(This is a memoir from our slave Norma. Based on actual events and several lust letters and conversations with her and rewritten as a first person narrative for more enjoyable reading)
**I could make it an order**
That was all he needed to say. It meant it already was and I would obey or be severely punished.
But it wasn't the fear of that that made me obey. It was my contract, made as much with myself as with him, to be his slave.
I took it quite seriously. Since accepting his collar I had never refused him, or his beautiful Venezuelan wife, anything.
I made myself available for them to use whenever and however they chose.
She had returned to South America for the last few months and I was used for my Master's pleasure 2 or 3 times a week in her absence. Though I belonged to both of them, she was also his slave and their relationship was not just Master and slave but Sadist and masochist as well.
I was never sure whether it was some innate enjoyment of pain that motivated her or, like me, she had been conditioned to it as a source of sexual arousal. I certainly didn't like pain when we started but my training and frequent use by the two them had made me now enjoy it, made me now look forward to it.
It came, usually, with powerful orgasms. But these were generally used as a form of torture rather than for my enjoyment. Since I was forbidden to cum without permission I was often taken to the edge and held there for as long as it pleased my Dominant. This might be minutes, hours, or, on more than one occasion, days.
I’ll give you an example of the latter which was unusual and I'm pretty sure done just to be unpredictable and make sure I never took my release for granted.
I was shocked the first time it happened. It was our first session after the completion of my three day training. We had spent the whole night getting high and fucking. Master had whipped and caned and fucked Lu and I both. I had serviced them both with my mouth and they had both had several orgasms.
I was, by the time the sun rose, incredibly turned on. My pussy ached with hunger. My clit, which had been teased with fingers, tongues, and a powerful vibrator, was swollen and so sensitive that when Lu blew warm air across it I had to struggle to keep from cumming. After assisting Master to give my Mistress a string of multiple orgasms and then being fucked roughly in the ass I watched enviously as he pulled out of me and ejaculated his delicious semen into her mouth.
This was usually the time when if I was going to be allowed to, I was taken care of. On this morning both Lu and I had work in a few hours so we all crawled into their bed for a little rest. I lay between them where, in the past, they had slowly teased and tormented me to a mind-blowing orgasm or three.
But this time I was left untouched as they turned their backs to me and drifted off to sleep. After an exhaustive night of sex and drugs and BDSM that was not uncommon. But while they rested I wrestled with unrequited lust. And had I been allowed to I would have eagerly traded 100 strokes of a cane or riding crop, enough that I would have been bleeding and in tears, for a single orgasm. I forced myself to lay still to let them rest but found none for myself. And when, after what seemed like both an eternity and a few seconds, the alarm went off and Lu got up to go to work, it became clear that I was to spend the day unsated.
As Mistress and I got ready to go to work Master roused himself and told me, "I don't think I have to remind you that are not allowed to cum until we give you permission. You may touch yourself only enough to keep your cunt clean but that is all."
Of course I needed no reminder. I would obey and if, for some strange reason, I failed, I would admit it and accept any punishment they deemed appropriate.
Needless to say, I wasn't much use at work that day. Fortunately it wasn't a delivery day and I didn't have much to do. But that also meant I had nothing to distract me from my carnal needs. The many stripes beneath my clothes, the ones that I usually enjoyed as a post coital reminder, now just hurt. My cunt was sore but not in any way enjoyable.
The next day was in some ways better, that is, my whip marks had faded and didn't hurt. But my usual morning masturbation session had been denied and I knew it was going to be a very tiresome day.
But when the phone rang and I heard Mistress's sultry voice I brightened, hoping that she'd relent and let me cum. But those hopes were dashed.
Both she and Master were on the phone. Calling just to make sure I had obeyed.
Master asked whether I was still sore and when I assured him that I was and I had been obedient, he laughed cruelly and informed me that when he hung up he was going to have Mistress make herself cum while sucking his cock. He had only called to give me something to think about as I spent another day frustrated.
It worked. I spent the whole day picturing that scene and wanting desperately to be in her place.
Just before the end of the day he called me at work with these instructions, "When you get home you are to put clothespins on your nipples and clit. You may play with yourself but not cum. After one hour you are to call me and ask permission. If you've been a good girl I might let you."
Both Master and Mistress had been so completely unpredictable that I no longer tried to anticipate what words like that really meant. He was just as likely to not let me cum as to say, "Okay, slave. You've been a good girl. You may cum...once."
I knew just how much my suffering excited and aroused them and how they liked to hear it in my voice. While I have admit that I was in some cases over-emoting, most of the time the tone and tenor of my pleas was entirely genuine.
It was a delicate tightrope upon which I tread. I truly did enjoy being a sexslave and was more than willing to pay for that honor with my pain. I knew it was a vicious circle; that the more I turned them on, the more they might want to inflict torture and the more they tormented me the more turned on they became.
Master was not only a Dominant, he was openly a Sadist. He freely admitted that he was aroused by inflicting pain on a willing subject. The sex of the masochist was unimportant. More than once I had been made to suck off a boy while he was spanked, paddled, and fucked roughly in the ass by Master.
So I knew that when I called him after that hour, balanced on the razor-thin edge of orgasm and my tits and cunt in agony, he might just tell me to wait another day.
The bus trip home from work seemed to take forever and the first thing I did after closing my bedroom door was fetch three wooden clothespins from my bedside table. Hurriedly I shrugged off my coat and popped a button as I took off my blouse. I glanced at the clock as I pushed the cups of my bra down to get the clamps on even before I undid the hooks in the back to get it off. It was 6:44, less than an hour since he'd called.
My skirt and panties were quickly pushed to the floor and I raised one foot and placed it on the edge of my bed. The movement caused the ones on my nipples to quiver painfully but that didn't matter. Spreading my pussy lips with one hand I positioned the two pieces of wood and let them close on my still sore and swollen clitoris. I physically shook from the sudden intense pain and was barely able to make myself collapse on the bed instead of the floor.
