Date: Wed, 2 Oct 2013 19:39:26 -0400 (EDT)
From: bigrimmstales
Subject: The Bag Lady And The Domme Chapter 1

The Bag Lady And The Domme (F/F, M/F, D/s, BD, Spanking, WaterSports, Scat,
Humiliation) by bigrimmstales
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The  Bag Lady And The Domme Chapter 1 - Successful businesswoman discovers
perverted  tramp
============================================================================
It  was strange how we met. I was searching for my dog in the park and she
was  collecting discarded cans, hoping to make some money from them. Her
clothes were  tatty, yet I could see from the stitching on those rare areas not
caked in grime  they were at one time expensive. Maybe she had got them
from a charity or she  had been rich and famous then fallen on hard times?
I kept looking at her,  glancing so as not to appear rude by staring. The
more I looked, the more I  thought I remembered her. She smiled. A
surprisingly white set of teeth showed  behind all that dirt. Oh and her eyes! They
were a beautiful bright blue and so  clear I swear I could see my own
reflection in them. I looked away, embarrassed  at being caught out. She laughed.
"You don't recognize me do you?" she asked,  chuckling.
"No, no, I don't," I replied, still embarrassed but sufficiently  curious
to turn and face her.
We must have looked so incongruous talking  there together. I was in my
best work clothes, expensive but severe dark tweed  suit over a pure white
blouse with its ruff at the neck. My shoes were Jimmy  Choos, stockings Woolsey
and underwear by La Perla. There was not a thing on me  that cost under £200
bar the stockings and they had not been cheap. I'd worked  hard to get to
where I was and no one was going to deny me the chance to show  off my
success. Yet there was she, someone who knew me as I struggled to  recollect her,
wearing something that was once designer I was sure, but what I  had no
idea.
"It's Gucci and Versace if you want to know," she said, kindly  and in the
plumiest of English accents. I was shocked that she knew so well what  I
was thinking. "You were always one for the fashions at school and so envious
of me when I got that modeling assignment. Well, I'm not exactly on the
front of  Vogue anymore, am I?"
I was stunned, puzzled, and then it dawned on  me.
"Clarissa!"
I could not believe it. The sexiest, most beautiful girl  at the Academy
was in front of me and down at heals. Flashes of images filled my  head. I
remembered her walk to her desk every day. I'd had a crush on her. When  she
was in the shower after games I'd always ensure I was next to her, ready  with
a bar of soap or offering to scrub her back. I'd make it look as if I was
doing her a favor, by saying she could scrub mine for me in exchange, but I
longed for those lessons where I could touch her naked flesh. Of course, it
had  just been a girlie crush and now I was married with two lovely
children, soon to  leave school, and a husband. Well, I was married but Jonathan
was always away on  some International assignment and with my busy job I'd
packed my two girls off  to boarding school. To the Academy of course, where
three generations of girls  from the Harmondon family had gone. Now they were
close to university they'd  been packed off to a Swiss Finishing school,
just like I had been and my mother  and hers before her too.
I had to hug Clarissa. I didn't care that her  clothes probably smelt of
piss and were as dirty as hell. I was going to hold  her. She had been my idol
and yes, so kind then too. She'd known I was besotted  with her but never
made fun of me nor took advantage of it. She always returned  any favor in
some way. In the shower she would carefully and very sensually rub  my back
and buttocks, making sure plenty of soap caressed my skin and washed  away the
sweat and grime of the hockey fields. Once, just before we left that
school forever and as young adults, she surreptitiously left a kiss on my neck
and whispered `Thank you. I will miss this time together. You have been a
true  friend.' I'd not wanted to wash away that kiss. I felt it reverberate
right  through my body, stopping to excite and inflame my young  clitoris.
"Clarissa!" I said again, advancing and putting my arms tightly  around
her. She winced, but not from rejecting my hug. No, she was in pain. I  pulled
back and looked at her, concerned. "What has happened?"
"Oh, I was  sleeping under the arches. You know, where all the homeless
sleep?
A..."
Yes I did know. It confirmed all my worst fears. That was it. I  knew what
I had to do.
"You are coming home with me. No arguments." I  interrupted, "I live over
there, on the edge of the park. See the house with the  Georgian wrought
iron railings along the balconies? Right, forget any belongings  I'll sort you
out. We were always the same size and I guess we still are, though  I have a
few extra pounds from allegedly being a content mother and wife." I
laughed at myself, seeing the irony in it, knowing it was a lie. I was unhappy  as
a wife and useless as a mother. Sending them to boarding school was not
about  their education, it was about me having the space to think, to define
who I was  at work and home without them under my feet and dividing my
attention from this  one goal. I liked to be in control.
I took her hand and almost dragged her  after me, leaving the big bag of
empties she had collected where they lay,  though she did scoop up a rather
incongruous black leather briefcase as we  moved. She was laughing, not
hysterically like some demented bag-lady but with  joy and seeing this as fun. I
imagined too it was with a sense of relief. And I  was like a woman on a
mission, taking control, pulling her along behind this  ship in full sail.
When we reached the door I was reminded of what I was  meant to be doing in
the park. Sitting on the step, as if nothing had happened  and he hadn't
been missing for two hours was Max, our English Pointer; the most  mischievous
young dog on the planet.
"There you are!" I couldn't scold him,  he'd come straight back for the
first time ever. Previously I had collected him  from a Dog's Home, a person'
s house and the family butcher where Max was found  crunching through their
best carcass of beef. It had cost me a fortune appeasing  the butcher, but
the new assistant Penny had been lovely to me and we had become  good
friends. I used to look forward to meeting her in the park with Buster, her
cocker spaniel. Work had stopped that for a while, though we talked regularly on
the phone.
We entered the vestibule of my house, the warmth greeting us like  a
comforting blanket. I closed the big red door behind us, the sound echoing on  the
black and white diamond tiles. I opened the next set of doors to the vast
hall, the log fire between the twin staircases blasting out a wave of heat.
In  the absence of my Czech maid, I realised I'd banked it up rather too
well. The  dog ignored this stranger, shot forward and lay as close to the fire
as he  could, ready to roast on the hearth. I laughed at his predictable
antics and  then turned to look at Clarissa.
"Strip!" I said, taking command of the  situation and the opportunity the
over-sized fire presented. "There is no point  you keeping those cold and
wet things on."
I avoided saying `dirty' for fear  of offending her.
"You sure?"
She seemed suddenly hesitant, clutching to  her bosom that briefcase. This
was a woman who had walked the catwalks of Europe  and the Far East, shown
her body regularly when wearing the most skimpy of  dresses who was now
questioning being naked. She read my mind for me.
"It's  different on the catwalk. Most of the men are queer, but what if
your husband  ...?"
She trailed off. Did she know I had a husband or assumed it? For some
reason I was struggling to admit I had one, but I had to reassure her.
"No  problem, Jonathan is in Tokyo for a month. He is away a lot. I have a
young
maid, Anya, who is here to learn English, but she has gone back to Prague
for a
few days so I am alone. Take off your clothes. Get warm by the fire.  I'll
go
find you something to wear"
I turned to leave, but found myself  rooted to the spot. It was like when
at school, where often I had been watching  and waiting for her to change for
her shower. Now I was the observer again. She  seemed to be struggling with
the coat.  Her bruises must have hindered her  movement.
"Just stand there, let me do it," I said, taking complete control  again.
I unbuttoned the top-coat that somewhere under the dirt hid a  definite
Gucci design of last season. Perhaps her sudden demise was recent? It  did
smell faintly of piss, but not too much for me to handle and no more than  when
my children were in nappies. Underneath was a Versace dress with a very
incongruous Pringle sweater on top. I pulled the jumper over her head very
gently. The smell of sweat was nearly overpowering, yet the sweetness from her
armpits strangely erotic. She seemed to be so devoid of the perfumes and
potions  that blots out our natural hormones and scents, so the real aroma of
a woman was  wafting over to me. I could hear her breathing, slightly
breathless. Was I  hurting her? Did she find this mildly erotic too?
