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Mr. Bear Ch. 1

By: ladyofthemasque



(Author's Note: This was inspired by a remarkably lucid dream I had. Hope you enjoy it!)

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We were at the fairgrounds for Halloween, having a costume party, all my vanilla friends and I, plus many others I didn't know, a real community thing. Since I was growing tired of presenting myself as equally vanilla, and since it was a costume party and therefore bound to be taken with less shock, I dressed up in my Domina clothes. Knee boots, a short skirt to show off my voluptuous legs, a tight bustier for my ample cleavage, my chestnut hair pulled back into a high ponytail, and a quirt (stiff, thin riding whip) tucked into my belt.

The party was going well enough, located in one of those huge cement-block exhibition pavilions. I decided to visit the ladies' room to freshen up, but when I got there, I saw a bear peeing all over the place. That's right, a bear. A tall, large man in a bear costume, the lower part of the costume unzipped enough to show off his longish penis in one furry paw-glove, peeing on the floor. That (to pardon the pun) really pissed me off.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I demanded. Of course, he turned in astonishment, and splashed my boots with his urine. He stopped peeing, whipping off his bear's head to stare at me, his expression a little shocked. I was now literally as well as figuratively pissed off, and while my first impression was of a mountainous-sized blond guy a good twenty or more inches taller than my 5'5", my second one focused on the necklace he was wearing. It was a band of silver maybe a centimeter wide, with a couple thin silver wires arcing around the band back and forth in modern art randomness; it also vaguely looked like a slave's collar. I know it wasn't one, but my Domina instincts took over, giving my disgust and outrage a defined, controlled, and therefore relatively safe outlet.

Reaching up, I hooked my finger under that collar, and tugged him down to my level. I guess he didn't want it to break, since he resisted only a moment before bending over with a grimace. I also smelled a lot of beer on his breath, so I guess he was drunk. Well, lucky him; here I was, already in the mood to give him a little lesson in sobering up. I gave him a little smile, and purred in my best Domina's-mad-at-her-little-boy voice,

"You are going to clean up every last drop of urine you peed all over our nice, clean cement floor. You see, this is the Ladies' Room," I continued, transferring hold of his collar to my left hand and drawing my quirt with my right, nice and slow so he wouldn't get alarmed. "Now, the Men's Room may smell like urine, and have urine splashed all over the floor, because the men who use it can't aim straight and don't ever care that they're standing on their own filth, and walking on the filth of others, but this is the realm of goddesses, and it is to be *nice*—" SMACK! "—and *clean* smelling—" SMACK! "—and *pleasant*—" SMACK! "—for us to use!"

Each word was emphasized with voice and quirt, applied in an inside backhand shot to the waistband opening of his bear costume. Not my best stroke for power, but he got the idea. I think the first two blows were deflected by the furry costume, especially since I was still looking him in the eyes and not at my target, but the third one, that one dropped him to his knees with a gasp and a protective huddle over his groin. I let go of the collar so he could fall at my feet.

"We are goddesses, Mr. Bear, and must rightfully be worshipped, not defiled." I extended my right boot close to his hunched-over head. "It is obvious to me that you need to learn this lesson. You will now lick my boots and show me your apology for what you have done." He looked up at me in disbelief at that, breathing heavily. I lifted the quirt. "Should I discipline you again? The next time you disobey, I will strip that costume and its padded protection off of you, before I whip you. Lick my urine-soaked boot. Show it how much you are sorry for getting it so foully wet."

He stared up at me, this huge man huddled in a bear costume, no doubt gauging how serious I was. Since my expression was very serious, he finally stooped over and touched his mouth reluctantly to my outstretched boot. He stopped after the first lick, so I flicked the top of his head with the tip of the quirt, a fast, stinging attack. He reared up for a moment, then ducked his head again when I lifted my hand, preparing for another strike.

"I didn't give you permission to stop. Keep kissing it… Good. Now, kiss my left boot in apology, too, since you got urine on it as well." He lifted his head to protest. I tapped his cheek with the tip of my quirt. "I can strike you to sting, or I can strike you to scar. The more you show disobedience, the heavier my blows will become. You have disrespected and desecrated the sanctity of the Ladies' Room, the realm of goddesses of all ages and types. I will not permit this kind of action to continue as a habit, drunken or otherwise. Kiss the boot, and remove your costume, or I will show you the true depths of my displeasure."

My voice never once rose above a murmur. It's not necessary to constantly shout at your subs. In fact, I find it more effective to keep an even, quiet tone with them as much as possible, reserving any real volume or emotional emphasis for when I really need to emphasis a lesson. Keeping the voice low also ensures that they have to strain to hear what you are saying, which guarantees they'll pay attention to your words. He hesitated a long moment, long enough I almost whipped him again, then he bent his head and kissed my left boot. Oh, the thrill of having this complete stranger, who outweighed even plump, curvaceous me by probably a hundred pounds of muscle and bone, obedient to my whim and my will—you Doms and Dominas know what I'm talking about. I tamped down my pleasure; this wasn't about pleasure, after all, but rather, discipline. Punishment. I had to do it in the name of all the other women who might walk in here unsuspecting, and get their shoes soiled with this dirty bear's pee.

He'd had half a minute to worship my other shoe. I tapped him lightly on the head with the tip of the quirt. "That's enough. Now remove your costume."

He sat up and unzipped the front, peeling it off his shoulders, then started to rise to get it off his legs. I tapped him on the head, a little harder than the last time, but not quite enough to sting. Just enough to get his attention.

"I didn't say you could get to your feet. Take it off on your knees."

He paused and stared at me, gauging no doubt how long this game was going to go on, and whether or not he should continue to play. *Tough shit,* I thought at him, knowing he couldn't hear it, but set on my course of action. *You started this by violating our sanctum. You'll learn your lesson yet.*

Something of that thought showed on my face, for he peeled his legs out of the suit and pushed it aside. He knelt before me in a white teeshirt and blue cotton shorts, his penis still exposed at the fly. Without the fake fur in the way, I could see it really was long, proportionate in length to his body, which was over seven feet tall. That penis was semi-erect at best, but definitely not flaccid, arching out just a little from the opening in his shorts.

At that moment, a trio of women walked into the Ladies' Room. They stopped dead at the sight of me in my Domina clothes, and the exposed man kneeling in his underclothes, the bear costume piled at his side. I smiled tightly at them in apology, as the man flushed and hurriedly stuffed himself back in his pants. "He peed all over the floor. I'm just disciplining him for it."

"Eww," said the first one, a blond in a mermaid costume.

"You go, girl!" said the second one, a black woman dressed like Cruella deVille.

"That's pee, on the floor?" the third one, dressed like a cheerleader, asked, wrinkling her nose at the splattered lines of liquid half-soaked into the concrete. "Ugh! If I wanted to smell stale pee, I'd have used the men's room!"

"My sentiments exactly. Have any of you seen a mop around here?" I asked. They all shrugged. "Fine. Mr. Bear, take off your teeshirt. You will use that as your mop, and swab this entire floor with it, or at least until this restroom looks and smells clean again."

"—Fuck this!" he exclaimed, and pushed to his feet to leave. I tossed the quirt at Cruella-girl and leapt at him. My hands hooked around the back of his neck and my boots braced against his thighs. There isn't much a petite-by-comparison lady can do to a man of his size, but the position I grabbed him in threw his weight forward, bowing his head and his back. He tried to grab me to get me off of him, struggling to balance himself and all of my weight, tugging on his neck…and Cruella-girl did exactly what I'd hoped she would. She smacked him three times on the ass, hard and fast. Her technique was amateurish at best, since she laid the middle of the rod on his buttocks from what little I could see, given my position, but the pain and its warning were still there. He yelped, caught doubled-over and held vulnerable by my considerable weight and his need to keep his balance.

"ON YOUR KNEES!" I snarled at him, baring my teeth like a feral cat from only inches away, kicking my legs out and yanking down on his head as I landed on my feet. He stared at me, wide-eyed, then dropped to his knees, aided by the push of my hands on the back of his neck. *Good little drunken asshole.* I let go of his neck as he dropped and held out my hand. Cruella-girl snickered and handed the quirt back. Her girlfriends were a little shocked looking, especially the mermaid one.

"Oh, I've always wanted to do that! Can I stay and watch?" Cruella-girl asked, still giggling.

"If you want." A cop friend of mine had once told me that it's really easy to shame someone who's drunk, and the more I shamed this guy, the better he'd probably learn his lesson.

"Well, *I* don't want to watch! This is disgusting!" Mermaid asserted, and took herself out of the room, clearly offended. Cheerleader lingered a moment, eyeing the half-naked man on his knees, then followed her friend with a sigh.

"…I suppose I ought to follow them, since they're my ride home," Cruella sighed. "But if you need help disciplining this naughty…bear," she giggled, "come looking for me and we'll tie him up proper. Remember, a good kick in the nut-sack will bring him down to our height next time, if he gives you any problems."

"I'll do that. Have a nice time," I wished her as she sauntered out, giving us one last, lingering look before vanishing with another giggle. Turning to the dirty bear, I tapped the tip of the quirt against my knee. "You've been very, very naughty. You need to learn to take your punishment like a man. Take off your shirt. *Now!*"

I accompanied the demand with a hard slap of the quirt's tip against the leather top of my boot, the sound alone making him flinch. He started to strip the teeshirt off over his head, then paused. "I don't want to play this game anymore."

I leaned down and looked him in the eyes. "This isn't a game. You fouled this chamber by pissing all over it, and you will clean it up. Your mess, your responsibility. When it has been cleaned to my satisfaction, you will be free to go. The more you resist, the more you will be punished. Now take off your shirt, get it wet in the sink, and start scrubbing your urine from the floor. The next time you protest, it will be five strokes to your ass—and pull your penis back out of your shorts!" I added, whipping his stomach with the tip of the quirt. "I didn't give you permission to put it back! Since that is the offending organ, it will be displayed the entire time you work. You will have to *earn* the right to cover your shame. Remember, this isn't a game. You have done wrong, and now you must set things right again. If you resist, I will call the police and tell them you flashed me and those other girls, which you technically did. They like to bugger flashers, in jail—you know, anal rape? Pull out your penis and remove your shirt. Your Mistress will not ask you so politely again."

He hesitated a moment, but only a moment, and stripped off his shirt, exposing a heavily muscled, lightly tanned torso. He started to get to his feet, then hesitated again. "…May I get up and walk to the sink…Mistress?"

*Ohh, he's learning. What would it be like to have one this big and strong permanently at my command?* I wondered. What an intoxicating thought. I kept my expression smooth, however. "You will walk on your knees, as punishment for splashing and soiling my boots. Remember that all the urine you track across the floor with your knees will also have to be mopped up. I want this place restored to as sweet-smelling as it used to be."

He gave me a dark look, but waddled over to the sink. Pressing the button twice, he soaked his shirt, then turned and knelt on hands and knees, mopping the floor with the wadded-up cotton. He didn't do too bad a job, either. When he was almost through, two more women entered the restroom, and stopped in their tracks, a cat-woman and a jockey. Both gasped.

"Oh, my god!"

"What the hell is going on, in here?"

"I caught him peeing all over the floor. I'm just making sure he cleans up his mess. You might want to use the restrooms at the far end of the pavilion until this one's usable again," I added, glancing their way. They backed out, shock and disgust on their faces—disgust as much for what I was doing to the man as for what he'd done, it seemed. Ah, the innocence of the vanilla. I was just glad none of the women so far had been among my vanilla friends. I wanted to introduce them to my alternate lifestyle gradually, not all in one go.

Something liquid hit the back of my left boot, splattering against my leather-covered calf. A distinct smell assaulted my nose, warm and pungent. Slowly, I turned around, just in time to see the last of his urine spray petering out. It dribbled out of the tip of his penis, a look of satisfaction crossing the blond man's face.

Apparently Mr. Drunken Bear had decided to rebel. If he was going to get punished for peeing all over the place, clearly he thought he might as well get in a little revenge against me while he was at it. Right? Wrong. I stared at him. He stared back, his little smile faltering as I just continued to stare. Finally I moved. He flinched, expecting me to hit him with the quirt. Instead, I poked the toe of my boot under his teeshirt, and kicked it across the room. It slapped into one of the support-struts for the bathroom stalls and lay there in a damp, dirty heap.

"You will now be whipped for your insolence. And since you not only willfully disobeyed me, you did so by deliberately urinating on my person, it will be fifty strokes, not five. Remove your shorts and underwear," I instructed him coldly, coolly. When he hesitated, I added, "The alternative is that I strike you fifty times in the face. There is no safe word that will make me stop. There is no place you can run that I will not follow. And remember that I have at least one other woman out there who is willing—nay, *eager*--to help me discipline you. So you will take your punishment, and thank me for every single stroke. That is how much you have literally…pissed…me…off."

Apparently he could see just how deadly serious I was, especially in the way I clipped off each of my last three words. Without rising from his knees, he quickly removed his shorts and boxers and dropped them on the pile of his costume. I nodded my head slightly, acknowledging his compliance.

"…You will now assume the punishment position. Failure to comply will result in an extra ten lashes. Get on your knees, with your knees widely spread," I instructed him. He complied, hesitating only a fraction of a second. I nodded again. "Now lock your hands behind your head. Good. Now sit back on your heels, and lean your head back as far as you can go—widen your knees even further, and you'll have the balance to maintain your stance."

He complied. As soon as he was more or less comfortable, I struck, lashing his right nipple. THWAP! He jumped with a grunt. I struck again, same spot, same target, same welt. I struck his other nipple twice, the right one again, the left one…and then stopped.

"You forgot something, slave. You forgot to thank me with each stroke. So we will have to start all over again," I informed him mock-lightly. "Ready?"

THWACK! He gasped as I hit his tenderized nipples. I waited, and waited, and finally he said, "…Thank you, Mistress!"

I hit the same nipple again.

"Thank you, Mistress!" Again. "Thank you, Mistress!" And again. "Ahh!—Thank you, Mistress!"

I hit him about six or seven more times, this time focusing on his left nipple, each time receiving his gratitude—Mr. Urinating Bear could be taught, it seemed—then stopped.

"Hmm…I can't remember how many strokes that was. I'm only going to give you fifty, but I want to make sure you get the full fifty. So we will start over again, and you will keep count for me. You will say, 'Thank you, Mistress, that was one!' and 'Thank you, Mistress, that was two!', and so on and so forth. Failure to comply will add ten more lashes to the total."

"—Do you have to keep hitting my nipples?" he gasped as I started to swing the quirt.

In the fraction of time I had while his words were still registering, I thought about adding twenty lashes for daring to question me. Then I remembered that this was a new slave, possibly experiencing his first whipping, ever. A glance at his crotch showed his penis was decidedly stiffer and thicker than before. The little cowl over the head was beginning to peel back, revealing the mushroom-shaped tip. *He likes this, does he?* Was this the secret behind his urinating on the floor? A bid for attention, however negative? *How wonderful…* I lowered the quirt and smiled. "Is this your first time being disciplined by a Mistress?"

"Yes. …Yes, Mistress," he added as my smile slipped towards a scowl.

"Then understand the rules. You aren't allowed to question your Mistress's authority. You aren't allowed to question your punishments, or how or where they are delivered, unless it is to verify your orders. But since it is your first time, I will be kind, and vary my strokes a little more. Resume the punishment position, or face ten extra lashes."

As soon as he was ready, I struck him on the inside of his right thigh. And waited.

"Uh…thank you, Mistress, that was one," he managed.

I struck the inside of his left thigh.

"Thank you, Mistress, that was two." I smacked the muscles of that near-washboard stomach, hard. He grimaced. "Thank you, Mistress, that was three!" and I smacked his swollen, welted left nipple. "Ahh!! …Thank you, Mistress, that was four!"

