1 comments/ 3897 views/ 3 favorites Mistress Di By: justincbenedict Di gently stroked Trent's dick with her red nails. "You like that, Trina, you little bitch?" she whispered softly in Trent's ear. "Mama may want you to go suck some dicks for her later worthless little tranny-bitch." She lay next to Trent in her low cut blue velvet embossed chemise and scalloped lace trim. Trent, for his part was wearing pink stockings and high heels, and had binder clips from the office on his nipples and balls. Di supported her blonde head with one hand as she stroked Trent's penis with the other. Trent was lying prone, his hands secured to the bedposts with clothesline, and his ankles tied together as well, so he was for the most part, immobile. "My goodness your hotdog is at the boiling point, Trina baby." Di said, grinning. And it was true. Trent was on the verge of cumming, but was lying very still, hoping that Di would jerk him just a little too long, but she was too smart for that. Di let go of Trent's dick and just began tracing the edge of his bulbous cock head with a lone, crimson-tipped forefinger. Pre-ejaculate streamed out of Trent's glans like a leaking sewer. "Well, I've been locked up for some time in the CB-6000." Trent said, trying not to sound like he was hinting around. Boy, Di had really taken to chastity play, Trent thought, breathing in his nostrils as his wife continued to maddeningly trace little lines on his pulsating schlong with her index finger. "Oh Jesus I'm horny." He had to be careful. Di had made him eat a cake of vile yellow laundry soap the last time he'd used profanity but she was making him so horny! Trent gasped and moaned, and then suddenly Di reached up and twisted Trent's binder-clipped nipple violently, and then returned to her tender ministrations on his cock. Di trailed the finger down Trent's suffering shaft and then back up it, giggling deep in her throat. "Such a nasty little slut, my Trina." Di said lazily. "Remember last month when I had you in full drag, and we walked down Buttermilk Boulevard, and under your skirt you had a fat butt plug strapped in your anus? And electrodes on your balls, and I kept zapping you with my pocket remote, and we ran into your work buddies, Joe Colfax and what's' his name Edgecumbe, and I said you were my girlfriend, and Edgecumbe pinched your ass, what a little whore you were I should have told them who you were and had you suck their dicks, Trina you are just a tramp " Trent gasped and blushed with humiliation, but his dick got even harder Trent knew at heart he was a happy and very lucky man. He'd fallen hard for Di, she was a full lipped and Germanic looking, huge titted blonde with long, sexy legs the works. She was witty and bright, a graduate student in (left wing) Peace Studies conflict resolution. How had that worked out! Just a nice, peaceable girl. Trent had fantasized about Di teasing and denying him and locking him in a chastity device, whipping his bare bottom and having him naked around the house while she was clothed. But at first Di didn't really understand. "I give a great blowjob," she'd protested" Don't you like my blowjobs?" It weirded her out that Trent had just wanted to lick and serve at her pussy, it really did. Trent had tried to explain that yes indeed he did love her oral sex the full lips around his cock, and she was a swallower, but as a submissive, he just didn't think he deserved it. Di had looked at Trent's femdom websites with amusement. "These guys in the French maid outfits are hilarious." But when Di had finally agreed to take Trent's trousers down and whip him with his mother's old wooden spoon, a spark had entered her eyes. And then she'd teased Trent's dick a few times, usually bringing him at the end to a big messy orgasm, with her hand or her mouth. But they'd gone to a PainCafe event (Di, a fairly private person had been fairly reluctant about this) and then had met the Shiveleys., and within about six months Trent had been locked in the CB-6000 chastity belt. And this had been the culmination of his fantasies. But there was a huge difference between jerking off to a story about a husband being locked in a belt for 90 days, with lots of teasing when he was tied up, and the cold reality of the situation. The experience was a tough one. The first time locked in the belt had been so exciting. "Tell me if you want out, babe." Di had said to Trent but he'd loved it. He'd eaten Di out five or ten times a day it was a three day sentence. Di would, after he'd made her cum a few times, tie his hands and unlock