Part 2
As I walked into the kitchen I saw the cushion and, without her needing to point, knelt next to her, put my hands together behind my back and kept my eyes down. She was wearing low tan pumps with maybe two inch heels. They were open toed so I had a chance to look at her toes rather than just the kitchen tiles.
“I am going next door to visit my neighbor for coffee. I should be back in about an hour or so. Do you think you can stay out of trouble that long?”
“Yes, Mistress,” what else could I say, there really weren’t any options.
“Put these on your ankles," she said as she gave me a pair of handcuffs with an all-too-short chain that was obviously designed for wrists and not ankles. Would I be able to even take 4 inch steps?
Oddly, putting them on was easier said than done. I had to get off my heels and then bring my legs in front so I could reach down and put them on my ankles and then I had to figure out the best way to scooch back onto my knees. I’m sure she was entertained.
And my ass, still somewhat tender, was not at all happy about my sitting on it while putting the cuffs on.
“Now the wrists."
At least putting them on in front of me was not a problem but, with their customary short chain, I started wondering what she had in mind for me, but at the time I knew better than to say anything other than “yes, Mistress."
As she stood up and picked up her phone and keys, she told me that if I had any problem to call her (my phone was on the table) and she would be back in less than a minute.
“Oh” she said, “I almost forgot, there is a list of chores on the table, you will cross each chore off when it is done. I expect your best effort, don’t dawdle.”
Where does she come up with these words; dawdle, admonish, who uses those words anymore?
Regardless, by the time she closed and locked the front door I managed to pry myself off my knees and took a look at the list. Impressive, only 23 things to do (I counted them) and I was ‘instructed’ to do them in the order written.
Although they would normally be fairly simple things to do, that would not be the case wearing the cuffs and heels. Range of motion is pretty limited (hands locked close together) and going from room to room and (ugh) up and down the stairs was not going to be a walk in the park. In fact, with the way my ankles were cuffed I had to shuffle, not walk.
First item on the list was to do the morning dishes. Actually her dishes because, as my stomach reminded me, I hadn’t had breakfast.
Shuffling off to the sink (she conveniently put her plate and coffee cup in it) I suddenly realized that while I can eventually get to where I have to go my heels were not going to be my friend. After just a few minutes my feet and calves started to ache and I knew I was in trouble.
Doing the dishes was more difficult than I thought it would be. There was only the plate she used for her eggs, her coffee cup and a fork. However, trying to hold them with your hands so close and cleaning them with the sponge is not as easy as it sounds. It takes practice, and is a clumsy way to do it. My fingers are only so long and wet things tend to slip through them!
Next up was the frying pan. I had to shuffle across the kitchen to the stove and bring it back. Not really something I wanted to do in the heels and, by the time I got back to the sink, I was so looking forward to walking all over the house to do the rest of the chores I had and if I were able I would have jumped for joy.
It took a lot longer to clean the pan than the dishes. I guess she doesn’t believe in non-stick pans and I had to scour it longer than I would have liked. Or at least longer than my feet would have liked.
I know, it is becoming somewhat of a tedious thing, talking about my feet, but unless you have experience doing house work in five inch heels (that aren’t coming off any time soon) please don’t be too judgmental.
Next up on the list, clean the upstairs bathtub, sink and floor. The cleaning items I would need, she wrote, I would find in the closet in the bathroom. At least I didn’t have to drag anything up the stairs.
I know, broken record, but it took me ‘forever’ to go upstairs. I had to sit on each step, bring my feet up to the step just below me, scooch up to the next step, bring my feet up again, and then repeat as necessary until, finally, I was able to get my ass off the steps and on the floor.
It also doesn’t help having your hands cuffed, forcing you to push yourself up each step by putting “both” hands on the step next to your ass. Try it, it’s such fun.
After managing to get myself standing again I worked my way to the bathroom, found the brushes, cleaning detergents and a broom and dust pan (at least it had a long handle) and, after managing to put on a pair of disposable gloves, I started with the tub, then the sink and finished by sweeping the floor (at least I wasn’t told to mop it).
My next chore was to dust the living room and the den. So, after putting a new garbage bag in the can I hustled downstairs much faster than going up. As you may have already guessed, it is much easier to worm your way down the stairs than to go up when cuffed like that.
