throbbed for freedom in my pants. [I wanted to whip it out and beat it senselessly in abject worship before her. In that moment, I submitted to her not only my body, but my mind and soul as well.] My body, tense; my senses, turned on like an annoying boombox; my breathing --quick and shallow; my submissive soul, prostrate before her, lusting to deepthroat her boot's heel. My mind knew she was about to take me as her slave--as I had begged her to do for many months. My mind wrapped itself slowly around the absolute reality of the situation, but not my cock. It was totally aware. The knowledge that Debbie knew how much I craved and lusted for physical and psychological abuse from her--more than anything else in the world, that I'd beg her for it--sent fresh waves of humiliation coursing through my body. Imobilized, I could only stare at her boots, my tongue almost hanging out, my cock about to explode. I had fully entered the state I call "slave mind." My fear was now fuel for my joy. Minutes passed --and I couldn't take my eyes off of her boots as she kept rocking them back and forth before my eyes, knowingly taunting me. "Stand!" she ordered, and her voice, like a slap in the face, jolted me out of the coma-like trance of "slave mind." Only a foot from her, the bulge in my pants seemed obscenely obvious. "Look at that hog in your pants...You never were that hard when you tried to fuck me," she said as her hand reached with the speed and delicacy of a mother reaching for her child's hair and smoothing it out. And in a slim moment, her thumb's and forefinger's nail bit into and firmly squeezed my cock's head, then slid down its length to my balls, cupped them as her fingernails flicked through my pants and over the steel cockring I wore. "...sit, now! Your pathetic little hog is now mine; I own it and you. You will not touch this or do anything with this without my permission. Do you understand, slave?" "Yes, Mistress." My eyes went straight to her altar--open and flowing. My breathing now even heavier, and as subcumed to an even deeper state of "slave mind," I received a weak signal of drowning in submissiveness from a part of me that seemed adrift and distance --and was quite disappearing. The feeling of being owned and used opened the vast vista and the phathomless ocean of total submission to me. And I was hooked, ready to plunge headlong into it's rewards and punishments, its pleasure and pain. A sense of "home" so powerful in its echoing memories of eons ago, a feeling of being completely taken care of--settled over me like a warm, wet blanket. On her crossed legs she leaned her elbow as she bent forward, "Here," she ordered. And I leaned forward, my eyes catching a glimpse of hers; they penetrated me and I lowered my own. "I am so turned on to see you so quickly and completely become my slave before my eyes, with so little effort. Now I really understand how much and how thoroughly you lust, desire and need by birthright to be owned. You are neither gay nor straight, not homesexual, not bi-sexual; that is all byproduct of you being born completely submissive. Nature knit you into a submissive slave in your mother's womb, and you have spent your useless life trying to return. So if you're unsure of anything--know now you're my complete slave; I am your owner, your Mistress, your Goddess, your All, and the pussy you have just stared at is the altar under which you will worhip and be sacrificed. You will not look me in the eyes again, or I will punish you severely. I will punish you severely anyway because you must be trained, or maybe just because we both want that--or because you lust to be whipped and humiliated beyond belief. And in the last minutes --since putting on the boots and seeing you transform before me into a drooling, pathetic creature -- my taste for power and lust to dominate you has increased beyond measure. “When you gawked at my pussy do you like what you saw?" “Yes, Mistress,” I blurted out as I dropped to my knees from off the milk case. Time seemed suspended; I had only one sense--whatever sense My Mistress revealded herself to me. Her somewhat deeper voice could growl and purr almost simultaneously, and today it purred sexily and growled menacingly, and her every word seduced me further into a deeper state of submissiveness. She could’ve dominated me right there in front of the whole flea market, if she cared to, stripping me naked and leading me about on a leash. “Sit back up--there's plenty of time for that later. There’s an old saying, ‘Watch out for what you wish for, you just might get it.’ I think it applies here. You’ve been after me for months to indulge your fantasy of being my slave; I told you I would consider it, and after searching the Internet and viewing sites—many you sent me to—I realized you’re useless to me in any other sexual way. The sites have given me 100’s of ideas and many of them have turned me on. You know I told you many times that I wasn't a sadist, but using you even a little like this today is making me very wet. I see I'm going to have to explore my limits as well. "John, if you decide to submit to me, I'll own you. So do you submit to me as my slave?" “Yes, Mistress.” “Good….I asked that only as a courtesy because of our old friendship. I have concluded you indeed need punished and I mean truly punished, no safe word shit; I mean completely under my control, my degree of pain and humiliation, not some arbitrary degree based on your sense of pain. I know what to include in a session, so do not make any suggestions—at all! And all of this is because of your feeling great shame over your extremely promiscuous homosexual acts and for being such an asshole with Chris—sucking cock all day, then coming home and making love to her with a mouth that had, only hours or even minutes before, been full of men’s cocks, assholes and cum . Now, every time you suck a cock you feel a need to get whipped; every time you come back from the theatre or baths you experience a depression--you’ve told me. Isn’t that right, slave?” “Yes, Mistress.” “So, obviously, you’re a sick puppy, not only a born submissive but a complete masochist, too—and that’s why I feel no safe word is needed. And obviously, you’ve sensed sadism in me—and now I do acknowledge it. I am sexually excited by the thought of inflicting pain and humiliation on you. A pool of my pussy juice covers this seat from watching you grow submissive and hepless over the last 10 minutes or so. The more submissive I perceived you to be, the more my sadistic nature was aroused. I think you should lick all this juice up. You'd love that --wouldn't you, my little slut?" “Yes, Mistress.” She stood and pointed at the mosture on the plastic seat: "Lick it clean, slave." I knelt before the seat, and as my face came closer the aroma of her pussy cream was intoxicating. My tongue tasted the