I lay on my side and forced myself to breathe slowly as I adjusted to the three cruelly biting pins. I closed my eyes and surrendered to Master's pain. It filled my consciousness and I imagined him standing at the foot of the bed savoring my agony as he stroked his cock.
Rolling onto my back my fingers found the two on my nipples and tugged and twisted. "Master..." I whispered, "Oh, Master..."
My clit by then was demanding my attention and my left hand moved down across my belly and the moist curls of my pubic hair. I didn't touch it or the clothespin. My fingers teased the area all around it just as he liked to do. It ached by the time I accidentally brushed the back of my hand against the wood and I felt my whole body vibrate. Whispering again to my imagined lover, "Master... it hurts... so... much..."
But no matter how much it did it also aroused my aching lust.
I flicked a finger across the ends of the clothespin and knew that having to hold back my orgasm for another hour was going to be worse than the pain emanating from that spot.
I persisted, wanting to be able to tell Master that I had been his good girl. I used both hands to pull the nipple clamps away from my body and at their limit twisted them while my belly muscles convulsed with the pain. I moved down to my cunt and pushed three fingers of my right hand inside and then pushed the first two fingers of my left into my ass and alternated thrusts between them. Though I wasn't touching ithe one crushing my clit the movement of my hands was making it shake and transmit electric bolts of agony outward.
Unwelcome thoughts managed to briefly flash into my mind such as, "How had I become such a pain slut? Was I really such a bit of filth that I was only good for being cruelly abused?" I pushed them as quickly from my mind as I could. Not because it bothered me but because I had learned that such distractions might make me lose control of the orgasm bubbling just below the surface.
As it was I had to stop often and concentrate on containing it. It didn't help that during those moments I usually pictured my Owners smiling and laughing at my discomfort. I loved seeing that. I loved knowing that I was bringing the two of them such pleasure through my suffering and that added to my threatening orgasm.
I could have sworn that the clock by my bed had either stopped or was running backwards as the end of the hour grew closer.
When at last the green glowing numbers read 6:45 I pulled my slime- and stink-covered hands from my cunt and ass and grabbed my phone with one hand while I dialed with the other. I don't know for sure whether Master intentionally let it ring before answering but he did and when he finally answered said, "I'm not ready. I'll call you back in a few minutes." And hung up.
I'll admit I cursed at that moment, "FUCK, Master!" I said to myself. I knew he was most likely doing it just as a way to extend my agony and after the expletive I gathered my body and wits and mentally thanked him. Later, when next I was allowed to kneel at his feet, I would confess and beg to be punished.
By this time the only way to obey my instructions was to all but cease my masturbation and wait as long as he wanted.
Even more slowly than before the time crawled by and I was almost in tears by the time I heard his ringtone, a screeching red tailed hawk.
"Master..." I croaked. "It hurts..."
His voice was surprisingly warm when he answered, "What hurts, my dear slave?"
"Eh-eh-everything..." I forced out.
"Mmmmm... I love hearing that."
"Thank you, Master. I-I'm glad it pleases you."
"My cock is aching at the thought."
I pictured his hand stroking it and shivered at the idea. Knowing every bit how much it would hurt with a clothespin on my clit I longed to have him fuck me hard with it.
"I wish you were here to fuck me with it."
"I think I'd rather just stand there and whip you while you cum."
That image, combined with all my other filthy imaginations, made me whimper. "Please, Master... I'm so close..."
"I'll bet you'd trade 50 came strokes for it, wouldn't you?"
"As many as you want, Master. Whether you let me or not. My body is yours to do with whatever you like."
"Take the clothespin off your left breast."
I pinched the wooden ends and my eyes filled with a red haze as the pain of the long tortured flesh took me.
"Master..." my voice trailed off leaving me unable to share my suffering.
"I know, slave. I know..."
I don't think it showed on my face but inside I was grinning from ear to ear.
"Now the other breast."
I had been dreading it but took solace in the fact that it was bringing me one step closer to my release.
I grabbed the ends firmly and pinched it open and welcomed the pain into my body.
"Master... I wish you could see me... see my pain... "
"I think I would like that too. But it would take me a while to get there. Have you thought about that?
"Could you hold back for another hour... or an hour and a half?”
"You know I would, Master."
"I'm sure you would. But I'll save that for another day. I think I'm ready to hear you cum."
"As you wish, Master."
"Could you cum using only the one on your clit?"
"I don't know. I can try."
"Okay. You've been a very good girl If you can, you have my permission to cum."
I had never felt so adored or appreciated. I reached down and tried to take that last clothespin's tips as gently I could but at that first touch I knew it was pointless to try.
So I did the opposite. I grabbed it and pulled and as I did so, I twisted it. The pain was hideous but I had been so conditioned by Mistress' and Master's training that it hit me as pleasure.
That training had also taught me to turn screams into moans and I let forth with a guttural, animalistic sigh that I knew would arouse Master.
"Tell me what you're doing, " he whispered.
It was hard to talk but I managed to blurt out, "Using pin... hurting clit more..."
"You're making your Master's cock ache with lust for you."
"Thank you, Master. "
"When you start to cum I want you to take off the clothespin. "
I knew he'd want that and had planned to do it already but answered, "Yes Master. But I'd like to make believe it's you doing it, okay?"
"Good girl."
I could not hold back and finally let the dam break and let the explosion in my middle erupt. My body thrashed uncontrollably and the fingers on the clothespin on my clit quivered just much. The combination created one of the most painful and yet powerful orgasms I've ever had.
I tried to express my thanks but the sensations had pushed that part of my consciousness away and I could only manage some unintelligible grunts.
"Such a good slave..."
His words were gasoline on the fire in my belly.