the belt and play with his wiener and then lock him back up again whee! And she paraded around in a Merry Widow negligee, and drove him crazy, but at the end of the seventy-two hours she unlocked Trent for the last time and they had crazy sex, fucking and sucking for hours! And that had been at the beach house when they were on vacation and they began doing chastity weekends for a while and then, it had become gradually more Now Trent was brought back to the present as his wife's single finger massage ceased, and she returned to the loose grip on his knob and the top half of his stiff rod, rubbing faster and faster, chuckling as Trent attempted to thrust his hips, pushing his dick into her little white feminine palm and Trent gritted his teeth, trying not to beg! 2:45 pm Diotima Liczenski felt sorry for her poor husband as he tried to argue with her about moving her lover into the house. Trent was so masculine, so competent looking in his mohair sweater so many guy-type roles, a manufacturer's representative. of Imslund Electronics, running back at Buttermilk State U., Gulf War vet, National Guardsman, former FBI agent, County Little League baseball Commissioner, Scoutmaster, coach of the Buttermilk County Boy's Club basketball team, president of the Buttermilk Falls Rotary a rugged, masculine guy. Who would imagine Trent as Trina, chastity-belted, wearing a pink nightie and high heels, sucking Larren's dick, preparing it for hardness to be poked into Di's waiting vagina? "No, I understand I serve him as a submissive, Di, but I just not to live with in the house, honey." Trent looked miserable. "Diotima, please understand." "Where did all this attitude come from, Trent?" Di asked, smiling, with a hint of annoyance. "I thought your work with Master Ballington might have pounded a bit of the testiness out of you, hon." Trent winced, thinking of Master Ballington and his razor-wire whip and the time he'd had to rim Ballington's ass all that shit in his mouth. But Trina was nothing if not a little bitch, right? Trent recalled Ballington's solid oak St. Andrew's cross, his whipping block, bondage bench, mesh cage, blackout cage, suspension hoist and devious restraints with some horror. Diotima's thoughts were more on her first mentor Sondelius, the slave, or submissive who had trained her in the arts of domination "Trent is a macho guy, but he's just as submissive as a bookworm like me, and his training will go well after all, he brought you into the scene, right? So we just need to do a little work on him." Sondelius's wife, Cybel, kept him usually locked in his room when he wasn't out at work. What a good sub he was! Cybel was lucky to have him, and how Di would like it if she could make Trent be so submissive She and Trent had met Sondelius and Cybel Shively at the PainCafé, a BDSM oriented club, hotel and restaurant here in Buttermilk Falls. At that time, Di had been very reluctant to play BDSM games, she thought people who hung out at the PainCafe probably were in dire need of therapy. But she liked Cybel and Sondelius, they were not preppy, athletic types like her and Trent, Sondelius was a law librarian, and his wife worked in a sculpture gallery. But they had a decade of experience in the kinky life and knew what a 24/7 S&M marriage was supposed to be like! 3:15 pm "Trent, I need a man around the house" Diotima said, smiling gently. "You understand. And he would be good for you Larren are a great guy, and he's assisted in your training. This isn't racist, is it? It's not because he's African-American?" Trent's butt still hurt from the morning. At the end of his long teasing session, Diotima had said "Well, time to lock you up so you can make me lunch." But Trent had broken down. She'd looked especially appetizing while she'd teased him, flashing cleavage and panties and she'd kissed him a few times, sexy, sloppy kisses, and her naughty nails had just scraped his poor wee- wee into almost insanity. Usually Trent was able to grin and bear it when it was lock-up time, trying to remember that soon the three months would be up and he could jerk off again but it had been too much this time. Trent's balls were cum-logged, and it was just driving him out of his mind his beautiful wife was fucking Larren Watts, their landscaper their yard man and all she'd do for Trent was give him a little tease sure it had been a fantasy for a long time, but Jesus. He was so horny. "P-please Di, I'm so desperate to cum, it's been forty-two days, honey." And the constant stimulation. All the college girls in the street, and the