plastic but her cream's taste shot through me as if it were a drug. In moments, I cleaned it. "Now, sit back down," she ordered. I complied and she sat back down. "Anyway, during those first sessions of ours, I was torn by my own reaction to inflicting pain on you. Not exactly guilt over feeling turned on by doing it, but a sense of self-embarrassment about my own sadism. But since then, I have lost any sense of guilt or self-embarrassment; I have masturbated quite successfully and numerously to a variety of fantasies--having a whip in my hand and beating you and seeing you experience pain and humiliation caused by me, and many other fantasies. You’ve awakened my sadism and I now lust for your pain and humiliation, and woe to you, for I intend to deal with you severely and intensely as a slave. Do you still agree to serve me as my slave? Do you agree with all I’ve said?” “Yes, Mistress.” "I love asking questions I alredy know the answer to!" she with a giggle. Once again spreading her legs apart, “You may look at the altar. That’s your personal altar, slave; and I’m your Goddess, and if you’re behaved during a session you may get to worship there physically, like licking it clean after I piss—maybe…yeah, maybe. “Today, you begin your training; what I call Panty Waste Training. So do well, in other words--I expect complete obedience--or I’ll never have a session with you. Also, if you’re real lucky, I may turn you into my complete toilet slave; just think of how much I’ll save on toilet paper, he, he, he,” she said as she closed her thighs and reached for a bag next to her chair. “Take this,” she said as she handed me the bag. “I know your little dick is still as hard as a rock—isn’t it, slave?” “Yes, Mistress.” “Well, stand—oh, yes, so it is; wearing your cock ring, slave—with no underwear.” “Yes, Mistress.” “After you dropped me off today, were you planning a trip to the theatre to suck cock?” “Yes, Mistress.” “Well, if you behave—you won’t make it today—he, he! Now, walk to the men’s room. Take out the panties in the bag and wrap them about your nose and mouth—go in a stall, of course; masturbate and cum in your hand. Then, wipe the cum on the panties and stuff the panties in your mouth and return here. Don’t speak—just obey me, slave,” her voice growling, no hesitation like the other times she tried to be dominate, but now controlling and ominous—eliciting instantly from me an honest two-fold response: first, real fear of her reappeared and what she could do to me and second--complete submission, knowing I wanted her to do as she said: the masochist’s paradox. Instantly, I obeyed, leaping, diving into what was to come. Part Three: Humiliation Continues In the closed stall I opened the brown bag; inside was a zip-plastic bag with her panties. I opened the zip; placed my nose and mouth inside the bag and took several deep breathes. My cock was in my hand as I yanked it furiously and inhaled the bag’s pungent but obvious aroma. Within 30 seconds I orgasmed into my hand, wiped the cum on the panties and stuffed them in my mouth. I didn’t think, I couldn’t—I just acted, I just obeyed. I was like a rollercoaster car going over the other side of the steep climb, and all I could do was continue the ride to an eventual, inevitable end. And like the law of gravity --the law of my own masochism and my need to submit were too strong to break or resist as I willingly flew headlong into the web of her domination. Afraid and still turned on, I walked back to our booth feeling like a condemned man—but loving it! Aware that what was to come was no fantasy but the real thing—not my silly and abortive attempts at self-inflicted masochism while beating off. Upon my return she was talking with a customer. So I sat, my mouth full, and amazingly --my cock still hard. The bitter mixture building in my mouth I ignored. When she finished, she lit a cigarette and sat with her legs open wide. I knew the panties in my mouth had been next to the pussy I stared intently at—and she was quietly laughing at me: “Do you like the taste of panty juice, slave?—just nod your head.” I nodded yes and she laughed. And inside--a part of me realized I would do anything, anything she said, anything—and I wanted it all to be depraved. And I wanted to hear her evil laugh over and over. “Let me tell you about the panties in your mouth. They are cheap cotton panties, a three pack, I bought just for you. Two weeks ago, I wore those the day I moved. Remember how hot a day it was, and I drank a lot of cold liquids and pissed all day long. I never wiped myself; I just let those panties soak up my droplets. Now, you see what I do for my slave, so return the favor: you’ll pay for the boots and the panties--$20 a week until paid. Understand?” “I nodded yes." “Good, now let’s see—Oh, yeah, I must have pissed at least a dozen times that day; but best the part is, in the two weeks that followed, I used them to wipe myself after pissing almost every time and I spit into the bag after each wipe, too. So the liquid dripping down your throat each time you swallow is the golden nectar of your Goddess. He, he! So swallow for me, slave,” she said and continued to laugh as I eagerly swallowed. The Golden Nectar of my Goddess, a vile mixture of her piss, spit and other pussy drippings seemed to rush through me and instantly drug me, making me dizzy, giving my cock more rigidity and deepening my slave mind. It was --the bitter medicine my mother forced me to swallow as a child because it was good for me; --the first taste of cum swallowed as a teenager; --the first taste of alcohol; --the taste of holy communion, --the first taste of a person’s tongue, --or the first taste of asshole—all rolled into one! All I could think: she was dominating me in front of the flea market but no one else knew; only she and I, and I had no reason not to expect more extreme depravity. Sitting there tasting her pissed-soaked panties was the beginning of a fantasy I had shared with her dozens of times, so truly every drop I swallowed was Golden Nectar to a slave like me. “This is so much fun, he, he! Swallow again! [More laughter] Stand up—oh, yeah, your little dickie is still as hard as ever—that’s good, slave. “Some facts for you: you once told me Mary Lou looked like your mother right before she died; kneeling naked and submissive in front of Mary Lou with that thought in mind may be a real turn-on for you. How can we ignore the mother-factor in your illness--you also said once you’d like to suck Mary Lou’s great ass, so walk over to Mary Lou’s. When she’s not with a customer, walk up to her, wave hi and point to your mouth. She knows everything about you, everything. She has a message for you and a directive that you’ll follow as if it came from me. Understand, slave?” I nodded yes. God, we weren’t alone in this, I thought. I could feel my humiliation covering