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The Bag Lady and the Domme Ch. 01

By: bigrimmstales



This story comes from seeing a very young and pretty (underneath the grime) female tramp in a park. Her clothes were of high quality but filthy. She did not look like her mind was disturbed. I wondered how she had got in the state she was in...

It was strange how we met. I was searching for my dog in the park and she was collecting discarded cans, hoping to make some money from them. Her clothes were tatty, yet I could see from the stitching on those rare areas not caked in grime they were at one time expensive. Maybe she had got them from a charity or she had been rich and famous then fallen on hard times?

I kept looking at her, glancing so as not to appear rude by staring. The more I looked, the more I thought I remembered her. She smiled. A surprisingly white set of teeth showed behind all that dirt. Oh and her eyes! They were a beautiful bright blue and so clear I swear I could see my own reflection in them. I looked away, embarrassed at being caught out. She laughed.

"You don't recognise me do you?" she asked, chuckling.

"No, no, I don't," I replied, still embarrassed but sufficiently curious to turn and face her.

We must have looked so incongruous talking there together. I was in my best work clothes, expensive but severe dark tweed suit over a pure white blouse with its ruff at the neck. My shoes were Jimmy Choos, stockings Woolsey and underwear by La Perla. There was not a thing on me that cost under £200 bar the stockings and they had not been cheap. I'd worked hard to get to where I was and no one was going to deny me the chance to show off my success. Yet there was she, someone who knew me as I struggled to recollect her, wearing something that was once designer I was sure, but what I had no idea. 

"It's Gucci and Versace if you want to know," she said, kindly and in the plumiest of English accents. I was shocked that she knew so well what I was thinking. "You were always one for the fashions at school and so envious of me when I got that modelling assignment. Well, I'm not exactly on the front of Vogue anymore, am I?"

I was stunned, puzzled, and then it dawned on me.

"Clarissa!"

I could not believe it. The sexiest, most beautiful girl at the Academy was in front of me and down at heals. Flashes of images filled my head. I remembered her walk to her desk every day. I'd had a crush on her. When she was in the shower after games I'd always ensure I was next to her, ready with a bar of soap or offering to scrub her back. I'd make it look as if I was doing her a favour, by saying she could scrub mine for me in exchange, but I longed for those lessons where I could touch her naked flesh. Of course, it had just been a girlie crush and now I was married with two lovely children, soon to leave school, and a husband. Well, I was married but Jonathan was always away on some International assignment and with my busy job I'd packed my two girls off to boarding school. To the Academy of course, where three generations of girls from the Harmondon family had gone. Now they were close to university they'd been packed off to a Swiss Finishing school, just like I had been and my mother and hers before her too.

I had to hug Clarissa. I didn't care that her clothes probably smelt of piss and were as dirty as hell. I was going to hold her. She had been my idol and yes, so kind then too. She'd known I was besotted with her but never made fun of me nor took advantage of it. She always returned any favour in some way. In the shower she would carefully and very sensually rub my back and buttocks, making sure plenty of soap caressed my skin and washed away the sweat and grime of the hockey fields. Once, just before we left that school forever and as young adults, she surreptitiously left a kiss on my neck and whispered 'Thank you. I will miss this time together. You have been a true friend.' I'd not wanted to wash away that kiss. I felt it reverberate right through my body, stopping to excite and inflame my young clitoris.

"Clarissa!" I said again, advancing and putting my arms tightly around her. She winced, but not from rejecting my hug. No, she was in pain. I pulled back and looked at her, concerned. "What has happened?"

"Oh, I was sleeping under the arches. You know, where all the homeless sleep? A..."

Yes I did know. It confirmed all my worst fears. That was it. I knew what I had to do.

"You are coming home with me. No arguments." I interrupted, "I live over there, on the edge of the park. See the house with the Georgian wrought iron railings along the balconies? Right, forget any belongings I'll sort you out. We were always the same size and I guess we still are, though I have a few extra pounds from allegedly being a content mother and wife." I laughed at myself, seeing the irony in it, knowing it was a lie. I was unhappy as a wife and useless as a mother. Sending them to boarding school was not about their education, it was about me having the space to think, to define who I was at work and home without them under my feet and dividing my attention from this one goal. I liked to be in control.

I took her hand and almost dragged her after me, leaving the big bag of empties she had collected where they lay, though she did scoop up a rather incongruous black leather briefcase as we moved. She was laughing, not hysterically like some demented bag-lady but with joy and seeing this as fun. I imagined too it was with a sense of relief. And I was like a woman on a mission, taking control, pulling her along behind this ship in full sail. 

When we reached the door I was reminded of what I was meant to be doing in the park. Sitting on the step, as if nothing had happened and he hadn't been missing for two hours was Max, our English Pointer; the most mischievous young dog on the planet. 

"There you are!" I couldn't scold him, he'd come straight back for the first time ever. Previously I had collected him from a Dog's Home, a person's house and the family butcher where Max was found crunching through their best carcase of beef. It had cost me a fortune appeasing the butcher, but the new assistant Penny had been lovely to me and we had become good friends. I used to look forward to meeting her in the park with Buster, her cocker spaniel. Work had stopped that for a while, though we talked regularly on the phone. 

We entered the vestibule of my house, the warmth greeting us like a comforting blanket. I closed the big red door behind us, the sound echoing on the black and white diamond tiles. I opened the next set of doors to the vast hall, the log fire between the twin staircases blasting out a wave of heat. In the absence of my Czech maid, I realised I'd banked it up rather too well. The dog ignored this stranger, shot forward and lay as close to the fire as he could, ready to roast on the hearth. I laughed at his predictable antics and then turned to look at Clarissa.

"Strip!" I said, taking command of the situation and the opportunity the over-sized fire presented. "There is no point you keeping those cold and wet things on."

I avoided saying 'dirty' for fear of offending her.

"You sure?"

She seemed suddenly hesitant, clutching to her bosom that briefcase. This was a woman who had walked the catwalks of Europe and the Far East, shown her body regularly when wearing the most skimpy of dresses who was now questioning being naked. She read my mind for me.

"It's different on the catwalk. Most of the men are queer, but what if your husband ...?"

She trailed off. Did she know I had a husband or assumed it? For some reason I was struggling to admit I had one, but I had to reassure her.

"No problem, Jonathan is in Tokyo for a month. He is away a lot. I have a young maid, Anya, who is here to learn English, but she has gone back to Prague for a few days so I am alone. Take off your clothes. Get warm by the fire. I'll go find you something to wear"

I turned to leave, but found myself rooted to the spot. It was like when at school, where often I had been watching and waiting for her to change for her shower. Now I was the observer again. She seemed to be struggling with the coat. Her bruises must have hindered her movement.

"Just stand there, let me do it," I said, taking complete control again. 

I unbuttoned the top-coat that somewhere under the dirt hid a definite Gucci design of last season. Perhaps her sudden demise was recent? It did smell faintly of piss, but not too much for me to handle and no more than when my children were in nappies. Underneath was a Versace dress with a very incongruous Pringle sweater on top. I pulled the jumper over her head very gently. The smell of sweat was nearly overpowering, yet the sweetness from her armpits strangely erotic. She seemed to be so devoid of the perfumes and potions that blots out our natural hormones and scents, so the real aroma of a woman was wafting over to me. I could hear her breathing, slightly breathless. Was I hurting her? Did she find this mildly erotic too? 

I was trying to be as gentle as possible as I moved to unbutton the dress. It was a typical black number with the softest of silk, useless in the current temperature, and as each button released, so I tried to hide my horror at the amount of bruising on her neck and chest. She had no bra and I was soon looking at a perfectly rounded, still wonderfully pert, pair of breasts that belonged to the woman I had not seen this way since those shower days. Yet there was horror mixed with joy mixed with, well dare I say it? Her breasts were covered in marks that clearly represented where the drunken bully had landed his kicks. There were at least ten blue-black circles that lay close around her dark, pierced nipples. Was he really drunk? The marking was so deliberate, almost uniform. The piercings were large, heavy rings.

Her dress was now hanging around her waist as I inspected her front and back, which other than her breasts and some on her arms, was clear.

"Let me strip you of the rest of this dress and then I can go get some witch-hazel to tend to those bruises while I also get a bath running."

"Thank you," she said, simply and kissed me on the neck as I leant forward to release the waistband on her dress and let it drift to the floor. I remembered that last kiss at school. A tremble passed through me. I struggled to keep a focus on my duties. She seemed to just accept that I was now in control. I felt I needed to reassure her that she was safe with me, though my body and subconscious clearly had other ideas about how to comfort her.

"No problem, it is so good to see you. I will...."

I was suddenly tongue-tied, just like all those years ago. It was good to see her but the reference to 'seeing' that popped into my head was sexual, seeing her naked, not just meeting each other. The kiss and the sight of her had had their effect. I could feel my panties beginning to become awash with my juices; something that had not happened to me in a very long time, least of all with my husband. How could this be? I was an avid, hetero pillar of the community. I told myself that my damp knickers were a coincidence.

"R-right, I better get the lotion and some clothes for you."

I turned and ran up the stairs two steps at a time like a little schoolgirl. I was back at the Academy, chasing round for Clarissa! Yet something was different. There was another more controlling voice in the back of my mind.

_____________________

When I came dancing down the stairs, again two at a time, carrying a silk robe and the ointment, I felt so happy, only to stop at the bottom and see Clarissa curled up naked and asleep on the rug, right next to Max. Her panties I could see burning away at the edge of the fire. She had clearly had no strength to throw them in properly. I gazed at her firm and perfectly rounded bottom. 

"Jessica Harmondon-Smithers, what are you thinking?" I said aloud to no one in particular, except myself who was suddenly feeling hotter and hotter as I stared down at the beautiful nude form of my old school friend. I realised it was not the banked up fire that was creating the temperature. Primitive, long-suppressed desires flooded my body. I could smell my own scent wafting up from beneath my thick tweed skirt. I'd discarded my knickers, too damp to be comfortable. Yes, even my 'dowager duchess wear' as Johnnie called it could not hide my desires. Only my head kept trying to deny what Clarissa the catalyst had re-surfaced.

I knelt quietly beside her, reaching out to stroke her tousled hair. It was futile adjusting the straggling mess which held God knows what creatures, possibly even lice, but I was back at school in that instant offering her all the love of a doting young woman. I put the gown by her side and sat, waiting for something, I don't know what, other than her awakening. I imagined her turning to me, reaching for my face and pulling it to her with both hands. In my romantic and lustful state, her dirty body did not exist. She was the embodiment of beauty that topped her class, won the modelling contracts and went on to be a famous celebrity.

She moaned, a little pain expressed, but did not wake as she turned on her back. I could see the bruises, noting faint stripes too that were visible on her belly and down to her pubis and inner thighs. What had someone done to her? It was then I looked again at the dramatic statement of the rings through her nipples, something I had always wanted but never had the courage to do. What was so strange was that when inspecting for the marks I had failed to register the significance of these adornments. It was as if my brain had accepted them. And when I looked down again just as her thighs parted in her sleep, so I saw the six gold rings in her labia (three each side) and the bar across her clitoris that was now large, engorged or naturally that way (I had no recollection). It seemed perfectly reasonable to reach out and gently, then more vigorously, play with the bar and rings using the tips of my fingers. She moaned again and I shot my hand back as if I'd touched fire.

Fire seemed to be everywhere. My hand was hot and appeared disconnected from me. It had been somewhere forbidden, somewhere I had not had permission to go. It was a sinful hand and I had an intense desire to wash it, but instead brought the sinning digits to my mouth and licked each one ever so slowly. I could smell a light mix of a woman's juices and piss from days of being unwashed, but still I licked each one clean. And this created an almost unquenchable fire in my cunt or 'yoni' as I remember her telling me once. Also, the heat from the fire seemed to burn my skin, until I realised it was the singeing fur of Max who had foolishly got too close. When did dogs ever learn? I pulled him backwards and he woke with a yelp and then a series of barks. He was barking at the flames as if it was their fault.

Clarissa woke suddenly, a product perhaps of learning to do so when sleeping rough on benches and under railway arches, always sensing danger. She smiled at me. More fire raged. I felt the flames licking around my labia. I was struggling to control deeply suppressed desires. I was that dormant volcano on a Pacific atoll that just needed an underground test nearby to upset the equilibrium. Everyone had run for their lives and I was now alone, feeling the seismic pulses. I had to move, to act, to do something.

"Come with me now," I blurted out, no pleasantry in the tone. "I have a bath running upstairs, some toiletries for you and a nice warm bed."

"Yes Mistress," she said, in all seriousness, slowly and painfully getting to her feet. Wow, again the flames burned around my thighs.

"Oh, no, no, I'm not your Mistress. Sorry, I was just overzealous in wanting you to get up and cleaned before sleep loses you to me for a while..." Oh, what was I saying? I was starting to apologise and bluster over my words like a teenager caught out. "I mean I did not intend to be so commanding."

"Pity," she said simply. "A great pity."

"Pardon?" 

What was she telling me? Did she want me to be commanding? She didn't want me to be a dormouse, like I'd become with Jonathan? Ok, anything to please her.

"Come on then, up those stairs and get cleaned up."

"Yes mistress!" she said, smiling and lowering her head slightly. I quite liked this new, commanding me. Could it ever last though? I doubted it. I had only done it with the children, in my job where I was top dog and sometimes in play with Johnnie when we were newly weds. I remembered with a sense of loss how he had loved me so much then, how he'd bring me flowers and bathe me, and yes, how subservient he had been and yet, so aroused, his manhood seeming to never be anything but vertical! I giggled.

"What is making you laugh my Mistress?"

What was she doing? She was still calling me Mistress!

"I was thinking of my husband and our early marriage together. We had such incredible fun, with a capital 'F'. Doesn't life knock the spots off you?"

"With respect Mistress Jessica, it is we who rub those spots off, telling ourselves we have to stop doing those things because we have family or we are too old, or we have too many work responsibilities. We make our own dungeon where we then lay and fester."

"Clarissa, why do you keep calling me Mistress?" I asked, more than a little intrigued now.

I was bending to the marble bath, a huge one that we had installed so that Johnnie and I could bathe together and then when the children came along with them. In fact, one of them was birthed in that tub. The back of my hand tested the temperature.

"Perfect," I said, to no one in particular.

"I knew it would be Mistress. It always was with you and I'm sure it always will be so."

Clarissa was smiling at me. Her legs were parted as she stood by the bath. How beautiful she looked, the jewellery adorning her most intimate places seemed perfect. Yet now something had changed. I no longer wanted to dash over and bury myself in her breasts and cunt; I wanted her to come to me. Worse, or was it better, I wanted her to worship me. 

I sensed the electricity in the air. It was hot and humid in the room, like in the hours before a heavy storm. Her head was down, as if unable to look me in the eyes. She still had not answered my question but I did not care any more.

"Get in the bath, now."

Was that really my voice being so commanding?

She walked in, down the white marble steps, and then squatted with all the grace of the model she was. There was the sound of the water parting and lapping at the sides, but no other noises. A silence hung in the air. I sensed that it would only end if I made it end.

"Clarissa, tell me how you came to be a bag lady in the park. Leave nothing out."

There I went again, commanding. 

I stripped off my clothes, without a hint of ceremony or even a thought as to whether Clarissa wanted me in the bath with her. 

I picked up the overhead shower nozzle and again without asking sent shots of warm water over her matted scalp.

"Carry on," I ordered, ignoring the squirming that reminded me of when my now 18 year old daughter was five and had her hair washed.

_________________________

The tale was a long one and I have to admit I was at first shocked, in the way a mother often is as the amnesia of the years makes her forget her own strong sexual and individual identity when tending first to a husband and then her bairns. Here was a woman who had never married, had a long career but somewhere along the way had followed her most base instincts to become who she was now. 

So as shock turned to recall of my own adventurous spirit and then to envy of her experimental and daring life, I listened enraptured by the tales that took us all over the globe, into the strangest settings and the most exotic locations. I wondered if there was anything this woman had not tried.


The Bag Lady and the Domme Ch. 01



Perhaps what was intriguing in the here and now was that I continued to completely control her as she talked. I had washed and conditioned her hair, which took more than four soaps, rinses and final treatment. I had shaved her armpits and her pussy, making her sit legs wide open on the side while I lovingly scraped away dirt and stubble. The smells of piss and shit between her legs were replaced with the herbal scents of Crabtree© products. She had not objected at all when I had bent her over, opened her buttocks and inspected her little rosebud (that I noticed when touched opened more than I might have expected and as if on command) ensuring all dirt and hair was removed.

Interspersed between these washing rituals were the tales. None were dull, all left me intrigued, curious, and yes, sometimes envious of her adventures. There was some sadness along the way, including the death of her father (though even that was not uneventful and surrounded by a story of sexual daring and a lot of BDSM activity). Let us just say at this point that when he died he was an extremely happy man, who like the actor whose only wish is to die on the stage whilst working, managed to pass away at the end of a week of intense sexual joy that involved both his new wife and - though not I hasten to add in an incestuous way - his daughter. However, if incest can be defined as when there is a sexual act between stepmother and daughter then there had been more than a family affair. By the time it was recalled, even that did not shock me.

"So Clarissa, having gone into modelling and become your 'Svengali's' puppet, you were saved by Mistress Raven of Leinston who took over your management and then started to develop your modelling agency. I think that week in Paris on the catwalk by day and in a cage at the bottom of her bed at night was justified, given the naughty things you got up to in daylight. Yes, the Saudi Prince seems at once cruel and yet on another he seems to really understand your, er, needs. How did I not see them at School?"

"They were there all the time Mistress Jessica if you had looked. It was daring for me to kiss you before I left. You see paradoxically my underpinning subservience meant I could not ask you for what I wanted, or that is what I thought at the time, based on the limited knowledge I had. My father..."

"Your father?!" I suddenly shouted.

"Yes," she continued, in a hushed voice, bowing her head even lower in response to my shouts. "He had noticed my proclivities at an early age but waited until I was of age, i.e. an adult, before confronting me with the truth about myself. Do you remember how many times I was sent to the office for a caning or the ruler based on my rudeness to certain teachers?"

"Yes, I do and come to think of it you never came back in tears but with a wide smile even if your head was down. My God! You clever bitch, you got those spankings deliberately! And you knew the teacher who dominated or in fact could have been dominatrix? You did it at home as well didn't you?"

"Yes," she said, clapping her hands in childlike glee. "My birth mother and then my stepmother who had been my maid from childhood regularly spanked me. However, when my father spanked me that was when I knew I had had a satisfactory punishment. He was so severe, but so loving too." 

I wiped the tear that suddenly surfaced from her right eye.

"Let's stop a while," I suggested gently.

I pulled her naked body to me in the bath, noticing for the first time that the water was no longer warm. 

"Go to bed now."

"Yes Mistress," she said, tears still streaming down her face. "You know, I will always miss him."

"Yes, I know."

Oh, how I knew. My father was so kind to me but I never understood why he packed me off to school. My mother was the same, though I realised much more dominant than him, much stronger. For her sending me away was to make me tougher, make me stand on my own two feet, not be dependent on others. Yet here was I in a faltering marriage, two children sent away to finishing school and now with a waif and stray on my doorstep. 

Or so I thought.

I held her hand as she rose up out of the water. She looked so beautiful, suddenly innocent and younger than her years. Her shaven sex accentuated her womanly qualities, contrary to my expectation that I might have made her forbiddingly childlike. The gold rings now shone under the powerful downlights that lit her pale skin and dried her subtly as she walked. 

I watched as she squatted over the toilet and pissed a stream of golden liquid without shame or embarrassment. I wondered how many men and women had seen her do that. I filled the bidet and encouraged her to wash again between her thighs, not wipe with paper. 

"Good girl," I heard myself say, as if she was my daughter not my more senior friend. 

"Now lie down over on the bed."

I pointed to the room with its circular bed and a ceiling made up of expensive mirrors. It was a legacy from the days before time stopped and our daughters ruled our days, our nights, and most of all our privacy until with no real spontaneity for each other our marriage became a ritual. Our reflections now confronted us only with our dullness, our conformity, out routine, our loss.

And then I realised she was watching me intensely, so much so the hairs on the back of my head were standing up. Alert. A signal. 

"Mistress," she called, in a 'little-girl-lost' voice, "Will you sleep with me a while? I need your safety."

So I gave it and slept spooned behind her, naked. 

____________________________

I was on a settee, my legs open and splayed lewdly. Jonathan was slowly licking softly, maddeningly at my shaven labia. He had found my clitoral hood and was nudging it back with his teeth. 

He stopped.

"Open yourself more Mistress. Open your cunt so that everyone at the party can see it."

I looked around, seeing hundreds of guests who did not seem to care about my nakedness except one. He was staring, his tongue moving lasciviously over his lips, his hand stroking his hard erection that poked lewdly from his grey flannel trousers. He had a whip in his right hand and whenever Johnnie stopped licking he flicked the thongs viciously over Johnnie's naked arse and heavy balls. My husband cried out into my cunt then lapped harder, stronger.

I pulled his head down onto me, cruelly grinding his nose and mouth onto me. I was writhing now, shouting to the people at the party to watch.

It was amazing, at my command everyone turned to watch me being tongue-fucked and my breasts teased by my own fair hands. 

I moaned and groaned in ecstasy. My body was moving like a soul dancer, grinding my pussy. I held on to his head like I was possessed. Then I heard his cries change from masculine to feminine. I didn't question it, I just wanted to cum. And I came, screaming and screaming with delight. The orgasm rushed through me and I held on to my partner's head with a vicelike grip. 

"Ohhh, it's been so long. It's been so long," I kept saying, in a voice that was part whisper, part moan. "So long."

"Mistress," I could hear, "Mistress."

And that is when I realised I had Clarissa's hair in my hands. She was locked between my thighs and I was sweating, exhausted from the power of my cumming.

As I came to, I realised what had happened. The clock said it was a whole eight hours since we had gone to bed.

"So," I said to her, pretending to scowl, but feeling deliciously wicked and so in control. "You thought you would eat my cunt while I slept, heh? 

I gradually let her loose, untangling my hands from her scalp. 

"I - I - I wanted to thank you and..."

"So you always thank by eating your hostess's cunt do you?" I spat that word out, loving its sound, loving the power it generated in me, realising that she had been unable to resist my pussy, my cunt, my yoni. All words I hadn't used since the love went out of my marriage. I had not a trace of guilt or embarrassment. I smiled, a radiant smile as she grovelled between my thighs, keeping her head low, afraid to look up. 

"I always wanted you at school Mistress, but we were barely legal then and anyhow, I knew nothing of the pleasure of being submissive."

You know, I really liked being called 'Mistress'. I wanted to be recognised in this place, away from work. I wanted someone, maybe more than one, to acknowledge and adore me. I realised in an instant that I also needed someone who could deal with my strong, almost violent passions, the physical controlling desires that I had had since my first serious relationship. Jonathan had shown signs of giving me that but now was a slave to his work. My head was rushing to meet my heart at breakneck speed and with an acknowledgment that I needed someone subservient, obedient but whom I could express love to, play with and have adventures. So who better than the person I had admired and wanted all those years ago and who now needed me?

"Come lie by me. Tell me more."

As she lay at my side, I turned to face her, telling her to lift her face. Her eyes were large and beautiful, the pupils dilated in a clear sign of lust. She had given me an orgasm and forgone her own, but the need was there all the same. I knew instinctively I was not going to satisfy that need, well not yet, but I reached to her breasts, exploring her incredibly stiff nipples. 

"Do those rings enhance your pleasure?"

"Oh yes Mistress," she said in a breathy, excited way. "They have been positioned exquisitely. The size is so that I may be pulled or hung by them. That pleasure comes through the pain. It, it is wonderful! Prince Rahid el Samur knew so much about the inflicting of infinite punishments to achieve maximum pleasure. I can enter sub-space now with just a word."