secretaries and typists at work, had driven him crazy. And, insanely, he'd given a photocopying job to Kysia, the waitress at the PainCafe, and since she knew about his chastity belt, she constantly was sitting on his lap in the office, and making him go down on her as she sat behind his desk Kysia was a gorgeous girl with incredible long curly red hair and jumpin' boobs and it drove him nuts and made him even hornier when he came home! But his pleading eyes had had no effect on Diotima, who had briskly pulled her hand away, saying "You get to cum once every ninety days, and that's it. I'm not going to tease you any more if you have these tantrums when I stop stimulating you. How'd you like to be continually locked up with no cock-bathing or tease breaks for three months straight, my little Trina-whore?" By this time Di had locked Trent's dick back in the CB-6000 (though it had been no easy job stuffing his erection back in the cramped plastic) and then Di untied Trent's ankles. Immediately Trent began kicking his legs rebelliously. "Damn it, Di, it's been too long! I'm really, really horny. Can't we just forget the kinky stuff this time, Diotima I know you won't fuck me anymore, now that you're seeing that black, but couldn't I just jerk off, briefly, please?" Di's eyes narrowed and her brow became thunderous. Trent could tell she was getting angry. "Trina, don't be a crybaby I'm not going to unlock and tease you on Friday if you act like this, and if you keep up the attitude " Trent's mind went back to throwing a fit in the dime store because Mother wouldn't buy him a squirt pistol, and then Mother taking him in the parking lot, baring his buttocks for all to see, and whipping him with her long wooden spoon, that she kept in the handbag. Diotima was getting angry. But for God's sake they were adults he thought he and Di. Trent was so angry. She treated him like a child. Trent was a former Golden Gloves boxer, a tae-kwon-do instructor at the Y, a jock and she made him up like a girl and pushed him around like a child, like Mother had and he wanted it, a part of him, but right now he just wanted to cum! "Di it's not fair, I support you, and now I do all the frigging housework and " Di snapped. "That's it you're getting a stropping." She began untying Trent's wrists from the bedposts. "Roll over and put your hands behind your head. I'll get the razor strop, and your butt will blister for this one." "No, not the strop." Oh Jesus. "Please never mind that." Trent said, terrified. "I'm fine honey. I'm-I'm not horny anymore." He wasn't, he was freaked out now. "You're right. I won't mention it again." But she was implacable. "On your stomach, Trent. Hands behind your head. You're getting twenty for this." "Diotima please no " "Thirty. And if you don't roll over by the time I get back with the strop, thirty-five hard ones." Now Trent was truly alarmed. He had a terror of the strop, which could really cut into his skin. Di was gifted with it, and knew how to make him nearly pass out with the pain. She knew the sensitive area just under his buttocks before the thighs, and could make that tender spot screech with the swishing of the strop it was amazing how much she'd learned in the fifteen months since he'd talked her into that first spanking! Diotima had drawn blood the last time she'd used the strop, and then mocked him his tears, telling him he was a crybaby sissy boy which had been almost worse than the whipping! "I'm really ashamed of myself, honey I was immature. Please let me take you to lunch." Di came back with the strop, tapping it in one manicured hand. "Take me to lunch, will you, Trina? With what?" Trent slumped. It was true all the accounts were in Di's name now and she prohibited Trent from using his corporate Visa cards, even locking them up when he wasn't on business trips. In fact, when he did go away for work, he had to copy an assigned number of dictionary pages in the motel room which kept him from staying out too late and entertaining clients, not to mention the Breathalyzer she'd give him when he returned. "After your stropping and an hour in the corner, balancing Encyclopedia Britannica on your head for balance, you'll make me lunch in the kitchen pasta salad for me and a peanut butter sandwich for you. Now for procrastinating further, you're getting fifty with the strop. Now roll over and put your hands behind your neck!" Sobbing in anticipation, Trent had rolled over, and the whipping had indeed been a vicious one, catching his balls a few times, and Di had had to retie Trent's hands and