The big book of dominati.., p.17
The Big Book of Domination, page 17
“You’re still my dirty little slut, aren’t you?” he growled above me. “You still belong to me. You always have and you always will. Because you love how I use you, don’t you?”
His cock slipped from my mouth, and he yanked my head back to look at him. I wanted to sob with the vision—his face finally above me, so handsome and so filled with domination and desire.
“Answer me. Don’t you?” He slapped my face. Gentle enough not to cross a line, but hard enough to make me feel utterly owned.
“Yes.”
He twisted my hair painfully in his hand. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, Sir. I love how you use me.” Like he always promised he would.
“And why is that?” He was whispering now, one hand tangled in my long hair as he gently stroked my stinging cheek with the end of his tie. I turned my head toward his hand, and he cradled my face in his palm.
“Because I’m a slut.”
He ran his fingertips over my lips, then slipped them inside of my mouth. I could taste myself on him.
“You’re my slut.”
I nodded and spoke as best I could with his fingers stroking my tongue. “I’m your slut.”
“Good girl. Take off your panties and lie on the bed.”
I hadn’t noticed the bindings on the headboard until he was strapping them around my wrists. Sitting back on his heels he looked me up and down hungrily, then began running his hands slowly over my body, exploring his conquest with firm but gentle caresses.
“Such nice, big tits…pretty belly…mmmm, and look at this pussy.” I moaned as he spread the lips of my labia, leaned down and licked me from asshole to clit. One teasing stroke.
“Oh god, yes.” I tilted my pelvis and spread my legs.
He sat up, shook his head, and slapped me right where his mouth had just been. I cried out, tugging against my restraints. “That was always your problem, baby. You’re so fucking impatient.”
I knew he was right. I had been impatient for him. I’d wanted more than he could give, and it had driven him away. I turned my head, burying my face in the pillow.
“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll eat that hot little snatch before the night is out. But first I’m going to teach you a lesson in patience.”
Slowly he pulled his leather belt from his pants and looped it around my neck. There was no hesitation in his movements, no lack of confidence, and as he began to pull, a dark glimmer in his eyes, a trickle of fear ran through me. I was propelled back to the days of our affair. To the days when his words had made me realize exactly the kind of woman I wanted to be.
His words. They’d always been so damn perfect. And now, the way he was touching me…it was the same. A part of me had hoped he would disappoint me. It would have been easy to let him go if he had. It would have been easy to say, “game over.” But he wasn’t disap- pointing me…and this game was just beginning.
Stealing the breath from my lungs, he leaned down to kiss me. He kissed me gently and slowly, swirling his tongue deep inside my mouth as my world started to grow dark around the edges. Finally he released his grip on the belt as he exhaled into my gasping mouth.
“Please…” I didn’t recognize my own voice.
He stared down at me almost lovingly as he traced a fingertip down my cheek. “Please, what?”
“Fuck me.”
“Oh, I’ll fuck you. I’m going to fuck you all night, baby.” He squeezed my breasts roughly as he spoke. “But not yet.”
He kneeled between my legs and stroked his cock, letting the head just barely brush against my soaked, swollen lips. My hair was in my face and the bindings were digging into my wrists, but all I could feel was the emptiness that needed to be filled. He started stroking himself faster, sliding his cock up and down my slit, slip- ping the knob inside my cunt then pulling back out. It was torture. I spread my legs wider, inviting him in.
“You want me to fuck you, baby? You want me to pound this hot little hole till you beg for mercy?” I whimpered in assent. And then he was rubbing his dick against my clit. There was nothing but friction, heat and him. “Well I’m not going to. Not yet. Do you know why?”
“Be-because you’re an asshole.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s right. I’m the big, bad, asshole that broke your heart.” He grabbed the end of the belt and pulled it tight around my throat once again. “And yet here you are—still begging for it like the cock- hungry slut you are.”