I imagined him standing over me, stroking that delicious erection and with each movement of his hand, slashing my inflamed body with his braided leather whip and that the rivulets of sweat I felt were actually blood from my torn flesh.
"You make me want to cum too but I'm going to wait for your Mistress to get home and fuck her brains out."
“But you’ve been a very good girl and you can cum as many times as you want before you have to go to work tomorrow.”
I imagined myself hanging by my wrists as he fucked my Mistress at my feet, my body criss-crossed with the stripes they had just applied. The idea that I was able to make her so wet and him so hard merely by suffering for them was enough to make me cum again and again and again, until unable to continue, I drifted off to a dreamland of stone walls and chained princesses.
But that was months ago. Now my Mistress had returned to her family home in Caracas and I had become the regular receptacle for Master’s Sadism and semen.
By then I had become so accustomed to my legs and ass and breasts being marked in stages of bruising that it had become my new normal. I liked looking at them and if they were fresh and still sensitive I’d dig my fingers into them and pinch them when I masturbated.
From the day I had signed my slave contract I had only rarely again worn any underwear. This was one of the first restrictions they’d imposed and it was arousing to think that even a wisp of fabric didn’t stand between me and them. I have always preferred skirts and dresses to slacks and this was convenient for my owners.
More than once when we were out at a bar or club they’d guide me into a corner and while one raised my skirt the other would finger fuck me.
I was amazed, when I stopped to think about it, how quickly I had descended from the prim bookstore purchasing manager to a wanton slut. I had no regrets. In fact I had never felt more confident and attractive in my life. It felt like I was having sex every waking moment. I don’t think I was ever not wet. I was so perpetually close to orgasm that I had to pay attention when wiping after going to the bathroom.
One day I was in the lavatory at work. I had peed, stood and turned to flush when the door opened and Francesca, our newest employee stood there, dumbstruck. My pleated skirt was down around my ankles and bending over as I was gave her a full view of the stripes that decorated my ass and the back of my legs.
Standing quickly I pulled the skirt up to my waist and blushing deeply, turned to face her.
“Sorry, ” she said, “I didn’t know anyone was in here and the door was unlocked...”
“My own fault for not locking the door. I’ll be out in a second.”
She stepped back but held the door partially open. I turned to flush with my skirt still around my ankles and heard her breathe “Oh wow.”
Startled, I turned back and quickly pulled up my skirt while my whole body blushed.
“Were you a very naughty girl or was somebody having fun with you?”
I stammered out, “A little of both... I guess....”
“Well, they’re very pretty. You should be proud of them.”
I was proud of them but was taken aback by this woman’s reaction.
“I am... uh, thanks.”
For the rest of the day every time I caught her looking at me I blushed and looked away. I was not embarrassed but the knowledge that someone else, someone I’d just started working with and knew nothing about, shared my secret, was a bit daunting.
She always smiled at me and had a playful glint in her eyes that put me at ease. I felt my secret was safe with her.
Frankie, as she was called, was a bit older than me. I guessed wrongly that she was in her mid 30s. I’d learn eventually that she was 10 years older.
But she was cute and playful and in a subtle way, a bit flirtatious. Every time one of our co-workers would make an aside, joke, or innuendo about anything kinky, she’d catch my eye and wink.
I wanted to talk with her about her experiences. Besides Mistress and Master she was the only person I knew that I was sure was cool with what I was into. I was dying to ask her but I couldn’t think of a way to begin the conversation.
“So, you like to get whipped too?” or “So, are you a slave like me?”
I imagined a dozen such openings and just couldn’t bring myself to say any of them.
There was also the problem of our schedules. We only worked two days together and in different parts of the bookstore. I worked in the back in the office and she worked mostly on the floor.
But then a series of very popular books came out about a certain teen-aged wizard and we were staying open late and it was all hands on deck. We were both working the floor, restocking the books as they sold and we were alone for a moment in the back when she said, “Norma, look.” and bent over and lifted the back of her skirt.
Her cute ass was still pink from a recent spanking and across both cheeks were a pair of swollen stripes, one of which had a drop of dried blood at one end. I sucked in my breath and was just about to run my fingertip across one of the weals when we heard the door open behind us. She stood up and let her skirt fall, turned over her shoulder, winked, and blew me a kiss.
“Not as pretty as yours but that’s all he would give me.”
The next few hours are a blur. Lots of happy excited kids and their parents, and an amazing number of kid-less adults in witch and wizard costumes who had waited in line for hours to buy the latest book in the series. It was great fun and we all had a great time, But all through the night I kept picturing her cane-marked ass and heard her last six words echo in my mind: “that’s all he would give me.”
It didn’t long to see that we’d run out of our supply before too long and Gary, the owner, opened a box of wine about an hour before we were scheduled to close. This made us even more festive and playful. But I was still fixated on that choice of words... “he would give me.”
When the last customer had left and he had locked the door we all moved to the cushions in the children’s section. I chose a soft over-sized pillow and smiled when Francesca came over and asked, “Can I share your pillow? I need something extra-soft to sit on.”
We shared a secret smile and I patted the spot next to me. She collapsed in a way that was both casual and intimate at the same time. To our co-workers who were similarly situated, it was meaningless but the way she snuggled up against me carried much more information.
The conversation was boisterous and loud, laughing about the oddballs and funny incidents.
There was enough wine so that no one’s plastic cup was ever empty. And underneath it, in a voice only she could hear, I whispered, “the only ones he would give you?”
She looked into my eyes and softly answered, “I wanted more but when he drew blood with the second one he stopped. I asked... no, I begged him... but he was adamant.
“I had a had hard time getting him to spank me and though he went along with it, I knew he wasn’t into it.”
I could sympathize. I knew how hard it could be to find someone decent to be one’s Dominant.
“Well, if he won’t do it, I’d sure be willing.”
“That sounds like fun...”