I smiled again, noticing that when she spoke of her submissive life there was an enthusiasm that was never reflected in descriptions of her modelling work, except where the two elements collided, as happened in Hamburg when she did a fetish clothing shoot that so angered her then agent that she quit. Her loss, Clarissa's gain, as her new one was a dominatrix.

I did not ask what she meant by 'sub-space', that could be part of the adventure of finding out. Instead, I continued to play with her nipples, tugging now at the rings, twisting them, experimenting. I studied Clarissa's face, watching the hints of pain mixed with beams of pleasure.

"Get on all fours above me."

"Yes Mistress."

"Now tell me how you ended up in the park outside my house."

Her firm but bruised tits hung down, and I stretched and pulled harder and harder on the rings, insisting she continue the story of her life. I watched the perspiration begin to build on her skin. I felt my pussy lips swell and my own nipples grow hard as I toyed with her. I was beginning to not see her as a person, but as my slut, my plaything. Ok, there was some revenge deep in my psyche for leaving me at school, for NOT pleasuring me when I wanted her in my schoolgirl lesbian fantasies. So now I took great sadistic pleasure in seeing her teats extended and clearly aching. 

We travelled through a series of adventures, all reinforcing her need to be dominated and live an active role of subservience, arriving at the past month. 

"I was working for a newspaper on a story about homelessness. The editor, Klaus Von Freidrich, gave me the job. He was a member of my BDSM club when I was in Hamburg and is now working in the UK for the Daily Review. One day he called me to his London office, electronically locked the door and then told me he was going to brief me on an assignment that would change my life. I had no choice but to obey him, no matter what employment law might say, because I was collared and belonged to him."

She began to cry. I stopped the teasing of her nipples. Why the tears?

"No, no, ple-e-ease."

"You want me to continue, er, testing you?"

"Yes, you do not understand yet how, what, er, I will explain afterwards..."

Oh, I was beginning to understand. She could not function without being dominated and controlled. I had some concerns that this state was too dominant in her life, but at the moment the instinct to play and be pleasured was too strong to consider it deeply. I pulled hard at her tit rings. There was a slight moan, but I knew I had sent a myriad of different sensations through her.

"Thank you Mistress Jessica."

I felt so powerful! I liked this role as Mistress, finding nothing awkward in it. The power was translating into sexual energy. I found myself touching my own breasts with my free hand, not caring this was in front of another woman, enjoying seeing her eyes wide again. I knew she wanted to do that. Maybe I would let her once I knew all about her life. For now, I felt the need to test, to experiment, possibly only little things, but I started all the same.

"Yes, you should thank me, slut." 

Her head went back down for a moment, but the slight sway of her hips and a quickening of breath suggested that being a slut was part of the turn-on for her. However, for me there was a sense of amazement, which became a question. Where on earth was this language I was using coming from? I must have absorbed the terms from the women's magazines I devoured over my loveless weekends and the pornography for women that I had taken to in recent years. I had to admit it; my solitary sessions of masturbation whilst pouring over cheap, sex-drenched paperbacks had become almost obsessive. If it wasn't for Max needing walks and the amounts of work I brought home, weekends would be completely lost in sexual fantasy. The further apart Jonnie and I became, the more this habit had surfaced. My delusion was that I craved independence. Now I knew that was an illusion. Ok, here was my chance to turn those obscene, often-perverted fantasies that I read about so avidly to fact, and why not?

"Yes, thank you," she said quietly, reaching forward and kissing me softy on the lips. Then she continued, her hips swaying again, miming grinding against a hand or a crotch, reliving some strong sexual event. "Klaus ordered me to crawl to him from the door of his office. I had on the clothes you saw today or was it yesterday, I am not sure?" 

I said nothing, other than, "Continue."

"Yes Mistress. There was a large piece of blue plastic sheeting on the floor. He ordered me to lie on it face up. He had never been like this before with me, always keeping his BDSM relationship away from the office. I knew something was going to happen, but I was unsure what. I felt really scared, not trusting him. Something had happened or was about to happen." I watched her breasts begin to heave. I kept a tight rein on her nipple rings. Was it distress or arousal?

"Anyhow, Klaus told me that he wanted me to investigate homelessness and specifically a rumour that young 'hobos' as he called them were being picked up by someone or some group, fed and watered, and then abused sexually and physically in strange rituals. He told me he had prepared a special pack for me with tracking devices, a hidden camera in the belt of my coat and one in the leather holdall you saw me with, a concealed mobile to be only used in emergencies and a drop-off address for my reports. These were to be recorded on a tiny digital recorder, again concealed in a secret compartment at the bottom of the holdall."

She burst into tears again, but fought them back and continued.

"Then he told me coldly and simply that he was no longer my Dom. I was on my own when I left the room as it was not appropriate to continue, but my pay was being increased and I would be well rewarded on delivery of the assignment. I was so shocked."

She stopped again, sobbing quietly. Why did I not feel more sympathy? I liked her helplessness.

"What happened next left me completely confused. He suddenly took out his cock, standing either side of my legs and ordered me to lie back. He said he was going to prepare me for the degradation to come."

"How?"

"He pissed on me! He just pissed all over my lovely dress, and face, then ordered me to roll in the hot stream. The strong smelling pee soaked through to my skin. It was as if he had been waiting and waiting until his bladder was as full as possible. It seemed to last for ages, especially when the salty piss hit my mouth and eyes. All I could do was obey."

I secretly felt turned on by this. My God I was wet! I could imagine her not only lying there but tied up, her mouth held open. It may have been to prepare her in this bizarre way, but I found it wonderfully pervy. I couldn't help caressing my breasts more vigorously and tugging hard on her nipple rings. I did not care about her tears. Why should I? I was convinced she could take more than a little psychological and physical pain. Was she just doing this to get under my emotional radar? If so, she would fail the little slut.

"Continue," I said coldly.

"He noticed I had left a pool of his piss and he made me lap it up like a dog. He beat me hard with a paddle on my wet arse. There were splashes of piss flying out from the cloth he had drenched me so much. He made me go find every single one of them and lap them up too. He had never humiliated me so much or so I thought, until he called his secretary in to see his handiwork. I-I-did not know that this new recruit was also his new submissive. He..." She began crying again, sobbing helplessly, but I held my nerve, instructing her to carry on. "He told me to take off my little leather collar and place it around her neck. I saw the disgust in her face as my piss-smelling body came close to her. He made me kiss her too, with my pee-spattered lips..."

She stopped, tears streaming down her face. Now I felt her hurt, she was under my radar at last.

"You have me," I whispered, taking her face in my hands and kissing her passionately on the lips. Suddenly I stopped. What was I doing? I have a husband and children! She looked, puzzled, insecure. Good, maybe that was what I needed her to feel. No longer was it going to be me chasing around tending for her. I had done it for her at school, carried on doing it for my absentee husband, my boarding children, my late mother and father, but now I knew I wanted her to serve me and care for me. In truth I was not bothered if Jonnie and the children found Clarissa in my house and very close to me. No I wanted to be the centre of attention at home, the person cared for not caring.

"So tell me about the bruises to your tits," I enquired softly, though aware my language was increasingly direct and raw. She stopped sobbing, eyes wide open, sniffed then proceeded to tell me the rest of the tale. I gestured to her to sit back, facing me on the bed. It allowed me at once to look at her and keep my distance as, what I now knew I was, a Domme (albeit a novice one).

"I went straight out onto the streets. He had given me a little money and that bag, but nothing else. I had to find out about the rumours but also find somewhere on the streets. I could not go home as I had been living with him as his subbie and my house was rented out through an agency."

"So how did you manage?"

I let my foot slip between her open thighs, teasing lightly at her cleanly shaven cunt, but not letting her move. I was fascinated by her slit, so glisteningly wet as I knew whatever she was recalling, my toes were arousing her.

"I headed for one of the sites listed in my holdall as a place down-and-outs had been reported to disappear from. It was horrible. People were living under a roadway, in cardboard boxes. A kindly woman offered me a share of her shelter. Oh, Mistress Jessica, it stank! It had nothing in it but her body and clothes, but it stank of piss. I had no choice, I had to get used to this. I was at the bottom of the societal chain from a position where I knew I had over a million in the bank, but no way of touching it. This woman, Maggie, was under all her dirt and stink no more than thirty years old. I was shocked when she told me. She had been beaten by her husband who then threw her out on the streets. I found out why that night."




The Bag Lady and the Domme Ch. 01



She squirmed as she sat in front of me. More juice seemed to seep from her slit. I rubbed harder. She emitted a tiny moan.

"What did you find out?" I asked, ignoring the sign of pleasure.

"It took me hours to get to sleep. I kept one eye open, afraid of being raped or attacked. Maggie had no qualms. She just went off. Eventually I too slept. I was dozing for at least two hours when I dreamt that my face was being licked and my legs opened for a doctor to investigate my womb. I could not wake up, but neither could I stop the dream. My cunt felt aroused, hungry. Then I slowly struggled to wake up only to find that Maggie, with her unclean mouth and hands was kissing me and had her fingers up my skirt, diddling my clitoris. I didn't want to but I could not resist. She had taken me so close to orgasm that I let this filthy creature arouse me. Worse, when she pulled my hand to delve under her tatty dress, I did it. I felt her stinking cunt, its clitty large and hard, and rubbed her to mutual orgasm. For all the degradation and perversion of the situation, I had a wonderful orgasm! Worse still, I allowed her to continue to kiss me and delve around my mouth with her dirty tongue. I was accepting so rapidly my complete demoralisation and humiliation. Yet, as the consummate journalist, I argued somewhere in my brain that this was necessary if I was to be effective undercover."

"Your cunt is very wet. You seem to like being degraded, slut"

I was mocking in my tone. I watched her head go down, but she was making subtle movements towards my foot that was now hard against her cunny.

"I made the right choice," she said proudly. "Maggie looked after me. Her husband had thrown her out because he had caught her fucking her maid, a Hungarian student and lesbian. She had never done it before, but loved it, and he had come in early from work. It was his pride that was hurt and his predictable way to deal with it was like a football thug. He needed someone to punch and Maggie was the one. She vowed never to go back."

She was finding it more and more difficult to talk. My toe was focused on arousing her clitoris. Then I stopped, leaving her unfulfilled. I heard the briefest of sounds, as if she was going to plead, and then she sat silently again though let out a quiet sigh.

"Carry on, slut!" I said sternly.

"After that degrading but raw sex with Maggie, I helped her to clean up a bit, especially her teeth and down below."

"Why so coy all of a sudden? You mean her cunt." And I spat it out with venom. I felt irrationally jealous of a dirty bag lady having sex with my friend and yes, subbie, Clarissa. 

I watched her head go down and there was a flinch, as if expecting me to hit her. I laughed, nervously. I had corrected her and she had reacted like it was a reflex action.

"Yes, Mistress, her cunt," she repeated softly. I don't know where it was coming from, but I felt suddenly very powerful and very sadistic. Hell we had only met again after so many years and with her in a bad state, yet all I wanted to do was dominate her? Too right!

"Say it again, slut, but loud. Spit it out!"

She lifted her head. There was a sudden haughtiness about her. She looked me straight in the eye and said, "Her CUNT, Mistress", loudly and clearly.

"Good darling. Now come lie by me and tell me more," I ordered sweetly, patting the mattress at my side.

_____________________________________

It was morning of the second day by the time we finished. Clarissa had long moments of tears, then periods of quiet, then more of intense passion, pleasuring me at my whim. I was so in control, using her I knew for my pleasure and administering to her what she needed: pain and submission, but especially to serve me totally. I kept her on the edge of orgasm but denied her the final 'petit mort'.

What I had heard from her made my head spin. I had known nothing like it. She was lucky to be alive! What did that idiot of an editor think he was doing? If had been her then I would have kicked his balls in like that footballer had just done in the World Cup. I was angry and I felt such relief that Clarissa was alive, and even more so, in my charge. What luck! 

It was two days before a Bentley had driven up to the little group of tramps in the middle of the night. It stopped at their box, there was a shadowy group of two men and what looked like a woman, and the next thing they knew Maggie and Clarissa were injected with something. They stood to protest and then blacked out. They could remember nothing until they awoke in a cold dungeon, stripped and bound to two huge cart-like wheels. Maggie was upside-down, facing Clarissa. Her legs were open and a young, naked and very petite Asian woman was shaving her cunt and anal hair. When finished, she kissed the prominent folds of her sex, stepped back, bowed and thanked Maggie for the honour! Then she pressed a button on a control panel in her hand and turned Mags the right way up.

Clarissa had never seen Maggie so clean! There were pools of water beneath her. Someone had given her the dungeon equivalent of a bedbath. Clarissa had laughed weakly at that, because as soon as she said it, she then added, "And then they did something so cruel. Maggie had long, albeit unkempt, hair. A man wearing nothing but a black mask had entered. His cock was massive, excited and pulsing but caged in some strange leather contraption like a male chastity belt. I heard the clippers before I saw them. I feared for her. He walked up, grabbing her head in his hand and proceeded to run the electric blades right down the centre of her scalp. There was no choice now and I think Maggie knew because she just hung silently in the wheel and let him do it. There wasn't even a whimper from her. All I do know is that she kept looking across at me, her eyes pleading, once even smiling weakly at me, but she did not utter a sound."

So, her down-and-out friend had been shaven completely. I had to admit it turned me on to think of her body clean, hairless and naked. The naked but masked man thrilled me too, especially that his hard cock was controlled. Clarissa described what happened to Maggie so lovingly and perversely, and in so much detail; like she loved that woman and her once dirty body. 

I had watched a sci-fi film once that had a woman on a starship and she had a shaven head. It had turned me on then and it did again hearing her talk.

Then they had started on Clarissa. She was gently and lovingly washed, using very expensive cleansing products she noticed. A man dressed in black leather from head to toe, including a face mask, inspected her hair. He told the one with the clippers to leave. There was no balding for Clarissa. However, he then placed his palm over her pubis and snapped his fingers for the 'girl' (she affirmed late that she was an adult, 20 years old) to come and shave her. He had whispered something to the person, caressing her firm little breasts, before walking away, leaving her nipples hard and aroused and her face radiant. She had started giggling. Clarissa thought she was Vietnamese. Then the girl proceeded to arrange her disposable razors, a bowl of warm water, a cloth, a brush and shaving soap at Clarissa's feet.

"Tut, tut. What a bushy and stinking cunt you have slave," she muttered in heavily accented English, as if to herself.

The girl had taken what seemed like hours over this simple task, shaving a little, washing off the soap, then testing first with her finger and then her tongue, then doing a little more, and so on. She had turned the chore into a pleasure, for both the victim and the perpetrator. Clarissa was taken to the brink of orgasm more than once through this ceremony of cleansing. However, she was left as abruptly as the girl had arrived with her cunt lips tingling and swollen, and her prominent clitoris aroused to a tortuously sex-hungry state. She would, she admitted, have done anything for that girl.

They had then left the two of them for what seemed like hours hanging naked in their hoops. Somehow they knew not to talk to each other.

_______________________________

We had a little sleep after this story, which led to me having intensely erotic dreams. I ordered my husband to fuck Maggie and then to give his satiated penis to Clarissa to revive. She fucked his cock with her mouth like a slut, but I made him come out of her and spend all over my face and body. I wanted that spunk like some elixir. Then I ordered both women to lick the gluey mix, paying particular attention to my tits. My language was foul and I saw them all as my sluts, including Jonnie. However, I noticed that in this dream his cock was never anything less than rigid, a turgid and enormous manhood. In real life he was never small, always thick in girth, but in the dream he was massive in all dimensions.

I awoke to Clarissa licking gently at my slit. She seemed insatiable, intent on pleasuring me. Was this a desire for me or a conditioned behaviour after hours in the hands of the shadowy group she had been with? I grabbed her hair and pushed her away. Although I desperately wanted her to minister to my desires, there was a bigger need and that was to hear the full story. 

She did not protest, just sat back on her buttocks and looked at me with doe-like eyes, waiting for whatever was my whim. She has been trained well, I thought. I smiled at her, delighting in seeing my cunt juices surrounding her mouth and dripping from her chin.

"Carry on."

________________________________________

She pointed down at her cunt lips, their jewellery now shiny with her juice and the cleansings she had had in my company. 

"It must have been the next day when the naked but hooded man arrived again. He had with him a Gladstone bag, like doctors used to carry. He knelt in front of me, inspecting my cunny, then called to the petite slave (as I found out later she was) to rotate me. Mistress, I was tired from trying to sleep on that wheel, having managed only a little doze. Maggie was still sleeping when this man arrived. Only my screams woke her."

"Your screams?" I asked, sitting on the bed, part concerned, partly aroused thinking of her pain.

"Yes Mistress, he took out a bottle of spirit of some type and handed it to the little Asian. She lovingly caressed my sex lips, applying the liquid on a lint cloth. Again, she treated it like a ceremony and I guess it was. I looked up from my upside-down vantage point to see that with her other hand she was caressing the man's enormous penis. Mistress, I had not realised how big he was but now he was free of his cock cage. It distracted me looking at that huge pulsing member and the heavy hairless balls beneath from what happened next."

"Yes?"

"He took an instrument of some type from his bag. It was like a pair of stainless steel pliers but had a hole on one side and a large spike on the other. He had been playing with my labia, stretching and stroking them, making me fill with pleasure and plumping the lips. Then he struck, opening the jaws wide then lifting them up and closing them around my cunt lips. I screamed louder than I have ever done. The pain was immense, as the spike went through my tender flesh and threaded through the hole on the other side of the pliers. It was over in a flash. Another instrument inserted one of those labial rings that I am now wearing. The pain spread then changed, its heat permeating through me to become pleasure."

"Pleasure?"

"Yes, pleasure Mistress. In spite of all the pain I now had the ministrations of the petite one. She was stroking me again, lovingly applying a soothing balm to the affected area. Once done, she stopped, and he began again. Another sharp pain, another ring inserted, another loving ministration. And so it went on until the six rings you see were inserted and I had experienced such pleasure and pain. I was then pleasured by both of them, with the petite girl (later to be known as Slave One) at my mouth and breasts, and the masked man (Man Slave One) licking my aching cunt and clitoris until I forgot the pain of the jewellery. I came Mistress! The pain was no longer there, just sheer pleasure. However, I was sore for several days and Slave One visited during each day, or what I assumed to be so, on the hour to add healing balm."

"But what about Maggie?" I asked, losing interest in her finished state.

"I was rotated back the other way. I could see liquid glistening from Maggie's cunt. She looked strangely content, probably because she had slept longer than she would ever have been able to in cardboard city. No words passed between us, just unspoken support and love. So long as we were together..."

Clarissa began to weep. I realised that I cared, but did not want her to know it. I wished to be seen as in control.

"Stop those tears at once!" I snapped, "Tell me the tale and then we can decide whether it merits a tear. Come hug me tight and carry on."

Tight? It was fearsome. She was clearly scared of these people, but she was in my protection now. 

"Man Slave One left me, his mouth covered in my juice and a little blood. He walked up to Maggie, his cock still pulsing and hard with little drips of semen clearly visible and running down its engorged purple head. He called for Slave One who turned the wheel, but this time only so his cock could be in line with Maggie's face. It was as if Slave One knew what she had to do, perhaps they had done this to many of their victims, I don't know. She had with her a wire device that fitted around their victim's mouth, opening the jaw wide, like the dentists use. Maggie could do nothing, her teeth could not close. Then Man Slave put his huge dick straight down her throat. I heard her gagging, close to throwing up, but he snapped instructions to her. He kept saying, 'Swallow slut!. Swallow you useless piece of street garbage.' And he kept thrusting in and out of her mouth to a steady rhythm until he came with the loudest moan of pleasure, leaving Maggie choking, unable to spit, her mouth and cheeks spilling with his cum. Again, he shouted at her to swallow. The jaw splitter was covered in his gooey seed. I looked at the sweating, firm buttocks of the man; so muscular as they eased their pumping. I felt strangely jealous to not taste his cum. I felt the degradation and yet the pleasure, almost honour to give to a man who later I was to find was of no higher status than me. He was just a male slut given permission by his owners to have his pleasure."

Now I was wet and aching between my thighs. I wanted to be Maggie! I wanted to have cum pouring down my throat and to be mouth-fucked. Me, the lady of the park! The posh London woman, with all her riches wanted to be the slut for a day. I laughed to myself, but a part of me craved degradation just as another loved the power and control of domination.

"You can caress my pussy as you talk," I said in as matter-of-fact a tone as I could muster. Clarissa's fingers slid sensuously over my engorged labia, carefully avoiding my clitty that stood proud outside its little hood.

"He had that bag with him again. I felt a shudder and the dulling pain in my slit reminded me of my own situation only hours before. Yet Mistress, now I yearned for the pain, I wanted it and wanted the attention of this man; the only person I'd seen other than Slave One and the fully leather clad man who never came back. They had a method to control and take us over. It was patient, stealthy, and mixed sexual favour with degradation and loss of choice."

"Yes, yes, yes," I snapped impatiently, "Get on with the story. What did he do to her?" I was getting vicarious satisfaction from their misery.

"Sorry Mistress," she said quietly, her head down, but her fingers never giving up on their travels up and down and around my achingly swollen labia and clitoris. I was challenging myself to hold back, to forego the orgasm, to stop myself ordering her to lick me or rub directly on my clit. "He took another set of tongs from his bag, this time with a hole where the pincers' spike would have been. Then, he took a large canola-like device out that Slave One cleaned carefully with that spirit she used on me. He seized Maggie's left tit in his hand, pushing up the nipple until it was hard, and pinched it between the pincers. He kissed the nipple, and told Slave One to play with his captor's clitoris. I could see Maggie half smile, then grimace, unsure what was to happen. I watched as he kept squeezing her tit while Maggie began to throw her head back as the pleasure built overcoming the cruel pain in her breast. She started to moan aloud. That was when he struck. He skewered the sharpened canola through her nipple just at the point she hit her peak of orgasm. She tried to scream her pain and her pleasure, the two mixing in confused delight, but he had left the jaw splitter on. It made her sounds hollow, somehow incomplete. Then she calmed, missing the actions he had taken in the meantime. That is, a large gold bar had been threaded into the hole he had made and more spirit was applied, together with some other cream that I was later to find acted like an anaesthetic. I guess it is what must have happened when the Prince had my titty rings inserted, though that had been done when I was carefully drugged. He was such a caring man."

I was beginning to moan, struggling to keep my control more and more. As she mentioned the Prince, so she caressed more ardently.

"Continue," I said, almost as a plea, rather than an order.

"He took off the jaw splitter, I think realising his mistake of having left it on, and kissed her hard on the mouth, seeming to savour tasting his own cum. He dropped all pretence of ceremony with the other side, grabbing her hard, using the pincers and skewering in less than 2 seconds. The bar was in within another couple and it was all over in less than ten; with the cleansing and cream too. She screamed with the pain, free now to let her feelings out. I saw real tears in her eyes, real pain. It seemed to excite Man Slave One even more. I saw his cock harden again, pushing up against his belly in its massive tumultuous state. Then he had her turned to the upright position. I remembered how my nipple rings had hurt me for days when the Prince had insisted I be adorned with them, so I could not believe what Man Slave commanded her to do. He, he said, 'thank me.' Even my Prince did not expect that of me just my obedience. But Man Slave One was insistent that she appreciate him, yet he was so gentle, so respectful of her, even though it could be seen as rebuking her for not showing immediate gratitude. You know, she did! She thanked him profusely as if he had released some deep psychological demon in her at that moment of pleasure and pain. Later I would know this to be true, but then it was just an instinct, another moment where I knew more than I had ever known in my life before and I felt good. For all the weirdness, the degradation, the abduction, the complete loss of control I felt good. It was unlike anything I had known from my previous submissive life. I can't explain it, sorry."

I was panting, imagining Maggie tortured yet pleasured, controlled and yet thanking the controller. I thought of Clarissa watching, analysing, using that clever brain of hers in the most unusual setting, and I felt I wanted that experience. Maybe I was what in one women's porno book they had called a 'switch'? I was unsure, but I did know one thing, I wanted pleasure.

