I know what you need.
You need to leave yourself and come to me.
Do you trust me?
Come to me. Don't be afraid.
I will take you on a voyage. I will take you to another place. I will make you forget yourself and teach you how to satisfy me.
Come to me. Now. Let me hear you say yes.
I will be dressed in clothes that you love, that make me look so soft and voluptuous you hunger to hold me in your arms.
But I won't let you. You won't dare to touch me. You know that I will laugh at you and push you away. The fear of that humiliating rejection keeps you frozen in place, shy, unsure of yourself, humble before me.
Without command, you are already serving my will. Even without bonds, I can immobilize your body.
You inhale the warm aroma of my skin, lightly perfumed by Shalimar. For a moment, the fragrance intoxicates you so that you think you have wandered into a rose garden.
You want to reach out and caress my long, thick hair. I know you do. I smirk at you and toss my head: the curls cascade in dark torrents below my shoulders. You have a mad impulse to drop to your knees and reach up your palms to catch the falling waves. Yet, still, you are afraid to move.
I stare coolly between your legs, even more amused to see that your cock is already getting hard. A cold glint awakes in my eyes, and, suddenly, you feel unprepared.
You didn't expect this. Although you have fantasized about just such a moment all your life, you didn't expect to feel so defenseless. You thought you would go into submission only as far as you wanted to go. Now that you are with me, you begin to understand that you will go as far as I want you to.
Your heart pounds furiously; your leg muscles prickle, aching to take flight. When you look into my eyes, my clear and steady gaze drills through you with unsparing intensity.
Do you know why?
It's because I see you. I see you truly and I know who you are. I know everything about you. I know what you need and I know how to give it to you. I know something else, too: I know how to take it away.
No one has ever looked at you this way before. It is your worst fear to be so naked, yet also your greatest need. An involuntary shudder grips you from groin to temple. Your face changes color and, though we have yet to exchange a word, I know that you already belong to me.
I take your arm and guide you to my living room where scented candles glow. The room shimmers with their golden lights. On the floor are spread woven blankets and large, soft pillows.
I push you a few inches away from me, then stand back and quietly say, "Undress."
For a second, you consider making a sarcastic joke but, instead, you blush and falter.
"I told you to undress," I repeat, my voice grown icy. "I expect you to obey."
You've never heard me use this voice. The tone makes you wince.
I grasp your belt buckle and pull you roughly towards me. "If you don't obey me, I'll use this belt on you."
With a start, you realize how vulnerable you truly are. You know that I am serious and more than capable of fulfilling the threat. You do not want to resist me. You cannot resist me. It doesn't matter that I am physically smaller than you. If anything, this only makes you fear me more, as if the evil and seductive powers of Circe were embodied by the cold-blooded woman wrenching the waist of your pants.
"Perhaps you've forgotten how to undress yourself," I hiss, slapping your face.
Shocked, you touch your cheek, feeling the warmth of the blush I put there. Wordlessly, I pull down the zipper on your pants.
"Keep your hands at your side."
The tips of your hardened nipples poke up your shirt. I grasp one and twist it hard, "Do you understand?" I repeat in a calm voice. I pinch the nipple ferociously between my fingernails and growl, "Understand?"
You groan loudly. "Yes, yes," you say. "I understand, Mistress."
I smile. "I thought you would."
I reach inside the gaping zipper. You followed my instructions: you aren't wearing underwear. I wrap my fingers around your shaft, pulling it slowly out of your pants. It is already thick and hard, throbbing with desire for me.
"Look at this useless dick," I taunt you, "The poor little thing is all excited." I flick the head with my fingernails and jeer when it bounces. "Look how much it's jumping around! I think it wants to go somewhere."
You are panting, your eyes a little wild. Your cock gets longer. I notice. Remember? I see everything. There is nothing you can hide from me now.
"There's nothing you can do about it, is there?" I say, grasping the shaft in one hand and scraping my long nails across the head.
"Nooooo," you moan, squirming.
I caress it lightly, gently rubbing it up and down, then working it harder and harder, stroking you back and forth, and laughing when uncontrollably pump your hips.