He was definitely getting harder. I applied a few slaps to his biceps—oh, he had nice, strong arms and shoulders, must've been a linebacker or something back in high school, and was clearly conscientious about keeping in shape, even now around my own age, thirty or so. I then worked my way down his ribs, focusing more and more on his lower abdomen and inner thighs. By thirty, his penis was as hard as the concrete floor he was kneeling on, hard and red, twitching with each blow. I focused on his thighs, which really seemed to excite him—especially since his rampant shaft was now blocking easy access to his abdomen—and then flicked a sudden, hard slap to the tip of his penis with the quirt.

"AHH!!" Panting, muscles bulging with the effort to maintain his position, he rested a moment, blinked at the ceiling, then gasped, "—Thank you, Mistress, that was thirty-nine!"

A drop of pre-cum had pearled at the tip of his penis. I smacked his thigh twice as hard and fast as I could, as high as I dared, right next to his testicles. His ball sack quivered.


Mr. Bear Ch. 1



"Thank you, Mistress, that was forty—thank you, Mistress that was f—ohhh!" was all he got out in a tight gasp, then his hips shot up off his heels and he started cumming. I yanked myself out of the way, not wanting to soil my costume any further than it already had been, since if my boots couldn't be washed clean and sweet-smelling again, they'd clearly have to be replaced. I moved around to his backside as he ejaculated a second time, and as the third orgasmic spurt shot out across the floor, I started whipping his ass hard and fast. His gasps of pain became cries of pleasure, and I was pretty sure he experienced his first multiple orgasm, too, since he kept shuddering and thrusting wildly with his hips, even as his buttocks turn first pink and welted, then blush-red. Even when the semen was barely dribbling out of its hole, he was still gasping and shuddering with the force of his climax. I finally stopped when I ran the risk of beading those welts with blood, leaving him to droop, shuddering with pain and pleasure…and realized that we had quite an audience, now.

Before, when I'd been facing Mr. Naughty Bear during his lashing, my back had been to the entrance of the Ladies' Room. When I moved around to welt his buttocks, my attention had been on the task at hand, breaking him in to the ways of my world, extending his pain and its pleasure so that he would thoroughly associate one with the other.. Now we both became aware of the crowd of bodies, female *and* male, standing at the doorway. Staring at the tableau the two of us made. Me, half-stooped over, quirt in hand and a nice flush covering my skin at being caught…since there were several of my vanilla friends, female and male, in that doorway with the others…and my drunken new submissive, quickly hunching over his groin, covering it protectively. And maybe covering up his face, and hiding his distinctive height, too. No doubt he had abruptly recognized some friends of his own in the costumed group.

I straightened as smoothly and regally as I could, and gave them a careless, helpless little shrug. "I caught him peeing on the floor in here."

Silence met my statement. Shocked, disgusted, titillated, the whole mix of emotions was visible in the faces of the crowd. One of my vanilla friends, Gabrielle, met my gaze with her own…and grinned, surprising me. I winked back at her. If she could handle this side of me… Well, that left my male vanilla friends, some of whom looked very disgusted. Feeling a giggle welling up inside of me, I couldn't help it; I just had to add,

"This was nothing! You should see what I do to men who leave the toilet seat up at home," I drawled. Most of the men drew back in shock. I gently nudged Mr. Embarrassed Bear with my toe. "Go get your shirt, and finish mopping up the floor." Like a good Domina should when surprised by an unplanned audience, I stepped around him, placing myself firmly between him and the audience, giving him my tacit protection. No one was going to get to him, without going through me. Quirt in one hand, the other making shooing motions, I addressed them with a kindly smile. "Nothing more to see here, folks. Move along, move along. The bathroom will be ready for use in another ten minutes or so, ladies only. And I do mean Ladies *Only*," I added darkly, reminding the men of what they had seen. "Move along, Happy Halloween, nothing to see, here…"

A few pointed, hard looks got the last of the stragglers to leave. I couldn't tell how far they went, since the approach to the Ladies' Room had some turns in it, so they were possibly just out of sight but still within hearing distance. That was good enough for me, though. That was the other reason why I liked to speak low and quiet to my subs, to keep the neighbors from overhearing. Returning to Mr. Bear, I watched him scrub the floor on his hands and knees, mopping up his own cum stains as well as the urine he had splashed around earlier. I waited until he had waddled on his knees to the sink, rinsed out the shirt, then waddled back to scrub at the next patch of stained concrete before crouching near and addressing him.

"So," I murmured. "Aside from the unexpected audience, what did you think of your first whipping? It looked as if you really liked it. Did you, indeed?"

He glanced up at me with those wide green eyes—he really was very handsome, as well as very big and very strong—and blushed. "…Yes, Mistress. Even the…uh…audience part. I've never cum so hard!"

"Oh, so you like pain and humiliation both? Would you like another taste of what I can do to you, at some other point in the future?" I drawled lightly. "Because it can be that good, and better yet, again and again." And nearly climaxed myself with the thrill of my own power as he abandoned his grungy teeshirt and crawled quickly to my feet, fervently kissing my dirtied boots. Reaching down, I fisted my fingers in his hair, pulling his head up. As he gave me a devoted look, I tucked the quirt into my belt, checked the doorway to make sure it was still empty, and reached under my skirt with my free hand. Pulling my panties aside, I flashed him my cunt. "Here's your reward for being a good boy. Lick me until I cum. And be quick about it."

"Yes, Mistress!" And like the trained bear he was becoming, his tongue danced all over my pussy lips, his fingers holding my panties aside in his enthusiasm to obey. *Damn, he's talented!* Between the skill of his tongue, his hungry enthusiasm, and my own excitement at having such a big, strong, willing slave whipped, humiliated, ejaculated, and halfway trained all in one session, I came almost as hard as he did. Finally, I had to push him away, or risk falling to the half-cleaned floor. Readjusting my clothes, I watched him licking his lips, one of those large hands wrapped around his meat, fisting his hardening shaft slowly.

I pulled out the quirt and tucked the tip under his chin. "That is *my* penis, and I have not given you permission to play with it." For a moment, he looked like he would protest. I poked him a little harder under the chin. "It is most definitely mine; all of our friends saw me claiming my possession. Now, I'm going to give you two lashes to it, to remind you who it belongs to, and then you're going to finish cleaning up this floor, put everything but the teeshirt back on—it's too dirty now to risk soiling such nice skin—and you're going to take my card and call me in two days, after you've sobered up and you've had a good, long think about how good it can be, between us. Once you get home you can touch yourself all you like, but I command you to not cum. If you do, you will have to tell me, and you will get another whipping. And don't forget how to properly count the strokes, between now and then."

SMACK!

"Ahh!—Thank you, Mistress, that was one…" SMACK! "—Aaahaahhh…thank you, Mistress, that was two."

His penis was now hard as a rock again. Tucking the quirt back into my belt, I stooped and kissed him on the lips, enjoying the taste of my own pleasure on his mouth. Goddess, he turned me on! I pulled back and smiled at him. "What's your name?"

"Craig. Craig McCracken, Mistress," he clarified.

"Nice to meet you, Craig. I'm Diana Masque…but you will call me Mistress, and I will call you Mr. Bear. Remember what I have taught you, and imagine what else you can learn. Oh, and remember that I still owe you ten lashes from today's punishment, which I will be happy to administer when we meet again. Now finish the floor, get dressed, and have a Happy Halloween."

"Yes, Mistress—thank you, Mistress!" he added, nuzzling my stomach in gratitude as I straightened up. I stroked his fine, blond hair, letting him know I cared. It would be up to him, now, if we saw each other again. Punishment for pissing all over the Ladies' Room floor in a drunken fit of stupidity aside, all my encounters were consensual. It's such a kick, knowing that these men willingly subdue themselves for me, submit themselves to me, and serve and worship me as the goddess I am.

Happy Halloween, indeed. What a trick, and a treat! 



Mr. Bear Ch. 2



It was three weeks, not two days, before I heard from him again. In fact, I'd given up on the guy as anything but a fantasy to cum to when I was alone in bed, so when I picked up the phone one evening after a typical solitary dinner, I didn't recognize the voice at first.

"Hello?"

"Is this, uh...Diana Masque?" I heard someone male on the other end ask hesitantly.

"This is she. Who's speaking, and what's your business?" I asked coolly. I never cared for phone solicitors. If I wanted any of the services they were offering, I'd open up a phone book; that's what they were there for, after all.

"This is, uh... That is to say...um..."

"Spit it out," I ordered the caller, getting impatient and letting it show in my tone. One of my favorite television shows was about to start in fifteen minutes, and I didn't want to miss it.

"—It's Mr. Bear," he finally managed. I blinked, mind blank for a few moments. Then remembered.

"Ahh, Mr. Bear. And how are you this evening, Mr. Bear?" I drawled sweetly, trying to remember his real name. Craig Something. Craig Cracken—no, no, McCracken, that was it.

"I, uh...oh, geeze, I can't believe I'm actually doing this," he muttered, and I heard what sounded like him taking the phone away from his ear on his end of things.

"Don't go!" I called out to him. He came back; I could hear his unsteady breathing, and offered the first thing that came to my mind. "You've obviously thought long and hard about calling me," I stated smoothly. "It's natural for you to be having second thoughts. The pleasure you had was not the normal kind; it was extreme, and intense, and came at the expense of your pride. I'll even bet that if you had any friends in that crowd at the end, they teased you horribly about it."

"...Yeah, they did." A pause on the line, then he asked. "Did you...?"

"Have any friends there who teased me about later?" I finished for him. "Of course. Certainly a number of my male vanilla friends have been avoiding or looking down at me. But I like to think of it this way. I like what I do, and the people I do it to like what I do, and it's all consensual, so it's none of their business. I don't pry into their own sex lives, and I don't make judgments or look down on them because their lives are strictly vanilla, and in my opinion boring by comparison. It's just the way they like it, and the way they prefer to be. Boring, plain vanilla."

"I see. Do you, uh...ever like it vanilla?" he asked me. "'Cause I did some reading on the internet, and they didn't seem to, ah..."

"Each Dom or Domina is different, just as each sub is different," I reassured him gently. "We're all individuals, each of us with our own likes and dislikes. I myself can't abide the thought of scatophagia, so I never do a scene involving it."

"Scato-what?"

"Shit-eating," I stated bluntly, plainly. "Urine isn't too bad; I can tolerate the smell of it for a little while, but the thought of scatophagia itself makes me gag. Even if I'm not literally the one doing the eating. I'm sure there are things you would never in a million years do or allow someone to do to you. A good Domina would learn these boundaries, respect them, and work around them." I laughed softly and corrected myself. "Of course, there are those that say a *great* Domina will lead you up to that boundary and teach you to take yourself across it willingly, but I'm comfortable with having a few boundaries of my own, so it would be hypocritical of me to deny you a few."

"Oh, I think I'd have a lot of boundaries," Mr. Bear muttered.

"We all do, at first. You think I became a Domina overnight? It's never a sudden process. There's the first exposure, usually in books, magazines, movies or other forms of entertainment or literature. The first sense of repulsion, then later, the fascination. The first masturbation, as you read or watch a Domination/submission scene, maybe with a little sado-masochism thrown in. You wonder how badly clothespins really do hurt, or what burning hot wax feels like on the skin. You might even get a candle and do a little self-experimenting, and if the sensation isn't unpleasant, you might try it again later. Little things like that, Mr. Bear. Baby steps, for the curious. And you are curious, aren't you?" I prompted him. "You had an incredible orgasm, last time, but you were drunk, and surely not entirely responsible for your reactions, right?"

"Well, uh...yeah," he admitted huskily in my ear.

"And so you're wondering if that incredibly intense orgasm was just the product of your drunken imagination, aren't you?"

"Yeah..."

"And, though you'd never think yourself the kind of man who'd submit himself to a woman in a million years, your penis still stirs a little at the thought of it having been for real. All of it, the pain, the pleasure, the humiliation, the being yanked outside of your normal self into a strange place that's frightening and incredibly exhilarating all at the same time," I murmured into the phone. "All as your cock gets harder and harder, remembering how it felt. You can touch the skin where the welts used to be, you can stroke your cock, and beat your meat to the memory, but it's not as intense, and it never will be that way again...unless..."

"Oh, yeah..."

At that husky-sounding admission, I was pretty sure he was stroking himself. My semi-vanilla friends (the ones with the dirty minds, but not enough courage to ever really try non-vanilla) had always claimed I had a great voice for phone sex. Physically, I wasn't much to look at, maybe a 6 on a scale of 10 on a good day...but great sex isn't about looking good; it's about making yourself and your partner *feel* good. That, I could handle right along with the best of them.

"Have you got your penis in your hand?" I purred softly into the phone.

"—Uh...uh, sort of," he admitted. "It's...I'm still wearing my pants."

"Where are you, at home?" I asked him lightly.

"Yeah, in the kitchen. I, um, was putting the dishes away, and saw your card, and..."

"And called," I agreed, nodding though he couldn't see it. "You made the right decision, Mr. Bear. I want you to hold the phone with one hand, and rub the other over your meat, through the front of your pants. Do it."

I thought I heard the sound of flesh over cloth, but couldn't quite tell.

"Are you rubbing yourself?" I asked him.

"Yes..."

I deepened my voice a little. "Is that how you address your Mistress, even over the phone?"

"No, Mistress; I'm sorry, Mistress."

"That's my good little bear. Rub yourself through your trousers," I ordered him. "First side to side...that's it...then in a little circle, a little harder than that....now long strokes up and down your shaft. Bring your hand down to your balls, and squeeze them gently...that's it," I encouraged him as he moaned softly. "Now drag the nail of your thumb all the way up to the tip, and take your hand away."

"Wh-why?" he asked, breathing heavily.

"Are you questioning your Mistress?" I asked him coldly. Deliberately reminding him of the 'no questioning' rule from our last encounter.

"—Sorry, Mistress. Can I touch myself again, Mistress?" he asked me.

Pleased, I smiled, and reached for pen and paper. "No, you may not. Are you alone in your house?"

"Yeah, I kicked my girlfriend out two weeks ago."

"Let me guess, she wasn't satisfying you anymore?" I asked sympathetically. Once one went off the vanilla path, it was sometimes hard to go back.

A sarcastic laugh, short and hard, came through the receiver. "She certainly wasn't satisfying *me*. She was screwing someone else behind my back, and then said I couldn't complain, since you'd made me cum in front of some of our friends, who told her about it. I told her it wasn't the same thing, you barely even touched me, but she said she wasn't going to sleep with a...with a freak."

"Sounds like she has a real attitude problem."

"Yeah, the kind where a little discipline wouldn't hurt," he muttered darkly, and I had to smother a laugh.

"Are you having daydreams of dominancy over her?" I asked him sweetly.

"Oh, yeah. 'Cept she's gone for good, and good riddance. If she ever comes back, I'd like to borrow that whip-thing of yours for an hour or two, but I'm not gonna ask her back."

"Well, if she does, we'll have to see if you're ready to take on the role of a Dominant, and if there's a way we could convince her to try being submissive. You must first learn how sweet it is to be a submissive, yourself. So, since you're all alone in your home...we'll just have to find a way to fill the void in your private life for now, won't we?" I drawled, and readied pen and paper. "Give me directions to your home, there's a good little bear."

"What? I, uh..."

"Give me the directions to your home," I repeated more firmly. When he hesitated again, I lowered the phone to the counter and whacked the pad of paper flat against the surface. SMACK! Lifting the receiver to my ear, I heard what sounded like a whimper. "If you want to touch your hard, hot, throbbing cock, and feel it burning with pain and desire, exploding with an orgasm so big, your eyes will roll back in your head like a zombie's...give me the directions to your house."

