Becoming a submissive slut

Becoming a submissive slut

 

Part 1

 

Prologue

 

Some submissives appear not to know when the road to understanding their needs began or when their lives began to change.  Obviously I must have had these feelings inside me for a long, long time and even remember enjoying being tied up by the ‘cowboys’ as a little girl, I know exactly when it began as an adult, even though it began in small stages.

 

I spent the weekends with my boyfriend Michael.  He had a house and on Fridays I leave work, meet him and go to his place in the country, not returning to my flat that I share with my friend, Anna, until Sunday evening.  Anna obviously likes the arrangement too as it gives her opportunities to be alone in the flat with her boyfriend.

 

I remember the weekend when Michael had begun to simply hold my hands together over my head on the bed when we were making love.  He held both my hands in one of his, which left me with an exquisite feeling of helpless whilst he had a hand free.  It was during our love making so I was already quite aroused but I noticed a sudden rush of arousal surge through me and I came quickly and more than once.  I didn’t know if Michael had felt my increased response but I was too embarrassed to say anything.  It happened again in the morning, possibly more so.  At that time Michael even said I was being very hot with my hands held like that.  All I could do was nod and blush as he played me until I came.  During that weekend he held my hands or wrists so that I was helpless a number of times.  I even kept my hands there, after he had and placed them over my head in the position he wanted, even when he didn’t hold them.  It happened again the next weekend too and as I found myself remembering I could feel my nipples tight and tingling and an ache beneath my crutch.  

 

The next weekend we drove to the house the following Friday and stood in the airy kitchen drinking a glass of wine.  Michael put his arms around me and we kissed intermittently with soft lips.  Close up to him, holding onto him, I watched as he undid his neck tie.  I remember it was a blue one. 

 

After it was removed I lent against him again, my head on his shoulder.  He took my hands in his and held them as we stood there relaxed.  I felt him take my hands behind me in his, held there.  It reminded me of the sex in bed; I felt a tightening of my chest and closed my eyes.  I felt my wrists being fastened together with his tie.  I didn’t attempt to hinder him or pull my hands away.  I stood passively feeling him taking away my control.  By the time he had finished my face was burning and my breathing was in quick gulps and shallow.  I looked up at him, knowing my eyes were wide and questioning, though offering no resistance at all. His eyes bored into me and I looked down, looking at the blue of his shirt. I pulled to see if I could escape.  I couldn’t. 

 

We kissed again.  My inability to move my arms and hold him as usual made me very aware of my lack of freedom as his lips opened mine.  As I felt his lips on mine and his tongue entering my mouth I was aware of the texture of the tie around my wrists and my breasts pushed forward.  I felt passive.  I was accepting and he knew it.  Accepting of his control. 

 

He moved me back a little until I was against the work surface and I heard a drawer open next to me.  Looking I saw scissors in his hand and he pulled my top down, tight against my shoulders away from my body.  He cut directly up the middle of the material of my top!  I raised my chin so as not to have it caught by the scissors, so as not to be in the way.  I was shocked and looked at him as he did it.  Cutting my clothes!  Still I said nothing, not fighting him.  He cut along the shoulders on both sides and it fell off me.  I looked down at my bra.  He cut through the front of that too, then the straps.  My breasts bounced into view as he pulled it away.  I couldn’t believe I was being stripped like this, couldn’t believe my acquiescence as my clothes were destroyed and my body exposed.  My nipples were hard, jutting, like erasers.

 

He didn’t cut my skirt, he could take it off regardless of my bound hands.  His hand snaked being me and slid down the zip and pulled it until it ringed my feet.

 

“Don’t wear tights again.”  I felt foolish and most un-sexy.  “I want you easily accessible and looking sexy.  Not in tights.”   I hung my head as I felt his hand open the waist band and cut through, turning me to cut the back.  They clung to my legs still, a reminder that I hadn’t pleased him.  My panties were cut at the sides and rubbed against my lips as they were pulled through my legs, then dropped, discarded.

 

I was bound, virtually naked, stripped unceremoniously.  I was shocked by him, by me.  I stood not daring to look at him.  Suddenly his hand cupped my sex.  I couldn’t pull back because of the cupboards behind me.

 

“You are soaking!”  He laughed.  I wanted to cry in shame.  I felt my own slipperiness against his fingers and he slid inside me.  For some reason he kissed me and my body pushed up to his as well as it could with no hands to hold him.  “You really are aroused you little slut!  You are excited by this, aren’t you?  Look at your nipples for God’s sake!”  My face reddened immediately.  I knew he was right.  What was wrong with me?  I wanted to defend myself but found myself opening and closing my mouth without being able to.  God, I felt like a slut!  My pussy was gushing, my nipples were rock hard.  I really wanted to be made love to just then, I needed it.  I was really horny and I knew my body showed it.  As I looked at the floor I could see the blush over my chest, a blush of arousal.

 

“You want this.  It excites you.  Doesn’t it?”  Eventually I nodded imperceptibly.  “Tell me.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“A sentence.  Answer me in sentences.” 

 

“Yes.  Yes I am excited.  By this.”

 

“Again.  Fuller.”  I wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground. 

 

“I am excited by this”, I repeated foolishly.  I looked down at his hand. I whispered “I like being bound, being stripped, having my clothes cut from me, feeling helpless.”  I was so horny and at the same time so embarrassed because I was saying the words.  I desperately wanted him to give me an orgasm.  It all seemed like a dream.  It seemed like a fantasy.  I couldn’t touch myself because I was bound.  It had to be him.  I needed him to.  I began to move up and down on his fingers, fucking them.  I felt so cheap and yet I was really needy.  “Please.”

 

“Please what?”

 

“Please.  Please.”  I heard myself pleading. Asking for it.  Desperate for sex.  Virtually naked, only tatters of tights on my legs whilst Michael was fully dressed.

 

“Say it properly.”

 

“Please.  Please Michael.  Let me cum.  I need to cum.  I need you to give it to me.”

 

“Not yet slut.  No, not yet, but you’re learning.  You need to beg when you need it.”  I sobbed softly.  “You are a slut, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes.  Yes.  I am a slut.”  I would have said anything just then, but, oh god, yes, I was a slut.  A dirty slut.  What other kind of girl would get so wet like this, because of this.  How had it happened?  How had I got into this?  I could feel my hands held by the tie, my breasts thrusting, my thighs sticky, my hips jerking, my arousal still growing.

 

“Do you like this?  Do you like being naked for me, being tied up, being a good girl?” His hands were on my breasts.  I could feel them on me, not needing my permission, caressing, squeezing, so aware of his touch. I could feel my heart pumping so loudly in my ears.

 

“Yes.  Oh, Please.” He looked at me and I knew I needed to speak fuller.  “Yes, I like being tied and naked for you.  It excites me.”

 

“Good.”  His fingers were rhythmically squeezing my nipples.  “I am sure we can find many inventive ways of making you realise your place.  We might have to buy a few things.  You might have to put up with a bit of discomfort but I’m sure you’ll put up with that.  You’ll know that you shouldn’t make those basic decisions about yourself as a slut, don’t you?”

 

“Yes. Yes.”  He led me across the room by my nipples.  He took me to the table and lay me face down.  The surface felt so cool against my heated breasts and the hot cheek of my face.  I was very aware of my hands still tied behind me, my bottom sticking up, my vulnerability, my lack of any control.  He spread my legs with one of his feet making me feel even more exposed.  I could imagine how I looked.  My pussy showing clearly, my bottom.  I arched my hips higher.  I felt him undoing his trousers.  Felt his hard flesh.  He opened me, slowly pushed it deep inside me, a spear deep inside, a spear capturing his prize.  I was lubricated for him, not needing foreplay this time, but he felt big.  I was wet so he didn’t find it difficult to enter me, I was easy.  An easy slut.  I cried out softly as I felt him fill me.  His length opened me and then fucked me.  His flesh pulsing inside me.  My vagina in spasm along his length.

 

“I actually like you as a slut.  Though others possibly might think you are not very nice, I can cope with you being the slut you are.  Only if you are a good slut though.  Do you want to be a good slut, do you want to be my good slut?”  His cock slid in and out now exquisitely slowly, almost torturing me.

 

“Oh god… yes.  I do.  I want to be… want to be…a very good slut for you.” Breathing was hard.  Words more difficult.  The very idea that I was being fucked whilst tied filled my head almost as much as the feeling of Michael’s cock possessing me.  I couldn’t be held responsible, strangely I felt freed by being bound. I shivered with both excitement and fear and I forgot I was a nice girl and became his wanton whore.  I groaned as he stopped again, pleaded until he began moving again, though only a little.  Finally he began to fuck me, really fuck me, and I cried out his name and vulgar words and my need and things I knew not.  He fucked my passive body that could only receive what he wished to give. 

 

I came twice as his slick cock pounded me.  He came too.  I wasn’t sure if his cumming gave me greater satisfaction than my own but it felt like it.  He pulled from me and I cried out feeling the void left by his hardness.  My head was lifted and he pressed against my mouth from the other side of the table until I realised what was needed and I took him inside, his cock covered by secretions from both him and me. I took him, cleansing him.  I had never done that before, taking his cock still covered in either me or him or both.  The taste of me and the taste of him strong in my mouth.  Separate tastes, blending as one.  It felt an incredibly dirty thing to do. I loved it

 

He told me to stay in that position, leaving me over the table for what seemed like a long time but I was content as the pulses ran throughout my body and my used body rested.  I felt his semen leak from me and drip from me.  At first I was mortified but gradually accepted even this humiliation as I had to accept that I had no choice.  I began to accept my docility, my acceptance.  It didn’t feel wrong, bad and naughty perhaps, but I felt somehow content and safe. 

 

Eventually he released me and after rubbing my wrists for me gently I was sent to shower but not dress and when I was clean and tidy to come back down to him. As I walked away I could feel the pleasant slipperiness between my legs and the slightly ‘used’ feeling. I worried as I washed under the shower.  Worried what he thought of me.  Whether he would want to rid himself of me. Would he see it as a character flaw?  Would he still want me? But I found that I took faith from what he had said.  ‘That he liked me as a slut’. I didn’t know how he could but I had to believe him and accept it.

 

He was reading a newspaper drinking a glass of wine when I came downstairs with a towel around myself. It only took one glance at his face and knew what was expected of me!  I shyly removed it and draped it over the back of a chair.  I was self consciously naked whilst he was clothed.  We drank and talked about nothing as one does in normal situations, and though I was very naked and he was very dressed, gradually I relaxed.  Undressed and vulnerable I found that I felt very submissive to him. I found myself imagining kneeling on the carpet like a slave or something.  I wanted to do anything he said.  He complemented me on my body a couple of times and the pleasure I felt was pronounced.  I was aware of my low key but constant arousal I felt even just being there naked. 

 

That night, in bed, he took my hands above my head again.  “Do you want your hands tied?”

 

I looked at him, my cheeks flaring, and my stomach full of butterflies. I couldn’t speak, my throat was dry.  I couldn’t admit it.  It wasn’t what I should do.  My mouth opened and closed a few times while he patiently waited.   “Yes.  Please.”  During the seconds after speaking I thought of the throatily whispered words.  Why did I say that?  What was I thinking?  I was aroused again.  At the thought of my hands tied.

 

“Go and fetch the tie.”  I knew exactly where it was.  I slipped from under the duvet and padded naked downstairs into the kitchen, my breasts feeling bigger as they bounced.  I gave him the tie, feeling like some little girl, slid next to him again and even put my hands above my head again.  Being good.  Being a slut.  Being a good slut for him.  He kissed me and I felt his hard cock against me as we touched.  He knelt and I saw it’s hard animal like form as he tied one hand, running the tie behind one of the wooden posts of the bed head and then tying the other.

 

I lay on my back passively, breathing in gasps.  His hands caressed me gently, sliding over all my skin, down my legs, over my stomach, over my face.  All over except my pussy and tits.  I ached for him to touch me there.  His fingers played me like an instrument.  I struggled to kiss him, struggled to press nearer, to press myself against him.  I began to plead, to beg.  It wasn’t fair.  I could feel my juices, in embarrassing amounts, leaking from me.  His caresses became even gentler.  I wanted to feel the firmness of his hands, the strength of his touch.  I wanted to be taken not treated like a delicate piece of glass.

 

“Please.” I was actually begging!

 

“Please what?”  Teasing, taunting.

 

“Not so gentle, Michael.  Please.”  I whispered this, so ashamed of myself wanting it like that.

 

“You want me to be rough with you?”  Mock surprise.

 

“Yes.  A little.  Yes.  You can tell.”

