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As many of my faithful readers are aware, awhile back I arranged for my sister to help my dear friend Becky explore that dark, submissive side of her personality — the one that haunts many of us, and would cause us to die of embarrassment if anyone ever found out. (If you are reading my work for the first time, the posting is: Becky’s Instruction).

While Becky and I were working on the story, I kept finding myself wishing that I too could somehow find the courage to take the step that she had, and dare to surrender complete control to another woman. Now granted (on several occasions in the safety of cyber-space), I had “played the game”; but listening to Becky describe how it felt to be at Deanna’s mercy made me realize that my encounters were of a far different nature, and that if I truly wanted to know what it was like, there was only one thing I could do. The only question: would Becky be willing to help?

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

I arrived at Becky’s lake house shortly after noon on a warm Saturday in late September. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue, with a few big, white, fluffy clouds drifting lazily by. I got out of my car, and walked slowly along the brick path that lead to the large, front porch. The wooden steps granting access creaked under my weight. The sound of my heels on the pine decking as I walked to the front door seemed to echo across the water. Palms sweating, I rang the bell.

A moment passed. Then another. After what seemed an eternity, Becky came to the door, and stepped out. My eyes darted over her. Her shoulder-length blond hair tinged with gray. The long-sleeve man’s shirt with the top three buttons open. The black, leather skirt cut just above her knee. The dark stockings. The ankle high boots with spike heels.

“Right on time.” she said.

I stood perfectly still as Becky circled me. Each step she took resounded in my ears.

“Take off your jacket, and give it to me.” she said, with a coldness in her voice I had never heard before.

Without hesitation, I removed my blazer, handed it to her and watched her fold it neatly and lay it on the chair beside her.

“Now your skirt.”

Like before, without hesitation, I removed my skirt and handed it to her. Like my blazer, she folded it neatly and laid it on the chair.

“Your blouse.”

With fingers trembling, I unbuttoned my blouse, took it off and handed it to Becky. She draped it over her arm, then said: “Your bra.”

I unhooked the front closure, then eased the straps from my shoulders and allowed them to slip down. Becky held out her hand. I placed my bra in it. “Now your panties.”

For some reason, I turned and looked out on the lake. Not too far from shore were two men in a boat fishing. My heart began to pound.

“Don’t make me tell you twice.”

Hurriedly, I removed my panties and handed them to Becky. “Now your stockings.”

With even more speed, I kicked off my heels and removed my stockings. I straightened — eyes focused on the boat — and offered them out.

“Does something on the lake interest you?”

“The men in the boat . . .” I said, my voice trailing off.

“Didn’t your online sessions with Victoria teach you anything?!”

My mind raced. Instantly, I knew what she meant. “No Mistress. I mean: yes Mistress. I’m sorry, Mistress.”

Once more, Becky circled me. She laid my blouse and the rest of my clothing on the chair, then moved behind me. Her right hand reached around me. The heel of her hand pressed into my unshorn mound, while her fingers rested against my pussy lips.

“My, my.” she whispered in my ear, “You sure are wet down there. I was going to have you masturbate for me for a while, but I doubt you’d last a full minute.”

She removed her hand. “Put your shoes back on.”

Almost falling in the attempt, I did as my Mistress instructed.

Her face expressionless, Becky reached into her shirt pocket and took out a pair of alligator-style nipple clamps, that were linked by a heavy gold chain. Without saying a word, she fitted the first clamp in place and turned the set screw until I involuntarily whimpered.

She repeated the process on my other nipple.

“The rules are simple.” Mistress Becky began, “You will do exactly as I tell you when I tell you, or you will suffer the consequences.’

A noise on the lake made me turn to see if the fishermen were still oblivious to me, or . . .

“Christina! Would you be happier if I invited them to join us?!”

“No Mistress! Please. No.”

“Then I suggest that you put them out of your mind, or that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

“Yes Mistress.”

Becky circled me once more. “Masturbate for me! But don’t you dare cum!” she commanded.

“Yes Mistress.”

I closed my eyes, dropped my right hand down between my legs, and began giving myself a slow finger-fuck. Maybe it was my imagination; maybe not, but as my fingers gave my clit the teasing of its life, I could have sworn that I heard my two nemesis on the lake egging me on.

“Stop!” Mistress Becky commanded.

Without a moment’s hesitation, casino şirketleri I removed my now-sticky fingers from my pussy, and stood with my arms at my side.