I had never really considered caning another girl. I had watched Mistress get striped but the idea of doing it to her just hadn’t ever come to me.
She laughed a melodious laugh and told me, “Well, given the way he looked at me... like I was a disgusting pervert or something, tells me he definitely won’t. I’m not even sure he’s still my boyfriend after today.”
I squeezed her shoulders as a gesture of support. Or so it would seem to the others around us. But I held it a little longer than necessary and she responded by leaning into me and looking up with questioning eyes.
“What if I bleed again... will you stop?”
“If you bleed I’ll just hit you harder.”
She smiled and said, “Mmmmm... I like the sound of that.”
But that night when she got home she’d find out that she should be careful what she wished for.
The man waiting for her wasn’t her boyfriend. Her boyfriend had spent the intervening hours thinking about Francesca and what had happened and decided that if she needed someone to hurt her he was going to give her what she wanted.
The man waiting for her was going to be her Sadist, her Master.
I never got to play with either of them but the next time I saw her she was wearing a leather collar padlocked on her throat. It was the 90s and there were a lot of boys and girls wearing dog collars but few were locked in place. It was a clear declaration that this otherwise prim and normal looking woman was a sex slave.
There was no pattern to how or when Master used me and that was okay, I kind of liked not knowing. I’d get a phone call telling me to come over and most of the time, I’d say, “Yes, Master.” and go. And from the moment I hung up the phone I’d be wet and get steadily wetter and more horny.
Occasionally I’d have to beg off for various reasons and though he was my Master, he was compassionate and allowed me to pick another time.
Somehow I knew, when a coworker told me I had a phone call that it was Master. It had been over a week since he had used me and I knew I was due. My stripes and marks had mostly faded and since I had been permitted to masturbate but not cum I was ready and eager for him to call, if only to plead for an orgasm and offer my pain as payment. I knew that hearing that would excite him whether he gave permission or not and believe it or not I was okay with that. I loved to suffer for my Owners.
“Come here when you get off work.”
I had planned to go grocery shopping and do some laundry and I kind of balked. “Does it have to be tonight? I have a bunch of stuff I have to do.”
I knew I was taking a chance. If he wanted me I would go.
“A couple I know are coming over and I want to show you to them so they can see what having a well-trained slave is like.”
This was something new. My sexual slavery was no secret but I had never been presented to a stranger in this way. That he would consider me an example like that made me very proud and very aroused.
“I could make it an order...”
Those words, of course, meant that it was an order. Any hesitation or refusal would be punished. And I had belonged to him long enough to know that that was something I wanted to avoid. Unlike the torture inflicted as part of my sexual service, there was nothing exciting or arousing about it. It would likely include pain but it would not be as a prelude to sex.
It would definitely include shame. Not as an exaggerated bit of humiliation play but to make me ashamed of being a bad slave. It was a psychological torment that would not heal quickly and would never be forgotten. I had been punished twice and will never forget them.
“Yes, Master. I’ll be there right after work.”
I was pretty useless for the rest of the day. I was always horny anyway but this new adventure had me soaked. I was glad I had on a dark skirt and had happened to wear panties as I was due for my period or I’m sure I’d have left a pool on my chair. I would try my best to make him proud of me of course, but it was the endless string of visions of perversions performed in front of strangers dancing through my mind that had my cunt aching.
The clock crawled through the last couple of hours and as soon as the day ended I slipped my underwear off while still seated, popped them in my purse and headed towards what, I didn’t know.
I passed a couple of bars as I walked the three blocks and was tempted to stop in and get a shot to steady my nerves. My legs were wobbly and my hands shaky and it would have helped but Master had very strict rules about including alcohol or anything else that might deaden my senses during a session. I was not only fine with that, I liked it. No, I adored it. And I’m very aware of just how absurd that sounds.
Master and Mistress had shown me that pleasure and pain we two sides of one coin. Their domination and torture provided me with incredibly powerful orgasms and they knew how to use those orgasms as a form of torture, making me cum until I was pleading with them to stop.
And I loved it all.
I used the key to their apartment building’s front door that I had been issued and climbed the three flights of stairs with increasingly wobbly knees. As was usual, Master’s front door was unlocked. I let myself in and as I had been trained, I immediately stripped myself naked, fell to my knees and into my presentation pose to wait.
On the floor in front of me was a wide leather collar with the word SLAVE painted on it and three wooden clothespins. When I wore the stiff leather around my neck it fit snugly between my jaw and my collarbones and restricted head to an upright, forward facing pose. A position that made it possible for even a small cock or two of Mistress’ fingers to cut off my air. Its presence was a clear signal that I was going get mouth fucked. And the jolt of that thought went straight to my clit.
The three clothespins I gathered were intended for my nipples and clit.
I know it was only two or three minutes but my awareness of the slow passing of each second made it seem like much longer before I heard Master’s footsteps approaching.
My head was bowed in the pose and I saw that he was wearing leather pants and polished black crocodile-skin cowboy boots. This was much dressier than most other times.
He crouched down, lifted my chin with the fingers of his gloved left hand and slapped my face with the other. It was not a playful or erotic slap. It hurt and was inflicted as discipline. And I knew why. I had been summoned and I hesitated. I had not responded as a slave should have and I deserved that slap.
“Thank you, Master.”
I think that he could see I truly meant it and that was the only reason I didn’t receive a second.
“I am sorry, Sir, it won’t happen again.”
He stared deep into my eyes seeking for any sign of insincerity and finding none, smiled in a way that made my innards flutter and made me want another slap. The kind I got when I was being choked and fucked hard.
I wanted him see my complete submission to him and looking into his eyes, whispered, “Thank you, Master, for helping me be a better slave.”
His smile made my insides melt.
He moved behind me and fit the wide leather around my throat and cinching it tight. It restricted my breathing just enough to make me constantly aware of it and what it symbolized. He had made it himself and designed it so that it could not be removed by the wearer.
