Bondage / BDSM

The Submissive

The understanding came, like a black dove over smoky waters. I’d known I was a submissive and that to pursue that would doubtless entail enduring some pain; but I had never dreamed I could enjoy it. To relish and desire it. Not until that day. Not until She had finished.

I could do little more than hang by my fetters, savoring the strong, pulsing burn deep inside my violated body. I knew it was pain; that it should FEEL like pain, but it didn’t. It felt good. Pain was what was happening to my cock and balls. Pain was the feeling that they would turn black and drop off. Pain was the feeling that it would be a relief if they did. The torment there in some way helped throw the voluptuous glee I now took from my stretched and battered rectum into sharp relief. They defined one another; almost needed each other to exist. Mistress Kathleen must have noticed the drugged-out look of rapture in my eyes, for She became extremely concerned and quickly tore the penis gag away.

“Kevin? Are you all right?” “Yes Mistress,” I replied, my voice soft and dreamy. I don’t think She was convinced, for She began to hastily extract me from my various devices, but when She got to the “jockstrap” I cried out in protest. “Please Mistress, no!” She pulled away, astonished. So, I explained the way my body felt at that moment, and how I desperately wanted it to linger as long as possible. my words then weren’t nearly as polished as they are now, but She eventually understood. And She was very pleased at this, too. Much to my great disappointment, however, She still refused to remove the shoes. As She led me across the room, She commented on my tottering gait. “We simply must teach you how to walk in those one of these days.” She sighed. “But you’re just so cute like this. Like a little newborn foal trying to stand for the .” She smiled at me wickedly. “And maybe someday my sweet little foal will grow up and become a nice, strong pony for his Mistress. Wouldn’t that be nice, foal boy? “Yes Mistress.” She snapped Her fingers. “Come along foal boy. Follow Mistress.” On unsteady feet, I did.

She led me to the one room of the dungeon that had been closed to me upon my initial entry. It turned out to be a sort of second living room. Like the bathroom, it had more crammed in it than the room seemed capable of comfortably holding. The biggest piece of furniture was a sofa sleeper, with a small refrigerator, such as you might find in a dorm room, next to it. There was another of those cheap, department store wardrobes and a few tall, thin, matching bookcases as well. I also saw the first television in Her house. It was mounted over a VCR, on a tray with casters. There were candles everywhere, sitting on just about every available surface. On the walls hung several posters by the Swiss artist H.R.Giger; whose most well known work to most Americans was designing the acid-bleeding xenomorph that had chased after Sigourney Weaver in three, shortly to be four, “” movies. Each one was a swirling mass of blue-gray chaos, with subtle touches of the erotic and obscene. They were as sinisterly arousing in their complexity as the Nagel had been coldly sensual in its simplicity. The most obvious of the lot featured a nude woman standing in an “At Ease” position, eerily similar to the stance I’d been ordered to hold during our first meeting. There was some… thing completely enveloping her head. I turned away.

On Her bookshelves, A. A. Milne and Tolkien rubbed shoulders with Gloria and William Brame, Anne Rice (as A.N. Roquelaure) and Doris Kloster. “This is my part of the dungeon, Kevin,” She explained, curling up on the sofa. She was looking at me expectantly, as if She were waiting for me to make the same sort of intuitive leap as I had with the Tigger reference, but this time I couldn’t. “I don’t understand, Mistress, doesn’t this whole house belong to you?” She gave a disappointed little sigh. “Yes, Kevin, I own this house, and all the things in it, but the room out there, all the gear and the whips and the like, that room isn’t really for me. It’s for you. ” ‘You’, meaning my slaves in general,” She added with a quick wink, “I wouldn’t want you getting too full of yourself.”