 

“Yes I can tell.”  His fingers suddenly entered me.  My body jerked and arched off the bed and a groan came from my throat.  He removed them and I again begged though this time totally inarticulately.  His slippery fingers traced over my breast and squeezed a nipple.  I pushed to him.  The other nipple was squeezed in his fingers.  Again his fingers harshly fucking me for short seconds.  I needed fucking.  I needed it desperately.  I was going to burst. 

 

“What are you?”

 

“A slut!  A slut!”

 

“Whose?”

 

“Yours!  Please take me.”  He rolled me over, pushed my knees up so I had to push up my bottom, my hands still tied.  He took me from behind as earlier, it seemed appropriate, and like a bitch in heat I responded.  He took me like an animal and it was what I needed.  I needed to know I was his bitch.  I found myself mumbling that I was his bitch slut as I was taken.  I felt it.  I came and came.

 

At breakfast I was still expected to be naked. It felt odd. He was dressed in jeans and T shirt as I sat naked.  Being naked whilst he was dressed made me feel less than him in some way, as though I wasn’t quite as human, more a pet.  I liked that in some ways.  It wasn’t cold.  The sun lit up my body at times as I moved.   I wanted to please him. He told me that I was only to wear what he allowed or demanded of me if I was with him.  If he didn’t specify I was to ask.  He would only accept one layer of clothing unless I was given special permission.  I may be allowed underwear in the house, though often no underwear if wearing other clothes outside.  He told me that sometimes I would be allowed more freedom but only sometimes.  I passively accepted everything he said, repeating it back to show understanding and acceptance.  I didn’t know if it was a game or what but it excited me, thinking of having to do what he said.

 

We had sex again, again with my hands tied, a slow and caring lovemaking, which, I realised guiltily, I would have liked him to push further into the realms of the socially unacceptable.  But then, without me needing to say anything, as my orgasm approached in lazy way, he changed and took me harshly and I screamed out and bucked wantonly out of any control.  I lay after, as he lay warm and sleepy next to me, thinking of what I was.  Thinking of all I had actually wanted.  I pushed against him but he dozed and then I fell asleep wanting things I found surprising and unexpected.

 

We didn’t leave the house that weekend.  The most I wore was bra and knickers.  Often my hands were tied.  Once I was tied spread eagled on the table with my legs apart for him and later like that on the bed.  It felt really excitingly dirty being displayed and not being able to stop his hands, mouth or cock excite my body at his whim.  It was all his decisions.  I made none sexually, had no control. I wasn’t allowed to but I didn’t want to and it made me feel precious.  He even fed me as I sat naked with my hands tied up once.  It made me so aware of his power over me, so aware of his dominance. 

 

Acceptance

 

At work on Monday I found myself with a silly smile on my face a few times and saw knowing grins on the faces of other women.  My nipples and pussy were sore from the days before, pleasantly reminding me of the uses to which I had been put.  My wrists felt tender too.  I still couldn’t comprehend that I had done all I had done, accepted his control, felt such deep sexual responses.  I thought about him.  I thought about me.  I thought about the embarrassment of being naked when he was dressed.  I was finding it difficult to concentrate on work at times, finding my thoughts drifting back to my acceptance of myself as sexually submissive to Michael, being bound, standing, sitting laying open and naked, my body used, taken.  I also realised that my knickers were constantly wet. It stunned me, leaving me breathless and blushing.

 

I had thought about it from the moment I was alone.  I certainly couldn’t ignore it.  The sex had been unbelievable. Nor could I believe I had acted in such a way.  I felt both ashamed and excited by what I had done, quite proud that I had had the guts.  I hadn’t put up any struggle being tied or having my clothes cut from me.  Being fucked like an animal and slut.  Having to be displayed naked for him.  I guess none of it was really, really bad, not like taking drugs or murder but it was very, very embarrassing. 

 

I still couldn’t believe it.  I certainly had never thought much about being humiliated, tied up and being told what I could and could not do.  But my body and mind refused to obey me when being dominated by him.  Despite my very best efforts my knickers were constantly soaked and were coated with a white crusty mess when I took them off. I found my mind wandering back, reliving the control and humiliation.  Guiltily, my masturbatory needs increased dramatically, embarrassingly so, as I relived some of the memories.

 

During the week I had received a parcel.  An expensive blouse to replace the shreds that were left from the one he cut up.  Very slightly more sheer than other and beautiful.  A note with it said he would buy a replacement bra when I was with him.

 

The following Friday we drove to the his house as normal, making inane conversation, I with butterflies in my stomach wondering what would happen. Inside the door he held me and kissed me for a long time before telling me to leave my bag, hang up my jacket and follow him into the sitting room.

 

 “Stand there. Hands together, behind.  Don’t talk.”  I could tell from the tone of voice that it was happening again.  I could tell what was expected of me and I felt my blood quicken.  I stood in the middle of the carpet as he sat and simply looked at me.  I was blushing already, feeling the submission smoother me.  Minutes went by.  My breathing increased as he had me stand immobile, waiting, doing as I was told.  I knew I was waiting to be instructed to do whatever he told me next.  I knew that’s what he wanted.  I secretly wished this, hoped he would know.  I had slipped easily into that situation. The thought was both embarrassing and arousing.  I was nervous and tense though, very unsure of what he would say.

 

“Have you been a good girl Jenna?” 

 

“Yes.  Of course.” I didn’t know what he meant.

 

“Have you masturbated this week?”

 

“No.  No. Yes.”  Flustered.  A deep blush creeping up my neck.  Not expecting this.  Never having discussed this with anyone before.

 

“Did you or didn’t you?”

 

Visions of me naked in bed with my hands clamped between my legs as I stifled screams, of me with my jeans and knickers around my thighs as I frigged desperately on the sofa, even of my softly grunting as I came in the toilets at work flashed before my eyes.  “Yes.  Yes, I did.”

 

“How many times?”

 

“I can’t remember.”

 

“Can’t or wont?  I don’t believe you. Once, twice?”

 

“A few more.”

 

“Every day?”

 

Nodding my head then remembering. “Yes.”

 

“More than once a day?”

 

“Sometimes.”  I felt like sobbing with shame.

 

“Fingers? Vibe?”

 

“Fingers.”

 

“Do you normally finger yourself off that much?”

 

“No.”

 

“Why then?”

 

“Do I have to?”  My soft voice pleading.  He simply stared at me.  “I have felt really horny….  It was the sex…. Last week. Thinking about it.  What you made me do. What I did.”

 

“You are to ask in future.  If you want to masturbate you must ask first. Do you understand?”  I looked at him in surprise.  Did he really expect me to ask to be able to finger myself?  Surely not.  Gradually the request/instruction became clear to my muddled brain.

 

“Ask?  You want me to ask if I want to play with myself.” Could he expect that?  I was accepting it.  I just had accepted!  Could I do it?

 

“Good girl.”  A glow inside me.  The blouse looks nice.  Take it off.”  Off at another tangent, leaving me uncertain.  The question of my masturbation dealt with by him, seemingly accepted by me.  Yes it was.  I would ask if he wanted.  It didn’t seem inappropriate or wrong to undo the buttons for him, perhaps bad and wicked but that wasn’t too much a problem.  I knew I was bad and wicked accepting Michael in control and me free to let go and enjoy. I wanted him to be in control of me, nothing expected of me other than compliance.  It felt so calming and yet so exhilarating.  I liked the feeling of being made to undress in front of him. It made me feel obedient, it heightened my excitement. I took off my blouse and under his direction folded it and laid it on the floor by my feet. “Now the skirt.” I unzipped it, the noise of the zip seemingly loud in the silent room, stepping out of it and folding it as with my blouse.  I was only in bra and knickers and hold up stockings now.  I remembered not to wear tights.  He was going to expose me again.  He wanted to look at me.  I wanted to give him what he wanted even though I stood trying to cover myself, not wanting him to fully know, not wanting to fully give in just yet. 

It felt naughty and exciting and I found the submission quite arousing.  As I stripped his eyes were always on me.  It was totally different to normal, not the quick tussle whilst in his arms or before jumping into bed.  No, this was much more clinical, performing as directed, watched, appraised. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, 

 

“Your underwear is sexier.  Better than last time.  When did you buy it?”  Again his question took me by surprise.  I reddened again.  I looked up, and then fixed my eyes on the carpet again.

 

“Yesterday.”  Whispered.  Guilty that he realised.  “At lunchtime.”  I had been caught out.  “I wanted to look nice, sexy.”

 

“You realised I would have you strip.  Like this?”  Amused.  Twisting the knife in me.

 

“Yes.  Yes.”

 

“Now the rest.”

 

Looking away from him in my shame, my exciting degradation increasing.  I had been naked for him many times last weekend, but never like this, stripping to order.  Never had I been exposed like this.  I moved my hands down my legs taking my stockings off, then behind my back and undid my bra. Immediately, I felt my breasts released as I leaned forward and let the bra slide down my arms. I watched it fall to my hands and my breasts come into view.  I placed it with my other clothes and felt their swaying and felt my nipples hardening further.  My forearm moved in front of my naked breasts, over my now throbbing nipples.

"Don’t cover your tits!" His voice was soft but his chosen words were not, gentle words.  Not breasts, but tits.  Not undress, but strip.  I understood.  I moved my arm; exposing my bare chest I felt his eyes on me, my breasts.  "Carry on." Lowering my head in humiliation, I placed my thumbs into the band of my new sexy knickers at either side of my hips and began pushing the material downward. I stopped after exposing about an inch of my thin hair. 

I looked at him nervously, mouth opened slightly, a look of ‘Do I have to?’ in my eyes.  He raised his eyebrows.  I shamefully pushed them down my thighs over my feet, my breasts swinging as I did.  My lips feeling big and slick at the top of my legs as my thighs moved. I knew I was a slut.

I was made to turn around and back once.  Deeply self-conscious, I had to bring my hands in front again and lift my tits in my hands as he watched, my nipples standing out rock hard advertising my arousal.  I felt like an animal being inspected at market.  Mortified I found my arousal increasing and my thighs slippery.  

He told me to be nearer him until I was standing at his knees, I had to put my hands behind my neck, elbows out, tits thrusting defenselessly.  Visions of the past weeks fantasies flashed through my mind, slaves, auctions.  I felt like a naughty little girl.  My breasts thrusting out in their eagerness, nipples and areoles pushing hard.  And aching, such a throbbing ache.  He instructed me to part my legs to at least shoulder width.  It was excruciating feeling to be so exposed.  I shivered at the thought.  I was excited.  

I knew I was wet.  Oh God I didn’t want him to see.  He sat just looking for a while, looking at my body, naked, displayed for him on command.  “Spread your legs.”  I did.  “No, further.”  My sex lips feeling big, ripe, about to peel open.  I could feel my blood pumping inside me, my face burning.  “Move forward, nearer, legs still apart.”  Crunching my toes, inching forward I did, within touching distance I realised.

 

“You’re aroused by your submission, by giving over control to me.  Sexual control.”

 

“No.”  It was too much too soon to admit verbally.

 

“Have you given me sexual control?”

 

“Yes.”  I had, I knew. I found it amazingly exciting knowing it, saying it.

 

“But you’re not aroused?”  I just couldn’t admit my arousal, I couldn’t even say why.  “Your nipples are rock hard.”

 

“It’s cold.”  Clinging on desperately.

 

“No it isn’t.  And you are wet.”

 

“No.”

 

“Keep still.”  His hand moved forward and touched my thigh.  Oh god.  I was shaking.  He moved higher, the edge of his hand just touching.  I didn’t know whether I wanted to pull away or push onto it.  His finger stroked along the join.  My lips parted as the finger ran from one end to the other.  My juices escaping from me, over his hand, wetting him and me.  I gasped.  He rubbed me, oblivious to my sobs.  I felt like I was gushing my juices all over both of us.  So wet, so very wet, so disgustingly wet.  I could smell myself.  Smell my sluttishness.  He brought his hand to my face.  I could smell it, see the wetness.  I heard a soft moan, only realizing after it was me

 

“I think that’s unmistakable.  You lied to me.  I will punish you for that.”

 

“Punish me?”

 

“Yes.  Later.  Put you over my knee.  Spank you.”  My eyes opened wide.  My mouth opened to speak.  His finger went into it instead.  I sucked automatically, my mouth filling with the taste of myself.  His hand left my mouth and went back to my pussy.  His fingers slid into me easily, delving deep inside.  It was only moments before I groaned and my hips responded to his finger fucking.  My hands came around to his wrist and held them as I rubbed up and down on him.  Oh God, I was desperate but he forced me to be still.

