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Mall Princess 2
My name is Hiram, but I go by my middle name, which is Mike. I'm 40 years old, single, and ridiculously submissive. I live in a medium-sized city and have recently been promoted to a top position in my company. I'm decent-looking, but have little luck with women because I'm attracted to that rarest of creatures, the dominant female. Regular relationships leave me unsatisfied. Role-play leaves me satisfied for a short time, but the pangs set in soon after the scene is over. I crave to be the lifestyle slave to a cruel and selfish woman who enjoys her role as supreme bitch in charge of her male.
I've had a few times where things have been fairly good. A few girlfriends who liked to have their feet kissed or who liked to dabble in BDSM occasionally. I've had a few call-girl sessions that were excellent. And a year ago, I had a short burst of ecstasy when I met a young woman named Martha who was a true match, and who I spent a week serving before she dumped me for another slave who she found to be more dedicated than I had been.
I met her at the mall and ended up being taken back to her house where she totally dominated me and fucked me and had her way with me. But she asked for a special gift if I wanted to see her again, a gift that would show her just how deeply I was committed to being her slave. And I blew it. I used half of my savings to buy her a brand new convertible... but she found out that I'd only spent half on this gift, and she walked away with contempt for my feeble devotion.
I still see her around town. She gave the car to her mother, and now she drives a nicer car that her slave must ave bought for her. He, I assume, is the older gentleman that I sometimes see riding in the back seat as she drives. I've seen them together at Starbucks as well. Starbucks, the place where she took me on our first night. They were at a small corner table sipping their coffees. Her feet were in his lap, and he was rubbing them as they smiled and talked. I watched with heavy heart as she handled this devoted old slave, sometimes withdrawing her feet, sometimes slapping his face lightly, and once making him get down on his knees and kiss her soles right there in the crowded coffee shop. I loved her evil smile as she pointed to the floor and waggled her bare little foot for him. He leapt down and kissed, oblivious to the mildly interested patrons around their little couplet of femdom.
Martha is young, probably eighteen or nineteen now, and I assume she's in her first year of college because when I met her she was a senior in high school. She is brilliantly gorgeous. She is partial to the color black, and all of her clothes are this non-color. Her make-up is exotic and gothic. Her nails are lacquered in deep maroon or jet black whenever I see her. She is small, thin, and has a beautifully curved ass and full chest. Her feet are always encased in a pair of black Chuck taylor low-tops with white stripes and laces. The same pair I removed from her feet the night we met, before she had me show my lust for her by kissing her hot bare little porcelain feet with those plump toes and high arches. The scent had been so intoxicating.
For weeks after she told me to go away, I would lie in bed every night wishing I'd given her everything I ad just to hold onto her for a little while longer. Now, a year later, I still think of her every day, and am sometimes driven into a deep pit when I pass her on the road and see that same slave riding in her back seat. I could have been him.
But I blew it.
Or, so I thought... until this morning.
===>
I woke up late because it was Saturday and I didn't need to go into the office. I heard the whispering winter winds outside as they reshaped the snowdrifts laid down by a solid storm we'd had a few days ago. I got up to make coffee. As I glanced out my kitchen window, I saw a BMW parked on the street fifty yards away across from my front door. I have a nice big house with expensive furnishings and all the gadgets. I never got to take Martha here, though. Martha. Brunette, intelligent, creative, deviant, perfect, and gone. But the car I was looking at certainly looked like hers.
As I became more interested, I crept closer to the window and peered out. As I did, the driver side door opened and she got out. She was talking on her cell phone and appeared to be distressed. She opened the back door of the big black automobile and I saw that it was indeed Martha. She was leaning into the vehicle's rear seat area and tugging on the slave I'd seen so many jealous times. As I looked closer, I saw that he was slumped over in the back seat. I saw that she was moving quickly because she was removing handcuffs from him and checking his pulse.
Moments later, I heard sirens approaching from afar, getting louder and louder until an ambulance with flashing lights pulled up behind Martha's car. Six minutes later, the slave had been gurneyed away in a hurry, and the rear doors of the emergency vehicle had swallowed up his prone body along with Martha and the paramedics. They rushed off, leaving only her parked Beemer on the street in front of my house.
Throughout the morning, I took peeks at it as I sipped cup after cup of Kona coffee and watched DVDs from my extensive collection of femdom porn. It simply sat there in the cold and acquired a coating of dirty slush as cars rumbled past it for four hours.
Then, at four in the afternoon, as the sun was nearing the horizon on this deep December day, a cab pulled up behind the car and I watched as Martha exited it and paid the driver. She looked a bit less animated than usual, but it was hard to tell from fifty yards away. Her heavy black coat hung from her, rustling in the wind, and her hands were jammed in its pockets until she lifted one out to unlock the car door. She got in and my heart raced, wanting to rush out there and call to her. I held back, not wanting disappointment, not wanting to disturb her on what was obviously a traumatic afternoon for her.
Her car didn't start. I heard the cranking of the engine and that dead whine that meant no battery, no ignition. I heard her try a few more times until there were just clicks and whirs. That car wasn't going anywhere without a jumpstart.
I now watched with great interest, but remained discreet as I peered between drapes, as she got out of the car and held her cell phone to her ear. She kept looking at it and trying to dial, over and over. I could see she was getting angry or frustrated, and that the phone had betrayed her as well as the car. This was confirmed when she suddenly threw the little silver pill of technology against the slush-covered flank of her dead car, where it broke into pieces and left a nice dent. I almost chuckled, but I awaited her next move.
She peered around in a circle until she was looking directly at my house, the closest to her on this well-spaced street. She began to trudge toward my front gate. She reached the wrought-iron lattice at the base of my driveway and I ran to the front foyer of my house to look at the security monitor for the camera that covers the front gate. I was rewarded with a full frame of her beautiful face as she pressed the button for the intercom and doorbell. Overhead, ringing tones emanated as I slid the switch for the intercom to the "on" position.
"Hello?" I said.