“What I do out there is usually hard work for me, and my rewards are seldom swiftly forthcoming. Tying all those knots, whipping, even butt-fucking; that’s all strenuous exercise, Kevin. And you wouldn’t believe how hard it is to masturbate and cane someone’s ass at the same time – at least, doing both of them well, that is. For a time, I had other slaves do all the grunt work for me.” Her voice trailed off, sounding very sad and far away. “That’s why I now have all those cameras set up in there. I can give myself freely to the energy of the moment and when I’m done I can go upstairs, or come in here and take care of MY needs at MY pace. “Since I don’t like people-like slaves-in the other parts of my house, this is the place where I can go and relax with them. Where I can be me AND be a Domme. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

I cast my eyes about the room again, taking in everything in a new light. For the I also noticed, leaning up against the bookcase, that there was a pad of 14 by 17 inch Bristol board. Next to it was a pack of mechanical pencils and a hard white eraser. I looked to Mistress and She gave me a slight nod. “I believe,” She said, “you still owe me in the way of proper tribute.” I nodded back, but first I got to my knees and begged politely that She remove the genitorture device. The wonderful sensation in my ass had faded into a faint, pleasing glow; while the ache in my genitals had dulled to a distressing sort of numbness. The belt was hard to get off. I could only get semi-soft, and the metal ring scraped the tenderized flesh of my cock terribly as She carefully pulled it free. The removal of the belt brought with it a whole new rush of sensations, all of them bad. While I sat on the floor, trying to recover, Mistress opened the mini-fridge and poured herself a glass of red wine. While She sipped at it, She put on Her glasses, and picked up a tattered copy of The Tempest. The Bristol board was just within arm’s reach of where I was sitting, and I used it to drag the rest of the supplies over. I began to sketch. I’d always been a doodler, and in I’d studied art and graphic design. The plan had always been to be the next Todd McFarlane, and write and draw my own comic books, but reality had a way of whacking you on the nose. So, I ended up with a moderately fulfilling job at a moderately successful ad agency where I hardly ever used my drawing skills at all. To keep in practice I’d sometimes do the inking on a local underground comic put out by some buddies who’d remained true to their dreams. They even let me write an issue, which turned out to be one of their best sellers.

Again, thanks to the lengthy feeling-out process we had gone through over the internet, “Sub Voir Dire” She called it, She knew all of this about me already. She’d asked a lot of highly specific questions concerning the kinds of material I preferred to use, so it wasn’t really that much of a shock now that they had turned up. Actually, my work on the comic was proving detrimental to my preliminary drafts of Mistress’ portrait. David, who did the layout and pencils, patterned his style in the Rob Liefeld – Jim Lee camp; which meant that all women had long lean torsos, even longer legs, and almost ridiculously oversized breasts. in short: a creature that did not exist outside of the fantasies of twelve-year old boys and comic book artists. my initial efforts mirrored this style, and the results of transposing Mistress’ features onto such a body, while aesthetically pleasing, definitely did not achieve the effect I was going for. She certainly wasn’t posing for me, and Her sweater effectively concealed all of Her upper body; making my ability to translate Her image to the board accurately all the more difficult. And it was crucial to my own sensibilities that I get it right.

I thought back to the way She’d looked the night before. I was tempted to draw Her exactly as She had appeared to me that night; but that outfit, simple though it was, had been MY fantasy, not hers. I reflected on the way She prized Her freedom of movement, and started in on a sort of imitation of the Nagel piece upstairs, with Mistress naked and sprawled out on a big tiger skin rug. I worked diligently for several minutes, but when I stopped to examine how the piece was shaping up, I was struck by the spuriousness of the image. The last place She would probably choose to luxuriate herself would be atop the dead carcass of one of the animals She loved so dearly. I began to erase so violently that She glanced up from Her book and fixed me with an inquisitive glare, but said nothing. Finally, I settled upon an imitation of the kind of pinup pose like you’d find painted on the noses of old World War Two aircraft. She was on Her knees, but not in a servile sort of way, and Her hands here up teasing Her long hair. She looked playful and fun: Mistress as coquette. Curled up around Her, like a living sofa, was a tiger in repose. I added a circle around the whole image to reinforce the ‘nose art’ image, and then put down my pencil. Mistress put down Her book.

“Finished?” I nodded.