"Now, now," I scold you, giving the head one final rough pinch, "I don't want you to be too excited."
I reach inside your fly again and ease your balls out. You keep your hands tightly against your sides but you can't help shifting foot to foot when I begin examining the scrotum. I pull the loose skin away from the balls, pinching it contemplatively, as if looking for a place to pierce it. I tug the coarse pubic hairs until you gasp and squirm. Then I cup your testicles in both hands and squeeze them, watching your eyes fill with terrified excitement.
"I wonder how much you can take," I say coyly, squeezing the balls even harder. I watch you carefully, but you are so caught up in your fear and your submission, you are surprised when I stop just at the point where you worried that you might break position.
"Look at you now," I say calmly, pointing to your genitals. "Look at yourself."
You gaze down to see yourself exposed and completely defenseless against my assaults. Your naked cock is rigid with excitement; the cum-filled balls hanging heavily from your pants,
"Do you think you can undress yourself now?" I ask, sitting on the arm of my chair and lighting a cigarette.
"Yes." You hurriedly pull off your boots and socks, drag off your pants, and clumsily unbutton your shirt and throw it aside. Then you stand before me, stark naked, waiting, your hands at your sides again.
I take my time, languourously smoking my cigarette, scrutinizing you head to foot. I begin with your eyes, staring into them until you lower them in embarrassment. My gaze drops to your chest and travels down your belly. You sense that I am lingering over your cock and balls, and your heart hammers in your chest. Are you big enough? Will you stay hard long enough to satisfy me? I stare at your legs. Like every other part of you, they too belong to me. Every inch of you must be revealed to me.
The intensity of my visual rape makes you slightly dizzy. Your cock grows longer; even the little hairs on your body raise up, as if electricity coursed through you.
Finally, I stub out the cigarette and stand up from the chair. My fingers trace the territory my eyes already staked. I explore your face first, forcing you to suck my fingertips into your mouth, then put the moistened fingers on your nipples.
I rub the saliva over each one, peering at them closely, observing the tiny bumps rise as the air dries the moisture. I press my mouth against your right nipple and quickly bite it, gauging your reaction. When a loud gasp escapes your lips, I smile and pull my mouth away.
My hands roam your torso, exploring your chest and your belly, squeezing your arms from shoulders to wrists, inspecting your back muscles and fingering your spine, then slapping your naked buttocks until you whine softly. I ignore your swollen genitals. Instead, I inspect your legs, pinching and slapping your thighs, gripping your calves tight and ordering you to spread your ankles. I pinch the sensitive inner flesh of your thighs until you moan, and lightly tease your stray pubic curls. Again and again, my hands wander so close to your cock and balls that you sigh in desperate anticipation; but each time, I leave you unsatisfied.
"Kneel," I say at last. "Kiss my feet and thank me for undressing you. Thank me for the privilege of serving me."
I point to the floor and, automatically, you sink down to your knees and obey. You respectfully put your hands around my small, elegant high heels and kiss the supple black leather gratefully.
"Thank you," you whisper, "thank you for undressing me, thank you, Mistress, for making me your slave."
As you embrace my feet, you feel me lean over you and reach for something. As I do, I grab your hair and painfully pull your head to one side.
"You ARE going to be my slave!" I whisper harshly in your ear.
In seconds, you feel a thick, stiff leather collar being fitted around your neck. You exhale loudly, quailing. My warm, fragrant body surrounds you briefly as I attach the collar, my full breasts pressed against you, my face close to yours. I know the effect I am having on you, and I whisper threats to you, laughing in low chuckles when your cock lurches. I raise my leg, bending the knee, and digging the sole of my shoe against your cock, pressing the stiff member cruelly back against your stomach.
"Don't rush me," I sneer.
I attach a short, thick leash to your collar and pull you to your feet. I wrap it several times around my wrist and firmly pull down on it, forcing you to bend uncomfortably at the waist.
"That's right," I murmur, "stick your ass out and point your cock at the ground like a dog." I yank the leash and make you follow me that way to my bedroom.
