I am definitely doing this:
I googled the title of this entry. The first hit is a fairly apropos Bible verse:
So we say with confidence, “The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can man do to me?”
I am definitely doing this:
I googled the title of this entry. The first hit is a fairly apropos Bible verse:
So we say with confidence, “The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can man do to me?”
Continued from Two Nights With Mistress Tracy (Part 6)
Just joining us? Go to the beginning: Two Nights With Mistress Tracy (Part 1)
I took a bathroom break and when I was done, I waited for them, as ordered, in the living room. Mistress Tracy came back first, wearing a tight black corset and black leather pants. She had her hair up in a tight ponytail and wore bright red lipstick. In her hand was a long leather flogger, which she raised up in the air and snapped against the couch.
I almost jumped out of my skin.
“Help me move things,” she said. We moved the couch to the very edge of the large, green area rug. The coffee table and end tables we placed along the walls, leaving the center of the room empty.
I’ll admit this was quite nerve-wracking. Creating lots of space meant that we’d be needing lots of space. Mistress Tracy wanted a ‘show’. What did that mean? Would Pam and I be dancing for her?
Honestly, I hoped not. I’m fairly confident about my body, but next to Pam I am an awful dancer. I knew I shouldn’t compare myself to her but I couldn’t help it. My heart was beating hard against my chest as I helped Mistress Tracy.
She closed the curtains, making the room eerily dark for the middle of the day. Humming to herself, she fiddled around with her stereo until ominous music filled the room. It took me a moment to realize it was a mix of pipe organ and string instruments. She turned it up high and flashed me an evil grin as the sounds flooded my ears.
Pam reappeared, looking as shaken as I felt. She held a double dildo, a strap on, and two pairs of nipple clamps. She looked at me and swallowed hard.
“On your hands and knees, girls. Facing away from each other,” Mistress Tracy ordered. She took the toys from Pam and gently shoved her down to the floor.
Pam crawled into place and I dropped to my hands and knees and put myself into position, facing away from her.
Mistress Tracy maneuvered Pam until our butts were nearly touching. She slipped the dildo into my pussy, then Pam’s.
“King built me a new piece of furniture,” she announced, getting up and crossing the room. I watched her in fear. The music was so loud—too loud—and my pussy was adjusting to the girth of the dildo. My arms were trembling. I love and hate these moments, as a scene is beginning and the dominant has not explained what will happen. Anticipation is both torturous and sweet.
The contraption turned out to be a simple wooden board that ran in between our legs. In the middle of it, I saw later, is a wooden pole that was conveniently cut to rise to the height of our cunts. At the top of the pole is a hole, where Mistress Tracy threaded flat piece of rope. She tied the dildo in place, and stood back to admire of us.
“Why aren’t you fucking yourselves, girls?” she asked, pacing around us. She picked up the flogger and I winced as she brought it down hard on Pam’s back. I felt the dildo move and knew Pam was rocking back and forth. Without the need for motivation, I followed suit.
My obedience didn’t spare me, and soon I felt stinging pain of the leather straps burning into my skin. I cried out loudly and jolted forward, knowing instantly I’d made an error.
“Get your cunt back on that dick!” Mistress Tracy snapped, stinging me again with the cruel flogger.
I whimpered and resumed fucking myself.
“If either of you lets the dildo out of your cunt, I’ll add the clamps,” she warned.
I wondered how long we would be kept there, fucking ourselves. Mistress Tracy brought the flogger down on both of us a few more times before taking a seat on the couch. She told us to go faster and when I looked over to her I saw she was rubbing herself through her pants. She caught my eye and licked her lips.
That momentary distraction made me groan and move forward too much and the dildo slid out of my pussy. I slammed myself back on it hard, hoping she hadn’t noticed.
In a flash she was attaching clothespin-like clamps to my nipples. I moaned loudly in pain and hoped she wouldn’t punish Pam for my failure. But a moment later, I heard Pam whimper.
“Sorry, Pam,” I whispered.
Then, Mistress Tracy did something deliciously evil. She ordered us to stay still, and tied two thin ropes to our clamps, connecting our breasts together. My left breast was tied to Pam’s right breast, and my right breast to her left breast. Mistress Tracy tied them very taut, and smiled in satisfaction. “Keep fucking!” she ordered loudly, snapping us with the flogger.
So as we fucked, we tried to keep in rhythm, each moving the same way to keep the rope from stretching our nipples. It was useless, though. With the flogger raining down on our backs and our asses, it was impossible to maintain any semblance of normal rhythm, and our tits stretched painfully as we pulled against each other.
It wasn’t long before I was soaring in subspace. The pain in my tits, the dildo in my cunt, and the stinging splash of the flogger against my sore skin was incredibly intense. I wanted to beg her to beat me harder but I knew whatever I asked for would be doled out to Pam as well.
“The slave who cums first will be punished,” Mistress Tracy announced. “She’ll be punished by the other slave while I watch.” She picked up the strap-on and put the head of the black cock into her mouth, licking it seductively as she gazed down at us.
Seriously, I almost came on the spot. Lucky for me, I can almost never cum without clitoral stimulation (which is ultimately unlucky for me, but in this instance I was happy about it). Mistress Tracy ordered us to move faster and I felt Pam rocking hard against the dildo. I’m not sure what inspired me to do this, but as I heard the flogger smack Pam’s back a few times in a row, I shouted, “Cum, Pam! I want to punish you for cumming for us!”