I was trying to be as  gentle as possible as I moved to unbutton the dress.
It was a typical black  number with the softest of silk, useless in the
current temperature, and as each  button released, so I tried to hide my horror
at the amount of bruising on her  neck and chest. She had no bra and I was
soon looking at a perfectly rounded,  still wonderfully pert, pair of
breasts that belonged to the woman I had not  seen this way since those shower
days. Yet there was horror mixed with joy mixed  with, well dare I say it? Her
breasts were covered in marks that clearly  represented where the drunken
bully had landed his kicks. There were at least  ten blue-black circles that
lay close around her dark, pierced nipples. Was he  really drunk? The marking
was so deliberate, almost uniform. The piercings were  large, heavy rings.
Her dress was now hanging around her waist as I inspected  her front and
back, which other than her breasts and some on her arms, was  clear.
"Let me strip you of the rest of this dress and then I can go get some
witch-hazel to tend to those bruises while I also get a bath running."
"Thank  you," she said, simply and kissed me on the neck as I leant
forward to release  the waistband on her dress and let it drift to the floor. I
remembered that last  kiss at school. A tremble passed through me. I struggled
to keep a focus on my  duties. She seemed to just accept that I was now in
control. I felt I needed to  reassure her that she was safe with me, though
my body and subconscious clearly  had other ideas about how to comfort her.
"No problem, it is so good to see  you. I will...."
I was suddenly tongue-tied, just like all those years ago.  It was good to
see her but the reference to `seeing' that popped into my head  was sexual,
seeing her naked, not just meeting each other. The kiss and the  sight of
her had had their effect. I could feel my panties beginning to become  awash
with my juices; something that had not happened to me in a very long time,
least of all with my husband. How could this be? I was an avid, hetero
pillar of  the community. I told myself that my damp knickers were a  coincidence.
"R-right, I better get the lotion and some clothes for  you."
I turned and ran up the stairs two steps at a time like a little
schoolgirl. I was back at the Academy, chasing round for Clarissa! Yet something  was
different. There was another more controlling voice in the back of my  mind.
When I came dancing down the stairs, again two at a time, carrying a  silk
robe and the ointment, I felt so happy, only to stop at the bottom and see
Clarissa curled up naked and asleep on the rug, right next to Max. Her
panties I  could see burning away at the edge of the fire. She had clearly had no
strength  to throw them in properly. I gazed at her firm and perfectly
rounded bottom.
"Jessica Harmondon-Smithers, what are you thinking?" I said aloud to no
one  in particular, except myself who was suddenly feeling hotter and hotter
as I  stared down at the beautiful nude form of my old school friend. I
realised it  was not the banked up fire that was creating the temperature.
Primitive,  long-suppressed desires flooded my body. I could smell my own scent
wafting up  from beneath my thick tweed skirt. I'd discarded my knickers, too
damp to be  comfortable. Yes, even my `dowager duchess wear' as Johnnie
called it could not  hide my desires.  Only my head kept trying to deny what
Clarissa the  catalyst had re-surfaced.
I knelt quietly beside her, reaching out to stroke  her tousled hair. It
was futile adjusting the straggling mess which held God  knows what creatures,
possibly even lice, but I was back at school in that  instant offering her
all the love of a doting young woman. I put the gown by her  side and sat,
waiting for something, I don't know what, other than her  awakening. I
imagined her turning to me, reaching for my face and pulling it to  her with both
hands. In my romantic and lustful state, her dirty body did not  exist. She
was the embodiment of beauty that topped her class, won the modeling
contracts and went on to be a famous celebrity.
She moaned, a little pain  expressed, but did not wake as she turned on her
back.  I could see the  bruises, noting faint stripes too that were visible
on her belly and down to her  pubis and inner thighs. What had someone done
to her? It was then I looked again  at the dramatic statement of the rings
through her nipples, something I had  always wanted but never had the
courage to do. What was so strange was that when  inspecting for the marks I had
failed to register the significance of these  adornments. It was as if my
brain had accepted them. And when I looked down  again just as her thighs
parted in her sleep, so I saw the six gold rings in her  labia (three each side)
and the bar across her clitoris that was now large,  engorged or naturally
that way (I had no recollection). It seemed perfectly  reasonable to reach
out and gently, then more vigorously, play with the bar and  rings using the
tips of my fingers. She moaned again and I shot my hand back as  if I'd
touched fire.
Fire seemed to be everywhere. My hand was hot and  appeared disconnected
from me.  It had been somewhere forbidden, somewhere  I had not had permission
to go. It was a sinful hand and I had an intense desire  to wash it, but
instead brought the sinning digits to my mouth and licked each  one ever so
slowly. I could smell a light mix of a woman's juices and piss from  days of
being unwashed, but still I licked each one clean. And this created an
almost unquenchable fire in my cunt or `yoni' as I remember her telling me once.
 Also, the heat from the fire seemed to burn my skin, until I realised it
was the  singeing fur of Max who had foolishly got too close. When did dogs
ever learn? I  pulled him backwards and he woke with a yelp and then a series
of barks. He was  barking at the flames as if it was their fault.
Clarissa woke suddenly, a  product perhaps of learning to do so when
sleeping rough on benches and under  railway arches, always sensing danger. She
smiled at me. More fire raged. I felt  the flames licking around my labia. I
was struggling to control deeply  suppressed desires. I was that dormant
volcano on a Pacific atoll that just  needed an underground test nearby to upset
the equilibrium.  Everyone had  run for their lives and I was now alone,
feeling the seismic pulses. I had to  move, to act, to do something.
"Come with me now," I blurted out, no  pleasantry in the tone. "I have a
bath running upstairs, some toiletries for you  and a nice warm bed."
"Yes Mistress," she said, in all seriousness, slowly  and painfully
getting to her feet. Wow, again the flames burned around my  thighs.
"Oh, no, no, I'm not your Mistress. Sorry, I was just overzealous in
wanting you to get up and cleaned before sleep loses you to me for a while..."
Oh, what was I saying? I was starting to apologies and bluster over my words
 like a teenager caught out. "I mean I did not intend to be so  commanding."
"Pity," she said simply. "A great pity."
"Pardon?"
What  was she telling me? Did she want me to be commanding? She didn't want
me to be a  dormouse, like I'd become with Jonathan? Ok, anything to please
her.
"Come on  then, up those stairs and get cleaned up."
"Yes mistress!" she said, smiling  and lowering her head slightly. I quite
liked this new, commanding me. Could it  ever last though? I doubted it. I
had only done it with the children, in my job  where I was top dog and
sometimes in play with Johnnie when we were newly weds.  I remembered with a
sense of loss how he had loved me so much then, how he'd  bring me flowers and
bathe me, and yes, how subservient he had been and yet, so  aroused, his
manhood seeming to never be anything but vertical! I  giggled.
"What is making you laugh my Mistress?"
What was she doing? She  was still calling me Mistress!
"I was thinking of my husband and our early  marriage together. We had such
incredible fun, with a capital `F'. Doesn't life  knock the spots off you?"
"With respect Mistress Jessica, it is we who rub  those spots off, telling
ourselves we have to stop doing those things because we  have family or we
are too old, or we have too many work responsibilities. We  make our own
dungeon where we then lay and fester."
"Clarissa, why do you  keep calling me Mistress?" I asked, more than a
little intrigued now.
I was  bending to the marble bath, a huge one that we had installed so that
Johnnie and  I could bathe together and then when the children came along
with them. In fact,  one of them was birthed in that tub. The back of my hand
tested the  temperature.
"Perfect," I said, to no one in particular.
"I knew it would  be Mistress. It always was with you and I'm sure it
always will be  so."
Clarissa was smiling at me. Her legs were parted as she stood by the  bath.