"Hallo!" she answered. Much louder than she needed to. I have an excellent security system with color cameras and sensitive microphones. "I'm stuck, my car died across the street, and my phone is dead. Can you help me?"
"Sure, let me buzz you in," I replied. She seemed to cock her head as I aswered, perhaps in recognition of my voice. My heart was pounding as the gate began to slide open on its track, the motor whirring elegantly. She began the brisk walk up the driveway to my front door.
I casually tucked in my shirt, checked my hair, and popped a mint Lifesaver into my mouth as I opened up the massive oaken door that fronts my brick and stone miniature castle. Martha was now standing in the covered foyer, stamping snow from the bottoms of her Chuck Taylors.
I stood in the doorway and awaited her reaction as she saw me.
And it was a huge smile. Huge. She jerked erect and opened her mouth in an O of surprise.
I smiled right back.
And we met in the middle as she grasped me with a full around-the-waist embrace. Her hair smelled like heaven as she squeezed me briefly, then let go.
She stepped back a bit and gaped a moment before regaining her coolness. Slyly smiling, she pointed to the house and asked "This all yours, Mike?"
"Yup," I answered proudly.
"All yours and just you here?"
"Yes," I again answered.
"Well, I either need to use your phone to call a tow truck, or I need to have you buy me that car to replace this one. You know, that car you should have bought me eighteen months ago."
I smiled. I dropped to my knees and opened my arms wide. "Whatever you desire, Martha, my goddess," I replied.
"Good, Mike, slave, because I'm fresh out of servants right now. The old guy kicked it on the way to the hospital."
"Sorry to hear..." I began to reply, but she waved me off.
"Nah, no, we were almost done anyway" she said, "because he turned out to not be quite as able to handle the things I like to do as he thought he was. He was way too old for the heavy stuff."
I nodded non-commitally.
"But not you, Mike. So, shall we enter?"
"Yes," I replied, still on my knees with spread welcoming arms.
She simply walked past me, and as she did, said one word. "Crawl."
I crawled behind her, up the stoop steps, through the door, and waited to see what would happen next.
===>
She walked to the first chair she saw, an over-stuffed leather-upholstered antique that I use for reading. She removed her coat and handed it down to me. "Get up, hang that up, get me a coffee, black."
I scampered up and returned quickly with a hot mugful. I knelt before her and presented it.
"My sneakers are covered in slush and dirt. Take care of them for me, Mike," she calmly ordered. She crossed her feet at the ankles. I kneeled in, opened my mouth, and began to lick the wet mixture from the sole of her top sneaker. A sharp slap to the side of my face knocked me off my knees in surprise.
"Bottom foot!" she half-yelled, "Never my top foot! Always start where you belong, at the bottom, you filthy slave!" She pointed at her lower shoe, her face glowering, light glinting from her black-lacquered nail. I breathed deeply of the scent her damp clothing was emitting; her perfume and the wintry musk were an inflaming combination. She waggled her lower sneaker. Melting sluch dripped onto the hardwood floor below, carrying the muddy bits of road dirt along with them.
I dropped prone to the floor and began to tongue the filthy wet sole of her worn and aromatic black Ked. As I licked, the slushy mix melted and made it easier for me to swallow the dirt and tiny pebbles my tongue loosened from between the grooves of her shoe-bottom. Obviously, this sudden submission was causing my cock to engorge rapidly, and I surreptitiously ground it against the oaken floorboards below my body.
She had wasted no time in re-taking me. Less than three minutes from the word "Hello" and I was already groveling at the petite sneakered feet of this luscious Gothic eighteen-year-old.
She spoke down to me as I thoroughly covered every square millimeter of her wet canvas footwear. She interspersed an update on her life with random instructions to me on exactly how she expected her soles to be tongue-cleansed. I removed all the grime, and then she had me suck the moisture from the sodden black canvas tops of each white-laced instep. The liquid I vacuumed up past my lips had traces of old imbued salts and minerals of her precious sweat along with the fiercely exciting taste of her essential scent.
I gathered from her monologue that she'd picked up the recently-deceased slave at a CVS store, and that he'd become her sugar daddy in exchange for her ministrations of degradation, humiliation and punishment. He'd even paid off her mother's mortgage and bought Martha her own condo. And a BMW 735i convertible. And the usual assortment of expensive laundry and baubles. All he asked was that she entertain him in her new home when she liked, in her own special way that she so enjoyed, and occasionally accompany him out to the darker clubs as Young Goddess Martha and slave.
She'd finished high school and now attended the local college when she felt like it. The previous year and a half had seen her acquire plenty of money and security, but she'd become bored with the old sugar pop. He was too frail to submit to her increasingly wild tastes for sadism and excruciating control. She'd found that she really enjoyed torturing a bound male slave, and that she could always think of something new to try. She'd learned that she could orgasm more quickly when she knew she had a bound and suffering slave under her control, even if that meant that she played with herself on her comfortable new bed at the condo while the slave was boxed up in the dark basement of his own house across town. She had other fantasies that she hadn't dared try for fear of having a body on her hands. She'd also learned that she adored publicly shaming her slave, knowing that he would do absolutely anything she might suddenly have an urge to inflict upon him before the eyes of strangers. It made her wet.
Her sweet enthusiasm as she described her newfound passions made me hard as I lay on the floor at this teenage girl's feet licking her cold wet muddy soles clean and sucking the fabric dry.
Eventually, she had me stop working my tongue over her lowest extremities and told me to kneel up before her. She advised me that she was willing to let me utterly devote myself to her as her property, but only if I passed a testing period of about a month. She told me that she saw no reason to ask me if I agreed to her terms because she already knew I'd do anything she wanted me to do for her. She told me that for the next month we would maintain our separate residences, and during that time, I was to be on call for her without exception for twenty-four hours of every single day, seven days a week. She reminded me that if she called me I was to drop whatever I was doing, take her call immediately, and follow her instructions. Whether I was asleep, or in an important business meeting, or in the hospital in a coma. And she told me that a single, solitary mistake or failure would make her lose all interest in me as a potential slave, because it would show her that I had a priority higher than herself, no matter how fleeting, and that this would be unacceptable. She told me that at the end of the month, if she hadn't dumped me, she would move into my house and take over my life.