Moving back in front he pulled two shining alligator clamps from his shirt pocket. The sight made my belly cringe. When I had spotted the three clothespins I had assumed that they were for my nipples and pussy. But Master has never stopped coming up with unexpected ways to use me.
I had worn the steel clips only once before, very early in my service. And they had brought tears to my eyes.
That was the third day of my slave training, the final part when the limit of my pain tolerance was being explored. By the time those cruel steel teeth bit into my nipples they had already been whipped, pinched, clamped, and targeted by molten wax. They were so sensitive that when Mistress ran her tongue softly across them it almost hurt. When both were taken by them and sucked on it hurt so much I nearly screamed but I also nearly came.
Squeezed between their two bodies, their hands and fingers playing with my pussy, I was soon on the edge of an abyss of orgasm. They stopped their oral teasing of my nipples and held up the alligator clips before my eyes.
In my blurred consciousness they had no significance but Mistress explained, “When you start to cum we’re putting these on these nice stiff nipples.”
I don’t remember if I replied because I was fighting to hold back the orgasm until given permission. “please... may I cum?”
They looked at each other, smiled, and said in unison, “Okay. Cum now.” And let the two teethed clips close on my tender skin. I squirted for my first time and started to scream but it was stifled by Mistress with a passionate kiss.
I kept cumming, embarrassed by the fluids I knew were staining the carpet. I was so overwhelmed by the intensity that started I openly crying.
If I had to choose a moment when I became a masochist, a moment when pain became an essential element of my sexual satisfaction. Still today, many years later, when I’m about to cum I always dig a fingernail into my clit or nipple just as it happens.
He gestured and I opened my thighs for him to attach the clothespins. The first two were easy, on the outer lips of my pussy. But the third...
Master pulled back the hood from my already engorged clit and while looking deep into my eyes, deep into my soul, let it close, cruelly crushing the most sensitive bit of my body. I wanted to hold my Master’s eye, to let him savor and enjoy my pain but it was too much. My body reacted by shivering, spasming uncontrollably. The pain filled my consciousness and I could think of nothing else.
I steeled myself for the agony of the alligator clips but it never came.
“I’ll save these for later.”
I was so relieved I barely aware of his fingers wrapping around the wide collar at the front of my throat, only noticing when my breath grew short. His lips covered mine and he released his grip as his tongue pushed into my mouth in an extremely passionate kiss. I kissed him back, channeling all of my pain into it.
He called it “drinking my pain.” And that’s what it was. Like the willing subject of a vampire who is sucking her lifeblood from her veins. As much as he drank I wanted him to take more. I kissed him back with all of my being. I never adored Master or Mistress more than when they were accepting my gift of pain.
After a moment he pushed me roughly onto my back, spread my legs, and attacked my aching pussy with his mouth. Though my agony was centered on my clit it was all so overwhelming I was close to losing what little control I had left and when he took the biting clip away and replaced it with his mouth I almost came instantly. It took what little of my consciousness that was not overwhelmed by to prevent it.
I knew the answer before it even formed in my mind but still I begged, “May I... may I cum, Master?”
He released my sore clit from his lips, moved up my body until his head was next to mine and whispered, “Not yet. Maybe later. If you’re a good girl.” It was not an admonition or threat that I needed to hear to make me strive to hear Master call me that. It was his way of teasing me in a way that inflamed my sex drive and accentuated my slavery. And I loved it, of course.
I could feel the head of his cock pushing through the two clothespins in an exquisite blend of agony and arousal. In a single thrust he was deep inside me and the bone above his cock was crushing my still pain-filled clit. My pussy was spasming around him as I fought back an orgasm.
His whispered words didn’t help.
“I want to whip you and then fuck you and then whip you again before I cum in all three of your holes holes. I’m going to wait but the more I do the more I want to torture you, my hot little fuck-toy...”
That exciting scenario was cut off by his phone ringing. He withdrew and went to answer it, leaving me feeling empty and ready to beg for his whip, his touch, his cock...
I loved the way Master humbled me, made me crave him, made me his carnal beast. Years later I can hardly believe that I felt that way but even reading my own lines makes me wet.
His phone conversation was short and I heard him use the intercom to buzz open the front door.
“That was them. Come in here.”
He didn’t need to tell me to crawl to him but I did and took up a position on my knees at his feet.
He produced a pair of clothespins which he placed on my nipples. For a moment their new pain distracted me from the other two that still pinched my labia and hurt whenever I moved my legs. But the newness passed and they blended into the others, taking me in its wonderful grip.
“Presentation pose.” was all he said before going to the door.
I had a definite love/hate relationship with that pose. It wasn’t ever comfortable and had a way of making me feel very exposed. Kneeling, seated on my heels, back straight, hands palm up on thighs well-parted, and head bowed in supplication. It almost always included something like the five clothespins I was wearing or even worse, like the handle of a riding crop or cane under my knees’ patellas that in short order became pure agony.
It was tolerable, for about the first half-hour... And then it started to hurt. And that part I hated.
But I also loved how much it made me aware of my sexual slavery. I was Master and Mistress’ living sculpture. My silent suffering excited and aroused them. More than once I was forced to watch them as they fucked and fondled each other, as she sucked his cock while he looked at me with lust.
I longed to be in her place of course, but just knowing that I was arousing him was enough.
She entered first. Though my eyes were downcast I could she a pair of shapely stockinged legs below the hem of her coat. Her approving intake of breath made my entire body flush.
I longed to look up and see the rest of her but equally I longed to bow my head to the toe of her shiny black high heels and lick them.
I heard a strange male voice say, “Here Monta, I’ll take your coat.”