We enter a room shrouded by shadows. In the center, the polished wood of a huge bed reflects the flickering fires from tall black candles arranged on either side. My bed is large and sturdy; it has four posts. You know why I selected it, don't you?
Thick leather restraints are attached by chains to each of the posts, waiting for you. In a flash, you see yourself, already bound spreadeagled on this massive bed, unable to defend yourself against me, unable to do anything but succumb to my cruel games.
Behind you, the door is shut and locked. You glance around anxiously, wondering if there is another exit. The windows are heavily curtained: do the drapes hide bars? Your eyes are drawn to the large wall to the right of the door: it is covered with brass hooks from which hang a wide and frightening array of S/M toys.
Whips, floggers, crops, cats, canes, straps, and paddles hang menacingly, waiting to be used. Elaborate black leather restraints are arrayed: wrist and ankle cuffs, collars, bondage belts, cock and ball harnesses, body harnesses, bondage gloves, and more exotic restraints. On one end, a series of hooks are devoted to nipple clips, from tiny lightweight pinchers to heavy, surgical clamps. A dozen different pairs hang by their gleaming metal chains.
Seeing all these things, and knowing that they are mine and that I know how to use them all, makes your mind race over the awful, wonderful possibilities.
What if I were to tie you to the bed, face-down, and whip your ass with those slender, bamboo canes until bright red welts marked you? What if I began attaching that set of clips to your nipples, your genitals, and your thighs, mercilessly compressing the most sensitive flesh on your body, and laughing as you writhed in pain?
You see something else on my wall too: a black leather belt with straps and silver buckles hangs from a hook. From a specially constructed panel in the front, an eight-inch rubber dildo sticks out. Flesh-colored and obscene, it conveys its threat. What if you were tied to the bed, face down, and suddenly felt my slim fingers greasing your hole? What if that huge, flexible shaft was suddenly pushed into your lubricated hole, and worked inside you, inch by excruciating inch?
Can you imagine me lying on top of your back, forcing that big rubber dick up your ass? Can you imagine how you'll feel when I coldly announce, "I'm going to fuck your virgin asshole. I'm going to take your little cherry and make you my whore." Can you already hear my laughter when you quiver like a schoolboy, begging me please not to do this to you?
You can hear me, can't you?
This is what I'll say: "You want this," I'll breathe into your ear, "You need Mistress to open up your little hole." I'll push the dildo into you harder and inches deeper, spanking you with open palms as I penetrate you, ignoring your whimpered pleas.
Why should I pay attention to them? I know what you need, even if you cannot admit it to me.
But you will simply have to wait for me to give it to you. For now, I will take you to my bed and force you to sit down, pushing you onto your back, and then climbing on top of you.
I straddle your chest, pinning you, and quickly secure your wrists in the thick leather cuffs attached to the head posts. Then I turn around and bind your ankles in the cuffs at the foot of the bed, stretching your feet so far apart that the tension in your groin makes you grunt.
"Does it hurt?" I ask. When you nod, I reach down to your balls and twist a clump of hair. "How about this?" I ask, "Does this hurt?" You yelp, and I flick my fingers against the scrotal sac, snapping it fiercely. "And this? This hurts too?"
You are making so much noise and writhing so desperately, that I stand up.
"I didn't give you permission to whimper," I say coldly.
You watch in amazement as I raise my skirt to my waist. Your eyes are burning and your lips are dry. Casually, I ease my panties down, letting you look for a moment at the triangle of thick curls between my legs.
You gulp in disappointment when I pull the skirt back down. I roll my panties into a ball and walk to the edge of the bed.
"This will shut you up," I push the ball into your mouth, crotch first, stuffing them in until you are gagged. You suck on them, tasting the sweet, musky juice, growing more submissive.
"I'm going to punish your cock too. It got hard without permission." I walk over to the wall, my back turned to you and blocking your view as I select an implement from the wall.
"Close your eyes," I order, "and keep them closed."