She stood, she told me to drive her to her condominium in an exclusive gated community in the swankest part of our little city, and along the way, as she rode behind me in the second row of leather seats that filled my Escalade, she peeled off the panties she'd been wearing under her thick woolen skirt. She tossed them over the seatback and the flimsy black silkies landed in a scented heap on the console between my front bucket seats.
"Mike, I'll leave you with those as an incentive to remember me by when we're not together. I want you to carry them with you at all times. Go ahead now and put them over your head with the crotch right over your nostrils while you drive me the rest of the way home."
I drove her home with her soiled panties over my face. I didn't look to my left or right at the stop signs and stop lights to examine the interest of nearby vehicles' passengers.
As she exited my big black SUV dinosaur, she finished with a few more sentences. "Remember, Mike, if your phone rings and you see it's me, you answer and listen carefully. Have it on you at all times. One slip, we're done, and I don't move into your house and make it mine. Along with you. But, you pass my test this month, and you'll begin living your deepest fantasy for however long I feel like owning your pathetically twisted self. You'll be "slave" instead of "Mike". You'll know the test is over when I address you as "slave". With a small "s", of course. No capitals in a slave's name. Just..." (and she hopped down out of my truck) "...in a Goddess's. Oh, and no playing with yourself until I say so. Hands off that little cock of yours... it's my cock now."
She began to walk away as I stared at her round buttocks swaying and her slim ankles so sexily encased in those ridiculously delicious girl-sneakers. I took a deep breath through the panties covering my nose and thrilled again to her richest scent. She spun around from a few steps away and said "Oh, yeah, Mike, you aren't allowed to take those panties off your face until I tell you that you can. See ya!"
I drove home with them right where they were.
===>
Hours passed, it got dark, and I sat on my couch in trembling anticipation of my phone ringing. I gripped it with my sweaty right hand as I flipped through cable chanels with mild interest. Every breath I took continued to be drawn through the crotch of Martha's panties, which I hadn't removed.
At eleven PM, I started to feel tired. Still no call from her. I had a quick snack of Doritos and salsa, pushing the panties aside to jam in the chips, then cleaned up and went to bed. I fell asleep with my cell phone right next to my right ear on the nightstand with the ringer set to "Loud".
I awoke not to the phone, but to the sun's rays filtering past the window sheers. Time to get up and make coffee. I checked the phone... nope, no calls.
As I sat down with a fresh mug of Kona and a warm croissant to read the paper, the phone rang. I swooped for it, nearly knocking over the coffee in my enthusiasm. It was her.
"Yes, Goddess," I breathlessly answered, my voice muffled a bit by the panties that still covered my face.
"Answer more quickly, next time, Mike... that was two rings. You should have the phone in your hand at all times for me. I can't be inconvenienced waiting for you to pick up. I expect you to answer on the first ring... or are you too lazy to serve me properly?"
"No, Goddess, I will keep the phone in-hand at all times."
"You'd better. Remember, one single slip-up during this test month, and we part. Forever, this time. No third chances for my failed slave candidate."
"Yes, Goddess, I understand."
"Mike, from now on when I call, you are to answer the phone with 'How may I please you, Goddess?' Is that understood?"
"Yes, Goddess Martha."
"Fine. Here are your instructions. I am hungry and I want coffee. I also have a messy condo. I want you to buy the ingredients for Eggs Benedict and also buy a Starbucks Mochacchino, then bring it over here. You are still wearing my panties on your face, right?"
"Yes, Goddess."
"Good, but I can't have you in the grocery store with those on. Stuff them in your mouth and keep them there until I say to remove them. You do know how to make Eggs Benedict, right, Mike?"
I am an excellent cook. "Oh, yes, Goddess."
"We shall see. Come over and cook for me, and then slave for me. You're going to be here until late tonight doing my bidding. I really need a slave to clean up this place. You may have to go to work tired tomorrow."
"Anything for you, Goddess."
"Yes, Mike. Now, another rule. Whenever you come to my home, you are to kneel on my doorstep and ring the bell twice. Wait for me to open the door, and then you are to kiss my feet until I let you in. Then, just crawl in and kneel on the rug in my front hall and wait for your orders."
"Yes, Goddess."
"I'm your Goddess, and you'll do absolutely anything at all that I command, right, Mike? Your eighteen-year-old Goddess who weighs sixty pounds less than you and is almost a foot shorter than you?"
"Oh, yes, yes Goddess," I huskily gushed to her.
"What part of me do you crave the most, Mike? What part of my Goddess body do you most want to worship?"
"Your desire leads my desire, Goddess. I worship all of you."
"Good answer, but I command you to think for a moment. If I gave you a choice, what would you most like to get your filthy tongue upon?"
I thought for a moment, weighing my desire to grovel while licking her dirty soles against the rush of sucking on her fragrant and tight little puckered anus. Her feet won. "Your beautiful little feet, Goddess," I answered.
"Fine, Mike. Then I shall deny you my feet for seven days. You are to keep your gaze locked on my feet at all times, but you will not be allowed to touch them. Look only at them, but no contact, or the test is over and I dump your ass again."
"Yes, Goddess."
"Remember, your eyes on my feet at all times. If I am present, but my feet are hidden from you, then stare at the floor."
"Yes, Goddess."
"Now, get up, stuff the panties in your mouth, and go get my breakfast and coffee. I expect you here in thirty minutes."
I followed orders. Less than the allotted half-hour passed before I was kneeling on the slate stoop in front of her condo's doorway. Her soaked panties filled my mouth, and I held two bags of different sizes. The larger bag was filled with the ingredients for Eggs Benedict, and the smaller with her Mocacchino. I also held a rose between my lips. I rang the bell.