And I felt her shake against the dildo and her cries blended with the music as she erupted in an enormous orgasm. Mistress Tracy was chuckling and she knelt down and yanked off the nipple clamps, making us both yelp in pain.
“Good girl, Sadey,” she whispered into my ear. Her breath was hot against my skin. “I’m going to enjoy watching you fuck her ass.”
I was breathless and nearly speechless, but the small dominant bug that lives inside me came to life and I whispered back, “Can I make her lick me first?”
“Sure you can.” She stood up and took a seat on the couch. “Pamela,” she said, her voice stern, “I’m surprised you lost the little game. You’ll be Sadey’s slave for the next forty minutes. My only requirement for her is that she fucks your asshole. Everything else, Sadey,” she said, turning to me, “is up to you. We talked about this before—I’ll make sure you don’t do anything unsafe. Let’s see you try to be dominant.”
We had, indeed, discussed this before. When I started writing erotica, I wanted to explore what it feels like to top someone. I’d ‘played’ top before, at parties, but I’d never really gotten into the role. I knew I was just playing top with Pam, because Mistress Tracy was really in control. But my pussy was burning with desire as I imagined what I might do. I looked over to Pam. She was still recovering from her orgasm and I could tell she was trying to process what her Mistress was saying. She looked at me and when our eyes met I smiled at her.
“Don’t worry, Pam,” I said. “I won’t hurt you too much.”
She whimpered but I knew she’d enjoy serving me. I was so fucking horny at that moment that I didn’t want to do anything with her until I came. So I stretched out on the rug, spread my legs, and said, “Lick.”
Continued from Two Nights With Mistress Tracy (Part 5)
Just joining us? Go to the beginning: Two Nights With Mistress Tracy (Part 1)
Mistress Tracy found a table while I went back with Patrick. He showed me the menus and the soda machine. “Just take their order and get them their drinks. If they have any questions about the food, tell them you’re in training and get Pam to help you. When they give you their order, give it to Pam and she’ll do the rest.”
“Here you go,” he said, handing me a pad to take down orders. “Here’s a diagram of the tables. You’ll take one through seven, got it?”
I nodded, studying the diagram and then popping out to the main room to check that I understood where the corresponding tables were.
“Good,” said Patrick. “Number three hasn’t been greeted yet.”
Taking a deep breath, I went to the front room. At table number three sat a group of four young guys, maybe in their early twenties. When I approached, they hushed their conversation and looked at me eagerly.
These guys really, really looked at me. I’ve felt like an object plenty of times in my life, but never in such a strange vanilla setting. It was like since they had permission to stare at a girl they were going to do it as best as they could.
“Welcome,” I said cheerfully, handing them menus. One of the guys was staring right at my chest and I checked to make sure the skimpy top was still covering my nipples. “Can I bring you something to drink?”
They ordered water and I soon relaxed in my new position. Patrick watched me carefully at first until he was satisfied I wouldn’t screw up. Pam and I shared the tables, so after I took their food orders she handled bringing out their meals. I was glad for that—I’d never wanted to be a waitress for fear that I would spill hot soup or something into a customer’s lap.
Syd came in about twenty minutes into my shift as a waitress and he scooped me into his arms for a big hug. I hadn’t seen him since New Years and was happy he was back.
“So Nate gave you away, huh?” he asked with a wink.
“Yeah. Until tomorrow.”
“Everyone is gonna love hearing about this.” He shot me a knowing smile and slid into the booth across from Mistress Tracy.
While Syd and Mistress Tracy chatted, Pam and I worked, and I discovered I kind of like waitressing in a skimpy outfit. Since the main reason customers come to Pam’s restaurant is to gawk at pretty girls, they really had no reservations about it. It wasn’t like wearing the slutty outfit earlier and having pedestrians half-look at me, but avert their eyes and try not to stare. No, these guys (and some girls) unabashedly gazed at us while we moved around the restaurant.
“Do you ever see people you know?” I asked Pam during our dinner break.
“Hardly. And then, only the type of people who would be OK with me having a job like this. It isn’t like my mom is going to show up here.”
She had a good point. I’d briefly wondered what some of my friends would say if they saw me there, with my butt hanging out of my shorts and my boobs nearly falling out of my top. But it just wasn’t a concern; none of my conservative friends would frequent a place like that. In fact, one of my friends recently called the restaurant, ‘A feminist’s nightmare,’ and ended her diatribe with, ‘I wouldn’t be caught within a block of that place.’
Patrick let us off early, and we all gave Syd a hug goodbye. Mistress Tracy instructed Pam to leave her car at the restaurant. Pam and I were herded into Mistress Tracy’s backseat with these instructions: “Take off those shorts, girls. The rule for the ride home is that your fingers never leave each other’s cunts.”
Syd overheard that as he walked toward his car and turned back with a wistful expression. I wished he was joining us, actually. Showing my body off for three hours had made me rather excited and I wouldn’t have minded two sadists having their way with me. He was off to work a night-shift, though, and wouldn’t be joining us.
Pam had her shorts off in a flash and yanked mine down for me. I giggled and helped her undress me, thankful for tinted windows and the darkness of the night. She slid two fingers inside me and I groaned as she curled them just-so. I reciprocated, our arms crossing each others, and found her cunt slippery and smooth like mine. Pam moaned happily as I gently pumped in and out of her and Mistress Tracy smiled at us through her review mirror.
When Mistress Tracy pulled into her garage, she ordered Pam to make me cum. I pulled my fingers from Pam’s cunt and relaxed as she fingered me. It didn’t take long for me to climax, and though I knew Pam wanted to cum too, Mistress Tracy told us to get out of the car. Inside, we stripped off our tops as required.