He was right. And I didn’t care. The pressure of the belt and the steady rubbing of his dick against my clit were too much. My orgasm was building. Breathless, I screamed his name, just like I used to do, alone in my bed and dreaming of him. But this time I wasn’t alone. This time he came with me, his warm cum splattering over my pussy and belly.
As I lay there, his body slumped over mine, I real- ized how ironic it was; we were finally together…but I was still waiting. He unfastened my restraints in silence, then sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. I yearned to speak, to ask him the hundreds of questions that had been burning inside of me for the past three years. I swallowed the questions along with the tears. Finally he broke the silence with a question of his
own. “Why did you have to fall in love?”
I considered it a moment, even though I didn’t have to. “Because you don’t let me win.” I used the edge of the sheet to wipe his cum off of me, then stood up and slipped on my dress.
“Where are you going?” First confusion, then panic, flashed across his face. But it was quickly replaced by a confident smirk. “I’m not done with you yet.”
“That’s a shame, because I’m done with you.” I returned his smirk, grabbed my purse and turned toward the door. But there was hesitation in my steps and a single thought kept repeating: Please don’t let me win.
Madame Tuesday
Zoe Amos
I’m a nine to fiver, a district supervisor at a water supply company overseeing the managers at our six satellite offices. On Saturday afternoons, I like to relax in a most unconventional way. What works for me isn’t on the radar screen for your average woman. I may look like your next-door neighbor: five feet four, twenty-five pounds overweight, pasty skin and dyed hair to cover the gray, with a closet full of black suits and low-heeled shoes. Appearances can be deceptive. You don’t know the real me. I’m guessing the woman next door to you doesn’t visit Madame Tuesday.
In my street clothes, you wouldn’t have noticed me standing in front of a nondescript brick building with blacked-out windows and peeling green trim, and you never would have suspected something unusual was about to go on. There was no need for me to check the address—it’s not posted above the door and it wasn’t my first visit. I knew the routine, pressed the buzzer two shorts and a long, and was buzzed in.
I hiked up the flight of stairs. “Hey, Gert,” I said to the woman sitting behind the desk. “Looking good.” Her ample girth hid her chair from view and it groaned as she leaned forward.
“Save your flirting, honey. We have new forms. Here.” She thrust a clipboard at me. “Fill this out.”
“What’s this? A health survey?”
“New government regs starting today. Check all the boxes that apply. On page two, fill out the services you want.”
Gert never was one for conversation, not that her demeanor invited it. I sat down and filled out the first page, a health history similar to one given to me the last time I had a massage, silently acknowledging the prevalence of regulatory “protections.” At least they hadn’t shut down the salon. On page two was a new list of services with categories and subcategories where one could check off preferred lubricants, sex toys, penile enhancers, bondage props, et cetera, and of course, the activities of choice that Madame Tuesday would inflict upon the client, as well as the price, which per usual would be paid in advance—cash only.
“This is ridiculous,” I said. “I have no idea which brands we use. Madame Tuesday knows what I want.” Gert glared at me through narrowed eyes. I thought about buttering her up. Your mole looks especially menacing today, Gert, I thought. You should see a doctor before animal control comes and fines you for harboring a weasel.
Dutifully, I started on the form. “Really? You’re charging extra for hair pulling? And why is it more for paddling than spanking?”
“Paddles break.”
“Tsk! Unbelievable. You can be sure I’ll tell Madame what I think about this.” I added up the cost and jotted down the total. “And you raised your prices. Nice.” I pulled out my wallet and fingered through the bills.
Gert double-checked the amount on her calculator. “You didn’t add in for the golden shower.”
“I don’t want a golden shower, and I didn’t ask for one.”
Gert examined the form. “Well, whaddya know.” She scratched her fingernail against the paper. “It looks like you checked the box, but it’s a stray mark printed on here.” She flipped through the stack of new forms and saw they all had the same mark. “Guess that explains those strange comments I got earlier today. Ha!” It was the first time I’d ever heard her laugh.
“Gloria!”
“Madame Tuesday! Thank goodness. Please say you’re ready for me.”