 

“Now, let’s start again.  You’re aroused by this.”

 

“Oh yes.  Yes I am.”  My breathing fast.

 

“You lied so you need punishing.”

 

“Yes. I need punishing.”

 

“What is it that made you so wet and ready?  Displaying yourself?  Giving over control?  What?”

 

“I don’t know.  I don’t know.”  I was trying to rub myself against him but he was stopping me.

 

“Yes you do.  Tell me.  Now.”  This delivered strongly.  I stopped and looked at him for a second before lowering my eyes.

 

“Both those things.  I didn’t know before.  Never guessed.  I still can’t really understand it.  I don’t know why.”

 

“Say them out loud.  Properly. Everything.”

 

“Being naked like this so you can see me, displaying for you, excites me, being told by you what to do, does too.  Excites me, really excites me.  It’s so shameful to accept that I have allowed you that kind of control over me.  I feel so horny.  I feel such a slut.”

 

“You are one. But that is not a problem with me.”  He removed his hands.  “Play with yourself.  Finger your cunt.  Play with your tits.”

 

“Oh please no.  No one has ever…  It’s a private thing.”

 

“You don’t have private things now.  Who have you given the control to?”

 

“You.”  Yes I had, conceded it to him.  It wasn’t my fault was it?

 

I brought my hands to my pussy and tits.  I was so near him, he’d see everything.  Bared, totally bared.  Physically and emotionally.  I felt my slippery liquids that he’d brought from me, rubbed them around my clit, squeezed my tits.  I was so humiliated and somehow my body loved it.  In minutes I could feel an orgasm approaching even exposed, or, could I admit because I was so exposed.  Standing, watched, ordered to.  His eyes were feasting on me.  I displayed myself more and more wantonly, spreading wider, bucking up to him.  Quickly I was near.  Suddenly he smacked my hand away.

 

“Please?”  Shocked.  Eyes wide at him.  “Please.  Why?”

 

“You have not permission.  I haven’t allowed it.  Certainly not that.  Cumming you will beg for and get when I think you deserve it.”

 

“Permission?”

 

“Yes.  You’ve given me that control.”

 

“I guess.  Yes. Oh God.  When can I?”  It felt strange to be expected to ask permission.  Reality had somehow altered slightly.  What we were talking about was surreal.  But it was important.  I needed to learn the new rules.  I felt I needed the rules. “Please?”

 

His hand moved and smacked my breast.  It hurt a little but the shock was far worse.  “Don’t push it.  I’ll decide.  Get on your hands and knees.  Now.”

 

I did as I was told.  Tears in the corners of my eyes.  He took my hair in a loose ponytail and used it as a lead to walk me around the room. As if I was a dog on a leash. I could not believe the humiliation.  I scampered after him on hands and knees as he pulled on my hair, my slippery thighs rubbing, my tits swinging.  It didn’t feel wrong though.  A pet.  All around the room, up on the sofa, into the corners.  Hands and knees moving quickly.  Around again.  Then kneeling at his feet again.  Breathless.

 

“Who owns you?”

 

“You do.  I’ll be good.  I want to please you.  I do.”

 

“Good little slut.  Who decides when you can cum?”

 

“You do.”

 

“Do you want to suck cock?”  I nodded.  “Say it.”

 

“Yes.  Oh God yes.  I do.  Please can I suck your cock?”  And I did.  I wanted his cock in my mouth.  For the first time that I could remember I truly wanted to suck a cock.  I wanted to please him.  He had me undo his trousers and pull him out.  He was hard, so wonderfully hard.  I kissed the hard length, the smooth dome and his hairy balls.  I licked it, my hands caressed it, I took it inside.  I gagged on it but took it again.  I wanted to feel him inside me.  He sat down again and I scrambled to have it again.  I was scared I wasn’t much good.  I tried to suck well, wanting him to enjoy me.  Suddenly I knew he was going to cum.  I was so pleased, so proud.  His hands went around my head.  He was jerking and then cumming in my mouth.  I never thought whether to swallow or not.  I just did.  It seemed natural.  After, I cleaned him, licked and kissed him.  The taste of man in my mouth.   I felt like a proud slut.

 

He played with my nipples, softly and harshly.  It surprised me to find I liked it equally.  My body tingled.

 

He allowed me an apron and knickers as I prepared a quick dinner.  Somehow it seemed to make me more aware of my nudity.  I smelt of dirty sex.  Still virtually naked under my apron, I ate with him at the table, though only a little.  I was still so horny.  After, we moved into the sitting room, him with a coffee and I had to lose the apron, it stayed in the kitchen.  We watched TV and chatted about work and trivial things.  He was dressed, my near nudity feeling surreal.

 

Suddenly I was made to stand again in front of him.

 

“You didn’t tell me the truth before we ate did you?”

 

“No.  Sorry.”

 

“I expect trust, truth.  I told you I would punish.  You were naughty.”

 

“Yes.  Yes.”  My heart seemed so loud.  My mouth so dry.

 

“And you accept that you have been a naughty girl, don’t you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And what happens to naughty girls?”

 

“They are punished, spanked.”

 

“Do you deserve being spanked?”

 

“Yes.”

“I don’t think we need to ask whether you are aroused, do we?”

I shook my head, then remembered.  “No.”   Then, “No, you don’t.  I think I am excited.  I won’t lie about it again.”   Remembering to speak fuller sentences.

“Do you wish to belong to me?”

“I want that yes.  I want to feel really yours.”

“What do you think my title should be?  How should you address me?  Decide.”

I looked up at him.  I was naked. He was dressed.  I was very aware of my near nakedness.  “Will ‘Sir’ do?”

“Yes, I think that will do for now.”

“Yes Sir.”  Saying it quickly.  Wanting to please him.  Standing naked in front of this man, calling him Sir, wanting to please him!  Letting him know I accepted his dominance by calling him Sir.  What was I doing?  But my pussy throbbed, I ached for this.  It was exciting me more than any time I could remember.  Sex with others, or even before with Michael hadn’t come anywhere near this strange exciting humiliation.  I didn’t need to think about what I was doing.  I just needed to obey.  I wanted him to fuck me.  I had made love to boyfriends.  I needed this man to fuck me.  I never needed it so much in my life.  It was purely animalistic.  It was a meeting of desire, of lusts. 

He stopped.  “Take down your panties.”  I slid them down to my knees but he said to keep them there and not fully remove them.  I felt like a child.  “Get over my knee.  Over it not on it.  Drape yourself there for your punishment.”  

I moved to the side of him, very conscious of my nudity and his clothes.  Conscious too of my swollen, throbbing and slippery lips.  Putting my hands on his thighs I lowered myself and then pushed forward with my hands on the floor.  Poise had gone out of the window, getting into this position stripped any dignity one had away.  I felt his trousers against my pubic hair. I felt my bottom vulnerable.  I felt my breasts hanging free.  I felt his hard cock press against my side through his clothes.  I was so pleased I excited him.  The underside of my breasts rubbed against his thigh.  The position made feel how subservient I was.  Embarrassment surged in me as I was aware of what he would see.  I felt scared and so obviously not in charge, not control, not in any flight of the imagination.  Laying over his knee helpless and exposed I knew Michael was in control, not me.  I also knew that I enjoyed him having power over me, enjoyed knowing it, feeling it. I felt strangely at peace.  Well at least momentarily.  

Suddenly I felt his hand on my cheek, my bottom cheek bringing me back to reality.  A slap, taking me by surprise.  My arm went to protect myself.  He held me still by holding an arm behind me.  Another, and another.  The shock was almost greater than any pain but the tingling slowly increased until I was squirming.  The sound seemingly so loud.   I stopped struggling, waiting for every blow, each slap, the same delicious pain.  Tears were in my eyes as I tensed and relaxed with each successive slap.  Worse than the pain was the very humiliation of being treated this way, humiliation that built my excitement even higher. 

I loved his male power and strength.  Both buttocks stung and burning fires raged in them. In my pussy too!  This did not feel in any way like abuse or maltreatment.  It felt good in many ways.  It was only fair. I deserved it, I had lied about being horny.  I was glad he understood my need for it.  I was a slut; there was nothing I could do about it but take my punishment for my own filthy desires, though each slap on my naked and trembling cheeks only made her hotter, made me think of even filthier things I wanted.

He stopped and caressed me. His hands sliding over my heated skin. Then between my legs, pressing my thighs wider. His hand on my pussy.  My squeals became low, throaty moans of gratification and my hips rose and began to grind against him as he entered me deeply.

His hand left me and then again a slap, and another, and another. And then another break. Another finger fucking. Another Spanking. Finger fucking. Spanking. Finger fucking.  They began to merge. I was unsure of the difference.  All my body was ablaze. I was nearly there!  He whispered ‘cum for me’ in my ear. I stiffened and then it exploded. He was still holding me, still smacking.

He had stopped and I was on the floor at his side by his feet.  I felt so submissive, it felt so good, so deep. My body throbbed. Lights still flashed in my eyes. He had hurt and pleasured me.  I felt in some strange inner place.  It was so peaceful.  I looked up at him.  I was his.  Tears had run over my cheeks.  Neither of us said anything for a while.  

“Stand.”  I struggled to my feet and ran my hands over my tender and hot bottom.  “Stop that.  I did not give you permission.”  I took my hands away and put them behind my head automatically and then became very aware of something half way along the leg of his trousers.  My breathing stopped as I stared down at it.  A large damp patch covered his trouser leg.  Darker with moisture than the rest of the material.  My face stung in shame as much as my bottom.

“Your face looks a mess.”  I hadn’t thought of my eye make-up.  Everything was suddenly so shaming.  “And…  “ He looked at his thigh.  

“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry Sir.  Oh please I am so sorry.  I will make it up to you.  I will.  I’ll do everything and anything you tell me.  I’ll be your slut, your sex toy, your slave.  I want it.  Oh God I do.  I want it so much.  Use me.  I’ll love it.  I don’t know why but I want it so much.  Oh God I’m so excited.  Please forgive me.”   It all just tumbled out.

His fingers found my sodden slit.  I began pushing against it unable to stop myself, bending my knees outward, opening myself to him.  Oh I was desperate, so desperate so quickly again in its need.  I had lost all pride but it didn’t matter.  My juices were pouring from me, slurping noise were loud from between my legs.

“Get on your knees for me, bitch.”  I was sobbing but then realized he was going to fuck me, fuck his bitch.  Oh yes.  Yes.  Please fuck me.  I dropped back to the floor.  Eager bitch, I positioned myself, aware of my heat, pushing my hips high and ready.  I heard him taking his trousers off behind me.  I wanted to see him but daren’t look.  I felt his hands on my burning buns and then his hard cock pressed against me and then again and then it drove fully up inside my body making me gasp out loud.  All the way up to my hot tender buttocks.  My lubrication was more than sufficient; my body accepted its Lord and Master.  Oh he was hard, oh yes so hard spearing up into my belly.  Amazingly I found myself immediately spiraling out of control again almost immediately but thankfully heard his order to cum and knew it was alright.

He had held my hips, held me in place, stopped me from falling and thrashing wildly though I was vaguely aware I did still thrash about.  He continued regardless, pumping into me, spearing my liquid flesh with his iron rod of a cock.  He slowed and quickened, slid softly at times, took me harshly.  I knelt gurgling into the carpet, vaguely aware of the smell of the dust, vaguely aware my arms had given out as he fucked and fucked me.  Suddenly I detected a change, erratic jerks, and knew he was cumming.  Gradually he slowed, though didn’t soften.  A still hard length of flesh in me for a while.

Then pulling out he left me feeling so empty.  His hand grasped my hair and pulled my head up.  His cock was at my face.  Coated with both of us.  It rubbed over my face.

“Open.”  It what was as expected now, as we both knew.    I opened my mouth as the slimy shaft went in.  It was good licking and sucking him clean.  Shameful and lacking dignity but very arousing.  I was learning to be his.

Finally when he was satisfied I was made to stand on shaky legs.  Blood pumped loudly in my ears.  My body felt hot.  Taking my arm he took me to the bedroom, to a full length mirror where I was made to stand facing it, hands on head.  He left me there. Told me not to move.

I stared at the image in the mirror.  I looked so used.  My eye make-up had run, my hair was a mess, dried semen was around my mouth, a red blotchy blush covered my tits and chest and face.  There were red marks where the carpet had burned me slightly on one of my collar bones and cheek.  My tits still heaved up and down, whitish semen stains were around my mouth.  Semen too trickled down my thighs from my bloated lips, and continued to do so.  I looked like a slut.  I felt like a slut.  No, not like, I was a slut.  Could see it clearly in that body, in those eyes, in that partially open mouth.  I had loved it, every minute of it.  This was not been like any other sexual activity I had been in.  It was so surprisingly and amazingly good.  The only thing that bothered me about it was that I looked so dreadful.  I found myself embarrassed because I wanted to look good for him.