You obey, trembling with anticipation. What will I do to you now? Stretched out on my bed, your genitals swollen and taut, the blood pulsing in your veins, are hypnotized by lust and drunk on endorphins. Memories of your other life, your life without me, have vanished. You have no other life now but to be my slave, my toy, my possession. Your entire universe is this dark room when you lay helplessly bound on my bed, about to receive my discipline. All your emotions center on me: your terror and ecstasy, your happiness and anguish--everything is for me, everything is evoked by me, everything is controlled by me. You have no will of your own, except the will to serve.
Another moment, and a thin, supple band of leather slides around and under your balls; it gets tighter and tighter as my cool hands cinch the strap and buckle it securely so that your balls are forced up and out. Next, you feel thin leather laces circle the shaft of your still-stiff cock. I wind them tightly, finally tying the laces off just under the head of your cock. The head swells unbearably bigger, into a puffy knot.
"You can open your eyes now," I say. "I want you to see this."
Your cheeks are pink with shame when you see your hard dick standing vertical, straining towards the ceiling. I give it a stinging slap and it bobbles wildly.
"I'll make it do some tricks for me," I laugh unpleasantly.
I tease the head with my fingernails, scratching them lazily back and forth until you begin writhing in your bonds, grimacing painfully at the irritation. I begin to slap it lightly, then hold it tight and slap it harder, speaking to you in a low voice.
"Who does this cock belong to?" I ask.
"You, Mistress," you choke through your gag.
I pull the panties from your mouth.
"Tell me again," I sneer, pinching you roughly.
"It belongs to you!" you cry.
"And these?" I grasp one of the rings on the harness, and drag your balls even higher, pulling them away from your body. "Who do these belong to?" I ask, satisfied when I hear you groan loudly.
"Mistress, they're yours!" you sob, "Everything belongs to you!"
"That's right," I say, coldly. "They're mine." I squeeze them with one hand. With the other, I grip the tender head of your cock so hard that you scream. "If I ever find you using them with someone else," I say, "I'll make sure you can never use them again."
My threat makes you groan in terror. I slap your balls and you jerk in agony.
"You'll be an obedient whore, won't you?" I sneer.
"Oh, yes, Mistress, yes, yes, yes," you pant, "Yessss."
I hold my hand up in the air. Bewildered, you stare at it. Am I going to slap you again? I lick the palm, wetting it thoroughly, then rub it over the head of your hard cock. At first, it excites you and you moan with pleasure. But I keep rubbing, over and again, mercilessly, watching the sensation drive you from excitement to excruciating sensitivity. You thrash in your bonds, whining and begging me to stop.
"Don't you like it?" I purr at you, "don't you like feeling my hand on your cock?"
"Noooo," you wail, then you softly sob out a "yes."
"Confused?" I laugh. The head of your prick is so swollen and sensitive now, it looks as if it will explode. I play with your cock as a cat with a mouse--pawing it, scratching it, batting it, biting it! You wriggle helplessly in agonized lust, dancing in your chains. At last, I unwind the laces. You gasp first in relief, then in pain. The laces cut a pattern of diamonds into the tender skin: the thin welts are sore and burning.
You stare at me helplessly as I tease your balls, massaging them and manipulating them, pinching and hurting them, then moving on to your sensitized cock. I dig my nails into the head then grasp the shaft roughly and pump you mechanically, as merciless as a milking machine. Each stroke brings you close to orgasm; each one brings you pain and pleasure. The thin red lines from the laces throb wickedly while my cool, firm hand controls your inflamed erection. I'm making your balls even heavier and tighter with hot cum. You crave desperately to shoot and feel relief. But I won't let you.
Not yet.
I want to watch as the stabbing pain of the welts and the harrowing ache in your balls mingle with your ecstasy. Soon they will be inseparable. Soon, you will need my pain to experience ecstasy; soon, you will not be able imagine an ecstasy without the pain which I alone can give you.
Your breathing grows ragged. The thousand tiny wrinkles of your scrotum ripple mysteriously. You cannot stop yourself from thrusting your hips in rhythm to my stroking. You cannot control your need to cum.
This is when I stop.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!" you gasp, "Noooooo." The bonds frustrate and madden you: you tear against them, but it's no use. You are my captive. I look at you and laugh, pointing between your legs. Your eager cock is lurching pitifully, hungering for release; a veil of perspiration covers your chest and your groin, and thin lines of sweat form on your brow and upper lip. You grimace and plead, thrashing your head side to side, delirious with lust.