She opened the door and I dropped my gaze immediately to her feet as ordered. She wore a pair of sweatpants and a baggy sweater. Both black, of course. Her feet were bare, and their soles were dirty as if she'd been walking barefoot all morning. I stared at them and felt my cock stiffen and my stuffed mouth water with the thought of cleaning that grime off with my lips and tongue...
"Cook my breakfast. Nice rose. Put it in water and put it on the kitchen table. When you are done cooking, serve it and then crawl to me and kiss the floor three inches from my lowest foot to signal that your task is complete. As I eat breakfast, kneel in the corner of the kitchen next to the trash barrel with your nose pressed into the corner where the walls meet."
"Yes, Goddess."
"And in my house, whenever you are following me, you are to crawl with your eyes on my feet. Whenever I stop in a room, or enter a room that you are in, you are to crawl to the nearest corner and kneel with your nose in it. Unless I give other orders, of course, Mike, right?"
"Yes, Goddess."
"Go carry out my commands."
I cooked a beautiful breakfast for her and served it. I crawled to where she sat at her computer desk and knelt next to her dangling left foot. I kissed the floor three inches from it as I breathed in the delicious scent of its grimy sole.
She ate her breakfast without comment as I knelt in the corner. When she finished, she had me kneel next to her chair. I stared at her waggling little bare foot as she scribbled on a piece of paper with a pencil. After a while, she handed it to me. "Read this list, Mike"
I looked at the list. It was a numbered list of chores.
"I am going to get online, Mike, and you are going to be my house slave while I ignore you. Spit out my panties and look up at my chin for a moment, but do not make eye contact."
I spat the panties out and looked up; she held out a fresh pair of soiled underwear. "Over your face until I say to take them off. Put the crotch part over your nostrils."
She stood. "Eyes on my feet again," she ordered, "and start doing the chores. When all of the chores are done, stuff the panties in your mouth and go home. Remember to keep the phone in your hand at all times."
She walked away and I looked at the list. There were twenty-two items. It was now 10AM, and the list looked like it would take many hours to complete. It was as follows:
1) Collect all dishwasher items around the condo and load the dishwasher. Run it. Empty it when it finishes.
2) While dishwasher is running, separate all my laundry into light and dark, and whites. Start the laundry. The hamper is in the master bathroom off my bedroom.
3) While the laundry is being done, work on sweeping all of the hardwood floors. Dump the dust you collect in the wastebin in the kitchen. All cleaning paraphernalia is in the front closet.
4) Vacuum all of the rugs in the house and empty the vacuum bag.
5) Wash all of the hardwood floors with the Swiffer, then change the pad.
6) Scrub every inch of both bathrooms except for the toilet in the master bathroom. Use rags and a toothbrush.
7) When both bathrooms are clean, and all laundry is folded and put on my dresser in neat piles, clean the toilet in the master bathroom with your tongue. Lick every square inch, inside and out, then polish it with your shirt. Put your shirt back on.
8) Dust every surface in the condo.
9) Wash all walls in the condo.
10) Use the fluffrod to clean all ceilings.
11) Clean all ceiling fans.
12) Wash all windows.
13) Make the beds in both bedrooms using the linens laid out at the foot of each.
14) Wash, dry and fold all stripped linens. Put them away in the hall linen closet.
15) Remove all pots and pans and other things from the kitchen cabinets under the counters. Put them all back neatly and with organization.
16) Take out all trash to the dumpster.
17) Remove every lightbulb in the condo and wash it, then replace them.
18) Sweep and mop the front stoop and rear deck.
19) Scrub the inside of my barbecue grill until clean.
20) Wash and dry all of my deck furniture.
21) Scrub down the kitchen counters and appliances, inside and out.
22) Go to my shoe closet in the front foyer and remove every shoe. Vacuum and dust the closet, then lick all dust and grime from every shoe, inside and out. Replace them neatly. Then, you are done. Spit out the panties and put them in the hamper. Go home. Await my next call.
Hours passed as I devotedly worked my way through the list. She went about her business as I did so, not once speaking to me or acknowledging my presence. When she came into the bathroom as I was licking her grimy toilet clean, I followed orders and crawled to the corner to kneel with my face pressed into it. She sat on the toilet and nonchalantly peed and then shitted. I heard magazine pages flipping as she read while sitting. I heard the intriguing plops of her shit as it fell from her young bottom into the toilet I had half-finished tongue-cleaning.
When she finished, she flushed and departed. I resumed licking, enjoying the humiliation of tongue-washing the porcelain still warm from her visit. I breathed the sweet scent of her bodily aromas left behind after her defecation.
When I came to the final item on the list, it was nearly two o'clock in the morning. I was due at work at eight AM. I still had her shoe closet to do. I opened the door. Inside I found seven glass shelves facing me, each filled with a row of five pairs of footwear. A fluorescent light blinked automatically to life and I saw that the bottom two shelves held ten pairs of boots of varied make and shape and size, the next four shelves held casual footwear like sandals and sneakers and flip-flops, and the top shelf was a row of five pairs of exotic black-leather fetish shoes with steel stilletto heels and straps and buckles.
I truly enjoyed the task of licking each pair of her scented footwear clean, but felt panic's onset as the clock ticked away toward Monday morning and the workday ahead. I routinely put in an 8AM-6PM day at my office. It was going to be tough with this little bit of sleep, and I knew I had a meeting at nine sharp with clients.
At four AM, I started up my Escalade and drove home, the tasks completed and Martha long ago asleep in her bed. I hit the sack at 4:40AM, and groaned when the alarm sounded less then two hours later.
I dragged myself through the workday, cellphone in hand, counting the minutes until I could go home and crash. She didn't call. At five PM, an hour earlier than usual, I left for the day, raising a few eyebrows as I am the boss and I'm known to never leave early.
I fell into bed without even undressing and was quickly asleep. The vibrating cellphone woke me up. I fumbled for it desperately and answered "How may I serve you, Goddess?"
"You will go to Chopsticks and buy me an order of hot and sour soup, a pint size, and a pint of chicken fried rice. Bring it over here."
She hung up. I looked at the time and saw that I'd managed to get three hours of precious sleep. It was a little after nine PM.