"Lick my clitty slut!"

And she did. She fell rapidly between my thighs, reaching her hands up to pleasure my breasts as her tongue worked wonders on my clitty, teasing and tasting, lashing it with little tongue strokes, giving me no choice but to pull her head hard between my legs and gush with my juice all over her face. If I could have pissed I am sure I would. I wanted to explode with pleasure. And I did. I screamed an orgasm in a way I had not done in years. Sex recently had been whispered encounters as if the children were still in the next door room. Now it was full on, noisy, unashamed.




The Bag Lady and the Domme Ch. 02



In part one, Jessica Harmondon-Smithers, a successful city businesswoman finds an old friend apparently destitute in her neighbourhood. The woman, Clarissa Stocks-Johnson was a model and Jessica's schoolgirl crush at their expensive boarding school. She takes her in and tends to her, releasing a dominant and bi-sexual tendency that has lain suppressed and unexplored. However, in this release of sexual desire and strong BDSM proclivities, an intimate game develops between them, and a story is revealed of how Clarissa has been abused and taken against her will by a shadowy club called 'The Group'. This club targets its victims off the streets, prepares them for a mainly subservient role against their (initial) will. Clarissa has escaped from them and is now under Jessica's protection, but her BDSM ways are not forgotten.

Although fundamentally Domme by nature, her hostess has stopped the story telling in order to switch temporarily and thus experience the lifestyle Clarissa has been living. This story contains some strong descriptions of degradation, including golden showers and scat, which some readers may not wish to read or will skip over but they are essential to Mistress Jessica's sexual journey of understanding herself, Clarissa and the methods of The Group.

We meet them back in Jessica's house, with her ex-school friend firmly in control...

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

The hairbrush landed repeatedly on my rump and inner thighs. I stayed as still as I could, my legs wide apart and my body hung over the dressing table's stool. I had travelled to another place in my mind; that subspace mentioned so often in my trashy women's porn. 

Clarissa was nothing if not thorough in her ministrations, ensuring the marks carefully came together to create a mass of redness that would raise the heat and pain, plus the pleasure that flowed from her constant pauses to stroke the puffed and ultra-sensitive folds of my sex. She loved the rivers of sweat that streaked across her Mistress's back and dripped from my full breasts. She appeared to be tempted to stop and lick them, but I had asked to be just a slave, a slut, a whore and such actions would have been deemed too loving, too indulgent. No, I wanted to know what it had been like in the clutches of The Group, and so as Mistress Jessica I would be 'Topped from the bottom'. 

She stopped the spanking, placing the brush beside her, noting that I did not move, still expecting more blows; frozen to the spot. Yes, I had clearly entered subspace, a parallel dimension in my head that was full of pleasure as the endorphins kicked in like a marathon runner's. She admired my sweating, naked form, then barked a command.

"Go get me a drink, slut!"

I was jolted back to reality. I thought I had heard an order but was strangely unsure; unsure of everything. I could not even remember how I had got into this position, assuming a lewd pose that made me available for more than just a spanking. Then I felt the searing heat in my buttocks and thighs, and a dull, growing warmth in my sex. I felt disoriented, needing the direction of something or someone.

"Are you stupid slut? Go get me a drink of water. Now!"

I got up, wincing suddenly with the pain from the beating. The hairbrush had hurt far more than the hand, though was less intimate. It distanced Clarissa from her actions. Every move made me remember the sadistic actions of my friend and, at least at this moment in time, the power someone had when dominating. I felt good and yet significantly diminished in control and status. I kept my head down, automatically acknowledging the switch of roles by this subservient gesture.

"Hurry up bitch."

I ran downstairs to the kitchen, completely naked and oblivious of anything around me save getting the water for Clarissa. In fact, another switch had happened. l was back in 6th form at school, a doting 18 year old who had a crush on her. All I wanted to do was please Clarissa; give her love, give her pleasure. 

I walked barefoot on the cold tile floor to the enormous American fridge that Johnnie had bought me for Christmas. I took a glass from the rack on the side and pressed for crushed ice. I felt some splashes of freezing water hit my breasts and belly. It was like breaking an egg on a hot New Orleans street, the liquid quickly shifting and changing. I stopped, putting the glass to one side and cupping my hands under the machine. I took scoops of dispensed ice and applied them to my rosy red buttocks. The relief, if only temporary! Then I filled the glass with cool water, wiped any drips from it and walked back upstairs.

I tried to enter the room calmly, but I was excited and proud for having given over my trust to Clarissa. I liked this role, though paradoxically instinct told me it was not my natural one. I had already had that brief thought whether I was a switch. No, this was just an experiment. I needed to understand her perspective and also get closer to comprehending what had happened to her. I snapped out of my thoughts, getting refocused. I put my head down and looked at Clarissa's feet. 

"Your drink, Mistress Clarissa."

She giggled at this, took a sip and then threw the rest of the icy contents straight at me. I screamed.

"That was very, very bad. You should have thanked me for that drink I have just thrown at you."

Her tone had changed, once happy now severe. I was confused. Why should I be thanking her? She had thrown it at me. I felt I wanted to defy her, take control back, but something stopped me. 

"Go get a broom."

"A broom? But it was wa..."

"I said a broom, slut. Get it and bring it back!" she snapped, angry at my questioning.

"But, Mistress Clarissa the water needs a mop..."

"Bend over. Present your arse to me," she snapped, sounding very angry.

I could do nothing but obey. The spanks were cruel, harsh and in quick succession. I felt the tears well up in my eyes. I cried and cried, unable to stop.

"Shut up, shut up bitch," she screamed over and over. I could not; I was hurting too much, more than before and possibly because of the hairbrush session. I felt pee dribble from me, I had so little control. Now she was laughing.

"You dirty little slut, getting piss on your lovely thighs and the oak floor," she said, mocking me, laughing at me. 

"Get that broom," she snapped again, not an ounce of concern.

I walked downstairs, aware of my footprints made in piss, my piss. I was no better than my sons and daughters had been when they were toddlers. I felt dirty and yet the warm pee was in another way comforting. I remembered Clarissa's smell when she arrived and its slightly erotic significance. I noted how its fragrance melded with the scent of my over-aroused cunt. But perhaps even more significant was that for the first time since school I was aware of every part of my naked body; every sensation, every smell, every movement and its effect. Even the sway of my full breasts, that seemed permanently aroused at present, seemed accentuated and incredibly sexy to me. I felt an intense sexual hunger.

I opened Anya (my Czech maid's) walk-in cleaning cupboard, taking out the stronger of the two brooms propped up against the wall. I noticed how tidy everything was, with no wastage of space. Anya was a very disciplined individual, if a little timid or was it subservient in her manner? I was noticing things I had not considered before, or denied to myself. Then my mind switched back to an obvious question I had not even asked myself. Yes, why did she want a broom?

I was a little more cautious as I walked back, entering the room slowly. I noticed she had two of our special bedroom chairs, those low seats that were once so fashionable in Edwardian England and Belgium too, where ours had come from. The backs of the seats were engraved and raised at the centre but with two curved elements to each side that dipped down then back up from the central decoration, making the top of the back look like a shallow 'w'. Clarissa took the broom from me. She had placed the seats back-to-back but a few feet apart. She laid the handle of the brush across the gap and into the dipped curve on one side of each seat back. Was I to limbo dance under it? What was it for?

"I am now going to give you a taste of what The Group did to us on the eleventh day and for four days after that. Come here."

I was curious, so I walked up to her confidently, unaware what I was letting myself in for. She grabbed me by my right nipple. I guessed that if rings had been there she would have used those. Instead, I felt the sharp pain as she gripped my erect teat hard in her fingers, pulling me to her. I was spun round in a moment, no kiss or any endearment. She let go of my breast and held my wrists in a tight lock. I felt something being bound round them tightly. It was uncomfortable, and a barked command not to struggle made me accept passively what was happening. Then all went dark. A scarf had been placed over my eyes and tied behind my head. It was at once frightening and thrilling.

"Now, my fun and your agony begins," she whispered in my ear. "Come towards the handle."

I fumbled forward, eventually touching what could only be the cold broom handle. 

"Raise your right leg high over the bar and place it on the other side. Do it quickly or else you will receive some paddle strokes."

I was torn. I had grown to seek the pain of the hairbrush, but I was now curious about the bar. What a fool I was as I lifted my leg high, knowing she would be staring at my exposed cunt as I made the action. I was enjoying exposing myself to her but not thinking what this bar might really mean to me emotionally and physically.

It was hard to get astride it. I had to keep myself on tip-toe, balancing like some blindfolded ballerina. With a little bit of a struggle and some assistance from Clarissa as she held my arm, I was placed across the pole. What a fool I was to obey so easily.

"Now keep that position. Perfect."

I heard her laugh as she let go of me and walked away. I was now positioned with the pole running the length of my cunt and arse. If I put my feet flat to the floor the pole would press cruelly into me. If I stayed on tip-toe, the pain in my feet would increase as I tried to maintain my position. What was I to do?

"I was kept for about four days with my hands suspended above me and my cunny astride a plank much narrower than this broom handle. I was told that if I pleaded with them, acknowledged my lack of worth and accepted my role as their slave to do with as they wished in all things, they would let me off the beam. However, my innate stubbornness for all my subservient ways kicked in. I had accepted the piercings reluctantly and quite perversely on the basis that around that act had been pleasure, but now they were giving me an ultimatum. I was not going to be beaten, well not in this way anyway."

Already I could feel the ache in my ankles and toes. I kept shifting my weight from joint to joint, muscle to muscle, in my feet. Occasionally I dropped down slowly, feeling the curve of the broom force apart my sex lips. It felt ok, until I reached the lowest point and then the pressure of my whole body came down hard. I got to know what a flower might feel like when it is dried and dead weight applied from above. My cunt was an orchid under the press. Beauty distorted. I hated this. I hated my lack of control over things.

"It is uncomfortable, Clarissa"

"Shut up you whining bitch. And for now I am Mistress, not Clarissa. I am your torturer, your tormentor, but I can be your lover too if you plead with me to take you from the bar and accept anything, and I mean anything, that I may tell you to do."

What was it about this device? It had the same affect on me as it had on Clarissa. I was not going to be beaten by it. It was just a broom, for God's sake!

"NO, no you will not win. I am your mistress you cheap little slut," I snapped back with all the defiance my heart could muster, though in my head there was already a nagging doubt as the physical ache turned to quickly to pain.

She laughed, saying nothing. I was to learn she did not have to.

Her footsteps padded away, presumably to the door. I could not tell. The blindfold left me with absolutely no light. I was alone now; to contemplate this fiendish yet simple device. All my senses were on alert, but every so often it was the ache in my feet or the pressure on my cunt and sometimes my anus too that craved the most attention. 

I heard the television go on downstairs in the drawing room. There was laughter. She was on a cable channel that repeated old comedy shows. I could just hear Jennifer Anniston's voice. I imagined that slim, small breasted woman naked and astride this pole. I laughed to myself, glorying in her imaginary humiliation, then grimaced as I had forgotten to keep my upright posture and slipped hard onto the shaft. I cried inside, being sure not to let any outward sign show. No, there would be no weaknesses, even if Clarissa could not see me. It was about self-discipline I told myself. So I started to let my mind create new thoughts and images. I began to think about work and home, listing the problems, identifying solutions. At first it was a struggle as the pole reminded me of my vulnerability, but I started to sink into that place I knew was called 'sub-space'. 

I had no idea how long I had been in that place in my mind, but some answers emerged to thorny problems I had not had the time or the strength to address. The ache in my toes and ankles, the tortuous pressure on my cunt and anus seemed acceptable to me. Then I screamed.

"You fucking bitch!".

I had not expected the shower of ice and freezing water that descended down my body. Nor had I expected the cruelty in the laughter that accompanied Clarissa's actions.

"What did you call me, slut?" she asked, her cruel laughter still ringing in my ears, her tone now measured, precise, cold.

I stood high on my toes, wanting to apologise for my language, for ignoring convention by not addressing her as Mistress; of not thanking her for her actions, however sadistic they might seem. I knew that convention from the books I had devoured recently. 

"Sorry Mistress," I heard myself say, with such an apologetic tone. Where was the fight in me?

"We'll see about sorry. I cannot pierce you, but I can enable you to feel at least something of what I felt. I've been in your maid's cupboard again. She has some very useful things," she said in a very menacing tone. 

"S-s-sorry Mistress," I heard myself say between the chattering of my teeth as the ice chilled my body to the bone. I was so concentrating on this that I did not even think of my nice oak flooring flooded by her cruel act. The domestic goddess, i.e. so proud of my house and its wealth, was nowhere to be seen. I was a small speck of shit in the park, and I knew it, but was determined not to show it.

I felt the bar being raised again, filling the space I had left when I had extended higher. You see, the cold had made me lift my toes to their full height. I stood like some ballerina at the Garden. I thought nothing could be more agonising than that.

And then it happened. 

I screamed again.

The clothespegs were attached one at a time to my breasts. Placed in concentric circles around my nipples, they spread back to cover the tops and curvy underside of my tits. I tried hard not to moan or cry after the initial shock of the first pincers. 

"And now for the piece de resistance," she announced.

I moaned loudly as one peg was pinched onto each of my nipples. 

I was surprised by how hard my teats had become during this sadistic play. I was balanced precariously over the beam, my toes finding it difficult to sustain my weight, and now I was coping with the pain and then surprising pleasure of the pegs that covered my entire bosom. Plus, to add to the challenge, my toes were extended and beginning to ache. I tried to lower to the bar to ease the discomfort. I felt my cuntlips part around the pole, opening and pressing around it. My anus was pushed flat to it as well. The weight above this focused the discomfort, almost making me forget the pegs that grabbed my tits like cruel fingers.

Clarissa was giggling hysterically. Was this making her relive her ordeal? Was she in distress as she relived it or experiencing pleasure? I could not tell but was surprised at my love and concern for her, even though she was deliberately hurting me. She walked away again, descending the stairs. I was left alone for I do not know how long.

My hearing was acute. My nerve endings honed to feel every sensation. My mind was racing with a thousand and one thoughts, some positive and others dark and dangerous. In the midst of it I knew one thing for certain. I was not really submissive, this was not really me, but the switch was helping me to understand Clarissa's world and where she had gone after her abduction. In that way I could accept it and yes, enjoy its perverse pleasures and pains. But for me I knew it would be the last time I would enter the domain of the submissive. A set of plans became so clear as I straddled the broom. The time in subspace was a release, an opportunity to be free of worldly things.

I don't know when she came back, but I remember her lifting first one leg then the other, the rustling of something like plastic bags, and then her sliding something under each foot. I felt the sudden pain, mainly in my lower body, with each movement as I became aware of my torture again. 

"You cannot leave the bar, so there is a plastic sheet underneath you. If you need to piss or shit, or if your menstruation starts as mine did in that room they held me, then this is where it will go. Enjoy the life I had."

"But..."

"Shut up slut, I have not given you permission to speak to me," she snapped.

So I continued to straddle the pole, aware again of my tortured physique and my complete lack of status, respect and choice. This was doubly challenging for my dominant self. I hated this loss of control with such an intensity that I was angry, seething, yet knowing I could not give in to this challenge. Yes, I felt humiliated and degraded, but she would never know. Or so I vowed. It was crazy. I could have easily stepped off that broom, found some way of untying my bound wrists and taken off the blindfold, but instead I accepted the restraints on the basis of my pride. I was the perfectionist in all things. Besides, again the driver was to understand her predicament and I could only feel it if I experienced at least some of it. So, I let pride drive me, and not a little kinkiness as the pleasure that was always just behind the pain kicked in with ever-increasing force.

______________________

"How long have I been here Mistress?" I asked, calling out in the blackness that permanently surrounded me. My legs were screaming their agony, muscles tight and close to cramps. I was really asking for release, but would not plead.

"24 hours you stinking slut," she said.

It felt like days not one day. I did not care about the stink anymore. I had held my bladder for hours and hours, desperately trying not to disgrace myself again. She had already seen me pee myself, but something made me want to resist doing it again. Besides, naively I had thought the ordeal would be over before I needed the toilet. How wrong I had been and how sadistic she was to ensure that I would need to go. She had brought me cranberry juice at some time in the day or night, forcing my mouth open and using a jug to pour it down my throat. When I tried to plead that I had had enough, she held my nose up so my mouth would open. I felt the cold liquid at first satiate my thirst, run in rivulets down my body over my tortured breasts to my aching cunt, cooling it momentarily before splashing onto the sheet below. Then, over the next hour the diuretic properties of the juice kicked in. My bladder became the focus of my thinking, my whole attention. 




The Bag Lady and the Domme Ch. 02



Two hours perhaps after this need to pee started she force-fed me two packets of mints, washed down with more cranberry juice. Those sweets were my daughters. I had stopped her eating them as on the packet was a warning that if too many were eaten they caused loose bowel movements. I was horrified! Surely she had not used them? Surely she could not be so sadistic? She must have seen the changed look on my face. I heard her laugh.

"Yes honey," she cackled, "In about an hour you will know what I truly went through. You will shit your pants. Well, if you had any you would shit them. Whatever, your bowel will involuntarily empty."

"No!"

I was truly mortified. I had always been uncomfortable with anyone seeing me shit, even the children. Johnnie had never been allowed in the bathroom when I was emptying my bowel and now my old school friend was forcing me to do this in front of her. How could I? Should I just step off the bar and say it was enough, that I understood sufficiently what they had done to her? That this silly idea to switch was just that, plain stupid? 

"So, do you want to give in? Do you want to stop and just obey me with whatever perversions I have in store?"

I felt her soft hand stroking my back, caressing lower to my warm buttocks that were slowly returning to normal after their spanking. A finger insinuated itself between my arse cheeks. She was teasing my anus, reminding me of the potential humiliation to follow or was it to excite me and entice me into the other perversions? I felt her sharp nail scrape at the puckering entrance. I could not believe how sensitive I had become there. Should I give in now and take the road of perversion she had in store? Could it be any worse than the prospect of pissing and shitting myself? Hobson's choice, I told myself. 

"No, no Mistress Clarissa, I will stay the course. I will NOT give in!"

"There, there my stupid, proud slut," she said softly, her finger now embedded to its first joint inside my bowel and another lightly teasing my aching clitoris. I gasped in pleasure, despite the feelings in my bladder, as she continued. "Remember what our Headmistress once said, that pride comes before the fall. Oh, and how far you will have to fall Miss High-and-Mighty."

Her fingers were gone as quickly as they had arrived. I was desperate for her touch again, any contact, as she walked away once more, though this time it appeared to only be as far as the bed. I heard the rustle of sheets as she laid down and seemed I imagined to stretch to the bedside cupboard where there were a whole set of books; my erotic novels that I had left out when Johnnie and the maid left.

For the next few hours, I tried and tried to stop first my bladder and then my bowel from releasing. I felt the pee continue to fill me, the cranberry juice working its diuretic properties at full tilt. The growing need in my gut was slower, more insidious. First there was a slight rumbling, then a nagging little pain in my belly, then the sense of movement down into the big intestine. I knew all the detritus of the meals we had eaten together were mashing rapidly on their peristaltic trip to my anus. I clenched my sphincter tighter and tighter, refocusing all my agonies and discomfort to this shameful place. How could she humiliate me like this? How could anybody do this?

"Mmnnnnn, yes, yes, yes..."

I heard my Mistress's moans and groans of pleasure as she read my books. She was masturbating openly on my bed; repeatedly. I wanted to see her, but at the same time my mind was occupied with my discomfort and shame. There were also periods of intense anger. How, I kept asking myself, could she do this to me? She told me she adored me only a short time before turning on me. Ok, I had asked to understand her plight and to know what it was to be a submissive, but this was too much, too far, and it was my greatest struggle to comply and not give in; but I would not, never, ever let her see me capitulate. It had to be on my terms. Then it struck me, that for all her submissiveness, she had thought the same when the oriental girl and the man in the leather mask had controlled and manipulated her. 

It was no good, the pain in my bladder was intense. I had to release it. I thought that maybe if I did the pressure in my bowel would ease too. With a mixture of shame and intense relief I let it go, first trying to let it dribble out, but this quickly turned into a torrent.. The piss hit the pole, splashing back over my thighs and cunt, running like a hot stream over my legs and feet. The smell of urine clung in the air. It was a huge release. 

I heard her climax again and again.

"Oh yes, so beautiful to cum watching you piss. We must do it over and over together," she panted between waves of obvious pleasure. Maybe she had felt humiliated when they did this to her initially, but now it was a trigger for her perverted pleasures. She continued, "Yes, honey, I guess you are thinking I am a perv, turned on by seeing you in discomfort, pissing your prissy little sluttish self? Well, yes I am and I don't give a fuck! The time in the editor's office began that process; then The Group. Now I love to lick the piss from cunts and cocks. I can come just watching you, but now you will feel pleasure."

I heard her getting up and then the warmth of her breath as she began to lick my piss-covered toes and slowly, ever so slowly, up each leg. I knew she had to be kneeling or lying in the mess I had created, but she continued to lick, climbing higher and higher towards my cunt lips. I was wet, so very wet and not just with pee. She betrayed her submissiveness with her actions. She would not get me like this again. No, next time it would be me dominating her. 

"Ohhhh!"

When her tongue darted against my bruised but aroused cunt lips, then found my sensitive nub aching to be touched, I was hers to do with as she liked. I was shocked with the speed at which my orgasms came. She added to my agony and pleasure by reaching up and pulling on my pegs. I had not realised that she had strung the pegs together into one long line and just at the point I had the first of many orgasms, she pulled them sharply from my tits. I held in a silent scream as the pain shot through my bosom, followed rapidly by an intense warmth and corresponding pleasure. I could not describe it adequately but it lead to orgasm after orgasm. I was a mix of shame and pleasure, hurt and ecstacy, naked and vulnerable yet emitting a scent of sex and piss; and I loved it all.

"Ohhhhh! Ohhhhhh!" was my inarticulate response to all her ministrations, but eventually the pleasure subsided and Clarissa walked away, again giggling like some demented patient. Then came the humiliation once more.

"Slut! You have not had all the pleasure yet. Mine is to come, when I watch your hoity-toity, holier than thou countenance change as you shit yourself. Then you will know what true humiliation is. You will taste a little of what it means to have your liberty taken away and your actions, even your most simple bodily functions, controlled by another. I hope you enjoyed the cumming."

I heard the words leave my lips without thought.

"Thank you Mistress."

That laugh came loud and strong now.

"You won't be thanking me when your stinking turds are running down your leg."

"No Mistress," I replied, part apology and part agreeing with her.

I knew this would be my greatest humiliation. No previous embarrassing moment or public put-down could prepare me for what was to come. I could only think of when I was 10 years old, just starting puberty and had a bad case of diarrhoea in a shopping centre in the North of England. I remembered how I had tried to get my mother's attention as she talked on and on to a friend. I felt the tightening in my gut, recalled the pleading to leave her, too embarrassed to say in front of her friend that I needed the toilet ( I always had trouble acknowledging I actually peed and shitted like anyone else!), accepted her tellings off for disturbing her conversation but then could not stop the rush. I felt the sudden wet faeces staining my white knickers, then the blast of shit hitting the wall of cotton, straining to seep through and down my legs. I remember the stink and the embarrassment I felt as first my mother's friend and then my mum realised what I had done. Her hard slap of my face shocked me. I was determined not to cry. She would not have that satisfaction of knowing I was hurt or ashamed. I could not hear my mother's words, other than to call me a dirty little tramp. How ironic, given Clarissa's recent plight, that this should have been her description of me! Yes, and here I was now, close to doing the same; unable to move or at least unwilling to plead for help and permission to go. My pride perversely was stopping me.

So, for another few hours I struggled with holding back another inevitable humiliation. And in that time I found out how much Clarissa had learned from The Group about teasing, debasing and subjugating someone. 