The rest of the evening was surprisingly (and, admittedly, disappointingly) vanilla. I was still completely horny, but Pam was tired after working her shift. Mistress Tracy turned on the TV and we watched Dexter, which they were really into but I’d already seen. Pam and I sat on the carpeted floor by Mistress Tracy’s feet. I fell asleep halfway through, and woke to Mistress Tracy yanking me up.
“Time for bed,” she said. We washed up, brushed teeth, drank water, and collapsed on Mistress Tracy’s bed together.
“This is a privilege,” Mistress Tracy was sure to remind me.
I nodded and thanked her sincerely. I was grateful to be on the bed rather than the floor. I snuggled into the covers and relished the warmth of being next to Pam and Mistress Tracy.
I woke up before them (I’m an early riser) and watched them sleep for a few minutes. Mistress Tracy was on her back and Pam was curled up next to her, sleeping peacefully with her head in the crook of her Mistress’ shoulder. They looked so right together that I wished I had a camera to capture the moment. But, sometimes scenes like those aren’t meant to be captured; only remembered fondly.
I made a pot of coffee and prepared some breakfast ingredients. Looking at the clock, I estimated I had a couple of hours before I’d be cooking up eggs for them. So I wrote, with a blanket around my naked body to keep warm, without the aid of The Stool, until I heard a toilet flush and knew they were getting up. I hopped up and got to work making scrambled eggs and toast and melon balls, and I made everything look pretty. For some reason I really like making sure food and table settings look nice.
My efforts were appreciated by the still-groggy Mistress Tracy and Pam. After breakfast, Mistress Tracy yawned, got up, and said, “This morning, I want to be pampered.” She looked back and forth between Pam and I and smiled at us. “I want my every whim taken care of. Got it?”
We replied in unison: “Yes, Mistress Tracy.”
Pam took her by the hand and in an uncharacteristic display of leadership, led her down the hall. I followed, and she went to a room I’d never seen. The walls were dark green, with white wooden trim. A dark red throw rug covered most of the wooden floor. There was a massage table set up against one wall and I helped Pam move it to the center of the room. Looking around, I noticed a sawhorse against the other wall. Pam caught my eye and whispered, “For real punishments.”
I nodded solemnly. Pam once confided with me that, while Mistress Tracy is a sadistic woman, she rarely actually punishes people. When she does punish, the sessions are long and painful. I’ll confess that when I’m feeling particularly masochistic, I’ve imagined being truly punished by Mistress Tracy.
Edit: After she read this, she assured me that I would not enjoy a real punishment from her, no matter how masochistic I’m feeling.
Pam put on soft, mellow music and we spent the next hour and a half giving Mistress Tracy a sensual massage. We started with her scalp and moved down from there, with Pam whispering directions to me as we worked. She showed me what Mistress Tracy likes, and I admired how well she knows her Mistress’ body.
When we massaged her ass, Mistress Tracy slightly parted her legs. While I continued massaging her with my hands, Pam leaned down and licked. She licked her in between her cheeks, and when Mistress Tracy moaned I knew that Pam was playing with her asshole. I swallowed hard and nearly stopped rubbing as I watched, but steeled myself and continued working.
Pam used her hands and tongue to make Mistress Tracy orgasm twice before she straightened up and began working with me again. She gave me a wink and a smile as we worked down Mistress Tracy’s thighs, to her calves, and finally her feet. At her feet, Pam motioned for me to do as she was doing, and we both knelt on the floor and spent a good amount of time sucking and nibbling Mistress Tracy’s toes.
When we had her turn over, Mistress Tracy looked calmer than I’d ever seen her before. She said, “Good girls,” and Pam quickly replied with, “May we continue, Mistress?”
She nodded and we worked our way back up her body. When we got up to her pussy I looked to Pam for approval and she nodded at me. I took my turn licking Mistress Tracy while Pam massaged her, and in minutes, as I was lightly sucking on her clit, she arched her back and groaned loudly as she shuddered in orgasm.
We didn’t stop touching her until we got back up to her scalp again. She sighed softly with pleasure as Pam helped her up off the table.
“May we bathe you now, Mistress?” Pam asked sweetly.
“No,” Mistress Tracy murmured. “Later. Right now I want a show.”
… continued at Two Nights With Mistress Tracy (Part 7)…
Continued from Two Nights With Mistress Tracy (Part 4)
Just joining us? Go to the beginning: Two Nights With Mistress Tracy (Part 1)
“Rinse yourself off, then come join me. I want to slap you around a little while your skin is nice and wet.”
I rinsed quickly, nervous about the impending pain. Mistress Tracy is known for her sadism. I met her back in her bedroom and she pointed to the bed.
“Lay down on your stomach. Spread eagle, arms and legs out.”
The sound of me gulping was loud in the otherwise silent room. In the time it had taken me to rinse off, Mistress Tracy had dressed herself in her bright red robe and pulled her wet hair back into a tight ponytail. She looked calm. Peaceful. Like she was in a special mental space.
This filled me with great concern.
I placed myself onto the bed, the cover dampening quickly from my dripping wet skin. I kept my eyes on her as I spread my limbs wide, exposing myself to whatever evil plan she’d dreamed up.
She gave me a long, hard stare before bending down and picking up a long, flexible rubber paddle that I’d failed to notice before.