As she ate the food I delivered, I knelt in the corner of her kitchen with her panties over my face. When she finished, she called me over and handed me a list. She silently walked away, leaving me with my commands. I read:
1) Strip. From now on, when you come here, you are to strip as soon as you are inside the front door, leaving your clothes on the floor of my shoe closet.
2) Find all dishwasher items and do a load, then put it away.
3) Do the laundry from the hamper, as well as the linens on my bed.
4) While doing the laundry, sweep, vacuum and spot-clean all floors.
5) Tongue-clean my toilet rim and bowl.
6) When all of the above are completed, find me and kiss the floor three inches from my lowest foot.
Inwardly, I groaned with fatigue, but my submissive spark caused the necessary adrenaline to flare as I began the tasks. It was still before midnight when I finished licking up the last speckle of her dried urine off the toilet rim. I found her at her computer desk and kissed the floor next to her sneakered right foot.
"This is the end of the second day, Mike, and you're still in the running to be my slave. But I need to see total devotion. I know your day at work must have been hard with so little sleep, but that pleases me. And I require more, because I must know that if I move into your home and take over your life as your Goddess and owner that you are totally devoted to me and only me. Therefore, tonight you will sleep here. In my bathtub. Tied up naked on your back while the shower runs at half speed onto your chest and face. At seven AM I will let you up, and you will go to work on whatever sleep you are able to manage under my conditions. Go get in the tub on your back and cuff your ankles with the shackles you find there. Then cuff your hands on top of your chest. I will be right in."
She made the night miserable for me. She rubbed toothpaste all over my cock and balls. She unwrapped one of her tampons and diped it into Listerine, then shoved it up my ass. Burning set in, hard, in both sensitive locations. I squirmed in the tight shackles.
"Shush! Stop it!" she barked, "Take my attention to you and be grateful for this test! No showing of distress by you is ever allowed!"
I froze and gritted my teeth against the deep heat of the Listerine in my rectum and the Colgate burning the skin of my balls and penis.
She turned on the cold water and a limp stream showered onto my bound chest. She adjusted the head so that it fell on my neck and chin. The water was freezing. It began to pool under my goose-pimpled body.
She left me there, with all of the bathroom lights on, to shiver the night away. I slept out of pure exhaustion but awoke several times with a start as she burst into the room with a belt and used it to whip my chest and thighs. She did this every time I managed to slumber; she must have been watching on a hidden camera. Six times she woke me this way, delivering ten rapid lashes that welted up into angry red ridges each time. At seven in the morning I had collected perhaps three hours of fitful, freezing sleep along with sixty lashes across my torso.
She unshackled me and spoke a single sentence: "Dress and go to work, and remember to have your phone in-hand at all times."
I felt like a zombie as I pulled on my clothes. I drove to my house in a daze and felt my head reeling as I shaved and dressed for the day. I saw that it was nearly eight AM as I left the house. I was going to be late for work. Another first.
When I walked into the office at nearly a half-past eight, my secretary looked at me with wide eyes and blurted "Are you feeling okay? You look exhausted, Mr. Slade."
I grunted at her and got behind a closed door as quickly as possible. I reclined with my feet on the desk and fell asleep with the cell phone gripped tightly in my right hand. I'd tied a short piece of twine to the loop protruding from it, and the other end around my wrist. That way I wouldn't drop it accidentally.
A knocking on my door woke me. A loud knocking. I burst awake and called out "Come in!" I nervously tried to look alert and busy as I saw with a pang of light panic that the knocker was none other than Heather Barnett, the daughter of our company's owner. She'd caught me sleeping. She smiled knowingly and took a seat acoss my desk as I straightened up officiously.
"You okay?" asked the petite red-head. She was a college sophomore and was working as an intern during school breaks here. Busty, pretty, smart as a whip with a sarcastic sense of humor, and a superb dresser, all of the men in the office lusted after her while knowing that she was totaly off-limits. Her dad made that clear. While Mr. Barnett was the owner, he hardly ever showed up at the office. But when he did, it was a surprise and a grueling day under his watchful and critical eyes. Heather was his spy, of course. Being caught asleep by her wasn't wise.
"Yes, I'm okay, Heather," I replied.
"You look terrible, like you need sleep. Are you sick?" she persisted.
"Well, I am feeling a bit under the weather, but I'm fine."
"Good, because Dad sent me to tell you he needs a speed-up on the Chillco deal. He wants you and me to take them to lunch today and push on the upgrade contract so maybe we can get it on the books this quarter."
Agh, I thought to myself, a power lunch, today, of all things. And with Heather watching. I resigned myself to this Herculean deed and fetched a coffee after making plans to meet at a restaurant near the clent's office downtown. One PM would be the meeting time, and Heather would be there at quarter-to to go over the conversation plan with me.
At 12:45 I walked into the steakhouse feeling pretty good. Coffee had washed away the doldrums of sleepiness, and my head was on straight for this important meeting. We began to compare notes as we awaited the client in the lobby.
And a few minutes later, the phone rang. It was Martha. I answered immediately, keeping my voice low so that Heather wouldn't make out the "How may I serve you Goddess?" that I spoke into the mouthpiece.
"Why are you whispering, Mike?" asked my delectable Martha.
"I'm with a colleague about to have lunch with an important client," I briskly replied, hoping she'd understand my need to remain focused.
"Ah," she replied, "well, that's nice, but right now I need you to bring me a Mocacchino." She hung up.
I felt my heart leap as I considered my predicament. I simply could not leave this meeting to the boss's daughter, whom I was supposed to be mentoring, but if I didn't bring the Starbucks to Goddess immediately, I might lose her again. I formed a plan.
"Heather, that was my girlfriend. She was in a fender-bender and needs me. Can we delay this meeting or postpone it? Do you have the client's number?"
Heather nodded, seemingly understanding, and said "Go, go, don't worry, I'll call them and explain. I'll call you shortly with their reply, and try to set this up for a late lunch, say around 3PM, okay? Long enough?"