It started with her kisses, all smelling of my juices and piss. She held the back of my head and pressed our lips tight together. Her tongue delved and played with mine, arousing me no end, then she bit gently at my lips, sending intense pulses of pleasure to my breasts and cunt. Her hands sought out my tortured breasts, lovingly caressing them, seeming so gentle after their cruel clamps. My tits had a new level of sensitivity, as if a touch could translate directly to an orgasm, or at least be its catalyst. Her fingers sought out my cunt, via my belly, which she was careful to only lightly stroke. She pushed two fingers straight into my vagina in an act so cruel and yet so sexual. I accepted its duel function and ground my pussy down onto her fingers. Her thumb then circled my clitty, taking me to orgasm again and again. She exhausted me with her incessant ministrations, ignoring when the touches after cumming turned to discomfort, until I passed through that phase and they became the purest of sexual pleasure. But one thing was for sure, I was her plaything; no more, no less.

"All your pissing has made me want one now," she said nonchalantly. I assumed she was going to use the ensuite, but then I heard the familiar sound of pee leaving the body at pressure. However, it was not followed by the equally identifiable noise of it hitting the porcelain bowl of a toilet. No, this was like water hitting plastic. My God, I realised too late, she had used my plastic washing-up bowl or a bucket from Anya's cupboard! And she had done it right by me. 

"You need a wash," she said.

The bowl of piss hit the top of my scalp and ran down my hair and over my body like a waterfall. I was covered in her golden shower. Strangely I did not find it an unpleasant physical feeling, though emotionally I was debased by this act. Again, chastisement in my childhood for peeing myself in public came back. I could have climbed off that pole and walked away, yet I stayed, accepting the humiliation. In some way this absolved those years of guilt.

I felt her hands on me again, caressing everywhere and anywhere. She seemed aroused by my dirtiness. Her tongue licked at the salty piss as it dried on my breasts and belly. I heard what could only be groans of pleasure. Had they turned her so much that she liked to drink my piss or anyone else's come to that? The answer was in the shaking of her body next to me; an orgasm. She must have been masturbating as she licked my body. I don't know why, but I felt pleased that my dirty, humiliated body excited her so much that she could cum.

"So what is the smile for?" she asked, clearly back in control.

"I-I-I'm happy for my Mistress," I replied, with genuine glee.

"Stupid bitch! I'm not happy. You have not shitted yet. Got a blockage in your arsehole?"

My smile left me as quickly as it had come. I wanted to cry. I had been genuinely pleased for her, now she was insulting me. What had I done to her? I was losing sight of why I was astride this pole, why I was experiencing her shame. 

"I'm going to sit on your bed again and watch you shit for me. Imagine your schoolgirl lover with her open pussy and nice titties, caressing herself as you shit your stinking self." She was laughing, mocking me.

No, I thought, this is not going to happen. I will not go that far. Should I get off the pole? No, no one would beat me. Should I plead to be allowed to the en suite? I could, but then she would win.

And then the pains in the gut began again. They were sharper, more frequent. 

"Darling slut, you look so uncomfortable. Can I come press your tummy or help it out by sticking my finger up your anus?" She asked in a babyish voice, rather like a mother uses with a child; mocking and humiliating me again. 

"No, no thank you Mistress. Please...."

"Please what?" She asked, still using the baby voice, but following with," You ready to give up and willing to do whatever your Mistress Clarissa wants you to do? If you do, then you can step off that pole and run to the en suite. It is so nice and so close too."

I said nothing. That meant pleading. I would not plead. Pride, stupid pride.

The cramps hit me sharply and I felt the faeces backing up into my rectum. I knew I had only minutes left. I could not stop this. All it would take was a movement of my legs or palpation of my stomach and that would be it. I could imagine the shame; breaking a taboo I had had all my life. I felt my body flush with embarrassment, anticipating my fate.

Each minute felt like an hour, each cramp getting closer together. I could feel the pressure on my anus. I was sweating and my belly aching. I'd lost.

"I'm sorry Mistress, I can't..."

And it came, gushing noisily from my arse; a mix of loud farting noises and the rush of wet shit that rapidly covered the pole and down my legs. I was crying loudly with shame and release. I could hear her orgasm between the peristaltic emissions from my anus. It seemed to be never-ending. The stink was horrendous, yet she seemed to find pleasure in my misery. How could she? Had they made her that debased? But then as I got used to the smell and accepted my debasement. In its imaginings it had seemed worse than now the deed was done. The warmth of the shit on my body and the relief as the cramps stopped, was as comforting as that period when the spankings had finished and the heat spread over my cunt and thighs. Yes, it was not so bad after all or so I convinced myself. Maybe it would have been worse if I could see. But then she started.

"Why, you filthy slut! Fancy Miss Prim and Proper, Miss Money Bags, Miss Pillar of the Community is covered in turds all down her legs and all over her arse. How shameful!"

Yes, the shame came back because the woman I realised I wanted so much to approve of me, maybe even love me, was mocking her submissive. Did she really think I was an over-privileged woman? 

"I - I - I'm sorry, so sorry Mistress Clarissa," I said between floods of real tears.

Then she changed again.

"No matter, you are a useless turd anyway, so being painted in shit suits you. I'm going to watch television."

"No, Mistress, please stay, please talk to me....I'm so sorry."

What was I doing? I'd promised I would not plead, but now I was. I had suffered all that humiliation and discomfort and the loss of her company was the real sign and lever to reveal my vulnerability. The plea had come from the heart. I did not want to be alone in this state or any other. 

"No, you have not promised to do what I want, anything I want with you. I am leaving you alone to think, Shitty Slut. What are you?"

"A shitty slut, Mistress," I replied, desperate to keep her talking to me, "Yes, I am a dirty, shitty slut."

"No your name is Shitty Slut. It is not only a description of your current stinking state, with that pile of faeces pooled over and around your dainty toes, it is my name for you."

She laughed, and then left without further comment. I was stunned. Did she really expect me to answer to that name and accept it?

Then I heard the Millionaire programme blasting out.

I cried and cried. I was naked, filthy and alone again, left to consider my position, abandoned in my mind. My only connection with her being the sound of the TV that helped me know she was there. Occasionally I heard her hearty laugh. I was so lonely now, wanting her to come back. Over the hours that followed, I just wished she would return. 

I could accept my stinking state, eventually pissing again without resisting the need to go. I was just a filthy toilet now. What I could not stand was the loneliness, especially the loss of contact with Clarissa. I was so exhausted, hallucinating from loss of sleep, imagining the most previously unimaginable. I realised that I was willing to do anything and everything that I had read about in my books. Those perverted stories seemed normal now. The lesbian play was especially arousing. I remembered the D/s play, the sexual torture, the games of humiliation. However, this time I was always a player.

Then I was woken from my standing sleep with a start.

The strap licked around my buttocks, its inch-wide leather ripped into my flesh, leaving a searing stripe of heat. Then another followed. I was crying out, screaming, and I felt the pole being slid back along my filthy cunt and arse. It was removed and without comment my head was pushed down onto the back of the bedroom chair in front of me. I was standing in my piss and shit, facing it and smelling the stink but fortunately unable to see it. That I knew would reinforce my shame. However, my imagination was probably making it worse than the reality. Then I heard her step back again and the punishments recommenced. Stripe after stripe was lain on my buttocks and thighs.

"Stand with your arse out and your stinking thighs wider apart."

She whipped me with the leather, which must have been one of Johnnie's belts, from just above my knees to the very top of my bum. The blows that licked around my inner thighs were the worst, but after my initial screams I stayed quiet, hoping my silence would reduce her sadistic will. How wrong I was and how stupid. She had promised to demonstrate what The Group had done to break her, not give me what she wanted. Or was what she desired one and the same thing? 

However, the screams started again when I felt the familiar rush of air as the strap came towards my flesh, but realised in a split second that my cunt was her target. She whipped my cunt lips and pubis, rapidly and just as viciously as my arse and thighs.

"Hold your position Stinky Slut!"

I could have refused, even got up and walked away, but no, I did what she commanded. I widened my thighs, waiting for the next blow, and it was not one but six that followed. They created intense heat between my legs, making me wetter than I'd ever been. I could smell my sex juice overcoming the piss and shit that by now was beginning to dry out and cake me. 

"Now squat."

God, my legs stung, my cunt stung, my arse stung! Yet, I was squatting like a coolie in an instant; ready to accept anything. I smelt her cunt coming towards me. Then the piss hit me full in the face. She grabbed my head and pushed me onto her.

"Drink it and stop wasting it Stinky Slut!"

And I drank and drank, sealing in her cunt with my wide open mouth, and gratefully gulping down her hot pee like it was water. Not only was I accepting my name, but the loneliness of being without her now meant I just wanted to keep her here, to please her. Besides, I found my cunt was on fire and hoped that she would satiate it with her hands or mouth. Could I ever hope for that given my stench? I had to try. I licked and licked until she was clean, then used my tongue and teeth to explore her labia and clitoris, teasing and nibbling. Her orgasms came so quickly, as if all my humiliation had turned her on so much.




The Bag Lady and the Domme Ch. 02



Then the worst, most shocking thing happened.

"Stay there."

She stood up. I heard her turn round, then smelt her bottom coming closer and closer to me. She had clearly not washed for a while.

"Stick your tongue out and lick my arsehole."

I still had my hands tied behind my back. It was the first time I had noticed this, suddenly aware of the discomfort, but even more so as I had no way to steady myself nor, if I disliked this, to fend her off. I swayed as the strong muscles of her arse pushed into me and my nose and tongue slipped between the perfect globes. I was tasting her dirty anus, smelling its sweaty, unclean state yet growing to like the degrading feeling it created in me. Besides, she was making contact with me. 

And then it came, the ultimate degradation. What had come before was not the worst.

I felt the anus open more than usual. A soft projectile was pressing against the tip of my tongue. The smell had changed. There was a texture akin to uncooked chicken stuffing, though the aroma was disgusting. She was shitting in my face!

"Eat it, Stinky Slut!"

I wanted to say 'no' but I had gone so far. I was that stinking slut. I could not sink lower, so why not? It was not unpleasant anymore, I was humiliated, degraded and besides, by now all I wanted was her approval, her care, her love. Yes, I wanted her to love me and if this did it then I would. So I took the soft turd into my mouth, realising I could not swallow it in one. I chewed, suppressing the desire to vomit, realising that it was not so bad as I had thought. I centred in my mind that this was just waste food and nothing more. 

I blanked out my fear of e-coli and germs of any type. I had been so obsessional about hygiene with my children, having immense arguments with Johnnie who thought I was responsible for their allergies as I had prevented their immunity developing. Yes, this super-clean woman was now a Stinky Slut who ate her lover's shit. What a change. I swallowed the last morsel of faeces, and licked her anus as clean as was possible without being able to see it. A thought entered my head. What else could she do to me after such degradation?

Then it happened.

"Oh, Mistress I cannot keep up the pretence. I am submissive. This is too much for me. Please, let's switch back?"

She lifted me up by my armpits, turned me round and undid my bindings. I felt the blood rush back into my hands. In an instant she had the scarf off my face, my eyes blinking madly as I adjusted to the bright lights in the room. Then she kissed me, but as her head came towards me I saw the river of tears that streaked her face. Being dominant had actually distressed her, no matter how much she had tried to top from the bottom. A tremendous wave of love overcame me. I kissed her so hard and so hungrily. I forgot my mouth had only just finished eating her shit and my body was a disgusting mess. I just wanted her. And I needed her to want me.

She did. She pushed me back onto the bed.

She broke away from me.

"Please forgive me?"

Then I thought how I could best reassert my position.

"Only if you clean me."

"Ok, Mistress, I will go get sponges and ..."

"No, only with your tongue," I interrupted. "Only your tongue can clean this abused body."

I thought that maybe I had gone too far. How wrong I was.

"Oh, yes Mistress. I am so sorry, I took the demonstration too far."

Under the tears was a radiant smile. Then her tongue eagerly licked my face clean, even using the tip to tease any mess from my teeth and gums. Then, she licked down my body, as I lay exhausted and aching. The attention she gave to my nipples was disproportionate to their level of dirt, but then as she went lower so more delights were to come. I found erogenous zones I did not realise were there. For example, she lapped and licked at the undercurve of my breasts, cleaning days of sweat. My navel, that had accumulated residues of piss, was explored and cleaned expertly. I had hardly ever paid attention to it, seeing it as something non-functional, but now I felt waves of pleasure connect directly to my clitoris. I had become sensitive and aware through my ordeal or else it was through naïve, neglectful sex over years of marriage. This woman knew more about my body than Johnnie or I had ever discovered.

I moaned and groaned in pleasure. She had reached my inner thighs and cunt. I knew she was licking up my dried piss and shit, but I did not care, and by the enthusiasm she showed, neither did she. I knew The Group had conditioned this into her. It was her fetish, but I had plans that it would be a rare thing, that there were other practices to explore. Besides, they had created the desire artificially, as I had found. She would not do anything ever again against her will after this day, though her boundaries would always be tested. 

Now she was turning me over, licking my arse and little rose bud clean. I felt the point of her tongue probe at my anus, and it opened almost automatically. She was not going to be surprised by my shit. I was empty, unfed for days except with porridge and that cursed cranberry juice. I got onto all fours, delighting in the attention her tongue was giving this previously taboo place. Not forbidden any more! I was moaning and groaning in pleasure, even more so as her delicate fingers slid under me and caressed my soaking wet cunt. I was exhausted from the trials of the past days, but aroused by her sexual assault. I wanted her to pleasure me as much as possible. 

I came, screaming into a pillow. Wave upon wave of orgasms overcame me until I was unable to scream or say anything. I just accepted her love and attention when she gently helped me some time later into my sunken bath. I just let her pay attention to me, even lying me on the side with my open legs in the water, and shaving my cunt clean, then kissing the denuded slit so lovingly. I had no strength to make love, but she helped me back to my bed that had been stripped and covered in fresh sheets.

"I love you," I whispered.

I noticed the big sheet of plastic had been cleared away, the chairs returned to their positions. In fact, apart from the fact that there were two naked women sharing that bed, there was nothing out of the ordinary in my bedroom.

I lay naked on my back, my legs open and the freshly shaven pudenda showing to all who wanted to see it. I had become so comfortable with my nudity. Clarissa knelt up on the bed, pouring oil into her palm to warm it then spread it over my breasts and belly.

"Mistress, would you like me to tell you more about The Group as I massage you?"

Her fingers stretch and teased at my breasts. I felt my nipples harden and my cunt turn to liquid.

"Mmmm, yes. Tell me more."

Instead of exhaustion overtaking me, this massage was bringing me to a hungry state of arousal. I wanted to know more.

"Well, after they had degraded me and left me filthy astride the plank..."

I listened attentively, feeling such love for her. I wanted to know everything about her. I would do my best to find out. 



The Bag Lady and the Domme Ch. 03



This story is a slower burner than the first two chapters. It shifts the plot in response to some personal comments to the author, so less 'wam bam' more 'thank you ma'am'. lol. So, at the end of Part 2 of this story, Clarissa had released Jessica from the humiliating ritual she claimed the group had enforced upon her. IN this chapter, Clarissa recounts the punishment of a male CEO who had broken societal and The Group's moral codes, but the story leads Jessica to question her subbie's previous accounts. Clarissa had been given to another woman as her slave. Her adventures had changed as a result, as had the significance of The Group; and Jessica was now to be made an invitation...

"If I had not experienced that taste of your degradation, I would not have believed all that you have told me darling."

Clarissa was hugging me closely, her naked breast pressing hard against mine. I could not but be aware of it, but was even more alert to the apparent distress that relaying this to me seemed to cause at one level and yet at another she seemed to revel in telling me all about it. I wondered if she now craved that degradation like the ignored child that discovers by being naughty they gain attention. Thinking back over the past 24 hours, she had taken me off the makeshift torture pole filthy with shit and piss, and made it her mission to cleanse me not with a flannel or sponge but with her mouth and tongue. I knew I could never do that for her ever again, but she had done it so diligently and with such obvious love for me that I was sure she would at any time I ordered. Yes, I think they, and her editor before them, had changed her psyche so much to subservience she would do anything for a person she wanted to serve.

There was a silence, but a comfortable one. We were two people who had discovered a love for each other as we shared her journey. My husband Johnnie's homecoming was blocked from my mind at this time and I had not given consideration to the impending return of Anya, my maid. No, my major thoughts now were for Maggie, Clarissa's friend from under the arches, who was still in the clutches of The Group. If Clarissa had reached this level of acceptance of her own degradation, how would Maggie be now that her friend had escaped and been with me for at least 10 days? I shuddered, partially with fear for her, but I have to admit there was also some sexual excitement. The Domme in me was growing despite my topping by Clarissa and there was a strongly sadistic streak in me that I realised was surfacing bit by bit through my thoughts and sometimes my deeds. For example, when orgasming that morning I could not fail to grasp Clarissa's nipples so hard that she screamed. But there again, it lead to her having multiple orgasms soon after. Pain and pleasure were thinly divided I had discovered.

"Mistress, what are you thinking about?" my subbie enquired softly, cupping her hand to my breast as she cuddled closer to me. My nipple immediately hardened sending pleasure signals down my naked body. I paused, focusing on the pleasure gained from her fingers that were now toying and teasing the nipple.

"I was thinking about Maggie," I replied simply.

I felt her body stiffen, her finger tighten over my left teat. Had she blocked Maggie's abandonment from her mind? 

"Hey, I will be the one who tortures nipples!" I said, quickly tempering my statement and tone to reassure her that I was joking, as she moved her hand away as if my tits had burned her. "We can only have one Domme here!" I continued, giggling. She returned her hand and audibly sighed, her stroke soft and gentle again.

"Where did you escape from?"

"It was a warehouse in the docklands, disguised as a block of exclusive flat conversions. You know how they are doing up the docks?"

"Yes, I know. I have a group of properties to let down there. When mummy died she left me a considerable sum that I put into land and housing. I own quite a few thanks to her generosity."

"The outside looks like a modernised warehouse, with balconies and windows that appear to be apartments but in reality they only start on the third floor. The bottom floors are wide open spaces, perfect for their games and punishments. We were kept in the cellar area, but as we progressed, so we came up floors nearer to where the main action, the parties, happened. I made my escape at one of those parties where I had been taken as a slut for the enjoyment of the men and women."

She seemed incredibly calm relaying all this to me. I expected tears but just got a cold, flat recounting of events. She continued.

"For the first part of the party I was tied over a bench, naked, my arse in the air and my legs forced open and bound to the legs. My arms were stretched and manacled to the floor in front by chains and handcuffs. As guests entered, so they could do as they wished with me. I was fucked by many men in my cunt and anus. The women were particularly rough with me, using their strap-ons to abuse me. I was surprised how disinterested they were in my pussy, and I have to admit disappointed. However, I was to learn that anal sex was a particular fetish amongst Group members. The weird thing was that each one left at least £30 each in a bucket that had been placed beside me." 

She suddenly laughed. I was even more puzzled now by her behaviour as she told more of her story.

"Sorry, but it was strangely surreal to find that they were fundraising for a children's charity. That too was something so odd about them. Here they abducted adults off the street to use as fuck-slaves and sluts, but all their events were to raise money for children in desperate circumstances! I was to find out how much they abhorred paedophilia and anyone found to bring an underage woman to the parties was severely reprimanded. They had, indeed have, their own brand of justice. It is swift and very severe. At that very event a CEO of a large telecommunications company had been seen by another member importuning young boys outside a mainline station in London. They were fair in that they set up surveillance, not going for justice without evidence, but once proven his fate was worse than anything I experienced. His wife was brought to the event, shackled and gagged. She was shown the evidence and invited to choose his fate. They had a menu, yes a menu of punishments."

She stopped a moment. Her face was unmoved, but her body shook a little. Clearly she had been taught to hide her emotions when it came to Group activity. I hugged her naked body tight to me, feeling its intense heat contrasting with the cold recounting of these facts. But were they facts or imaginings? If I had told this I would have broken down given what she was telling me had happened to her.

"The bench that I had been tied to was brought to the centre of the room. It was raised to accommodate his height. Each member of the main Group council was given a cat-o-nine tails. His wife readily took a larger bullwhip. Her face, once she had seen the evidence, was boiling red."

She paused again. I waited patiently for her to continue, knowing that from the tell-tale heave of her chest this was more difficult than her outer persona was allowing her to reveal. I was learning with Clarissa that more could sometimes be learned by observing her non-verbals rather than listening to the verbals. 

"He was screaming for mercy, saying he would never do it again. Many of the guests were jeering, shouting there was evidence he regularly did it and needed to be taught a hard lesson. Their language about him was appalling. Some of them went up to him, slid their hands under his open legs and squeezed his balls violently. He was retching with the agony and a council member had to stop it, though he had taken his time to do so.

Then I heard a crack of the whip. A member was teaching the CEO's wife how to use the instrument. Her face was still one of sheer anger and he was instructing her to calm herself so that any correction came out of love for him not hate."

"Love? He was a fucking paedophile!" I could not help it, my anger boiled over.

"With respect Mistress, he was not known as that to his wife who had been with him for 25 years. She was distraught and angry. If they were to cure him but still punish him it had to be done properly," Clarissa said, again in that flat tone that worried me. She continued. "It is the paradox of the group. They can take adults against their will from the streets, from meeting prospective sluts (both male and female) at parties and other gatherings, but they have a strict code about those underage. So he had broken the code and everyone was responsible in The Group for seeing he paid for it. 

A member of the council approached the offending CEO with a sharp knife. I thought he was going to geld him, but instead he slipped the blade into the back of the man's trousers and cut them in two, together with his boxers, then he tore the remaining material leaving the man's muscular arse exposed. This was a man who, like most of The Group, worked out. One could only imagine what such a powerful man could have done..."

She paused again and I could sense emotion under the surface. I knew she hated his actions as much as me, but the façade was one of control.

"Then the member slashed away the man's jacket and shirt, rending it from his back and leaving it hanging over the raised bench which in reality was more like one of the gym horses we used at school. People were laughing at him as this muscular, naked man hung shackled but left wearing his socks. A horrid site on any man!"

She allowed herself a little smile. I felt it best to mirror her.

"Then his wife, who by this time was hitting bottles accurately at about 10 yards, was brought to the centre of the crowd. A passage, to give her space for the backward pull of the whip, was formed by The Group. She stood about 10 yards away from him, her face still bright red, angry. She pulled back the whip, trailing it like I had seen many times in films as cowboys get ready to fight with them. Then she let loose the leather aiming directly at his arse. He screamed. It seared across his right buttock, the mark deep and as angry red as her face. No sooner done than she was pulling back the bullwhip and preparing it for her next striping of his horrid arse. He screamed again, seemingly louder than the first, though it could have been that there was now a hush amongst the crowd. If a comment was made, it was to complement the wife for her skill. She had learned quickly. Ten strokes of the whip later he was wimpering and crying. Twenty later he had to be revived with iced water. Salt water was applied to his wounds."

She paused again. I noticed her shift, her thighs squeezing tightly together and her nipples harden.

"So was that the end of the punishment?"

"Oh no Mistress, the next part was a process of degradation. A general announcement was made that all men in the room had to line up, including the male sluts. They were to release their cocks from their trousers if they had any on (some had already disrobed), slip on a condom and to grease up their members using one of the female sluts who would be standing with large tubs of lubricant. Then, they were to fuck his arse as hard and as long as they wished."

"But that is appalling!" I interjected, though secretly thought how wonderful it was to see a man fuck another one. It was a fantasy of mine, unfulfilled, to see Johnnie taken by another man. I remember telling him once when he was fucking me so hard and strongly one night and he shouted at me. It was the end of that session and we did not touch each other for weeks. He became very strange about my idea. A sudden thought hit me; 'methinks he doth protest too much.' It was only a fantasy for God's sake! 

"Mistress, do you wish me to continue?"