"Don't go anywhere," I laugh cruelly, standing up from the bed. I leave the room for a moment and return with something in my hand. I uncurl my fingers and show you what I've brought: a large square of ice glistens on my palm. You inhale sharply, cringing in your bonds.
"Oh, God!" you moan, as I brusquely rub the ice over your cock. The icy water drips down the shaft and onto your balls. I slide the slippery cube over the head again and again, until it's numbed by the cold. Then I run it down to your balls and cover them with its freezing wetness. At last, I've forced your erection down.
I laugh at your limp dick.
"Your cock belongs to me," I tell you. "I'll make you hard at my whim and soft at my whim. I'll bring you to the edge of orgasm and stop. Or I'll milk your cock to see how many times in a row you can shoot Whatever you think your limit is, I will prove to you that I can exceed it." I light a cigarette and sit back on my heels, staring coolly at you. "You're my personal fuck toy," I say calmly, blowing smoke in your face. "I'm going to use you."
"Yes, Mistress," you moan, "oh, yes, yes." You are sweating freely now, your body as hot as your genitals are cold.
"Do you belong to me?" I ask quietly. "Are you my slave?"
"Oh, yes, Mistress, yes, yes!" you cry. Your cock is already expanding with feverish excitement. When you see the amused expression on my face, you fall yet deeper into submissive hunger for my sadistic ministrations.
"Mistress, I am yours! Take me, please, please, I want to be your slave. I need to serve you. Please train your slave to serve you."
When you accept that you are mine--now and forever; when you beg me to take you into my life; when you humbly plead to be my slave: that is when your slavery will really begin.
Only then will I take you on a voyage. Only then will I take you to another place. Only then will I make you forget yourself.
Because I know what you need.
You need to leave yourself.
You need to come to me.
I have been waiting for you all my life. I just didn't know it until we met. Then, it happened quickly--a brief introduction, a casual conversation, a few hastily blurted confessions. Without warning, we were seized by an all-consuming, unthinking passion that neither of us wanted to control.
No matter that, at times, I show you only the cold, austere side of myself, or that I leave you alone, entirely alone, to wait for agonizing eternities until I am ready to pay attention to you again. I own you. You belong to me not like a possession, not a mere trophy nor a toy. No. You belong to me the way my own body belongs to me. You are as much a part of me as my arms and legs.
And what arms and legs,, you are thinking, aren't you my horny slut? I know you are thinking: those silken muscled legs! I want to feel those sinewy calves and soft thighs wrapped around my body. I want to surrender to her strong, unhesitating arms and hands. I want to be pinned tightly in their embrace.
I know it excites you to think about my power. It frightens you to be so close to feminine authority. It makes your heart race and your mouth get dry. You know that I will be cruel to you. Very cruel. But that's precisely what you crave. That's why you adore me. My cruelty is your drug; you are addicted to it now. And, evil creature that I am, I will see that you get a regular dose of it.
I like to think of how much you suffer for me. I like to think of you suffering with desire, hungering to worship my gorgeous body, growing desperately, frantically submissive to me and throwing yourself at my feet, groveling before me. I think about this all the time. Do you know why? Because it excites me.
Those dark fantasies you have revealed--mine are much worse. I warned you: I am the most perverse woman in the world. And the most demanding. Right now, you couldn't hope to satisfy a woman like me. But I will teach you and train you and MAKE you satisfy me. I will punish you and confine you and whip you until you perform to my expectations, until you live out all of my fantasies, no matter how twisted. When you don't satisfy me, I will whip you even harder, and degrade you beyond your wildest fantasies.
Let me tell you about our next meeting. When I see you, I will be dressed in a black PVC jumpsuit, shiny and tight, fitting closely over my thin, strong, ripe body. The zipper will barely close over my full, round breasts and my hard nipples will stretch the fabric tight. My thick dark hair will be drawn tightly back from my pale face, and my lips will be painted deep red. My tiny waist will be cinched tightly by a black leather corset. My feet will be shod in black leather boots with tall heels as sharp as knives.