How beautiful she looked, the jewelry adorning her most intimate places
seemed perfect. Yet now something had changed. I no longer wanted to dash over
 and bury myself in her breasts and cunt; I wanted her to come to me.
Worse, or  was it better, I wanted her to worship me.
I sensed the electricity in the  air. It was hot and humid in the room,
like in the hours before a heavy storm.  Her head was down, as if unable to
look me in the eyes. She still had not  answered my question but I did not care
any more.
"Get in the bath,  now."
Was that really my voice being so commanding?
She walked in, down  the white marble steps, and then squatted with all the
grace of the model she  was. There was the sound of the water parting and
lapping at the sides, but no  other noises. A silence hung in the air. I
sensed that it would only end if I  made it end.
"Clarissa, tell me how you came to be a bag lady in the park.  Leave
nothing out."
There I went again, commanding.
I stripped off my  clothes, without a hint of ceremony or even a thought as
to whether Clarissa  wanted me in the bath with her.
I picked up the overhead shower nozzle and  again without asking sent shots
of warm water over her matted scalp.
"Carry  on," I ordered, ignoring the squirming that reminded me of when my
now 18 year  old daughter was five and had her hair washed.
The tale was a long one and I  have to admit I was at first shocked, in the
way a mother often is as the  amnesia of the years makes her forget her own
strong sexual and individual  identity when tending first to a husband and
then her children. Here was a woman  who had never married, had a long
career but somewhere along the way had  followed her most base instincts to
become who she was now.
So as shock  turned to recall of my own adventurous spirit and then to envy
of her  experimental and daring life, I listened enraptured by the tales
that took us  all over the globe, into the strangest settings and the most
exotic locations. I  wondered if there was anything this woman had not tried.
Perhaps what was  intriguing in the here and now was that I continued to
completely control her as  she talked. I had washed and conditioned her hair,
which took more than four  soaps, rinses and final treatment. I had shaved
her armpits and her pussy,  making her sit legs wide open on the side while I
lovingly scraped away dirt and  stubble. The smells of piss and shit
between her legs were replaced with the  herbal scents of Crabtree© products. She
had not objected at all when I had bent  her over, opened her buttocks and
inspected her little rosebud (that I noticed  when touched opened more than I
might have expected and as if on command)  ensuring all dirt and hair was
removed.
Interspersed between these washing  rituals were the tales. None were dull,
all left me intrigued, curious, and yes,  sometimes envious of her
adventures. There was some sadness along the way,  including the death of her father
(though even that was not uneventful and  surrounded by a story of sexual
daring and a lot of BDSM activity). Let us just  say at this point that when
he died he was an extremely happy man, who like the  actor whose only wish
is to die on the stage whilst working, managed to pass  away at the end of a
week of intense sexual joy that involved both his new wife  and - though not
I hasten to add in an incestuous way - his daughter. However,  if incest
can be defined as when there is a sexual act between stepmother and  daughter
then there had been more than a family affair. By the time it was  recalled,
even that did not shock me.
"So Clarissa, having gone into modeling  and become your `Svengali's'
puppet, you were saved by Mistress Raven of  Leinston who took over your
management and then started to develop your modeling  agency. I think that week in
Paris on the catwalk by day and in a cage at the  bottom of her bed at
night was justified, given the naughty things you got up to  in daylight. Yes,
the Saudi Prince seems at once cruel and yet on another he  seems to really
understand your, er, needs.  How did I not see them at  School?"
"They were there all the time Mistress Jessica if you had looked. It  was
daring for me to kiss you before I left. You see paradoxically my
underpinning subservience meant I could not ask you for what I wanted, or that  is
what I thought at the time, based on the limited knowledge I had. My  father..."
"Your father?!" I suddenly shouted.
"Yes," she continued, in a  hushed voice, bowing her head even lower in
response to my shouts. "He had  noticed my proclivities at an early age but
waited until I was of age, i.e. an  adult, before confronting me with the
truth about myself. Do you remember how  many times I was sent to the office for
a caning or the ruler based on my  rudeness to certain teachers?"
"Yes, I do and come to think of it you never  came back in tears but with a
wide smile even if your head was down. My God! You  clever bitch, you got
those spankings deliberately! And you knew the teacher who  dominated or in
fact could have been dominatrix? You did it at home as well  didn't you?"
"Yes," she said, clapping her hands in childlike glee. "My birth  mother
and then my stepmother who had been my maid from childhood regularly  spanked
me. However, when my father spanked me that was when I knew I had had a
satisfactory punishment. He was so severe, but so loving too."
I wiped the  tear that suddenly surfaced from her right eye.
"Let's stop a while," I  suggested gently.
I pulled her naked body to me in the bath, noticing for the  first time
that the water was no longer warm.
"Go to bed now."
"Yes  Mistress," she said, tears still streaming down her face. "You know,
I will  always miss him."
"Yes, I know."
Oh, how I knew. My father was so kind to  me but I never understood why he
packed me off to school. My mother was the  same, though I realised much
more dominant than him, much stronger. For her  sending me away was to make me
tougher, make me stand on my own two feet, not be  dependent on others. Yet
here was I in a faltering marriage, two children sent  away to finishing
school and now with a waif and stray on my doorstep.
Or so  I thought.
I held her hand as she rose up out of the water. She looked so  beautiful,
suddenly innocent and younger than her years. Her shaven sex  accentuated
her womanly qualities, contrary to my expectation that I might have  made her
forbiddingly childlike. The gold rings now shone under the powerful  down
lights that lit her pale skin and dried her subtly as she walked.
I  watched as she squatted over the toilet and pissed a stream of golden
liquid  without shame or embarrassment. I wondered how many men and women had
seen her  do that. I filled the bidet and encouraged her to wash again
between her thighs,  not wipe with paper.
"Good girl," I heard myself say, as if she was my  daughter not my more
senior friend.
"Now lie down over on the bed."
I  pointed to the room with its circular bed and a ceiling made up of
expensive  mirrors. It was a legacy from the days before time stopped and our
daughters  ruled our days, our nights, and most of all our privacy until with
no real  spontaneity for each other our marriage became a ritual. Our
reflections now  confronted us only with our dullness, our conformity, out routine,
our  loss.
And then I realised she was watching me intensely, so much so the hairs  on
the back of my head were standing up. Alert. A signal.
"Mistress," she  called, in a `little-girl-lost' voice, "Will you sleep
with me a while? I need  your safety."
So I gave it and slept spooned behind her, naked.
I was on  a settee, my legs open and splayed lewdly. Jonathan was slowly
licking softly,  maddeningly at my shaven labia. He had found my clitoral hood
and was nudging it  back with his teeth.
He stopped.
"Open yourself more Mistress. Open your  cunt so that everyone at the party
can see it."
I looked around, seeing  hundreds of guests who did not seem to care about
my nakedness except one. He  was staring, his tongue moving lasciviously
over his lips, his hand stroking his  hard erection that poked lewdly from his
grey flannel trousers. He had a whip in  his right hand and whenever Johnnie
stopped licking he flicked the thongs  viciously over Johnnie's naked arse
and heavy balls. My husband cried out into  my cunt then lapped harder,
stronger.
I pulled his head down onto me, cruelly  grinding his nose and mouth onto
me. I was writhing now, shouting to the people  at the party to watch.
It was amazing, at my command everyone turned to watch  me being
tongue-fucked and my breasts teased by my own fair hands.
I moaned  and groaned in ecstasy. My body was moving like a soul dancer,
grinding my  pussy. I held on to his head like I was possessed. Then I heard
his cries change  from masculine to feminine. I didn't question it, I just
wanted to cum.   And I came, screaming and screaming with delight. The orgasm
rushed through me  and I held on to my partner's head with a vicelike grip.
"Ohhh, it's been so  long. It's been so long," I kept saying, in a voice
that was part whisper, part  moan. "So long."
"Mistress," I could hear, "Mistress."
And that is when I  realised I had Clarissa's hair in my hands. She was
locked between my thighs and  I was sweating, exhausted from the power of my
cumming.