Clarissa was certainly sensitive to my wanderings.

"Yes, go on. I was only thinking about how I wanted to see my husband buggered but he would not indulge."

"You would?" she asked excitedly, and then quickly returned to her mask of perfect calm. It was a strange reaction, I thought fleetingly. "Anyhow, the CEO screamed again when a very large man, with an equally large cock plunged without much finesse into his virgin bottom. It was clear the CEO liked to give but not to receive. Some fifty men followed in quick, sometimes slow, procession. He was crying like a baby by the last one. Of course his pain was made ten times worse by the frequent reminders of his lashing as interspersed with the buggering was the pouring of salted water on his wounds. Occasionally too, a member of the Group would add some spankings to the assault. They were none too gentle ones either. Also, by the last one he was running with sperm between his legs as some ignored the condom order, his socks wet with more than salty water. 

'That was to remind you what would happen to you should you be arrested and jailed for your crimes,' came the disembodied announcement from speakers above and around us. 'You would not have the compassion of The Group to put you back on the right track. Remember this day when your cock or your mind tries to lead you to astray. Also, remember this, if you do it again The Group will ensure a permanent end to your sins. Now you will be punished further on a St Andrews's Cross and then will be made to walk the room, accepting the justice of any member who chooses to use or abuse you. Your victims on the streets had little choice, some coerced by their dependencies for money to buy food or drugs, others under physical threat. You colluded with that situation. Now feel what it is like to have no choices.'

Then he was untied and walked by two burly and very naked male slaves weeping and miserable to the cross placed centrally in the second half of the room. There he was spread eagled. Vicious nipple clamps were applied and he moaned in agony, but I noticed his cock begin to twitch and rise. His judges had seen this too and soon a cock cage was strapped to him. This one was particularly constraining. It had clamps at its tip to squeeze and punish his uncircumcised cock-end. Also, more clamps were attached to his balls and were wired to a machine at the side. More of these wires were connected to the nipple clamps and linked to the machine as well. I saw the operator, a slut like me, press a button that said 'pulse' on it. She was smiling, delighting in what she knew this could do.

He screamed Mistress; louder and harder than he had when whipped and buggered. She was masturbating as she turned a dial on the instruction of her master. He was smiling too, eventually laughing at the CEO and at his slut who was orgasming wildly at the side of the cross."

I noticed as Clarissa said this, she too had let her hand drop to her open pussy lips. She was subtly stroking the hood over her clitoris. For some reason, this punishment was turning me on too. I let her do it, gently stroking her leg in encouragement.

"I could see his cock straining in its cage. He seemed to welcome its punishment, yet it did not stop his screams. Only when his wife returned to give him more lashes of the bullwhip, her anger still seemingly unabated, did he control his shouts and shrieks. It was as if he did not want her to know she was hurting him. That seemed to incense her more, as this time she doubled her effort and the number of strokes she gave him. By the end his silence was replaced by pleading and apologies. He begged for forgiveness, for a second chance. It only got him more electric shocks and her whipping had become ever more confident so that she assaulted his thighs, inner and outer, and the backs of his calves. Even his muscular back was attacked, though she was careful to avoid the spine as instructed. His whole body was a mass of stripes by the time they stopped."

"Darling," I said, stopping her in full flow. "I don't want you to think I am not interested, but when and how did you escape?"

"Sorry Mistress, but if you care to indulge me a little longer I shall tell you. You see the next step in his punishment was to take him down from the cross and dress him in an oversized schoolboy outfit typical of the 1960's, with grey flannel shorts, a white shirt, green and gold striped blazer, a school tie, and dirty scuffed black shoes. He looked like someone out of Just William but older and so much more foolish."

"What has this to do with you escaping?"

"Mistress!" she shouted impatiently at me, then calmed, lowering her eyes in apology. "Everyone in the room was given a very whippy cane to use on him whenever they wanted. He was left to wander around the party, prevented from sitting down by the slave who had been at the cross, who was ordered to keep him moving from group to group. He looked totally degraded and scared, which was how The Group wanted him to be. 

His wife, Marianne as I was to find out she was called, had been invited to a side room and I was ordered to entertain her. She was a tall, blonde woman with model-like features though her bust behind her rather severe clothes suggested that she would not have done catwalk in her early days but more lingerie modelling or possibly catalogues. I was entranced by her looks and her piercing blue eyes that were almost hypnotic. What that sleazeball saw in sneaking off to seek rent boys God only knows. Not that I expect he will ever do that again given the instant justice of The Group and that chilling threat."

"So what happened with Marianne?" I asked gently, eager to keep her to the point and not a little intrigued now by this woman.

"Well, I was told to offer her some new clothes and be her dresser. It was clear that now she had seen The Group she was not going to be allowed to leave without some choice of role for her and some means to ensure she maintained discretion. I was taken by how calm she was now, and how curious she had become watching other women dominate their partners and their slaves. I also noticed that she was more taken by the woman on woman relationships than the hetero or male on male. So, as I walked her from the far end of the vast warehouse to the side room we began to chat. Her eyes kept scanning me, resting often with a stare at my pierced nipples but then equally often looking me in the eyes with an expression that suggested lust. I thought at first that I was mistaken, but by the time we reached the side chamber I was convinced. Besides, she had also taken to touching my arm and occasionally lightly stroked one of my buttocks when we stopped (which we did many times on our journey) to look at a couple of larger breasted women guests openly doing '69 on the floor. I watched her absorb the scene like a painter would assess a setting for their next work. She craned her neck to see how the one on top licked at the other woman's clitoris, taking in every detail. I swear if she had had a notebook with her, she would have filled it."

I giggled at this, the stroking of my subbie's body getting more loving, more intense as my mind filled with images of the two women in 69 and then the thought of someone lusting over Clarissa. I realised I needed to restrain myself or else this story would take forever. 

"Carry on," I said sternly, realising she too was getting turned on and responding to my hands.

" 'That is very beautiful, isn't it?' I asked Marianne as we moved away when the two women orgasmed almost simultaneously. She answered with a simple, 'yes', as if in a daze. However, she then started to ask me numerous questions about the club; if anyone could join, whether people knew each other before they got into such 'practices' as she called them. I answered as best I could, but then once we were inside the room she asked the very direct, 'And what is your role here?' "

"And how did you answer, darling?"

"Well, by this time I have to admit I was curious about her. I realised a genie had been let out of the bottle by her experiences and the revelations about her husband whom she seemed to have forgotten as possibly years of pent-up frustration and lust could now find an outlet. She was staring at me blatantly by now, taking in my shaven cunt lips, my piercings, my firm and I have to admit aroused breasts. She circled me, just as she had seen men and women do to the people on the floor. She was about the same height as me so when our eyes met I could not avoid absorbing the signals of hunger that seemed to be behind that blue. Then she spoke to me softly, sensually.




The Bag Lady and the Domme Ch. 03



'Undress me,' Marianne said. It was a simple order that I had heard many times at The Group but when she said it I did not hesitate at all. I have to admit, I wanted to see her naked. I wanted her, desperately, and in spite of all that others in The Group had subjected me to. 

I took off her blouse, a primly cut high necked one in white. As the fastenings undid from the neck, so the curve of her ample bosom was revealed button by button. Her décolletage was created slowly in my hands which shook almost imperceptively. She was affecting me. I could feel my pussy gushing juice, creating a sticky wetness between my thighs. My aroma was thick in the air. Her eyes seemed to widen with that scent. 

Soon she was standing with her beautiful black lace brassiere holding back her straining breasts, their nipples tight and hard against the exquisite fabric. I sought out the front-fastening clasp, eager to release these wonderful globes into my hands. I wanted her by now so much and I needed to see her teats and their arousal open to me. I was not disappointed. They were large and still pink but engorged. This was a woman who had never had children. They were not the tell-tale dark areola of a mother. It excited me more than ever now. Here was a woman in her 40's with the body of a 20 year old, and so hungry to be pleasured. I watched her; panting as her breasts moved, heaving. I knew that what she had seen she wanted. 

She almost clawed at her skirt to remove the heavy tweed. Her prim façade was being sorely tested. I helped her, gently reminding her that it was my job and to fail in that task would lead to my punishment. So she quickly placed her hands to her sides and let me continue, much to her disappointment but my pleasure. I took my time, brushing against her breast with my arm to entice and increase the tension. I unbuttoned the side fastening, then slid the zip slowly down her thigh. The skirt was allowed to drop to the floor in a pool at her feet. She stepped sedately out of it, her breasts high and proud; her head up. Underneath was a suspender belt, the moist unsexy and utilitarian black cotton knickers and sheer black stockings that emphasised her long, model-like legs. 

I knelt in silence. In reality I was speechless. She was beautiful, even in those vile and unsexy pants. I noticed their gusset was glistening, her wetness unable to be contained. I slid my hands up her right leg, from ankle to thigh, generating a sigh from her beautiful wide mouth. Her naturally full lips pouted at me. They said, 'please', yet no words came out. I unclasped one suspender fastening, feeling the elastic slacken. Then, still kneeling, I moved to the back to remove the rear clip. I slid the stocking slowly down her leg and impulsively kissed her thigh. The second one followed, again slowly, sensually. Then off came the suspender belt, slowly, rubbing my hands over her buttocks as I unclasped it and let the suspender straps brush her buttocks and thighs. I noticed a flick of her tongue and a bite of the lip. I knew she was desperate for more.

The panties became a game. I knelt forward and without a second's thought kissed her straight on the damp gusset, causing a low moan to sound from Marianne's lips. Then I inched the top down, stopping to kiss her again, but harder this time on her crotch. Another inch, another kiss followed. Bit by bit she was being revealed. First there was a copious bush of coarse pussy hair, with a line that ran down from her belly, then the 'V' of her pubis, and her sex lips shimmering with her gushing cunt juice. Hair ran in all directions. This was a woman who had never taken pride in keeping herself shaven or even trimmed, yet there was something so sexy about that unkempt bush. I just had to bury my face in it.

And I did. Without ceremony or any more teasing I stabbed my tongue between her sex lips, pulling her down onto the plush carpet as I did so, so that she fell back with her legs wide open. 'Yes, fuck me!' were the first explicit words that came out of that prissy mouth. Then it was a string of obscenities that drove me wild with lust. Oh Mistress, it reminds me of why I love it when you are filthy mouthed with me. I deserve it. I am a slut, a slave to cunts, especially yours now."

"Thank you Clarissa," I said softly, my own pussy gushing with excitement as I imagined Marianne being tongue-fucked by my darling subbie. "Now rub my pussy with that delightful index finger of yours."

I lay back, legs wide open; my recently shaven pussy and my thighs wet with lust. I needed satisfaction as I listened to the story. No, I needed 'wanking' by her. I loved that word. It was not the exclusive domain of men. It was my word now.

"Rub me. Wank me slut! But keep telling me the story."

"My pleasure, Mistress."

"No," I corrected her sharply. "It is MY pleasure. You are to please my cunt by wanking my clit and finger fucking me."

To me this was so dirty to speak this way, the words almost foolish in their direct simplicity, and yet I felt powerful and liberated. I would express what I wanted and command it. I could do nothing but smile inside.

"Get on with the story, slut!" I said, getting quickly back into control. I felt her fingers delving and caressing so lovingly and oh, so sensually. I was determined however to practice restraint, to not let her know too readily her effect on me. Besides, I was Clarissa's Mistress and she needed to work hard to please me, didn't she? But, oh my God, those fingers circling and not touching directly my clitty were disobedient in not following my orders but sublime in extending this female wank...

"Well Mistress," she continued. "Marianne was clawing at my hair, pushing my face hard to her cunt. Her sounds were deep moans and words of intense pleasure and lust. She was obscene. Even her legs widened to be as far apart as she could get, almost as if she wanted to be exposed and possibly seen. Well, she need not have bothered about the last need as I knew The Group would be filming everything using fibre-optics secreted around the room. All my initiation and indoctrination had been filmed. I had seen it shown many times."

The thought of having sex under camera made my pussy pulse. Another fantasy had always been to be exposed, taking Johnnie on a bed in a furniture store or fucking on the tube. Once, early in our marriage I had left my panties off when wearing a very short skirt. I'd sat opposite him on the Underground and slowly, ever so slowly, opened my legs to reveal my bushy cunt. At first I thought no one else could see, but a very handsome man sitting diagonally opposite began to look from behind his paper as my knees opened to 18 - 20 inches apart. I guess my thighs were at such an angle he could now see. God that made me wet! Instead of being embarrassed, I opened them further. I loved having now two men worshipping my pussy. I felt powerful. I liked their cocks forcing hard against their light summer trousers, unable to hide their pleasure from me. I saw them both slide a hand into their right pocket and movement, almost indiscernible, occurring next to their bulges. They were masturbating discretely. I was ecstatic. Such power over men! They did this for about 5 stops, the train emptying quickly late at night until only the three of us were left in the carriage. So I opened my legs more, tucking my feet up on the seat and sliding my fingers down to play around my pussy. 

Remembering it was making me more horny than Clarissa's story! I pushed her hand hard onto my cunt. 

"Stop your tale a minute. Make me cum, now!" I ordered. 

I felt her hand rubbing hard on my clitoris, her fingers sliding into me and fucking me urgently as her thumb agitated my hard nub. Meanwhile my mind returned to the train. I recalled the moans of the two men, Johnnie looking up alarmed when he realised another man had been coveting and taking pleasure from his young wife, then lying back with a returning smile on his face. The handsome man was fidgeting with his trousers. Both had obvious damp patches seeping out over the light cottons. I felt triumphant in my control over them, making them lose their discretion and control. But it was in my own cumming that I realised something else changed that night. When I came, which was a massive orgasm, I saw in a vivid image two women opposite admiring and lusting over me, not two men! Had I always been suppressing lesbian desires? Was I just bi-sexual? Who cared, I thought. I wanted pleasure and that is all that mattered or ever matters.

That was the point when Clarissa's finger fuck sent me over the edge. I not only moaned but screamed, arching my back and thrusting my cunt up towards her as hard as I could; my labia enveloping her fingers. I wanted to extract every ounce of pleasure. I delighted that she had remembered to excite my breasts too; her mouth suckling my left tit as she took me threw a wave of orgasms that came quickly in succession. I knew I was coating her hand with extreme amounts of my sex juice.

It took me at least an hour to come round. I had seen stars, colours, vivid sexual images of past erotic encounters and then had a strange dream in which I saw Johnnie being coaxed by Clarissa to take a large black man, my accountant of all things, into his arse. At the same time, I was being eaten by my husband, who was lovingly teasing and caressing my open cunt. I had, like on the train, my legs wide open, feet tucked back. Clarissa's arse was facing me as she bent to whisper encouragement into Johnnie's ear. Of course, I could do nothing but part her cheeks and lick at her rose bud, making her buttocks gyrate sexily in my face and the tight pink sphincter open to accept my loving tongue. 

I awoke to Clarissa licking my cunt clean. It was too much, so with a rather unsubtle push I stopped her. I had wasted time and wanted to know more of her adventures. Somehow my thoughts to destroy The Group had began to wane as I felt sympathy for their approach to the wayward CEO and saw the advantages of being part of such a powerful clique of men and women. I was even beginning to question as I lay back and reflected whether Maggie did need rescuing and for all the degradation of Clarissa's initiation, whether they had not tapped into something that my subbie needed anyway. No, I could not put my finger on it but there was something not quite...

"Clarissa, tell me what happened after that fucking of Marianne. How did you escape?"

I noticed a slight shift in Clarissa's facial expression. Was she about to tell me something else? My instincts were coming into play. Something was definitely not quite right and I could not put my finger on it. 

"I did not," she said quietly, her head ducking down, eyes looking at my naked belly.

"What do you mean, you did not escape?" I asked, matching her quiet tone, confirming my instincts with every verbal and non-verbal communication. I knew I could not respond in an angry way otherwise I would blow it.

"S-she, er, Marianne fucked me on that floor and then in an adjacent bedroom four times. She was at heart a lesbian and took total control of me, loving me, fucking me, caressing me and so, when The Group's main spokesperson entered - the voice on the Tannoy© - she agreed terms for her silence and part of that included taking me with her to her home. Her husband was to receive the male equivalent of the initiation I had been given on my entry. She was to be given all privileges, including ordering up as many sex slaves from their portfolio as she wished.

Oh, Mistress I was so scared to leave the warehouse. So many days and weeks had been spent there in total subservience and now I was to be taken away from the place I knew; where whatever happened I was safe. I was dressed by another slave in the clothes you saw me in all those days ago. 

At first when I arrived at her house she was loving and kind to me. Then a shift occurred, as she began to order new slaves to play at the house with her. Initially I was part of the games, but Marianne was like a teenager who has just discovered sex. She could not cope with maintaining our relationship and I was left to do whatever I wanted. I realised I needed to get back to work and so one day, with her blessing and that of The Group, I went back onto the streets as a vagrant. However, the story had now changed. I was to write about what it was like to live homeless, but I would not tell my editor Klaus about The Group. In fact, I would never be able to find them. You see, it turned out that Klaus had been rejected by them early in their formation because he was sadistic with people without permission. That is, he might agree a safe word with someone and then ignore it when his desires took him. They had been watching him for some time and a member of The Group planted the story that they were abducting people off the streets. In fact, the location of the vagrants had been created. Maggie was a willing initiate to The Group."

"Why the elaborate lies about needing to rescue her? About the degradation of her induction? Why the lies to me, your friend, your Mistress, about the abduction? Or is this all some elaborate game?"

I felt anger rise in me. I had sensed something, but just like Marianne my lust had taken away reason. Now I had to get a clear head. I was close to the end of my leave and due to return to work, the maid would be arriving soon and I was now dealing with Clarissa, my rediscovered sexuality and orientation, and now this discovery that not everything I was told was truth. So what was fiction and what was reality, and what mattered?

"Please Mistress Jessica, never in my story did I tell you I escaped. You assumed it. You saw my degradation as something I did not want. My tears were sometimes sadness as I miss Maggie, she gave me so much care and love and we shared a journey of initiation that bonded us; even as slaves or submissives depending on our choice of relationship. 

The Group asked me about my past history, using clever psychometric tests and interviews to establish my sexual needs, my BDSM proclivities and whom within my past could be a good member of their elite inner circle. Your name came up repeatedly, when I thought I had all but forgotten you, but clearly had not. So, they sent me on assignment to watch you, follow you, using the cover of being that bag lady. What's so funny is Klaus is paying for it!"

I found myself smiling. I did not want to but just that instant of her face lighting up with the ultimate irony of that pig paying for someone else's potential pleasure made me smile. How could I stay angry with this woman for whom I had felt love ever since my late teens?

"Yes, as I lived as a tramp, so I wrote that story and followed you. The Group kept leaving me dead end trails to keep Klaus happy with his story. But I grew more and more in love with you from afar. I was invisible to you until that day in the park. I've watched you with your husband, your children and your friends. I've seen your doting maid attend to your needs and I have felt the same adoration for you..."

"Anya?" I interrupted.

"Yes Mistress. Have you never noticed how she looks at you? I think she is a lesbian and possibly submissive. Certainly her Czech friends who are nannies and maids nearby are. I was collecting cans in the park when I caught two inside a copse of rhododendrons rubbing each others' pussies frantically under their skirts as the children in their charge lay asleep in their buggies. Highly irresponsible, but I watched over the children; biting my lip with the arousal I felt from their nannies' urgent sexual play."

I laughed. I'd met these friends and completely missed this side of their characters. I knew two seemed to wear the most obscenely short mini skirts and now I knew why; for better access!

"The experiment in degradation of you I had planted subtly on instruction of the psychologists in The Group. They gave me key words to implant into my sentences, to test whether you were submissive or dominant. Paradoxically, it was only your dominant streak that made you hold out so long. My tears were of joy for you when the time was over and I could reclaim my submissive status. Cleaning you was an honour, though I must tell you now that those less hygienic practices are rare in The Group and certainly not my favoured scene."

"I still do not fully understand why you would go to these lengths."

"It is because The Group wants to have more women in its inner circle. It prides itself on its diversity of sexual orientations, races, creeds, BDSM practices and so on. It is egalitarian in its management and always balances the sexes. There are four each of lesbians, gay men, hetero men, hetero women and transsexuals on the Management Team. All are successful businessmen and women who have made it in their field. Some would alarm you they are such prominent people in society; in positions of immense power be it political or economic. All so incredibly good deeds but at their core have a desire and hunger for sex. So, they made this society, the Group, to quench their incredible thirsts. But most of all, they want you to join it. They see something in you that I saw a long time ago, but failed to acknowledge."

She stopped.

There was an incredible silence that seemed to stretch on and on, as I tried to absorb all she had said.

I looked at her, naked and kneeling in front of me, tears streaming down her face for reasons I did not understand until she spoke again; her voice soft and almost childlike.

"I love you Mistress Jessica"

It was such a simple statement but with huge ramifications. Where did James fit into this? My oft-absent husband I had a lot of affection for even if our time together was fleeting and lately quite sexless.

"I need to think about this..." I said, my voice trailing off as my head whirred with questions.

And so, with few days to James returning, that is what I did...



The Bag Lady and the Domme Ch. 04



Introduction: Clarissa, ex-boarding school friend and model, had been taken in by Jessica Harmondon-Smithers her long lost friend who was now a successful businesswoman in an apparently sexless marriage with Jonathan (Johnnie). Clarissa had told her a fantastic tale of abduction of herself and another down-at-heel tramp called Maggie, by a shadowy and perverted organisation called The Group. She had demonstrated her degradation and submission to them by putting Jessica through the same process, but eventually has come clean to tell her friend and by now lover the true story and the plan that The Group has for Jessica. However, Mrs Harmondon-Smithers has been rocked by these revelations, the week of unbridled debauchery and lesbian play she has indulged in, and now faces the prospect of her maid Anya returning from leave together with at some point her husband whom she loves but can no longer understand. What can she do now? How does she react to her new sexual awakening and the fact that she does not want to lose Clarissa Stocks-Johnson from her life again?

***********

I had needed to think hard about the ramifications of all that had happened in the past week. This had not been the vacation I had expected, far from it. To help me reflect I had put Clarissa in the spare guest suite, away from me for a whole 24 hours. It had been so difficult, just seeing her for short periods of time, her lithe naked body padding across the landing or bathed in a silk robe as she helped herself to food. I did not even dine with her, so important was it to me that I have my thinking time. However, nothing could stop the insatiable 'itch' that needing scratching. I knew I could not go back, only forward. I was an insatiably sexually demanding and dominant female. It had been expressed via my work, and perhaps in my early marriage, but I needed more; much more. I needed Clarissa to love and adore me, I wanted to explore the secret world of The Group and to be, as they had made explicit in a letter that had arrived, a member of their 'executive' with full privileges.

I had trawled the secure internet site that featured The Group, its constitution and its practices. Some of them I knew were not for me, but I was constantly drawn to the features on bi-sexual play and not just of the women, but the men at play too. I thought of Johnnie and my fantasy, which had become a recurring dream whenever I dozed off. This had been often in the past hours, as a type of exhaustion seemed to have overtaken me until that point where the decision was made. 

"Hello!" came the disconnected voice from below. "Mrs Harmondon-Smithers?" 

I recognised the thick Czech accent of my maid. She was back! Well, I smiled to myself; she was in for a treat. I dashed to Clarissa's room, pushing open the door to be greeted by an amazing sight. My lover, my submissive, my best friend was up on all fours, her arse facing me and her fingers plunging in and out of her sopping wet pussy. I had no time for this.

"Get up you slut! Anya is here. I want you in the kitchen in 10 minutes sharp. You are to come down the stairs, naked. I hope you have shaved your pussy as I want you to come sit on one of the bar stools with your legs open, like the slut you are. Got it?"

I could see she had been interrupted right at the height of her pleasure. I laughed, then scowled, as she failed to answer me.

"Got it?" I snapped, using an imperious tone.

"Yes, er, yes Mistress," she replied, her voice weak and quavering. 