I nodded. "Yes, thanks, call me," and I rushed out to Starbucks.
Martha took her drink from me as I stripped and knelt in the corner of the foyer before her. She was in her sweats and barefoot again. Her black hair was in pigtails, and she looked simply perfect.
"I want to play with you for a little while," she said. "Do you have to go back to work?"
I explained the situation, and that I expected Heather's call, and told her how I'd gotten out of the lunch meeting, but that I had to go back. The phone rang. It was Heather.
"Give it to me," Martha said, reaching out her hand. She answered the phone.
"Hello, Mike's phone," she said.
I heard Heather's voice but couldn't make out the words. I only heard half of the conversation as follows:
"Well, I have a bit of a backache and a headache from the accident. I need Mike here," my Goddess told my boss's daughter.
After Heather's reply, Goddess spoke. "Well, I suppose I can do without him from three to five. But right now I need a servant because I'm a little banged up as you can imagine."
Heather again, and then Goddess: "Well, yeah, he might be the boss over there, but around here, he's my little servant. I need him back at five." And she hung up on the boss's daughter.
I remained nonplussed in appearance while spiking with internal anxiety. Now Heather knew a little too much about me.
"It's a little before two, Mike. You have to be back at the restaurant at three, so I have you for forty-five minutes. I need to punish you for having to leave me. And I want the punishment to continue while you go to your oh-so-important lunch. So right now, I'm going to beat your ass so you sit there in that restaurant feeling my unhappiness, and I'm going to stick some needles through your penis head to boot. So you can sit there through that, too. Go get over the end of my bed with your ass up and your knees on the floor."
I crawled behind her with my gaze locked onto her grimy bare heels until I was in position. Behind me, Goddess had taken a wire coat-hanger from her closet and had straightened it out to make a vicious thin steel whip.
"I'm going to punish you, now, Mike. I'm going to beat you on your buttocks with this whip for a half-hour, and then I'm going to push three acupuncture needles through the most sensitive part of your cock. Then, you're going to dress, go to your lunch, and as soon as it's over you'll call me for instructions. Do not call any later than five-fifteen."
She stood back as I waited with every hair on my kneeling body standing up. My face was pressed into the comforter covering her huge bed, and I inhaled her fragrance imbued into this black satin.
The first whipping lash came down. Martha, the petite little teenage Goddess, with her thin arms and girlish body, could generate quite a heavy blow. I spasmed as the thin steel bit into my ass with a loud smack, and felt a wound open and begin to seep blood. I bit down hard to squelch my instinctive cry. Not allowed.
Again and again, with a high-pitched squeak loosed from between her lips on each count of the downblasting hanger, she beat me viciously. She counted each blow, passed fifty, then one hundred. At one-hundred fifty-five, she stopped, panting. I writhed internally while remaning silent. I could feel dozens of rivulets of drying blood running down my thighs below my firey beaten welted ass. Not a square inch of skin was unblemished. I heard her pad away to the bathroom and return after a few moments.
A blaze of agony lit up my buttocks! She had soaked a small towel with alcohol and had draped it over my wounds! I writhed and barely stifled a cry. The burning set in ever-deeper. I felt the world spin as I saw stars. She pressed and dabbed relentlessly with the cloth, santizing, wiping up the blood.
"Get up and look at your ass in the mirror, Mike," she ordered. I stod and went to where she pointed. A full-length mirror was bolted to the back of her bedroom door. I turned and looked at my beaten rear end. It looked like raw pigskin that had been slashed over and over with a short razor. Some tiny droplets of blood seeped out of a few of the deeper welts. The alcohol had stopped the majority.
"Now, sit on the bed and put your legs under you. Spread your knees wide."
I exposed my crotch for her, feeling the burn resume in my ass-flesh as it pressed against the backs of my calves.
She pulled a stool over and sat between my spread knees. I locked onto her bare feet as was my standing order. She tantalizingly opened a small paper packet. Inside were three sterile acupuncture needles with light-blue plastic caps. The eedles were wicked in sharpness and three nches in length.
She picked my limp penis up with one hand and pinched a fold of skin near the head of my cock with the other. She rapidly pushed a needle all the way through. Electric pain lit up my nerves! And again, another needle, and then the third. Sweat broke out all over my face and forehead.
She picked up a spool of thread and began to wrap it around the needles tightly. "I'm just making sure they don't fall out," she told me as she tugged and tied without regard to my pain. I hardened up with the combination of this light sweet sharp pain and her callous sadistic attitude.
"Time for you to go to work, Mike. Enjoy your lunch. Call me by 5:15 or earlier. Dress and go."
And away I went, my welted sore butt pressed against the seat of my big Cadillac SUV while the needles burned like slivers in the rim of my circumcised cock. This was going to be an interesting lunch.
When I arrived back at the Japanese steakhouse, I saw Heather's little red Porsche was already parked there. She was in the lobby looking over the folder for this client. As I sat next to her on the padded bench, she looked up and wrinkled her nose. "I smell rubbing alcohol," she said.
Opps, I thought. "Yeah, I gave my girlfriend a back-rub."
Heather nodded, seemingly satisfied. We discussed strategy. My ass burned. My cock stayed semi-hard. The needles caused involuntary twinges and twitches, but controllable. The lunch went well. The clients departed at 4:30 with a promise to consider moving up our contract commencement. Heather and I spoke wrap-up talk in the lobby as I charged the meal to my corporate account.
Then, Heather switched gears suddenly. "So, you like to be the boss at the office, but at home you're your girlfriend's servant, eh, Mr. Slade?" She was smiling devilishly. The 20-year-old redhead had perfect white teeth behind those beestung lips, and her face was cherubic. Her childhood freckles had almost faded, and her eyes were long-lashed and deep blue. She wore a conservative gray business suit that couldn't hide her lush round breasts. I thought I could see slight impressions of her nipples, but I may have imagined it.
I shook it off with a wry smile. "Oh, no, she was just kidding around," I chuckled.