“I’ll stay clear of your thighs for now, provided you take this spanking well,” she said, trailing the tip of the paddle along the spine of my back.
I was trembling and incredibly nervous. The paddle looked severe and I knew Mistress Tracy loves to hurt. “Please, Mistress,” I whispered. “I’ll be good.”
“I know you’ll be good,” she said, smiling down at me. “Count for me, Sadey.”
The first crack of the paddle against my wet flesh was fucking unbelievable. The sound filled the room and a split second later pain seared through my backside. “Holy shit!” I gasped.
“Watch your mouth. Didn’t I tell you that at the store?” She looked amused, but her tone was still strict.
“Sorry, Mistress Tracy.”
“Do you need to have your mouth washed out with soap?”
“No! No, Mistress Tracy.”
“Good. Then shut up and take your spanking like a good girl. Weren’t you supposed to count?”
I knew I was screwing up but my brain was totally gone at that moment. I didn’t know what I was counting to which was a mind fuck in and of itself. That, and I swear like a sailor when I’m being beaten and didn’t know if I could keep my mouth shut. I was sure that if I swore again she would be lathering my mouth with soap, and I didn’t want that to happen.
I took three deep breaths and looked back up at Mistress Tracy. “One,” I whispered.
“Good girl,” she said, raising her arm in the air and bringing the paddle back down against my flesh.
“Oh!” I gasped. It stung so badly! I couldn’t believe what she was doing. At that moment I thought of Nate, and how he would never spank me so hard without warming me up. But then I also thought of him, at his conference, and I imagined he was day dreaming of me. In the hands of Mistress Tracy. I told myself to be good, if only for his sake (and certainly not for mine). “Two,” I said.
She spanked me seven times, hard, and then helped me up and showed me the striking red lines across my butt. I was teary eyed and my mind was a mess but I was still able to process that those were some pretty amazing looking marks.
“Thank you, Mistress Tracy,” I whispered, looking into her eyes through the mirror.
Her expression softened and she smiled. “You’re welcome. Now let’s dress you up for dinner.”
It was odd being her toy. She was clearly loving it and she touched me whenever she could, wherever she could. As we walked to Pam’s closet to get a waitress uniform, she slid her hand in between my legs and I yelped and giggled at the intrusion. At the closet doors, she pushed me against the wall and pinched my nipples hard, twisting them until I begged her to stop.
I was hers to use. This had never happened to me before. Nate and I play with others on occasion, and I’ll usually be told to obey any of the dominants (unless we’re switching things around, which is rare), but we’ve never done anything like this. He’d never lent me to someone to use.
Which is a testament of the respect Nate has for Mistress Tracy. He wouldn’t lend me to just anyone.
She pulled out one of Pam’s uniforms and dressed me up. Pam is slightly smaller than me so the outfit was just a little tight which made Mistress Tracy smile. “Your breasts might fall out of this,” she said, testing the breast-line hem of the halter top with her fingers.
The shorts were absolutely dreadful. They were super tight and were skimpier than a lot of my panties. Mistress Tracy wouldn’t allow me to wear underwear with them so the lines of my pussy lips showed clearly through the fabric. My bottom hung out of the shorts and I could just make out some of the red marks from the paddle.
Wearing the outfit in public would be humiliating.
“Are you really going to ask Pam’s boss to let me work with her?” I whispered, looking at my reflection in wonder. If I thought I looked like a whore earlier, I had been mistaken. This was over the top tramp-wear.
“Of course. I invited Syd to join us.”
“Oh, Jesus,” I muttered. Syd is our enormous friend who is only in town on occasion. He happened to be the one who delivered my birthday spankings last September. I was happy to see him but knew that Mistress Tracy and Syd together was not a good combination.
The drive to the restaurant was twenty minutes, during which Mistress Tracy ordered me to the backseat of her car and told me to masterbate. I found my cunt was slick with my juices already. I thought about the upcoming evening as she drove, knowing that I might be exposing myself to strangers just like Pam does. I hoped they would be strangers, anyway.
When we walked inside the restaurant I looked down at my chest and saw my nipples were hard and pointy and very obvious through the thin black fabric of the halter top. I felt myself blush as some of the customers, mostly all male, turned to look at us.
Pam spotted us from behind the bar and waved excitedly. She grabbed the bartender, pointed at us, and the bartender—a tall, dark guy with a lot of tattoos, grinned. They both waved us over.
“You look hot, Sadey,” Pam said when we approached.
“This is Patrick. He’s managing tonight. He says it’s cool if you want to take a couple of tables.”
Patrick was staring at my chest and I looked down and saw my left breast had slipped up and part of my aureola was visible. I blushed deeper and adjusted my top. Trying to recover, I took a deep breath and said, “Nice to meet you Patrick.”
“You too. Sadey, right?”
“Come on. I’ll show you what to do.”
… continued at Two Nights With Mistress Tracy (Part 6) …
Continued from Two Nights With Mistress Tracy (Part 3)
Just joining us? Go to the beginning of the account: Two Nights With Mistress Tracy (Part 1)
I slid out of the coat. We drove for about fifteen minutes in complete silence. Mistress Tracy was probably happily imagining the ways in which she would torture me. I was nervously anticipating the exact same thing.
I haven’t been to many ‘sex shops’ in my life, but the ones I have been to are what I would nicely describe as dingy. Dusty shelves filled with cheap, plastic-encased vibrators. Hanging wracks of poorly made overpriced costumes that surely wouldn’t last for more than a few wears. These are the images that fill my head when I think of ‘sex shops’. Nate and I usually order our toys online from reputable dealers.