She appeared like a fairy godmother, without warning and right on cue. She looked marvelous in her short shorts and strappy, pink-sparkle stilettos with clear heels. Her open midriff revealed taut abs, and her stretchy, pink glitter top held her breasts in a way that would make any man or woman jealous. A perfect spray tan covered the rest of her exposed skin, setting off her highlighted, blonde hair held in place with a matching pink, sequined headband.
“Where do you get your clothes?” I gasped. The sight of her thrilled me. Had I been a publisher, I would have created a magazine solely to feature her photograph. I’d call it Modern Dominatrix or Fab Fetish Fashionista.
Madame Tuesday extended her hand toward Gert, showing off her manicured fingers with squared-off pink-sparkle tips. Gert handed her my forms, and she gave them a cursory glance.
Madame and I walked down the hall and into the room I had come to love. Stepping over the threshold was good for my soul. I saw familiar items hanging on the walls: the leather masks, collars, leashes, whips, latex bondage gear, costumes and such arranged around the room. Lining the tabletops were implements of pleasure: lubricants, dildos, cock rings, anal penetration plugs and more, with dozens of others stowed in drawers and closets. Positioned on the floor in their usual places were the vault, the rack, the chair and the platform, as well as the ceiling swing hanging from chains. The room smelled of cedar-sage disinfectant with an undertone of sweat. She closed the door with the sole of her shoe, pitched the paperwork to the floor, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Forms, humph,” she said. Her pink lips looked juicy and newly puffed, and I wondered if it was injections or something more recent involving a customer.
I tossed my bag into a corner. “Yeah, what’s up with that?” I removed my earrings, placed them on a side table and began to get ready.
“Necessary evil.”
“Am I paying for that too,” I winked. “Shut up, bitch, and get moving.”
“Yes, Madame. You’re the boss.” I folded my slacks, hung up my top and shimmied out of my underthings. Time was wasting.
She opened a closet and pulled out the harness, a contraption of thick, black leather straps held together with brass rivets, and threw it at my feet. Heavy, stainless steel O-rings were strategically placed at various intervals, as were various buckles and Velcro fasteners. There were two openings that circled the thighs and a split at the crotch; I stepped into the leg holes, placed my arms through the correct parts and buckled myself in, taking care to separate my cleavage to accommodate the vertical supporting strap. Once everything was in place, Madame Tuesday came around my backside to finish the job.
My body was on autopilot, and I could feel my cunt respond as she tugged on the harness. Its snug fit felt good against my body and made me feel nurtured. I could feel my excitement level rise. “This is going to be awesome!”
She grabbed my hair in her fist and pulled. “Good job, Gloria. Shut up and let’s get you hooked up.” She pushed off as she let go of my hair. Oh, how I loved these moments.
“Lie down,” she commanded and I obeyed by resting facedown on the floor.
The chains attached to the hanging swing wrapped around a tumbler fastened near the ceiling that Madame could operate with a flick of a wall switch. The rotating tumbler raised or lowered the chains to the desired height. Each link was about three inches long and an inch wide, the type used to secure a motorcycle to a trailer. At the lower ends of each chain were two separate lighter-duty chains. These attached to the four corners of the swing, or in my case would be attached to the two O-rings at my shoulder blades and the two at my lower back near hip level. Madame lowered the swing to the padded floor, unclipped it from the chains and then kicked the rubber swing aside. I could hear as she clipped into the harness O-rings and felt her tug on the four connections. At one point her heels came dangerously close to my face and I could smell the pleasant muskiness of her foot.
“Excellent,” she said as she pressed one of her sharp heels into my butt. “You are a good student, but a bad girl.”
“Yes, Madame. Very bad.”
She walked to the wall switch and pressed upward. The harness grabbed at my body as I was lifted off the floor an inch at a time. In moments, I was suspended several feet off the ground. My arms dangled and my feet hung closer to the floor, but my body was held horizontally. Madame walked back.
“Something’s not right, is it?” she asked. “The cuffs.” I gasped. Madame hadn’t laid them out, and I had
forgotten about them.