me like an invisible blanket and like a man tied to rail track with a runaway locomotive bearing down --I was helpless. The head between my legs, bulging and throbbing, overruled any flickering doubts my other head had. Mary Lou began laughing when I pointed to my stuffed mouth; she turned and continued to laugh her great ass off for at least a full minute. She turned back finally, and walked up to me and grabbed my cock through my pants, “Yes, you are small just as Debbie said,” she released my cock and leaned next to me and whispered in my ear: “I know you’re a faggot and a masochistic slave with a mouthful of panties soaked in piss. To me you were always an arrogant s-o-b and what you’re experiencing --you begged Debbie to do for months, so I immediately and eagerly agreed to assist her in dominating you. I never liked you at all, so I will be extremely cruel to you, slave, just like your mother probably was; just think of me as the Mommy from hell-- and I will enjoy every second of what Debbie and I have planned for you next weekend,” she leaned away and looked straight at me. “So, swallow some piss for me, slave.” Mistress Debbie I did, and she laughed some more. Everything I had ever said to Debbie she had remembered; how I had told her my desire to eat Mary Lou’s great ass, everything. “Take this,” and she handed me a small bag. “A pair of panties I’ve prepared for you, and believe me—I was as dedicated in preparing these as Debbie—maybe even more so, he, he. Go back to your Mistress now, and I’ll see you next weekend when Debbie has broken you in totally. I look forward to inflicting much pain and humiliation on you. And you’ll taste my ass, slave; believe me, you’ll taste my ass,” and she turned and laughed aloud heartily. As I walked back, my humiliation and slave-lust deepened. My cock was ready to explode; serving Mistress Mary Lou was a nightmare come true, and if she hates me that much, oh how deep the session will be! “Sit, slave,” my Mistress said as I returned. “Mary Lou isn’t the only one I’ve brought into our Mistress/Slave relationship. The others you’ll learn of when I’m ready to reveal them. Give me the bag; that’s for next session with Mary Lou.” I handed her the bag, and as I sat there I couldn’t wait for the others to be revealed. I experienced little thought; my attention and focus was completely on what she said next. “From what she told me, this pair of panties is a full meal, he, he. She really, really doesn’t like you, so when I told her my plans for you and asked her to join in—she didn’t hesitate a second. As we discussed what we would do to you, I discovered her intensity --and her ideas are amazing and exremely cruel. She convinced me that what you and I had done before was mere play and that I should go at this as real as possible; I think today’s mini-session has shown you that—right, slave?” I nodded yes. “Okay, good. Mary Lou has ridden horses all her life and has six riding crops. She told me I could have one for you when we leave next weekend. Oh, when I told her how you thought she had a great ass, she laughed and said she wanted to control all the anal play we have --and that you’d get to know her ass intimately. She has a box of surgical gloves for that play, and I bought her a strap-on harness with the largest dildo, black, of course, they had; you’ll pay for all of that also, slave. “Today’s session is almost over until we get to your place later; not much traffic today, so we’ll probably leave at 1 PM. Now, I am on my way to the ladies room and you should go and remove the panties. Place them back in the bag and zip it closed for later—then return here for one last little bit of humiliation.” With that she took a small jar from her bag and walked away. I wandered over to the men’s room and took out the panties as ordered. I returned before her and sat and waited. It was all happening so fast—everything I had hoped for --and more. I was stunned. When she returned she handed me the jar; it was moist and warm on the outside and filled with a familiar yellow liquid. “Just sit there and hold that,” she said as she turned --and brought back Mistress Mary Lou. They stood next to me. Both giggled as I sat and stared at the jar of my Mistress’ piss. “Well, open the jar! Now slowly sip the contents, savoring every drop’s taste.” My hand had gone to my erection in my pants. “Look, he’s still turned on,” Mistress Mary Lou said. “Obey me, slave,” Debbie whispered. I began to sip the warm, salty and sour liquid and they laughed as I slowly finished the contents. When I finished, Debbie said, “Now recap it and give it to Mary Lou,” she said to me and turned to Mistress Mary Lou, “Can you fill it for him?” “My pleasure,” she said as I handed it to her. She left immediately. “Watch out for what you wish for…” she said abstractly, and I didn’t respond but only sat feeling queasy as hell. A few minutes passed in silence and Mistress Mary Lou reappeared. She handed me the jar. “Now, open and sip it contents, slave,” Debbie whispered. I obeyed her, and half way through I began to get sick, so I guzzled the remaining piss. “Oh, no, you now got to start over,” Debbie said as I stood, holding my stomach. “I’m going to throw up,” I said weakly. “Go to the men’s room now,” Debbie said. Just as I entered the stall I threw up; the liquid shot out of me, and as soon as I finished I felt better, almost normal. When I returned, she was shutting down the booth; Mistress Mary Lou was back at her stand, so I joined her. And in silence, we shut down the booth. Part Four: The Session As I put the keys in the ignition, she began to speak: “Just listen; I have a lot to say. Our friendship is over; all we have now is the Mistress/slave relationship. We can continue the flea market activity, and I will only call you—unless it’s vital you call me—and I mean REAL important. “The two or three times before that we played Mistress and slave, I came away feeling empty; I know you said it was quite good and that anything I did was okay by you, but I knew it was not what you wanted or needed. We just played at it! And I quite frankly received nothing from those times; but not today. Today was not play; I intended to humiliate you, and watching you gobble panties and drink piss turned me on and convinced me of two things—first, that you deserve all the punishment and humiliation I can inflict on you, and second, I lost all respect for you as a human being—you are now just a slave to me in every meaning of the word. Mary Lou also convinced me that I should not hold back on mean and cruel treatment, but take you as a true slave; she intends to be as rough and cruel to you as you can stand. And all I care about is your obedience; obey me or hit the road. Do you understand that?” “I understand, Mistress.” “And you’re okay with everything I’ve said and done, slave?” ”I am your