'Good,' I thought, 'that will make her more hungry for what I have planned.'

"10 minutes, no more, no less."

I walked fast, almost ran, back to my room and reached for the silk robe I had placed out for myself that morning. I was suddenly aware of my breasts swinging freely, the cool on my shaven pussy and the delightful feeling of being totally naked on this wonderful warm day in England. No, I was the mistress of the house, why did I need to dress in front of my staff?

I walked silently down the gently curving spiral staircase, a massive feature of this multi-million pound house to make a grand entrance into the hall. Anya was at the bottom of the stairs, bent over looking into her bags. I could never fathom why she needed so many suitcases when she went home to her village near Prague. However, that was the least of my thoughts as I was currently being presented with long slim legs, so straight and well muscled. They were topped by diaphanous white panties encasing the most beautiful bottom. Her dark blue skirt was so short it had failed miserably to hide the lovely peachy bum cheeks of a classically beautiful Czech woman. 

"Nice view!" I said, instantly feeling wetness seep between my engorging labia. I knew I was excited, not least by the sensuality of being naked, but even more so knowing this woman lusted after me and was now going to get turned on by me, her employer and ergo, her naked Mistress. 

She snatched at the hem of her skirt, suddenly aware like a schoolgirl still not confident with her sexuality that it was too short and tried to pull it down as she stood and turned towards me. She was rooted there, mouth open, her right hand subconsciously straying to brush at her breast, her left to hover over her pussy area. I smiled, keeping direct contact with her wide open eyes. So beautiful, I realised. Her nipples were hardening behind the bright yellow T-shirt she wore and her tongue was gently wetting her full lips. I watched those sexy eyes scan my nudity, taking in my large breasts, my motherly hips and the blatant sexuality of my shaven pussy. She was banqueting on my beauty, something I had at last admitted to myself. I was not only beautiful, but powerful too, and I was going to seize all the advantages to be taken from those facts.

"Come, come greet your Mistress," I invited warmly, holding open my arms as I advanced towards her, giving her no time to back away or evade my clutches. I pressed myself to her, giving her a kiss on the lips that was totally unambiguous and feeling our large breasts press hard against each other. But then I broke away. "Come to the kitchen, let's hear about your visit home and your journey," I continued, giving her absolutely no choice that she was coming to sit down.

I held her hand, which she gripped extremely tightly I noticed, and led her to sit at the big oak table in the kitchen. I fussed about getting the tea and some croissants organised, ensuring that she was able to watch me at all times. I knew my pussy was glistening and my teats were rock hard with arousal. I'm sure the air was thick with the smell of my pussy and if I was not mistaken her bouquet was beginning to meld with mine. She was silent, unable to speak.

"I hope you don't mind my nakedness?" I asked, standing right in front of her as I played with my nipples in a gesture designed to draw her eyes to my engorged tits. I didn't wait for an answer, but urged her on. "So what have you got up to in the past few weeks?"

"I-I-I just saw my folks for the first few days," she faltered, her eyes never leaving my breasts now as I continued to play with the nipples, teasing her. "Then I went to stay with Ludmilla, the au pair who works with the Columbines at number 12?"

"Ah yes, the one with the extremely perky breasts? Always wears a tight T-shirt and no knickers under her extremely short skirts? Is that the one?" I enquired in as matter-of-fact way as I could muster, while internally even more turned on as I thought about that sexy girl.

"Er, I don't know about..."

I put a finger to my lips, gesturing her to be silent, and then spoke. "It's alright; you are with me now. I've noticed her many times and a friend saw her finger-fucking someone in the bushes by the Lido. I do not approve of that behaviour," I said sternly, then continued. "Leaving children unattended whilst she fucks is just not on. Surely one of you could have minded for her, or were you fucking too?"

She was silent, head slightly bowed though her eyes still were fixed on my tits. 

"I'll take that as a yes?"

"Yes, ah, no...it depends..."

"It depends on what precisely?" I asked, sensing blood as I put on my most dominant voice. I waited out the silence.

"It depends on whether it was Gerta. She was my Swedish lover but she left for Gothenburg 6 months ago and besides..."

She trailed off, as if she could not bring herself to say the next bit. I stirred her tea, knowing she liked two sugars, and waited for her reply. I was not going to speak first. 

She burst into tears, just at the moment that Clarissa entered the room, naked and looking so beautiful with the sun streaming in from the garden onto her stunning model's body. God those tits with their big rings piercing the teats, wow! I gestured her to sit on one of the bar stools that meant she was raised above my maid and only a few feet away. She knew exactly what to do, keeping her knees well apart. She put her feet on the lower rest, just like a guitar player, although with her posture it would have been a cello that fitted better. 

Anya had not noticed her, the tears were streaming from her eyes. I stood beside her, bending to clutch her head to my bosom and gave her soft words of encouragement; willing her to get the deep hurts and sadness out of her. 

"There, there, hold me tightly...Besides what?" I coaxed, urging her to say more, while I pressed my hot breasts closer to her.

She sniffled, "I fell in love with another woman...it just happened...but she did not want me...er...did not know I loved her and it just got tense with Gerta. She knew something was going on."

I let my hand stroke her back, with every stroke circling lower and lower, until I was touching the small of her spine and the tops of that firm arse. Meanwhile my breasts were thrust into her face, the nipple of my left breast almost offered to her soft pouting lips. I felt the dribble of my juice down my inner thigh. Yes, I could smell her bouquet, pungent in the air as it mixed less subtly now with mine. She was aroused and yet sad, such a submissive quality. Ok, let's go for it.

"It was me you fell in love with, wasn't it?" I asked gently.

I heard her gasp, her heart almost stopping I guessed. I also heard Clarissa sigh, not with resignation but something else I sensed. More silence, as my hand continued its caress and my naked breasts wanted her to suckle on me like a mother soothing her newborn.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, as if a great weight had just been lifted from her heart, and her arms encircled my nakedness, just as a child might when running to mummy for safety. And in my impulsive, motherly state, I grasped my breast; pushing the teat into her mouth, urging her to suck as pulses like little electric shocks radiated out from that tit and then converged to focus on my clitoris which was no longer hidden. I let my hands roam freely over her as she suckled, sliding to her front and grasping her ample right tit in my hand. I liked its firmness the achingly hard nipple that was clearly pierced with a small ring of some description. All this as she continued to suck on me as if she could draw milk. 'If only she could,' I thought, but then I was distracted by another idea, 'I need to take firm control'. It took a lot of willpower, believe me. 

I broke away, prising her mouth from my teat, leaving a string of saliva that eventually broke as I moved. My wet nipple was so engorged there was no way I could hide my pleasure, but I had other things to accomplish. I stood up, unblocking the view of Clarissa who like the faithful slut she was had her legs wide apart to show her perfectly shaven pussy, its lips engorged and her clitoris unmistakeably outside its little folds with the gold bar stretching the bloated head. The jewellery at her labia glistened in the sun. 'Beautiful,' I caught myself thinking, again. 

Anya stared past me, shocked. Then I saw that familiar glint in her eye that I now knew to be lust. She was a slut! One minute I was her total source of love and devotion and then along comes another honey pot to dip into. I laughed, smiling madly at them both.

"Anya, meet Clarissa," I announced. "She is my submissive little slut and if you accept my proposition you will happily share our life with her. She is staying here and will be treated as my guest but also shared as a plaything."

Anya stood, Clarissa maintained her position. How obedient I realised Clarissa was, so well trained. The Czech extended her hand to greet my subbie, but I was not allowing such a formal greeting.

"Clarissa, give Anya a hug and greet her in the way I want you to greet each other."

I saw a slight frown on Clarissa's brow, as if unsure, but then her eyebrows raised and it dawned on her. She knew exactly what to do. She was like the Venus Fly Trap. As Anya approached, getting closer between her still open legs, she grasped the outstretched hand, smiling. Then her legs closed around my maid and she pulled her firmly to her, planting at the same time a hard, erotic kiss on her lips that Anya was unlikely to forget. Believe me, that model's kisses are unbelievably sensual and erotic. And she kept her there in that embrace, her hands sliding over the young woman's body, and ending up grasping her arse cheeks as she said, "Welcome to Mistress's perfect world. We are both her slaves, to do with as she likes, yes?"

"I - I - don't..."

"She has not heard my conditions yet, Clarissa," I interjected, my tone slightly scolding. I continued, noticing that my subbie was still holding her in that tight embrace, her fingers slipping quietly under the white diaphanous drawers to touch somewhere now wet with her juice and Anya was accepting it; moving into her, and opening her legs to give greater access.

"Stop kissing her, slut," I snapped, not addressing it to one of them in particular as they both could hold that title. They stopped, with my maid turning her head awkwardly to pay attention to me. I continued. "Anya, I know you have wanted me for some time and I did not notice. However, if you do want me there are conditions as to how you can achieve that. There will be rules, as follows: One, you are to go naked around the house except when the children are home but in front of my husband when he is here. Two, you are to be smoothly shaven on and around your cunt at all times. Three you are to be available as a slave to others (male and female) as I command. Four, you will accept that you will not work here for free but will take your regular salary plus 10%. The fifth condition is that you undertake to maintain absolute secrecy but also will scout for new recruits, especially from those gorgeous nannies you work with. Do you accept the terms?"

Anya broke away from Clarissa, turning fully to face me. I had not expected what happened next, but silently she took the hem of her T-shirt in her hands and lifted it over her head. I watched as her ample breasts, now released from their binding, bounced like jelly moulds so wonderfully in front of me, then settled. So firm, so pert with pierced nipples adorned with little rings of gold. I sighed with desire, even more so as the teats were huge and erect. I had not realised this from just feeling them, but they were wide and now extremely long. Perfect. Then the skirt was unzipped and the tiny hook untied. She let it drop to the floor and stood there in just the white panties which, given their diaphanous material, had no function other than aesthetics. Her pussy was jet black and sprouting around the knickers. It hid her sex. I did not like that. I had noticed too as she raised her arms how the hair bushed copiously in her armpits. However, on this score I was changing my mind.

"Anya, you are to keep your underarm hair, but that bush is shameful! However, I add a sixth condition. In summer you will wear sleeveless tops so that your armpits are on show," I said, smirking to myself as I knew as a woman how that would be an embarrassment to her, but a turn-on for many men and I had to admit, one for me too. Johnnie loved to see me bushy and for so long I had followed the fad for shaving it off ignoring his wishes. Maybe, I thought, I might strike out for women and revert to no shaving. Though my pussy was another matter, I liked it depilated. "Now, take off those panties; a rule about which makes the magical seventh condition."

She slipped the panties down her firm young thighs. I caught a glimpse of Clarissa licking her lips as she looked at our maid from behind. Our eyes met and she smiled. I laughed, which Anya took to be us mocking her bush. I watched her lower her eyes, accepting her subservience and with not a little embarrassment for being so untidy down there. I thought it was time to complete my dominance.

"Anya, the seventh rule is you will not wear panties ever again in this house nor will you dress in trousers or shorts. The exception will be that you have discretion when it is your periods, but you know as well as I that good feminine hygiene means those things," and I emphasised my new-found disdain for them, "are unnecessary and to be banned. Do you agree to these conditions, because in exchange you will have my adoration and access to so much sexual fun. You will want for nothing if you serve me well."

"Mistress," she said excitedly, her accent sounding thicker as the emotions took over from reason, "I have wanted nothing less than this. I have admired you, loved you, every day I have worked here. I have so wanted you to possess me, to make me a true servant to you. I - I - found some books of your husband's about slavery and BDSM and have been obsessed with this. I..."

"Anya?" I was astonished about what she had just said. "Repeat what you have just said about Mr Smithers, er Johnnie, the Master..." I honestly did not know what to call him now, though the latter title did somehow fit if I could only get him to join our lifestyle. I was confused.

"Please do not be angry with me," she pleaded, dropping to her knees on the tiled kitchen floor in supplication. "I was cleaning in your bedroom and found a, how do you say, bolt? It is in the lower part of the panelling beside the bed on Mr Smithers's side and seemed loose, so I tried to tighten it with a wrench. When I did this, the right hand panel sprung open and behind there is a cupboard filled with sex toys, clothing for BDSM, books and...it is an Aladin's Cave! There is another of these on your side but it is empty. I guess it is where the previous owner hid his real tax accounts from the Revenue or something. A neighbour told me that the house had been owned by a real rogue who was jailed eventually for tax evasion."

I felt angry, cheated. My Johnnie who had played the innocent and been the boring no-sex-I'm-British husband had a secret compartment with secret desires and God knows how many other secrets hidden from me. I picked Anya up by her short jet black hair, forgetting my responsibilities as mistress. I was angry and, to my shame, taking it out on her. She screamed as I lifted her up with incredible force from the floor.

"Mistress!" Clarissa screamed, running over, grasping my hand and with all her strength prising my fingers apart. "Please, she is innocent. She has been honest with you."

I was crying, with Anya and Clarissa both hugging me and crying too. We looked like Antonio Canova's The Three Graces, our naked bodies pressed close together in love and comfort for each other. I felt so sad, so angry, so confused. What had Johnnie, whom I knew I still loved but now did not trust, been doing? 

"Right," I said, breaking the embrace, "Come with me."

I strode out of the kitchen turned immediately up the wide spiral, with Clarissa and Anya in hot pursuit. They must have had an eyeful as I climbed two steps at a time, intent on getting into that compartment and finding what else he had been up to. I was sweating with anxiety and mixed emotions that started to give way to a perverted thought; but enough of that for now.




The Bag Lady and the Domme Ch. 04



I stood back and watched as Anya knelt on the floor, her naked arse high in the air and legs more apart than perhaps was necessary (was she deliberately enticing me?); showing me a hairy mass with lips struggling to be seen inside the forest and an anal rose crowned with thick pubic hair. 'Yes,' I thought, 'that pussy hair has to go.' I could have spanked her, the view was just so enticing but I needed to see what was in that cupboard. 

The latch sprang as Anya wielded her wrench and automatically light streamed in from the store. 

Anya stood back, slightly, but not enough as I pushed past her hot naked breasts, almost knocking her over in my urgency to see what my husband's secrets were. I was aware of nothing other than my task; to find out about this new side to my husband.

Manically I was pulling things out of the cupboard and placing them less than gently on the bed. Clarissa took my hand, slowing me down as she kissed my neck and whispered, "Mistress, please, there must be an explanation..."

"Too fucking right there is! He would do none of this with me and yet look at the book cover. It's a man fucking another man, and there, two women fucking with one man, and here, a woman being spanked hard by that huge cocked man! Didn't he think I would have enjoyed doing..."

I stopped. Of course, he was a shy man and I was so strong with my opinions. He probably thought he couldn't ask me or tell me his fantasies. Maybe I was right too about anal, that he had 'protested too much'. But was it because I gave an impression of being less and less interested in sex and more in business? I was now less sure that he was a sneaking rat who kept dark secrets from me. Then it dawned on me. I took Clarissa by the hand, looking straight into her eyes.

"Clarissa, you told me you watched me for weeks before making contact. Did you follow me or Johnnie?"

"No Mistress, I didn't follow you, much."

I sensed her hand tense. Had I asked the wrong question? Or was she being evasive?

"Clarissa, when you say 'didn't follow you' is the 'you' plural or a reference to me?" I asked, being gentle but firm and keeping my eyes gazing at hers. She lowered her lids and I saw the blush of her skin. How pretty she looked, naked and blushing over her entire body. "Clarissa, I want you to be completely honest with me."

"It's a reference to you only Mistress, Master Jonathan was followed by me on twelve occasions on the instructions of The Group." She said, glancing at Anya as she realised she had said more than she should. She continued, softly. "He, er, he would go down the road to Mr and Mrs Columbine's and be there for the whole day. It was always when the Au Pair had her day off and the children were at their grandparents. He would tell you that he was flying to Edinburgh for the day. Still does use that excuse I would guess."

"Anya?" I looked steely eyed at her, to see if she knew anything from her friend Ludmilla, their au pair. She lowered her head.

"Ludmilla saw them once..."

"Saw them?" I snapped, interrupting her. 

"Yes Mistress, she came home early from her day off and had crept quietly into the house. She saw them in the lounge. There was a man, naked but for a leather mask and a mouth brace keeping his jaws open. He had a whip in his hand. His cock was hard and thick she said. Ludmilla stayed hidden in the shadows of the conservatory that links her quarters with the house. Mrs Columbine was being fucked in the arse by another man whom she could not at first recognise but was about the build of Mr Columbine. He was strong, quite hairy and had a mask on, plus another mouth brace. Then as they built up rhythm bent over the edge of their black leather sofa, so the second man came up behind the one arse-fucking Ludmilla's Mistress and slowly began to enter him, until the two were thrusting in unison into Mrs Columbine. She was screaming with pleasure and there were grunts and groans coming from the men. So aroused had she become with what she was watching that Ludmilla had inadvertently stepped closer into the light. Before she knew it her eyes had locked with her Mistress's..." 

She was panting slightly and had tailed off; unsure if ok to go on yet aroused too by what she was telling me. Anya's hand had drifted to her cunt. I could tell there was more to know about this, but where was the proof Johnnie was one of the men?

"Continue, slut!"

"..Yes Mistress, well Mrs Columbine did not stop the fucking but called her over. The man on the back beckoned too. Ludmilla hesitated but told me the scene was so hot – and she is such a sexy bitch – that she felt 'obliged' to join them. I laughed at this, because she tried to tell me she was afraid she would lose her job. No chance! She had them by, er, how you say, the er short and er curlies? No? Anyhow, she stripped off her clothes and the man at the back offered his cock to her that had just been in the middle man's arse hole. The little slut dropped to her knees and took him straight into her mouth," Anya said, with a hint of lust in her voice. "He fucked her mouth while Mrs Columbine and her man continued their arse fuck. Ludmilla said he was a big man and it really stretched her mouth..."

I listened silently, now sitting on the bed with Ludmilla in front of me and Clarissa rubbing my neck and shoulders with the most sensual massage. Somehow, even if this was my husband – and so far only the thick cock fitted with any description of him – her ministrations were making my anger melt away. In fact, to the contrary, I was getting turned on. 

"...Ludmilla glanced up as her mouth was fucked but had no clue as to who it was because all she could see was a leather clad face and an wide open mouth that looked more like one of those awful blow up dolls. However, there was cum and spittle dribbling from his chin which she found incredibly sexy she told me. Most of all, she noticed his eyes were a beautiful blue..."

Another clue! Johnnie has piercing blue eyes. I was getting more excited; even more so now that Clarissa's hands had strayed to my breasts and were lightly massaging my nipples to an incredible state of hardness and her mouth was kissing lightly at my neck. But also, had my Johnnie been arse fucking another man? The fantasy he had been unwilling to share with me?

"As Mrs Columbine came over the sofa edge and the man in her arse came too, Ludmilla's masked mouth-fucker spurted deep into her throat. Much to my friend's chagrin, it was very little, which suggested that this fuck was near the end of a lengthy period of cumming. However, she had no sooner sucked him than Mrs Columbine called her to kiss her. The other man slowly extracted himself from her arse and Ludmilla could see the wide open rose, which she admitted she was desperate to lick out..."

"You mean rim?" I interjected, using my newly found language.

"...Yes, to rim him. She had surprised herself how anally obsessed she had quickly become, but her employer wanted her to kiss her and she guessed she knew why. She sat up and hugged Ludmilla, her heavy breasts meeting the pert young titties of my friend which are nice size but not like Mrs Columbine's. They kissed hard, she told me, with her Mistress delving into her mouth with her long pointy tongue, clearly enjoying the taste of sperm, arse and cock that coated Ludmilla's mouth and lips.

It was not long before the two men had recovered and were surrounding them, but the woman made them kneel. Then, Mrs Columbine ordered them both to remove their mouth braces and lick the two women's bodies as they embraced and Mrs C put her hands on Ludmilla's pussy that was by now sopping wet. Her smell hung in the air, mixing with the incredibly strong scents of sex that had clearly built up from a mammoth session. Soon Ludmilla had a strong tongue lapping at her little red rose and strong manly hands were stroking and loving her incredibly aroused breasts. The orgasm that she had she says was so strong and it was – incredibly - her first taste of lesbian loving. It turned her to bisexuality and she has had sex many times since with women, and every day with Mrs C since that night and with her husband. The other man came only on her days off and she saw his face only twice. It was your Johnnie...it was Mr Smithers...he was the one with the thick cock that filled Ludmilla's mouth and who licked her anus that night. He fucked her always when wearing the mask. He was buggered by Mr C. every time and would always complete that ritual with a whipping of his host, as if to punish him for making him do something taboo. However, he would then be fucked in the mouth by him and return the favour by doing it back, always while Mrs C masturbated using her fingers or an oversized dildo or vibrator..."

I was panting, aroused incredibly by the story and the realisation my husband did love sex, but even more so by Clarissa whose hand was now between my thighs which were open and displayed to Anya. My clitoris was on fire, hungry for her touch, but I was also enjoying being an exhibitionist; making Anya stare at my excited pussy lips. I had heard enough. I gestured for her to come eat my pussy. She was there like a shot, her long tongue lapping at my lips, duelling with Clarissa's fingers that were exciting my clitoris and delving into my hole. I caressed my breasts revelling in their sensitivity and teasing the long nipples that were so hard and gorgeous. I fantasised about having Johnnie rub his cock between them, spurting his cum all over them; doing things he had never done with me. And as I succumbed to my lustful imaginings so my orgasm built and built to a massive crescendo.

When I came, I screamed into the air. It was so loud. I had gone from anger to intense pleasure and I realised in the erotic fog that was my brain at that time I would confront Johnnie but in a way that brought him on side, not alienated him. I wanted that cock to be mine again in a deep, loving and sexual way. Most of all I wanted those perverted games to be played with me as an actor. Not least I wanted to have Mrs Columbine too. I'd known her for a long time, admiring her Amazonian body, with its massive breasts, firm arse and long, long legs. If Clarissa had not come into my life, I doubt I would have thought it was more than the typical curiosity of one woman about another's body, which is why there are more nude bodies of women in women's magazines than there are in men's. Now I realised that fascination was more than just inquisitiveness. Maybe she had been sending me signals that I had been unaware of, or vice versa? Then, as another orgasmic wave flowed over me, I passed out.

___________________

When I came to, all the toys and articles had been put on a trolley by Anya and Clarissa. They had tucked me up in bed and were kneeling patiently at its base. I had no idea of the time or how long they had been there, but I loved them for their devotion and my incredible sense of power. I sat up, shuffling to the side of the bed to look at the items in a less emotional way than I had done before. 

I started with the books....



The Bag Lady and the Domme Ch. 05



Introduction: Clarissa, ex-boarding school friend and model, had been taken in by Jessica Harmondon-Smithers her long lost friend who was now a successful businesswoman in an apparently sexless marriage with Jonathan (Johnnie). Clarissa Stocks-Johnson had told her a fantastic tale of abduction of herself and another down-at-heel tramp called Maggie, by a shadowy and perverted organisation called The Group. She had demonstrated her degradation and submission to them by putting Jessica through the same process, but eventually has come clean to tell her friend (and by now lover) the true story and the plan that The Group has for Jessica. However, Mrs Harmondon-Smithers has been rocked by new revelations, a week or more of unbridled debauchery and lesbian play that she has indulged in revealing and reinforcing her clear bisexuality, and the seduction of her maid Anya who has returned from the Czech Republic. Now she has through her discovered that Johnnie keeps a stash of BDSM paraphanalia in a secret cupboard, has been having kinky sex with a neighbour Mrs Columbine (or Mrs C as she is known) who is of Amazonian proportions, her husband and their maid Ludmilla, and so is bisexual like herself. The question now becomes, what does she do now, especially with her husband who is a stranger to her at one level but clearly a wonderfully debauched sexual adventurer at another?