“We forgot the cuffs!” I echoed.
“We?” Madame went into the closet, pulled out the leather wrist cuffs and slapped them on me, securing the straps as tight as she could get them. She yanked my arms behind my back and clipped the cuffs together. The tension was uncomfortable to say the least. It was much better to put them on beforehand, but I got what I deserved.
“For that,” she said, “you must be punished—something new.”
“I’ve already paid,” I said.
“Fine! In that case, anything I add will be on the house. Here’s a treat I know I’ll enjoy.”
She uncapped a tube and rolled a light gel over my nipples.
“That reminds me,” I said. “Shut up!”
The tingling began as soon as the gel touched my skin, and within a minute the temperature rose until it felt like my nipples would burst into flames.
“Yeesh! Whoa, ow! Ow!”
“I’m so glad you like that.” She gave a slight touch with her finger on my arm, and I spun to the side. She went to the counter and picked up an anal plug. I could hear her fiddling around with lubricant. Using one hand, she parted my crack. I felt the item slide in my ass past the first rounded ball. She pushed a little, then a little more, and I felt it move into the second position. “Hold on tight,” she said. “Be good, or I’ll push it in another notch.”
“Yes, Madame,” I said through stifled breath. It was easy to clench my ass and my cunt at the same time, to work the muscles together. My nipples burned in a spectacular fiery sensation, and I could feel my body tense in anticipation of the delights to come. “I remembered what I was going to say earlier,” I gasped.
“Shut the fuck up!” Madame Tuesday slapped my ass hard and I swung forward. “What’s the matter with you? You haven’t stopped talking since you got here.” She stopped my movement as I swung back toward her, and she shoved the anal plug in one more notch.
My legs tensed outward with the surge in diameter. I couldn’t remember her ever pushing it in so far before. “I had an energy drink before I left the house. Do you think its working?”
“Enough!” Madame Tuesday marched to the closet and pulled out a mouth plug.
“Madame, please let me tell you something important. There are red plastic clothespins in my bag for my nips!” I raced to get out the words before she fit the appliance over my head. She pushed the rubber ball past my teeth and into my mouth. It was worth it.
Madame grasped my chin with her finger. “And you didn’t want to miss out, did you?” She pushed on my chin and my body swung back and forth.
She squatted next to my bag in search of the clothes-pins I had snagged before leaving the house. I discovered they were a tiny bit tighter than the ones Madame uses. My heart fluttered at the thought she might not find them. The sight of her butt pressing next to her high heels made me shiver. I could see the tattoo on her lower back, dark geometric curls and the top edge of a colorful hibiscus flower that enticed and disappeared into her shorts.
Having found the desired items, she unpinched the clothespins and put one, then the other, over my nips. The intensity made me tighten my twat harder than ever. Madame placed them to fit perfectly. The pinching combined with the tingling heat made my whole body warm, as if sauna heat rolled through me. I definitely felt ready and Madame Tuesday could tell by the pace of my breath. She wasted no time adjusting the strap-on over her shorts.
Again, I heard her messing around with the lubricant. The first thing I felt was the tip of the slippery dildo. She played it around my slit. I didn’t know how she could tell, but I was at the perfect height off the floor. I was ready and open for business, but made sure I had a firm grip on the anal plug. It wasn’t easy to keep it in place, but the tension of the moment helped me do it. I felt so wet, I imagined I might be dripping onto the floor.
She gripped the straps near the top of my ass and started moving into me little by little. I never know what size she’s going to use. I had seen two possibilities lying on the counter, and I guessed she had picked the fatter one. I felt a little stretched and focused on the anal plug to keep things tight. She moved slowly and established a rhythm until I took in the full length. She added a squirt of lube to the dildo to get it to move easier. It felt nice and full. I moaned and she moved quicker as if she were keeping time to a faster song in her head. I wasn’t thinking anything except how my whole body was quivering with excitement. The next thing I knew, she pumped into me like a piston engine, and I grunted through the hole in my mouthpiece.