“Lick them clean.”

As instructed, I brought my fingers to my lips, extended my tongue, and hungrily lapped up my juices.

“Your admirers have moved off.” Mistress Becky said, “I wonder if they enjoyed your show.”

I could feel my face flush with embarrassment.

“No matter. Pick up your clothes and come with me.”

“Yes Mistress.”

Becky opened the door and stepped inside. I followed. She directed me to the center of the room, then sat down in an overstuffed chair and seductively crossed her legs. I couldn’t help but stare as she inched the hem of her skirt upward. At fifty-eight, her legs still looked great. I could only hope that mine would look that good in another twelve years.

“Put your clothes on the library table.”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Christina; does the phrase ‘Be careful what you ask for because you might just get it.’ mean anything to you?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“I’m glad; because I must tell you, before I gave myself over to Deanna, it didn’t for me.”

Becky raised both eyebrows, and nodded as she spoke, “It does now.”

Her message was clear.

“When I was going back to school,” Becky said, almost lectured, “my human sexuality class barely touched on the erotic nature of one woman being submissive to another. I’m not sure why, since having a firm understanding of ‘control issues’ is key, to being a good counselor.”

A combination of fear and anticipation welled in me.

“Unless I miss my guess,” she continued, “the idea of having to obey my every command or suffer the consequences terrifies you. But here you are. Naked. Ready and willing.

“Put your hands behind your head and interlace your fingers!”

The sudden change in Becky’s tone startled me. Without hesitation I did as told. Immediately, I could feel my breasts lift up; my nipples strain against the clamps. Becky rose to her feet and strutted over to me. As before, she circled me.

“Ask me to touch your boobies.”

“Please Mistress, touch my . . . boobies.”

From behind, Becky’s fingertips grazed my hot flesh.

“Beg me to squeeze them.” she breathed into my ear.

“Please Mistress, please squeeze my boobies. Please?!”

The mauling was swift in coming. Rough, almost painful.

“Beg me to tighten the clamps!”

“Please Mistress. . .” I heard myself say, “Tighten the nipple clamps. Please?”

A quarter turn to each caused me to yelp in pain.

Becky returned to her chair and struck the same, seductive pose. “Masturbate for me!”

I unclasped my fingers and reached down between my legs and began to finger-fuck myself.

“Mmm. Yesss.” Becky hissed, “Now pinch your clit. Hard!”

A moment’s hesitation on my part. “Pinch it! Hard!”

“Yes Mistress.”

Another yelp.


Another yelp.




With tears of pain welling in my eyes, I gladly obeyed.

“Clasp your hands again.” Becky instructed.

“To say that I learned a lot about myself when I was at Deanna’s hands,” she continued, “would be an understatement. Hopefully, before this day is through, you will have learned things about yourself that will help you be a better lover to Aaron, and that will make you a little more willing to give up control to those around you. Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes Mistress.”

Becky rose to her feet and approached me. Her soft fingers roamed over my breasts; so deftly that my flesh chilled, and my nipples tried to grow harder.

Over . . . around . . . down to my rib cage . . . down to my hips . . . over to my mound.

She held me in her penetrating stare. Unblinking; unrelenting stare. I swallowed hard, unable to look away.

Her fingers combed my maiden curls. Danced through them. Teased them. Took hold of them, and tugged on them. Gently at first; then more and more viciously.

I drew a sharp breath.

“Did I hurt you?” Becky asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

My mind raced. “No Mistress.” I lied.

An even more vicious pull. “That was for trying to deceive me.”

Another vicious pull. “That was to serve as a reminder of whose in charge here.”

“Yes Mistress. Thank you Mistress.”

Becky ran here right hand over my breasts, then, without warning, tugged hard on the chain linking my aching nipples. “Put your arms to your sides and follow me.”

“Yes Mistress.”

For reasons I can’t explain, I couldn’t keep my eyes off Becky’s swaying, behind. The way the leather clung to her slightly plump hips: accentuating them, was so . . . erotic. I closed my eyes, and was greeted by an image of her lover, Sam, taking her hard and fast, doggy-style; his long, thick cock stretching her backdoor to its limits.

I followed Becky down the hall to the master bedroom, and into its spacious private bath. “Get on your knees, right cheek on the floor, your tight, young ass in the air.”

Without casino firmaları hesitation, I dropped to my knees and rested my cheek against the cool tile.

“Did you enjoy ‘checking out’ my butt?”