I stared at myself in the mirror, more aware of what I needed now to feel sexually satisfied.  I was subservient, a pet, a sex toy, an owned slut.  It felt good.  God it did.  It felt embarrassing to want it, to know it felt good, but it did really feel good.  My body glowed still.  I could give myself again.  That’s what it was too, giving myself.  I had become aroused again thinking of it all.  My nipples stood out like pegs even though the stickiness of the semen still ran down my thighs. 

 

I seemed to have become two different people. It was strange getting used to the new slut that had emerged when I was with Michael.  I knew I was a good girl, had been a good girl, but now things seemed different.  I was excited beyond belief and yet shamed by my thoughts and actions and desires.  I felt so sexually alive and so shamed by what had emerged from within me.  I was amazed by how docile, how passive, how submissive I was happy to be with Michael now that he had made me accept this relocation of power. 

 

I had acquiesced to everything.  I wasn’t normally like this.  I made decisions, I enjoyed my freedom, took on responsibility.  I knew I had accepted his dominance over me by doing accepting each and every command.  I tried to think that he was making me be a slut but it wasn’t that simple.  I was beginning to realise I was a slut and Michael was simply allowing it to come out. 

 

My body throbbed with excitement even though I had just been allowed to cum earlier.  Allowed?  I had even accepted his control over that too.

Michael came back at this point.  Dressed now again.  Stood behind me looking at me.  “Tell me if this is what you want.”

I couldn’t look at his eyes in the mirror.  I could smell my arousal, my nipples hurt in their hardness and my breasts heaved as I took breath.  My mouth was open, my bottom lip trembled.   If I accepted it I knew I was fully accepting my submission now.  My mouth was dry, my throat hurt. “Yes.  It’s what I want… I’ll be… good… obedient.  Oh God Michael.  I’m sorry I am such a mess for you.  I am sorry for lying. I won’t again.”

 

I was shaking, but he cupped my sex and began fingering me again, my clit and inside too.  I couldn’t believe how ready I was again.  He obviously presumed that he had the right to do this whenever and however he wished.  I felt as though he did.  I parted my legs more.  I was wet and slick still.  This presumption of his rights over me made me feel proud that he wanted this. 

 

When I was on the verge of cumming yet again he slowed, keeping me near the peak, not achieving it.  My hips were jerking like a slut now.  I wanted to be used by him; I wanted to have him bring me off.  It was far more dirty and far more exciting than how sex normally was, how it was supposed to be for ‘nice’ girls. But I wasn’t a nice girl now was I?  I jerked on his hand.  It was removed.  The smell of a submissive slut filled the air.

 

“Please.  Please.  Let me.  Let me cum Michael.” God I had just been fucked and spanked and I wanted more!

 

“Were you allowed to cum earlier?”

 

“Yes, but please.”

 

“You’re a dirty wanton slut aren’t you?”

 

“Yes.  I am a dirty wanton slut, but please.”

 

“No.  You need to know that I make the decisions about that.  You need to be aware of not getting your way.  We’ll deal with that tomorrow.”

 

Before I had a chance to contemplate what he meant he put his dirty fingers in my mouth and had me cleanse him which helped stop my pleading.  I thought of his cock earlier, still tasted it.  My mouth suckled and licked my juices from him, the tang of my slutty juices filling my mouth, the taste of semen too.  I wanted to cry I was so horny.  Instead I had to stand and accept.  My emotions were rising and falling, pulled like a puppet.  What was happening to me?  Michael had brought something out from the hidden depths of me.  I was frightened by it but was also aware that he was controlling it.  He wasn’t letting it get out of hand even though it consumed my thoughts as I strove to hold onto normality.

 

He tied my hands together behind me that night in bed.  I was aroused and frustrated and he knew it.  In the night I was awakened twice by him and found that I was rubbing myself against him.  Before I was allowed to sleep, each time I was made to lick him clean of my juices on his skin.  I lay awake for ages after each of those times.

 

Rules and Exhibition

 

A few weeks later.  I stood with my hands on my head trying not to thrust forward to him as he felt my hairless mound.  It felt so sensitive without that thin covering of hair.  He had instructed me to have my pubic hair waxed a couple of days before.  He wanted me naked down there and the first time he wanted me to wax not shave.  I remembered the woman giving my mound a crew cut first with a pair of scissors and though I had showered I knew I was lubricating.  They had run out of paper knickers and I wasn’t sure if she knew or not.  She certainly had me move about in uncomfortable and humiliating positions to get it all out.  Now I looked and felt like a cross between a child and a tart. When I looked in a mirror I saw my outer lips obscenely bulging, the inner ones peeping through in neat vertical line.

 

A naked cunt.  That was another thing.  Normal girls and women, like at work and family, have breasts and a pussy, but I don’t.  A slut has tits and a cunt. I had to stop even thinking of them as breast and pussy.  I have tits and a cunt.  I really did not like saying that word.  Tits were alright, it wasn’t that demeaning, but cunt made me really feel like a whore.  But I was a slut.  I should know my place.  Yes it was a cunt.  A common slutty cunt.  And Michael was gently caressing the very smooth folds and mound.  He knew he was both shaming me by frustrating me.

 

I was fascinated by how aroused I got when I was made to feel sexual humiliation, shame, or embarrassment. I found it overwhelming.  I felt myself lubricating as I felt his touch and blushed.  I felt silly. I felt very much the child, a dirty, naughty child, I knew my place.

 

I was whimpering.  I needed to cum desperately.  Michael had stopped me playing with myself unless he had instructed me to or given permission.  I had to phone and plead with him if I really became desperate and he didn’t always allow me to.  Often, before Michael had changed things, I went for a few weeks not even bothering.  Now it was different.  I felt such a slut realising for the first time how much I needed the relief. It became ridiculous. I couldn’t think straight.  My body craved release so much these days.

 

Sometimes I wondered if I really needed to ask him.  It would be the easy option to cheat though.  So easy just to do it and pretend.  But I didn’t.  I was good and the humiliation of his control over even that part of my life filled me.  I was a slut.  I needed his control over these things.  I wanted it.  So it wasn’t me, I knew he was deciding.  It was so embarrassing, so humiliating asking him what I wanted.  Then, even if I was allowed, I had to follow his instructions, outside somewhere usually and do it as I had my mobile on so that he could hear. 

 

If he hadn’t have taken control of my masturbating though I would spend every waking moment doing it I knew.  I didn’t seem to have any real self- control and this way he was making sure I had it. I needed him to do it. 

 

He had given me rules.  There weren’t that many and I wanted to please him with my obedience.  Most of my friends abhor rules.  I don’t.  I find there is a liberating effect with rules; they define things so one doesn’t need to worry about them or have to decide things.  They made me realise that he was in charge and not me.  That I wanted to give him that control and he was looking after me, like in making sure I didn’t spend all my time being a dirty little slut and fingering myself silly.

 

I wore a collar that he had put around my neck. I could remember standing naked, the taste of him and me still in my mouth, the feelings of orgasm still echoing inside me.  He had reached into his pocket and took out something.  “I want you to wear this.”  He had passed over a leather collar, black, about an inch wide with a silver buckle and D ring.  Like a dog collar, a bitch collar.  I looked up at him uncertainly.  

“It’s a slave collar.  Will you accept and wear my collar?  If you wear it there will be no more questions.  Just acceptance of my rule.”  He brushed his lips over mine.

“Yes Sir.”  I buckled the collar around my throat.  It felt warm and big there.  I could not forget its presence.  “Yes.  Thank you.”  My eyes welled with tears though I managed to keep them from running down my cheeks.

I wore it all the time I was with him at the weekends.  It proclaimed that I was his.  He had a leash that fitted and led me with sometimes, or just held me still with. 

 

I had to ask for things.  I had to ask if I had his permission to go to the toilet for instance.  Sometimes I wasn’t allowed the toilet actually but had to use the garden which, as well as being cold, was really embarrassing, especially if it was during the day as I was likely to be naked.  He would often supervise me and after he had watched I would have to ask him to wipe me.  That was so humiliating.  He certainly knew how to make me realise how to remind me of his control over me.

 

Eating too.  I was not allowed to feed myself some of the time.  He would feed me.  Often at these times I had my hands bound anyway but sometimes not.  He would fork or spoon mouthfuls into my mouth as if I was a child.  Sometimes drops fell from my chin onto my tits.  I had to wait passively.

 

Inside the house he showed me where I should undress, right next to the door, because I was always to be naked or near naked inside.  I had to fold my clothes neatly, hang them in a little cupboard that had a little shelf for the rest, including my bag.  I felt very naked without the small protection that my hair used to offer.  I felt extremely weak and vulnerable and readily accepted any instruction without my clothes.

 

Last night he had watched me undress, watched me as I exposed my bald cunt.  He had kissed me lovingly, his arms around me his moth open, I felt ludicrously grateful.  His kisses become more determined and I felt his erection against my body.  He pushed me against the wall and as I held onto him he unfastened his trousers and fucked me there and then in the hall.  At first he took me against the wall but we fell to the floor and rutted like animals before our lust was quieted and we lay still joined.

 

As I stood his fingers were driving me crazy.  He wiped my juices over my smooth flesh, along my lips, over my mound, up higher between my legs.  The feelings of being smooth were something I hadn’t realised but it extended my feeling of touch, of his touch.  I was grunting and grinding.  I couldn’t stop myself.  But he stopped and watched and listened as I bucked frustrated and moaned for more.

 

I was allowed to lower my hands from my head and sent into the sitting room.  My breasts swung, my hips swung sensually without thought.  I was horny.  God I was always horny these days.  Between my legs I was disgustingly slippery.  I wasn’t aware of much but lust.  My breathing was heavy.  From somewhere he produced what looked like a pink ping pong ball on a leather strap.  He took it around my head and fastened it inside my mouth.  It was rubber, could taste it and feel its hard give.  I realised it was to restrain my mouth, my talking.  I looked wildly about me.  It felt so strange having my mouth forced open like this. 

 

“On the coffee table.”  I sat on the edge.  Something came over my eyes.  It smelt of leather.  I was blindfolded.  I began to panic and whimper “Lie down.”  I did, the cool of the surface against the heat of my back shocking.  “Feet up on the edge. Wide apart.”  Up they came and apart, each side of my buttocks.  Oh God they were apart and so was my cunt.  I felt him fasten some soft rope that I’d not noticed around my ankles to the legs by my head and took my wrists and fastened them to either side, keeping me wide, open, exposed.  My ankles were pulled back toward the coffee table legs by my head.  My breathing was rasping through my nose.  I tried the ropes.  I was bound and unable to move.  I couldn’t speak.  

 

His mouth was near my ear and he softly calmed me, telling me how dirty I looked, how open and slutty I was, how he could fuck me and use me and do whatever he wished because I had given myself to him and that I was defenceless.  The horniness returned.  My sense of smell and touch was magnified.  My feeling of surrender strong.

 

His fingers squeezed my nipples, rolling them between his thumb and fingers.  He lightly slapped them, his fingers entered me, my cunt, and brought me to the edge of orgasm.  Saliva dribbled humiliatingly from the corners of my mouth, I shook, I groaned through the gag, I thrust up my hips as much as I could. I lay there with no control over even myself, the feel of my body bound and fully exposed and unaware of anything that may or may not happen to me.  And he left me like that.  I belonged to him. Gradually I accepted my bonds.  Submitted to them, to him.

 

At times he would return to me, if he had gone away, he might have been there though silent.  He would talk to me at times, touch me too.  He would arouse me and the speed at which he could make my excitement almost unmanageable left me breathless. He knew it too and his whispers about the depths of my depravity shamed me.  I pleaded and screamed into the gag, looking at him beseechingly behind the leather.  All to no good.  Each time I was left bound and frustrated, knowing my needs were outside my control regardless of my desperation.  I belonged to him and I was being made to understand. 

 

Eventually I was released, physically not sexually.  I was sweating from my exertions and drooling from the gag.  I stunk.

 

I was ordered to shower though not use soap, whilst he watched so I had no opportunity to touch myself.  From my clothes he gave me a mid thigh denim skirt, a white T shirt top, hold-ups and black medium heels. I was given no underwear; he told me I wasn’t allowed any. After, I had to blow dry my hair well and apply my make-up carefully, including my nails.  He wouldn’t allow any perfume; he told me that the essence of my body was what I was to allow others to smell.  I put the collar back on.

