Toy for the Mistress

The gentle, tender sun touches my face. The wind carries the scents of the ocean. Silent footsteps, and the slave comes out to me on the terrace. A thought barely has time to flash—how dare he disrupt the ritual—but the boy is already sinking to his knees. Instantly, a shiver runs through my body. This is what rituals are for—to evoke such a response. For some, it might be something simple, like now, when the bottom kneels without being ordered.

The new slave is very young and beautiful. He is obedient, and often there is nothing to punish him for. But I have always been drawn precisely to punishment and humiliation. He carries out all orders with quiet joy

and such gratitude that I understand he truly wants to know the joy of submission. My tastes are changing. Before, I found pleasure in taming; now I enjoy submission. I lie with my eyes closed, but I feel his gaze. He leans in and kisses my hand, barely touching and very slowly, as if hesitating. After all, my reaction could be unpredictable.

He remembered very well how sensitive my hands are. The boy begins to rub against my hand like a kitten, and now it seems I can hear a crackling from the skin of this gentle animal. The kiss on the palm is so pleasant. Those lips are tender and respectful. I open my eyes. How thrilling a kneeling man looks, especially in a collar. An exchange of glances, and now my fingers are in his mouth. He begins to suck fiercely, working them as if giving a blowjob to a cock. The sharp transition from slow tenderness to such a fierce display of passion stirs a storm of emotions. I am aroused to the limit. Yet, it reaches my consciousness that he is brazenly looking into my face. I slap him.

 — How dare you?!

He "swayed," comprehended his insolence, and his pupils dilated from it. He forgot himself and was put in his place. The slave's essence enjoys such reminders. The slave cannot answer—his mouth is occupied. Work, my boy! I notice he is in swim trunks. I order him to take them off, but I don't remove my fingers and don't allow him to rise from his knees. It's awkward for him, and the pose is humiliating. Now I will allow him to look into my eyes. A slave best appreciates his lower position. Let him enjoy the slave cocktail.

BDSM games have immense variety, but the goals are the same. Humiliation, torment, exhaustion, pain, suffering, endurance of pain, and complete submission to the will of the Top. His previous Mistress discovered in him a good ability to recover. Although I prefer the stories of how she tormented him with orgasm denial for many days.

Finally, my slave carried out the order and remained only in his collar. A detail dear to my heart. His cock was excessively aroused. I took his nipple and pulled it towards me. His cock jerked and became even redder. Then I began twisting his nipples one after the other, observing the reaction. He moaned softly, which aroused me greatly.

His pleading gaze fell on the high-heeled shoes standing next to the lounge chair. He loves trampling. I remember that, but it's too early. I ordered him to bring a dish of fruit and a bowl for the slave and allowed him to move on all fours.

 — It will be done, Mistress, may I proceed?

Magnificent buttocks presented themselves before me. Well, how right those women were when, in some sociological survey, they identified them as the most sexual part of a man. He returned quite quickly and assumed my favorite pose of submission—kneeling, chest pressed to the floor, arms stretched forward and crossed, forehead resting on his hands.

After tossing some food into the bowl, I allowed the slave to eat. But he did not change his pose. A slave never starts eating before his Mistress!

 — You are my good one!

 — Thank you, Mistress. I allowed him to kiss my hand. It was amusing to watch the slave in an absurd, humiliated pose eating without using his hands—a cute puppy.

Afterwards, I made myself more comfortable and forced him to masturbate while kneeling.

 — The slave obeys, Mistress. Where do You permit me to cum?

 — On the floor, of course.

 — And lick it off the floor?

 — Of course. — I was unpleasantly surprised. A good slave is an active slave; it's better to be punished for excessive zeal in serving the Mistress than to cause dissatisfaction with passivity or unwillingness to carry out an order.

 — I won't do that!

 — And what is this now?

 — I came on Mistress's feet and cleaned everything... but not on the floor!

 — And I say—as I like it! Do it!

 — I understand. Okay, Mistress.

 — But afterwards, I will punish you. For disobedience. If a slave forgets himself, and his tone becomes unforgivably free—the slave must ask for forgiveness and be punished. Do you remember that, you wretch?

 — Yes, Mistress.

My little cherub had a beautiful cock. There was practically no flaw in his appearance. — You will cum exactly in one minute—time starts now!

 — Okay, Mistress.