feet to the bed to get him not to jump off the bed. And then an hour in the corner, before he'd made her lunch. But after lunch and a glass of white wine, Diotima had been in a good mood, and she'd allowed Trent to dress and watch a little football before calling him into the den and telling him that she wanted her lover, Larren, to move in and help with Trent's training! "B-but, honey, I just-it's really hard for me. I was really good, you know, when you wanted me to wear all that stuff and suck Larren's dick that time, and I let him whip me when you ordered it " "Like you could do anything about it sure, Trent, you're a big he-man who works out and plays Rugby every weekend, but let's face it honey, you're a little tranny-boy. You want NEED to be my little bitch, and I don't mind that." Di smiled, and sipped her wine. "But I need a man, too and you really couldn't fuck me that hard before I put you in slavery, as you wanted and now I don't want to fuck a cross dresser. Larren is all man. He's big, and black, and hung, and he's going to be the loving, but disciplinary stepfather you need. Remember how you told me about your mother re-marrying, and how Giancarlo was patient when you were bratty at the wedding, but then he took your little tux pants down when you refused to be ring bearer, and whipped you in front of the other guests and then, even though you cried, you did a good job, honey.!" Trent blushed at the memory. He thought about how Giancarlo had been strict, but loving how he'd made Trent be in by nine when all his friends were staying out till one or two a.m .and how Giancarlo had paddled Trent's bare buttocks in front of the neighborhood girls when he caught Trent smoking a joint in the tree house and how it had made Trent a better man! Top Athlete of the year, National Merit Semi-finalist "I know it's not easy, honey."Di had said, smiling. "Cybel told me that Sondelius was very opposed to her taking lovers, and having them move in, and how she'd gotten a couple of the guys to take Sondelius into the woods for a camping trip, and how he'd been their bitch getting water, making fires, and getting whipped and ass-fucked and skull-fucked until he was very compliant And now Sondelius is in his room all the time, writing sentences over and over again, "I worship Mistress Cybel" and of course he doesn't want to he wants to read and watch television, but he's there for Cybel and her lovers he drinks their pee in the bathroom, and makes them dinner, and gets whipped, and his life has never been better and I want yours to be great, too!" Trent gulped, and knew he'd lost the argument his dick was swelling once again against the chastity device. Mistress Diabolique An Intro Mistress Diabolique settled back comfortably in her sun lounger and allowed the sun's rays to warm her lush, ripe body. Although she had recently entered the "filthy 40s", she had a figure that would have been the envy of a woman 15 or even 20 years her junior. Full, firm, nipple-erect 34DD breasts stood out on her chest, the work of an excellent Harley St plastic surgeon. As one of her clients had remarked "I don't care if they're fake, I wanna slobber all over 'em". Sometimes Americans could be so crude, she thought. Her waist was a slender 24 inches, and her hips blossomed to a superb 34. Her buttocks were firm and high – no cosmetic surgery was required there – and her legs were long and well-shaped. When she stood she measured a lovely 5 foot 8 inches, but in some of her high-heeled stilettos she towered over many a man – or, in her case, slave. Mistress Diabolique had long, light brown hair, so light it was almost blonde. She had matching brown eyes, although they were darker than her head hair. Her minge hair, merely a narrow strip some five inches long which pointed to her steamy snatch, had been shaved away. She did not depilate there, no Brazilian for her. She shaved often, enjoying the erotic feel of hand on razor as it caressed her folds. Her latest slave, the lovely Caleb, an 18-year-old nephew, had oiled her firm body with suntan lotion, his prick rising in the front of his posing pouch as he saluted his mistress. Since his arrival from the capital on his annual visit to his Aunt Debbie – Mistress Diabolique's real name was Debbie Danvers – Caleb had enjoyed the morning ritual of preparing her statuesque figure for her sunbathing. Now, wearing only the small scrap of black PVC which covered his cock and balls but left his athletic young buttocks bare, he was straining and heaving as he pushed the roller back and forth on