Heather kept on smiling. "No, I know about guys like you. I'll keep it our little secret," she said, and dropped it. I called my Goddess within seconds of Heather leaving the restaurant with our mission accomplished.
"How's your ass, Mike?" was her first question.
"Blazing, Goddess."
"Yes, but I'm still pissed about your business interfering with my day, so get over here and I'm going to continue punishing you." She hung up.
I spent the third night of the thirty-day test period tied to a hook hanging from the ceiling of Martha's bedroom. She had blindfolded and shackled me, then had me hook my cuffed wrists over the heavy steel loop above while standing on a stool. She then removed the stool so that I hung a foot above the hardwood floor of her sleeping chamber. She tightened my ankle chain to bring them tightly together.
From six o'clock to ten o'clock she kept me hanging there as she whipped me with various items. She'd take breaks to go watch TV or play on her computer, then return with a new implement and beat me until she was tired. She used six different items over the four hours, leaving me beaten and bloody with stripes all over from the leather belt she started with to the wire hanger she finished with, and the metal spatula, extension cord, yardstick, and ping-pong paddle in between. She drove me to silent tears. Blood droplets spattered the floor below me.
When she huffed and puffed to a finish, she dropped the hanger to the floor and departed. She left me to hang for a while as I calmed down in fiery pain. She'd welted my ass, my thighs, my chest, and my back. She'd removed the penis needles about midway through the beating.
At about 10:30 PM, she re-entered and put the stool under me. She ordered me down and into the corner. She made a list as I knelt.
At 11:00 she handed me the list and gave me the order. "Finish these chores, then dress and go home. Keep your cell on-hand, of course."
I gazed at the list and mourned a third night of little sleep. There were ten items.
1) Do the laundry, including my bed linens.
2) Re-make the bed.
3) Do the dishes and scrub the kitchen floor.
4) Take out the trash and scrub the inside of the trash cans with the hose by the back door.
5) Scrub all kitchen counters and the sink.
6) Tongue-clean the ring of my toilet.
7) Tongue-clean the shoes I wore today and put them away in the shoe closet.
8) Vacuum the entire house except my bedroom rugs as I plan to sleep now.
9) Swiffer all non-carpeted floors.
10) On the bathroom vanity, you will find my toenail clippings from earlier today. Put them under your tongue. I will tell you when you can remove them. Go to work with them in your mouth. Dress and go when done.
When I came to the final item, I smiled a bit. How creatively dominant this girl was!
By the time I located the little slivers of her clipped toenails it was nearly three in the morning. I popped the small pile into my mouth and sucked on her precious bodily discards. I put them under my tongue and drove home where I set the alarm and dropped into bed at nearly three-thirty in the morning.
I slept right through my alarm, and I slept right through my house phone's ringing. When my cell rang, I awoke immediately, however, and blurted "How may I serve you, Goddess?" into the tiny microphone.
But it wasn't Martha on the line. It was Heather. Calling to see where I was. And to tell me that the clients wanted to finalize over a late lunch. And to tell me that her father had showed up at the office. And that he had called twice to see about my whereabouts and that I needed to get in there right away.
But before she told me all that, she laughed out loud at my mistaken greeting. "Goddess, huh?" she laughed, "Well, here's how you can serve me. Get in here right now, because we have a lunch date to nail down that deal from yesterday, AND my Dad's in ere today, AND he's called for you. Hurry! I told him you looked sick yesterday. You owe me."
She hung up and I blinked at the horrible display I saw on my alarm clock. It was nearly ten in the morning. I was already two hours late. I slaped myself together, got a giant coffee from the Starbucks drive-thru, and dragged into work. At least I'd gotten six hours of sleep. I absentmindedly toyed my tongue around the toenail clippings in my mouth.
The owner grunted at me, but had no words about my unusual lateness. I began to prep for the lunch meeting and occupied myself over multiple coffees until the early afternoon. My cell remained tehered to my wrist.
Heather bopped into my office at two in the afternoon. She was very fetchingly attired in a tight black argyle sweater and a gray woolen skirt. She wore spiky black knee-high boots. Her soft reddish-blonde hair was down, and she seemed to glow. Her Dad was quite happy about the work with this client.
"Three o'clock lunch again, Mr. Slade," she told me, "and we need to SERVE these clients. You know about SERVING, right?" She giggled.
I pretended to ignore her hinting. She went on, gleefully.
"So, who did you think was caling this morning? Your girlfriend? Your girlfriend-mistress?" She stared right at me and giggled.
I was thankful she'd closed my office door. I shook my head and tried to laugh her off. But she got serious and spoke in low, conspiratorial tones. "Do you and your girlfriend play role-play? Like, you play as her slave?"
Her eyes were wide and curious as she asked this. I looked up and whispered back. "No, Heather, not seriously. It's just a little joke."
"But," continued the pretty little co-ed boss's daughter, "you do play at being her slave, right?"
I didn't know what to say. "Let's get ready for the meeting," I finally ordered as firmly as I could.
"Sure," she said, still smirking, as she flounced out.
We nailed the contract.
In the lobby after the clients departed with paperwork to run past their Legal people, Heather and I remained for a quick wrap-up. "We did good," she said. I nodded. The girl had actually contributed to the deal with intelligence and charm.
"Yes, we did, and you did too," I responded.
"And now you go to your Mistress and get your spanky-spanky, right?" she giggled.
I played dumb again as she looked at me with that innocent curiosity. Just then, my phone rang. Martha.
And right in front of Heather, I answered as I was required: "How may I serve you, Goddess?"
Heather burst into another peal of giggles as Martha said "Who's with you?"
"A colleague, Goddess. The boss's daughter, Heather Barnett."
Martha was silent for a moment, then said "Did she hear you answer the phone?"
"Yes, Goddess."
"Let me speak to her, Mike," ordered Martha.
"She wants to talk to you, Heather," I said as I handed her the phone.
Eyebrows up, clearly in thrall, Heather spoke to Martha. "Yes?"
"You work with Mike?" asked Goddess.
"Yep, I'm Heather. I intern for my Dad."