That was when I heard Master give an approving, “Mmmm.” and I looked up. I knew better. When in presentation I was not supposed to move unless told to. I looked away immediately but my glance had been enough to see that beneath her coat she wore high heels, stockings and a pink corset and, except for matching pink vinyl cuffs on her wrists, ankles, and throat, nothing else.
It was all very sexy and at another time I might have paused to imagine how her pussy would taste.
But in that quick glance I’d also seen that Master had seen me move and all I could think about was my inevitable punishment. No matter. Even if he hadn’t caught me I’d have told him before my next punishment session.
Not that I liked being punished. In fact I hated it, it was much worse than our normal S&M play.
But as part of the oath I had sworn not just to Master and Mistress but to myself, I knew that to be the best slave for them that I was capable of being I should reveal any mistake I might make and accept the consequences of correction, discipline, or punishment.
And it wasn’t so much the pain that came with these, that was no worse than I’d suffered for their pleasure. It was the way the chastisement was applied. It wasn’t sexual. It was very ritualized and structured to make me very sorry for my transgressions. Though I was never called names or insulted it was nonetheless very humiliating. I had to speak each of my mistakes or transgressions, bend at the waist, and ask to be punished.
This usually came in the form of a cane but sometimes a belt or paddle. And I was required to hold that position. I wasn’t tied or restrained, that would have been much easier.
When you’re tied and being whipped you can twist and turn and thrash but mostly you just focus on the pain and getting through it.
But when you are bent at the waist and touching your toes and you know that no matter how horrible that next blow will be you must stay just you are and that if you do not you will be ordered to ask for it to be repeated, that becomes your entire focus. So when that pain, that excruciating, searing pain comes, you have no resistance, no defense. Objectively it might be the same amount of force with the same implement but subjectively it was much, much worse.
It was, simply put, punishment. And still, as much as I hated it and did my best to avoid it, I knew that its purpose was to make me be a better slave to my Mistress and Master.
If there was an upside to it it was that it ended in total and complete forgiveness. Whatever I had been punished for was never brought up again. Mistress or Master or both would give me nice long hugs and say, “Good girl.”
Those two short words were enough to make my belly kind of dissolve. They made me want to throw myself at their feet and beg to be whipped or even caned again. And of course the two words made me very, very horny.
But that was the final part of the punishment. Our sadomasochistic sex was kept distinct from my punishment. And truth be told, it was the part I hated the most.
Our guests took seats to my left and Master sat on his raised bed to my right.
“Well, here she is. This is Norma, my slave.”
The woman spoke first, “Is she your girlfriend?”
“No, but my girlfriend is her Mistress. She’s my slave too but this one belongs to both of us.”
“That’s what we don’t get. What do mean she “belongs” to you?” the man asked.
“She signed a contract giving herself to us.”
“You mean her body belongs to you?”
“Her body, her mind, her pleasure, and her pain. All of her.”
“She has to do whatever you want?” Monta added, her voice revealing her excitement.
“She does, but she has safe words in case it’s too much. But she has never used them.”
‘And, I thought to myself, I never will.’
It was strange being talked about as if I wasn’t there. But it was very arousing.
“And your girlfriend, does she have a contract too?” the male asked.
“No. We never felt the need. Our roles just grew as we became lovers.
“And outside of our sex life we’re equals.”
“How about with this one?”
“No. We’re friends and we like her, but she’s always our slave, she’s a piece of property.”
Monta asked, “Can we talk to her?”
“Certainly. You’ll find she’s quite open and honest about her role.”
’Thank you, Master. I said in my mind.’
“Do you like being a slave?” the woman asked softly.
It was a confusing thought. I’d never much thought about my slavery in terms of liking or not liking it. I tried to explain, “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. It’s just what I am.
“I guess I like being able to serve. And I love it when they let me cum.
“But I’m a slave. I’m their slave. And that’s all that matters.”
Her boyfriend asked next, “Do those clothespins hurt?”
What a silly question, I thought. “Yes, Sir. Very much, Sir.”
“Do you like pain?” his girlfriend asked.
“Not really but when I know it is arousing Mistress or Master, it arouses me too. My pain, like all of me, belongs to them.”
“I get that.” the girl added softly.
I longed to look up at her but resisted. I did not want to earn another punishment.
“Can we touch her?” the man asked.
“Of course. You’re my guests, help yourself.”
My downcast eyes watched as the woman reached out and tugged on the twin clothespins torturing my nipples. Gently at first but quickly moving to twist them harder and harder until a moan, despite my best efforts, escaped by throat. And then I was startled to feel her soft lips on mine.
Her assault on my nipples didn’t cease, instead it grew in intensity.
I heard my Master tell her companion, “I’ll bet her cunt is soaked. Go ahead, check it out.”
And then I felt male fingers shove roughly into me. “You’re right. She’s dripping.”
The tongue that had been probing my mouth withdrew and from beneath my bangs I watched her lick my glistening juices off of his hand. The woman paused just long enough to say, “She’s a good kisser. I’ll bet she loves sucking cock.”
Master answered, “She loves it so much she’ll trade being whipped just to be allowed to.”
“Can I ask her to suck mine?” the as-yet-unseen male asked.
Master chuckled softly. “No. She’s a slave. Don’t ask. Just tell her to.”
I blushed, though more with arousal than embarrassment.
“Come here, slave. Suck my cock.”
Moving to hands and knees I crawled over to him. He unzipped his black jeans and fished a semi-erect cock out. Master trained me to cross my wrists at the small of my back while giving head and I was so used to it that any other position feels awkward.
I was very conscious of the three pairs of eyes watching me and all I could think of was how much I wanted to make Master proud of me. I attacked this new shaft with a voracious lust.
I’ve always loved the sensation of a penis growing and hardening in my mouth and after a few moments of licking and sucking the bulbous head I was rewarded with a nicely swollen head that all but filled my mouth. I realized, as I worked hard to drain the cock in my mouth, that I had not yet seen the face to which it belonged. I intended to steal a glance but the face I saw was stunningly good looking and I stared a little longer than intended. It did not go unnoticed.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” he roared, “How dare you look at me, slave?”