her superbly-mowed lawn. The sun beating on his near-naked body had produced a sheen of sweat that made his almost-six-foot frame glisten in the light. Mistress Diabolique, her head sheltered from the sun's rays by a large, floppy sun hat, sipped on her fruit cordial. She had been drinking it for an hour and it was having the desired affect. Soon she would need to employ the garment which Caleb had laid across the back of her recliner. But until such time as nature took its remorseless toll and demanded she relieve herself, Mistress Diabolique was content to leaf through her latest domination directory, or "checking out the opposition" as she referred to it. Her own entry in the directory, which was published around the world, was a stunning advertisement. It showed her clad in a figure-hugging black leather brassiere and hot pants, with boots which came to half-way up her glorious thighs. It announced her charges, her specialities and her mobile phone number. And her website. That had been set up by a computer "whizz", who not only was good at creating a website that was the envy of many a professional dominatrix, but was also a devotee of the lash and minge worship. He was also rather wealthy. Mistress Diabolique realised that this last attribute was possibly the most important, now that the site was up and running. Draining the last glass of her cordial, Mistress Diabolique called softly: "Boy!" It was not a snapped call, none of the "In your face" commands that many mistresses use to address their slaves. Mistress Diabolique preferred the more friendly, erotic manner of "gentle persuasion". Caleb stopped his menial, and muscle-aching task of rolling the lawn, and stepped to the side of his aunt's recliner. "You called, aunty?" he said, in an expectant tone. Again, Mistress Diabolique did not require him to address her as "Mistress", "Domina", "Madam" or any other of the more theatrical forms of greeting beloved by so many ladies in the female domination business. And, after all, he was her nephew, she mused. Smiling at the sweating stud, his pubic mound shaved bare of hair, Mistress Diabolique stretched out a hand and traced it over his lovely buns. "Be a darling, Caleb, and fetch me another jug of cordial, there's a pet," she ordered, in a perfectly reasonable voice, even though it was a command. The boy departed, his back gleaming, his muscles rippling, his jet-black hair shining an almost blue sheen as it fell to his muscular shoulders. Great, she thought, it's Sunday and my day of rest. Just perfect for some mild teasing and tormenting. She had been in the domination game – although she preferred to regard it as "the theatre of sex" - for almost 10 years now, ever since she found that many men were only too glad to prostrate themselves at her feet and grovel for indignities to be heaped upon them. Caleb, despite his youth, was simply the latest addition. He had fallen for her charms easily on his latest visit. Mistress Diabolique had left magazines devoted to the arcane art of femdom, scattered around the house and it had been a simple task to "come across" him, seated on a couch, thick, seven-inch, uncut cock in his hand as he perved all over Obey Me, Slave! or Sluts of Sadism, or whatever fanciful name the magazine enjoyed. From there, it had been an easy progression to slavery, a slavery the boy apparently craved. He may have been only 18, she knew, but he had all the perverted desires of a 40-year-old! Soon young Caleb was back, the jug refilled. "A glass please, my dear, and that should be enough to top my bladder up nicely," his aunt smiled, passing him her long glass for replenishment. Caleb gulped slightly. Even though he was a devoted slave to his aunt, he still had to reach the stage where he could drink her urine with complete ease – not that he ever protested, or cavilled at the task, he was too much a pain slut for that. Still, the bitter taste of her water was still punishment for him. "Back to work, darling, I'll call you when I need you to put the panties on me," she said, in a reasonable tone of voice, but one which hinted that her first punishment of the day for him – one could not really count the task of rolling the lawn a "punishment" – was not far off. Mistress Diabolique idly stroked the warm rubber of the piss panties, which Caleb had been instructed to lay across the back of her recliner before beginning his menial chore. Soon, she knew, they would be dragged over her calves and thighs to settle snugly around her middle, while Caleb would take the end of the trailing hose