Although walking was actually better for my feet than standing still my heels were doing their best to inflict as much torture as they could. I was not happy.
Of course she didn’t tell me where to find the duster. But after searching I finally found one on a shelf in the back of the pantry and hanging on the wall nearby was a Dust Buster. I took them both.
As I was leaving the kitchen I glanced at the time and realized that I had been working for almost 2 ½ hours. No wonder I was tired and my feet were in agony. And when was she coming back?
I was going to sit down on one of the chairs in the kitchen but thought better of doing that. What if she came in and saw me sitting, there is a clear view of the kitchen table from the front door. No, I would have to be somewhat sneaky. So when I finally arrived in the living room I put the dusters on the end table and sat on a chair next to it. My plan was simple. As soon as I heard her unlock the door I would grab the duster (not the Dust Buster), stand, and act as though I was hard at work. In the meantime I would be giving my feet a break and even my nipples, which I have failed to mention until now, a rest too.
That tiny little pink apron was playing havoc with them. Still tender from yesterday they kept sending all those wonderful feelings to my puss but at least, for now, I knew better than to play with myself. Well, actually, I did touch myself just a little but did stop before I had gone too far.
Of course she took that moment to come back (so much for being gone for only an hour or so) and if you can imagine a cuffed, blushing, slut practically jumping out of the chair, well, that was me.
She stopped at the entrance to the living room and I kept on dusting. I was going to be the best slut maid she could ever hope for.
“Why have you not stopped working? When I enter a room you will immediately stop what you are doing and lean over the nearest chair and if you are wearing a skirt, you will lift it above your waist and stay perfectly still and silent. If your hands are free you will reach behind yourself and pull your bony cheeks apart. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Then why is my slut not bent over that chair?”
Flustered, my mind racing with fear and, I have to admit, excitement, I rushed, almost falling on my face, to the chair and leaned over the back putting my hands on the cushion.
“Put those hands behind your neck and don’t move an inch.”
If there was some way I would be able to type what she said in the lethal manner I heard, it would probably be easier for you to understand just how scary she sounded and just how frightened I was.
But I put my hands behind my neck (it is a rather awkward position cuffed like that) and tried to stay as still as possible. I was not able to stay as still as I had hoped, but I am very sure that pleased her to no end.
She came up to me and used her palm to rub my cheeks. My reaction was unavoidable. I moved my cheeks trying to get her to rub me more, actually a lot more and further down. In my mind I imagined her smiling and I knew this was not going to end well.
Without any further comment I felt the first sharp sting of her hand and I almost lost my balance. I had to bring my hands in front of me to try to grab the cushion or arm of the chair.
I was still tender from the night before, and the next blow sent me further over the edge and I begged her to stop.
“Put your hands behind your neck.”
But as I tried to do that she hit me a third time and I couldn’t bring them up.
“Put your hands behind your neck.”
I finally managed to get my hands up behind my neck and I nearly jumped out of my skin when she put her palm gently on my cheeks. I was expecting, anticipating, another hard shock to my rear and I reacted accordingly.
I never thought this would be possible but oh how quickly I was being trained.
“You are working much too slow but I am confident you will learn to do better. Go upstairs, kneel by my side of the bed and wait for me.”
I didn’t dare look at her, I raised myself up, hobbled to the stairs, and started slithering up the stairs.
I don’t think I was there too long when I heard her coming upstairs. She came to me, pulled my hair and forced me to look at her.
“I know you will do better. Now here are the keys, unlock the cuffs and get on the bed with your arms and legs spread as wide as you can.”
As I did that, she went to her closet and by the time I was on the bed she had some rope and started tying my wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed. After making sure to pull them as wide as possible. I felt very little slack and was now so horny I think I would have come if all she did was blow on my clit.
Standing up, she looked at me, took her pants and panties off, balled her panties up and shoved them in my mouth.
“Don’t let those fall out of your slutty mouth.”
She took her time taking her blouse and bra off and, after hanging up the blouse, went to the nightstand and took out a hitachi vibrator (she told me what it was and, yes, I have seen them online) and after plugging it into the outlet on the side on the nightstand she said, “Now don’t hold still.”