As I came to, I  realised what had happened. The clock said it was a whole
eight hours since we  had gone to bed.
"So," I said to her, pretending to scowl, but feeling  deliciously wicked
and so in control. "You thought you would eat my cunt while I  slept, heh?
I gradually let her loose, untangling my hands from her scalp.
"I - I - I wanted to thank you and..."
"So you always thank by eating  your hostess's cunt do you?" I spat that
word out, loving its sound, loving the  power it generated in me, realising
that she had been unable to resist my pussy,  my cunt, my yoni. All words I
hadn't used since the love went out of my  marriage. I had not a trace of
guilt or embarrassment. I smiled, a radiant smile  as she groveled between my
thighs, keeping her head low, afraid to look up.
"I always wanted you at school Mistress, but we were barely legal then and
anyhow, I knew nothing of the pleasure of being submissive."
You know, I  really liked being called `Mistress'. I wanted to be
recognized in this place,  away from work. I wanted someone, maybe more than one, to
acknowledge and adore  me. I realised in an instant that I also needed
someone who could deal with my  strong, almost violent passions, the physical
controlling desires that I had had  since my first serious relationship.
Jonathan had shown signs of giving me that  but now was a slave to his work. My
head was rushing to meet my heart at  breakneck speed and with an
acknowledgment that I needed someone subservient,  obedient but whom I could express
love to, play with and have adventures. So who  better than the person I had
admired and wanted all those years ago and who now  needed me?
"Come lie by me. Tell me more."
As she lay at my side, I turned  to face her, telling her to lift her face.
Her eyes were large and beautiful,  the pupils dilated in a clear sign of
lust. She had given me an orgasm and  forgone her own, but the need was there
all the same.  I knew instinctively  I was not going to satisfy that need,
well not yet, but I reached to her  breasts, exploring her incredibly stiff
nipples.
"Do those rings enhance  your pleasure?"
"Oh yes Mistress," she said in a breathy, excited way. "They  have been
positioned exquisitely. The size is so that I may be pulled or hung by  them.
That pleasure comes through the pain. It, it is wonderful! Prince  Rahid el
Samur knew so much about the inflicting of infinite punishments to  achieve
maximum pleasure. I can enter sub-space now with just a word."
I  smiled again, noticing that when she spoke of her submissive life there
was an  enthusiasm that was never reflected in descriptions of her modeling
work, except  where the two elements collided, as happened in Hamburg when
she did a fetish  clothing shoot that so angered her then agent that she
quit. Her loss,  Clarissa's gain, as her new one was a dominatrix.
I did not ask what she  meant by `sub-space', that could be part of the
adventure of finding out.  Instead, I continued to play with her nipples,
tugging now at the rings,  twisting them, experimenting. I studied Clarissa's
face, watching the hints of  pain mixed with beams of pleasure.
"Get on all fours above me."
"Yes  Mistress."
"Now tell me how you ended up in the park outside my  house."
Her firm but bruised tits hung down, and I stretched and pulled  harder and
harder on the rings, insisting she continue the story of her life. I
watched the perspiration begin to build on her skin. I felt my pussy lips swell
and my own nipples grow hard as I toyed with her. I was beginning to not see
her  as a person, but as my slut, my plaything. Ok, there was some revenge
deep in my  psyche for leaving me at school, for NOT pleasuring me when I
wanted her in my  schoolgirl lesbian fantasies. So now I took great sadistic
pleasure in seeing  her teats extended and clearly aching.
We travelled through a series of  adventures, all reinforcing her need to
be dominated and live an active role of  subservience, arriving at the past
month.
"I was working for a newspaper on  a story about homelessness. The editor,
Klaus Von Freidrich, gave me the job. He  was a member of my BDSM club when
I was in Hamburg and is now working in the UK  for the Daily Review. One day
he called me to his London office, electronically  locked the door and then
told me he was going to brief me on an assignment that  would change my
life. I had no choice but to obey him, no matter what employment  law might
say, because I was collared and belonged to him."
She began to cry.  I stopped the teasing of her nipples. Why the tears?
"No, no,  ple-e-ease."
"You want me to continue, er, testing you?"
"Yes, you do not  understand yet how, what, er, I will explain afterwards...
"
Oh, I was  beginning to understand. She could not function without being
dominated and  controlled. I had some concerns that this state was too
dominant in her life,  but at the moment the instinct to play and be pleasured was
too strong to  consider it deeply. I pulled hard at her tit rings. There was
a slight moan, but  I knew I had sent a myriad of different sensations
through her.
"Thank you  Mistress Jessica."
I felt so powerful! I liked this role as Mistress, finding  nothing awkward
in it. The power was translating into sexual energy. I found  myself
touching my own breasts with my free hand, not caring this was in front  of
another woman, enjoying seeing her eyes wide again. I knew she wanted to do  that.
Maybe I would let her once I knew all about her life. For now, I felt the
need to test, to experiment, possibly only little things, but I started all
the  same.
"Yes, you should thank me, slut."
Her head went back down for a  moment, but the slight sway of her hips and
a quickening of breath suggested  that being a slut was part of the turn-on
for her. However, for me there was a  sense of amazement, which became a
question.  Where on earth was this  language I was using coming from? I must
have absorbed the terms from the  women's magazines I devoured over my
loveless weekends and the pornography for  women that I had taken to in recent
years. I had to admit it; my solitary  sessions of masturbation whilst pouring
over cheap, sex-drenched paperbacks had  become almost obsessive. If it wasn'
t for Max needing walks and the amounts of  work I brought home, weekends
would be completely lost in sexual fantasy. The  further apart Jonnie and I
became, the more this habit had surfaced. My delusion  was that I craved
independence. Now I knew that was an illusion. Ok, here was my  chance to turn
those obscene, often-perverted fantasies that I read about so  avidly to fact,
and why not?
"Yes, thank you," she said quietly, reaching  forward and kissing me softy
on the lips. Then she continued, her hips swaying  again, miming grinding
against a hand or a crotch, reliving some strong sexual  event. "Klaus
ordered me to crawl to him from the door of his office. I had on  the clothes you
saw today or was it yesterday, I am not sure?"
I said  nothing, other than, "Continue."
"Yes Mistress. There was a large piece of  blue plastic sheeting on the
floor. He ordered me to lie on it face up. He had  never been like this before
with me, always keeping his BDSM relationship away  from the office. I knew
something was going to happen, but I was unsure what. I  felt really scared,
not trusting him.  Something had happened or was about  to happen." I
watched her breasts begin to heave. I kept a tight rein on her  nipple rings. Was
it distress or arousal?
"Anyhow, Klaus told me that he  wanted me to investigate homelessness and
specifically a rumor that young  `hobos' as he called them were being picked
up by someone or some group, fed and  watered, and then abused sexually and
physically in strange rituals. He told me  he had prepared a special pack
for me with tracking devices, a hidden camera in  the belt of my coat and one
in the leather holdall you saw me with, a concealed  mobile to be only used
in emergencies and a drop-off address for my reports.  These were to be
recorded on a tiny digital recorder, again concealed in a  secret compartment
at the bottom of the holdall."
She burst into tears again,  but fought them back and continued.
"Then he told me coldly and simply that  he was no longer my Dom. I was on
my own when I left the room as it was not  appropriate to continue, but my
pay was being increased and I would be well  rewarded on delivery of the
assignment. I was so shocked."
She stopped again,  sobbing quietly. Why did I not feel more sympathy? I
liked her  helplessness.
"What happened next left me completely confused. He suddenly  took out his
cock, standing either side of my legs and ordered me to lie back.  He said
he was going to prepare me for the degradation to  come."
"How?"
"He pissed on me! He just pissed all over my lovely dress,  and face, then
ordered me to roll in the hot stream. The strong smelling pee  soaked
through to my skin. It was as if he had been waiting and waiting until  his
bladder was as full as possible. It seemed to last for ages, especially when  the
salty piss hit my mouth and eyes. All I could do was obey."