into her mouth and await her bladder's release. Suddenly, Mistress Diabolique sprung into action. All this thinking about it made her desire to perform one of the most exquisite dominations possible on a slave impossible to resist. "Caleb," she called, "come and help me into these panties. Aunty needs to go pee pee." Caleb walked briskly to the back of the recliner and waited for his aunt to plant her feet on the magnificently-manicured swale. Kneeling he bent to his task of pulling the piss panties over her sun-browned legs and thighs, sliding it smoothly up until it formed a tight fit over her pudenda, her pubic mound standing out erotically beneath the rubber. Caleb then took the end of the transparent hose and placed it in his mouth, being careful to "plug" the end with his tongue, as per his aunt-cum-domina's instructions. No slave was permitted to drink down her glorious golden liquid until that permission had been granted. Mistress Diabolique then settled back in the recliner and picked up the domination directory once more. Now she was employing the age-old domination ploy of keeping the slave in suspense. She was ready to let loose the floodgates, but not until she had dragged out his awful anticipation. "Play with yourself, darling," she instructed him, much in a tone one would use to ask "Please pass the pepper". "You know how much I like to see you stroking that lovely stiffy." Caleb reached down to his straining posing pouch and flipped his cock out into the sunlight. Pre-cum oozed from its thick lips, and soon the boy's hand was pumping steadily, having quickly achieved a throbbing, pulsating erection. "Now, this domina from Chicago, Mistress Flame, do you think you'd like her to sit on your face, darling?" she asked, chattily, presenting to Caleb's view a picture of a large-buttocked ebony domina. "Very much, aunty," Caleb whispered, pushing the end of the tubing to one side, "she looks lovely." His aunt laughed. "I bet she's smelly, though," she said, grinning at his sweating face as he worked on his quivering erection. "She's not as lovely as you, aunty," said Caleb, but he could see his aunt was hardly listening. Rising from the recliner, she placed a well-manicured hand on his shoulder, and whispered almost affectionately "Kneel, my pet, kneel!" Caleb sank to his knees and his aunt towered above him, the only contact between them the rubber hose in his mouth which connected to the gleaming gusset of the piss panties. Still he worked at his hard-on as he saw the thick stream of urine descend from the top end of the tubing and rush down to where his tongue blocked its continued progress. "Take a suck, there's a good boy," she whispered, in a husky, excited voice. No matter how many slaves she punished with her urine, Mistress Diabolique never tired of this ultimate form of female domination. Caleb sucked down a mouthful, then blocked the tube again as his aunt resumed her flow. Then she ordered him to drink more. Three more times she commanded him to drink, and then her bladder was relieved. Now came the part that she knew Caleb adored. Peeling down the tight-fitting panties, he let her step daintily out of them. Then she placed her feet a yard apart and in a still-husky voice breathed: "Clean me, Caleb, clean me." The 18-year-old's tongue snaked out and licked at his aunt's aromatic snatch, tasting the traces of urine still there, and also glorying in the strong aroma of female sex. Mistress Diabolique had thick, lush labia lips and he laved there obediently, before rising higher to her bud-like clitoris and sucking on it until she whimpered in ecstasy "Oh yes, that's it, lover boy, that's it!" as she came on his face. Climbing languidly back onto her garden couch, the lovely domme, drained the latest glass of cool cordial and picked up her dominas' directory. "Back to work, sweetheart," she addressed the thick and stiff-pricked sex slave, "I want this lawn to look like you could play pool on it." Caleb, his cock now swinging in front of him over the top of the posing pouch, resumed his task of rolling, rolling, rolling the lawn. Mistress Diabolique smiled to herself as she flicked through the many pages of domination advertisements. Then she fingered her sex slit and realised that she had not completely emptied her bladder of pent-up liquid. Soon, she knew, she would desire another piss. Ah well, that wasn't going to be a problem. It simply meant more drinkies for Caleb. There, she said to herself, never let it be said I don't let my young nephew go without a refreshing drink on a hot day.