OMG!
By the time she finally stopped using that thing I was drained. My wrists and ankles hurt from the ropes. I was exhausted. I felt like a limp noodle and my pussy was numb. Her panties, now a sopping mess, were somehow on my neck and all though I could speak I had no words. Nothing, I was in subspace heaven. And Maggie, my Mistress, was the Archangel of Sex.
After untying me she massaged my useless limbs, climbed on top of me and started, slowly, rubbing her puss on mine. Despite my fatigue I responded. I wanted to please her, I wanted to do for her what she did for me. And when she spasmed and held herself against me I was so happy I can’t begin to tell you how ecstatic I was.
Then, when she started to get off me I thought we were done but we weren’t. The next thing I knew she had turned and I was now staring at her puss. She moved down on my mouth and my tongue and lips started working as hard as they could. I used my hands to pull her closer. I didn’t want her to escape. And, when she put her mouth on my puss. OMG! Whoever invented the term 69 should be given a gold star! No, better yet, a star should be named after her.
Somewhere between munching and eating ourselves to death she was holding me and I felt so warm and cuddly it would be a sin if I didn’t say so.
However, when my stomach growled it sort of broke the spell.
“You haven’t eaten a thing today. I’ll make you a plate.”
As she paraded her nakedness from me to go downstairs I called out and told her, “Well, that’s not quite true, I just had a wonderful meal.”
I thought that was pretty funny.
She however said I shouldn’t be so ‘cheeky’ and left to fix me a platter?
My antiquated vocabulary is growing by leaps and bounds; admonish, dawdle, cheeky, fix me a platter...
I am quite certain it wasn’t long before she came back with ‘my platter’ but I was sound asleep.
She didn’t wake me and put ‘the platter’ in the small fridge in the bedroom and when I woke up a couple of hours later I very pleasantly found her behind me, her arm was draped over my side, and her leg was between my legs. A nice way to wake up.
I took a quick shower, felt so refreshed and I was famished. The queen was sleeping so I went downstairs to find my platter. Nothing in the fridge. Nothing on the table.
So I raided the fridge and had some cheese and tuna salad. Not the most tasty dinner but at least I ate something.
Going back upstairs her highness was stretching her arms and asked why I didn’t wake her. I told her I went downstairs to grab a bite and didn’t want to disturb my Mistress.
“If you had checked the fridge next to the night stand you would have found the dinner I made for you. I was being so nice and you wasted both my time and effort. Go stand in the corner until I decide what to do with you.”
“Yes, Mistress,” how quickly things change.
“Come sit on the floor next to me and put your hands through your thighs and bring them back over your ankles.”
She must have thought I was double jointed but with some effort I did manage to get my wrists near my ankles and while the position resembles the lotus position when you do Yoga it is much more difficult to hold. Thank goodness for the ropes she wrapped around my wrists and ankles. She helped make it so much easier to hold the position.
“Get some rest, we have a busy day tomorrow,” she said after kissing my forehead and climbing back into that awfully comfortable bed.
The lights were turned off and although some moon light came through the windows I might as well have been blindfolded as well.
How the hell was I going to sleep like this? I tried moving but managed only to rock a little bit. I was really stuck.
“Having trouble?” she asked.
“No Mistress, your slut is fine but thank you for asking.”
“See, you are a cheeky little slut,” she said as she sat on the edge of the bed, and reaching toward me, she pushed me hard enough so I was now on my side. My legs were forced to stay wide open in that “lotus” position and my puss was totally exposed.
She put her fingers in my puss, played with me, made me squirm, wriggle and beg her not to stop and, almost crying, I begged some more but she took them out anyway.
Reaching into the drawer of the nightstand she took out a latex glove, put it on, and put her fingers back into my puss. When she knew I was almost going to come she stopped. Quickly rubbed my clit, watched me spasm and took her hand away for a couple of minutes while she got on her knees next to me.
Not only did I beg her, again, and promised I would be good, she let me writhe and scrunch my belly as much as I could but there was absolutely nothing I could do to make myself come. A turtle on its back has a better chance to move than I did.