How did she know?! Dumb question. How could I have resisted?

“Yes Mistress.”

Becky donned rubber gloves, then sat on the edge of the tub next to me. “Do you remember the first story we collaborated on? The one about how Rachel gave me an enema and helped prepare me for my first time having anal sex?”

“Yes Mistress. I remember.”

She took out a tube of k-y and coated the index finger of her right hand, liberally. With a deftness that is without peer, she traced concentric circles around my tight hole, moving closer and closer to her prize.

“Do you remember how gentle Rachel was with me?”

“Yes mistress.”

“Well, please understand that I have no intention of being so with you.”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Aaaagh!” In a single thrust, Becky’s finger was buried inside me.

“Oooo.” Just as quickly, it was removed.

Becky reached back and picked up the enema bag that was laying in the tub. She turned on the water, waited for it to get just beyond tepid, then filled the bag to the two-quart line.

I braced, as her left hand spread my cheeks. Tried to relax, as the tip of the nozzle moved deeper inside me. Listened to my heart pound as Becky stood and hooked the bag to the shower rod.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes Mistress.”

Becky released the hose clamp. Almost instantly, the warm rush began to move through my bowels. In no time, the fullness in my belly turned to discomfort. “Please Mistress?” I said as meekly as I possibly could, “No more?”

A sharp slap to my vulnerable ass gave me my answer.

The next; and the next; and the next; and the next reinforced it.

“Im’s sorry Mistress. I’m sorry.”

Another flurry of slaps to my now tingling rear made me wonder what I’d been thinking.

“Christina, Christina, Christina.”

The tone of Becky’s voice was a mix of anger and amusement.

“Are you deliberately trying my patience?”

“No Mistress. It’s just that . . .”

“Silence! One more word and your discomfort will be compounded by an anal figging! Do I make myself clear?!”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Good. Now, to prevent you from ending this little exercise too soon, I’m going to remove the nozzle, and replace it with a retention plug.”

I glanced back, and was horrified by what I saw. The plug was huge! Its bulbous head looked to be a good two inches in diameter, and abruptly tapered back into a smooth and straight shaft that was at least four inches long. Its base was wide, and perfectly contoured to nestle right in between my reddened cheeks.

Becky placed the heal of her hand at the top of my crack and used her fingers to spread me as wide as she could. Without ceremony, she removed the nozzle. With even less, she forcefully, mercilessly drove the plug into me.

“Oh god!!!! Take it out. Please! Take it out! Please Mistress! Please!”

Another flurry of slaps.

“Stand up! Into the bedroom!”

Trying to ignore the pain, I rocked back on my heels and rose to my feet. Becky placed her hands on the edge of the tub and pushed off. She pointed to the open door. I walked. Uncomfortably.

“Laying on the bed is a french maid outfit. Put it on!”

I took one look at the sexy peek-a-boo set; and could feel my face begin to flush. To give you a quick description, it was a satin teddy with lace cups and a thong back; and an accompanying lace apron, headband and ribbon neck tie. In short: a costume that would drive most men into a feeding frenzy.


“Yes Mistress.”

As quickly as I good, I slipped into the barely-there teddy, and adjusted the skimpy fabric to cover as much as possible. Which wasn’t much. I then put on the frilly apron, black bow tie and matching headband.

Like before, Becky circled me. Inspecting me.

“Very nice. I especially like the way it shows off that crimson ass of yours.”

“Thank you Mistress.”

Another flurry of slaps to my still-hot backside. I winced, but somehow managed to avoid uttering a sound.

“Next time, I use a ping pong paddle! Understood?!”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Now, since you are dressed the part, I suggest you get busy cleaning the living room. The feather duster is on the coffee table.”

“Yes Mistress.”

“When you’ve finished, every piece of furniture had better be spotless. If it’s not; well, let’s hope we don’t have to cross that bridge.”

“Yes Mistress.”

Between the burning in my rump from the untold spanks, the painful stretching of the plug, the fullness in my bowels, and the pain in my straining nipples, I was anything but contented.

Becky settled into the overstuffed chair and seductively crossed her legs. “Christina? As you set about your chores, bend only at the waist.”

“Yes Mistress.”

I picked up the duster and began to clean the coffee table. As I did, the first wave of cramping struck without güvenilir casino warning. Involuntarily, I clutched my middle. “Mmmgh.” I whimpered.

“Did you say something, Christina?”