He gave them to me, his voice sounding almost dazed as he did so. I nearly swore out loud when he gave the address first, barely listening as he recited the unnecessary directions. He was literally less than fifteen blocks away from where I lived—hell, I could have *walked* to his house, if I'd wanted to! And I never knew.

All this time, I never knew my ideal sub lived so fucking close... Well, that was what the tractless wastes of suburbia did to people; no one ever got to know more than their absolute nearest neighbors, if they were lucky. I didn't let any of that show in my voice, however.

"Hm. It'll take me about forty-five minutes to arrive. In the meantime, what I want you to do is to clean up your entryway, livingroom, hallway, bathroom, and bedroom, in preparation for my arrival. In fact, any room I can see from those locations must either be closed off if it is dirty, or clean enough to not disgust your Mistress with slovely, bachelor-style housekeeping methods. In other words, the air should be sweet-smelling, the floor and furnishings clean...and the toilet seat should definitely be down."

"I remember," he murmured in my ear, sounding like he was getting off at the memory. "You said they should see what you do to men who forget."

"—Are you touching yourself?" I asked him sharply.

"Uh—no, Mistress!" he quickly denied.

"I think you are. That will be ten lashes for disobeying me," I informed him, then added, "plus the ten I still owe you from Halloween. So when I arrive, your front door will be unlocked, and you will be kneeling in the punishment position not far from that front door, naked and ready for me. Your home is in one of those newer developments, in the Ashbury Heights lot? It's not a tiny split level, correct?"

"Correct, uh, Mistress. There's a broad tile entryway in front of the door for about ten feet, then carpeting. Um, where do you want me to kneel, Mistress?" he asked hesitantly.

"On the carpeting, this time. I might change my mind later on, but for now, every time I call and say I am coming over, you will meet me in the punishment position on the carpeting just beyond the entryway. No need to bruise your knees excessively if you haven't earned it as a punishment," I added.

"Thank you, Mistress."

"Forty-five minutes, Mr. Bear," I reminded him. "But unlock the door right now. I might arrive early. And you may *not* touch yourself, until I give you permission to. Failure to comply will add ten more lashes to the twenty already awaiting you. And while we're at it, you are *not* allowed to have a drink of anything alcoholic until after I am done with you. Just so you'll know how much more intense the pleasure can be when you're perfectly sober and capable of remembering it in every last, exquisite detail."

"Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress," he added quietly, sounding sincere.

Oh, what a treat this one was going to be!

I hung up the phone, grinned down at the address and its directions, licked my lips, and pushed away from the counter. Dancing a happy little jig—how he'd starred in some of my personal fantasies, the last few weeks—I headed for the bathroom. First a shower, a little shaving here and there to tidy myself up, then maybe some makeup, a tiny spritz of perfume, something suitable from my Domina closet to help set the mood, and then the ultimate decision, what to bring from among my selection of 'toys'. My heart beat fast in my chest. I was lucky I remembered to stop by the VCR and program it to record the show I was about to miss.

It didn't take me long to get ready. I was good at fast turnarounds. By day, I worked as a dentist's receptionist, working only four days a week, but with a very good salary. In the evenings, well, I had an active social life. Vanilla friends, not-so-vanilla subs... Some of my vanilla friends were avoiding me at the moment, and two of my three subs had just been released from my care. One into the full-time care of a fellow Domina as her slave/assistant, the other because of a death in his family, and the need to go back to his hometown and help manage things in his family's time of grief. That left me with Cho to fill my evenings, an Asian man who liked being treated as furniture for a heavy but curvaceous woman like me. There was only so much of that a girl could take, however, before it got boring, so I'd taken to using him as furniture while disciplining one of the other two subs, adding to his discomfort and humiliation levels, something which he'd liked immensely. Heck, he'd been proud to serve as my chair or footstool in the presence of the other two, the only one allowed to do so.

That particular option wasn't available at the moment, however. So, as I smoothed stockings up my newly shaven legs, I fantasized what it would be like to discipline my brand-new Mr. Bear while sitting on Cho's back. I'd have to introduce the idea slowly to Mr. Bear, though; I had no idea how much he could stand on a first or even a second D/s date. Which reminded me; as I wrapped my overcoat over my Domina outfit for the evening and picked up my picnic basket of toys, I double-checked to make sure my notebook was in there. It was a trick I'd picked up from a vanilla friend, actually. She carried a notebook everywhere with her, so she could always jot down a note or an idea about something, helping to keep her busy life organized. Not an actual day-organizer; I loathed the things, especially since I worked all day with a huge desk-sized one behind the dentist's reception counter. They were fine for life in an office, dentist's or otherwise, but not for my personal life. I liked a little more spontaneity than that, thank you very much.

Getting in my car, I checked the clock. Half an hour. I drove the five blocks, parked out on the street, checked my lipstick and eyeliner in the mirror, then checked out the house. One of those sprawling three-story suckers, the kind that upwardly mobile couples moved into when they thought of having the 'perfect family', and living in the perfect condo just wouldn't cut it size-wise anymore. Mine was small and cute by comparison, a 'modern saltbox' with faux gingerbread trim; this was large, with angled bits and broad dormer windows, a three-car garage and a rounded archway supporting the roof of the covered porch.

Mr. Bear had quite a bit of money to spend, if he was living here alone, with no girlfriend in the picture anymore. Funny how it was often the ones with power and responsibility in the vanilla halves of their lives that craved submissive experiences. Not always the case, but a good percentage of the time.

With ten minutes to go, I opened the car door, pulled out the picnic basket with a black-gloved hand, locked my vehicle, and headed for the front steps. The house was set at the back righthand end of a large curve in the road, with a wooded ravine behind it, and high privacy fencing to either side. Plenty of lawn space to either side, too, compared to the too-cramped, cheek-and-jowl housing of some other developments I'd seen; the land he owned had to be an acre, maybe an acre and a half, with plenty of trees and hedges to give it an illusion of privacy from its neighbors. How I wished I could afford a house like this, on a receptionist's salary! Walking up the path, which was lit by those clever, low garden lights on either side, I mounted the steps and opened the front door. And nearly sighed aloud with pleasure, as I spotted all seven feet of my latest conquest kneeling naked on the silvery-grey carpet, within an inch of the darker gray, slate tiles lining the hall around the front door.

Shutting the door behind me, I turned and locked it. It was one thing for *me* to walk in the front door unannounced; I was invited. It wouldn't do for anyone else to walk in on us unexpectedly. He'd been drunk, the last time, and both of us caught unawares—shame on me, I know... Sober, there was no telling just how much lower his humilation tolerance threshold could be.

Without acknowledging his presence beyond that first look, I set the picnic basket down by the door, then strode past him into his house. My low suede pumps clacked over the tiles, then scrunched softly on the carpet. The pile wasn't overly long, but it was thick enough to be springy, which made me decide to limit how much time I spent moving around on the carpeting, since these heels were an older, almost spike-heeled style that threatened to wobble on such giving ground. A tour of the house was necessary first, however. I spotted the immaculate living room off to my right and nodded to myself. *Cleaning service; he's got to have a cleaning service, to keep his home this neat and tidy.* It was the rare man, in my experience, who kept his home looking this good by his own free-willed efforts. No wonder he was ready and waiting ten minutes before my arrival.

"Uh...Mistress?" I heard his voice calling out to me from the entryway. "Should I follow you? Just wanting to clarify my instructions, that's all!"

"Stay right there for now, Mr. Bear. I'll come back to you," I called back, reassuring him. Pleased he'd remembered he could ask me a question, if it was to clarify his instructions. I'd have to give him something special for that. Which meant I had to find a good place for us to play in. The living room wouldn't do. Well, I suppose it would, later, but only when he'd learned to control himself. Cumstains on that beautiful carpet, or that butter-soft leather sofa, wouldn't be easy to get out.

I gave myself a quick tour of the house, poking my head into every room that had a door standing open. Later, I'd probably get to see the rest of the house, but sticking to those rooms that were open or had been left open was designed to give him a sense of control over his level of privacy. Mounting the stairs, I found the master bedroom at the back of the house, mainly because it was the only door on the second floor standing open. Wide open spaces, a large, carved, cherrywood four-poster bed covered in a white eyelet-lace comforter—a bit of a surprise, but probably left over from the ex-girlfriend's taste—and a little entertainment nook, replete with a loveseat and a widescreen t.v. set. The bathroom was fascinating; most of it was another nook, opposite the entertainment corner, with a large walk-in closet set between the two.

It was also tiled in white squares interspersed with cobalt blue diamonds, with a broad two-sink counter, one of those silly little toilet closets, a shower stall made out of those glass-cube things that ws big and tall enough enough for Mr. Bear and two nubile blonds to play around in—replete with two handheld shower units, no less, one mounted low and one mounted high and both with the dialing heads that allowed thin sprays or throbbing massages—a dual-sink counter with a vast vanity mirror, and a large whirlpool bathtub done in cobalt blue porcelain, built into the corner of the nook with one side against the walk-in closet wall, looking out over the backyard through a stained-glass window. The only thing this particular part of the house lacked was rings for chains mounted securely into the walls. The posters on the bed, those would do, but right now, I wanted him on the tiles in that open-air bathroom nook.




Mr. Bear Ch. 2



Heading back downstairs, I returned to the foyer, clacked onto the slate tiles, swung around smoothly, and stopped in front of my new sub. Mr. Bear wasn't leaning back all the way, though he did at least have his hands behind his neck as he stared at me, waiting for me to acknowledge his good behavior. His penis, I noted, was just as erect as it had been when I'd walked through the door. I wondered idly if he'd obeyed me and refrained from touching it between his phone call and now. Setting that thought aside, I 'made a leg'. That meant putting my weight on my left leg and posing the right one, slightly bent and ultra-shapely, in front of the other, toe pointed at Mr. Bear.

"Greet your Mistress," I instructed him lightly. He broke his position after a moment's blankness, guessing correctly that he was to kiss my dainty black suede shoe. Bending over, hands braced on the floor, he kissed the tip, hesitated, then kissed it again. Then kissed the top of my foot, through the sheer material of my white stocking. Straight black was boring, expected. Sometimes expected was good, or at least what the sub wanted, and sometimes it was good to indulge one's subs with a touch of traditionalism, but I always thought a truly spectacular Domina could be effective clad in baggy shorts, a sloppy, ageworn teeshirt, and flipflops, the foam-based, toe-wedged footwear people wore to the beach. Especially the flipflops, since the sound of them smacking the bottom of a bare foot was highly reminiscent of the sound of a paddle lightly striking a sub's buttocks. At least, to me, it was evocative of paddling someone.

Pulling my foot away, I extended the other one just so it wouldn't be jealous of the first. He did a good job of worshipping that one, too. I let him kiss and stroke it for a few moments more, then pulled it back.

"Enough. Resume the position."

Righting himself, he sat back on his heels, knees shifting a little wider and muscular arms lacing behind his back. One of these days, I had to find out why he'd kept himself in such great physical shape. Time enough for more personal information later, though. Turning to the door, I looked down at the picnic basket. And noticed it wasn't in the exact same position I'd placed it in upon entering. Since I distinctly remembered setting it down only an inch from the edge of the front door, and here it was, a good two inches to the side, I crouched and lifted the lid. The neat, orderly array of toys hadn't been disturbed, but my notebook had been shoved a little further back, revealing some of those toys. I would have to do something about that.

Straightening, I drew off my black leather driving gloves and stuffed them into their respective pockets, then unbuttoned my kneelength coat and removed it. The gasp from behind me showed it was worth the effort. I wasn't the world's prettiest woman, but I was voluptuous, and I had squeezed my overripe body into a royal blue merry-widow corset with matching crotchless panties and a full-cut miniskirt, sort of like a French maid's skirt, top and bottom edged in vertical stripes of delicate white lace.

That wasn't all; more exotic lingerie covered my legs in white, lace-topped stockings and my arms in elbow-length white lace gloves, both sets with seams down their backs. I was quite a sight, even from the back. Since there was a coat-rack by the front door, I hung my overcoat on it, taking a few moments in profile to my bear to twitch its folds straight. That gave him a great view of how much I overflowed the demi-cups , which was to say quite a lot. Voluptuous, as I said.

Stooping, knees together in that way ladies are supposed to stoop, I picked up the picnic basket and tucked it over my arm, then turned neatly and faced my sub. His hands were barely laced behind his head, his body slouched, and his penis rampant as he stared at my unconventional Domina attire. I'd even tied my hair back from my face with a scrap of royal blue ribbon, tied in a cute little bow just behind one temple. I let him devour my appearance from head to foot for several seconds, then closed the distance between us with three slow, measured steps, stopped, and bent over. Giving him a generous eyeful of cleavage.

"Looks like a very naughty bear got into my picnic basket while I wasn't here...."

He licked his lips and smiled slightly, gaze fixated on my chest. "Well, you know us bears; we love them pick-in-ick baskets..."

*Clever boy,* I thought, and was tempted to praise him for his sense of humor. But he'd moved from his punishment position when I'd told him not to. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you ten extra lashes, for moving when I told you not to. But since you were so curious about the contents of my picnic basket, I'll be kind and share some of them with you."

"Yes, please, Mistress," he murmured, and I resisted the urge to show him how much I loved his compliance—what a sub he was turning out to be! I felt like Goldilocks, finding the porridge, chair, and bed that were all 'just right'. Nevermind that he was Papa-Bear sized, not Baby-Bear, and just as correspondingly hard.

"Hold out your hands, Mr. Bear," I instructed him, and he complied. Setting the basket in them, I directed him to hold it up a little higher, a little more, then opened the lid when it was past his field of view, and dug into its contents. When I had what I wanted, I closed the lid, then lifted it out of his hands and set it on the floor. "I'm a fair Mistress; I'm going to give you a chance to back away from all of this," I told him gently. "You see, I'm about to put this collar and leash on you, and once I do, I will begin to train you. Once you are collared and leashed, Mr. Bear, you will learn to dance to my tune. As your Mistress, I will do my best to ensure that you like it, or at least will like the end result. This is all about playing with each other consentually. Do you consent?"

Again, he licked his lips, then looked up at me. "What about at Halloween? You treated me like I didn't have a choice. You said you'd hunt me down, if I didn't agree."

"You peed all over the floor of the Ladies' Room," I reminded him dryly, coolly. "That was punishment, not pleasure. That you found pleasure in it only proves you were meant for this life, and that you will find great enjoyment in sublimating your many desires to my will. I will ensure that, but only if you consent here and now." Reaching out, I stroked his cheek gently with the edge of the leash in my hand. His eyes slid shut. *What a sensual man. His last girlfriend must've been a fucking idiot...* I smiled softly. "Do you consent to be my sub, Craig McCracken?"

Those wonderful green eyes opened, and showed me compliance and trust. "I do."

I think I fell just a little bit in love with him, right there, right then. "Then I consent to be your Domina." Slipping the collar around his throat, I buckled it in place, careful to keep from tightening it too much. A good two finger's width of looseness was usually best for the first time, as it kept the new sub from panicking too much, but his neck was so big, I only managed to give him a single finger's width of looseness. Clipping the lead onto the D-ring at the front, I smiled down at him. "You're doing very good, Mr. Bear. Now, since you like picnic baskets so much, you may stand up and carry my picnic basket for me."

He did so, unfolding his long, muscular body, until he towered over me on his feet. I didn't let him see any sign of apprehension at his greater size and height, and I didn't really feel any, save for that slight twinge all large men gave average-sized women when they made them feel positively petite. Of course, being petite in comparison, yet literally holding the reins in this relationship, was a thrill all of its own. When he bent and picked up the basket, I gave his leash a little tug and headed for the stairs.

"Where are we going, Mistress?" he asked me, hope in his voice. "To the bedroom?"