complete, obedient slave, Mistress, and whoever else you tell me to serve. My only limit is not to be injured, Mistress.” “Yes, you said that before, over and over; all I can promise is not to intentionally injure you, but in the heat of a session—anything is possible. Do you accept that risk, slave.” “I understand, Mistress and accept those terms.” “Remember what you told me your therapist had said: that beginning this decent into masochism is a one-way trip leading to a need for greater and greater pain and humiliation to make that little dickie of yours hard?” “I recall telling you that, and I am aware of the danger, but it’s what I desire, Mistress.” “Good because both Mary Lou and I want you to fall into complete slavery. Then I will guarantee you sessions filled with what you desire,” she said and retrieved the bag the panties were in. “Put these back in your mouth, slave.” I obeyed and pulled onto my street. “Drive up on the curb, open my door and let me in; then you go and park and when you enter, remove all of your clothing and kneel immediately and await my directions, slave.” Kneeling naked in the living room, my cock as hard as a rock, I could hear her in the bathroom. She walked in completely naked except for the boots—and in her hand the cat-o-nine tails whip. Her beautiful face was scarred with a menacing, intense scowl and her naked pussy shone with wetness. The sight of her naked in boots overwhelmed me; my cock almost exploded right then and there, but before I could imagine anything she took action. A hard rubber ball-gag she shoved in my mouth as the panties tried to go down my throat, and she then turned me around and from the sofa, got the handcuffs; she cuffed my hands behind my back, turned me around to face her. She held my bottle of Rush to my nose and I took a hit; the drug rushed through me as she applied nipple clamps with adjustment screws; the setting was mild, at first, but then she turned each one down until I bent over from the pain. “Stand up straight, slave; this is only the beginning.” Over to the sofa she led me and pushed my head down on the cushion so my ass was up in the air. I could hear her putting on rubber gloves; she came around and placed a handkerchief soaked with Rush under my nose. And she applied lube to my asshole; inserting a finger, two, three, four fingers! Slowly, in and out she fucked my ass with her hand up to her knuckles as I inhaled the Rush. Then, I could feel her thumb --and the pressure increased; I winced and screamed into the panties as my sphincter stretched to its maximum to engulf her whole hand. Very slowly she made a fist, she pushed forward as far as her hand could go, and then reversing, pulled back, gauging her thrusts. Fucking me in a steadily increasing rhythm…until my body shuddered and my cock exploded; but she just increased the rhythm as load after load erupted…until finally I was spent. I collapsed sideways and her hand withdrew as I hit the sofa and then the floor. My next conscious awareness was her boot tapping the side of my face as I lay on the floor. “I didn’t give you permission to cum, slave. You must be punished for that and severely. Now, sit up, slave!” I hesitated and she grabbed my hair and yanked me up. She undid the ball-gag and had me spit the panties into the bag. “Now, suck up your cum from the floor,” she said as she pushed my face into it. Most went on my nose and mouth, and with her forefinger she scraped it off my face. “Suck it off my finger, slave,” she said as she pushed the digit into my mouth. “Yeah, suck my finger like it was a cock. I know how much you love to suck cock—and don’t bet against me having you suck my cock later. Oh, yeah, I have something special planned for you in that department.” Never in my life did I suck any harder or enthusiastically on any cock as did on that finger. The rest of my cum she scraped off the floor with her finger and had me suck her finger clean. “Yeah, faggot, suck off the cum from my finger.” Then, the cum stains on the floor she had me lick at. “Over here, faggot, you missed a drop or two; that’s it --suck it all up like a good faggot.” Finished, she undid the cuffs and she sat on the sofa. “Time for a cigarette—and time you began licking my boots clean, but first turn around with your ass facing me. That’s it,” and she placed her boot toe against my asshole and tried to shove it in. “Lean back, slave; that’s it,” she said as she pushed the boot’s toe up my ass as far as she could get it. Then, she did the same with the other boot. “Turn around and lick these clean while I finish my smoke. And do a good job or else, slave.” She held her boot up and I softly cradled it in my hand at a level that I could gaze at her pussy as my tongue licked it clean; then, she raised the second one and I cleaned it thoroughly. “Stand up, slave,” she said as she determined I had cleaned her boots enough. “Well, I see your twig is getting hard again. The taste of your own ass on my boots made you hard. Bring in that large fruit pinch bowl you bought from me last week, slave.” I returned with the bowl. “Kneel and hold the bowl under your chin,” she ordered as she picked up the bag with the panties. She dumped the panties into the bowl and had me position the bowl between her legs, making sure the bowl remained under my chin. She began pissing into the bowl and as droplets of her piss splashed up onto my mouth --my tongue automatically licked them. Her stream stopped. “I see your taste has improved already, slave. I think I should piss right down your throat; do you agree, slave?" “Yes, Mistress.” “Beg for it, slave.” “Mistress, please, allow me to be your toilet. Piss in my mouth.” “You can do a lot better than that, slave.” “Mistress, please, allow me to be your complete toilet slave. Piss in my mouth. Let me savor your Golden Showers, let me absorb part of your superiority. Humiliate me with your piss, your shit. I am but an ass-wipe, a toilet slave. Let me suck your shit from your asshole; let me replace your toilet paper.” “Are you prepared for that, Shiteater." “Yes, Mistress.” “So be it, Shiteater.” Gingerly, she picked up the rubber glove she used to fistfuck me and got it back on her hand. She sat on the sofa’s edge and had me scoot over before her. “Now, close you eyes, Shiteater, and open your mouth real wide.” I could smell the shit-covered glove under my nose as her fingers came and rested on my tongue. “What am I doing?” I thought. But she spoke and another glow took control. "Now, close your mouth—that’s it; now suck my fingers clean. Oh, yeah, Shiteater, just think it’s a big black cock in your mouth; good, good. Eat it all—yeah, now these—yeah! Okay, I can’t hold it any longer. Lay flat on your back…put your hands up by your head—palms up—that’s it.” On my hands she stood as she lowered her ass above my face; her pussy was less than an inch