You will shiver at the sight of those heels. I will make you get down on all fours and worship them. I will supervise you to make sure you do a good job. I will make you lick the toe of my boot and suck on it, pulling it into your mouth, licking it freely as if it was an ice-cream cone. I will make you run your thirsty lips over the long, sharp heels, one by one. Then I will sat back in my chair and raise my foot, slowly pushing the heel in and out of your mouth, fucking your mouth with my heel as I talk to you, ordering you to show me how hungry you are to serve me. I want your wet pink tongue to lap the sharp heel as if it was made of honey.
I can already see you, naked and prone on the floor at my feet. I will tell you what a whore you are and dig my heel into your groin, slowly pressing it deeper and deeper into your howling flesh. If you scream, I'll show no remorse. Your scream excites me. Your scream makes me wet. I'll make you scream even more. I will grind the sharp heel between your legs, I will run it up and down the crack of your ass, I will wedge it between your cheeks and explore your throbbing asshole as you writhe, naked and sweating on the cold floor.
I will ask you, "Have you ever been fucked in the ass before?"
I will laugh when you pant and meekly murmur, No.
"I will fuck you," I'll dig my heel in deeper, "I will fuck your virgin ass as if it were a cunt."
You won't disappoint me. I know you won't. At my side are the tools to ensure that you comply. A slender black whip, braided with red leather and tipped with a short, cruel lash. The moment you hesitate, the second I sense your resistance, that lash will sting you like a bee. It will sting worse than a bee: when my whip falls upon you in displeasure, the weight of my disapproval will oppress you. My approval is your oxygen: you need it to breathe.
You will work harder, you will try madly to please me. You will need to please me. The knowledge of how very deeply you crave to please me will only make you feel more helpless to me. That is part of my power over you. It is YOUR need for me to do these things to you which make you feel so vulnerable with me. You are pure, raging need and I am the Satisfier, the Woman who can gratify you. The Only One. Just as you were made for me, I was made for you: your tormentress, your seductress, your mother, your goddess, your Mistress.
When you are at my feet, I will reach down and squeeze your genitals. I will tug on them hard until you moan, and then I will pull you by them first to your knees, then to your feet, gazing silently at you while you squirm and sob in pain, pleading for mercy. Your cries will only make me squeeze harder. It will only make me wetter. Your hot, palpating pink flesh will swell in my hand and small, choked sobs will escape from your lips and I will squeeze even harder, laughing when I see tears pool in your eyes.
When you are finally standing, I will sit back and stare at you. I will stare straight between your legs. I will bring my face close to inspect you, so close that my breath caresses your burning flesh. I will touch you all over, probing deeply and poking roughly and hurting you with my nails until you dance from foot to foot, afraid to pull away but unable to stand still.
"You look so embarrassed," I'll say. I'll pinch you so hard that you'll gasp in pain. "Are you embarrassed?" I'll ask softly, laughing, and pinching you again.
I'll wait until your blush deepens to crimson and then I will grab the thick curls of your pubic hair. "I don't like this hair," I'll say, pulling it so hard, you're afraid I'm going to rip it off your body then and there. How you'll quiver then-- and how I'll laugh. It is so easy to take control of you.
"The hair blocks my view. I'm going to shave you so I can see everything," I'll say, lightly running my fingers through the hair.. "You'll be so smooth and clean, like a baby," I'll purr. "I'm going to shave every last little hair, from front to back, until you're as naked as the day you were born."
I'll pull you by your genitals to me, forcing them out, exposing them even more, humiliating you even more. I will pick up my tawse and brush the leather flaps back and forth across your pulsing sex. The leather feels cool for a moment but when I begin to hit you with it, it will sear your sensitized flesh. I will spank your thighs and hips, smacking you hard on the left. When you twist away in pain, I'll smack you on the right.
"Did I give you permission to pull away?" I'll ask icily, beating you harder, brushing the rough ends of the tawse over your fragile sex, then raining down quick, biting blows that make you groan and sigh unhappily. "Did I?" I'll repeat, beating you harder, "Did I?"