I secretly  felt turned on by this. My God I was wet! I could imagine her
not only lying  there but tied up, her mouth held open. It may have been to
prepare her in this  bizarre way, but I found it wonderfully pervy. I couldn'
t help caressing my  breasts more vigorously and tugging hard on her nipple
rings. I did not care  about her tears. Why should I? I was convinced she
could take more than a little  psychological and physical pain. Was she just
doing this to get under my  emotional radar? If so, she would fail the little
slut.
"Continue," I said  coldly.
"He noticed I had left a pool of his piss and he made me lap it up  like a
dog.  He beat me hard with a paddle on my wet arse. There were  splashes of
piss flying out from the cloth he had drenched me so much. He made  me go
find every single one of them and lap them up too. He had never humiliated  me
so much or so I thought, until he called his secretary in to see his
handiwork. I-I-did not know that this new recruit was also his new submissive.
He..." She began crying again, sobbing helplessly, but I held my nerve,
instructing her to carry on. "He told me to take off my little leather collar
and place it around her neck. I saw the disgust in her face as my
piss-smelling  body came close to her. He made me kiss her too, with my pee-spattered
lips..."
She stopped, tears streaming down her face. Now I felt her hurt, she  was
under my radar at last.
"You have me," I whispered, taking her face in my  hands and kissing her
passionately on the lips. Suddenly I stopped. What was I  doing? I have a
husband and children! She looked, puzzled, insecure. Good, maybe  that was what
I needed her to feel. No longer was it going to be me chasing  around
tending for her. I had done it for her at school, carried on doing it for  my
absentee husband, my boarding children, my late mother and father, but now I
knew I wanted her to serve me and care for me. In truth I was not bothered if
 Jonnie and the children found Clarissa in my house and very close to me.
No I  wanted to be the centre of attention at home, the person cared for not
caring.
"So tell me about the bruises to your tits," I enquired softly,  though
aware my language was increasingly direct and raw. She stopped sobbing,  eyes
wide open, sniffed then proceeded to tell me the rest of the tale. I
gestured to her to sit back, facing me on the bed. It allowed me at once to look
at her and keep my distance as, what I now knew I was, a Domme (albeit a
novice  one).
"I went straight out onto the streets. He had given me a little money  and
that bag, but nothing else. I had to find out about the rumors but also find
 somewhere on the streets. I could not go home as I had been living with
him as  his subbie and my house was rented out through an agency."
"So how did you  manage?"
I let my foot slip between her open thighs, teasing lightly at her  cleanly
shaven cunt, but not letting her move. I was fascinated by her slit, so
glisteningly wet as I knew whatever she was recalling, my toes were arousing
her.
"I headed for one of the sites listed in my holdall as a place
down-and-outs had been reported to disappear from. It was horrible. People were  living
under a roadway, in cardboard boxes. A kindly woman offered me a share of
her shelter.  Oh, Mistress Jessica, it stank! It had nothing in it but her
body and clothes, but it stank of piss. I had no choice, I had to get used
to  this. I was at the bottom of the societal chain from a position where I
knew I  had over a million in the bank, but no way of touching it. This
woman, Maggie,  was under all her dirt and stink no more than thirty years old. I
was shocked  when she told me.  She had been beaten by her husband who then
threw her  out on the streets. I found out why that night."
She squirmed as she sat in  front of me. More juice seemed to seep from her
slit.
I rubbed harder. She  emitted a tiny moan.
"What did you find out?" I asked, ignoring the sign of  pleasure.
"It took me hours to get to sleep. I kept one eye open, afraid of  being
raped or attacked. Maggie had no qualms. She just went off. Eventually I  too
slept. I was dozing for at least two hours when I dreamt that my face was
being licked and my legs opened for a doctor to investigate my womb. I could
not  wake up, but neither could I stop the dream. My cunt felt aroused,
hungry. Then  I slowly struggled to wake up only to find that Maggie, with her
unclean mouth  and hands was kissing me and had her fingers up my skirt,
diddling my clitoris.  I didn't want to but I could not resist. She had taken me
so close to orgasm  that I let this filthy creature arouse me. Worse, when
she pulled my hand to  delve under her tatty dress, I did it. I felt her
stinking cunt, its clitty  large and hard, and rubbed her to mutual orgasm. For
all the degradation and  perversion of the situation, I had a wonderful
orgasm! Worse still, I allowed  her to continue to kiss me and delve around my
mouth with her dirty tongue. I  was accepting so rapidly my complete
demoralization and humiliation. Yet, as the  consummate journalist, I argued
somewhere in my brain that this was necessary if  I was to be effective undercover.
"
"Your cunt is very wet. You seem to like  being degraded, slut"
I was mocking in my tone. I watched her head go down,  but she was making
subtle movements towards my foot that was now hard against  her cunny.
"I made the right choice," she said proudly. "Maggie looked after  me. Her
husband had thrown her out because he had caught her fucking her maid, a
Hungarian student and lesbian. She had never done it before, but loved it,
and  he had come in early from work. It was his pride that was hurt and his
predictable way to deal with it was like a football thug. He needed someone
to  punch and Maggie was the one. She vowed never to go back."
She was finding it  more and more difficult to talk. My toe was focused on
arousing her clitoris.  Then I stopped, leaving her unfulfilled. I heard the
briefest of sounds, as if  she was going to plead, and then she sat
silently again though let out a quiet  sigh.
"Carry on, slut!" I said sternly.
"After that degrading but raw sex  with Maggie, I helped her to clean up a
bit, especially her teeth and down  below."
"Why so coy all of a sudden? You mean her cunt." And I spat it out  with
venom. I felt irrationally jealous of a dirty bag lady having sex with my
friend and yes, subbie, Clarissa.
I watched her head go down and there was a  flinch, as if expecting me to
hit her. I laughed, nervously. I had corrected her  and she had reacted like
it was a reflex action.
"Yes, Mistress, her cunt,"  she repeated softly. I don't know where it was
coming from, but I felt suddenly  very powerful and very sadistic. Hell we
had only met again after so many years  and with her in a bad state, yet all
I wanted to do was dominate her? Too  right!
"Say it again, slut, but loud. Spit it out!"
She lifted her head.  There was a sudden haughtiness about her. She looked
me straight in the eye and  said, "Her CUNT, Mistress", loudly and clearly.
"Good darling. Now come lie  by me and tell me more," I ordered sweetly,
patting the mattress at my  side.
It was morning of the second day by the time we finished. Clarissa had
long moments of tears, then periods of quiet, then more of intense passion,
pleasuring me at my whim. I was so in control, using her I knew for my
pleasure  and administering to her what she needed: pain and submission, but
especially to  serve me totally. I kept her on the edge of orgasm but denied her
the final  `petit mort'.
What I had heard from her made my head spin. I had known  nothing like it.
She was lucky to be alive! What did that idiot of an editor  think he was
doing? If had been her then I would have kicked his balls in like  that
footballer had just done in the World Cup. I was angry and I felt such  relief
that Clarissa was alive, and even more so, in my charge. What luck!
It was two days before a Bentley had driven up to the little group of
tramps  in the middle of the night. It stopped at their box, there was a shadowy
group  of two men and what looked like a woman, and the next thing they knew
Maggie and  Clarissa were injected with something. They stood to protest
and then blacked  out. They could remember nothing until they awoke in a cold
dungeon, stripped  and bound to two huge cart-like wheels. Maggie was
upside-down, facing  Clarissa.  Her legs were open and a young, naked and very
petite Asian  woman was shaving her cunt and anal hair. When finished, she
kissed the  prominent folds of her sex, stepped back, bowed and thanked Maggie
for the  honor! Then she pressed a button on a control panel in her hand and
turned Mags  the right way up.