from my mouth. “Open your mouth wide, Shiteater. I’m going to piss down your throat—no throwing up! And what spills out on your rug you will suck and lick up.” Her stream hit right in the back of my throat and I attempted to swallow it all, but much spilled out of my mouth. It seemed to go on forever. When the stream stopped, she stood: “Just lay there, Shiteater.” She went to the bathroom and returned with a ball of toilet paper; she again assumed the same position and began wiping her pussy very thoroughly. “Open your mouth...that’s it...now eat this,” she said as she stuffed the toilet paper ball in my mouth. “Chew and swallow, Shiteater. Good little boy—mommy so’s proud. Sit up and bring the bowl with the panties to me on the sofa.” I mindlessly obeyed her. She had me set the bowl on the floor and then she stood and cuffed me again. “Kneel and open your mouth wide,” and she put on the rubber glove and picked up the soaking panties. “Tilt your head back…further, that’s it,” --holding the panties above my open mouth piss dripped down my throat as she held them there until the dripping almost stopped, and then she slowly lowered them into my mouth, pushing them in as far as they would go before applying the ball gag. Stand up. She had a wooden twelve inch ruler in her hand. “My, oh, my, look at this little dickie of yours; it was never this hard when you tried to have sex with me –or for that matter, Chris either, I bet. I think you may need some Rush for this next exercise.” She held the bottle under my nose and had me take three deep hits. I was wheeling and staggering slightly from the poppers when the first blow from the ruler hit my cock’s head. My body winced from the blow, but my cock jumped up and back like a defiant child, defying her to do it again, begging her to do it again, and she did—over and over for a dozen blows. She stopped and inspected my cock. “Only a little swollen head so far; I think he likes it, slave. What do you think? Should Mommy continue whacking your dickie with this ruler?” she asked me, staring me straight in my eyes. Instantly, my head affirmatively and enthusiastically bobbed up and down—as did my cock, jumping and throbbing painfully before her. “Why do I even ask? You’re an absolute masochist; you’d let me beat this black and blue with blood blisters until it enlarged to a man-size cock—wouldn’t you? Yeah, shake your head yes, I know, I know now just how deeply sick you are. So be it….” My eyes were closed awaiting the next blow; my cock was so hard I thought it would burst. All I wanted was that ruler to whack my cock again and again; she had my number, but she guided me to a large padded chair with a high back and wooden arms and had me kneel; my head rested on the chair’s back. She tied my ankles to the chair’s arm with rope she had me get weeks ago, and then spread my legs and tied rope about each knee, running the rope under the chair and pulling extremely tight. A dog collar about neck with a bungee cord attached was stretched back under the chair and attached somewhere behind me. She placed a rubber band several times about my ball sac. Around she came to the front of the chair; she was putting on fresh rubber gloves. My line of sight was straight down at the floor, so I could only see her boots. “So far I have been warming up, slave, and now it’s time to get serious. I hope you feel helpless and vulnerable—and afraid. You should be because having you helpless like this really turns me on, and the more turned on I am the more pain I want to inflict on you.” She had me take three more hits of Rush and then she immediately began tapping my ball sac in an upward motion with the ruler. The rhythm was fast but not nearly as hard as when she did my cock—no need, the pain from the light taps was intense. My body was trying to double up as my balls tried to escape from their predicament without any hope as the ruler rained upward and swiftly and steadily on their sensitivity. I truly was immobilized and totally helpless to my tormentor. If she asked me if she should continue—I would’ve said that’s enough; but all I could do was scream silently into the panties-ball gag as my balls ached beyond description. I could hear her laughing and that was the last sense impression I had before my mind became totally the experience of pain. How long she tortured my balls is a mute question because suddenly the tapping stopped but not the pain, lingering in a suspended sensation of pain in my balls and running up into my gut. Finally, a familiar smell entered me and a sense of reality returned; it was the smell of Ben-Gay, and from the hinterland of reality behind me I heard her say: “This is extra strength and I thought you’d enjoy the sensation, slave, so prepare for the ride of your life.” When her gloved hand touched my cock head, I realized I was still as hard as a rock. She spread the cream over its head, squeezing it and rubbing her hand up and down the shaft, covering it completely; and within thirty seconds the flames started. When she reached my balls and slightly cupped them as the cream covered them, I almost fainted from the pain. The cream she spread over the entire area until she reached my ass, and over it she applied a thick coat of the cream and, also, down the back of my thighs. Until—“I need a break and so do you, slave.” The fire she set under my rear end blazed, and I knew, unlike the ball torture, it wasn’t going to end soon. I helplessly struggled to free myself as I heard her light a cigarette. Then, she began talking to someone else; she had made a phone call. “Mary Lou?” “Yeah, it’s me…He’s tied up on a chair…feeling the pain of Ben Gay over his dick, balls and ass…Yeah, earlier…yes, almost immediately…He begged for it…a rubber glove I had used to fistfuck him…yeah, like a starving man…yeah, a true Shiteater…The best day would be Wednesday for me…Sure…I could get him to pick me up after work and we could be there by 7:30…He, he, he…Yes, oh, yes…Two hours with us would be all he could take…Okay, sure…Later.” In front of me she stood; her pussy right in front of my face. She was slowly fingering her clitoris. I felt the cat-o-nine tails’ strands very slowly being dragged over my ass and up my back and slowly again. She held her finger under my nose: “Smell this, slave. The odor of pain because as long as it makes me wet, you’ll be whipped. This is what I have been truly waiting to do to you, slave,” she said softly as she continued to drag the strands over my flesh. “This is the exact fantasy I used to masturbate and was the deciding factor in deciding to use you as a slave. It brought powerful orgasms, and today it is even more potent as a turn on. I have no idea how long I will whip you; I’ll stop when I have had my fill. This is what you lusted for, so take a deep breath.” I knew I was about to pass into severe pain; fear