"To the bathroom, in the bedroom. Our first meeting, you peed all over the place. I'm afraid you'll have to stick to tile floors until I know you've been properly house-trained. Now, given it is a Tuesday night...what time do you have to be at work in the morning?" I asked him, reaching the stairs and starting up.

"Nine, Mistress, though I don't absolutely have to go in to work, if I don't want to," he added. When I glanced back, he explained a little more. "I own the Mr. Mighty Fitness Gym chain."

I knew that chain. I'd never gone to it myself, but Cho did; he liked to keep himself strong enough to support his plump goddess. "Five stores, right?"

"That's right. Are you a member?" he asked as we reached the top of the stairs.

I couldn't lie to him. I prided myself on my honesty with my subs. "No, but my other sub is."

He stopped, making the leash jerk a little in my hand. Turning around, I found him frowning down at me. "I don't want to share you with anyone. I threw out my last girlfriend because of that."

There were several responses I could've made to that arrogance. That, as the dominant in this relationship, it was my prerogative to have as many subs as I wanted and could handle. That as he was still rather vanilla to this lifestyle, he had no clue how good it felt for the subs to know they were not alone in their sufferings. That, as he had given his consent to whatever I wanted to do, he had no grounds on which to stage a protest. But as I wanted him, and as he was new to the D/s life, and as it was only Cho, I gave him a much kinder reply.

"It's not a sexual relationship." When one his brows rose in skeptical doubt, I shrugged. "Cho likes being treated like furniture. He rests on his hands and knees, and I sit on his back. Or he'll sit on a chair or a stool, and I'll sit on his lap—and I'm almost always clothed when I do that. There's no intercourse, no fondling, and no oral sex. Just me treating him like a piece of furniture, and him loving it. I'm not even attracted to him. In fact, I find it a little boring, so I usually spice things up by using him as furniture when I'm playing around with others."

"Others?" he asked, that talented brow rising again. "What others?"

"There used to be two more, but one had a death in the family and quit, and the other picked a different Mistress and moved in with her. Aside from Cho, I've been a free agent for the past month and a half. Which is longer than you can account for," I added tartly. "Now, if you want an exclusive sexual relationship, I might consent to that, in exchange for a few concessions of my own. But Cho is not sexual. He is a footstool," I explained patiently. "A table. A chair. An ottoman. If I could brown bread between his buttcheeks, I could call him a toaster. Hell, I sometimes have him come over to my house just so I can use him as a t.v. tray stand, replete with microwaved dinner and a couple hours of sitcom shows, all while I'm ignoring him like I'd ignore a t.v. tray, and he loves it! But that is *all* it is, and that's exactly the way how he and I both like it."

"He *likes* being a piece of furniture for you?" he asked me, trying to comprehend the idea. "Just a piece of furniture? No orgasms, no anything?"

I shrugged. "Even for the non-vanilla crowd, he's a little weird, I know, but that's exactly what he wants, so that's exactly what he gets."

"What do *you* get out of it?" Mr. Bear asked me, still frowning in confusion. "If he's not getting you off, why do you do it?"

"Anime, manga, and hentai," I answered succinctly. At his puzzled look, I explained. "I'm a sucker for Japanese cartoons and comic books. Anime is Japanese cartoons and movies, like the old Rocket Boy cartoons, modern Pokemon, and animated films like *The Ghost in the Machine*. Manga are the comic-books...though they're much more like graphic novels, since they're aimed at the adult market even more often than at the kids," I added. "And lastly, hentai is, well...dirty comic books. Erotic art. That sort of thing. Cho has his cousin in Tokyo mail me the anime and such that I want, in exchange for my giving him what he wants."

"Being treated like a piece of furniture," he repeated, finally getting the idea.

"Exactly. No sex, just a lot of sitting around. You, on the other hand, are clearly interested in having sex with me," I stated, glancing pointedly down at his turgid penis. I looked back up at his eyes. "Do you want me to be sexually monogamous to you?"

"Yes. Please, Mistress," he added as I flicked the leash just a little, reminding him of its presence.

"Sexual monogamy comes at a very high price. If you're the only man giving and receiving satisfaction in my life, I will have to push your personal boundaries as far as they can go, and that just might be beyond what you think you can tolerate. Do you consent? Or do I get to have other lovers? Think very carefully, for if you consent, you will be agreeing to fulfil *ALL* of my needs," I stressed. "There will be no turning back, though I will do you the courtesy of introducing you slowly to my way of life, allowing you time to grow accustomed, and adjust."

He stood there and thought about it for a long time. Finally, he nodded, spearing secret pleasure straight through my body from head to toe. "I consent...but I want the full deal. None of this treating *me* like a piece of sexless furniture."

"Very well, Mr. Bear. I will be sexually monogamous to you, for as long as you like, and I will not treat you like a sexless piece of furniture," I agreed, doing my best to hide my amusement, and my triumph. "But I *will* demand more of you, and from you, in exchange for limiting my talents just to your body alone. However delectable. And at some point in the future, I may have Cho come by and provide me a seat while I punish you, whereupon you will see for yourself that my association with him is about as asexual as my association with a common household chair. Oh, and just because I've agreed to exclusivity doesn't mean I've forgotten that you still get thirty lashes in punishment, either."

I started walking down the hall again, and again he balked. "...How do I know you don't have any sexual diseases?"

I looked back at him. "How do I know *you* don't have any?"

He gave me an offended look at that. "I run five health clubs. I'm very careful about that sort of thing."

"Well, so am I. And hard as it may be for your dirty little bear's mind to comprehend, I rarely have actual sexual contact with my subs," I added tartly, tugging on his leash, forcing him to follow me to the bedroom. "I work in a dentist's office, so it's important for me to maintain my good health, too. Close the door behind you, Mr. Bear," I ordered him, flicking the leash again like it was a miniature whip. It didn't actually touch him, but it did get his attention. "No need for the whole world to hear you screaming as I punish you. Set the basket right down there," I added, pointing to a spot close to the edge of the bathroom nook tiles. "And do try to remember to address me respectfully as 'Mistress', or I will penalize you five lashes for each time you forget. You may, of course, address me as 'Goddess', if you wish to add a little variety, but you will be utterly respectful at all times."

"Yes, Mistress." When he complied, I tugged him into the walk-in closet. Picking out a couple of large, silvery blue bath towels, the kinds called bath sheets and the only kind I liked to use, personally, I backed him out of the little room and led him onto the tiles. Holding out the towels, I waited for him to take them, then nodded at the middle of the floor.

"Lay them out, one on top of the other about three feet from the basket, then kneel on them and assume the position—no, wait," I corrected, changing my mind as he started to drop onto the double layer of fluffy terrycloth. "I could use Cho right about now, but that chair over there will have to do." Crossing to the piece of furniture in question, which was made of the same dark cherrywood as the poster bed and sat with its white-cushioned seat near the side of the huge bed, I looked at him expectantly. He didn't get the idea until I prodded verbally, "Pick it up, and carry it back, there's a good bear. We might as well put all those bulging health-club muscles to good use, since they're there."

"...Yes, Mistress." Hefting it in one hand, he started to head back to the bathroom nook. I tugged on his leash, stopping him.

"Your Mistress always goes first when you are leashed to her hand, unless she says otherwise," I instructed him patiently, then headed for the nook myself, allowing him to follow me obediently. I stopped in front of the towels, right next to the picnic basket, and glanced behind me expectantly. He got the message much more quickly this time, and placed it neatly behind my knees, as if we'd been at a fine restaurant instead of in his bedroom suite. Seating myself, I crossed my legs neatly and gestured at the towels. "Very good, Mr. Bear. Now you may assume the position."

Moving around in front of me, he settled onto his knees and heels, placed his hands behind his head, and looked up at me. I took my time, studying him from scalp to knee. Admiring the sculpting job he'd done on his body, in between managing five health clubs. No wonder he could afford this house; Mr. Mighty Fitness was very popular, locally. One of those closed doors downstairs probably led to a home gym, too; he just seemed the type to bring that kind of work home with him. Extending my free leg, I slid it off the other knee, and ran the front sole of my shoe lightly over his muscular leg. He tensed a little, but not out of distaste. If I'd stretched out my toe to its absolute limit, I might have been able to brush against his penis. I refrained; I wasn't in the mood to slouch, or put that much effort into it, not when I should be saving my strength for the rest of the show.

Lowering my foot, I crossed my other leg, and studied him, content to just sit and do so. He really was a magnificent specimen, the culmination of many a woman's wet-dreams...

"—Well?"

"Are you challenging my authority, and how I exercise my power over you?" I asked him mildly. Or maybe not quite so mildly.

"Uh, no. No, Mistress," he amended. "I'm just awaiting my orders..."

"I see. Seems to me like you're trying to anticipate your orders," I drawled. "Anticipation is part of the pleasure, yes, but not if one rushes it too much. But if you insist..." Bending over, I unclipped his leash, then opened the picnic basket. The position threatened to spill my generous breasts from their inadequate confinement. Almost, but not quite. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Mr. Bear's penis jumped happily at the sight of my bountiful cleavage. I wondered what I should start with. The penis strap, the one with the D-ring so I could reattatch his leash? No, he was expecting a lashing, and he had earned one. Our first official D/s meeting was not the time to teach him how to hold back from cumming, and it was too early to teach him how to anticipate my movements, preventing serious damage from occuring to his cock, should he zig when I zag.

First he had to know, bone-deep know, that the line between pain and pleasure was in truth a rather thin one. That would take a few carefully gauged lessons to let it truly sink in.

Last time had been the quirt, with its thin, hard, sudden attack, and his own drunken state to help loosen his inhibitions. This time, I wanted to work him up to the point where he could relax that pain-pleasure boundary while perfectly sober. So I pulled out the doeskin flogger, the multiple suede strips and matching handle dyed a non-traditional, lovely shade of burgundy purple. I trailed the strands through my fingers, enjoying the sensual feel then draped it over his thighs, his penis, then up his stomach and chest, flicking it ever so lightly in a sensual, sueded caress. From the way his muscles tightened and a rumble escaped that surprisingly hairless chest, my big little bear liked that.




Mr. Bear Ch. 2



Pulling the flogger back, I flicked him on the nipple, just hard enough to sting and stimulate..

"Mmm, thank you, Mistress, that's one," he murmured.

I shook my head. "Oh, no, I haven't even begun your punishment yet, my innocent little bear. First, you need to be properly warmed up. In fact, consider this warm-up a form of punishment for cumming in the middle of your previous punishment, before I finished disciplining you. Eventually, you will learn to cum only when I command, but for now, just try to take your punishment as best you can."

Standing up, I walked around him once, twice, then snapped at his chest again with the tips of the suede strands. Whipping the flogger around, I let the strands land good and firm on his back, then flicked it around to the front again, stinging at his nipples with the tips. Back and forth, solid and flick, solid and flick, I slowly walked around him, until the solid strokes were landing on his chest, the flicks on his back. That caused his lightly tanned flesh to pick up a soft, pink blush as the blood rose to the skin under attack. I continued circling him, until the little flicks were playing with his nipples again. A glance down past his arms showed his uncut erection full and proud, now, just the way I wanted it. Stopping after one particularly hard flick, I stepped back.

"Place your hands on the floor, and rise up onto your knees, Mr. Bear," I directed him politely but firmly. He complied, shifting his weight onto all fours. I immediately rewarded him by thwapping him right on the buttocks, making him gasp. The sting from all those straps were hardly to be compared to the welt-raising blows caused by my quirt three weeks ago, but I wasn't trying to raise welts just yet. Silently, I counted out twenty hard-slapping strokes, raising a good blush on his cheeks, then stopped, walked around to his front, and sat down on the chair again, leaving him still on his hands and his knees.

Since he was so tall, so long in the body, that meant I had to straddle my leg over his head just to be able to sit down. It meant my pussy, which had grown damp during my exertions in its crotchless frame of royal blue silk and white lace trimming,, was well within sniffing range. And since I did have to swing my leg over his head and neck to sit down, that caused the short skirt of my outfit to drape the front panel over the top of his blond head, giving him a good look at my crotchless panties, too.

I left him like that for several long moments, each of his panting breaths puffing warm air against my nethercurls. Finally, he groaned, "...Mistress?"

"Yes, Mr. Bear?"

"Can I lick your pussy, Mistress?"

"Do you wish to worship it?" I asked him lightly.

"Oh, yes, Mistress!" He started to shift forward, then halted himself, since I hadn't actually *said* he had permission to do so. "May I, Mistress, please? Pretty please?"

*Ohh, I do so like a man who can beg, and beg properly. I'm definitely keeping this one.* I didn't give him that choice, however. "No. Not until you have been properly punished. After your punishment, only then will I consider it—that's why it's called a punishment. Inhale deeply three times, so that you will long for that which you cannot have just yet, then resume the punishment position."

"...Yes, Mistress." Was that disappointment, or maybe even resignation in his voice? Because I was attracted to him, I'd given him a promise of sexual monogamy. I trusted myself to maintain control in our relationship, so the prospect of actually having sex with a sub was a little exciting. Not just oral sex, but actual copulation. Fucking. Thrusting and pounding, and impaling my wet pussy on that long, muscular shaft. But not yet. No, that was a privilege he'd have to earn, a process that would definitely take more than just one night.

As soon as he was in position, hands behind his head, his head tipped back for once, knees spread wide for balance and cock erect enough to be throbbing slightly, hot and hard at the thought of what would come next—or was that what would cum next?—I put the suede flogger away, and pulled out my rubber tricat. My own invention, it was made sort of like a black cat'o'nine flogger, save that it had only three thickish, somewhat stiff rubber strands, each one terminating in a little half-knot near the tip. The handle was nothing more than leather thong wrapped around one end of the rubber strands, and though thin, it fit comfortably in my grip. Sitting forward, I slid the length of the strands through my left hand, then flicked them out hard and sharp at his chest. The triple attack sounded something like SPLAT! It also made him yelp.

"—Oww! ...Uh, was that 'one', Mistress?"

"A test-shot. How did it make you feel?" I asked him.

"It hurt a lot more than the other one did," he answered me candidly. "Is my punishment about to begin, Mistress?"

"Are you trying to dictate the pace I will set?" I countered challengingly.

"No, Mistress, just wondering when I'm supposed to start counting the blows I, uh, deserve."

"You please me, Mr. Bear, by showing you are willing to learn. For that, I will end your torment of anticipation, and begin your punishment now." Standing, I moved to one side just a little, and started to deliver a real blow, then stopped, teasting him with anticipation as the trio of strands swung back and forth gently, never quite reaching his skin. "Are you ready to count, Mr. Bear?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good. Don't forget how to properly count," I reminded him, and brought my arm down hard, splaying the three strands straight down the middle of his stomach, over the faint treasure-line of fine blond hairs leading to his groin. SLAP!

"Ow! ...Thank you, Mistress, that was one." THWAP! "—Urgh...thank you, Mistress, that was two," he recited dutifully through clenched teeth.

I kept warming that spot for two more strokes, then struck horizontally across his nipples, first one way, then the other, until he was wincing and gritting his teeth, and his pectoral muscles were puffy with welt-lines. Given I was using my tricat, that didn't take too long, just a count to twelve. Swirling my wrist, I brought the tricat down between his thighs, first on one side, then on the other, five times each. More than one drop of pearly pre-cum was dripping out of his red-hard mushroom head, now. A few more strokes, and he'd ejaculate—a masochistical sub born and bred. I liked that. I wanted him to last the full eight, first, so I took the time to think how I'd accomplish that.

It did remind me that the very nice, damask-covered, faux-antique styled chair was between him and release. I didn't want to give his housekeeping service a headache, trying to clean cumstains out of the furniture, or the carpet should he shoot that far, so I moved behind him and very lightly flicked his buttocks.