She reached out and I handed Her the pad. She licked Her finger and turned down the corner of the page She was on and promptly chucked the book at me. “Read,” She commanded, inspecting the picture thoroughly. I took a deep breath and cleared my throat and started at the top of the marked page. “Um, Ferdinand, ‘No, noble mistress, ‘tis fresh morning with me when you are by at night…” I stumbled a lot at first because I kept splitting my attention between the text and Mistress; trying desperately to gage Her reaction to my work. After I tripped over the same line twice, She gave me an exceedingly dirty look, and I refocused all my attention on reading the play. I actually began to ease into it. I’d affect a mild soprano when Miranda or Ariel was to speak, and dropped my voice into a low snivel for Caliban’s lines. I was so wrapped up in my reading that I almost didn’t catch it when She spoke, for Her voice was extremely quiet.

“It’s very beautiful, Kevin. Thank you.” She put the picture down, let out a heavy sigh and began to slowly loll Her head around. “It’s times like this, Kevin, that I most regret not taking more than one slave at a time. I do so love a good back rub while being read to.” “Perhaps, Mistress, I could…” She laughed. “Do two things at once? As well as you did just a minute ago?”

I didn’t have an answer for that, so I just sat silently until She commanded to pick up where I’d left off, which was close to the end, anyway. When it was finished, She stood and unfolded the bed from the sofa. “Come here, Kevin,” She said, patting the edge of the bed. I sat down and She at long last began undoing the buckles on those hateful pair of shoes. The pain was staggering as blood finally rushed back into my smashed feet. She ordered me to go dim the lights and my walk was nearly as unsteady free as it had been in the shoes. She began lighting many of the candles and by their flickering light, She pulled Her sweater off, and unzipped Her skirt. We stood there, with the bed between us. Now clad only in Her panties and sneakers, She climbed on top of the mattress, and for a second vamped in an homage to my portrait. Then She swung Her legs around out in front of Her and began wagging Her feet at me in a familiar manner.

“Kevin, would you be so kind as to remove my shoes?” I got down on one knee, but as I reached for one of the laces, She slapped me away. I looked at Her, confused, and reached out again. Again, She slapped away my hand. I then dropped to both knees, to better stabilize myself, and, opening my mouth, leaned in towards Her feet. She slapped my cheek hard and I tried to pull back, but She grabbed a fistful of my hair. “Sorry Kevin. you have the right idea, I just couldn’t help Myself! I tentatively moved my head forward again, gently closing my teeth around the end of one of Her shoelaces. Tugging gently, I got the bow to come undone. Then in dipped down to the first “X” made by the laces crossing, carefully bit down on one lace and pulled, loosening it. I worked my way down the front of Her shoe. When it was time to pull it off, I craned my neck around so that my head came up under Her heel. I didn’t want to get teeth marks in the soft, foamy rubber of the sole, so I wrapped my lips back over my teeth and then tried to wrap my jaw around the heel of Her shoe. I slipped twice, but finally bit down hard enough to get a good grip and wriggle the sneaker free. I repeated the procedure with the other shoe.

Next came Her socks. I pressed my lips gently to Her upper calves and gingerly pulled the sock down Her leg to Her ankle. Then I took the toe end in my mouth and removed the whole thing with a mild tug. When I had bared both feet She stood up and thrust out Her pelvis at an odd angle.

“Panties.”

Treating Her skin as if it were the most fragile of porcelain, I took the elastic band at Her side with my teeth and dragged it down of the swell of Her hip. The I did the other side. Her panties slid down the rest of the way on their own. She stepped out of them and crawled back into the bed, stretching out languidly on Her stomach. “Put them on,” She commanded, indicating Her underwear. “I don’t want you smearing that little prick of yours all over my body and spoiling a perfectly good back rub.” I did as I was told, the elastic waist digging painfully into my flesh; and cautiously climbed into bed with mistress, rearing up on my knees. I began the at the nape of Her neck. I was a little surprised at just how tense She was; but it suddenly occurred to me that She had been taking as much of a risk all this weekend with a stranger in Her house as I been going there. my hands glided across Her skin: up Her neck and then down to Her shoulders. my grasp was firm, my strokes were even. I rubbed Her deltoids and drifted further down along Her triceps. As I began on Her upper back, I could feel the muscles begin to relax. I slid down Her back; my thumbs and the heel of my palm working the sides of Her backbone, while my fingers applied gentle pressure to the backs of Her ribs. I eased my hands around Her torso, wedging them between the sheets and Her body so that my hands could caress the meat on Her ribs. I was careful never to actually touch Her breasts.