_________________________

"Clarissa, prepare my bath will you?" I asked feeling quite languorous this morning. It was exciting and scary at the same time. Johnnie was due home from his trip away. Genuinely away it turned out this time, not a trip down the road for a clandestine fuckfest of bisexual BDSM.

I watched the naked Clarissa - who had spent the past days nude at my instruction - swaying her hips seductively as she walked off to the bathroom. 'Lovely arse on her,' I thought, if a little striped from the administrations of both myself and Anya, who had shown me some new techniques she had learned with a boyfriend in Ostrava in the Czech Republic. She told me it was a polluted town. The trees nearby grew the weirdest shaped branches, so he had cut down and fashioned a cane from a thin willow that was unlikely to ever grow into the massive ones found in England. She had kept it ever since and Clarissa had had her bottom kissed 12 times by it last night for some minor misdemeanour. She was absolutely stoic bar the little tear that dribbled slowly down her beautiful face. Anya had been given permission to lick it with that sexy pointed tongue of hers before applying the same point to my clitoris. Wow! I came so fast diddling myself as I replayed the scene in my head, then slept a little until...

"Your bath is ready Mistress," whispered Clarissa gently to me, ensuring I awoke slowly. I opened one eye to be greeted by the sight of her lovely breasts hanging over me. Her large ring piercings caught the light that was now shining through a crack in the curtains, highlighting her stiff nipple and like a spot light on her firm rounded breasts. How lovely she looked and so arousing that I was tempted to reach up and grasp that marvellous pair in both hands. No, it would never do, Johnnie was back from Japan today and I was going to confront him. 

I leapt out of bed, clearly to the disappointment of Clarissa whose face and nipples suggested she was up for some play. No, today was 'meet my new husband day,' I thought. That man I had been married to for so long was a stranger to me. He had had a stash of porno and BDSM gear no more than a metre from me every night and had been fucking, and been fucked, by my neighbours Mr and Mrs Colombine at Number 12. So the question in my mind was how best to do it. Did I just blurt it out that he was a duplicitous bastard? Or should I do something else? 'But what?'I asked myself as I slipped down into our large bath. The warm water caressed my body as my mind focused on the day to come...

_________________________________

I heard the front door close and Max, our crazy Pointer, rush around in the demented way he tended to do when a well-loved member of the household arrived. There was the usual 'Get down!' as his exuberance came close to knocking over the target of his affections. We'd kept promising to take him for obedience lessons, but at that very moment I made it a priority. 

"Hello?" I heard Johnnie call. "Hello? Anybody there? Max! Get down you bloody stupid hound"

I wrapped myself in my old house coat. Didn't want to give the game away, though for some reason my smoothly shaven pussy was absolutely dripping. I descended the stairs, my eyes never taking their eyes off the tight trousered arse of Johnnie. Just like Anya the other week he was bending over a suitcase and placing a plastic bag that was obviously from an airport shop next to it, whilst at the same time trying to shoo our idiot dog away. It was comical at one level, but my head could not clear of the knowledge that his lovely firm arse had taken the stiff cock of Mr Columbine, my near neighbour. Hell, the thought made me even wetter! I was blushing, yes blushing, at my obscene imaginings.

He turned around and then smiled, broadly.

"Darling," he greeted, opening his arms wide to invite me to hug him. Passionate kisses had stopped a long time ago I regret to say, and that was I realised more my doing than his. Though we had continued to fuck occasionally, and always in a satisfactory if not 'fireworks going off' way, kissing like randy schoolchildren had stopped. He continued to talk, with me lost in regrets of how in reality it had been me ending the passion, "You look flushed. Are you alright?"

"Er, pardon?" I asked, suddenly aware I'd not listened to one word he'd said. 

"I asked are you alright," he repeated, looking concerned.

'Wow,' I thought, 'he has such a handsome face, I wonder what he looks like with Columbine's dick up his arse?' I giggled, then corrected myself, trying to put on a sterner face, but failing miserably as my eyes scanned down to look at his cock trapped in his chinos. For the first time in quite a while I wanted that not insubstantial prick in my cunt or mouth. I did not care. I was dripping inexplicitly. I was getting annoyed with my body for not allowing me to stay angry with him, despite now knowing he had a secret life that did not include me. 'Ok, change to plans,' I said to myself.

"Darling," I cooed, "Lovely to see you. How was your trip?"

"Bloody boring, nothing but men in suits and tedious meetings as ever."

"No gorgeous women to entice to your bedroom and spank?" I asked softly, as my index finger traced a line from the base of his fly to the zip tab and back again, feeling his sleeping cock momentarily. I watched his pupils widen. I'd never done this before.

"Jessie? Did I hear what I thought I heard?"

"No, can't have," I said, giggling again. "However, I have a plan that we should go out to dinner tonight. Can you be ready in 30 minutes?" I ordered, rather than asked. I noticed his reaction, pupils even wider, and the trousers beginning to bulge. Yes, he liked me being strong.

I was amused as he stumbled over his reply, "Oh, er, OK, I - I - I'll get Anya to unpack my case and put my things away." He called for her and nearly had a heart attack on the spot when she came out of the kitchen wearing the skimpiest of swim suits. I'd told her to be ready and she rewarded both of us with a wondrous view of tiny triangles covering her sex and hard teats. 

"Isn't she lovely?" I asked.

He did not know what to do. He'd never seen her like this in the house and now he looked like he was torn about commenting on another woman in my presence. I realised I'd been a bit of a prude in his company. Now things were changing and he did not know how much. I could see the puzzlement on his face. Should he answer or ignore the question?

"I said, Isn't she lovely Johnnie?" repeating the question and urging a reply. And then I whispered in his ear, "And I bet you'd love to fuck her!"

He looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights. He did not know what to do, but answered, "Yes, well I mean she is very beautiful. Well, that is what I meant..." "Very beautiful or you want to fuck her?" I asked quietly, my hand grazing over his arse cheek now before giving his left buttock a firm squeeze. "Hurry up and get rid of these things, we are going out to a new restaurant I have found," I ordered, feigning impatience, and left him standing open mouthed with Anya bending seductively to pick up two of his cases. From behind his back I winked at Anya; who kept a stoic face even if I'm sure she wanted to laugh.

"I'm just going to change," I said to no one in particular, but just dropped my robe on the stairs as I ascended them completely naked. I heard his sigh behind me."Come on Johnnie, we will be late."

I knew he was too shocked to say anything else. I had him just where I wanted him. Confused.

_______________________________________

The restaurant was one recommended by Clarissa. She said the people from The Group used it and I could see why. Each cubicle on the river side of the restaurant was completely secluded from the next. When you entered them the waitress pressed a button on the window side that apparently gave you unrestricted views of the river and all the activity outside, but some clever electronics in the glass meant that no one could look in and see you. In addition, she pulled the curtains so that apart from about a square metre of floor in front of the table where presumably the waitresses could stand to take orders and serve, the booth was isolated from the rest of the premises. She told us that there was a bell on the table to call her at any time and for any request. It was interesting how her voice became husky and remarkably seductive when she repeated, "any request." I knew what she meant and smiled, remembering what Clarissa had told me about the place. 

Johnnie was quite quiet. I'd seen him staring at the skin tight uniform of our waitress; the black cat suit clinging to her pussy to create a classic camel's toe effect and her large breasts straining against the lycra front. It was amazing how the bodice did not burst open given the 'V' of the neck was so low. However, the soft material was there to entice and mould to her shape. She just had a sort of utility belt for her pad and pen that hung low on her perfect hips, together with a clean white tea towel across her arm. 

"By the way, my name is Su," she informed us, "But you may address me as you see fit."

I smiled at Johnnie, catching him looking intensely at the apex of her thighs but with a clear look of puzzlement on his face about her last remark. I knew he was excited and intrigued by her. 'This was going to be such fun,' I thought. I watched as Su left us, her tight buttocks wiggling as she exited and closed the curtains behind her. I took Johnnie's hand in mine across the table, holding it firmly as I regained his attention.

"Isn't she gorgeous?" I asked, again smiling at him as I gave his hand an extra squeeze and said, "I imagine she is incredible in bed."

He looked like his jaw would drop off. I continued.

"I need to ask you a few things Johnnie and you have to be honest with me. I also need to warn you that I have changed while you have been away and I am hoping that the changes will meet both our needs. I realise that my successful job, the children and all that have meant we have been drifting apart and I do not want that. However, let's choose some food first. This place has fantastic dishes..."

I urged him to read the large leather bound menu. In reality the choice was limited to only the best, most luxury cuisine in the style of all the best restaurants. I knew the chef had been plucked from one of the Roux Brothers' establishments and, in exchange for some very special sexual delights that tailored for her specific tastes, had consented to run the place for The Group. The BBC had tried to get her to do a TV series but it would have interfered with establishing this invitation-only establishment and besides on the days of filming she was promised a new member to train as a submissive slut. Her sexual proclivities always came first, despite the fact that she was a Three Star chef and rarest of all, a female one at that. Of course, in the tradition of The Group, who wanted me on their committee, that slut was now our waitress and available to me to do with as I so wished. 

We sat in silence with both of us studying our menus, though I was pleased that every so often Johnnie would look over the top of it and rather than look at my face would stare at my daring decolletage. I'd changed into a wrap over dress that was cut low over my ample breasts. It was a green patterned silk that clung seductively to my unfettered breasts. I'd let him see when we were changing that I'd left my panties at home too, deliberately tossing them on the bed with a "well I don't need those do I?" question. Of course I only allowed him to see my well toned naked arse cheeks. My shaven pussy hole was only available if the next stages of this evening went well but it was very difficult not to expose myself there and then. Readers, I wanted him for all his duplicity. When I had seen him at the bottom of those stairs in his light chinos and blue lambswool sweater he looked handsome. His swept back grey hair that had gone prematurely that colour at 19 years old looked distinguished. I felt love for him I have to admit. However, that did not stop me from my intent to toy with him. No, if anything our relationship would change to something where I was a much bigger player in the bedroom and elsewhere.

"Have you decided?" Su asked, appearing silently through the curtain like an actor arriving on stage. I noticed her hair that had been tied back in quite a severe bun was now cascading over her shoulders and her catsuit was gaping a little more. In fact, there was the hint of one dark pink nipple's areola peeking around the edge of the seam. There was also a sheen of sweat on her breasts. What had she been doing? I saw Johnnie look then his eyes darted to check if I was looking. I smiled, nodding approval to look again. I wanted him to show me some of what he lusted over, as I'd realised in recent days we'd never discussed our needs before. Who could blame him looking elsewhere if his own wife would not even discuss sex with him? Well, that was then, this is now.

"Yes I have," I stated, "but before we order I think Su that you should show my husband what is hiding behind that suit. Johnnie, watch while she pulls that silly suit down to her waist."

"N-n.." he started to protest, trying to say 'no' but I put my hand up signaling him to be quiet. I knew I'd pressed the right button. He sat silently, if shuffling a little in his seat. He was aroused by my dominance, but not as much as Su who quickly put down her note pad, raised her hands to her shoulders and pulled the slinky black material down her arms and off until the top hung around her waist. Her breasts were magnificent; large and pert with not a hint of droop. I was at once jealous and yet hungry to touch and suck them. However, I had to stay in control.

"There, that's better, now let's order. I have decided we will have..."

______________________________________

Poor Johnnie just sat there staring at the bare bosom of our waitress. I knew he was hard in those trousers of his. I could see him squirm more and more. I was aware that it was however more than just the bare titties. He was most definitely turned on by my act of dominance. I'd never seen him so compliant, accepting that I ordered everything for him. It was a masterstroke of mine that had only occurred to me when I thought about the restaurant and its connection to The Group. If I was to demonstrate my suitability for the office they wanted to give me, I had to start immediately.

"Release his cock for me Su," I ordered. 

"Yes Mistress," she replied and without asking for any approval from Johnnie leant in to him, letting her firm tits brush against him as she lowered herself to free his cock. There was a sigh of obvious relief from him, despite his face being a deeper shade of blushing pink. 

"You can go now Su. Remember that the oysters are to be at least a dozen each. Any less and I will have to spank your bottom, won't I?"

"Yes Mistress," she said quietly, then exited the curtain without even considering to correct her dress. 

"Now Johnnie, where was I?" I asked, though continued with absolutely no interest in his reply. "As I said before, I want some answers to my questions and they need to be factual and truthful or else we have no future together." I saw he was trying to readjust his trousers, "And you can leave that lovely cock of yours exposed. I have not finished with that yet. Enjoy its arousal. You can stroke it if you like, unless it makes you go deaf?"

I laughed at my little joke, but saw again the confused, immobilised little husband of mine. He was such a mix of desire and yet I speculated that he was trying to continue with a modicum of dignity; when in reality he had lost that the moment Su had whipped first her breasts and then his lovely dick out. 

"Right, first question. Do you know the Columbines?" 

I had no desire to beat around the bush. Johnnie was silent. I raised one of my stilettoes, pressing the sharp heel into the hard yet vulnerable flesh of his tumescent cock. He groaned. A surprising reaction. I pressed harder, til the groan became a clear sign of pain. That was better. 

"Answer me, truthfully."

His eyes were downcast but he was showing signs of reacting to his masochistic state. He replied slowly and carefully, "Yes, I do know them. I've done some business with the husband and advised Mrs Columbine on some preference shares. 

"Oh, I think I know her preferences," I replied, giving my most solemn and cold response."OK, so apart from business, is there anything else you have done with Mr Columbine?" I pressed harder, my heel obviously hurting his very hard dick. He groaned and as I pressed, so gave muted cries of pain. 

"Er we have both pleasured Mrs Columbine," he answered sullenly, afraid of how I might react. 

"Good, now I am at last getting some honesty. How quaint, 'pleasured'. And so tell me, what do you think of Mr Columbine?"

"Think of him?" he asked, trying to feign innocence. "If you mean sexually, nothing. He is a man, just a man."

"Darling," I said, the one word sounding incredibly menacing. My heel was now pressing hard against his scrotum. "Be honest, what have you done with him?"

He knew it, I knew it. There was only one course of action; come clean.

"D-d-darling," he stammered as he tried to tread carefully with his words. "Darling, he is a very persuasive and ..."

"...good fucker?" I snapped, intent on keeping the upper hand.

"Er yes, Mrs Columbine says he is," said Johnnie.

"Stop being evasive," I erupted."You have had him up your arse haven't you?"

He looked stunned. His face was a brighter shade of pink. I loved seeing him like this, suddenly so unsure of himself, so vulnerable. Yes, I loved this vulnerability, so different from the internationally travelled and assured businessman I had married. Then he nodded."So what does that mean?" I quizzed, as if not understanding him. 'Rub it in, Jess,' I told myself.

"Yes," he whispered.

"What?" I asked loudly. 

"Yes, he has fucked me in the arse," he replied more loudly, spitting it out quickly as if he feared my wrath if he was insufficiently clear and emphatic. Then his head went down and he was looking at a point somewhere by his feet. 

"Lift your head up and look me in the eyes." He obeyed instantly. "That's better. Tell me, did you enjoy it?"

"Oh yes, it was...." He realised he had said too much, especially how enthusiastically he had conveyed his buggery. 




The Bag Lady and the Domme Ch. 05



"Tell me about it. Tell me how it all started and above all, tell me what it is you like about being buggered," I instructed, genuinely inquisitive. I held his hand again, stroking my thumb over his palm while I kept the cruel pressure with my heel on his astonishingly tumescent cock. This sadistic act, plus the humiliation of having been caught out was arousing him. And I can tell you readers, it was making my pussy as wet as a swimming pool. I could feel the ache in my clitty as it lay outside the folds of my sex. This was pure erotic heaven.

"It started as a drunken game. I'd gone there on the invite of Mrs Columbine. She had by chance spoken to me about some investments just as I was getting into the Jag one day. Somehow I'd mentioned that you were working long hours again so I had plenty of time to help. She joked how that mustn't be good for our sex lives. Then walked away, calling over her shoulder for me to come to dinner that night. She said her husband would be away..."

I slipped off my shoe and now ran my bare foot against his hardness. I could not remember a time when he had felt so hard. Well, not since we were young lovers at University. I realised that for the first time in a very long time I was enjoying the feel of that cock; every ridge and vein under my very sensitive foot. I could see on his face as he talked that he was enjoying this too, however embarrassed he might be judging from the continued flush of his handsome face.

"...so when I sat in their dining room that evening there was only Mrs Columbine, er Danielle, and myself. She was a great conversationalist, talking about the arts, her garden and then she suddenly switched to the topic books. All the time she talked she kept topping up our glasses of a deep red Chateauneuf. The food was exquisite too, far too lavish I thought for a simple meal with a neighbour..."

"Johnnie!" I snapped, "tell me what happened not the menu."

He looked a bit shocked by my assertiveness. "S-sorry darling," he said, looking at me almost sadly with his big blue eyes flashing in the light of the booth. I was melting with both love and desire for him but I was damned if he would know that yet. He continued, more enthusiastically as I had added my other bare foot to the other side of his thick and rock hard manhood. I was impressed that he had not cum given my administrations. 

"...Well, she started with asking me if I had ever read Treasure Island. It was innocent enough, but then she began to subtly add in some erotic thoughts. For example, how did the hero cope without a woman to satisfy his natural need for sex? I'd never even thought of that issue. Then, she asked me what I did when marooned in hotel rooms with no woman to 'satisfy' me. I tried to change the subject but she was incredibly insistent. 'Do you masturbate or hire a prostitute?' she asked. I was shocked and embarassed," Johnnie said, though I felt his big dick pulse between my feet. I knew now humiliation was something he loved. 

"So what did you reply?" I asked softly, letting my left hand trail slowly along the seam of my wrap-over, loosening the material slightly over my breasts. I could breath again and feel a cool breeze from the air-conditioning above caress my skin.

"I found myself admitting that I masturbate, thinking of you and missing how we used to make love as students and then when first married. You know, before the children seemed to..."

"...interfere with our fucking," I interrupted swiftly, with a flashback of fucking in the open air during a wild party coming to mind. "Darling," I said gently but firmly, "call it what it is; 'fucking', 'humping' or even 'shagging' but not 'making love'. I want you to be honest with me. Continue," I ordered.

"She licked her lips as she sat entranced and asked me how I did it! Did I take my cock out of my pants and wank or undress, prepare tissues and lie in bed and 'beat my rod', as she put it? It was weird, I found myself telling her everything!"

"And what was that?"

"That I strip naked, then call you. I talk to you, listening to your soft melodious voice getting harder by the minute as your tone arouses me. It's crazy but you could be reading the weather forecast or telling me how the children have misbehaved and I would be lying there, dick in hand, hard as they come and stroking my meat. Then, when we had said our 'goodnights' I'd put the phone down, lie back with my legs wide apart and begin to masturbate up and down my shaft slowly. However, this has become more complex in recent years as I like to insert a digit of my other hand first into my mouth as I imagine you sucking my cock - a rare event as you know - and then that same wet digit into my anus."

"Mmmmm," I heard myself utter. My left hand subconsciously having gone to my breast inside the wrapover. My nipple was hard. I'd never heard him speak this way or be so candid about sex. I straightened myself up in the chair, but left my hand to play. "Carry on," I ordered.

"Well I admitted to wanking with one finger or more up my arse and beating away until the cum splashed high on my chest, sometimes with the intensity hitting my own face." He stopped, looking at me with such lustful eyes and clearly straining to stop himself cumming. I liked his discomfort.

"Darling," I said in my sweetest, mostly saccharine voice, "you are NOT to cum."

He understood. I knew he had played with the Columbines, so I had no doubt he had been made to withhold cumming. The tortuous look on his face told me that. He was saved by Su coming back through the door. Her hair was back in its bun and her breasts were hidden again, but this time her outfit was that of a maid. I guessed they had a client in who liked to play dressing games. Her legs looked superb, so long and in the sexiest of fishnet stockings, the tops of which were visible as the skirt was ridiculously short. I could not see the back but guessed it was only just covering her arse. 

"Stand still," I ordered her. "Keep your head up and the tray in front of you. Johnnie, lift the front of her skirt."

He looked at me quizzically.

"Do it, now!" I snapped.

He turned, which must have been quite difficult as my feet held his cock in a tight vice of toes, and reached out, lifting the dress out of the way to show Su's swollen pussy lips that were practically dripping with excitement. She had just a sliver of hair above her clitty. It had to go.

"You can serve the meal, but next time you come in here I do not expect to see that fluff on our pussy mound, understand?"

"Er, yes..."

"Mistress. You will call me Mistress and him Master."

"Yes Mistress," she replied respectfully as she carefully placed the large bowl of oysters in the centre of the table and gave each of us the necessary eating irons and plates. 

"So continue," I ordered Johnnie, not paying any attention to Su as she came to and fore with Champagne, glasses and napkins which she delicately placed in our laps. However, I did enjoy the sight of her perfect naked arse as she bent to my adjust my husband's serviette; though I missed his physical reaction to her touch as I had now placed my feet back on the floor. 

"Danielle quickly made a connection with the anal play. She asked me if I thought that the writer had been dishonest in casting Man Friday as just a servant and friend, and did I not think that they would have become lovers. I tried to argue it was all platonic, but then she reminded me that I too had in my loneliness sought a substitute for so-called 'natural' sex and had buggered myself. She pressed, stating that Man Friday and Robinson would have inevitably buggered each other. She graphically described the act of Friday's thick black cock entering Crusoe's virgin behind. Her massive breasts that were heaving in a very low cut green silk blouse showed hard nipples against the taut material. I realised at that moment how beautiful she was in a strong, Amazonian way. I could tell the imagery excited her and have to admit, her descriptions aroused me too. I was hard in my trousers. But what I did not expect was what happened next..."

"And what was that?" I asked, feeling the wetness between my legs drip down to my anus.

"She asked me if it made me hard thinking of them buggering! I was flabberghasted. 'How did she know?' I asked myself. And she answered me. 'You are a very attractive man and I can see the dilation of your beautiful blue eyes. When you eyes dilate like that I know your cock is growing hard and strong. How big is it?' she asked, as if trying to get a price on a banana at the market," he laughed, though I too was looking in his eyes and seeing they had widened. 

"...We sat silently for a while, with me not answering. I have to admit I was both shocked and aroused. I felt the humiliation of having been found out, like some teenage boy who can't control his erection in front of the girl of his dreams in class. My dick just would not behave!"

"So, did you show her?" I enquired, perhaps a little too enthusiastically for someone who was meant to be stern and in control. 

"No, I asked her what her favourite novel was. She told me she had so many but it was 'Tipping the Velvet' for a good lesbian read, 'Brokeback Mountain' when she wanted to read a love story between men and 'The Story of O' when she felt a need to explore the submission of women. She was able to quote whole passages from the work of the Marquis de Sade, though she thought even he had gone too far with his 120 Days of Sodom; especially the obscene torturing, though she loved to see her men constrained and made occasionally into 'fuck toys' as she called them. I was fascinated by her breadth and depth of reading, even if the three top books did not rate with me as classics. She gave me some to read later..."

"Yes I've seen them. Never knew there were so many ways to fuck!" I laughed. He relaxed, looking even more handsome as he looked me straight in the eyes before continuing as we ate the delicious oysters and drank the wonderfully dry champagne. I was feeling quite light headed and very aroused. Under my arse was a pool of my juice. The air must have been full of my scent. 

"Oh, so you have found my stash?" he asked, though did not seem embarrassed now, more relieved to tell me. "She gave me that night so many things to 'open my eyes to the possibilities' as she put it. Even more were to follow, of all sorts of depravities in some batches mixed with classical books in others."

"And what else did she give you that night?" I persisted, feeling excited to know what had happened and no longer angry that he had kept this a secret. No, that fact now added to the mystery and intrigue. In fact, I gave him a little sign of how it was affecting me. I slid my hand inside my dress again and widened the gap from neck to navel. My breasts were almost out of the top, inviting. Only my hard nipples prevented a 'wardrobe malfunction' as Janice had called it. I saw the momentary lust in his eyes. Good. I smiled at him.