We do not buy them in grimy stores.
So I was less than enthusiastic about our field trip. When we pulled into a fancy-ish strip mall in a nice area of town, I looked at her, surprised.
She parked as far away as possible, then led me across the parking lot to the store. Her, fully clothed in appropriate black slacks and a green sweater. Me, the tramp of the hour.
I forgot about our outfits when we walked inside. This store was awesome. It was clean. I recognized a few of the product manufacturers—the stuff was quality. There wasn’t a single cheap vibrator in the place. It was like Utopia’s toy store for kinky folk.
Paddles and straps lined the wall. Restraints of various materials—leather, metal, tape, etc—filled the shelves. Leather and vinyl wear, along with costumes of various sorts, were on hangers and dressed on mannequins.
“How did I not know about this place?” I whispered as we walked around in mostly silence. There was just one other couple in the store. Besides them and the young man who sat at a desk near the back, we were alone.
“It’s pretty new. I told Nate I’d take you here and we’d check it out. I’ve never been, either.”
I was flooded with relief when I realized that this might not be a shopping trip. We were just checking out the newest toy store in town.
I heard a whack of a paddle against skin and peeked around the aisle to see the couple testing out a few of the spanking implements. They were both around thirty and attractive. The woman wore a short skirt and was bending over with her hands on her knees. The man was turning the paddle over and testing its weight. Then he patted her butt and gave her another good whack.
“Ouch!” she cried. Her hands flew to her mouth and she turned red. I could tell she’d been hoping to take the spank in silence.
I turned to Mistress Tracy and saw her lips curl into a cruel smile.
This was not good.
“That packs a punch,” she said loudly as she approached the couple. Mistress Tracy is not a shy woman. She boldly walked up to them and took the paddle from the man’s hands. “Come here, Sadey. Let’s see how it feels on you.”
The man was clearly intrigued. His girlfriend or wife or whatever she was tried to stand up to watch but he gently pushed her back to position.
I bent over beside her and shot her a worried, sideways glance. She gave me a small smile.
Mistress Tracy gave my butt a good smack with the paddle.
“Fuck!” I gasped.
“Watch your mouth,” she said before whacking me again. Then she handed the paddle back to the man and said, “I like it. Nice weight to it. C’mon, Sade.”
My face was just as red as the submissive woman’s beside me and I gratefully stood and scurried off with Mistress Tracy.
We left without buying anything—neither of us really need any more toys—and she drove us back to her place. There, Mistress Tracy got cross with me when I did not immediately strip out of my whore costume when we entered her house.
“What did I tell you about what slaves wear inside?” she snapped.
I saw a sheen in her eyes that made me shiver. Her evil glare combined with her tone made me instantly nervous. And, admittedly, excited. I pulled off the outfit and the shoes and stood naked near the front door. Ready for a quick exit, if necessary.
“Better,” she said. “Follow me.”
We went to her bedroom again, then to her bathroom, and she turned on the shower. “Get in,” she said.
She let the water run cold for a full thirty seconds, pushing me directly under the shower and laughing at me when I yelped and shivered. I watched her undressed but could barely pay attention. I really, really hate cold showers. Finally, she said, “All right. Make it warm,” and she got in the shower with me.
I have never showered with a woman before and I rarely shower with Nate, so this was an odd experience. Also, I distinctly remembered her hair being wet when I arrived at her house that morning and I couldn’t help but wonder what she was going to do to me in the close quarters of her bathtub.
“Wash me,” she commanded, handing me a sponge and soap. I obeyed, of course, and took my time washing every part of her. I washed her pussy last, rubbing her as sensually as I could with the soapy sponge, and she handed me the hand-held shower head to rinse her off.
When she was all cleaned, she pressed firmly on my shoulders until I lowered myself to my knees in front of her. She adjusted the shower so that the water sprayed directly onto my head, over my face, and I squeezed my eyes shut to protect them. Using her hands, she positioned my lips right next to her cunt. I could smell her, and in spite of the fact that I’d just washed her, Mistress Tracy smelled like sex.
I tried to lick her but it was more like she was riding my face. She didn’t start slow, didn’t ease in, no… she just held me still and rubbed her cunt all over me. I stuck my tongue out and lapped at her when I could but finally I just help my tongue there, my mouth open, and relaxed while she fucked me.
I could hear her moaning and felt oddly proud of myself that she was getting so turned on by using me. I grabbed her ass with my hands and squeezed her cheeks hard, and when I did that she screamed out loudly and she came, her wetness slicking all over my face.
She stepped back, steadying herself against the walls of the shower, and looked down at me. Water was still running all over my head and my face, and I must have looked like quite a mess. She smiled and I felt relieved.
“Good girl,” she said.
“I aim to please,” I replied.
… continued at Two Nights With Mistress Tracy (Part 5) …
Continued from Two Nights With Mistress Tracy (Part 2)
Just joining us? Go to the beginning of the account: Two Nights With Mistress Tracy (Part 1)
“I’m going to dress you up like a prostitute,” she announced. She went to her closet and pulled out a short, hot-pink miniskirt and threw it in my direction. “Since you can’t walk out of my house looking like a whore, I’m gonna drive you a few blocks away. Then, I’ll pick you up at the corner by that gas station—you know the one, right?”
“It’ll be about a forty minute walk.” She threw a high heeled shoe at me, which I fumbled to catch, and then the other. “Nate says you guys go walking almost every day. I didn’t want you to miss out on your exercise. Ah, here it is.” She pulled out a small piece of black fabric that I soon learned was a tube top.