There was a special piquancy in such a humiliating situation—I was enjoying the process. What I was doing to the slave, my absolute power, brought me to orgasm. I amused myself watching the funny processes of the male body. He came within the time I set and licked everything up.

 — The slave is guilty (eyes on the floor), the slave begs for punishment, Mistress.

It was clear he wasn't dreaming of punishment, but even such submissive toys make mistakes. The punishment was cruel. I ordered him to put his hands behind his back, put handcuffs on him, attached a leash to his collar. And pulling on the strap, I stood him facing the wall. The terrace was flooded with bright sun, and he had to stand in the scorching heat for two hours. Moreover, I didn't allow him to wash down the semen he licked off the floor.

Usually, a slave wants to behave well. I don't think with this slave I will often encounter constant disobedience. This is more of an exception. It's enough to make this boy understand that from now on, every violation of this or that rule will be punished.

My dear angel endured the punishment to the end. True, he had to crawl to me and kiss my feet, which was difficult after standing in one position for so long, but who should care—a merciless Mistress is something special, isn't that right, my boy?

 — I adore You, Mistress... I just couldn't not say it—it's just, from inside, everything is bursting... such feelings.

 — Answer me, why do you need a Mistress?

 — I want to be a toy for the Mistress, to give her pleasure. I merely fulfill all Your whims and desires. I want to submit to You completely and in everything.

I removed the metal handcuffs, but instead put leather ones on his feet and hands and blindfolded him. Ordered him to lie on the floor, on his back. Then the phone rang.

 — Rest a little—he smiled gratefully.

There were special brackets embedded in my floor, not noticeable from the side. Opening them, I tied my toy's widely spread arms and legs. Just today I bought new shoes, specifically for this boy. The heel was very thin and made of metal.

 — I want to stand on you. Don't you dare scream!

Placing my foot on his chest, I began to press down, at first not too hard, as

if testing. Then, increasing the pressure until my other foot was in the air. Probably, it hurt him, and he let out a quiet moan. Or perhaps it was a moan of pleasure mixed with slight pain? An order followed:

 — Open your mouth!

Smiling contentedly, I ran the toe of my shoe over his lips

 — My Mistress is smiling, I know. — He surprised me once again.

Meanwhile, I inserted the heel into his obligingly opened mouth. I didn't need to spur the slave on—he began greedily and diligently sucking it. I got bored of this fairly quickly. I wanted to cause pain. My slave was aroused enough that this mixture of pleasure and pain would elevate his heightened senses even higher towards bliss. I drove the heel into his nipple, first one, then the other.

 — Look into my eyes, you wretch! Realize your place! Feel the power over you!

I love watching the moment when a completely immobilized slave realizes his helplessness and insignificance and that I can do whatever comes to mind. My boy was detached; he felt so good alone with himself, with his pain and simultaneous pleasure, that he "flew away." And his cock, by all appearances, was rock-hard. I sat in the armchair and began moving the toe of my foot over his perineum, stomach, chest. Then I took a crop and began lightly slapping his cock. Moan, moan, my footstool, I only feel a surge of energy and arousal from this. It only seems like you're suffering; in reality, you want more and more. Moan louder! And I will prolong our pleasure.

Meanwhile, I stepped on his jaw with one foot. His head jerked sharply to the side and pressed his face into the floor. Stay like that, baby, you look very good, believe me. Yes, needless to say, his body was beautiful, especially now, when his muscles tensed and rippled, his breathing was convulsive, and his erection persistent.

His trembling appearance softened me, and I eased the pressure of my foot a little.

 — Take off my shoes, slave!

A difficult task for someone tied up, but nothing is impossible. Fumbling with the straps for a long time, he finally managed to unfasten the shoes with his teeth. Next time, I'll have to make him do it against the clock. If he doesn't make it—punishment! I've missed punishment by spanking.

 — Well, kitten, do you know what the Mistress wants?

 — Yes, Mistress, feet. The slave's tongue was stumbling from excitement. He worshiped the Mistress's feet. It was always curious to watch him try to lick the sole, paying special attention to the toes, all together and each separately. Those circular rotations with his tongue drove me crazy. Losing control, I reached into my panties and began to masturbate. The slave continued working his tongue like mad; he sensed he could increase the rotations. Orgasm. It's impossible to describe in words.

Author's e-mail — аn_f_v@mаil.ru