“No Mistress.”

Another wave. Another whimper.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes . . .” another wave, “Mistress.”

I straightened, and turned my attention to the collection of candle holders that ranged across the mantle. I could feel Becky’s stare on my tingling butt.

“The color in your cheeks is beginning to fade.” she said, “Should I restore it?”

“If it pleases you Mistress.” I said without hesitation, hoping that it didn’t. Please her, that is.


I could hear Becky uncross then re-cross her legs. I waited, regretting my answer.

Another wave, almost doubling me over. Another whimper.

“Perhaps later.”

“Yes Mistress.”

The pressure inside me was growing unbearable. I moved on to the end table. Another wave. I couldn’t help but moan.

“Christina. You said something?”

“No Mistress.”

“Then what was that noise?”

“A groan, Mistress.”

“A groan?”

“Yes Mistress.”

Another wave. Another; and another.

“Please Mistress . . .” my voiced trailed off, remembering the promised punishment for the next time I spoke out of turn.

“Please Mistress, what?! Twenty strokes with the ping pong paddle?!”

“No Mistress. I’m sorry Mistress. It’s just that . . .”

Another wave almost brought me to my knees. “Please Mistress. I need to relieve myself. The pain is unbelievable!”

Becky stood, then circled me. From behind, she caressed the straps from my shoulders and urged them down until my breasts were exposed, and my arms pinned to my sides. Without saying a word, she moved in front of me and took hold of the chain linking my sore nipples. She tugged, lifting my breasts upward.

“Follow me.”

My aching nipples didn’t need to be told twice. Nor did my feet, when my little twin buds screamed ‘move!’ at the top of their lungs.

“Finish taking off your costume.” Becky said when we reached the bathroom.

“Yes Mistress.”

In a heartbeat, I was naked.

“Now bend over. Hands on the tub.”

Without hesitation, I complied.

Becky rested her hand in the small of my back, took hold of the plug and yanked it from me with a resounding ‘pop’! I struggled to retain the enema.

“I’m going to step outside to give you some privacy; even though you haven’t earned it. What I want you to do is count to five — slowly — then you may relieve yourself.”

“Thank you Mistress.”

“Start counting.”

“One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five.”

With little time to spare, my punished rear met the coolness of the toilet seat, and the contents of my bowels gushed out.

“When you’ve finished, come in here so we can begin the next phase.” Becky called from the other room.

“Yes Mistress.”

As I sat on the porcelain throne, the soreness in my rear and the throbbing in my nipples took center stage. I wanted desperately to remove those tormenting alligator clamps, or to at least loosen them, but fearing the consequences, thought better of it.

A little voice inside me repeated: ‘Fearing the consequences’. Again, with emphasis: ‘Fearing, the consequences’. ‘Why?’ it questioned, ‘You are free to refuse at anytime. If things grow too intense for you, all you need do is say: “No more.” and the game is over. Those are the rules. . .”

The little voice was right. So why was I afraid? Was it because if I did refuse, or did end the game early, that I would never again have the opportunity to find out just what it was like to truly be subordinate to the whims of another woman? Was it because having to admit that Aaron was right and that I couldn’t go through with it was a fate worse than death?

“Christina! Don’t keep me waiting!”

“Yes Mistress.”

I guess I’ll never know.


I got up. Flushed the toilet and hurried into the bedroom

“Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

“Yes Mistress.”

Becky wrapped each of my wrists with hospital restraints, and tied the ends together. She then turned me around and removed the nipple clamps. The sudden rush of blood back into my numb teats caused an ache like I’d never experienced before. “Get on the bed. On your knees.”

Without hesitation, I walked to the foot of the bed, brought my right knee up, and then my left.

“In further.”

“Yes Mistress.”

I neared the center of the bed. “Stop. That’s far enough.”

Becky took three bed pillows and formed a small pyramid just in front of me. “Lean forward until your hips are resting on the top pillow, and your cheek is on the bed.”

“Yes Mistress.”

With ease, I assumed the position.

“Spread your legs as far as you can.”

“Yes Mistress.”

I could feel my sticky pussy lips begin to separate, as my nether regions grew more and more vulnerable.

“Such a lewd pose.” Becky said with a laugh, “A shame I don’t have a web cam so we could share the view with the rest of the world.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“While you were answering nature’s call,” Becky said, her tone dark, “I inspected your cleaning job, and I must say that I was rather disappointed in your effort.”

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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