"On your hands and knees, you dirty little bear."

Once again, the position put his head within an inch or so of the seat cushion. I resumed my seat exactly as before, skirt draped over his head, the scent of my own arousal filling his each and every breath...and shifted forward and brought the tricat down hard on his back, making sure the knotted ends flicked him in the ass.

"Ahh! Thank you, Mistress, that was...that was twenty-three," he recalled on a gasp, his head almost trapped in my lap, given how far I had to stretch out my arm to reach those buttocks. I struck him hard a second time, not liking the way how I had to strain to reach that firm ass. "—Thank you, Mistress, that was twenty-four!"

Nope, the position wasn't a good one for me. Especially since his soft, stylish hair was tickling the bare skin of my thighs, up above the lace tops of my stockings. It wouldn't do to let him know that, though. A good Domina never shows a discomfort that could be construed as a weakness, such as my awareness of my much smaller size. So instead, I drawled,

"I think you like this position too much. Lie down on your back!" I commanded him sharply, and he scrambled to obey, stretching out on the towels I'd allowed him to lay down for his knees. Slipping off the chair, I knelt over his head, giving him another flash of my royal-blue framed pussy. "Now, double up your knees—keep them wide!—and bring them up as close to your chest as you can. Lift that ass in the air!"

He complied readily enough, proving musclebound, overgrown men could be fairly limber, much to my secret delight. I let him know it with some soft-voiced praise

"Good little bear. Hold yourself in this position, and do not slip from it," I ordered him gently. "Resume the count, now." And I smacked him hard, right between the buttocks, at the base of his balls and shaft.

"—OH!! Th-thank you, Mistress, that was tw...twenty-five," he moaned, clearly close to an orgasm of pain, now.

I counted slowly to thirty, then smacked him hard again, this time at an angle to take some of the intensity off his balls and cock. The humiliation of this angle would be perfect, for in the moment he orgasmed, he'd be cumming all over his own chest, and I plans for that cum, given what lay in my picnic basket.

"Oh, god, thank you, Mistress, that was twenty-six!" came the cry between my legs, all but vibrating my flesh. I flicked hard the other way, and he groaned out, "Thank you, Mistress, that was twenty-seven...oh, god, oh, god—I think I'm gonna cum...!"

So was I, and all I was doing was working up a sweat! "Are you ready for the last three blows, Mr. Cumslut Bear?"

"Yes, Mistress!—"

Even as he said that, the tricat whistled through the air. Once, twice thrice, barely giving him enough time to gasp out the ritual count. At the last lash, instead of lifting the tricat away, I dragged it deliberately over the base of his dangling balls and shaft, and had the pleasure of watching them spasm and jerk, spurting out his cum as the sudden, unexpected caress stimulated each and every welt I'd just made. I smacked him five more times, good and hard right on the perineum, between the base of his balls and his anus. That was with my right hand. With my left, I reached into the basket behind me and grabbed the slim anal probe by touch alone. Shoving it under his doubled-up legs, I rubbed it against his cum-streaked chest, twisting it to thoroughly coat the lumpy, twig-like black shaft, then brought it up and around again, all as I struck three more times...and finally shoved it up his ass. He gasped and spasmed again, cumming even harder than before, shocked by the sudden, anal attack.

His legs flopped down to the tiled, towel-draped floor, leaving him panting into my cunt. Finally, I obliged my own desires and sat my crotchless-pantied pussy on his face. Obedient without even being told what to do, he started licking and sucking and eating me for all he was worth, his hands coming up to hook around my thighs, holding me in place. With just a twist and a stretch, I exchanged the tricat for the suede flogger again, and lightly flogged the flesh to either side of his cum-seeping shaft with the soft strands, making him grunt as the broad leather straps occasionally met his sensitized, still turgid flesh.

His enthusiasm between my thighs picked up a notch at that, flicking his tongue rapidly over my clit, his nose half burying itself in my cunt. I squirmed against his hold, bit my lower lip, and as he fucked me with his very enthusiastic tongue, came with a little squeal of pleasure through my clenched teeth.

Damn, but he was good! As soon as I had the energy again, I'd have to write all of this down in my notebook. Nothing like keeping a log to know what I've already done, so I'd know what else was out there that I still had left to do.



Mr. Bear Ch. 3



Mr. Bear lay panting under me, each of his breaths puffing against my pleasure-dampened crotch. My own orgasm had been fairly intense, but not as much as his, I was pretty sure. Glancing down at his chest, I noted the ropes and puddles of creamy white semen staining his chest. Some of it had been rubbed raggedly over his nearly hairless chest, from where I'd coated the anal probe in his own juices.

With one finger, I traced my way through the cooling liquid, then brought it up to my mouth, giving an experimental sniff. Sea-tangy. A cautious lick made me think of Japanese seaweed wraps, the kind used to make sushi rolls, only with an underlying muskiness, and the faintest hint of sweet. It made me wonder if he drank a lot of pineapple juice at his chain of health clubs, since that was rumored to make a man's semen taste less disgusting to the majority of the female population.

One more scoop and lick confirmed the fact that, while strongly sea-tangy, his semen actually wasn't that bad. Twisting, I fished my notebook out of the picnic basket, replacing the doeskin flogger. As soon as the notebook was in my hands, I unclipped the pen tucked into the spiral spine, and started making notes right where I was, kneeling over his face.

[Subject: Mr. Bear (MB). Agreement: submissive, with monogamous sexual interaction.]

[Day Zero, October 31st: Initial interaction was a punishment for catching a very drunk MB peeing all over the ladies' room floor in a public location, and especially for deliberately urinating on my boots; punishment assigned was fifty lashes with a quirt. Forty were administered before MB climaxed precipitously, accidentally in front of a card; he said he enjoyed all of it, though he was still quite drunk. I gave him my card, and told him to call back in two days. Subject resisted temptation for three weeks. My vanilla friends who witnessed our meeting have had mixed reactions.]

[Day One, November 19th: MB finally made contact, made his interest in D/s scenes firmly known; I reminded him I still owed him ten lashes for the drunken urination problem, and when I guessed he was touching himself, ordered him to stop, and listed another ten lashes when he shortly thereafter failed to obey…]

Mr. Bear had finally started to recover. He didn't protest in the slightest that I was still half-smothering his face with my cunt. Indeed, his hands caressed whatever he could reach of my thighs and calves, while he started licking me again. His tongue flicked and darted throug the soft, slick folds of my labia and mons, digging through the folds in search of my slippery juices. As I continued to write down the bare bones of our current encounter, he used the tip of his tongue to circle around the pointed little hood of flesh guarding my clitoris, then rimmed the opening of my vagina. Strong but gentle hands wedged under my thighs, pulling my flesh wide for each damp, teasing taste.

Since I was still tender and sensitized from my orgasm, I twitched now and again as his efforts re-aroused my desire. By the time I was finished writing, I was shuddering with desire, and had to wonder if the last few sentences were legible. Not that I cared all that much, given how good he was making me feel—damn, but this man loved to eat hairpie! Two orgasms, though, and I'd be putty in his hands with sated exhaustion; he'd be able to try intercourse, and if he got away with that our very first night, my control of our relationship would be seriously undermined.

It's a curious thing about men, but if you give in to them easily once, they'll assume you'll give in to them easily every time, and then when you say 'no', they get all pissy about it. Especially if you give in right away. If you train 'em right, however, firmly establishing your dominancy over them, then they'll understand at the bone-deep level that being allowed to fuck a woman is a privilege, not a right. Something to be treasured dearly, not taken for granted.

So before I could orgasm—though I was uncomfortably close—I shoved quickly to my feet and moved away from his too-talented face. He groaned and clutched at my calves and ankles, wanting me back, but I pulled free determinedly. I didn't dare sit down, not with my pussy so swollen with interrupted passion, so I walked over to the long counter with the two sinks, and set my notebook down. Checking my writing, I made a few corrections where the words had grown illegible, then fetched a washcloth and ran it under the sink, on the coldest setting the single-knob faucet could produce. Since it was late November, that was pretty cold. Wringing it out only just enough to keep it from dripping all over the place, I carried it back to my brand-new sub.

He had twisted over onto his side, propping himself up with his left elbow, while his right hand gingerly touched the end of the anal probe I'd inserted during the heat of his climax. "You shoved something up my butt!"

"I told you you'd have to give me a lot more than you initially thought, if you wanted me to be sexually monogamous," I drawled. "Leave it in there."

"But it—"

"Arguing with me will gain you a punishment. A different punishment," I added, as my naughty blond bear's eyes took on a speculative look. He studied me for several silent, contemplative seconds…and then pulled the anal probe out in one jerk, gasping slightly from the sensations it made as the slightly bulbous tip stretched his rectal muscles. It was almost the same look he had on his face when he'd peed on my boots the second, deliberate time at our initial meeting, streaked with satisfaction at his own brilliant cunning. When I glanced at his groin, his penis was once again rampant, almost fully erect. No doubt he thought he'd enjoy whatever else I'd do to him.

Perhaps he would, indeed.

"I'm being naughty, Mistress. A very naughty bear," he rumbled, rolling onto his back again, dropping the probe and grasping his penis instead. That large, strong hand started stroking his meat firmly but slowly, contravening my earlier orders to not allow him to touch himself.

"Take your hand off my penis, Mr. Naughty Bear," I ordered him. He complied, if a little slowly, moving his hand up his chest to rub at the semen coating his skin. "I take it you *want* to be punished?"

He grinned at me. "Yes, Mistress."

"Why?" I asked, the cold-damp washcloth threatening to drip between my fingers.

He cocked his head, eyed me, then shrugged. "I've always liked my sex a little rough around the edges, but…damn, I've never felt anything that intense. I thought it was the booze, last time, but it wasn't, was it?"

My mouth threatened to twitch up. His comment reminded me of that 'Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear' rhyme I'd learned back as a child. I let it curve up on one side. "Welcome to my world. For protesting against the anal probe, five demerits—I'll go easy on you because it's your first time; hereafter, it'll be ten demerits per protest. For removing it against my strict orders, twenty demerits. For fondling my penis in my presence without my permission, ten demerits."

"Are you going to whip me thirty-five more times, Mistress?" he asked, pushing himself up onto his knees before settling back on his heels and tucking his hands behind his head. "Shall I assume the position, then, Mistress?"

"You may assume the position…but do not assume that I will whip you," I corrected him gently. "You do seem to like that a lot, so we must seek out other ways of punishing you. Otherwise it wouldn't be a punishment, now would it?"

Disappointment clouded those light green eyes, then he shook his head slightly. "No, Mistress. What…what sort of punishment do you think would be suitable?"

I smiled, crossed the last few feet between us, and shook out the crumpled washcloth. Aiming it with a gentle swing, I dropped it with a wet splat around his outthrust cock. He gasped and almost doubled over in shock as the icy-wet square wrapped itself around his cock, slapping gently onto his balls.

"Oh, god, oh god…!"

I was pleased to note that, though his hands came out from behind his head at the initial shock, he forced them back behind his neck again, lacing them together tightly as he hunched protectively over his groin. While he breathed heavily, his cock wilting at such sudden coldness, I moved around him to the picnic basket, my heels clicking smartly over the white-and-blue tiles. Crouching, I pulled out the next toy I intended to use, and swivelled on my heels so that I faced his back.

"You are a very naughty bear, Mr. Bear. You lack discipline. Self-control. I will teach you what you clearly need to know. Now, take your hands down from your head, and put them behind your back."

As he complied, I heard the washcloth splat softly onto the floor; apparently he was no longer erect enough to keep it up—literally and figuratively. Smiling in amusement at the mental pun, I took his wrists when he presented them, and clicked them into a pair of handcuffs. I could only click them once, but that was enough to hold them in place

"You can't be ser—uh, I mean, are those handcuffs, Mistress?" he asked, carefully changing his accusation to a clarification.

"Yes, they are, Mr. Bear," I agreed mildly, making sure they were snug but not tight around his proportionately large wrists. No need to cut off the circulation to his hands.

"May I ask why you've put handcuffs on me, Mistress?"

Was I in an indulgent enough mood to answer him? "Since you're new to this, you might not realize why I've done so, Mr. Bear," I reminded him as I turned back to the picnic basket. "Perhaps, if you give it some thought, you can earn a few merit points, and reduce your demerits a little."

He mulled that one over, then asked, "Is there a reason why I would *want* to reduce my merits, Mistress? I mean, I kind of like what we've done so far. And you seem to be enjoying it, too, which is important, right?"

I smiled, and let it show in my voice as I purred, "I'm glad you're beginning to understand that my pleasure is paramount, Mr. Bear. For that, you will have three merits, reducing your demerits to thirty-two. As for *why* it's a good thing to want to reduce your demerits…"

Squeak. Squeeeaaaakk. Squeak-squik-squeeak. Squik! I played with the pair of clothspins in my hands, withdrawn from the gingham-lined interior of my portable toybox. These were old clothespins, the kind with the slightly rusty springs that made such wonderful noises when opened and closed. He craned his head, trying to look over his shoulder.

"What's that noise, Mistress?"

It was tempting to put a blindfold on him, leave him guessing. But no, I wanted him to *know* what sorts of toys were available in a relationship like ours. Standing up, I moved around him, then bent over, allowing my royal blue merry widow to all but spill my generous breasts in his face. Since he was so much taller than me, I didn't have to bend far to give him an eyeful. Now that the icy-cold washcloth wasn't touching his genitals anymore, his penis twitched and started thickening at the view, just as I wanted. Behind my back, where my fingerless white lace elbow gloves disappeared, I squeak-squikked the clothespins again. "Wouldn't you like to know? Try guessing, Mr. Bear. Guess what I have in my hands."

He frowned softly, as I flexed the springs again, pinching and relaxing my grip on the wooden strips. "It sounds like…it almost sounds like clothespins, Mistress."

"Congratulations; you've just earned two merits for guessing right! You're a very good bear!" I praised him, and brought them around so that he could see. Straightening up, I sashayed around behind him, crouched, and carefully applied each one to his pinkie fingers. "Be very careful and do not remove them, Mr. Bear, unless I say they can, for it will be ten demerits for each one lost."

Fishing out another two, I applied each one to his index fingers, then used another two to catch the soft flesh on the inside of his thumb, between the pad and the base. That was a sensitive spot, one full of nerves that, when squeezed by a clothespin, I had learned enhanced sexual stimulation. So were the soft folds of flesh at the base of his middle and ring fingers, when I pinched those as well with yet more clothespins. That made for a total of ten clasped to the flesh of his hands. Taking one more out of the picnic basket, I moved around in front of him, looking down at him from my position of power and control.

"I've started with your hands, Mr. Bear, because they are accustomed to being squeezed and pinched, and can endure feeling pain," I enlightened him. "Using the clothespins on your hands first and foremost will also help distract you from what is coming next. You see, I'm not going to keep using the lash-strokes method, not when the merit-demerit system is a lot more flexible. Sometimes I'll count out your demerits in a whipping, but not always, and probably not repetetively. Variety is the spice of life, after all."

Kneeling slowly, gracefully, knees daintly together in my lace-trimmed dominatrix outfit, I held up the last clothespin, opening and closing the jaws. Squeaeeaeeakkk…squik-squik-squeeeek. Squik-a-squik-a-squik-squik squeeeeaaaak. Squik-squeak. God, I loved that sound. It made me wet just from hearing it. How long had it been since I'd been in his position, bound and helpless, hearing the squeak of spring against wood? Years, for sure. A truly good Domina doesn't just know how to use her tools; she has tasted their pleasures for herself, as someone else's sub. I much preferred being in control these days; the charge I get from having power and wielding it over my subs is exhilarating, so different from the everyday, obedient drudgery of my job…but the squeak of a clothespin can bring it all back, the sublimation of pain into desire, the submerging of free will into obedience and slavish servitude.