"Well, she went back to the kitchen to get the next course, filling my glass while she stood and allowing me to see right down the front of that blouse. She has magnificent breasts..."

"Tits," I corrected, wanting him to be sexually graphic.

"Er, yes her tits were - are - fantastic for a middle aged woman. They are so firm and..."

"Darling, get on with it. I want to know more."

"Ok, well she came back from the kitchen carrying a large tray with two tagine casserole dishes in front."

"So?"

"Well, when she bent to put them on the table she had no top on! The blouse had gone. Only those dishes had disguised the fact and I sat there open-mouthed. I was embarrassed but aroused. I could not, did not want to look, anywhere else."

"Good," I heard myself saying. Me the one, remember readers, who had been angry at his duplicity. I was approving his bad behaviour Well, what else could I do? I would be a hypocrite and besides, with the lake between my legs I was so aroused by this confession.

"She sat down and simply said, 'do you like it?' What was I supposed to answer? So I lifted the tagine lid and complemented her on the amazing essences emanating from the dish. It was heavenly, but so was the sight of her enormous titties no more than two feet away. I ached in my trousers like nobody's business. Yet she was so controlled, so 'matter of fact', especially when she added in the most authoritative way, 'eat'. I felt I had no choice. Then she continued to talk, this time moving on to films. She knew them all, reminding me of the beauty of Scarlet Johannsen as she sat in her knickers in that hotel room in Japan, or the scene in the Marlon Brando film where he puts butter up the anus of his lover and fucks her. Last Tango? Then she described graphically such oldies as 'I Curious Yellow' and 'Emmanuelle' which she thought was ridiculously censored, but she has an unabridged copy. She asked me about my tastes and that is when I felt incredibly sad. I could not explain it, but realised that you and I had not been to see a film or even hire and sit in front of the Plasma Cinema for so long. She saw the change in me and proceeded to enact a scene from some obscure French film (well, obscure to me at that time), where the heroine - a waitress in a restaurant - undoes her blouse in front of a customer then proceeds to caress her breasts for him regardless of all the other people there. She took her large tits in both hands and kneaded them, letting her tongue lick and dart around her mouth. She was tugging at the teats, pulling them far out from her body. I could see etched in her face some pain and yet mixed with it intense pleasure. She was panting and sighing, eventually forgetting the script of the film and telling me all the things she wanted to do to me and me to her. Saying how her husband's cock was so beautiful but how she wanted him to pleasure her arse as she sucked on my cock. I could see she was capable of orgasm just from the caressing of her tits and was mesmerised by her actions. I sat there, immobilised, hard and aching to reach across and touch her. Always though something held me back so far, for all the games we had played at that table."

"So what the fuck held you back?" I asked, showing some frustration that he had broken the tale to confess some probably pious thought.

"I thought of you and felt guilty."

"You fucking arsehole!" I shouted in a most undignified way. 

He looked crestfallen. Suddenly Johnnie was back in the embarrassed but this time thoroughly despondent camp. I'd gone too far. How was I to get it back? Of course, he had got through that stage if Ludmilla (their maid and confidant of my maid) was right. 

"Sorry darling, it's just that so much has changed in me and I'm forgetting that it's not as simple as turning on a switch, so how did you end up getting buggered and buggering for that matter?"

"Well it was weird at first. She seemed to be able to pull herself together out of her orgasmic stupour and continue the conversation as if nothing had happened. We talked about more films, some extremely bizarre like Barbed Wire Dolls and Destricted, to comedic such as the Tinto Brassi series including All Ladies Do It and Cheeky. I remembered that last one as you and I had been taken by the heroine walking without panties over the park that is outside our house. Remember how I tried to get you to reenact it for me? I told her about that and she said how much she'd like to get into your knickers. That set me off saying 'you'd be lucky' as even I can't go there often! She laughed at me and said I was just going about it wrongly. Before I knew it, she was coaching me in how I should do it to her."

I was part angry and part aroused that (a) she had been told I was effectively a frigid bitch and (b) that she was excited by the idea of getting into my panties. And now I was even more curious and not a little aroused to know what happened to change my Johnnie into the pervert he'd obviously become. 

"So how was that?"

"Well, by this time we had eaten the main course and she cleared the dishes, still bare titted which was marvelous. This incredibly statuesque woman was parading half naked for me. I could hardly believe it. She disappeared into the kitchen again, coming out with a tray of fruit and cream. I thought she was going to place them on the table, but instead she stood right beside me. I felt suddenly very uncomfortable as she did not speak. There was a palpable silence that hung in the air and still she waited, her short skirt close to my left ear and I could swear I could smell the sweet aroma of pussy over the smell of fruits. Still she stood with the tray in her hands and her magnificent tits jutting above. Still she was silent and made no eye contact with me, keeping her head up like Su had done. I was unsure but my instincts were showing me the way.

I slid my left hand up her leg, feeling the musculature of her thigh and up to the curve of her hip. There was a string around her waist, clearly the band that held a minuscule pair of panties in place. I traced the cord round to arrive at a tiny patch of silky material that was clearly covering her pudenda. There seemed to be none of the roughness of hair I find when I touch you through your panties. No this was silky smooth. I became daring and ran one finger down the centre to find a damp furrow that was clearly her labia. It was sopping wet and I teased it by running first one and then two fingers up and down the tightly covered slit. She was moaning loudly above me and yet she kept the tray perfectly still. She had such amazing control though her teats were out like those on babies' bottles.

I slipped my fingers under the silk to be greeted by a completely smooth sex. She cried out, 'yes!' as my digits dipped inside the honey pot. The air was filled with sweetness. I suddenly became impatient, gripping the wet triangle between my fingers and ripped it off her. Another sigh. Then instinct took over. I pushed two fingers as deep as I could into her sodden twat. It was wonderful. It's amazing how different she was from you. The entrance was smooth as silk, just like her panties. She was trying not to move, to keep the tray even as I finger fucked her. But then I had an idea but before I could execute it, Danielle said, 'See silly boy, you could have done that to your sexy wife, then she would HAVE to have walked across the park pantiless!" She laughed. "Now finger fuck me before I die of frustration and stick a finger up my arse.' 

It did not take me long to accept the orders! I was sawing in and out of her wet pussy like a pro. I added a third finger when I thought she could take it. Listen to me. I've never done that with you but her clever discussion of films and books, filling my head with erotic scenes, had deposited a set of ideas I now wanted to try. I reached my other hand round, having spat on my index finger, parted her arse cheeks and delved into the little rose bud. She opened for me with ease. It was not long before she was orgasming again and again. My hand was soaked as she gushed from her cunt and the index finger of my right hand was deep to the knuckle. She screamed, literally, in pleasure. But what was so impressive was that the fruit and cream had not even moved on the tray. This woman amazed me for her physical control."

"But you said before you had an idea, what was that honey?" I asked, using a term of endearment for him I had not used in a very long time. I was so turned on, and even more so by hearing how in charge he was. Where was the submissive I'd assumed from the buggering and the scene Ludmilla had described to Anya?

"I pulled my fingers out of her much to her dismay. She gave a pathetic cry of 'please' clearly thinking I'd had enough or backed out, but no I needed to remove her skirt and it took two hands to get the damn hook and eye on her waist band undone and the zip down. Her matching green silk skirt slid over her firm thighs and long, long legs to lie at her feet. My God! She is beautiful naked. An absolute beauty. Of course, not in the same way as you are..."




The Bag Lady and the Domme Ch. 05



"Oh shut up you flatterer. Tell me more I'm absolutely horny and I want to know what you did next."

"I ordered her to put the try on the table."

"Is that all?" I cried in frustration.

"Shut up woman!" he ordered, taking control for probably the first time I'd ever known him to with me. I liked it readers, it was very sexy losing control to him."She did as I commanded, giving me a wonderful sight as her huge tits hung over the table and the fruit. It led to my next idea. I grasped handfuls of the carefully prepared strawberries and raspberries and mashed them against her pussy. I saw that the sideboard was a strong oak one from the last century and led her to it, releasing my cock from its awful constraints. 'Lie back I told her' so her arse and pussy were on the edge at the end of the sideboard. I kicked my trousers off and bent down to her fruit covered cunt lips and ate my desert! I lapped at the squashed strawberries, pushing bits into her cunny while between my legs my cock was reaching a height I don't think it's reached since we were teens. In fact, the closest to that size has been this evening when you were foot wanking me."

"Oooo, I love your dirty, manly talk," I crooned, meaning every word of it. When Johnnie was dirty, I was flirty! And I let my tits loose from their cover as I openly caressed them in front of him. I saw his expression. Lust. "Should I get naked for you?" 

"Here?"

"You silly man, do you think we could do those things with Su if it was not OK here? I want to be naked for you. Please?" 

I was clearly wanting to be dominated by him. His description was not of a man being possessed by the woman but her being possessed by him. I wanted to be topped by Johnnie who might in other circumstances be submissive but not tonight.

"Darling, this story is turning me on but what happened next? I want to know." I slipped out of the dress, still carefully avoiding giving the game away that my pussy was not completely devoid of hair. I knew from his previous comments about Mrs Columbine that a shaven pussy was his dream cunt.

Just at that point, Su arrived with our mains. Here was I, now naked and she was dressed in a nurse's outfit. 'What a cliche,' I thought. The member of The Group whose party it was elsewhere in the room was an obvious traditional fetishist. However, it was Johnnie who noticed first.

"Su," he said, "unzip the top of your dress." 

She obeyed, displaying two nipple clamps attached to her ample chest that Johnnie had noticed were creating a strange shape on her bosom. Her eyes automatically went down in a submissive gesture. I was surprised by what Johnnie did next. He got up, letting his napkin fall and his enormous cock stick skyward. However, that was not the main thing. He picked the left clamp in his hand and while looking her straight in the eyes turned the little screw on the side of it so that it clamped harder to her tit. She winced slightly but silently. He took the other in his hands and did the same. Then he lifted her skirt and turned to me, indicating I was to abuse her pussy. I smiled and did as he wanted, slipping two fingers swiftly into her wet and shaven cunt hole. 

She screamed with pleasure, especially as on her second orgasm under the command of my fingers Johnnie quickly released the clamps; letting the sudden paradox of release and blood flowing painfully fast into her tits create intense pleasure. 

"You can serve now Su," he ordered as if it was any old restaurant we were sitting in, not one where the couple was semi or fully naked.

"Su, put the tray down and remove Master Johnnie's clothes," I ordered. I looked across to him, smiling. "Well if I am nude I want you to be too. Can't eat a good chateaubriand without being stark bollock naked can we?" I giggled, watching intently as our 'nurse' with her tits hanging out of her uniform struggled to remove his clothes. There was no way Johnnie was going to make it easy for her by standing up. No, he clearly enjoyed to see his charges face difficulties. She practically had her mouth on his dick as she bent to get his waistband released. I just liked seeing her naked arse appear from under the skirt as she in a most unladylike way faced the challenge.

"Right, that is good. Now feed us," said Johnnie."Oh and make sure that you do not drop any food down us as you do it," he added with an evil little laugh. I knew this was going to be fun. In fact, this was the most fun we had had in a very long time together; and this was just the start.

"Well, carry on, tell me what happened next."

"Aren't you going to feel the goods on our slut here?" he asked. I'd never heard him use that word 'slut' before. There must have been some real educating going on at Number 12. I was a little jealous of Danielle Columbine and her husband. 

"All in good time. I think I'll put a clamp on her pussy lips in a while," I replied, talking about Su as if she was just an object. The ones used on her teats lay now on the table. I watched her smile and her breasts heave that little bit more. I was getting good at reading body language and yes, Johnnie was right, she was one hell of a slut. I even wondered if there was another party in here as she did no object to staying with our table and besides, I couldn't hear any noise. "So tell me about Mrs Columbine."

"Well, mmm this meat is delicious. Cooked just as they do in our favourite little restaurant in Cap D'Agde."

"Johnnie! Tell me about Mrs Columbine."

"Ok, but it is really good isn't it?" he asked, whilst stopping to toy with Su's clearly sore right tit. He squeezed, just as she was collecting another morsel to place in my mouth. I felt about two years old being fed like this. Was I becoming an infantalist? I giggled to myself. No way! Adult nappies? Not for me.

I nodded, but was getting frustrated that he was stalling. What had gone on? How had he been buggered and when did that start?

"Mrs C screamed when she came and it was not just once. It was over and over. I was aching for her when she suddenly dropped to the tiled floor and shouted for me to 'fuck her arsehole'. Well there were no preliminaries. She just reached for the butter on the table beside us, grabbed a huge wad of it and slapped it between her muscular arse cheeks. I was disappointed she did not want me up her beautiful cunt but in the heat of this very animalistic act somehow defiling her anus seemed just right. However, I hadn't a clue what to do. I knew where my aching purple cock head needed to go, but the how of it was something else. Even all the graphic quotes she had shared from her favourite novels didn't help, but she grabbed me cock and surprisingly gently steered me into position, talking the most filthy language and incredibly loudly as she did."

"Tell me what she said," I ordered, my right hand now playing openly with my engorged clit. Su continued to feed us, but I did not care that I was masturbating in front of her. And it was another fact that I had in reality never done what I was doing tonight, playing with my tits and cunt, so blatantly in front of Johnnie. I could see he liked to see me this way as his right hand had disappeared under the table to obviously play with his aching cock.

"Oh, she was obscene. She kept telling me how my dick would ram her shit hole. How when I was done she would turn and lick the spunk and shit from me and then get me so hard again I would want to fuck her twat until it was sore. She said she would teach me all the things she had learned and more, so that I could fuck you like the master of the house I ought to be. It made me angry I have to admit. I realised I had let things slide with you. It should have been you on that floor being arse-fucked, you having fruits squashed in your cunnie and me eating you out. That spurred me on to press hard against her little rose which opened quickly for me. It was clear someone had been there before me, but at that moment I was grateful for it as I rammed home without ceremony."

"Ooooo," was all I could say. I was so turned on and close to orgasm with the imagery of Johnnie, whose body was lovely and lean but muscular, arse fucking my neighbour. I began to fantasise about what sex would be like between her and me. Soon my head had a scene going where Johnnie was fucking her but I was fucking her mouth with a strap-on.

"I covered her back with my naked sweating body and grasped her huge tits in my hands as I rammed in and out after a few lesser strokes into her rectum. She was so tight and seemed to pulse around me, like peristalsis was trying to push my cock from her body. I pinched her teats hard in my hands, loving the enormity of them. You have lovely tits Jess but you would love to play with hers."

"I'm sure....that...can...be...arranged," I said breathlessly as a sudden wave of orgasmic pleasure washed over me, just as Su was trying to fill my mouth with another tasty morsel. I came like a cliched train! And Su, to my Johnnie's secret delight, dropped the sample of perfectly cooked beef and vegetables between my breasts, til it rolled to a stop on my pussy. Only my hand that had been feverishly wanking my oversized clitty stopped it. 

"Clean that up!" I heard Johnnie snap. "Say sorry with your tongue."

Su was nothing but the expert slut from The Group. I knew that they did nothing by chance and she had been chosen to serve tonight. She bent over, keeping her legs perfectly straight so that her short skirt became useless as cover; riding high over her arse to reveal their perfect symmetry. Then she traced down my nakedness from the point at which the morsel had landed on my right tit, over the 'mountain' and down into the valley below. She took what seemed like an inordinate time to reach my pussy which by now was open wide. I had spread my legs in anticipation, but still had the offending meat in my hand. She nuzzled her wet mouth onto my palm, picking the offending article off with her soft, lips. Then she licked her lovely pointy tongue between every finger, over the entire palm and even cleaned the back of my hand. It was so erotic I cannot describe the feelings fully. I was gushing from my pussy, ready for yet another orgasm and I had such high hopes that Su, with all her training, would make it a magnificent one; but I felt nasty that day. I wanted it to not be as easy as she might think it could be. Yes we were relative fuck-virgins for all our time on the planet, but we did know some things.

"Spank her!" 

"Oh yes," said Johnnie, whose tone told me how pleased he was with my instruction. Yes, Mrs C had him well schooled.

I could not see him do it as I closed my eyes to revel in the sensuality of Su's licks and kisses, but I could well imagine the scene. He was hitting her at a steady rate, that pushed her head forward and her tongue pressed with a regular beat against my sopping cunt. She did not cry out, though as he continued relentlessly she whimpered into my pussy. I could only imagine how red her buttocks were, but even I was unprepared for what he did next.

Just as I reached my amazing orgasm, which made me writhe and scream in a way I had never done for Johnnie before, I heard him move from his chair. I opened my eyes to see Su's hair being pulled up and her head and body repositioned on the table, with her tits squashed into the remains of the chateaubriand and the vegetables. The glasses he had carefully placed to one side, but the rest was now either pressed on those lovely titties or else mashed into her uniform. 

He reached for the butter, just as he had done at Mrs C's but this time he stood by me, inviting me to watch as he spread the soft fat the full length of his not insubstantial cock. I was mesmerised, seeing the globules of butter (or 'bouturon' as the Greeks would have called their lubricant when arse fucking their slaves or each other) carefully smoothed over the bulbous head and veined shaft. Then he instructed her to part her arse cheeks. I got up, groggy from her ministrations to watch. I stood on the little wooden platform just behind and to the side of Johnnie, fascinated as his glans pushed hard against her anal rose until it opened. She gave a moan at this point that just spurred him on. I was both intrigued and excited. Not least by how manly Johnnie was showing himself to be. In his presence I wanted to be his servant, his mistress and yes, his slut. I wanted that fine cock up my arse and anywhere he wanted it to go! Thoughts of anger at him had dissipated. I felt nothing but intense love and, ok readers, you are right absolute lust. 

There was a cry as his cock's corona lodged inside her, the ridge like a barb that meant coming out at this stage would hurt her. Now she was impaled and trapped on his dick, with her face and tits pressed down into the mess that had been our dinner. 

"Yes," I heard myself say, my voice down at least an octave with the lust I was feeling, "fuck the sluts arse. Show me what you did to Mrs C, my slutty neighbour who took my Johnnie from me."

"No," he grunted, "no she brought us...ugh...to..gether," Johnnie added breathlessly, his whole concentration now on fucking Su's beautiful arse as I watched with my fingers again delving into my dripping twat. I felt so obscene and so wonderful. I hated Mrs C for being first with him but loved her for freeing up someone who had become just a boring businessman in my eyes. How stupid and blind I had been! I don't know why but I started to cry, softly. "Fuck her," I cried, meekly.

Oh how he fucked her! He leant forward, his muscular arse cheeks taut and his arms extended to grasp at her tits through the mess. Faster and faster they became before he slipped a hand down over her belly and onto her cunt. He was stimulating her clitty as he pounded her already punished arse until she screamed out in pleasure.

"Oh Mr Smithers, Master, you are incredible! Ooooooooo!"

He had to hold her up or she would have pulled him down onto the floor. Her legs had gone completely from under her with the power of her orgasm. Johnnie amazingly was not finished, but he held her fast and slipped his hand back to her tits which he cruelly squeezed as his own cumming built into a crescendo. And likewise so did mine. I lost count that evening how many times I came, but this must have been my sixth or seventh. 

We sat down again, with Su silently clearing what she could of the table onto the tray. She had shrugged as she looked at her badly stained uniform, undid a few hooks and clasps and let it slide to the floor leaving her perfect in her nudity. Before she had done this, she had licked every morsel of food, every stain from Johnnie's body. He had surprised me at how quickly his cock returned to hardness. She licked the cum and little pieces of shit from his shaft and the bulbous head, then trailed her tongue over his hairy ball sack to ensure nothing at all was left. Each time she stopped she thanked him for the pleasure he had given her. I could tell he had made quite an impression on her. Suppressing my petty jealousy was a new experience for me. I wanted to spank her, but knew that my motives would be wrong. So, I focused my thoughts back on Mrs C from Number 12.

"Darling, you have been very naughty."

"How?" he asked with a tone that in one syllable implied such innocence.

"You know very well," I replied sternly.

"Ah, Mrs C!" he playfully responded. "Yes, well I think I just showed you my skills at arse fucking. Mrs C was filled by my (then) novice cock. I came in her so fast though despite trying my damnedest to think of England, piles of poo, all the other things I've used with you as imagery to stop me cumming too quick. All of which have failed I know."

"Well, yes it's clear we hadn't a clue what we were doing and no wonder we stopped, well almost completely. But now we have another chance..." I said, trailing off as dirty thoughts filled my head and my fingers my cunny.

"Darling, anybody in there?" he asked teasingly, seeming to understand what I was going through. Then he dismissed Su, ordering her to get us some 'delicious deserts' before he continued the story. There was a look of disappointment on her face; she'd obviously wanted to hear the story, but Johnnie waved her away; then continued.

"She waited for me to subside in her arsehole, then as I popped from her she turned round and told me to sit in a chair. I had a wonderful view of her Amazonian body, the heavy but firm breasts, the muscular torso that had not an ounce of displaced fat, the smooth pussy with its large labia and the clitty that peeked out as if permanently aroused. What I had not mentioned to you before was that it was pierced with a ring through it that was quite thick as if functional not just decorative. The fruit squash.." he laughed at his own joke, "..hid the gold ring for quite a while so I was surprised when my tongue greeted this hard ornament. When I took it between my teeth and tugged at it she really whimpered loudly. Something to look for if, as I think you are wanting, you end up fucking her..."

Oh he was perceptive! Yes, I wanted to fuck her and her husband, if Johnnie said that he was ok too. I stayed silent, looking deeply into J's blue eyes; feeling a love for him I had not felt in a very long time. OK, love and lust. 'How can people have one without the other,' I mused; then of course remembered all I had been doing since Clarissa had arrived on the scene. That had been new found lust I had to admit to myself. 

"...She has amazing skill as a lover. Not that I lover her of course because only you give me that feeling..." I could see he was despite all we had just done struggling with words to describe this extramarital adventure. 

"...Darling it's ok, I have had 'lovers' too, though I mainly turn mine into sluts!" I laughed, trying to ease his discomfort and,. If I'm honest, hurry him up with the story. My pussy was gushing again in anticipation of more tales of debauchery!

"...Sorry, it's just...well anyhow she slid her muscular body down me, letting her massive titties block the light from my eyes and rubbed her bejewelled cunt lips against my skin to leave a trail of her strong smelling juice from chest to cock. I was so hard I entered her straight away to her unmistakable and very noisy pleasure. She is no silent partner and as she began to move herself up and down my shaft, her tits rubbed hard against me as she described the games she wanted to play with me. This was the point she suggested her true nature as the imagery was of spanking, anal play, pissing and so many different graphic images presented like verbal flash cards. I was so aroused by it but this time my cumming was controlled by her. She would see when my balls were ready to discharge their cum and stop, sometimes reaching her hand down between us to squeeze my shaft hard or else just eased her rhythm. She kept me in this suspended state for a long time, making me slowly adjust physically despite my mind wanting to be selfish and just paint her cunt with my seed. I ached with the physical denial, especially as in front of me was a beautiful body with its well-defined musculature and tits that are heavenly. She was obviously a mistress of sex, far more experienced that we have ever been and I was captivated by her prowess as well as captured on her cunt..."

I giggled at that. Imagining the power she had over him and yet surprisingly now not feeling any jealousy, only intense desire for Johnnie and a determination that I wanted to sample the lust of this woman whom I'd until recently only referred to as 'Mrs C' or 'the neighbour from Number 12'. Now I wanted to fuck her; to feel those hard tits against me. 

"...and that is the point at which Mr Columbine walked in the room."

Well readers, he said it so abruptly that it totally surprised me. I was so focused on her and also my masturbation by now as he recounted his tale that the image made me lose all rational thought. I came on the spot, suddenly my mind overtaking me with images of a man with his cock erect and masked like Ludmilla their nanny had told mine. I moaned deep in my throat as wave upon wave of unexpected pleasure wrapped me in orgasmic bliss. I bit my lip hard, shocked by such a loss of control.