was a present and real factor throughout my body and mind. She did this several more times—and then paused. “I hope you’re ready—who cares what you are—you’re my whipping boy now, and I am going to whip the shit out of you --and there’s nothing you can do but take it. He, he, he!” Mistress Debbie Awaiting the whipping --I truly felt fear. Up to that point I still felt as if I were a person and not a thing--drinking piss, eating shit, but knew a profound change was about to occur. The first stroke surprised and relieved me; the next several came in lightening fashion, further lighting up my already inflamed ass and legs. The pain was more than I realized it could be. At about ten strokes I could hear her masturbating and groaning in delight as she laid into my ass with the whip because the tempo of the strokes had slowed and changed --but intensified in force—and at this point I lost true awareness of everything but the pain. I passed into another domain; between strokes only a flicker of thoughts at first--I wanted the whip and I didn’t want it, and, with each further touch of the whip, I lost all sense of reality and I began to sense –what happened within me is beyond description. Yes, only extreme pain as the lashes caressed my flesh, but from the moment I first saw her wearing boots earlier, I entered what I call ”the slave state,” a submissive erotized turn-on. But what went on in my head as the whipping progressed I have to call an ultimate slave state. And, at some point, it seemed she intensified the rhythm and intensity as eventually I did cum. Suddenly, I was aware of only the after-glow of the whipping and the Ben Gay; no more lashes rained over me. I couldn’t believe my thoughts: I wanted to beg her to beat me more, to return me to that ultimate slave state. It wasn’t a debatable feeling or thought; it was the cry of my deepest needs and want, and I was only surprised at how potent this feeling was. Everybody was right: Mistress Debbie for terminating our friendship because if I sense her now I will fall immediately into a slave-state. The beating had destroyed what’s left of me and all that remains is the slave. The slave-state will be a permanent consciousness. So the therapist was right because I wanted more, and so was I because I felt at home, wanting to kneel before her 24-7 and live in the ultimate slave state forever. The rope was being untied; nothing was being said. I was soon just kneeling on the chair. The ball gag was removed and the plastic bag was held under my mouth. I spit the panties into the bag. “On your knees before me, slave.” Kneeling before her I couldn’t raise my eyes; all I could do---stare at her boots. The remnants of the beating and the Ben Gay lingered, but all else was a blank. I could only wait for her to speak, to command. “So…slave…what do you have to say to me?” “Mistress, thank you for treating me like the slave I am. I only want to serve you in whatever why you seem proper. I beg you to beat me again, to piss down my throat, to torture me with your superior mind and allow me to gaze on your body.” “Show me your thank you by licking my boots, slave.” And slavishly I groveled before her, licking and sucking her boots. She raised her boot and said, “Lick the soles clean, slave. This is your proper place before me, and, yes, I will beat you again—Mary Lou and I will do so Wednesday. Pick me after work and we’ll go to her home for a two or three hour session. There you will have the pleasure of serving both of us and being beaten with two riding crops—together and separately. Mary Lou can’t wait to use the strap-on on you. Today—I wasn’t in the mood for it, but on Wednesday you can believe we’ll use them on you, slave. Why lookie there—your dick is hard again. Jackoff for me as you clean my boots—and when you cum—cum on my boots for a spit shine.” I reached back and jerked the devil maddeningly as I licked her soles clean. And within a few minutes I was ready to shoot—and shoot I did all over her boots. And when I finished she said, “Now—lick the cum off. Get it all, slave." And I did—every last drop and remaining glaze of my cum. “Well, Carroll will here to pick me up any minute, slave. Stay home and Jackoff all day today…and tonight…and all the time—even at work. Lick and suck your rug clean of my piss. Chew the panties when you jackoff—I have a left a bowl of piss and shit in your bathroom for dinner. Eat it all later. I may call with further instructions during the week”…and a horn blared outside the door…”Remember, jackoff all the time and think of serving me.” With a swift movement her boot she ripped from my hand and dressed and then left. I stayed kneeling there staring at the floor for several minutes after I heard the door close behind her before retrieving the panties and jackingoff again and again. Later, I knelt before the toilet, but could only smell it and jackoff. I flushed it and went to sleep. Part Five: Mistress Mary Lou’s Carroll, a man of seventy plus years and Debbie’s business partner, answered the door and said Debbie would a few minutes. He told me to wait right there in an atypical unfriendly tone. When she walked into the room my eyes immediately looked down. I knelt and was breathing heavily. “Stand up. Here…take this,” and she handed me a tablet and a glass of water. “It’s a 100 tab of Viagra, courtesy of Carroll. It’ll kick in about the time we reach Mary Lou’s.” I swallowed the tablet greedily. Then, from her directions, picked up the travel bag of goodies next to the wall and we got in the car. We arrived at 7:15 PM after a mostly silent drive—only directions on where to turn, et cetera from Mistress Debbie. I drove with Mistress Mary Lou’s panties in my mouth --which had been in the bag all that time fermenting—and a constant hardon. Mistress Mary Lou, a woman of 50 years or so--her body in great shape, had an ass that many women half her age would’ve died for. She wore high heels, a see-thru Teddy and the strap-on, the black, thick ten inch monster hanging menacingly between her legs—and she sort of took control upon entering. Mistress Debbie disappeared into another room. “Remove your clothes and place them in this box, slave,” Mistress Mary Lou ordered. From the moment I first saw Mistress Debbie and in the forty-five minutes in the car I was already erect and submerged in the slave state. Fear and anticipation of slave training with two women—one of whom whose cruelty I already knew and experienced and the other one who really disliked me and wanted nothing else but to torture me was an engine of powerful force, and the Viagra was kicking in because amazingly I was even harder than ever before. Now, before this other woman I felt the slave state deepening, so as I became naked my cock stood out in ultimate glory. I averted my eyes to the floor, but did take many glimpses of the dildo between her