However, as soon as she thought I was ready for more her fingers went back in but this time two of them found my other hole. My rose bud. My asshole. And before I knew it I was having an intense orgasm and I totally remember yelling thank you and don’t stop!
After I was spent, done and exhausted for the umpteenth time in the last 12 hours or so she took the glove off, tossed it in the trash can next to the bed and said, “Now be quiet and let me get some sleep.”
She didn’t untie me! She left me lying balled up on my side with my bent legs splayed open and I couldn’t move!
Bent over like that it was even difficult to breathe. But she left me!
I was furious, I couldn’t last the whole night like that. I begged her to untie me and for the first time since I’ve known her I used my safe word to stop what was happening to me.
The word I used doesn’t mean stop, I want the entire session to end, it means, this is too much, help me, you can do something else but this has to stop. I’m hurting.
As soon as I said the word she was out of bed and cutting the ropes. I was free in just a few seconds. I reached up and hugged her. She put her arms around me, picked me up, and put me in the bed.
Taking a pair of handcuffs she put them on my wrists (in front). Gently kissed me. Pulled the comforter over us and took me in her arms.
I have rarely used my safe words (or sounds or finger waving etc.) and sometimes I think (know) I am very foolishly proud of that. But what made this so special was how quickly she acted. How my safety and wellbeing was so important to her and even though we had been seeing each other for quite some time this was the first time I actually trusted her 100% and more.
So, when I took her hand in my (cuffed) hands I wriggled back to be closer to her and, feeling extremely content, fell asleep.
Just as I was waking up I felt her absence, I was still under the comforter but alone. I was so sound asleep when she got up I didn’t even know she had taken the cuffs off. I stretched my arms and legs, purring, and used my feet to kick the comforter off me. After one last stretch I got out of bed, went to the bathroom, took a very quick shower (and even managed to keep my hair relatively dry), brushed my hair (with a new appreciation for my brush) and, seeing that she had put my makeup on the vanity, I tried to make myself as presentable as possible.
Back in the bedroom I saw the pink apron neatly folded on one of the nightstands along with another pink dog collar (with rhinestones), and the key to the tiny lock on my collar, and there was a note on the nightstand.
slut,
This is all you need to wear. I’m in the kitchen.
M.
Rather brief but to the point.
I gladly took the wet collar off and locked the new one on. Then I put the apron on and when I looked in the mirror I saw myself blushing and I could feel my nipples were already swollen. They were still a bit tender and sensitive and when I touched them I felt the tingling begin to creep its way to my puss. I put one of my hands over my breast and gently rubbed it while with the other hand I felt the remains of the welts on my ass. I was turning a bright red and didn’t want to stop touching myself and I went too far.
Moving from my cheeks I assaulted my puss. My fingers found my ‘spot’ and I was rubbing my clit with my thumb. I kept watching myself in the mirror. I kept my eyes on my collar. I orgasmed twice and didn’t care if I was allowed to or not. Blushing, profusely, I sighed like a contented kitten and when I finally calmed down I washed my hands and puss and went down to the kitchen.
It felt so strange being able to run down the stairs barefoot.
I was happy.
She was sitting at the table, facing the beach again, and as soon as I was ready to kneel on the cushion she told me not too. She wanted her coffee and I was to have a cup too.
With a big smile on my face I immediately went to the coffee maker on the counter and grabbed two cups.
“What, no, ‘Yes Mistress’, no ‘Thank you Mistress’, you just walk away?” she said.
My next faux pas was to not even turn towards her as I told her I was sorry. But I also left out “Mistress” and that didn’t go over very well.
“You don’t even have the courtesy to greet me properly. What should I do with my slut?”
With the light bulbs turning on over my head I put the cups down on the counter, turned, and with a bowed head told her how sorry I was and asked for her forgiveness.
With all those light bulbs you would think I would have been ‘brighter’ with my response (pun intended).
“Bring the damn coffee before I get too angry and sit your bony ass on the chair opposite me.”
Now I want to interject two things here. First, she did not raise her voice and yell at me, instead she sounded very calm and sort of sweet and, second, despite the term she uses most often, I do not have a bony ass. In fact it is quite nice, well rounded and doesn’t jiggle too much when I walk (naked).