By this time Her body had acclimated itself to my touch, so I went back and did Her neck and shoulders again, my hands a little stronger this time. I quickly retraced my route down Her back before slowing as the base of Her spine. She let out a short, stale little fart, which I took as a compliment. It meant that Her muscles were loose and Her mind was drifting. I kneaded the cheeks of Her hard, muscular ass until they were like pillows in my hand, and then made the final sprint down Her legs. I used both hands on each one, and when a calf was done, I bent it back at the knee and massaged each foot. They were heavy in my hands, and I had to lower them gently back to the bed.

Usually this was where I stopped, but She slowly began to spread Her legs apart, opening up Her ass to me. I timidly began to put my had up Her crack, but She tensed and murmured “No!” I hesitated. my palms began to sweat. I repositioned myself so that I was lying between Her legs, and nervously I crawled forward, positioning my mouth over Her asshole. First I began to play softly with the crenature of skin around the hole. Pushing it this way and that with the tip of my tongue. I kept my hands on the backs of Her thighs; primed for any sudden tensing of Her hamstrings that might indicate I was doing something wrong. I eased my tongue into Her. The muscles inside Her ass were extremely tight. I had to slide my tongue in even further to get better leverage. I began to push against the walls of Her rectum, trying to meet the resistance I found with an equal amount of pressure. I swung my tongue around inside Her in stiff lateral and up and down movements until at last the lining of Her rectum began to loosen up and I could roll my tongue around in one continuous, circular motion.

She gave a long, gratifying sigh and I slowly withdrew from Her, still poised to move back in if She so indicated. But She was sated. Her body lay still on the bead, breathing in long deep breaths. I reared back up on my knees and waited for further commands. The taste of Her filling my mouth. In a slurred voice, She said, “bathroom… permission… masturbate…” “Thank you Mistress,” I said, not entirely sure I’d heard what I thought I had. She made a feeble waving motion to signal that it was okay, and I climbed out of the bed and hobbled into the next room. Supporting my weight with my left hand against the wall, I angled my body so I would shoot directly into the bowl. It was a nuisance getting the panties off. my cock almost hurt too much to touch, but my foray into analingus excited me to the point that it only took three or four painful jerks until I came with a powerful spurt of semen. It hit the water with a loud plop, and in spite of the tenderness, I kept milking my cock for a minute or two afterwards. I wiped myself clean with my hand and then washed it in the sink. Returning to Mistress’ side, I knelt down on the floor and waited. Her eyes were closed and She was actually drooling out of the side of Her mouth.

For a while I took pleasure in watching the results of my labors. As time wore on, my knees began to hurt. After an hour or so I grew sleepy as well. I caught myself nodding off several times. But as my chin sunk to my chest, She lashed out and slapped the head of my cock hard. my eyes snapped wide open. She had shifted onto Her side in a reclining position, studying me as intently as I’d studied Her moments earlier.

“You’ve done this before, Kevin.” There was a suspicious quality to Her voice. “Yes Mistress, in . Except the ass part. I’d give back rubs occasionally to female friends of mine.” “And then they would go home all relaxed and be with their lovers. Wouldn’t they Kevin?” I couldn’t meet Her eyes. “Yes, Mistress.” She laughed cruelly. “Ahh, poor little misunderstood sub.” She sat up and ordered me to go get dressed and wait for Her on the patio. I did as She said and a few minutes later She came strolling around the side of the house dressed much in the same way as when I had first seen Her, a little over 24 hours before. It was nearing sunset, and She took me for a walk in the woods behind Her home. She pointed out one small clearing lined with moss covered bits of broken concrete which She called Her “Faerie Ring” and told me the story of how She’d been stumbled upon by a neighbor while playing a dark-tinged game of “Titania and Bottom” with a slave.

At last we came to a small pond and sat where the ground dropped away to sharp slope into the water. She rested Her head on my shoulder. We watched the sun set.

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