 

After I had dressed carefully so as not to smudge make-up or mess my hair he again insisted I stand before him as though for inspection.

 

“Spread your legs.  Put your hands behind your neck.  You must always have your legs parted when you come to me like this, dressed or not.  Do you understand?”

 

“Yes Sir.”  I slid legs apart.  Fingers slid together.

 

“Lift your top.”  Moving my hands down again I did, it was beginning to feel normal to have him control if and when my body was covered, how I stood.  He played with my nipples.  Again my responses were in his hands not mine.  I was hot so quickly.  Gradually he was squeezing harder and harder until he had me whimpering.  “Now your skirt.”  I again complied, my tight top remaining above my breasts as I pulled the hem above my pussy.   He moved away and lent on the edge of the dressing table, putting out his hand, palm up.

"Jenna, are you my little subby slut?”

“Yes.  Yes Sir.”  Whispered.  My nipples ached after their handling, throbbing.

“If you see me with my hand out like this I want to check my little sluts cunt.  So you need to come over and place your now naked cunt against my palm so that I may feel you.”  I looked up shocked.  “Do you understand?”

“Yes."  He looked at me.  Eventually.  “Yes I understand I must put my cunt on your hand to be felt, Sir.”

“It’s not too much?  You like me to feel you?”

“Yes Sir. Oh yes.”  I swallowed.

"Well in that case, wherever we are, if you see my hand like this you have to open your legs and put your naked cunt on it. So come over here and do it my sweet slut.”  Keeping my legs apart and my skirt held high without thinking, I waddled over to him and lifted myself up onto the palm of his hand.  I didn’t know what to do with my hands except keep hold of the skirt.  He could feel the lips still swollen, the wetness growing again.

“There, that’s not hard is it?”

“No Sir.” I panted.  His fingers began to slide back and forth along the smooth lips of my pussy, causing me to shudder involuntarily again, and soon my hips were moving involuntary with his motions yet again.  Fucking motions.  I ached with need.  He removed his hand and stood.  Very carefully he wiped the juices on his fingers over my top lip and around my nostrils.  The smell of my arousal was strong and filled me.  He put his fingers back and placed more juices there until he was satisfied.  I wanted his fingers back.  I smelt dirty, a slut.  I didn’t know if others could smell me.

 

He took first one hand and then the other in his, directing it to my pussy, making me rub myself with my fingers so they were sticky and then rub my hands over my wrists.  I stunk of sex. Of my bodily secretions.  The skirt had dropped and he allowed me to cover my tits.  I felt so embarrassed and my nipples and fanny throbbed in frustration. 

 

He turned me around.  His arms went around me and he nuzzled my collar, my neck telling me I was a good girl.  I was so grateful for his understanding. The skirt wasn’t too much of a problem and I liked the silk of the lining rubbing over my mound though without knickers there is no way a woman can feel secure. The possibility of it blowing up was a worry and I was constantly aware of the air moving around my thighs. My top clung to my breasts and made me very aware of them and how they must appear to others. 

 

Being naked for him so much in the house made me so aware of my body.  It wasn’t as though I could forget when my breasts swung freely or my thighs spread as I was doing even the smallest of tasks.  Knowing my nakedness and knowing its reason was constant.  Now, with clothes covering me, I was again aware of the body underneath and who decided the body was covered or not.   We drove silently for a while the smell of me overcoming my thoughts of anything else.

 

"Why are you so wanton?”  He seemed to read my mind.

 

I didn't answer him immediately.  “It’s you, Sir. You make me.  No, you allow me to be.”

 

“Your past boyfriends, did they know?”

 

“No.  No Sir.  No one has made even me aware of what I am before.”

 

“What would they have done if they knew? Would they have been pleased?”

 

Trying to think was hard but I tried.  “I think it would have frightened them.  They would have looked upon me as a slut I think and not liked that.  I think they would have given me the push, find someone more demure.”

 

“You are not demure.  On the surface you can pretend.  But what are you?”

 

“A wanton slut .”

 

“Yes.  And an owned one.  I want you as you are.  I don’t want you as demure.  Well sometimes.  I want the slut in you.  I want to use all your talents.  Can you accept that?”

 

“Yes.  Here with you.  Now, you have made me realise, what you can make me do, what I want.”  I saw myself in his hands and felt desire and sudden panic.  “In my normal life…  not at work or with my friends.  I need to hide it there, but I do want these feeling again, often.  I accept what I am underneath, I enjoy being submissive.”

 

“Good.” He grinned.  “I will accept some of your reservations but I will set your limits within what I think are reasonable, but you need to fully accept them and what you are when with me.” 

 

“Yes Sir.  I will.”

 

In the mall I held his hand and kept my other by my side with difficulty.  I wanted to be good but it was difficult.  Although logically I knew that nobody else knew I wasn’t wearing knickers, the smell in my nostrils, the fact that my nipples were rock hard and obvious, plus the knowledge that I could see men checking out my bouncing tits all the time made it seem that everyone knew. 

 

He told me to describe to him what a slut wore as underwear.

 

“I guess, stockings and suspenders. Basques and corsets. Reds and blacks. Fishnet stockings perhaps.” Suddenly I felt giggly.

 

In a department store he bought me stockings, including fish net stockings, hold-ups and a black and a red suspender belt. I’d only worn one once and found it a trifle more uncomfortable than tights but I was very aware that, with him, tights were a no-no from now on.   I was beginning to feel spoilt with his gifts and also a little excited looking constantly at lingerie with him.  He bought me lots of tiny knickers that, although I thought were suitable only for hot dates he made me understand were now normal day wear.  The rest, the non sexy ones had to go.

 

We went out of the mall to a small shop, not a department store where I normally buy my wholesome bras either, but a little back street specialist lingerie shop. He obviously knew where he was going. 

 

As we entered a woman in her forties was fiddling with her hair and said ‘hello’.  We were the only ones there.  I became very conscious of the smell in my nose, on my face. 

 

“I would like to see the underwear that we discussed the other day, please.”  The woman looked at him and then at me. I blushed.  He’d been planning this I realised.

 

The woman took her tape measure and measured below and across my tits. “Just to be sure.  Yes, it’s just a 34c.  She measured my waist and hips at the same time before I was ushered toward a changing room at the rear and left to stand alone while she spoke to Michael. I could still smell myself as I breathed.

 

I watched as she collected a selection of things wrapped in tissue paper.  The bras ranged in colours from black through red to white. The colours were not the thing I noticed as she unfolded them and held them in front me, again obviously more for Michael to see than me. One was simply quarter bra, lit would leave my nipples totally on view, one had holes for my nipples, one was totally sheer.  All would leave me exposed in some way or another.

 

A pile was placed on the chair outside the changing room.  They both looked at me.  Could they smell me?  I was very self-conscious and worried.  I wondered if it was simply on my face or elsewhere too.  The woman held out a bra.  I went to pull the curtain but she interrupted. 

 

“No, do it here so I can make adjustments.”  I stood staring at her, then Michael, my face burning with embarrassment.  “Be a good girl for me and do as I tell you.  Don’t be naughty or Michael will not be pleased.”  I blushed deeper.  I wanted to be a good girl, but she would see me, see my tits. She must know I wasn’t even wearing a bra.  ‘Be a good girl’.  ‘Naughty’.  ‘for Michael’.  The words ran around my head.  Did the woman know?  Did she understand the collar?

 

I looked at the covered window, the board covering the outside display, the very tops of heads walking by.  Would anyone else come in?  Gingerly I lifted the top higher and higher until I pulled it over my head exposing my tits, feeling them bounce free.  I held it in front of me, until I saw Michael shaking his head discreetly.  I saw her eyes feed on my body as I lowered it  but I couldn’t keep eye contact as she lifted hers to my face.  God I hoped nobody would come in.  I took the proffered bra and slipped it on.  The quarter bra fit snugly, tightly even, under my tits and pushed them up as if I was offering them.  I wanted to cover myself but took my hands away, displaying the hard nipples sticking out far too proudly.  I was so embarrassed, shameful. I looked at the floor.  I could feel a sudden nudge of excitement.  My thoughts left me with a fluttering stomach as I put on and took off different bras for them to see how I looked in them.  At times, with different bras and without ceremony the woman pulled back the cups and reorganised me, my flesh, my tits, laying them neatly on display.  Each time I gasped and felt my face burn. 

 

Two larger garments were brought out.  These were handed to me and I was expected to try them on.  They stood there waiting.  It would mean my skirt too this time.  I didn’t know if I could.  I looked up at Michael.  He smiled.  I unzipped my skirt, slid it down, and stepped from it trying to keep my body from shaking.  He nodded judiciously.  I was so pleased that he understood my fear but now I was bared.  I was standing virtually naked!  Now I was being examined like an animal at market.  She would have noticed the lack of knickers, my shaven mound!  I held my arms at my sides, frightened to cover myself, my little girl slut slit.  I was shocked by my behaviour, what I was doing, what I accepted.  Now I really felt like a slut naked in front of clothed people, not just Michael.

 

Quickly, with her assistance I put on the red cincer but the garment covered nothing and was very tight. Again my tits were offered, displayed over black lace and my mound seemed to push up below.  I had to turn around to display my bottom, my arse. It was a part of me that I was unsure of even covered. I thought it overlarge. Not fat, certainly, or droopy, but I would have preferred the roundness of my buttocks just a little smaller.  That thought crossed my mind as I looked at the wall listening to their discussion behind me.  I was turned again and I looked at the ground as they continued. I was virtually naked.  I was submitting and accepting more and more.  Was I being good enough?  I wanted to please him.

 

The woman helped me remove the red one and I stood naked and helpless again before she handed me the black one.  It felt tighter than the red and had a half cup, though my nipples were just covered parts of the areole still showed.  Again she held my breasts and brought them into the correct position.  With growing passivity I turned, stood and bent as instructed.  Allowing myself to be guided, directed and controlled.  The woman withdrew into the back of the shop.  She had said something but I didn’t catch it. I was virtually in a trance. 

 

“Open your legs.”  Michaels fingers quickly went to my cunt again. I wasn’t dry.  He knew too.  He withdrew his fingers as I looked at the floor blushing.  Nothing was said and the woman returned.  I could smell the scent of my sex and was scared that she did too.

 

Michael talked with her and agreed to take both and I was allowed to dress though still in front of the curtain.

 

“Thank the lady.”

 

“Thank you Miss.”  She smiled but I couldn’t read her face.  The wait as the purchases were wrapped carefully seemed to go on and on.  My cheeks were on fire and I kept my eyes lowered.

 

My submission both shamed and inflamed me.  I also felt spoilt by all his purchases.  He had spent more on lingerie today than I would in a year! I also felt sexy and slutty having to have to display myself in front of the woman as the possession I was.  Michael was leading me to accept things I could never have believed of myself. It suddenly occurred to me to be grateful that the shop was empty. My thighs were slippery.

 

Outside I couldn’t help ask if I had been good.

 

“Yes you were a good girl just then.”  I could feel my stomach fill with butterflies as I found it did each time he gave me compliments now.  “But…”

 

“Yes?  Is there anything….”  wordlessly I looked at him, feeling suddenly desperate.

 

“But you seem to think that each time I ask you to do something, you may or may not be able to force yourself to do it.  Let me explain, you will do what I tell you without question or hesitation. When I ask you to do something you will consider it a command not a request.  Although you were quite good in the shop I am going to punish you when we get home, simply to ensure you understand what your situation is.  You need to learn.”  My eyes filled.  Not sobs, but silent tears ran down my face slowly.

“I’m sorry Sir.  It’s just that I was proud knowing I did what I did.”  He stopped and wiped my tears away with a finger and, leaning forward, kissed the wetness.

“Don’t worry you are a good girl.  You should be proud. I don't believe that you will be able to obey always but know that I expect it and that there will be consequences if you don't.” He turned me and kissed my lips softly. “And I will decide on the form of punishment you receive.  Do you understand and accept that?”

“Yes Sir” I whispered into his chest as I lent against him on the street.

“We don’t need to go through this again?”

“No Sir.” He held my hand, and talked about banalities until he could see I was comforted.

“Will you still punish me?”

“Of course. I said I would didn’t I?  Besides, you will like it wont you?” He grinned.  I thought of being over his knee again. Oh God.  “You let the woman touch you.”

“Yes.”  A gasp.  “I didn’t expect her to. I had to.”

“Would your friends?  Would they have stood naked for a stranger in a shop?  I don’t think so.  You’re a slut. That’s why.  My slut.  It excited you.”  