I wanted to give that pleasure to Mr. Bear. I wanted him to know how powerful it feels to lose all sense of power, how liberating it is to lose one's freedom. What a relief it is to know that someone else is in control. I wanted him to know that I, too, knew what he was feeling right this moment, so I opened the jaws wide, and held up my hand, then clamped it along the outer edge of my palm, catching a good amount of my flesh in its wooden grip.

"As you can see, I am not a green or selfish Domina who has no idea what she is inflicting upon her subjects." The tips of my fingers on that hand ghosted over the bared curves of my breasts, dragging the clothespin as well. "I want you to know that I know what you are going through right now. That is how much control I have over you, that I have experienced what you yourself are going through." A pause, and I tipped my head with a little smile, looking down at his semi-erect shaft. "Barring gender differences, of course…"

"My hands are beginning to hurt, Mistress," he told me, licking his lips. "I'm, uh, I'm not complaining; I just thought you might want to know."

"Good. The pain in your hands will be a comforting distraction, this first time." Picking up the washcloth, I made sure it was still cool, and deliberately wrapped it around his shaft. He sucked in a sharp breath, wilting a little once more. Pleased, I removed the cloth, unpinched the clothespin on my hand, and held its jaws open between us, letting him see the promise inherent in its gaping stance. Its potential to compress and inflict. "This is what will happen. I will apply this to your skin. You will count properly, "Thank you, Mistress, that is one; thank you, Mistress, that is two,' until you reach thirty. Then it will be removed.

"If you ask me to remove it any point before you reach ten, I will add thirty more demerits to your tally score. If you ask me to remove it at any point before you reach twenty, I will add twenty, and if you ask for it to be removed before you reach thirty, you will receive an additional ten demerits. As this is your first punishment in this form, I will be kind and remove it immediately, insted of only once you reach the next tens-mark of whatever set you are enduring; your demerits will then be racked up against you according to what you failed to complete, and shall await another form of punishment.

"It is my hope that you will be able to endure your punishment like a man, but this will be a very intense session. So, to make up for the intensity, I give you permission to call out the count as fast as you can, provided that the numbers themselves are still understandable, however garbled the rest of it may become. Do try to remain coherent," I cautioned him. "Even though you are being punished for your disobedience, you must always keep in mind that your role is to please me, in any way I ask that you can. Are you ready?"

Wide green eyes stared at the clothespin, then at me. He opened his mouth, drawing in a breath--probably so he could question me as to where the little device was going to be applied--but then subsided and nodded, sealing his lips tight against his curiosity.

"Very well. As soon as I take my hands away, you may begin the count."

Looking down, I found his penis had engorged itself to near-erectness once again. Sighing, I applied the washcloth one more time, this time directly to his balls, so that he softened quickly. When he was quite soft, I grasped his foreskin on the upper side of his shaft—he was wonderfully uncut, giving me far more options than a circumcised man would have provided—and pinched the clothespin to the loosened skin. He immediately bit out a swearword as the springs clamped down on the tender flesh. Teeth clenched, he snarled out several more in pain, hunching over.

"Start the count!" I ordered him loudly. "Start it, or earn another ten demerits which will be applied to this punishment!"

"--Thank you, Mistress, that is one! Thank you, Mistress, that is two— ThankyouMistressthatisthree, thankyouMistressthatis*four*, thankyouMistressthatisfuckingpainful*five*!" he half-shouted, rattling out the count as fast and hard as he could. With each count, he started rocking back and forth, trying to contain the pain. Gasping out each number, he made it to twelve before swearing briefly again, then to seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, with each one his voice rising into falsetto pain range—he was rocking so hard now, he stopped counting, clenching his teeth, his jaw, his whole head and shoulders, everything all the way down to his stomach. It made me wonder for a moment if I'd gone too far.

Forcing a gasp of air, he resumed the count at twenty, half-barking the numbers, the rest a drooling jumble of words. When he got to thirty, I reached in and grasped his very shrivelled shaft, stilling him as he gasped and whimpered at my touch. With my other hand, I released the pinch slowly, gently. He gasped again, choked, and started crying as blood came back to his foreskin, sobbing with the lingering agony and its release.

I wasn't unmoved by his tears. Moving around behind him, I gently removed each and every set of clothespins from his hands, replacing them back in the picnic basket. Moving around in front of him again, I guided him down onto his side on the towels, then onto his back, helping him stretch out his legs. He didn't want to do that; he wanted to huddle around his assaulted member, still sobbing from the extreme, intense punishment, but I managed to get his knees apart and down. Kneeling between his legs, I bent low over his thighs, licked my lips, and said, "I am very proud of you, Mr. Bear. Not once did you beg for me to remove the clothespin from you. Not once did you demand that I end your punishment. I'm not too happy about the excessive swearing, but I can understand that. Your bravery and fortitude pleases me very much, and for that, I will reward you now."

With that, I picked up the half-forgotten washcloth, and squeezed some of its cold water onto his penis. He jumped at the touch of chilly wetness, whimpering deep in his throat as he lay there panting. When his shrunken shaft was wet enough, I tossed the washcloth aside, dipped my head the last few inches...and sucked his penis into my warm, wet mouth. He shouted an oath again, but this time, in shock from the sudden pleasure of all but being swallowed whole.




Mr. Bear Ch. 3



When fully erect, he was probably a good eight to nine inches in length and probably two inches in diameter at best, a little thin compared to others of that length, but definitely above the average six-inch/in and a half male, which made him nicely proportioned to his greater size. However, right after being foreskin-tortured, he had shrunk down to the smallest I think even he had ever seen himself get, maybe--*maybe*--three shrivelled little inches, still somewhat thick, but not nearly as thick as he could get. Within twenty seconds of having his tiny member swirled around the warm, wet, soft interior of my mouth, playing its limp state over and around the supple, gentle strength of my tongue, he had definitely surpassed the three inch mark.

Ten seconds after that, he was as large as I could maintain whole in my mouth without gagging, which was about four inches. As he outgrew what I could comfortably take without having to try and subdue my sensitive gag-reflex in an attempt to deep-throat him—something I simply couldn't do easily, even back in my old submissive days—I started bobbing my head toward and away from his balls, slipping my lips down and up his shaft in a rhythmic caress.

In apology for the shrivelling agony he had suffered, I made sure to play my tongue lightly but thoroughly over the upper side of his foreskin, around and over the spot where I had applied the clothespin, using the very soft, nearly textureless underside of my tongue. Occasionally I would stop bobbing my head long enough to suck on the head and foreskin region of his penis, making him groan and whimper with pleasure. When he had reached the full expansion of his erection, I started flicking my tongue sideways, curling it up around the head, then swirling it around under the ridge exposed by his soft, stretched-out foreskin, marking figure-eights with my tongue. Sweet tangy salt invaded my tastebuds as my ministrations caused beads of precum to seep out of the little hole at the tip.

Pulling him free of my mouth, I licked his shaft in broad, slow strokes of my tongue, then shifted lower and licked at his balls, coating his lightly haired scrotum with my saliva until each testicle could be sucked lightly into my mouth, just as I had sucked in his penis. That made him gasp and twitch, groaning deep in his broad chest at the pure pleasure of being orally balled.

Swallowing hard, I licked my way back up his shaft, resting my forearms firmly on his hips, one hand steadying his shaft while the other grasped it firmly at the base. When I was ready, I deliberately yawned. Swallowing hard again, I repeated the yawn, then did the pattern one more time, finishing off with a wide-mouthed yawn and a purse of my lips over his saliva-slick head—and sucked him into my throat. Not into my mouth; into my *throat*. Swallowing him breathlessly all the way to the fingers circling his base.

He shouted, bucking up, but I firmly pressed down with as much of my weight as I could manage, focusing hard on controlling my gag-reflex. When he finally stilled, I withdrew, gut tight in the effort to control the natural urge to gag. A glance up the length of his trembling body showed tears leaking down the sides of his face again, this time from a delerium of pleasure. Licking my lips, I swallowed-and-yawned twice, pursed my lips, and gulped him down my throat again.

He didn't buck up in surprise. He sobbed in pure bliss, gasping when I took my confining fingers away and tightened my lips around the very base of his shafted again. Twisting my head slightly, I rubbed his balls with my chin, then pulled off of him very, very slowly, sucking the entire time. By the time I reached non-gagging range, he was trembling, on the verge of cumming, so I reapplied the pressure of my forefinger and thumb to the base of his penis, reaching for the picnic basket. It was a bit of a stretch, and I had to release him from my mouth to grab the wicker box. Pulling it closer, I opened the lid and inserted my free hand, fumbling around through the contents until my questing fingers identified what I wanted.

Pulling the latest toy out, I deftly wrapped up his penis and scrotum in the penis leash, separating his balls to either side in the three-lobed figure-eight pattern the strap was designed for. Slipping the tongue of the leash through the tiny buckle, I pulled it just barely snug, then adjusted the lay of his balls in the straps, shifting the leather down a little lower on his shaft as I removed my other hand, and finally pulled the whole thing tight. He grunted, arching his head back, then rolled slightly onto his side so he could lift up his head and shoulders and look at me.

I flicked the tip of his dick with my fingernail "Bad Mr. Bear. I didn't *say* you could move. Ten demerits."

He shuddered and dropped back onto his handcuffed arms, panting heavily. A groan escaped his throat. I'd cut off the opportunity for the blood engorging his shaft to retreat, leaving him insistently erect. "I don't know how much more of this I can take…"

That reminded me of something. Something I'd forgotten, something important. Shame on me. I crawled up the length of his body, straddling his waist, deliberately brushing my groin and inner thighs against his enforced erection, making him groan again. When my head was level with his own, I leaned over him and smiled. "I forgot to give you your safe word, shame on me. For my mistake, as I am a fair Mistress, I will reduce your demerits by five, bringing your current tally to five demerits. I shouldn't have forgotten them, but then you shouldn't have let me forget. But since you are new to this life, I will explain them to you now.

"I have two safewords, actually. The first one is an actual word. 'Hold.' All you have to do is shout *Hold!*," I told him, putting enough gut-emphasis behind it that he blinked, "—and I will stop whatever we are doing. End it, remove all devices, cease everything, restore you to normal, the works. The other is a rhythm, and it's the old Morse Code SOS signal—three short, three long, and three short again; that one is yours to use should you be in a position where you cannot actually say the first safeword. Thump your head, snap your fingers, flex your dick, and I will cease all activities.

"If at any time I do something that makes you fear for your physical safety, you can use the safe word to stop me, and I will obey; that is my promise to you. But you have to promise that you will think long and hard, when I try to take you past a boundary—is it really physically harming you? Or is your fear of the unknown and the suffering of a little pain blocking my attempts to help you reach the true nirvana that awaits you? Remember those two. 'Hold', and SOS. Use them sparringly at best."

As he stared up at me, I bent down and kissed him. He responded with a moan, lifting his head up to deepen the contact. I treated him to some of the same talented tongue-action I had used on his shaft and balls, and found him treating me to a similar display of sexual interplay, with the same talented tongue that had licked the cream out of me. Dropping his head with a groan, he slowly opened the eyes he had closed. I smiled down at him. He knew how to kiss my mouth lips as well as he could kiss my pussy lips. What a talented little bear I had in my care!

"…Do you like what we have done so far, Mr. Bear?" I asked him softly, still smiling.

"God, yes!" His hips strained, brushing his cock against my bottom, playing with the hem of my short, royal blue slip-skirt. Frustrated that I wasn't quite long enough in the body for him to prod at my cunt, he groaned and begged. "Will you please fuck me, Mistress? I want to feel you cumming on me, fucking your brains out on my…on *your* penis," he corrected himself as I arched a brow. He squirmed under me, trying to inch himself high enough that he could give me a good, old-fasioned poke. My smile broadened.

"Your subservience pleases me. Two merits. That leaves you with three demerits to work off. I'll let you know something of the scale system I use," I added conversationally, hitching myself up along the floor even as he almost reached his intercourse goal. "It is harder to achieve merits than it is demerits; at least, in the beginning, when you're still learning how to submit yourself utterly to my will. But if you earn twenty merits, I will give you a blowjob that will cross your eyes and make you cum like a vacuum hose. If you earn fifty merits, I will strap your penis in a tight leash so you can't cum, and fuck my brains out, as you have invited me to do so, and then I will release you so you can orgasm. If you earn one hundred merits, with no demerits on your balance…then I will fuck *your* brains out. In fact, I will give you one night of pure, vanilla sex, in whatever ordinary, vanilla positions you desire."

He stared up at me at that, no longer squirming. Twice he blinked, then finally drew in a breath and asked, "And if I want to be Dominant one day, Mistress? For just an hour or two? How many merits will I need to earn for that?"

"None, for now," I had to disappoint him. "You have neither the training nor the discipline to be trusted with the toys of a Dom. I myself was a sub for two full years, and an apprentice for a year more, before I was completely free to assert my will upon the men and women who crossed my path."

"—Women?" he asked, blinking rapidly at the idea. "You…and another woman?"

I smiled wickedly down at him, bracing my crossed forearms on his chest. Oh, yeah, every guy's fantasy; two women going at it with all the lust and passion in them. How much more of an exhilarating taboo was it to think of two women in a D/s scenario, one sexually dominating the other? "Get that thought out of your head, my naughty little bear. *You* asked for sexual monogamy, remember? And I agreed to it. That means I don't get to go down on another woman, not even while you watch...unless our agreement changes at some point in the future. But since you're the one who asked for it, it's up to *you* to change the agreement, which at this point I do not think you will do, just yet."

With that, I pushed up from him, walked over to the sink, and spent a couple minutes writing down what we had just done. Leaving him handcuffed and penis leashed on the floor. When I was done, I turned around. He was still lying on his back, the small of his back arched up so that it took some of the pressure off the uncomfortable lump of the handcuffs, but his head was turned towards me, his eyes devouring everything about my royal blue clad curves. His penis, which looked fantastic in its tri-wrapped penis leash, twitched as his gaze played over my plump, curvaceous body.

"...You are so fucking sexy, Mistress."

I smiled at him, warmed by the sincere compliment. "Such sincerity gets you two more merits…but all compliments *must* be sincere to qualify," I cautioned him, strolling slowly his way, letting my low-heeled pumps clack deliberately against the tiles. "Lie on your side, my little bear. I have one more thing to introduce you to, before we call it a night."

He did as I asked, twisting onto his right side. Since his arms were bound behind his back, that made him tip towards his front, pressing his cheek against the cool tiles where his body had come fully off the towels. "Is it a punishment, or a reward, Mistress?"

"...Neither," I clarified softly. "It is merely an introduction. At some point, it may become a punishment; at others, will become a pleasure. For now, it is enough for you to know what it feels like, so that it will not shock you too deeply further on in our play."

Kneeling behind his thighs, I picked up the discarded anal probe. Reaching into the picnic basket, I found the tube of K-Y jelly and used it to coat the rounded tip and twig-like shaft. Replacing the tube, I turned to him, glad to see he hadn't looked behind his shoulder, which would have earned him a few more demerits than the one that lay on his tally now.

"This might be a little cold at first, but it is necessary for this experience to feel even remotely good," I warned him, and pried up his left asscheek, baring his puckered little anus. Adjusting my position for better leverage, I pushed against his tight little hole. His buttocks clenched instinctively against the cold intrusion. I squeezed his left cheek hard, not about to let this resistance of his go unthwarted. "Relax! You are going to feel this entering your ass outside the pleasure of a climax, and you will feel it entering you *now*"

With that, I shoved it in, despite his resistance. He gasped, and I let it stop just in past the outermost ring of his sphincter muscles, but not quite all the way into his rectum. Deliberately forcing him to feel it stretching his anus. Then I pushed it slowly, deliberately deeper, watching his flesh re-pucker partway again as the narrower shaft started disappearing into his depths. When it was in to the hilt, I stopped the probe.