I stood there, naked and with my mouth hanging open, holding the heels and the miniskirt like I didn’t know what to do with them. She shook her head in disgust. “Pam would have been dressed and putting on makeup by now.”
I didn’t like being compared to her slave. Pam and I have very different arrangements. While Nate and I are full-time Master/slave, day-to-day we’re mostly peers. There are minor, subtle ways in which we recognize our relationship, but they are not as blatant or as frequent as Mistress Tracy and Pam’s routine.
With shaking hands, I slid into the skirt. It was tight, and I felt my ass to see if my butt cheeks would show. Thankfully, the fabric would cover up my butt completely. The heels were at least three inches high. And the tube top was absolutely horrible. It had a built in bra thing that pushed my boobs up, making my cleavage lewdly obvious. It fell just below my rib cage, leaving my navel bare.
Mistress Tracy led me to the master bathroom and instructed me to put on makeup from her collection. I did, and when she came back to see me she bent me over and spanked me hard ten times.
“More,” she said.
I could not believe my reflection. I really did look like a whore. And not a classy whore. Classy whores, I imagined, would go a little lighter on the makeup and wear a slightly less slutty costume.
She put my hair into a high ponytail and then nodded, satisfied that I looked appropriately trashy. She handed me a small bag. “This has your cell phone in it. Call me if you have a problem.”
We went to her garage and got into her car. My heart was racing and I was fidgeting nervously.
“Mistress Tracy… what if someone tries to buy me?”
She laughed. “In this neighborhood? In broad daylight? Not a chance.”
“What if someone attacks me?”
She turned to face me. “Do you not trust me?”
“No… I mean yes, I trust you. I just look so… trashy.”
“This is one of the safest neighborhoods in the city. Our crime rate is nothing.” She took a right, driving far away from the gas station where I’d meet her later. “You’ll get glared at by my neighbors. Kids might laugh at you.” She shrugged, then turned to me and smiled. “I’m going to love this. I can’t do this kind of thing with Pam. We have to appear to be normal people. Can’t have our neighbors thinking she’s a whore.”
Mistress Tracy pulled her car over at the edge of a park. “Get out.”
I clutched the handbag she’d given me as tight as I could and looked to her one last time, hoping for mercy. She glared at me and I sighed. I got out and wobbled a bit as I adjusted to the heels. As soon as I shut the door, Mistress Tracy drove away.
I looked down at my outfit, my bare legs, bare stomach, and exposed chest. I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath.
Pretend you’re wearing a sweatsuit, I told myself as I started my walk. The park was deserted and I was happy for that. It was a Tuesday afternoon, well before school was out, and I was thankful that I wouldn’t be seen by many, if any, innocent children.
The first person I saw was a block ahead of me, walking my way with a white toy poodle straining at the leash in front of him. I prayed he would take a turn and go in some other direction. But no, he kept on course, straight toward me.
Just behind him I recognized Mistress Tracy’s car and felt both relieved and even more humiliated knowing that she would be observing my walk of shame from afar.
I kept my eyes to the ground as he approached. My heart was beating hard and I was so incredibly nervous. I hate involving non-kinky people in any kinky play. It feels wrong, like I’m forcing them to do something they didn’t sign on for. I tried to tell myself this wasn’t like that. Lots of girls dress up in slutty outfits every day, and they aren’t necessarily slaves that have been ordered to do so.
While my gaze stayed on the ground, I heard his footsteps, then a cheerful, “Hey there.”
“Hey,” I mumbled.
Neither of us took pause from the beat of our separate strides and I breathed a long sigh of relief.
My walk continued like this. Innocent joggers, dog-walkers, and even a woman with a stroller passed me without seeming to bat an eye. Impressed with the openness of the neighborhood, my confidence returned and I held my head up high. I’d sort of assumed someone would throw stones at me or yell at me for exposing myself like a tramp. This did not appear to be a correct assumption.
A few Latino guys were hanging out on their porch drinking beers. One of them whistled and another called out, ‘Ey puta linda!’
To which I replied, ‘Callate cabrón!’ And they laughed and cheered. My own personal cheering squad.
Apart from them, and a few honks, I was left alone. The gas station was just a few blocks away, but I knew those blocks would be the worst. The streets around Mistress Tracy’s home aren’t driven on a lot, except for this one, which is more of a main drag than a windy suburban road.
I saw Mistress Tracy’s car ahead in the gas station and quickened my pace. A long line of cars were waiting at a red light and I saw leering looks of both drivers and passengers. One woman called out of her window, “This is a family neighborhood! You should be ashamed of yourself!”
I wanted to assure her that I was ashamed but I just kept walking forward.
Then, the worst part of it all, when I was just seconds away from diving into Mistress Tracy’s car, a policeman stepped in front of me.
“Excuse me, miss. You doing OK?”
My face burned in shame. “I’m fine. Thank you, sir.”
“I’m just… on my way to a costume party.”
“Ah, all right then.” He chuckled and stepped aside.
Mistress Tracy was grinning when I slipped inside her car.
“That was every bit as fun as I thought it would be,” she said, starting the engine. “Maybe we’ll do it again tomorrow.”
I groaned, realizing tomorrow I had a full day in the hands of Mistress Tracy. She handed me a coat. “Put that on. We’ll go get something to eat.”