I immediately looked away and tried to compensate by fucking his cock with my throat. But I knew I my stolen look had consequences and when the nine thick leather tails of Master’s cat cut me hard across my shoulder blades I wasn’t surprised but I was glad that I had the head of a cock to stifle my scream. The second and third lashes were only slightly less severe.
“There’s a feedback loop between the masochist and her Sadist, ” Master explained to the guests, “Her pain arouses us both.”
“She knows that the hornier I get, the more I’ll want to give her pain. And the more suffering she endures, the hornier I’ll get.”
“Fortunately, she loves the arousal she can only get from pain.” he went on, “So she knows as she’s giving head that the better job she does, the more she’ll be tortured.”
“Here, use this, ” I heard him say. And as I suspected he had handed the cat to the owner of the cock I was sucking with all the skill I could muster and I was rewarded with a slash down my back. It wasn’t as hard as Master’s but it did sting. But it was all I needed to focus on his shaft, to make it my entire reality. I could feel its incipient orgasm building and when the cat again lashed my skin I felt genuine joy, knowing that my efforts were succeeding.
I heard Master ask the other girl what she thought and heard her answer, “I think it’s hot.” And then heard unmistakeable sound of a vibrator.
“Care to try this?” Master asked.
“Do you have another whip, ” she asked softly.
I shuddered. I knew from past experience that girls, especially the ones that have felt the sting of one, are much harsher with a whip.
Master seemed excited by the idea. “I have several you can use on her.”
What she answered surprised me and made my cunt gush.
“Not for her. For me. When I suck your cock... if you’ll let me.”
I sucked her boyfriend’s cock head and attacked the head with all the skills I had and was rewarded with an extra hard lash of leather between my shoulder blades. I would have to apologize to Master for the puddle I could feel myself leaving on his floor.
I heard her make that soft moan that most excited girls utter when they get their mouths on a nice cock and almost immediately after the distinctive slap of leather on skin and a muffled groan of pain.
I longed to look but I could feel the muscular twitching in the cock I was worshipping and knew his orgasm was soon to fill my mouth with delicious semen. The thought alone was enough to another gush to my cunt.
He gripped the back of my head and fucked my face faster and faster. It was disorienting but very exciting. I relaxed and surrendered to it, becoming just a hole to be used, a hole to be filled with cum.
He shuddered and I opened my mouth and throat to take his load but I was denied. He pulled out and ejaculated all over my face. Men had done it before but this was different.
Since I had been trained to serve Mistress and Master I had developed a whole new relationship with bodily fluids. I reveled in them. Master’s semen, Mistress’ juicy cunt, and of course that salty golden piss that I drank like champagne. Neither was into feces but if they wanted I’d happily debase myself with it.
A couple of streams had gotten in my eyes and it stung, but I forced them open, looked up at him, and whispered, “Thank you, Sir.”
“Clean me up, ” he ordered.
I was more than happy to lick him clean and suck the last of his cum out of his shaft. When he was completely drained he roughly pushed me away and down onto the floor at his feet. It was wonderfully humiliating, especially when it occurred to me that he hadn’t even bothered to undress. He’d unzipped his pants and pulled out his dick like I was just some street whore.
The pace of Master’s whipping was rapidly increasing and I looked up to watch with one eye, the other still stinging from cum. The whip he was using was one he had made himself. It was much lighter leather than one I’d just been beaten with so that though it made the same sound, it was much easier to take.
The blonde girl sucking my Master’s cock was wearing only a pink bustier that covered her lower back and so she was receiving her stripes on her shoulders and ass. She was fair complected and the marks stood out nicely, almost perfectly matching the color of the bustier, collar, and cuffs.
I recognized that the rhythm of Master’s whipping was become less steady. A sign I knew meant he was about to cum. I watched him grab the back of her head and force her down on him until she gagged. I enjoyed the sight as his muscles stiffened and he ejaculated into her mouth. It was an awesome sight to behold and I was jealous over her receiving what her boyfriend had denied me.
But that resentment faded instantly when I heard her boyfriend order, “Monta, come here and lick her face clean.”
She crawled over and raised herself up and slowly began to lick her boyfriend’s cum off of my face. She took her time, breathing warm air between the gentle strokes of her tongue tip that sent shivers through my body. I longed to respond in kind and had to force myself to stay still. She saved the cum that had been stinging my eye for the last. It still hurt a little when she was done but at least I was able to open it again.
“Monta, I think she’d love to have those clothespins taken off and her nipples sucked.” I heard Master say.
I knew how much it was going to hurt but before I had a chance to take a breath she had ripped the cruel pin from my left nipple and replaced it with her sucking mouth. It hurt so bad it brought tears to my eyes. But it was also exquisite and almost made me cum. I wasn’t aware of my making any sound but judging by her response I must have. Still sucking, she took the tenderized nub in her teeth, gave it a sharp nip and looking up at me with smiling eyes, winked. At that moment I would have traded a no limit caning for being allowed to devour her pussy.
That delicious fantasy was rudely shoved aside as she ripped the clothespin off the other nipple and sucked it hard into her mouth and clamped her sharp incisors down on it, making me burst into tears. I tried to stifle them but the floodgates had opened and I couldn’t stop. But I never uttered the safe word that would have made her stop.
But even then, as I suffered my first thought was that I might be embarrassing Master. I was here to show off how well I had been trained and I felt I had failed. I forced myself to meet his gaze and instead of the frown I was expecting I found a wide grin. And more than that, a look of definite affection in his deep blue eyes.
“Wow, Monta. I’ve never been able to make her cry... And I’ve tried.”