“I was so humiliated.”

“Yes.  But you wanted her to like your tits, your cunt, your obviously hard nipples.”  I hung my head.  “I will do it again. You will become more obedient.  I take pleasure in exhibiting you, take pleasure from your humiliation and your arousal by it.  ”

He waited till the following day to spank me.  Part of me hoped that he would forget, but strangely, a larger part of me wanted it.  It happened again over his knee in the same spot in the same manner as previously.

Afterwards, feeling very subservient again, I stood totally naked, this time my hands were tied with my arms crossed behind me, the ball gag in my mouth again, this helping to take away any residue responsibility. My feet were apart and my nose holding a table tennis ball against the wall.  If I allowed it to fall I would have my sexual pleasure curtailed, if I dropped it twice, severely so. My nipples occasionally touched the wall, cooler than I expected.  Michael read the paper on the sofa.  Until the doorbell chimed.

“Do not move.  Do not drop the ball.  I will tell you when you may move.”  The orgasm he had given me still buzzed slightly.  The feeling of submission still very strong.  I wanted him to be pleased with me.  Saliva dribble from my mouth a little.

He went to the door.  I could hear two voices, male voices in the hall.  Suddenly they became louder and then sudden silence.  I couldn’t move, couldn’t turn round, the space around my face was hot.  I was aware of a drop of sweat running slowly down my back and my hands becoming anxiously moist.

“Oh I am sorry Eric.  She’s just been spanked as you can see from the pinkness of her buttocks.  I forgot.  We’ll continue in my office. Don’t worry, please ignore her.”

“Oh yes.”  A strange voice, older than Michael, puzzled.

Then silence, well muffled voices coming from behind the closed door of Michael’s office.  I stood against the ping pong ball attempting to keep from shaking.  He must have seen me, from the back, naked, my bottom, my thighs spread. God, it was so humiliating.  

Michael had known.  He hadn’t forgotten, he had known, he had wanted me displayed, exhibited.  I tried to calm and think.  He wanted me to feel the humiliation of being undressed in front of a stranger again.  Was this part of my punishment?  He had, though, allowed me to keep my face, tits and cunt hidden even though my pink arse was to be displayed. Did he want to show the man I was a slut or that he was a dominant show his views on how to use a woman?  But the one thought that kept me from breaking down was that if he exhibited me as belonging to him, and who else’s could I be if he had just punished me, then he must consider me to be pleasing to look at.  He must consider my nakedness pleasing, the pinkness of my spanked bottom pleasing.  

I tried to push up my bottom, I opened my legs a fraction willing them to come back.  I wanted to be a good slut.

Eventually I heard the sound of a door opening.

“She has a nice red bottom.  Michael…”  a little hesitancy, “next time she is punished I would like to watch”.

“Of course.”  He laughed.  

The outside door closed.  Moments later I felt his presence.  His fingers stole round each side of me and grasped my breasts.  They were wet with the dribbling from my mouth.  He removed the gag and told me to stretch my jaw.

“Your nipples are rather hard,” he laughed.  His fingers slipped over my stomach and between my lips.  “Oh you certainly like being shown off, don’t you slut?”  Luckily it was a rhetorical question as he brought me to the edge of another orgasm but then stopped, leaving me desperate for his touch once more.  

 

It distresses me to say it, but yes I need to be punished by him.  Punished in different ways.  The humiliation of having to display and expose myself and be punished seemed to meet a deep down need within myself.

Watched and pushed further

Another Friday and he was driving me to the house.  

“What underwear have you on?”

“Black.  Thin non wired bra, normal knickers, matching, lacy.”  

“Suspender belt?”

“Yes.”

He let me wear normal things away from him. His rules on clothing did not come into being until we had reached the house though I was aware that my clothing was subtly changing even then.  I wore sexier lingerie, perhaps more cleavage was displayed, I never wore tights. He didn’t expect me to take off my underwear at work before I met him, thankfully. We drove on for a while before he reached for his phone.  After a minute he passed it to me.

“Phone Eric.  Tell him to meet us at the house. For him to watch you being  spanked.”  I looked at him open mouthed.

“But…  But…”

“But nothing. You will be spanked, he will watch.  Do you understand?”

I continued to stare at him.  Eventually, “Yes Sir.”  I felt hot.  I looked at my knees.  Gradually I took it in. He pulled  into a lay-by and looked at me.

“I’m proud of you.  Today I wish to show you off.  Are you mine to show off?”

“Yes.  Yes, I am.  You know it.”

“I would not wish to show you off if you were disobedient or ugly.”

“No Sir.  Thank you.”

Not believing what I was doing I phoned Eric with burning cheeks and a breaking voice.

“Hello Eric?...  You met me at Michaels last week…  Yes, against the wall….  Michael told me to phone.  He told me to tell you that you could meet us at the house…  Yes.  Yes.  He says he is going to spank me...  Yes… Thank you… Goodbye.”

When we pulled into the drive Eric was standing by his black car waiting.  On entering the house I was in a quandary.  I didn’t know whether to strip off or not.  Michael caught my eye and said “later”.  Thankfully I walked behind them into the sitting room.  Though they sat I was made to stand and felt very conspicuous even though I was dressed.  They were talking but did not include me.  They were talking about spanking and about me.  Michael told him that I was naked or near naked when I received punishment.  He said he felt that it added something to the humiliation of the situation.  He was certainly correct.  Eric was nothing but in agreement.  

Turning to me Michael told me to undress slowly, to wait for his nod after removing each item.  I had never done this in front of two men.  With a woman it somehow seemed just about acceptable, this would obviously be over the mark of decency and normalcy.  I would be showing both of them that I was a submissive slut.   

Slowly I undid the buttons on my blouse, took it over my shoulders, showing my tits in their thin bra with the nipples prominent.  My tits bounced up and down with my breathing.  I realized that if I was to be shown off I had to look my best.  I tried to push back my shoulders and look good but it was hard.  After a nod I unzipped my skirt and stepped from it and felt the collar around my throat as I moved.  I could imagine my black lingerie looked sexy to Eric.  I wondered what he thought of me, undressing like some tramp.  I wondered if he liked my body.  Michael wanted to be proud.

Michael nodded again, I unfastened my bra.  This was the crunch time I knew.  I pulled it from my tits.  My nipples stood out hard, dark pink and prominent.  I couldn’t believe them.   Both men stared at my tits, their eyes like fingers on me.

“They’re not the biggest tits in the world but I do like their shape and pertness.”  Eric grinned and simply nodded his agreement.  “And, there is no mistaking if  she is aroused.  Look at her nipples and the blush over her tits and throat.”  I wanted to die.  I wanted the earth to swallow me.  My skin burnt.  

“Carry on.”  I inched down my knickers until I could delay no more.  Feeling the dampness of the material against my legs as I stood out of them suddenly remembering I was shaved.  Without thinking I closed my eyes and after stepping out of them I pulled my arms around me to cover my nakedness.  

“Now slut, you shouldn’t do that should you?”  My hands crept away slowly.  I was breathing with quick short breaths.  “Now face Eric, let him see properly.”  

I turned slightly, knowing the sight I presented.  I wondered what he thought of me standing near naked before him.  I wondered if he liked what he saw.  I wanted him to so that Sir was pleased.  Forcing myself, I stood straighter, my thighs parting just a fraction.

“She’s very nice.  I love the shaved fanny.  Very nice.  It shows it off a treat.”  Under my hot blushes I knew very well it showed me.  I had looked at myself in the mirror sufficiently often to know that my outer lips bulged obscenely and the inner lips thrust through just a little.  

He displayed me front and back and gradually being made to adopt different poses, with my elbows far back, holding my shins.  Taking off my shoes I was told to climb over Michael’s knee. I tried as elegantly as possible with my arse cheeks facing Eric and knowing my cunt would be easily seen too.

Sir stroked my cheeks for a while and spoke with Eric.  I knew Eric’s eyes were on my bottom and below.  I gradually relaxed but still felt amazed that I hadn’t died of humiliation as I had undressed in front of a strange man.  He would still be looking at me.  At my arse stuck up over Sir’s knee.  Oh God.  It was certainly different to being in the shop though in some ways being draped over Michael’s knee was quite comforting, feeling reassuringly restrained in a position I was beginning to accept.

I felt his had slap me.  Harder than he usually began, though not too hard.  I was being spanked in front of someone!  I felt my rear getting hotter, felt the sting of his hand.  It was quite painful by the time he rested.  Caressed my flesh for a while and then began again.  I realized that I had begun to make whimpering noises, soft sobs.  I felt the heat growing, the pain growing, flattening out.  Tears dripped softly from my eyes, saliva dribbled at times from my mouth, only noticed when he stopped and caressed me, tenderly stroking over the stinging skin of my cheeks.  He parted my thighs and caressed up and down their soft insides.  My thighs spread quickly at his command, my stomach quivering, his hand stroked my lips.  I felt disgustingly wet, slutty wet, achingly wet.  Wet in front of Eric.  My body was responding in front of another man.  Pushing up.  The world reduced to his hand and my responses.  My entire hips throbbed in that strange pleasure and pain feeling.

“Open wider.  Lift up slightly.”  I did it without thinking.  Letting him see.  Just obeying now.  

I felt his hand covered my cunt.  His right hand gently explored my naked flesh, rubbing and caressing my willing body. Then, from below, a slap on my mound!  On my naked hairless mound, it took me by surprise and I gasped.  

“Turn over.”  I didn’t understand.  I was lost somewhere.  Gradually I began to realize.  Without standing I rolled onto my back across his knees, my shoulders on the sofa, my legs splayed, open.  I could see my mound pushing up, flaunting, crudely as I looked down my body.  He caressed me openly.  Then it began again.

He was spanking my wet pussy with his hand! Searing pain erupted and chased any complacency away. Heat flowed into the tormented area but after the first ten rapid smacks the pain dissipated and only a warm, tingling feeling remained.

“Do you like being spanked on your cunt, slut?  Does that naked slit like being smacked?”

“No.  No.  Yes.”  I didn’t know, couldn’t tell.  I was lost in it all.  “Yes.  Yes Sir.”

He began again.  A little harder, faster!  Hard slaps rained over my reddening cunt, but numbness had set in and I only felt a rising passion from the rhythmic smacking. My body jerked frantically.  It was difficult keeping my legs parted.  If I closed them, even a little, he stopped and I knew I was being disobedient and had to open myself again.  Heat radiated within my hips and juices splashed from the insides of me.   Again and again it happened.  Noises filled my head, whimpers, groans, sobs.  The slapping sent vibrations down to my clit.  It was so near the slaps.  It stopped for a moment then begun again, over and over.  A bigger pause.  

I tried to get my breath but it went on.  On my big fat wet lips, again just missing my clit, the wetness spraying onto my thighs with each slap.  It even sounded wet.  Spanked on my cunt! Oh God!  Oh God.  I was on fire.

A few blows were directed towards the top of my slit, aiming for the erect clit, and a jolt of pure electric ecstasy hit me when Sir displayed fully the extent of my submissive pleasure to Eric. I jerked.  And again.  He slapped my clit.  

“Do you like this?”

 

“Yes.. Ohhh, pleeeease yes, spank me... slap my pussy.. more...please more... thank you, you're so good to your little slut...yessss...... “

“Cum for us.”  I bucked up and cried out, fighting against his hands holding me down, my head thrashing side to side.  

 

I gasped to get air inside me and let the fireworks slowly stop exploding behind my eyelids; I was desperate to be his good obedient girl then.  I slipped off his knees. 

 

“You’ve aroused Eric.  He’s hard.  What are you going to do?  You’ve caused it.  You need to do something about it.”  I looked at him without comprehending.  “Your mouth.”

 

My pussy lips felt huge and tender as I crawled across the room and looked up; I was between Eric’s legs.    His cock was out.  Hard.  A hand guided my head.  I simply took the cock in my lips without thinking.  It was a cock, I was a slut.  I had forgotten I was a nice girl and became a wanton whore. Only when I was letting it fuck my mouth, taking it in and out, smelling a different man’s aroma, only then did I think of what I was doing, whose cock it was.  Fucking my mouth.  The humiliation filled me like the cock, exciting me more. I wanted my mouth fucked.  I wanted to feel used, made to be used by Sir.  Very much.  At some stage I lost track of my surroundings. Some part of me knew Sir was there watching and he was in control and I trusted him so completely that I was able to forget everything else and just let myself feel the lust and enjoyment.

 

He withdrew from my mouth as he came, his semen spurting across my face. I licked his cum, bringing it back to my mouth with my tongue. I thrilled at being used and marked and splashed with come.