How you will writhe then. How you will fear me. But you will not regret being with me. I won't let you; I won't give you the space to think about what you could have done differently. In the moment, you will feel that you have no choice but to be here with me, locked into this terrifying dynamic of dominant and slave. You will know that it was inevitable you would be with me this way, that you were fated to be my slave, my slut, my property. You will understand then that I have full, unquestionable possession of you: not just of your body, but of your mind. And I will never release you. Oh, no: not ever. Not a greedy little masochist like you.
"Turn around," I will crisply command you. "Bend over. Further! Spread your ankles. Further! Spread them further. I want to see everything. I want you opened WIDE for me." The more it embarrasses you, the more I'll humiliate you. "Reach back and spread your cheeks apart for me," I'll order, slapping your ass, "Pull them as far apart as you can. Pull them so far apart that someone sitting across the room could have a clear view of that little pink hole."
If you hesitate, you'll feel my whip on your back. If you question me, I will smack your face. If you disobey...I will turn away. I will turn away from you and ignore you, as if you didn't even exist for me anymore. This is the worst possible punishment: being exiled from my attention. You would prefer any amount of pain, any cruelty, to being ignored. So I will ignore you until I am convinced of your sincerity. You will have to beg me humbly to whip you and use you like a whore. You will have to get down on your hands and knees and stick your ass high in the air, showing me your asshole and begging me please, please to use it any way I wish.
That is the price you'll pay for disobedience.
But I don't think you will resist. I think you will jump to obey, and hasten to expose yourself to me. Not just because I hold the whip; not only because I can fuck with your mind until you are completely cowed and subdued; but because you ARE a slut. You're my little exhibitionist. Your mind overflows with lurid fantasies. It turns me on to know what a helpless slut you are. You WANT to show me everything. You need to. You need me to see parts of you that no one has ever seen before. You need ME, and ME alone, to claim those parts as MY owned property.
And that's just what I am going to do.
But first I will make you hold that humiliating position. The minutes will seem like months as you wait for my next command. You know I am staring straight at you. You will only be able to guess what I am doing, what I am thinking. Am I smiling or laughing to myself? You hear a rustling noise and wonder--am I reaching for a camera? Ah, what a photo this would make! Can you imagine how you'll feel when I take a picture of you in this position? Perhaps I will digitize your disgrace and put it up here on the Web for all to see. It would amuse me so much to expose you like this, to have everyone see you so naked.
So many different thoughts will race through your mind as you wait for me. What if I am bored? What if you don't measure up? What if I'd really rather be with someone else? Your masochistic insecurities imprison you more thoroughly than any cage I could build. But I won't let you get too insecure. After all, I am terribly kind. Isn't it kind of me to give you the punishment you NEED? Besides, a dominatrix needs her slave the way a cat needs its scratching post. I want you to thrive so that I can use you and torment you even more.
When, at last, I come over to you, I'll caress your back softly and gently tease your nipples. Will you sigh in relief to feel Mistress's loving hands on you . . . or will your legs quake in fear because you sense that this is a deceptive prelude to something awful? I think you'll wobble. I think you will quiver head to toe. You'll remember who I am and what I am capable of doing to you, and you will want to flee, before it's too late and I've devoured you. But seconds later, that same paralyzing weakness will come over you again, so intense and intoxicating that you will have no other thought in your mind except that you MUST do as I say.
"Open your mouth!" I'll say, and you'll obey me immediately, submissively parting your lips. I'll put my fingers inside and grasp your tongue tightly, pulling it between your teeth. "I'll be using this tongue later," I'll say, compressing it between my fingers."
You'll get excited all over again, uncontrollably excited. You know exactly what I mean. You know I'm going to drag that tongue out and pull it until your face is buried between my thighs. Then I will make you service me while I control your head with my hands. I'll give you precise instructions, telling you "slower" and "faster" and "lower" and "higher." At some point, I'll push your head away to gaze into your eyes and taunt you, "What an obedient little oral slut you are!"