I had wondered more than once if Master was trying to make me cry. He could have done so easily an unkind word or two, but he never demeaned me or insulted me. He celebrated my sexual slavery.
When I took an exceptional hard whipping without breaking or was introduced to some new kind of torture to please him, he always, said, “Good girl.” or “Good slave.”
I made a mental note to ask Master if he enjoyed seeing me weep.
But those thoughts quickly disappeared when I heard Master say, “I think these good girls have earned an orgasm. What do you think, Louis?”
Two... no, three things, flashed into my passion-fevered brain. I had finally learned the name of the man whose cum still danced on my taste buds. It certainly wasn’t the first time I’d sucked a cock without knowing the name of its owner, but it was the first after I’d transitioned from being a prurient slut to being an owned sex slave and that added a nice thrill. Second, the idea that I was going to be allowed to pleasure this woman. And third, whether Master would, as he frequently had, make me purchase it with more pain.
The girl wasted no time and roughly pushed me over onto the hardwood floor. She attacked my pussy with a voracious lust, sucking the already swollen bulb of my clit between her teeth and bit it so hard I thought she was going to tear it right off or at the very least draw blood. And she didn’t stop.
It wasn’t a quick nip like Mistress was fond of doing. It was a long grinding between her sharp upper and lower incisors. I was sure she meant to draw blood and feeling the hot fluids running down my thighs I was sure she had, but those concerns were driven from my mind as the pain sent shivers through my body. Reaching up she took my nipples, my still sore and tender nipples, and twisted them with what must have been all her strength.
The effect was immediate and powerful and I was barely able to gasp out, “Master... may I cum?”
I was glad he answered yes because I really don’t think I could have held back. As it was I couldn’t even manage to say, “Thank you, Master” my body erupted in orgasm and when she dug her sharp fingernails into my nipples I squirted all over her face.
It was the first time I’d ever done it and I was terribly embarrassed, thinking at first that I had peed. But the other three people in the room knew better and complimented Monta on her skills. I had no idea at the time but a sexual trapdoor had opened beneath my feet and I was falling into it.
In the years that followed I chased it again and again, adding more pain and deeper submission, with both men and women, without success. I had powerful orgasms in my quest but never managed to spew my juices again.
I had still not recovered when I felt the two men lifting me and flipping me over like I weighed nothing and laying me on my belly between the other girl’s legs with my face just above the dew-glistened curls of her pubic hair. Her fragrance was intoxicating. I didn’t need encouragement like the male hand that pushed my face into her soaking folds of her vulva or the leather whip that stung my ass, but I didn’t mind either.
Her moans told me that I was doing it just as she liked and when they were silenced I looked up through the glistening curls of her light-colored pubic har and saw that Louis had shoved his semi-erect cock into her mouth and she was eagerly worshipping it.
“That’s one way to get hard again, ” I heard Master say. “But I prefer this.”
And he brought the leather down hard across my back.
It was unexpected but did not distract me from my oral attack on that delicious vulva. If anything, it encouraged it.
It was fairly common for Master to restore his erection with my pain and it was something I had come to adore. It clearly delineated our roles even more than my title as slave and their titles of Master and Mistress.
I had made a choice to ask to be their slave and since that moment had never looked back. My body, my mind, my soul, all belonged to them and, quite frankly, it relieved me of a lot of decision making and stress.
I was lost in a wonderful fog of endorphins and seratonin and, had my mouth not been full of cunt, I’d have asked for them to be harder.
The only way I knew that he had been recharged was when I felt the head of his cock pressing between the cheeks of my ass and then, without warning and absent any lubrication, it being shoved roughly through that tight ring of muscle. It hurt, and I loved it.
My Master had never restricted me to serving only him and my Mistress. If I wanted to fuck someone, it was okay with them.
But with two caveats. One of course, was that I was not allowed to cum. The other being that my ass was off limits to anyone but him.
The thing was, that even if technically permitted to screw around, the few times I tried it I found the vanilla lovers frankly quite boring. Even if I asked them to be rough they rarely satisfied my perverse needs.
Master loved to turn the cheeks of my ass red before he fucked me. He told me he loved the heat from my skin against his belly. And I, of course, loved the added tingle that his coarse pubic hair rubbing against my tenderized skin.
He fucked that tight hole in and out in long, steady strokes that, along with the sight of her Master’s cock thrusting deep into her face, threatened to distract me from the cunnilingus I was enjoying. I was forced to close my eyes to concentrate on my task.
The clenching of her thigh muscles against the sides of my face told me that my subject was quickly approaching orgasm and I found her swollen clit and sucked it like a little cock. Her moans were musical and when she began to cum I took it between my teeth and bit on it gently but firmly and felt her juices explode onto my chin.
And a moment later I felt the muscles of the cock that had been shoved into me all the way to its hilt clench and ejaculate deep inside my bowels.
It’s hard for a non-submissive to understand just what the feeling of being so completely used is like for a sexslave... it’s blissful Edenic perfection. I nearly came again just from the sensation.
Of course I didn’t stop tongueing her delicious vulva and I squeezed my sphincter as hard as I could to drain my Master and keep him hard as long as I could.
I was able to draw a few more aftershock orgasms from her before her organs became over sensitized and she pushed me away.
Looking up I saw her cheeks puff as her Master filled mouth with her cum.
When she had finally cught her breath and was able to, she looked down at me and our eyes met in sparkling mutual adoration. Her lips were slightly swollen and shiny with a mix of saliva and cum and I wanted nothing more than to crawl up to them and lick those fluids from them.
But my Master’s cock, still buried deep inside my ass, was my priority and I did my best to milk it with my ring of muscle as it softened.
When we finally untangled our sweaty bodies we were all quite satisfied. I was the only who hadn’t cum twice but that didn’t matter to me. I had satisfied my Master and his guests and hopefully helped them find their way into a deeper Master/slave relationship.
Thank you,
slave Norma