legs. I noticed its head was extremely bulbous and wider than any cock I had ever taken before in my life. And this one would never, ever go soft. She turned and picked up a collar and a chain leash from a table next to her. About my neck she secured the collar and let the chain hang down my front; handcuffs she placed about my wrists as I turned around and presented my hands behind me. She picked up the leash and yanked on it and said, “Follow me, slave.” To the basement and out into a double garage we walked with her pulling me along behind her with yanks of the chain almost at every step. She positioned me so a rope hanging from the ceiling was easily secured to the cuffs, and then she pulled on the rope so my hands went up as far as they could, with the effect of bending me over. She tied the rope off and now all I could do was stare at the floor. She turned off the light and closed the door behind her in silence as she left me there. In the dark fear grew in me and anticipation of what was to come. A riding crop was a lot different than the cat Mistress Debbie used, so fear is all I recall—not even how long I hung suspended before Mistress Mary Lou returned. She was joined by Mistress Debbie after a minute. “It couldn’t look me in the face when it got here,” Mistress Mary Lou began. “Its total demeanor was submissive; you had a great session with it.” “Oh, yeah, when it came tonight, Carroll said to me…that piece of shit slave is out in the hall, his cock bulging out of his pants already. And when I entered the room, its eyes averted to the floor and it knelt immediately. Your advice was perfect, and now it must feel your strength. When you’re through with it, it’ll never be able to look you in the eyes.” The crop landed like a freight train into my ass and before the total pain spread through me, a second, then a third, and so on fell on me with suddenness and pain, so that within moments my body was quaking and trembling beyond control and tears streamed from my eyes as the crop found its mark. How many landed is impossible to tell; all I know is whatever pain I felt before was nothing compared to what was now delivered. I passed into another world, an even deeper slave state. Words at first came into my mind as if from a long hallway, Mistress Mary Lou’s voice speaking right in my ear: “Have you had enough of the crop, slave?” My head shook yes, and a second later the crop landed several more times. The same question again, but this time she grabbed my cock, jacking it off slowly. Its extreme hardness surprised me and brought me back to a sense of reality. I shook my head yes again—she continued jacking me off until I came with a powerful explosion over and over; she continued jacking it off after I finished, going on and on as I moaned in pain for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, she let it go; my arms were lowered. I knelt immediately. The gag was removed. Mistress Mary Lou stood before me. I stared at her high heels, my body trembling; pain a permanent visitor residing on my ass and the back of my thighs, and my mind a shredded remnant of anything resembling sanity. She shifted her feet and I jumped like a dog about to be beat by its master. Two or three more times she did this with the same result, and they began laughing together. “Look at me, slave,” Mistress Mary Lou ordered. And I tried to raise my eyes. But something held me back. I wanted to obey but couldn’t. “Look at me, slave, or you’ll get more of the crop.” My neck strained and at the level of the dildo, I broke down crying and pleading, “Mistress, I can’t look at you, but please don’t use the crop on me again, please—anything but that, please,” and my eyes went to the floor. Mistress Mary Lou placed the gag in my mouth; she ordered me to stand, and I did. The rope was tied to my arms and pulled up even tighter. And I heard words that truly frightened me, “Here, Debbie; it wouldn’t obey me, so punish it some more; you take a turn with the crop. It really wants more of the crop, but can’t admit it —and look at its cock--still as hard as ever, even though it just shot a load.” God, she was right; I wanted more --but couldn’t ask for it--all I could do was cry and tremble. Mistress Mary Lou was a natural dominate, cruel, sadistic, imaginative. “Oh, yes, I’m wet just watching you kick its ass with this devilish device. I’m going to masturbate while cropping it, so if you don’t want to watch I’ll understand.” “No, go right ahead. I think that’s a marvelous idea. But wait—why don’t I join you?” “It’s crying already and we haven’t touched it, so with us both on its ass --we can reduce it to a blithering idiot,” Mistress Debbie answered. “It’s that already, dear. There are some areas of his ass and legs without marks.” A few minutes passed; I heard some whispering, but couldn’t make out what was being said. My mind was a flushing toilet, swirling, emptying, and any precise recollection of the next several minutes is beyond my power. The crop strokes came in a one-two fashion from either side; by the third stroke I was too far gone into pain to recall anything. Suffice it to say, I was a further blithering idiot within seconds, crying, screaming into the gag, begging—unheard and unheeded --and then at some point the rain of crop strokes ended. How long after it ended that I became aware that I was still hanging by my arms with an enflamed rear-end in the dark—and, amazingly, a raging hardon still—is impossible. But at some point the light came on and my Mistresses came back. Both came to my front end. Mistress Mary Lou picked up head by grabbing my hair so I could see both were wearing a strap-on. Mistress Debbie undid the gag. Both dildoes were poised at my mouth—“Open your mouth, slave!” both said almost simultaneously. And Mistress Mary Lou’s enormous black dildo filled my mouth. The other Mistress grabbed me by the hair and lifted my head so Mistress Mary Lou could slide her dildo straight into my mouth and then deeply into my throat; she pulled back so I could breathe and then slowly began to fuck my mouth with deep strokes and a powerful rhythm. She managed to shove at least 8.5 inches of the ten down my throat on her longest stroke, and then they switched places. Mistress Debbie’s was 8 inches and not as thick, so hers went straight down my throat, and she fucked my mouth with even more abandon, managing to shove it down so far that my nose was flattened against the leather base of the strap-on. From behind me Mistress Mary Lou grabbed my hardon and balls and pulled them back up under my ass, “It’s as hard as when we started, and I think it enjoys this too much,” Mistress Mary Lou said. “Then fuck it without lube,” Mistress Debbie suggested. “Yes, and I have an idea,” Mistress Mary Lou said as she released my balls and went for something. When she came back, I could feel metal being