"And you go on meetings with Mike?"
"When Dad wants me to learn how to talk to clients, yeah," she replied.
"And what has he told you about me?"
"Nothing, I just guessed," replied Heather. I watched helplessly, sweat breaking, as I wondered how this would play out.
"Well, I am testing him to be my slave. He's on his fourth day, and if he is perfect for thirty days, I'm going to take over his life. As my property."
Heather gaped in awe. "Coooooool," was all she could say.
"Do you want to come watch?" asked my Goddess.
"Um, I guess, sure! When?"
"Well, he's about to get an order from me to come here. Why don't you follow him over?"
"Okay!" the redhead chirped brightly, "Excellent!"
"Heather," continued Goddess Martha, "How old are you?"
"Twenty, I'm a sophomore in college."
"Well, I'm only eighteen. And look what I have going! Now, tell Mike to show you what he has in his mouth."
I showed her the toenail clippings.
"Those are my toenail clippings," Goddess told the thunderstruck girl. "Tell him to eat them."
I chewed and swallowed as she watched.
Heather was again dumbstruck, but smirking. She'd been interested in the dark side of sexuality for a few years, but this was her first actual contact with its practitioners.
"Cooooool," was again her only reply.
"Give the phone to Mike," Goddess requested.
I took it, and saw the wide-eyed mirth on Heather's flushed face as I took Goddess's orders. Come straight there. Heather will be following. Act as if she wasn't there. I acknowledged, and within twenty minutes I was kneeling naked in the foyer corner as the two young women stood behind me in happy conversation.
"Look at all those whip-marks!" exclaimed Heather.
"Yes, I beat him a lot yesterday. I beat slaves a lot, so I have to test them before they become my slaves."
"What's your plan for tonight?" asked Heather.
"Well, you and I will be served dinner, and then we'll play with the male piece of shit. Do you want to see him get humiliated, or do you want to see him get punished?"
Heather thought for a moment before answering. "Well, I have to go home and study in a couple hours, so what takes less time?"
"Punishment," replied my Goddess.
"Punishment it is, then," Heather happily agreed.
===>
I was tied down to Martha's bed with my face pressed into a pillow. My ankles were spread wide and my wrists tied to opposite bedposts. Another fat pillow was under my hips, raising my ass.
"Heather, I want you to look around the house and find five things that you want to see Mike punished with. I'll be watching TV while we make him wait. But... do you want to humiliate him a little bit before we go?"
"Sure," Heather answered, "But how?"
"Well, let's make him smell your dirty panties. Why don't you take them off and we'll put them over his face?"
"Why don't we make him smell some shit, instead?" was the girl's surprising response.
"Whoa!" replied Martha, "You're getting ahead here. What do you propose?"
My cock began to surge as this new twist unfolded.
"Well," Heather began, "I think it would be fun to poop and then wipe, then put the toilet paper under his nose."
"Okay, but I don't need to go," Martha stated temorously.
"I do," said the redhead, and off she went to the bathroom.
And for the next hour as Heather searched for punishment devices, I breathed in the thick scent of her fresh shit. She'd clotted up a wad of toilet paper with a good lump of her waste and had shoved it right into my nostrils. Martha had gagged my mouth with her dirty panties so that every breath I took was forced across the wad of paper soiled with the beautiful young woman's excrement.
Heather found five things that she wanted to see me punished with. She brought them to Martha and I could hear them discussing before they entered the bedroom where I was restrained tightly.
It turned out that Heather was not only creative, but enthusiastic. The young redhead had delivered a three-foot length of rubber hose that she'd found in the garage, a fraternity paddle that had been in a box in a closet, a whippy plastic switch that had once been a stem for a huge fake rose, a long piece of spring steel that was once a part to an appliance, and a disposable diaper that had been the last one in a forgotten package from when Martha had babysat for her cousin.
"What's the diaper for?" asked Martha, intrigued.
"I want to put it on, and while I watch you punish him, I want to go in my pants. Then I want to put the diaper on his face while you finish the punishment."
Wow. Heather was into this. Goddess laughed. "Okay! Why not? Go ahead and put it on."
And so began the fourth night of my month-long test. It marked Heather's first night, and she would become an occasional participant as the saga unfolded.
The beating commenced. Martha started with the rubber hose, lashing my striped ass and re-opening the crusted welts, and before long Heather had been handed the second implement. She began to beat me, harder than my Goddess, with more rapid strokes, using the heavy wooden frat paddle to bludgeon my striped asscheeks with mighty force. Blazing fire gave way to numbness as the beating went on. Heather seemed never to tire. She was vicious.
Eventually, I passed out from the pain. The women did not even notice until Heather had soiled her diaper and wanted to put it over my face. She found me unconscious when she grasped my hair. I awoke groggily.
The frenzied women worked through the plastic switch with its fake thorns, and then the wicked metal strip, leaving me notched and cut and bloody. They beat me into unconsciousness again. Gleefully.
When they were too tired to whip any more, they left me. They made themselves a snack and waited for me to come around. When I awoke, Goddess was right there with my list for the night.
Heather was showered and had to go home, but she watched as Goddess untied me and had me get into the corner. She explained that I was given a list of slave chores every night. She showed it to Heather.
"So this is why he's so beat at work," she exclaimed.
"Yes, to break a male, you must work him to exhaustion."
"I see."
Martha had one more thing to say as I listened meekly in the corner. "Heather is now part of our secret, Mike. And at work, she'll keep the secret, but you will remember that she is your superior in every way other than company title. And she will be watching you and reporting to me."
Heather giggled, ruffled my hair playfully, and sweetly said "Goodnight, 'Boss'!"
And away she went.
I read the list that Goddess placed in my hand. It was nearly midnight, my rear was bleeding in fifty places, I was utterly exhausted, and I had to be in at eight in the morning. The list was long.
When I got home at five in the morning I dropped into bed to catch as much sleep as possible.
I dragged through work on the fifth day.
At quarter to six, nearly leaving time, Heather bopped into my office and closed the door.
===>
To be continued.
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