Clarissa had never seen Maggie so clean! There were pools  of water beneath
her.  Someone had given her the dungeon equivalent of a  bed bath. Clarissa
had laughed weakly at that, because as soon as she said it,  she then
added, "And then they did something so cruel. Maggie had long, albeit  unkempt,
hair. A man wearing nothing but a black mask had entered. His cock was
massive, excited and pulsing but caged in some strange leather contraption like
a male chastity belt. I heard the clippers before I saw them. I feared for
her.  He walked up, grabbing her head in his hand and proceeded to run the
electric  blades right down the centre of her scalp. There was no choice now
and I think  Maggie knew because she just hung silently in the wheel and let
him do it. There  wasn't even a whimper from her. All I do know is that she
kept looking across at  me, her eyes pleading, once even smiling weakly at
me, but she did not utter a  sound."
So, her down-and-out friend had been shaven completely. I had to  admit it
turned me on to think of her body clean, hairless and naked. The naked  but
masked man thrilled me too, especially that his hard cock was controlled.
Clarissa described what happened to Maggie so lovingly and perversely, and in
so  much detail; like she loved that woman and her once dirty body.
I had  watched a sci-fi film once that had a woman on a starship and she
had a shaven  head. It had turned me on then and it did again hearing her talk.
Then they  had started on Clarissa. She was gently and lovingly washed,
using very  expensive cleansing products she noticed. A man dressed in black
leather from  head to toe, including a face mask, inspected her hair. He told
the one with the  clippers to leave. There was no balding for Clarissa.
However, he then placed  his palm over her pubis and snapped his fingers for the
`girl' (she affirmed  late that she was an adult, 20 years old) to come
and shave her. He had  whispered something to the person, caressing her firm
little breasts, before  walking away, leaving her nipples hard and aroused
and her face radiant. She had  started giggling. Clarissa thought she was
Vietnamese. Then the girl proceeded  to arrange her disposable razors, a bowl of
warm water, a cloth, a brush and  shaving soap at Clarissa's feet.
"Tut, tut. What a bushy and stinking cunt  you have slave," she muttered
in heavily accented English, as if to  herself.
The girl had taken what seemed like hours over this simple task,  shaving a
little, washing off the soap, then testing first with her finger and  then
her tongue, then doing a little more, and so on. She had turned the chore
into a pleasure, for both the victim and the perpetrator. Clarissa was taken
to  the brink of orgasm more than once through this ceremony of cleansing.
However,  she was left as abruptly as the girl had arrived with her cunt lips
tingling and  swollen, and her prominent clitoris aroused to a tortuously
sex-hungry  state.  She would, she admitted, have done anything for that girl.
They  had then left the two of them for what seemed like hours hanging
naked in their  hoops. Somehow they knew not to talk to each other.
We had a little sleep  after this story, which led to me having intensely
erotic dreams. I ordered my  husband to fuck Maggie and then to give his
satiated penis to Clarissa to  revive. She fucked his cock with her mouth like a
slut, but I made him come out  of her and spend all over my face and body.
I wanted that spunk like some  elixir. Then I ordered both women to lick the
gluey mix, paying particular  attention to my tits. My language was foul
and I saw them all as my sluts,  including Jonnie. However, I noticed that in
this dream his cock was never  anything less than rigid, a turgid and
enormous manhood. In real life he was  never small, always thick in girth, but in
the dream he was massive in all  dimensions.
I awoke to Clarissa licking gently at my slit. She seemed  insatiable,
intent on pleasuring me. Was this a desire for me or a conditioned  behavior
after hours in the hands of the shadowy group she had been with? I  grabbed her
hair and pushed her away. Although I desperately wanted her to  minister to
my desires, there was a bigger need and that was to hear the full  story.
She did not protest, just sat back on her buttocks and looked at me  with
doe-like eyes, waiting for whatever was my whim. She has been trained well,
I thought. I smiled at her, delighting in seeing my cunt juices surrounding
her  mouth and dripping from her chin.
"Carry on."
She pointed down at her cunt  lips, their jewelry now shiny with her juice
and the cleansings she had had in  my company.
"It must have been the next day when the naked but hooded man  arrived
again. He had with him a Gladstone bag, like doctors used to carry. He  knelt in
front of me, inspecting my cunny, then called to the petite slave (as I
found out later she was) to rotate me. Mistress, I was tired from trying to
sleep on that wheel, having managed only a little doze. Maggie was still
sleeping when this man arrived. Only my screams woke her."
"Your screams?" I  asked, sitting on the bed, part concerned, partly
aroused thinking of her  pain.
"Yes Mistress, he took out a bottle of spirit of some type and handed  it
to the little Asian. She lovingly caressed my sex lips, applying the liquid
on a lint cloth. Again, she treated it like a ceremony and I guess it was. I
 looked up from my upside-down vantage point to see that with her other
hand she  was caressing the man's enormous penis. Mistress, I had not realised
how big he  was but now he was free of his cock cage. It distracted me
looking at that huge  pulsing member and the heavy hairless balls beneath from
what happened  next."
"Yes?"
"He took an instrument of some type from his bag. It was  like a pair of
stainless steel pliers but had a hole on one side and a large  spike on the
other. He had been playing with my labia, stretching and stroking  them,
making me fill with pleasure and plumping the lips. Then he struck,  opening the
jaws wide then lifting them up and closing them around my cunt lips.  I
screamed louder than I have ever done. The pain was immense, as the spike went
through my tender flesh and threaded through the hole on the other side of
the  pliers. It was over in a flash. Another instrument inserted one of those
labial  rings that I am now wearing. The pain spread then changed, its heat
permeating  through me to become pleasure."
"Pleasure?"
"Yes, pleasure Mistress. In  spite of all the pain I now had the
ministrations of the petite one. She was  stroking me again, lovingly applying a
soothing balm to the affected area. Once  done, she stopped, and he began again.
Another sharp pain, another ring  inserted, another loving ministration. And
so it went on until the six rings you  see were inserted and I had
experienced such pleasure and pain. I was then  pleasured by both of them, with the
petite girl (later to be known as Slave One)  at my mouth and breasts, and
the masked man (Man Slave One) licking my aching  cunt and clitoris until I
forgot the pain of the jewelry. I came Mistress! The  pain was no longer
there, just sheer pleasure.  However, I was sore for  several days and Slave One
visited during each day, or what I assumed to be so,  on the hour to add
healing balm."
"But what about Maggie?" I asked, losing  interest in her finished state.
"I was rotated back the other way. I could  see liquid glistening from
Maggie's cunt. She looked strangely content, probably  because she had slept
longer than she would ever have been able to in cardboard  city. No words
passed between us, just unspoken support and love. So long as we  were together...
"
Clarissa began to weep. I realised that I cared, but did  not want her to
know it. I wished to be seen as in control.
"Stop those tears  at once!" I snapped, "Tell me the tale and then we can
decide whether it merits  a tear. Come hug me tight and carry on."
Tight? It was fearsome. She was  clearly scared of these people, but she
was in my protection now.
"Man Slave  One left me, his mouth covered in my juice and a little blood.
He walked up to  Maggie, his cock still pulsing and hard with little drips
of semen clearly  visible and running down its engorged purple head. He
called for Slave One who  turned the wheel, but this time only so his cock could
be in line with Maggie's  face. It was as if Slave One knew what she had to
do, perhaps they had done this  to many of their victims, I don't know. She
had with her a wire device that  fitted around their victim's mouth, opening
the jaw wide, like the dentists use.  Maggie could do nothing, her teeth
could not close. Then Man Slave put his huge  dick straight down her throat. I
heard her gagging, close to throwing up, but he  snapped instructions to
her. He kept saying, `Swallow slut!. Swallow you useless  piece of street
garbage.' And he kept thrusting in and out of her mouth to a  steady rhythm
until he came with the loudest moan of pleasure, leaving Maggie  choking, unable
to spit, her mouth and cheeks spilling with his cum.   Again, he shouted at
her to swallow. The jaw splitter was covered in his gooey  seed. I looked
at the sweating, firm buttocks of the man; so muscular as they  eased their
pumping. I felt strangely jealous to not taste his cum. I felt the
degradation and yet the pleasure, almost honor to give to a man who later I was  to
find was of no higher status than me. He was just a male slut given
permission by his owners to have his pleasure."