You cannot conceal how excited the thought of it makes you. I KNOW how much you want me to use your mouth as my cum-toy. This amuses me too. It will amuse me to watch as you blush furiously and grow speechless with desire. It will amuse me to see you, bent over, your ass still exposed, and your entire body trembling with unbearable lust for me.
That is when I will take you. Without a word, I will invade you. I will seize you. I will climb all over you, giving you no option but to serve me and cede to my stringent demands. I will take complete control of you and make you my marionette. I will yank your hair and pinch your thighs and smack every sensitive part of you. I'll squeeze your nipples and pull them out, elongating them painfully and rolling them roughly between my merciless fingertips.
I'll slide my hands down your belly, slapping and tweaking cruelly as I go. I will force myself onto you, pressing my breasts into your back until you are forced onto all fours. My fingers will be as cruel as the tightest clamps, my claws will gouge your skin, I'll sink my sharp teeth into your neck and whisper sadistic threats until you're nearly weeping with fear. I'll clutch your hair tightly in my fist and force you to crawl across the floor until you are wedged up against a chair.
"Grab the arms!" I will coldly instruct, and when you flounder momentarily in confusion, reaching instead for the seat, I will slap your ass so brutally that you yelp pitifully.
"The arms!" I say harshly, "What did I tell you? Grab the arms!" I'll twist your nipples tightly and scratch them with my long, red nails.
Your eyes will fill with tears of frustration as you squirm. "Yes, yes, I'm trying, please, I'm trying!" you'll whine.
"You don't have to try," I will growl in your ear, my hot breath making the little hairs on your arms stand up, "Just do it." I'll slap you between each word. "Just...do....it," I'll repeat, hurting you again.
You will feel me lean over, reach for something, pull something from a bag. A moment later, something long and hard will move up and down between the cheeks of your ass. You won't know what it is and I won't tell you. I will let you think about it. I will let you try to guess. I will keep running it over your hole, manipulating it slowly, sensuously, silently.
It could be a dildo which I will use to pop your cherry; it could be an inflatable plug which I will use to stretch you out; it could be the handle of the whip I will use to beat you. It seems too big for an enema tube . . . or is it? Perhaps it's something stranger, even more perverse. You know I want to make you my obedient puppy. Perhaps I am holding a butt-plug with a tail--the one you know I plan to stick up your ass when I make you my trained dog.
I want you to think about that.
But, really, it could be anything. I might push you onto your back and kneel on your chest, showing you that what I'm holding in my hands is a bit, which I will force into your mouth to make you my pony-boy. Maybe I will go for a little ride. I'll sit on your back while you crawl, naked and on all fours. My smooth legs will grip your flanks; I'll clench the reins tightly in my fist. I'll make you whinny for me. I'll feed you sugar from the palm of my hand.
I am capable of anything: any punishment, any humiliation, any cruel game. Don't try to predict what I'll do next. You can only experience it. You cannot stop me. You cannot control me. You are HELPLESS now.
That is how I want you.
I will make you wait for it. I will make you wait in this vulnerable position, exposed, humiliated, trembling, overwhelmed by fearful, unknowing anticipation. I want you to speculate wildly about my next move. I want you to understand how powerless you are with me now. I want you to contemplate all the possibilities, including your worst nightmares and your most shameful fantasies. I want you to feel so lost that you sink inexorably into the ecstasy of your submission to me. Oh, yes. You WILL reconcile yourself to being my whore. You will be THRILLED to obey my every whim. You will feel my power over you. I will make sure of it. I will train you and teach you and discipline you until you feel that you were destined to be my slave, until you know in your heart that your greatest happiness comes from pleasing me.
But until then, you will wait. You will wait to see me. You will wait to serve me. You will wait to kneel at my feet humbly--and you will have to beg for the privilege. I won't even consider seeing you until you CRAWL to me.
After all, I have been waiting for you all my life. And I don't like to be kept waiting. Now I will make you pay for it.
"Come To Me" copyright © 1995 Gloria G. Brame; "I'm Waiting" copyright © 1996 Gloria G. Brame. Both appear in DOMINA. Publication of these stories is strictly forbidden without Gloria's written permission.