 

They left me kneeling, cum dripping down my face onto my tits as Eric fastened his trousers and adjusted himself and they talked.  Finally, still virtually naked, I was told to take Eric to the door.  I walked with him, my tits bouncing, my face wet through the hall.  

At the doorway he fondled my tits and laughed.  His hands roamed over my defenseless body openly.  I was hugely embarrassed at the quickness of my responses to his touches.  I pushed my breasts out even more to his rough handling and his gentle caresses. I jerked my hips on his fingers as they slid so very easily inside me. 

I found myself thanking him.

 

Walking back into the room I couldn't bring myself to look at Sir.  I was so full of shame and felt so dirty and used. I was a come-soaked slut and I didn't deserve to have been this man’s possession.  I had enjoyed what had happened and he had watched it all.  He must have known how full of lust I was. I was scared to think what he thought of this horrible little semen-streaked whore that was before him.

 

“I liked seeing you suck on his cock. I enjoy seeing you being enjoyed and Eric obviously did. It made me proud to know that you are mine.  I also noticed that you lost yourself in it, lost yourself to the passion of the man you were pleasuring.”  He threw a bundle of tissues at me, telling me to wipe my face.

Grabbing a handful of my hair he pulled me to him. He tilted my face up to him and kissed me. A rough deep kiss with is tongue invading my mouth. It made me feel like such a beautiful slut. Could he taste another man in my mouth? When He pulled back he looked at me with such open lust that I shivered.  I helped him undress there and then and he lay me gently on the floor and he fucked me lovingly.  I was obedient and passive and he was loving, knowing I needed him to show me everything was good.  He kissed my mouth and tenderly brought another orgasm from me and then he really fucked me.  His hands grasped my still tender buttocks pulling me onto him.  A finger slipped in my arse, opening me unexpectedly.  My opening was wet with my juices, it slid inside easily but it felt tight.  Things in both holes.  Rutted savagely, he cumming deep inside my body as I writhed. 

 

The following morning I knelt beside his legs as he read the paper.  Naked except my collar.  And the use of the collar was highlighted by what he had made me do.  He had given me cereal and coffee for breakfast.  He got it for me too.  He knelt down and put it on the floor next to his chair.  He gentled me down next to him until I was on all fours next to him.

 

“Eat here.  Like a little puppy bitch at my feet.  My pet.  I want to see you there.  See you naked there while you eat.”  I looked at him wide eyed.  I knelt, dropped onto all fours.  I was in a daze.  I could feel my breathing, feel my tits hanging down, my buttocks thrust up.  He stood then sat on the chair half behind me.  I was very aware of myself.  It felt silly but something about it felt right, felt safe somehow.  It was very humiliating to eat from the bowl only using my mouth, my bum thrust up.  I couldn’t do it very well at first and after had to clean up after myself but I did it sufficiently well to be pleasing eventually. 

 

“It’s good that you accept my collar.”  He spoke to me from his chair.  His hands caressed over my buttocks.  His hands felt warm.  They were lovely on me.  I looked down feeling happy.  “I like having you as mine.”  

 

“I love being yours.”  I did.  Oh I did. 

 

Sitting naked with him was so restful.  I loved the inner calm it gave me.  Almost absent his fingers played with my tits as he read the paper, played with them and pinched them to excite me.  I was always surprised how quickly I could become aroused now, how quickly I became aroused when it wasn’t left to me to decide.  I could get aroused in a moment of being touched or talked to by Sir.  During the week I could become aroused by the most fleeting memory of my weekend submission, making me aware of the knickers I was wearing then and getting them wet.  My tits were so sensitive as he played with them.  Obediently I stood when told.  His fingers found my cunt, found the puffy skin and lips surrounding it, found my hard clit.

 

“You’re quickly ready aren’t you?”

 

“Yes Sir.  Sorry.

 

“Don’t be sorry.  I like that in you.  I don’t want Miss Prim.  I like knowing I own a slut.”  I blushed at his praise. 

 

“Do you want to be allowed to cum?”

 

“Oh yes please.” I closed my eyes, felt the heat of my face.  “Please let me cum, Sir.”  It didn’t seem at all strange that I was doing this, begging for my own release.  It seemed good.  I could feel his control.  “Open.”  I opened my legs automatically.  He told me to put a finger in my own bottom, so shameful!  I was shocked.  I felt my finger trace the curve of my buttocks to the hot sweaty valley between.  Oh God.  I found the puckered private part of me.  My pussy thrust in his face as he sat.  Humiliation washed through me with lust.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

"Oh, Sir, I am touching my bottom, my arse." 

 

“Yes, don’t just touch.  Finger it like it is your cunt.”

 

It slid inside.  I shouldn’t be doing this, it was a rude, private place.  Initially the muscles gripped me tight but slackened as I continued.

"Only dirty sluts finger their ass. Are you one?"

"Yes, Sir, I'm a dirty slut.  Your dirty slut."

He allowed me to use my other hand on my cunt.  I thanked him without being asked.  He was letting me.  I was allowed to be so dirty.  My tits stuck out at him as I arched to finger my bum.  He played with my tits, squeezing them, getting harder, sometimes smacking. Pain sometimes with the pleasure.  I was grunting as I fingered myself and rubbed my clit.  He would say when.  He would allow me to.  If he decided.  Not me.  Him.  Not until he said.  The room smelt of me, of a juicy slut, as it often did now.  I was fucking my bottom too.  A slut.  Owned.  He said he owned me.  He did.  Sex slave.  I wanted to be.  He was keeping me upright.

 

“Take your hand from your cunt.”  I obeyed reluctantly, but I did.  “You can cum, but not touching your cunt.”

 

I didn’t think I could cum doing this in my arse.  I was near but still, it didn’t seem possible, nor did it seem right somehow.  He was watching me.  I pressed my finger in and out.  It felt depraved to finger myself there.  I wasn’t sure if it was nice.

 

He pulled my own hand out and his finger replaced mine.  It pushed into me, past my now well-lubricated rear entrance and I automatically clenched around it. Relentlessly he pushed his forefinger up into my tight, elastic back passage. Soon the knuckle had passed by my sphincter, and then it was all inside me, finger-fucking my arse with forceful thrusts.   My clit felt on fire though it wasn’t being touched.  The sweet sensitive flesh was erect and thrumming with desperate need. The finger pumped inside my stretched rear, my buttock tensing and relaxing, my nipples ached with pain-filled lust, my clitoris pumped with blood.

 

“This is tight.  It needs opening up.”  Would he fuck me there?  Ohhh.

 

I was losing it.  I spiralled down inside a black hole of depraved desire. The torment was more than I could bear. From somewhere I heard a long soft howling. It was me, trying to voice my need.  My body moved spasmodically and pools of viscous excretions ran from me in the throes of a mighty convulsion.  Every nerve in my body short-circuited. Sweat ran in rivulets from my skin and my abuse bottom tightened itself on the invading finger.  Holding myself back, it was too dirty to cum like this, but with coloured fireworks bursting in my eyes.  Desperately holding back.  The chasm looming.

 

“Cum for me.”  I did.  I fell to the knees, leant between his thighs. My body still held but spasms jerked me this way and that.  Orgasms ripped through me one after the other.  I felt his lips on mine gently kissing me.  His arms went around me, held me, he kissed my face.  I wanted to cry.

 

A few times in the coming weeks I had to ask Eric to come and watch my punishments.  It was obviously enjoyed it, looking at my nakedness and how I was used excited him.  Although I couldn’t account for it, having someone else see my submission was arousing for me too.  After I knew I was expected to allow Eric to fuck my mouth.  By the end of my spanking I was always eager, having my bottom and tits and cunt smacked made me like that.  Sir knew.  He knew how wet I became, how hot and horny, how compliant and well behaved I became for him.  I wanted to have Eric cum because of me.  I wanted Sir to see me doing his bidding, being his slut.

 

Sir bought a riding crop and floggers for me around this time.  The crop was because he thought that I needed an incentive to be a good girl.  It was purely for punishment and not to excite.  He showed it me and let it whistle through the air.  I paled at the thought of the crop striking my bum.  He made me put my hands on my head and of course I spread my legs.

 

 “Today I will give you only a taste of it and you will be grateful.  It will be an encouragement to be good.  If I use it again I will be giving you far more, this is just a taster.”  He raised the crop and used its leather end to gently stroke my tits, around the globes and finally brushed the tip over my engorged nipples.

 

“Good girl. You look lovely.” His praise at my obedience made me blush. Those butterflies I got whenever he praised me spread out from my cunt.

He slightly moved behind me. “Your beautiful bottom is available for me to whip if you are a bad girl.” I tensed expecting a stroke of the crop, but instead he just used to stroke over my skin.

 

I stayed in position for what seemed like hours until finally I heard it in the air.  It seemed to take a while for me to realise it had struck and then it stung me to the quick.  The pain was sharp and radiated slowly inward.  I heard myself gasping, sucking in air.

 

“There, there little one.  See how it hurts.  You need to be good for me, don’t you?”

 

“I want to be good Sir.”

 

“I know but there are times you slip aren’t there.  This is here to make you concentrate on being good.  You like your spankings too much for them to be an incentive.”

 

I hung my head knowing he was correct, knowing he knew me too well to try and hide things.

 

He moved around me to the other side. The sound, that dreadful hiss, and my tits burned with pain.  I almost dropped my hands and felt my knees tremble.  I wanted to curl up and hold myself but I just managed to keep myself upright.

 

“There.  That’s all.  Just so you know.  We don’t want any more now in future do we?

 

“No.  No Sir.” I sobbed.

 

He moved in front of me and rubbed the leather tip along my thigh.

 

“Please.  Please.”

 

“Don’t worry my sweet.”  I was shaking.  The crop caressed my soft inner thighs, higher and higher.  It came to rest right on my lips.   “I can even use it to find out how wet your little cunt is.”  I knew that I was soaking down there and that he knew it too.

 

“Rub yourself again the crop, show me how much your hungry cunt needs to be touched.”

 

I moved my hips and pushed onto it.  It touched my clit and made me gasp.  I was fearful of being struck but more fearful of disobeying.  The leather end pushed within me.  Not far just opening me.  He took it out and brought it to my nose and I could smell the ever present scent of me.

 

He had me move my hands to feel where the crop had struck.  I felt a slightly raised line across both my buttocks and on the underside of my tits.  I was going to be good.  I did not want to be cropped again.  It was so different to his hand.

 

“What do you call me?”

 

“Sir.”

 

“I think in future you should call me ‘Master’ instead.  What do you think?”

 

I looked at him as I fingered the lines on my body.  “Yes Master.  I think it is appropriate.  Thank you Master.”

 

He hung the crop on the wall by the bed.  “There, that’s its place, you don’t want to have to fetch it for me to use do you?”

 

“No S… No Master.”

 

“Good. I’m sure you’ll be good.”  He put the floggers in the top drawer next to the bed.  “You’ll appreciate these more I am sure.”  I wasn’t too sure as I looked at the many flat leather tails.

 

 

Dinner and new horizons

 

My new black dress hung on the right places.  It was a beautiful dress that Michael had bought me the weekend before.  I made up carefully including my nails and hair.  I had been allowed to wear thin black knickers but no bra.

 

I had to admit the dress showed my unsupported breasts nicely, my cleavage and their shape. As I sat my nipples poked obviously against the material and the hem rode high on my thighs showing them off in their sheaths of black nylon.  I fastened the leather collar around my neck.  It excited me.  I was going to wear it out.

 

We had eaten a superb meal cooked by Eric’s wife, Mathilde, and had moved from the dinning room to the drawing room with drink.  Though, partially due to a couple of glasses of wine, I had overcome my initial awkwardness and total discomfiture I still could not bring myself to look at either Eric or Elaine fully in the face without my cheeks burning.

 

Mathilde was at least four inches taller than me and athletically pleasant looking.  She was a confident woman about Michael’s age, more confident that Eric.  Eric, though older, was good looking in a strange way, though he was not dominant.  After being shown what I wanted sexually by Michael I realised that I could never really find anyone without dominance more than superficially attractive.  Eric had used me because Michael had demanded it.  I had enjoyed it, but I knew that was due to being made to perform by my Master.

 

The evening had been far more pleasant than I had expected. I had received quite a lot of friendly and pleasant attention from all of them and I had gradually relaxed.  As my nerves had severely curtailed my eating, a couple of large glasses of wine helped too.  We retired into the sitting room with our glasses.  Well they did, as I had finished Master told me to leave mine behind.