Now I was wet and aching  between my thighs. I wanted to be Maggie! I
wanted to have cum pouring down my  throat and to be mouth-fucked. Me, the lady
of the park! The posh London woman,  with all her riches wanted to be the
slut for a day. I laughed to myself, but a  part of me craved degradation just
as another loved the power and control of  domination.
"You can caress my pussy as you talk," I said in as  matter-of-fact a tone
as I could muster. Clarissa's fingers slid sensuously over  my engorged
labia, carefully avoiding my clitty that stood proud outside its  little hood.
"He had that bag with him again. I felt a shudder and the  dulling pain in
my slit reminded me of my own situation only hours before. Yet  Mistress,
now I yearned for the pain, I wanted it and wanted the attention of  this man;
the only person I'd seen other than Slave One and the fully leather  clad
man who never came back. They had a method to control and take us over. It
was patient, stealthy, and mixed sexual favor with degradation and loss of
choice."
"Yes, yes, yes," I snapped impatiently, "Get on with the story. What  did
he do to her?" I was getting vicarious satisfaction from their  misery.
"Sorry Mistress," she said quietly, her head down, but her fingers  never
giving up on their travels up and down and around my achingly swollen  labia
and clitoris. I was challenging myself to hold back, to forego the orgasm,
to stop myself ordering her to lick me or rub directly on my clit. "He took
 another set of tongs from his bag, this time with a hole where the pincers'
  spike would have been. Then, he took a large canola-like device out that
Slave  One cleaned carefully with that spirit she used on me. He seized
Maggie's left  tit in his hand, pushing up the nipple until it was hard, and
pinched it between  the pincers. He kissed the nipple, and told Slave One to
play with his captor's  clitoris. I could see Maggie half smile, then grimace,
unsure what was to  happen. I watched as he kept squeezing her tit while
Maggie began to throw her  head back as the pleasure built overcoming the
cruel pain in her breast. She  started to moan aloud. That was when he struck.
He skewered the sharpened canola  through her nipple just at the point she
hit her peak of orgasm. She tried to  scream her pain and her pleasure, the
two mixing in confused delight, but he had  left the jaw splitter on. It made
her sounds hollow, somehow incomplete. Then  she calmed, missing the actions
he had taken in the meantime. That is, a large  gold bar had been threaded
into the hole he had made and more spirit was  applied, together with some
other cream that I was later to find acted like an  anesthetic. I guess it is
what must have happened when the Prince had my titty  rings inserted,
though that had been done when I was carefully drugged. He was  such a caring man.
"
I was beginning to moan, struggling to keep my control  more and more. As
she mentioned the Prince, so she caressed more  ardently.
"Continue," I said, almost as a plea, rather than an order.
"He  took off the jaw splitter, I think realising his mistake of having
left it on,  and kissed her hard on the mouth, seeming to savor tasting his own
cum. He  dropped all pretence of ceremony with the other side, grabbing her
hard, using  the pincers and skewering in less than 2 seconds. The bar was
in within another  couple and it was all over in less than ten; with the
cleansing and cream  too.  She screamed with the pain, free now to let her
feelings out. I saw  real tears in her eyes, real pain. It seemed to excite Man
Slave One even more.  I saw his cock harden again, pushing up against his
belly in its massive  tumultuous state.  Then he had her turned to the upright
position. I  remembered how my nipple rings had hurt me for days when the
Prince had insisted  I be adorned with them, so I could not believe what Man
Slave commanded her to  do. He, he said, `thank me.' Even my Prince did not
expect that of me just my  obedience. But Man Slave One was insistent that
she appreciate him, yet he was  so gentle, so respectful of her, even though
it could be seen as rebuking her  for not showing immediate gratitude. You
know, she did! She thanked him  profusely as if he had released some deep
psychological demon in her at that  moment of pleasure and pain. Later I would
know this to be true, but then it was  just an instinct, another moment
where I knew more than I had ever known in my  life before and I felt good. For
all the weirdness, the degradation, the  abduction, the complete loss of
control I felt good. It was unlike anything I  had known from my previous
submissive life. I can't explain it, sorry."
I was  panting, imagining Maggie tortured yet pleasured, controlled and yet
thanking  the controller. I thought of Clarissa watching, analyzing, using
that clever  brain of hers in the most unusual setting, and I felt I wanted
that experience.  Maybe I was what in one women's porno book they had called
a `switch'? I was  unsure, but I did know one thing, I wanted pleasure.
"Lick my clitty  slut!"
And she did. She fell rapidly between my thighs, reaching her hands up  to
pleasure my breasts as her tongue worked wonders on my clitty, teasing and
tasting, lashing it with little tongue strokes, giving me no choice but to
pull  her head hard between my legs and gush with my juice all over her face.
If I  could have pissed I am sure I would. I wanted to explode with
pleasure. And I  did. I screamed an orgasm in a way I had not done in years. Sex
recently had  been whispered encounters as if the children were still in the
next door  room.  Now it was full on, noisy, unashamed.
I lay back, sweating, happy  in a way I could not have imagined. My head
was full of perverted thoughts,  wishing I could have seen the degradation,
the adorning, the two slaves sexually  used. One orgasm was not enough. I
began to masturbate, rubbing my clitty hard  in between my thumb and forefinger,
not caring that Clarissa was watching.  Besides, she was a slut.
"Watch me," I said, breathlessly. "Watch your  Mistress wank herself."
Yes, I knew that term was used more by men, but  somehow I wanted her to
know that this was dirty, that I was willing to be as  explicit as I could be.
I felt the thrill of it all send shivers through me,  reveled in seeing her
dilated, hungry eyes watching me so intently, her tongue  licking her lips
like some porno star in those cheap productions, and her hand  caressing her
own cunt. I noted that for later. She would be punished, playfully  of
course, for not seeking permission. I smiled, loving the control I had at  this
moment yet where any second I was paradoxically going to go out of control.
And I did. The orgasm hit me like my own Tsunami. I was shocked by its
speed  and intensity. And as I came, so did she; noisily. It was as if she had
been  trained to proclaim her pleasure. I was reclaiming mine. I cried. Happy
tears  streamed down my face. Clarissa slid across me; her naked breasts
pressed to  mine and bent her head to lick the tears away. No words, just
loving, sensual  gestures.
Then the thought came to me.
"Clarissa," I struggled to get my  words out, the orgasm still sapping my
strength as its ripples died, "How is it  that you fear these people when
all you have told me so far suggests that these  actions were done to prepare
you for your submissive life? No extreme cruelty  had been meted out, bar
perhaps the enforce cock sucking?"
She was silent a  while, then she spoke.
"Oh, Mistress! We were kept on the wheels for ten days  (or so my new
keeper told me later), only being let off three times a day for  meals and
supervised showers and toilet. We did not speak, afraid if it was not
permissible. Maggie and I learned to reassure and tell each other things with  nods,
eye movements and other expressions. It was strangely peaceful and  comforting
despite the things they had done and would still do to us during that
time. We learned to sleep in the upright position, leaning against our shackles
that were of the softest leather by day three and well-padded. When let
down  everywhere we went the Man Slave One and Slave One carried fearsome
whips, but  never used them. They spoke little to us, though caressed and fondled
us at  will. Apart from taking their sexual pleasure, we were treated well,
even when a  new bar was inserted through my clitoral area and Maggie was
given at least a  dozen rings along her prominent labia. This was on about
the fourth day. When  hers were done, they removed her nipple bars, replacing
them with large gold  rings, much larger than these." She pulled at her own
fine set of nipple rings.  I noticed how instantly her teats engorged,
sticking hard and long from her  tits. "A fine gold chain that split into a `Y'
shape was padlocked with the  tiniest of locks to each ring, then the
trailing end was threaded through the  labial rings, lacing her cunt shut (though
loosely so she could still pee) and  locked to the last set of rings with a
large padlock. She could walk, but always  with her legs open, and she could
piss or if needs be have her periods but she  would have to wash regularly
if they did not unlock her for her ablutions. There  was no room for a pad
or tampon, unless unlocked."