Naturally I put her cup on the table first and then sat in the chair, a bit gingerly of course. Taking a sip I wasn’t sure what was next but, with a very pretty smile she said, “We should talk.”
With some sort of dumb expression I looked at her but couldn’t find any word to respond with. I just sat there waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“For the moment," she said, “I want to talk with you about where we are in our relationship. Forget the slut versus Mistress stuff. I want us, Maggie and Liz, to talk, freely and honestly. Okay?”
All too timidly I said okay and with my hand shaking a little I took a sip of my coffee and while almost holding my breath waited for her to begin.
For the next two hours or so we had at least 3 cups of coffee and talked, openly, about our relationship.
We had been seeing each other for almost a year and we both agreed that we had feelings for each other that ran deeper than our “roles” in our relationship and, after all was said and done, we agreed to move to the next level.
Perhaps not a true 24/7 relationship (I do own a house and work full time, although under current conditions I work at home most of the time (as does she), but she wanted, and I did too, a more committed relationship. So we agreed to the following:
First, and most importantly, we agreed we would be monogamous. We will see our friends and family as a couple.
Of course my family has no idea of the things I’ve been doing or anything about the people I’ve been seeing the past few years and although my sisters know I am ‘dating’ they have no idea what that means (well, that’s not totally true, one of my sisters has a pretty good idea). And, now, with tears of joy and fear, I have agreed to ‘be with Maggie.’ Should I text them or tell them in person? I have to tell them in person, I know that, but it was nice to think about doing it by text.
It will be difficult for me to tell them and it will probably be more difficult for them to accept. Of course I have no intention of telling them about Maggie being my Mistress. That will have to wait. No idea how long but it will have to wait.
Second, If I do not have to go to the office I will work from her house.
Third, twice a week we will stay at my place so I can make sure it hasn’t burned down, pick up my mail and pack a few things to wear at her house the rest of the week.
Fourth, if we are together (long term) then each year for major holidays we will alternate going to each other’s families. For example, this year for Thanksgiving we will, if my family says okay, go to my sister’s house. Christmas will be at Maggie’s sister’s house in Jacksonville and we will wing it as each other holiday comes along; 4th of July barbeques, Labor Day barbeques, Memorial Day barbeques ... and any other barbeque that comes our way.
Also, any family celebrations (as long as my family is okay with us), such as a communion, weddings, birthdays we will attend.
I should note that Maggie’s family knows about, as she puts it, her sexual orientation and is fine with it. However, something in the back of my mind tells me they probably don’t know she is a queen of bondage and torture, a top, a domme, a dominatrix, a bitch on wheels, mean, nasty and, yes (my) Mistress.
Fifth, at home I will always address her as Mistress or Ma’am.
However when we are out of the house, at a restaurant, the mall, buying groceries, or just walking on the beach, I will address her as Ma’am.
Not a problem I said while imagining myself saying that in front of ‘ordinary’ people, in public. Of course I have a problem with it but I did not say no. I’ll just cross that bridge when my tongue isn’t swollen and my blushing subsides to a faint third degree sunburn.
Sixth, if it pleases her, whether I have done something wrong or not, she will punish me.
All punishments will not exceed my limits (and if any of my limits come off the list, it will only be by my consent).
Seventh, unless told otherwise, I will always wear stockings, heels (no less than 4 inches) and they must have ankle straps, I will only wear thongs or go ‘commando’ (ugh), and ALL of my bra’s cups will be cut so that my nipples are exposed (now that’s something I tried to renegotiate, unsuccessfully, several times). Skirts, dresses (with hems no longer than 3 inches above my knees) and button down blouses will be worn at all times unless otherwise instructed.
For example, when instructed I will wear my pink apron or, depending on her mood, any other ‘outfit’ she decides to have me wear. Despite my asking her what she means by ‘outfit’ she simply smiled and said, “If it pleases me, does it matter to you?”
Other than saying that pleasing you is the only thing that matters there was nothing else for me to add.
One concession I did win was that I could wear 3 inch heels when driving, but I must put on my other shoes as soon as I park the car.
Eight, each day a list of my chores will be on a message board in the kitchen. There was no debate about that.