The meal with Mistress Tracy was completely vanilla and it was actually fun to chat with her. Because Nate and I are only around her during play parties, I’ve never really had the chance to get to know her on a personal level. I’ve licked her cunt, sure. But I never knew she was active in her political party or that she volunteers at a mental health facility on Tuesdays. Mistress Tracy, it seems, is a person first and a sadistic evil bitch second.
(And I say that knowing Mistress Tracy will read this. Trust me, Mistress, I mean ‘bitch’ in the most loving way imaginable)
The normalcy of the meal vanished when we pulled back onto the road.
“Take that coat off,” she said. “We’re going to a sex shop.”
… continued at Two Nights With Mistress Tracy (Part 4) …
Continued from Two Nights With Mistress Tracy (Part 1)
“You seem so scared,” Mistress Tracy said. She was sipping her coffee and leaning against the counter. “What’s to be afraid of? Pam submits to me every day and look, she’s happy.” She gestured towards Pam who was, at that moment, pulling off her robe. “Go on, get naked like her. Slaves don’t wear clothes in my house. Pam just put on the robe to answer the door.”
I sighed and took off my coat, then my sexy black dress. My boots were the last to go. I folded my dress and put my clothes by my bag on the floor.
Mistress Tracy pointed to the middle of her kitchen and I placed myself there. She circled around me, looking me up and down.
“Spread your legs. Hands behind your head.”
I did as she said and felt oddly exposed in front of both her and Pam. I’ve been naked in front of them a few times before, but it was never like this. And Nate was always there.
Now, I was alone.
She felt my cunt which I knew was at least a little wet and then she slapped it and I jumped and yelped with the sudden pain.
“Stay in position,” she warned.
She slapped me a few more times before moving on to my breasts. Then, after mauling my tits for a moment, she bent me over and spread my ass cheeks.
I groaned in humiliation but I did not resist or move out of place. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Pam watching her Mistress humiliate me and I thought I detected a small smirk on her face.
“You’re clean,” Mistress Tracy said. She pulled me up to stand straight. “That’s good.”
“Thank you, Mistress Tracy,” I said obediently.
(An aside: I have never, in the history of knowing her, called her simply, ‘Tracy’. At a party once, a male slave called her Tracy. She asked his owner for permission to punish him, and then proceeded to fuck him in the butt with a strap-on. I was not at that party, but word of her strictness spread among my friends. To the submissives and the slaves, she’s Mistress Tracy.)
“Mistress, may I be excused to get ready for work?” Pam asked in a happy, sing-song voice.
“Go. Come find me before you leave.”
I frowned. Pam works part time as a waitress. If she had to work, that meant I’d be really really alone with Mistress Tracy.
“So I read your latest book. It was pretty good,” Mistress Tracy said. She hopped up onto the kitchen counter and stared at me.
“Thanks,” I whispered. My gut was turning and I knew it was a bad sign that she’d read my book. She was talking about Social Service, a book in which my protagonist gets humiliated, beaten, and thoroughly used. If Mistress Tracy got any evil ideas from my story… well, I was in for a long two days.
“I especially like the chapter where Heather is introduced to the community. I imagine I’m kind of like Miss Jasmine. What do you think?”
In spite of the situation, I smiled. “Yes, Mistress Tracy. Miss Jasmine was a character inspired by you.”
She laughed. “And I also like the part where Heather had to eat oatmeal laced with her Master’s semen.”
Oh, no, I thought to myself. I did not respond.
“Unfortunately,” she continued, “Nate didn’t stay long enough to provide his seed.”
“Come with me.” Mistress Tracy got off the counter. She picked up my bag, handed it to me, and led me down the hallway to her office. “Have you written yet today?”
“No, Mistress Tracy.”
“Nate says you must write for two hours a day.”
I felt relieved that he had dictated at least a little bit about how my time should be spent. Relieved, that is, until I saw what I will refer to henceforth as ‘The Stool’.
The Stool is just that; a stool. It’s wooden, with a thick circular seat, and it sits just a foot off the ground. On it, Mistress Tracy had been thoughtful enough to place a rather intimidating looking butt-plug.
The Stool was near the back wall of her office, just to the left of her desk. It was still early, just ten in the morning, so only a small stream of light poured into her office from the window behind her desk. Her window was cracked open, so a cool breeze kept the room nice and airy. I could see her neighbor’s house just a stone’s throw from hers and prayed no one would look into her window and see my naked body.
“I have some paperwork to do, too. So I can let you write for a couple of hours. You’ll sit there.” She pointed to The Stool and I frowned. She took my bag from me, opened it and pulled out my laptop before dumping the rest of the contents onto the floor. I saw Nate had packed me just a few dresses and a couple of thongs along with my toothbrush, hairbrush, and floss. Mistress Tracy handed me my laptop. “Go on. Get to work.”
I groaned as I looked from her unyielding face to The Stool. I plugged my laptop into the outlet behind her desk and then just sort of stared at The Stool for awhile. “Do you have lube?” I finally asked.
Mistress Tracy had settled in to her work and looked up at me, annoyed. “No. Sit your ass down on that stool, now.”
Her tone was quite motivating. I crouched down and spit on the plug a few times. Then, I lowered my body onto it.
I was instantly uncomfortable and the plug was only inserted what I would estimate was approximately one half inch. I moaned and Mistress Tracy turned to me and glared.
Shaking her head, she said, “Perhaps I’ll have Pam demonstrate how obedient slaves sit down.”