"There. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"…No, Mistress," honesty forced him to admit. Slowly, I pulled it all the way out again, and he moaned softly, pushing anally to help it get back out again.

"It just feels like you're having a good, satisfying shit, doesn't it?" I asked him lightly. "Except you're not doing any of the straining required for taking a dump." He grunted an assent, then grunted again when I pushed the probe back into his ass, once again all the way, nice and slow.

I pulled it out again, letting him feel every inch of natural resistance as it slid and popped back out, then pushed it back in just far enough that the rounded head popped past his sphincter muscles. Adjusting his legs so that they were a little more bent, giving me a little more maneuvering room, I grasped the hilt and gently swirled the probe. He groaned out loud, clearly enjoying it. I straightened the probe, and pushed it quickly in about two inches, making him gasp again. Neither pushing in fully nor withdrawing all the way, I then frigged his anus with the shaft, thrusting it in short, swift strokes that travelled both ways about an inch, inch and a half. Rubbing the branch-thin shaft against his sphincter muscles, and the ball-shaped head against his rectum. Twice I angled it towards his prostate, making him jump and twitch.

Finally, I drew it out so that the head rested in the vise of his sphincter muscles, and twisted the head back and forth. A quick shove in, a fast yank out, twice more in this fast of an attack, and I popped it out and left him breathing heavily as I placed the anal probe on the tiled floor.

"Onto your back."

Obedient, he rolled onto his bound arms, arching his belly upwards once more. Reaching down, I carefully freed the little tongue of the buckle on the penis leash, then flicked the straps off his penis and popped the head and about an inch or so more into my mouth, thoroughly tasting his precum-coated, hot, pointed mushroom of flesh. The tip of my tongue danced around the edges of the ridge defining his glans, scooping up every last sweet-sushi flavored drop. Apparently that was the next-to-last straw.

"Oh, god, I'm gonna cum…!"

With that, I withdrew my ministrations, releasing his shaft with a sucking pop. A groan of disbelief left his throat as I stood up over him, placing my hands on his hips, leaving his penis twitching without satisfaction.

"Please, Mistress—I've got to cum!"

It is another curiosity of men that, the more you leave them wanting, the more they'll want you more. Satiate a man, and he might move on, looking for fresher, greener pastures...but deny him the full package, and he'll stick around with the increasingly obsessive need to have it all. By denying him a second orgasm tonight, by leaving him in a state of extreme need, I was guaranteeing that he would keep wanting me. I was also taking the first steps to training him to cum on command, one of my favorite tricks. So rather than giving him relief, I instead stated firmly,

"Your last demerit shall be served out by your *not* cumming, tonight, Mr. Bear. You are not allowed to jack yourself off, or even to touch yourself. You will roll onto your side, and as soon as I have released you from the handcuffs, you will get up onto your knees, take the anal probe to the sink, wash it thoroughly while still on your knees, dry it off, and bring it back to me, all on your knees. Protesting will get you five demerits, as will delaying your task. Getting my notebook wet in the process will earn you twenty-five demerits. Now, roll onto your side."

Groaning in frustration, he did as I demanded, rolling onto his right shoulder again. Crouching, I dug in the basket for the handcuff key, and released his hands. As soon as he was free, he twisted and pushed onto his hands and knees, then sat back, rubbing at his wrists. He looked at me, a little doubtfully, then when I arched my brow, picked up the anal probe I had set on the floor and started shuffling across the tiles on his knees. While he was doing as commanded, I packed up my picnic basket, putting everything neatly back into its place. There were still several toys left in the basket that hadn't even seen the light of day, and more back home that I could incorporate into my plans. For that matter, if he had a weight room in this oversized house, the possibilities could be stretched out even further. What a wonderful evening this had become.

By the time he came shuffling back, I was seated in the chair again, my legs crossed daintly, my hands resting in my lap. Cool and composed, and completely in control. He stopped right in front of me and held out the anal probe, sitting back on his heels. "Your probe, Mistress, cleaned just as you asked."

"Has it been cleaned thoroughly?" I asked him lightly, and he nodded.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Then kiss it, to show your thanks for how gently it was applied today." He gave me an askance look, and I arched my brow. "You *said* it has been cleaned thoroughly. If this is so, then you should have no hesitations in kissing it, as I command."

"…Yes, Mistress." Bringing it to his lips, he saluted it. With three kisses, not just one. One for the rounded knob, one for the twig-thin shaft, and one for the hilt where my hand had grasped. Only then did he hold it out again. "Thank you for allowing me to know what this feels like, Mistress."

Oh, I was definitely keeping him. What a natural! Taking the probe from him, I tucked it into the basket. "Assume the position, Mr. Bear. I will be right back."

Obediently, he placed his hands behind his head. I started to rise, then sat back down again and nudged at his knees with the tip of my suede pumps, flashing a little of my pussy as I did so.

"Knees wider, Mr. Bear. Do not ever forget that when you are in the punishment position, your thighs are not allowed to touch my cock, nor the balls that hang from it."

"Yes, Mistress. My apologies, Mistress," he added, shuffling his knees further apart.

"That's five demerits for forgetting. Maintain the punishment position," I reminded him, rising and moving around his kneeling, vulnerable body. Striding to the sink, I checked the notebook lying open next to the sink, running my hand lightly and carefully over the pages. I was mildly surprised to find that not a single drop had been splashed onto it. Picking up the pen, I filled out the last of our session, and made the notation that he had five demerits unaccounted for. Closing the book, I slotted the pen into the wires piercing the spine, and returned to the edge of the tiled floor. Bending over, I tucked the notebook into the basket, pulled out the collar leash, then straightened. "Return the chair to its original position, Mr. Bear. You may walk to do so."

"Thank you, Mistress." Rising, he picked up the chair, moved it back beside the magnificent, oversized, four-poster bed, then returned to his original place, knelt, and resumed the punishment position without asking.




Mr. Bear Ch. 3



Goddess, I loved him. Stooping just a little, once more showing him the splendor of my cleavage, I clipped the leading leash onto his collar. Straightening, leash in hand, I looked down at him. "Pick up the basket, Mr. Bear, and escort me downstairs."

"Yes, Mistress." Wiggling around me on his knees, he picked up the picnic basket, then looked up. "May I walk on my feet, Mistress?"

"You may."

"Thank you, Mistress."

Together, we headed downstairs. Again, my heels wobbled slightly on the cushiony carpet. We reached the front entryway, and I turned to face him. "Set the basket down, and resume the position."

Nodding, he dropped to his knees at the edge of the carpet, set the basket in front of him by about a foot, and tucked his hands behind his head. I loved that stance; it made every muscle on his torso bulge just enough for hunky definition. Bending over, I flashed my curves at him one last time, unclipping the leash. Kissing him softly on the lips, I straightened up before it could deepen into anything else. "You will keep the collar with you, Mr. Bear, as a sign of my right to dominate you. Every time I come over here for a session, I expect you to be wearing it. Every time I come over for one of these adventures, you will greet me in the position, naked but for your collar, ready and willing to submit yourself to my desires. When we are through, you will escort me back down here and resume the position you greeted me in, to show that, even as I leave, you are still subservient to my every whim. And, each time I leave and each time I return, you will respectfully remind me of how many demerits or merits you have on your tally. So the current number is…?"

He thought quickly, and finally asked, "…Five, Mistress?"

"Very good," I praised him, smiling. "Remember that number for the next time I return."

Turning away, I removed my coat from the rack and shrugged into it. Facing him again, I took my time buttoning it up again, then drew on my leather driving gloves. I was glad I only had a short ways to go, since it was a cold night outside, icy cold; I might even have to scrape my windshield so I could see to drive, tonight. Winter was coming early to our corner of the Pacific Northwest.

My new sub spoke up as I picked up the basket. "Will you please call me when you get home, Mistress? So that I know you've gotten home safely?"

It touched me that he was concerned for my safety. I started to agree, then realized it wasn't quite that easy. Reaching into the basket, I pulled out the notebook again, readying it. "I'll need your phone number."

He gave it to me, and his cell number, his pager number, and his personal email address. Then hesitated. "…Do I have to give you my work number or email address, Mistress? This is my private life, not my professional one, and I'd kind of like to keep it that way."

"We'll keep it separate; I don't allow my private pleasures to mix with my business life, myself, so I have no problems with that," I agreed, tucking the notebook back into the picnic basket. "I will call you when I get home, to let you know I got there safely, Mr. Bear. Your concern for my welfare pleases me. In the meantime, remember that you are not allowed to cum, or even touch yourself, for the rest of tonight, or you will earn ten more demerits. Between tomorrow morning and our next session, you may cum once, and only once, by jacking off…so I advise you to hold off as long as you can, or you'll go mad with the urge to beat your meat a second time to the memories we've made tonight. Should you fail my instructions and actually cum a second time, it will be twenty more demerits. A third time, it will be thirty additional demerits, a fourth time will add forty demerits, and so on and so forth. How many do you have right now, again?"

"Five, Mistress," he replied promptly.

"Five…what?" I prompted him lightly, adjusting my gloves.

"I have five demerits on my tally, Mistress," he recited dutifully, and received a smile.

"Goodnight, Mr. Bear. Pleasant dreams."

Turning to the door, I opened it, letting in a swirl of frigid air. Letting myself out, I caught one last glimpse of him as I twisted to make sure the door shut. He was watching me leave, kneeling naked on the carpeted floor, thighs splayed wide and penis definitely erect. Then the door shut between us, and given that it was indeed cold, I made my way back to my car, scraped the windshield quickly as I shivered in my coat, and made my way home.

It didn't take long; the streets were quiet, with little traffic to interfere with my safe return. Closing the garage as soon as my car was parked, I entered the house, kicked off my heels, and carried the basket to the phone. Dialing the first number in the notebook, I didn't even hear a full ring before it picked up.

"—Mistress?" I heard my sub gasp.

"Your eagerness pleases me, Mr. Bear," I drawled.

"That was fast," he murmured in my ear. "Where…may I ask where you live, Mistress?"

"Less than fifteen blocks away."

I heard his breath escape, then shudder back in again. "That close? You live within a mile of my house?"

"Surprise; I didn't even know it myself, until you told me earlier," I murmured, and laughed with him. "Well, now that I'm safely home, I'll again wish you a good ni—"

"—Wait! Please, Mistress…when may I see you again?" he asked me politely. Phrasing it in a way that subtly acknowledged my schedule was the deciding factor in our next encounter, not his.

"After Thanksgiving, I think. After I go to my parents' for the usual overindulgent dinner."

He groaned. "I can't wait that long! Please, will you come back tomorrow night?" he pleaded. "Pretty please, with a whipping on top?"

That made me laugh. "I'll think about it. Be a good little bear, between now and our next meeting, and don't forget to help your own family do the dishes, on Thursday… Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he whispered, and I hung up, satisfied. Well, almost. After the way his tongue could dance through my cunt, I doubted even my favorite vibrator would be up to the job, tonight. Then again, if I chose to hold off on my own orgasm until our next encounter, I, too, just might be the in mood to meet with him again as soon as tomorrow night…

- - - - -

{Author's Note: I welcome you feedback and votes, for this and all my other stories. I've already heard from a few subs; perhaps a Dom/ina would care to comment, too? Do let me know how you feel about the Mr. Bear series; I'm hoping to get even more chapters written soon as well. Don't forget to play both safety & consentually, and have a good summer/winter (depending on your hemisphere)!

~ladyofthemasque, Domina ex arcanum}



Mr. Bear Ch. 4



We didn’t get together the day before Thanksgiving.  In fact, I didn’t call him until Saturday.  He picked up the phone and said in a brisk tone,  “McCracken.  Go.”

“And how is my naughty little bear?”  I murmured into the receiver, and heard his breath hitch.

“Ah!  Uh…  Could you give me an hour and a half to get rid of my houseguests?”  he asked me in a breathless rush.

“I wasn’t going to rush over there immediately with a whip in my hand, if that’s what you’re worried about,”  I returned dryly, and could have sworn I heard him exhale in relief.

“Listen, it’s not that I don’t want you over here—believe me, I do,”  he stressed half under his breath.  “It’s just that I’ve got family members over for lunch, and we’re just about to sit down to eat.”

“How about four o’clock, sharp?”  I compromised.  “That way you’ll have all the way to three-thirty to enjoy their company and send them on their way.”

“Thank you, Mistress,”  he murmured in my ear.

“Yes, I know I’m kind and sweet.  Don’t forget to remind me how many demerits you still have on your tally when I arrive…and how you’re supposed to properly greet me,”  I drawled.

“Of course not, Mi—uh, yeah, that’s right, but I’ll have to get on that after my family leaves; I should be free to go to the office by three-thirty,”  he stated quite a bit louder than before.  Apparently someone had come within hearing range of the other end of the line.  I heard the sound of his hand muffling the receiver, and the murmur of voices as he explained something to whoever was with him.  A few moments later, he came back, removing his hand and restoring the sound quality.  “Sorry about that.  I’ll see you at four sharp?”

“On the dot.  And unless you want to be humiliated in front of your family, they’d better be gone,”  I warned him.  “Because you will greet me naked in the punishment position, when I walk in that door.”

“Yes, Mistress,”  he agreed huskily.  And then ended the call with a click from the receiver.  Grinning, I hung up my own phone and started that most feminine of debates:  whatever should I wear?


***************************

All seven feet of delectable, naked, muscular male knelt exactly where he should kneel, one carpeted inch away from the slate tiles lining the entryway.  For a bear, my blond sub wasn’t very hairy, but then he’d only been a bear that one time, in that Halloween costume.  Still, it was as good a name as any, and reminded him of our first meeting, when I’d caught him drunkenly peeing on the Ladies’ Room floor.

His arms were tucked behind his short-haired head, the collar was buckled around his neck, and his knees were far enough apart that his legs did not touch his meat, but he was slouching forward, not arching his back.  Protecting his belly, albeit no doubt unconsciously.  He was supposed to be exposing it to me.  I turned around, set down the picnic basket, pulled out my notebook, straightened and made sure to lock the door, then turned to face him again.  “Greetings, Mr. Bear.”

“Greetings, Mistress.  I have five demerits on my tally,”  he recited dutifully.

“That is true.  But you have forgotten something, and it will earn you five demerits,”  I informed him coolly, still clad in my overcoat and gloves.

“What have I forgotten, Mistress?”  he asked, straightening up a little.

“That,”  I told him, and pointed the end of my pen at his movement.  “The punishment position is naked, sitting on your heels with your knees widespread, your hands laced behind your head…and your back straight, or even arched, exposing yourself to me.  You’re slouching, Mr. Bear.  That’s five demerits for poor posture.”

He immediately straightened his spine, his somewhat flaccid penis thickening slightly at the thought of such extra punishment.  His reposturing changed the crunch of those eight-pack abs, smoothing them out a bit and reducing their definition.  I was sorry to see such marvelous musculature vanish, but that was alright; they’d be tensing up again soon enough.  It was good to hear his penitence expressed, as he murmured,  “Sorry, Mistress.”

I marked the demerits on the tally page, then returned it to the basket.  Drawing off my gloves, I once more went through the winter ritual of stuffing each one into its own pocket—that way I never lost them, and never fumbled over which glove went on which hand.  Then I unbuttoned the plain black trenchcoat and hung it up on the coatrack.  The sharp intake of breath behind me let me know how much Mr. Bear was enjoying the brand-new view.