"Mmmm," I said, revealing  how sexy I found the idea of Maggie always open
yet also sealed and shackled.  Plus, I was getting more perverted in my
desires. Yes, I liked the idea she was  potentially humiliated by not having
control over her periods and hygiene.  "Ingenious."
"Once, back on the wheel, I could not wait for the next  ablutions. I had
tried to hold back for what seemed to be hours, calling for  Slave One or Man
Slave to release me and take me to the large bathroom that they  used for
our breaks. Both were in the room, playing a game of chess at a table  in
front of us both, but neither seemed to respond. However, when I could hold  my
bladder no more, I let out a little dribble that dripped between my
spread-eagled thighs. Slave One rushed from her board, knelt and lapped the hot
wet piss from my cunt. I could not stop then, I let the waters gush. She
seemed  to be trying to take as much into her mouth as possible. Soon, Man Slave
was  there too, encouraging her. He was rubbing his cock hard against her
head,  pushing her against me as she drank.  When I could do no more, he held
her  against my crotch, where she continued to lick at me. I had the
clitoral bar in  by this time, and although still a little sore, she aroused me to
a point of  pleasure I had never experienced before as Man Slave rubbed
himself in rhythm  against her short cropped hair. His hands were at my
breasts, fondling me  cruelly yet so sexily. She had her hands around my buttocks,
her index finger  seeking my little rose bud. Soon she was inside me, the
anus opening for her  with absolute willingness and pleasure. His hands toyed
and aroused me so  expertly. Her tongue was hard on my clitoris that seemed
so much more sensitive  and large now I had the clitoral bar. I forgot my
humiliation of pissing. This  was so beautiful now, not like in that bastard
Klaus's office. I liked the  smells of piss mingling with my cunt juice and
her own sweet aroma that wafted  up to me. I was aroused no end and when Man
Slave came on her head, splashing my  belly with his hot cum I went over the
edge with a sudden and multiple orgasm. I  could not stop myself, going
from one spasm to another, over and over and over.  It seemed ages before I
hung limply between the shackles, exhausted, satiated.  She was on all fours
below me, licking from the wheel and floor every last drop  of my piss. He sat
back at the games table, clearly exhausted, idly playing with  his cock
which was showing signs of revival so quickly."
"He was going hard  already? My Jonathan does it once and then is tired for
hours." I shut up,  having said too much about my dissatisfying love life.
Pah!  What love  life? The most recent time was a quick shag and only
because he had had a slot  between a meeting in The Hyde Park Obelisk Hotel and
the offices they called the  Gherkin. Very apt I thought at the time, two
phallic places and one slot. It had  been enough to make me surprisingly horny.
My control had been slipping lately,  though nowhere near as bad as now. I
let my fingers stroke openly at my wet and  sensitive pussy lips. It felt so
good.
"Oh, Mistress, Man Slave One had been  snatched by The Group (as I learned
the club was called) from a porn shoot in  the Czech Republic. He was
trained in a castle outside Prague that was owned by  members of the club. He can
become erect at will, never being flaccid until at  least ten women, or men
for that matter, have been `serviced' by him. He is  insatiable and we were
used to keep him at his peek during the training of a  large batch of
recruits, or press-ganged people really. The Group preferred to  break people in,
it amused them. No, it did more; it enabled them to bet on when  we would
break, how long it would take and what methods would break us. Or, in  rare
cases, whether we would break at all. Huge sums of money changed hands at
these betting sessions and every new recruit was watched night and day by
cameras concealed around the rooms. No action, including our ablutions, was
missed and the fiber optics used was placed in multiple locations, pointing
at,  above and below us. I was to learn that every detail of my conversion to
full  submission was kept, edited and distributed to the members. There is
in  circulation a complete record of my modification to the ways of The
Group. I had  no way out. These recordings were cleverly edited so that no one
could tell I  was not a willing party in my degradation. Every utterance of
pleasure, I was to  learn later, was inserted to make me look willing, with
Slave One and others  adding extra commentary and footage `after the fact'.
That was on the tape that  would be given publicly to anyone whom I reported
the group to, should I be  stupid enough to do so.  Another, recording every
sick, perverted and  degrading event was for members' eyes only. There
would be many tapes like that  of Maggie and me."
Now I was even more intrigued. "So what other things  happened then?"
My fingers began to ease open my pussy lips, my right index  finger found
my clitty, hard again. What a perverted bitch I was becoming and so  turned
on by these tales of The Group. I envied her experiences, however sick,
degrading or perverted. I felt my nipples harden and watched that familiar
dilation in Clarissa's eyes.
"Tell me in a while, but for now, I want you to  take control of me."
Her tongue snaked over my nipples, hardening them to  aching stiff buds. He
fingers seized my tits, and I felt the joy of descending  into hard, raw
sex. I heard my words as if coming from another person.
"Top  me from the bottom. Take me as if I was your submissive, your slut.
Show me what  they did to you."
I felt the hard bites on my nipples and the bruising  fingers that clawed
at my breasts. I had turned on a switch in her brain. There  was a deep
cruelty in her.  Then she turned me over so quickly as if I was  but a feather,
showing such strength that I did not know she possessed. My hips  were lifted
and my bare arse made ready. I knew what was coming and I wanted it,
wanted the heavy spanking that I'm sure would be the start of many more
humiliations and punishments.
She started with sensual, light slaps to each  buttock, but her hands
continued to grasp and pull at my teats as cruelly as  before. I felt sensuality
and pain as she knelt at my left side. I turned my  head to watch her body,
admiring her firm adorned breasts, the large rings  swinging seductively,
the slightly open thighs framing her heavily bejeweled  cunt lips that shone
with her juice. I felt the strokes get harder, the slaps  firmer, her
caresses shift and change from hard to soft, palpitating and  pinching, and then
she raised her arm high.  My cunt was turning to liquid;  my tits were on fire
with pleasure and pain, my buttocks warmed and ready. I saw  it coming, the
raising high of her hand, and the sudden cruelty in her face that  wiped
away the pure love that I had previously witnessed. When it came, I  screamed
into the pillow as the blows rained down. At least twenty vicious  strokes
left me at once crying into the pillow and yet seeking the heat of  pleasure
that flooded out from the searing heat in my arse, then caressed and
consumed me between my thighs and up and over my belly and breasts. Then the
lighter blows resumed, followed by feather light touches between my thighs, then
 hard squeezes of my apple red arse cheeks, followed my more light touches
over  my sex lips and teats.
More blows followed, hard and fast. And the greatest  surprise. In the
midst of the pain and the torment, I received one of the  lightest touches to my
clitoris that by now stood like a miniature cock outside  its sheath. I
came, not once but many times. The screams into the pillow were of  pleasure
and I craved the pain that continued as I moaned like the whore and  slut that
I was.
"There Mistress," she whispered in my ear, her hands  caressing and
tormenting my reddened and stinging arse cheeks, "You have been a  really
disgusting little slut today and you deserved that spanking making me  tell you
about my awful experiences. Would you like to know more?" She asked,  her finger
dipping lasciviously into my dripping cunt. "Or would you like to
experience what it really means to be a slut and my slave?"
She slid off me.  I saw her walk naked to my bedside cabinet. She picked up
my favorite hair  brush, but I knew it would not be used to tidy my tousled
head.
"Show me how  to be a slave," I answered hoarsely.
"Bend over that chair at the dressing  table."
There was nothing pleasant in her tone now. I saw fire in her eyes,  yet I
wanted this above all else. Yes, the story could continue later, much
later. For now I was her slave, at least for a while.
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