attached to my balls and then they were pulled back. Apparently she attached a bungee-cord to my balls and attached the other end to the back of her strap-on. I then felt the head of her dildo being position at my asshole and the stretch was painful, almost ripping my balls out by the roots. Mistress Debbie was still fucking my mouth in an ever-increasing rhythm as the bulbous head of the strap-on pushed against my sphincter. Mistress Mary Lou’s hands were spreading my ass cheeks as far as they would go and the head of the strap-on slowly stretched me until in a powerfully painful plop the head tore into my insides. This gave some relief to my balls but added the searing pain of entry. Mistress Mary Lou pushed as hard as she could and the monster slowly found its way all the way up into me. “I’ve hit bottom and I still have and inch or two to go.” “Fuck its brains out,” Mistress Debbie said. The two of them assaulted me from both ends. Mistress Debbie would plunge to the hilt so I was being smothered, and then she’d slowly withdraw until she found the spot where I could take a breath; as soon as I breathed she then plunge back down to the hilt—over and over, staying longer at full thrust each time, gagging me. Mistress Mary Lou would pull back, tearing at my balls as she did --and then ramming back in again, trying each time to go deeper. On and on they went…. The pain and pleasure melted within me as these dildoes tore me apart; my cock was throbbing and finally it exploded, over and over, cumming almost with each stroke of the dildoes. It seemed to go on forever. “It’s cumming—and without permission!” I heard someone say. Mistress Mary Lou pulled out and so did Mistress Debbie. My asshole felt as if a freight train had run up it, and my throat was sore. And I hung there, heavily panting like a dog in heat, wanting more—of what? Unbelievably, I wanted more of everything. But I could not speak or think—only a feeling of great lust to be dominated by these two Amazons of punishment. Mistress Debbie left the garage and Mistress Mary Lou appeared in front of me, her black monster hovering before my eyes --covered with my ass. “Open wide, Shiteater. Mistress Debbie told me how much you love it, so since you shot a load without asking you can clean my cock.” I eagerly gobbled her cock, sucking and licking, gagging and suffocating in spats—and swallowing. Saliva dripped from my mouth as she drilled my throat. Mistress Debbie returned. “Is it doing a good job cleaning your cock?” she asked. “Yes, it is, and you sure were right; it loves to eat its own ass. No hesitations just slurp, slurp. It can’t wait to taste ours—right, Shiteater?” “Carroll called. That big piece came tonight and I got hours of gold-leafing to do, so I gotta go as soon as possible.” “Too bad, but I understand,” and she pulled out. Mistress Debbie lowered the rope and un-cuffed me. Get dressed, asshole,” she said as I realized she had brought my clothes down with her. I sat on the floor and tried to use my arms and dress. “You said next weekend you were going to open both days, but were too busy to play with it? “Yeah, why?” “I want it over here Friday night, and since Pat is opening for me both days, I want to play with it from Friday night to Monday morning. I’ll let it go at 6 AM so it can get to work. Is that all right with you?” Mistress Mary Lou asked. “No problem: only one condition; I can call when I get a chance and you can update me as to what’s goin’ on?” “Absolutely.” “I’ll order it over here straight from work on Friday; it should be here by six or so; is that good for you?” “Perfect.” “Are you going to do what I think?” Mistress Debbie asked. “”Yeah, haven’t finalized it yet, but it looks like a go.” “That would be sensational to see.” Mistress Debbie said. “If it’s possible, I’ll video tape it for you.” Mistress Debbie responded with a truly girlish tone of delight: “Fabulous idea.” Finally, dressed, Mistress Debbie stuffed my mouth full of panties, and I drove her home in almost complete silence, except for being ordered to come to Mary Lou’s place for the weekend. Part Six: The Toy Mistress Debbie called just as I got home from work on Monday, giving me a list of things to do. She was short and to the point, having me get a pen and paper and write down my tasks and read them back to her. Bring four Viagra for the weekend; take one at my place for Friday evening. Ordered a new toy; it will be here by Friday for you. $75 cost added to your total; whatever I sell on weekend of yours will be deducted from your total. Advice: jackoff as much as possible this week—you’ll discover why Friday. Cut an opening in your trousers like you told me you did in Junior High so you can access your dick and jackoff at work at least twice a day. Shave all your pubic hair as soon as we get off the phone and shave it daily—especially hairs around your asshole. And don’t wear your cock ring She was satisfied after I read back my list of tasks. “Now, slave, answer me this: “Do you regret becoming our slave?” “No, Mistress.” “Good, I know Mary Lou and I are glad, and I also know Mary Lou reminds you of your mother. Does Mary Lou turn you on more than me? Answer honestly, slave.” “Yes, to some extent, Mistress.” “Good, honesty is the best policy because I already knew the answer. Tell me why, slave.” “Mistress Mary Lou frightens me. I am more afraid of her deeper cruelty.” “Are you saying I am not cruel enough, slave?” “No, Mistress, I’m not saying that; I’m saying in a general sense she comes across more frightening to me—maybe because of the mother factor.” “Are you afraid of this weekend, slave?” “Yes, very much so, Mistress.” “Well you should be, slave. She has some devilishly wicked plans for you. You’ll enter a new level of pain and humiliation this weekend, deeper and more depraved than you puny imagination ever imagined. She, too, is aware of how frightened you are of her—because of the mother factor, as you call it. I have shared all your mother tales with her, and that’s all I’ll tell you. “Oh, by the way, I spoke to a Mistress Dominique at a local S&M club I found on-line. She’s quite dominating and talkative. I had to agree to a half hour phone call with her asking question after question about you. Next weekend, on Saturday, you and I are going. Dues are minimal, and she said that there are fifty or so Mistresses and Masters with slaves and that usually around twenty or more show for each meeting. The play begins at eight PM, and we have to be there at six-thirty to meet with her before we gain admittance. Just a formality, she said. They have a slave exchange, public whipping and torture exhibitions, and I let her know how much you lust to be a complete toilet slave. She said she’d be glad to fill your mouth/fantasy. She told me to tell you to come hungry and thirsty, he, he! Is your little dickie hard, slave?”