I wore the same black suede heels as before, but this time with fishnet stockings that ran from my toes all the way up under the broad black thong dividing my buttocks.  A red satin-and-lace garter circled my left thigh above the knee, a matching bow stitched to the outside, the satin ribbon ends trailing halfway down my calf.  As I turned around, he got an eyeful of the red-lace trimmmed bustier supporting my cleavage, and the matching red arm-garter dangling its ribbons from my right bicep.  This time, I’d left my curly chestnut hair down, where it fell to mid-back, and curled a couple locks over one shoulder, teasing the curves of my breasts enticingly.

“Oh, Mistress…”  escaped Mr. Bear’s lips, his expression amazed as his gaze darted everywhere.  The semi-turgid state of his cock changed, lengthening and thickening perceptibly in little jerks and twitches of visually stimulated desire.  If this was all it took to get him hard, he was almost disappointingly easy to please—this wasn’t even my fanciest Domina outfit!  …Then again, I always liked getting a rise out of my men, and some types of standing ovation were better than others.

“Do you like what you see, Mr. Bear?”  I inquired politely.

“Oh, yes, Mistress!”  he swore fervently, abdomen muscles tensing, just as I’d predicted.

I made a leg daintily, staying close to the door.  “Come show me your appreciation, then.”

Breaking out of the punishment position, he crawled across the floor, sinuously, with every muscle flexing and bunching with determined, masculine grace.  Reaching my foot, he dipped his body and laved it with licks and kisses, fervent adulation that I could feel straight through the webbing of the fishnet and the suede of the shoe.  I let him worship all that he could reach, for as long as he wanted, then when he started to work his way up past my ankle, shifted my feet and offered him the other one.  Still in a modified push-up position, he worshipped that one with affection, too.

When I’d had enough, I retracted my foot and stepped around him, crossing to the carpeted area.  “Resume the position, Mr. Bear.  I must check to make sure your house is clean enough for my visit, before we begin our session.”

“Yes, Mistress,”  I heard him murmur behind me, and kept going, checking on those rooms that were open to my view on the ground floor, then mounting the carpeted steps to have a gander at the upstairs rooms.

Everything was reasonably clean, proving that once again he’d probably had a cleaning service drop by.  Just as I was about to inspect the bathroom nook in the master bedroom in more detail, I heard a shout from downstairs.  Kicking off my heels—since the damned carpet was too thick and lush to run on—I rushed for the stairs and hurried down them, hearing a female voice castigating my sub.

“—Put some clothes on!  Or at least cover yourself, for godssake!  I’m your *sister*!  Ugh!”

Hurrying around the corner that hid the stairwell from the front door, I strode straight for the dark blond woman scowling down in disgust at her brother, keys in her hand.  He, I noticed with some shock and a definite twinge of pride, was still kneeling in the punishment position, though from the tension in his naked back, I could tell he was fighting the urge to cover himself, versus the displeasure of my finding out he did so without an order.

“Cover yourself,”  I ordered him, speaking as calmly as I could manage as I approached the pair.  His sister, whoever she was, looked up sharply at me, blinking as I stepped firmly between her and her brother.  “Did you forget something, earlier?”

“I…uh…  What the hell is going on, here?”  she demanded, frowning at me, glancing down over my dominatrix outfit and back up again.  “Who are you, and what are the two of you doing in here?”

“I’m a guest in Craig’s home, and what we are doing is by mutual consent…which therefore makes it none of your business.  Is there a reason why you’re here, after he sent you home?”  I questioned firmly, cocking my head slightly.

“I left my letter from Uncle Barry here.”  She started to move around us, then paused and flicked her gaze over the two of us.  I shifted to keep myself between her and my sub, again giving him my protection, as I had done at the end of our first meeting.  “He said he had to go work at the office, and wanted us all out of here by three-thirty!  I’d heard the rumors about Halloween, but I’d no idea he was actually dabbling in this sort of stuff!”

“Whatever he chooses to do in the privacy of his home is none of your business.  Now, where did you leave this letter?”  I asked, dragging the topic firmly back to her reason for being here.

“On one of the end tables in the living room.”  Again, she started past us, then paused.  This time, she only shook her head and blinked again before moving on, into the room in question.  I followed, still keeping myself between her and her brother.  She spotted the letter, fetched it, and returned to the entryway as I backed up.  Once more, I was treated to a look that said I’d sewn a second head onto her brother's shoulders.  Expecting her to revile me, I braced myself for a parting comment.  She shook her head again, and gave it, but not the one I expected.  “I am *so* not mentioning this to anyone else…  Craig, the next time you want to play like this, I suggest you get a chain for the door.  Mom also has a key to the house, remember?  You’re just lucky it was me!”

One last you’re-bizarre look, and she took herself out the door, shutting it firmly behind her.  Crossing to the panel, I snapped the deadbolt shut, then turned around.  Mr. Bear was hunched over his closed knees, hiding his groin behind his folded arms.

“Back into the position,”  I directed him coolly, glad the unexpected little interlude was over.  Watching him straighten up and tuck his hands slowly behind his head, I made an interesting discovery.  His penis was at full, and I mean full, salute!  There was even a drop of precum beading at the tip.  Arching my brow, I strolled toward him on silent, fishnetted feet.  “Well, well, well…  No wonder you didn’t cover yourself up when your sister came in the door—you LIKED the humiliation aspect of her arrival, don’t you?”

“I, uh, didn’t want to disobey you, when you’d told me to get into the punishment position, Mistress,”  he countered with a quick swallow and a husky tone.

He didn’t fool me.  I stooped and fetched my notebook from the top of the picnic basket, then faced him and deliberately made my entry out loud.  “’Day Two.  Mr. Bear was visited unexpectedly by his sister while I was exploring the house and he was still waiting in the entryway in the punishment position…  Mr. Bear now sports an enormous erection, and clearly likes the humiliation of public exposure, even if it’s to his own family members.’”

“I never—!”  he started to snap.

“—Ten demerits for denying the truth!”  I snapped back, cutting him off.  Flicking the page, I turned it to the tally sheet and marked them down.  “How many demerits are on your tally now, Mr. Bear?”

“…Twenty demerits, Mistress,”  he recited grudgingly as I waited patiently for him to reply.

“I am disappointed the number has grown so high in such a short time after walking through this door.  When do you think I should punish you, Mr. Bear?”  I asked him coolly, studying him as he remained erect in front of me, in both posture and desire.

“Whenever it pleases you, Mistress,”  he murmured.

“Two merits, for realizing that the choice of timing is mine,”  I praised him, marking that on the tally sheet.  “How do you think I should punish you, Mr. Bear?”

“However it pleases you, Mistress,”  he returned, a little firmer than before.

“Two more merits.  But no more than two.  Crawl over here,”  I commanded him.  Lowering his hands, he complied.  Without my telling him to, he bent his head and kissed the top of my nearest foot.  I put up with it for a moment.  “Stop.  Lift up the basket, so that it rests at a comfortable height for me to get into.”

Without a word, he sat back on his heels and lifted the woven container until the lid was waist-high on me.  Considering how average-sized I was, and how above-average-sized he was, that wasn’t too high for him, either.  Opening the lid, I drew out the leash.   Pushing the basket down out of my way, I leaned over and clipped it onto the D-ring on his collar.  As soon as I straightened, he lifted the basket back up into place again.  Good little bear.

Leash in hand, I moved around him.  “You may walk, Mr. Bear.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”  Rising to his feet, he padded after me, carefully carrying the pick-a-nick basket just like a good little bear should.

When we doorway into his room, I paused, looked back at him, and held out my hand.  “Basket.”

He handed it over obediently, giving me a questioning look, but otherwise not saying a word.

“Crawl,”  I directed him, and he got down onto his hands and knees and shuffled after me as we crossed the threshold.  I brought him to the edge of the nook, set the picnic basket down, then unclipped the lead.  “Furniture.”

He hesitated a moment, almost reared up onto his knees, then dropped back down onto his hands and crawled over to the same white-cushioned chair I had used on my last visit here.  Picking it up, he shuffled back to me on his knees, carrying it easily with those toned arms.  Setting it down on the tile next to the edge of the carpet, he adjusted it a couple inches, then sat back on his heels, widening his knees and lacing his hands behind his head.

“…The rest of it?”  I prompted him.  At his blank look, added,  “Or do you want to endure the coming session with nothing between you and the cold, hard floor?”

His lips formed a silent “oh”, and he crawled off to the walk-in closet.  Within a few moments, he came back with a pair of bathsheet towels, and had flicked them out, one on top of the other, on the floor.  He started to kneel on the dual layer, then shuffled over to where I had abandoned my shoes.  Picking them up, he hobbled over to me, semi-erect dick waving and flapping with each kneelength step, and offered them to me.  “Would my Mistress like to wear her lovely shoes again?”

Sometimes it was good to indulge a sub.  Seating myself on the chair, I crossed my legs and stuck out my upper foot.  “Worship it, first.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

It was a good thing my feet weren’t feeling ticklish, today; in the waning daylight slanting in through the windows, he laved and sucked my fishnet-clad foot, each nibble and caress shooting tingling stars of pleasure up my legs to where they impacted on my groin.  I wiggled my toes impatiently after a couple minutes, and he slipped the correct shoe on, then waited for me to cross my other leg and offer my now jealous left foot for his adulation.

Eventually, I wiggled my toes, he put my remaining shoe on, and waddled back onto the towels layered on the floor.  Arranging himself carefully, knees splayed, fingers laced, back straight and buttocks resting on his heels, he awaited my next command.

I reached into the picnic basket beside me and pulled out two items.  A zippo lighter—they were always very reliable, so long as one remembered to keep them filled with fluid—and a short red taper candle.  Leaning forward, I held them out.

“Hold these for me.”

“Yes, Mistress,”  he agreed, eyeing them a little hesitantly but reaching for them all the same.  While he held them, I reached into the picnic basket, and drew out a scrap of padded black satin.  Getting up from the chair, I carried the sleeping mask around to his back, bent over, and tied it over his face.  Again, I heard his breath hitch unsteadily, and smiled in pleasure at what was about to commence.  How I remembered my old sub days, when the satin sleeping mask caressed my cheeks, sheltering me from what had been about to happen, even as it had heightened my apprehension and suspense.

Moving around to the front, I plucked candle and lighter from his fingers, lit the candle, and tossed the zippo back into the basket.  The soft squeak of the woven lid closing made him twitch his head slightly, trying to use his ears to prepare him for what I was about to do.  I smiled even wider, giving in to the urge to grin now that he couldn’t see me taking pleasure in his own apprehension and suspense.

I stepped forward just hard enough to make a firm ca-clack of heel and toe hitting the floor.  Ca-clack, my other shoe snapped against the floor.  Ca-clack, cla-clack, cla-clack ca-clack, I walked around him in a tight circle, waiting for the wax to pool as I held the candle as upright and jostle-free as possible.

“I am going to punish you, Mr. Bear; I want a clean slate, and I will get one.  We will do this in slow, measured counts—and do count properly, Mr. Bear,”  I reminded him.  “Widen your knees as far as they’ll go, and lean back as far as you can.”

He wiggled a little, obeying.  That made his abdomen tighten again, and since there was no paunchy waistline to obscure the view, once again I had a good look at his full, washboarded eight-pack, and not just the six-pack jeans or slacks would have revealed.  His penis was quite erect once again, pleasing me as a trickle of wax beaded over the rim of the candle top, dripping all the way onto my hand.  I ignored the sudden heat, and brought the candle close to his stomach, swerving it around his genitals.

"Begin counting, Mr. Bear..."  A tip of my wrist, and the remaining liquid poured out of the cup-shaped depression.

Mr. Bear gasped, panted to control the painful heat, and managed,  “Thank you, Mistress, that was one!”

Candle righted, I waited for the flame to burn and melt more of the red paraffin.  When I judged it sufficient, I tipped it again, this time shifting my aim slightly to the right, closer to the left side of his stomach.

“Ahhah!  …Thank you, Mistress, that was two!”

His penis twitched and jumped as I applied dribble number three, and was almost as red at the tip as the wax itself, even though we were only up to coating number four.  He certainly liked this one!  I continued up through seven, watching the precum welling up through the little slit, only to trickle down the side of his long cock like the wax escaping from the rim of my candle.  I wanted to fuck it, good and hard.  Candle or cock, it didn’t matter; both were turning me on.  I refrained, however.  Instead, for application number eight, I aimed for the juncture of skin at the base of his cock, where it grew up out of his groin.

The gasp that escaped him was almost a scream, it rasped out of his throat that roughly, but he twitched and wriggled his hips, clearly wanting more.  “Thank you, Mistress, that was eight!”

I waited, and waited, and did it again, this time slightly to the side.  Wax dripped down through the lightly haired crease between thigh and balls as he choked from the pain, and it took him several seconds to get out the appropriately worded count, number nine left him panting so hard.  He subsided, knees still splayed, back still arched, and waited.  And waited, as I let the next batch drip onto the palm of my free hand before I brushed off the cooling wax.

It was worth the wait, as I’d gauged, for by the time the second puddle was ready, he was biting his lower lip in anticipation.  Bathed in the golden, final rays of the chilly autumn sunset, pouring in through one of the side windows, he was a masterpiece of apprehensive anticipation.  Just looking at him, I was getting wet.  Slowly, deliberately, I tipped the candle over the other crease at the edge of his groin.




Mr. Bear Ch. 4



“Oh, god!  Goddess—please, Mistress, oh, fuck—oh, thank you, Mistress, that was ten!”  he gasped, thighs straining, arms straining, stomach trembling as his head twisted.

Curious as to just how erotic he found this little paraffin play, I crouched to one side, waited until the candle was just right, then pushed his bone-hard shaft down with my free hand, and deliberately dribbled a streak of hot wax up the length of his shaft.

Without counting, without permission, and without warning, he came.  This particular bear clearly liked cock-torture.  Unfortunately.  Hot semen splatted against the underside of my right arm before I could jerk it completely away.  Rising, I blew out the candle as he continued to cum, shuddering with pleasure.  Nothing else touched his cock, just the cooling, solidifying wax.  By the time his breathing had calmed down a little, I had tucked the equally cooled candle back into the basket.  Crouching next to him again, I held my elbow up to his mouth.

“Lick.”

The simple command had him sticking out his tongue.  He flinched at the taste of semen, hesitated almost long enough for me to open my mouth and administer more demerits, then leaned forward cautiously and started flicking his tongue at my cum-stained skin.  From his frequent grimaces, he didn’t care for the taste.  He didn’t complain, though.  Glancing at his lap, I found his half-shrunken penis was growing again.  Flakes of dried red wax were coming off of his skin as he finished lapping up his own ejaculate from my arm.  He finished his newest task with a broad stroke of his tongue, questing over the skin of my forearm to make sure he had gotten it all.

“Good little bear,”  I praised him softly, and straightened up.  Moving around him, I removed the blindfold, leaned over his shoulder, and pointed at the floor, where his other cumstains had fallen, just missing the seat of the chair.  “How clean is this floor?”

“…Fairly clean, Mistress,”  he murmured, though there was a hesitancy in his voice.  “I, uh…it’s not quite clean enough to eat off of, I think.”

“Ten demerits for not having our playspace perfectly clean.  Ten demerits for cumming all over the floor without my permission…and twenty demerits for interrupting your punishment session with an orgasm, yet again.  How many is that on your tally now, Mr. Bear?”  I asked him, straightening up.

“Uh…  Twenty, forty…  Fifty, Mistress?”  he asked hesitantly.  “With the missed ten?”

“Fifty, Mr. Bear,”  I agreed coldly.  “We shall have to find some new method of teaching you how to behave in My presence.”

Mr. Bear shivered at the delicious threat implied in my Dominant tone.  Now the pressure lay on me, to come up with something truly memorable, but that was alright.

I was more than ready for the challenge.