Nine, unless she decides otherwise, I will be kept in some form of bondage every day.
“Would I be interested in a chastity belt?" she asked. Stunned, I rolled my eyes and dumbly looked at her. Looking me in the eyes she said it’s not on your ‘list’. I didn’t utter a sound. I just turned beet red and stared at her.
“Good," she said.
Ten, I will, at all times, put her needs before mine. In turn, my safety will also be her top priority.
Eleven, this contract may be added to or changed only if we agree to do so. Any change will require the consent of both of us but, if for some reason I am not able to ‘voice’ my vote, then she will be a majority of one.
Yes, I agreed to this and I know it will eventually bite me in the ass.
So, meeting adjourned, I cleaned the coffee cups and the coffee maker, assumed my position on the cushion and after she stroked my hair, stroked my nipple and giggled as I squirmed, she told me to go upstairs and bring back lots of rope (we really should keep some downstairs in the pantry).
I spent the rest of the day hogtied, spread eagled on the bed, spread eagled in the bathroom doorway, sort of tied in a ball, standing in a corner with my hands pulling my cheeks open, and kneeling next to her while she had dinner and fed me ‘by hand’. Which was just as well because my hands were tied behind my back.
Fortunately, none of the ties she put me in were too severe. They were secure but not severe. And, although they did leave marks, none of the positions was particularly painful.
However, and maybe it was because she was celebrating our commitment, she made sure that I had more orgasms than (even) I was comfortable with. I think there is an old saying that too much of a good thing may not be such a good thing, or something like that. Anyway, that’s about how I felt by the time I recuperated and was able to talk intelligently and walk without wobbling.
At about 9:00 PM I was allowed to get dressed and, after hugging and kissing her for maybe half an hour (I was so horny when we stopped), she walked me to my car and I drove home. A very long, lonely, drive...
I made a mental list of things I had to do when I got home. Pack enough clothes for a couple of days and maybe a couple of toys. Put my laptop and files by the front door (which I always do so I don’t forget to take them to work) ... should I pack another hair brush? And don’t forget to take the collar off before starting the car in the morning.
Oh, and make the necessary alterations to my bras!
As soon as I got home I called Maggie, as she instructed, letting her know I got home safely. She told me how much she missed me and told me she would expect me home by 5:30 after work. Also, she told me that if for some reason she has to go out for a little while before I get there (doubtful but possible) I should let myself in. She was going to leave my name at the guardhouse so I will be let in any time I come there.
Of course one thing popped into my head right away. What if she is not home, how do I get into the house? Simple, she told me, check my hairbrush (she packed it), she tied her house key to it. Talk about butterflies in your tummy, mine were going at the speed of light.
I was very happy.
Except for the fact that tears came to my eyes with each bra cup I cut, I finished packing by about midnight and I even managed to find the two thongs I own. Packed one and left the other out to wear in the morning. Crawled into bed and didn’t even play with myself. I was too exhausted.
Dressing in the morning was another story. I had overslept a bit and was running about a half hour late. So I skipped breakfast and after double checking my list I put my 2 suitcases in the trunk, tossed my four inch heels on the floor on the passenger side, and managed to get to the office only 5 minutes late.
At about 10 AM Maggie called and of course I stopped what I was doing and answered my cell. She asked me how I was doing and if I was very busy. I told her I was working on a report that I had to finish by about 3:00 PM and after that I had just a few minor jobs to do before I was finished for the day. Then (surprise!) an order, “take a picture of your heels right now and send it to me. You have less than a minute." And she hung up.
Double gulp. In my rush from the car into the office I hadn’t changed my shoes. They were still on the floor in the car. There was no way in the world I could run out and put them on and take a photo to send to her. So, I sent her the picture of the heels I was wearing.
Text message: Get your 4 inch heels on and send me a pix in 5 minutes.
I ran out and grabbed them but didn’t put them on until I was back at my desk. Sent her a photo with time to spare (maybe 30 seconds but time to spare).
Text message: As soon as you come home close and lock the door behind you. Walk a few feet into the house, put your thong in your mouth, use the cuffs by the bannister and lock your wrists behind your back, kneel with your face on the floor, and don’t move.
Now that made my day go by so much better.
Liz