I didn’t want to be compared to Pam, nor did I want Pam to have to impale herself, so I took a deep breath and willed myself to relax. Slowly and carefully I lowered myself onto the bulging plug until it was in place, and I was seated uncomfortably on The Stool.
I stretched my legs out in front of me, opened my laptop, and got to work. This was not a very comfortable way to write, but I sealed my lips and did not complain.
About twenty minutes in to my two hour session with The Stool, Pam knocked on the door to Mistress Tracy’s office. Mistress Tracy waved her in.
Pam looked hot. It is well known in our circle that Pam does not waitress for the money. She does so to dress up like a slut and tease male customers. She works at an equivalent to ‘Hooters’. I’ve been there just once and was semi-appalled by the required uniforms the women wear. I say I was semi-appalled because I was also semi-aroused. The men that frequent these places just leer at the young women and the women seem to love it.
So Pam wore black ‘shorts’ that were so short that her ass hung out of them. They were also quite tight and I could just make out her camel toe. Her stomach was bare, save for a silver chain she wore, and her breasts nearly popped out of her tight black top. She twirled around and Mistress Tracy nodded in approval.
“Come here,” she said to Pam.
Pam obeyed and was soon over Mistress Tracy’s lap. Mistress Tracy spanked her for a long time and I watched, captivated by how strong she was. In a few minutes, she stopped and pushed Pam up.
Pam’s thighs, and the bottom of her butt that peaked out of her shorts, were bright red. Her face, too, was flushed in embarrassment.
“Mistress… what will I say?”
“You’ll tell your boss you were spanked if he asks.” Mistress Tracy was unconcerned with Pam’s predicament. I tried to give her a sympathetic look but I was being ignored in my corner on The Stool.
Pam sighed and left. Mistress Tracy turned to me and said, “We’ll go visit her later on. I think it will be fun.”
I moaned softly. In spite of how terrified I was of Mistress Tracy, I knew that I’d spend the entire two days aroused. While I tried to focus on writing, my mind kept imagining what might happen at Pam’s restaurant, and what torture I was in for that afternoon.
When Mistress Tracy allowed me off The Stool, I gratefully shut down my laptop and eased the dreadful plug out of my ass. She ordered me to the floor and I crawled behind her as she led me to her bedroom. I’d never seen her bedroom before and it was sort of the opposite of what I expected. I’m not sure exactly what I expected… maybe black curtains, handcuffs everywhere, hooks on the ceiling, blood-red pillows splashed on jet black satin sheets.
But instead, it was almost disappointingly normal. Her bed was made neatly with a pale lilac colored comforter. The walls were beige, adorned with wooden trim. There was a pitcher of water on her nightstand and she poured herself a glass, took a long sip, and said, “Come have a drink.”
I knelt by her feet and she tilted my head up with her thumb, then gave me small sips of the water. When the glass was empty she sat down on the bed and stared at me. I felt decidedly uncomfortable with the attention and I fidgeted and gazed at the floor.
“I want to humiliate you,” she said after a long moment of uneasy silence. She leaned down and touched my cheek and I tried my best not to flinch. “I want to make you suffer. Touch yourself, Sadey.”
I knew I was bright red and was decidedly uncomfortable. Nate and I play with others quite frequently, but I very rarely play alone with someone other than him. Being there, with just Mistress Tracy, and knowing I had to obey her… it was an odd experience, to say the least. But I was determined to please her. If Nate came back to find that I’d been difficult, he would be disappointed. To please Nate, I had to please Mistress Tracy.
So I touched myself. My pussy was wet which wasn’t surprising, and using my own slickness as lubrication, I fingered myself. I rolled my clitoris between my fingers. I slipped inside for just a moment to get that feeling of fullness that I love. And then I looked up at her, and she was looking down at me with such intensity that I nearly came. But she said, “No, no. Don’t come yet.”
I moaned as she kept me in that desperate edge, that crazy cliff where I was just a small, quick rub away from falling off into bliss. It was strange the way she stared at me with such keen interest, such curiosity. She’d seen me orgasm before—this was not totally new stuff to her. But I felt good there, being watched so intently.
She got off her bed and knelt beside me, stroking my back just ever so lightly. I shivered and she laughed.
“I’m going to have fun with you. Tonight, I think I’ll dress you up in one of Pam’s waitress outfits. We’ll ask the manager if you can give the job a shot.”
I whimpered a little and she slapped my thigh.
“Sadey, no whining. Ever. You’ll like dressing up like a slut and showing off your body.” She rubbed my thigh where she’d slapped it and leaned in closer. “If you’re good today, I’ll wait to beat you until after the restaurant. If you’re bad, your ass and thighs will be lined with marks and all of the customers will know you’ve been spanked, just like Pam.”
I was trembling and needed to orgasm but was afraid to ask her for permission. I waited quietly until finally, Mistress Tracy squeezed my thigh hard and said, “Come for me.”
Her grip on my leg pushed me into a powerful orgasm. I threw my head back and looked up at her ceiling as I groaned with pleasure. I’d barely finished cumming when Mistress Tracy slapped my thigh once more and ordered me to get up. So, on shaking legs, I stood and waited for whatever torment she’d planned for me next.
Since Nate and I live in a rural area, we often play outside with no worries about neighbors or even a passing car. Our backyard is well shielded from the road. Mistress Tracy and Pam live in a suburban neighborhood, where the houses are just an arm’s length from each other and neighbors walk their dogs outside and stop to chat with each other. It’s all very friendly in a TV sitcom sort of way.
So, when Mistress Tracy laid out her plan for me, my stomach turned with dread.
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