 

 

Mathilde shook off her shoes and curled up on the sofa, her legs looking long and her skirt riding high.  Michael sat next to her and Eric an easy chair.  I moved toward the other but Matilde had me stop, standing in the middle of the room looking at her as she smiled up at me.

 

“Take off your dress.”  Her voice soft and level.  I gasped in surprise, looking quickly at Master.

 

“Do everything Mathilde tells you, as if it were me.”  He smiled.  I felt my eyes widen as my mind took this in.  I looked back at her and my stomach felt tight and my neck felt hot.

 

“Didn’t Eric see you naked?  When you let him fuck your mouth?”  The heat exploded in my face and my throat dried in an instance.  She knew!  I wanted to look at Eric for confirmation but she held my eyes.  “Well didn’t he?”  Eventually I nodded.  “Can I not expect the same?”  

 

Could she?  I didn’t know.  She wanted it and I had been told to comply with her demands.  But she was a woman, this was different.  I didn’t know why.  She was being dominant.  The woman in the lingerie shop had seen me and touched me, but Master had been in charge, it was due to him.  This felt very different.  Only Master had been dominant with me before.  That was it.  I tried to speak but it came out as a cough.  I nodded.

 

“No.  I think we can speak, don’t you?”

 

I tried again.  “Yes.”  Sounding like a child.

 

“That’s nice”, she said softly. “I’d like that.  So take off your dress.”

 

I stood, forcing myself.  Eventually I slowly unzipped it.  Slowly letting it slip it from my breasts, shaking.  It was really humiliating doing this for a woman.  I could feel the men’s eyes on my body but Mathilde continued to hold my attention.  Eventually she held out her hand and I passed it to her, wanting to throw it at her.  As I stood upright, desperate not to annoy Master or Mathilde, by covering myself, she threw it over the arm of the sofa.  My breathing was rapid and shallow.  I wanted to touch my hair, hide, run away.  I had been naked in front of others but not often enough to be even vaguely used to it.  Being made to strip by another woman was so embarrassing.  I was not used to this level of humiliation and its stimulus. I still cannot understand how aroused I get when I am feeling humiliation.  Somehow I felt that she understood.

 

“Don’t worry I find your body pleasing.  I find you pleasing.  That’s what you want isn’t it?  To please me?”

 

“Yes.  Thank you.”  A glow filled me with the compliment.  What was wrong with me?  The anger and the arousal fought within me.

 

“Take off your knickers for me.”  I forced myself to.  I felt the swing of my tits, and straightening passed them to her. I was naked!  For her!  It was unbelievable!  Blood pounded in my ears.  I knew the gusset would be at least damp if not worse.  I wondered if she would further humiliate me by smelling them but she simply held them in her hand, leaving me to guess whether she would or not.  I stood in stockings, shoes and collar.

 

 “Your nipples are hard.”  Involuntarily I looked down and saw them sticking out pointedly.  “Are you aroused?”  I remembered Master catching me out, catching me lying so I hedged.

 

“I have been, I don’t know.”

 

“No that’s not good enough.  I think you know one way or the other.”  I stared at her feeling cornered.  She smiled at me but she never flinched and I gave way.

 

“Yes.  I am.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I am a slut.”

 

“Yes we both know that don’t we.”  She waited for more.  Wanted more from me.  Not simple two dimensional answers.

 

“It excites me that you are seeing me like this.  I feel open to you, defenceless, vulnerable.”  My voice was meek.

 

“But you obviously accept that, being, so sweetly, submissive.  Not only accept but actually like the feelings it brings you.  Why did you allow Eric to use your mouth?”  The change of direction threw me. 

 

“Master told me to.  He was…  Eric was hard because he’d… he’d seen me punished.”

 

“So you had sex with him because you had been instructed to.  Would you have done it otherwise?”

 

“No of course not.”  I saw the glint of anger in her eyes.  Knew my fear.  “Oh sorry.  I didn’t mean to say it like that.  No I wouldn’t.  It wasn’t full sex, just sucking him.”

 

“Would it have made any difference?  If Master had told you to bend over and let Eric ram his cock deep inside your cunt would it have meant that you would refuse?”  I hung my head, the lingering silence condemning me.  “So whether it was only oral sex or full sex is immaterial.  You’d fuck if told to.”  It was something that I hadn’t let my brain work on.  Would he do that?  Would I be expected to?   “Do you do everything your Master tells you?”

 

“I try to.”

 

“Why.”

 

“He’s my Master.  I am his.  He owns me.”

 

“Owns you?  Like a pet?  You’re simply a possession?  He can do with you as he wishes?”

 

“Yes.”  I was gasping now, angry, hot, horny.  Why was I horny with this woman?

 

“Your leather collar?”

 

“It’s like a ring.  It’s an acceptance.  My acceptance.  My acceptance of his domination, his ownership.”

 

“Did you enjoy sucking Eric?”  What was I to say?  I shook my head, nodded, and eventually looking at her cocked eyes with a pleading gaze.  “Well, did you like the feel of him in your mouth?  Can you remember the taste of his cum, the full feeling in your mouth?  Did it make you cream yourself sweet slut?”  Her voice was smooth, honeyed and never obviously harsh but there was more underneath the surface.

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Look at me.”  My eyes lifted. I blushed an even deeper shade of red as her eyes drilled into me.  “I’m pleased you liked it, pleased you were an obedient little submissive slut.  Now fetch the wine from the dinning room and refill our glasses.”

 

Naked I served them their wine.  I was also allowed a glass.  Mathilde reached over and collected my dress, handed it to me and told me to put it on.  She kept my knickers.  I was shocked that I had to dress.  No one had touched me, nor had I been instructed to put on a show to humiliate myself further.  I wasn’t sure what to feel though I was strangely aware of disappointment within my body.

 

Once dressed I was told to sit on the sofa next to Mathilde and the evening continued as if my nakedness had not happened, except that she still held my knickers still in her hands, playing with them.

 

On the Friday, a couple of weeks later Master picked me up and we drove away.  Instead of driving to his house we went to Mathilde and Eric’s farmhouse.  We entered an office like room, Mathilde behind the desk, Master sat on a chair, I stood.  I felt frightened not knowing why.  It was the uncertainty, the unusualness. 

 

“Mathilde looked up at me, then at Master. Are you going to deal with it?”  He grinned sheepishly I thought.   “I suppose you want to leave it to me?”  Master grinned and nodded, not looking at me.

 

“Look at me slut.”  Her voice soft still.  “I own you now.  I agreed to take you on.  Your Master passed you on to me.  I paid for you. You belong to me”  I looked at her stunned.  My hand grasped for the edge of the desk.

 

“I don’t… Why…  Shouldn’t I be consulted?”  I knew I was fluttering.

 

“Why?”

 

“It’s me.  It’s about me.  Isn’t it my choice who my Master is?”

 

She looked at me and involuntarily I stood more upright for her.  “No it’s not your choice.”  Her voice was calm but there was a hint of danger as though she was speaking to a recalcitrant child. 

 

“Two weeks ago I specifically asked you questions to check on whether you understood and accepted your ownership.  You accepted that you had to do as you were told because you were owned.  Such as a pet would if I remember.  You accepted that your Master could do with you as he wished.  He has done.  Why should you now be asked for your choice?”  Tears formed in my eyes but they didn’t fall down my cheeks.  I stood looking at her while my mind whirled.  Anger.  Humiliation.  Frustration.

 

Did I care for him?  He was my boyfriend, lover, then Master.  He was good looking, masterful, made me laugh, made me cry.  Gradually I wondered if it was him or something else.  What did I care most about?

 

“Michael, if you’re not going to help you may as well go and sort yourself out.  Leave her bag in the hall before you leave.  Thank you.”  She smiled at him as if he was a favourite, though wilful child.  He came over and kissed her briefly and then he briefly kissed me.  He left.  I watched him as he left.  Angry at him for not sticking up for me, not shouting out that he wanted to keep me.  I stood, finding it difficult to accept what was going on around me.  The room was silent.  Somewhere a click ticked away the time.

 

“Michael is going away.  The situation would not have continued the same anyhow.  Take off your suit and place it over the chair back behind you.”

 

I heard the outside door close.  The car started, I could hear the engine kick in then quickly its purring was lost.  My throat was dry.  Everything was happening so fast.  I looked up, saw the woman sitting patiently waiting to be obeyed as if she knew it would come.  Would it?  We both knew there was no where else for me.  I turned and slipped my suit jacket off, placing it carefully before turning back to face her in my bra and skirt.  What was I going to do now?  I had watched as Michael had walked from my life.  Did I actually have a choice?  Did I care?  What did I want?  What did she want?

 

“Stand up straight.  You will address me as Mistress.”  I straightened and looked at the leather desk top.  It was neat and tidy.  A slight smell of polish was in the air.  This woman was giving me instructions.  I was angry still.

 

“Yes Mistress.”  My voice sounded far away.  I had never used the word Mistress before except at school.  I touched my hair nervously.

 

“Pull up your skirt.”  My fingers touched the hem.  She was giving me instruction.  My mind was whirling.  My fingers gripped the hem and pulled the tight skirt up my thighs.  In slow motion, everything seemed in slow motion.  Was I a lesbian?  The sex seemed irrelevant.  The flesh above my stockings must be in view.  I looked up, her eyebrows went up.  I pulled the skirt up further, up to my waist.  My legs in their stockings, my knickers holding my mound.

 

“Take them down.”  I took the narrow black waist in my finger tips and rolled them down, bending at the waist to push them to mid thigh.  I was excited, I knew.  This was ridiculous!  Excited by the knowledge that she controlled me and I had no more choice.  Were these things my concern anymore?  I felt them slide over my mound, down my thighs, the gusset finally pulling free of my lips.  The circled my knees.

 

She came around the desk.  Tall next to me.  Her fingers slid around my neck under my hair, taking my head and tipping it back.  Her mouth came onto mine.  It was wrong.  I couldn’t possibly belong to another woman!  Her lips soft and hot.  I closed my eyes hiding tears of frustrated anger.  A finger slide over my stomach, over my clit, into my slit.  My mouth gasped under hers and her tongue entered me.  It was all happening outside my control.  Was that what I wanted?  My hands dithered about not knowing what to do.  I jolted against her hand.  I was soaked.

 

Her lips left mine.  Her fingers too.  She suckled my taste from them.  “I have waited for you.  I wanted you.  It doesn’t matter if you don’t feel the same.  I own you.  Remember that.”  My stomach trembled.  Her hand took my arm and led me behind her desk.  I noticed the sun on the garden as she had me lay over her knee.

 

“If you relax it will hurt less.”  But I didn’t seem to be able to.

 

It was not like a spanking I had received from Master.  She smacked hard, without any build up, without any caresses. She smacked each buttock three times, once at the top, once on the full flesh and once under the curve.  Then opening my globes and smacked me in the cleavage of my buttocks.  Then the other one.  Then over again, the same routine. 

 

It hurt.  I was squirming, my teeth gritted.  I even attempted to put my hand there before she held both hands at the small of my back.  I groaned.  I writhed about like an animal.  I cried out.  My nose ran.  My bum was on fire.  My head spun full of stars.  The rhythmical noise of each slap filled my ears. 

 

And then suddenly, without any real warning, I came.  I was jerking in orgasm instead of jerking in response to the pain.  The smacks stopped and I was allowed to calm myself.  Allowed to wallow in the knowledge of my humiliation.  She had made me cum through punishing me nothing else!  She had made me cum.  I hadn’t wanted to!  She had that power.

 

“Stand up. Clean your nose and face.  Don’t move.”  I wanted to touch myself.  I wanted more.  I wanted her to want me but couldn’t accept it.  I stood silently, my cheeks burning, glowing, not knowing what I wanted, feeling my tits rising and falling.

 

I watched her hand as it delved into a drawer.  A collar was in her hand as it came out.

 

“You said a collar is like a ring, an acceptance of ownership.”

 

“Yes.  Yes Mistress.”  She grinned at my lapse.  I blushed.

 

“If you put this on there is no turning back.  I will own you totally.  I will own you because you believe that I own you.  You know that.  You know how you must be.  You must obey and please me above anything else, you will be my slave and nothing more, my property.  You’ll have plenty of both pain and pleasure.  Your limits will be tested.  And all the time you can be sure that it is what I want.  Is it what you want?”

I didn’t know this woman.  This woman!  I had never been with a woman.  She knew my needs though. I was scared of the future but then that wasn’t my concern was it?  

I tried to fight it.  Birds sang in the late afternoon.  A dog barked in the distance.  The clock still ticked.  I had no choice.  I reached for the collar and fastened it around my throat.