Well-Dressed Women #151

The relief here is that you don’t have to choose red or black. You’re getting fucked up no matter what.

Well-Dressed Women #48-23

Sunday was a beautiful day and there were many pleasant ways I could have spent it. I chose to take a train to Surrey, spend the afternoon cleaning my ex-colleague’s flat, naked except for a leather collar and chastity cage, then submit to a beating for being jealous of her new man friend. Not acting on my jealousy; just feeling jealous, as I freely confessed when she asked me.

I had N’s company the whole time this week, as her sister had visited her on Saturday and so there was no need for N to visit her on Sunday. She even “helped” me clean, though that seemed to involve more teasing and tormenting than actual help. For example, she “helped” me scrub the bathroom floor mainly by dropping her dirty cloth in the water and then dripping it all over the clean floor!

She also went barefoot throughout and contrived to get her clothes very wet, both of which she knew would make me aroused and cause me to feel very uncomfortable in my cock cage. She tramped her dirty wet footprints all over the bathroom floor too, leaving me to wipe up after her, while tormented by the sight and smell of her bare feet, which I am forbidden to worship until November at the earliest.  

After I’d finished in the kitchen and moved to the living room, she called me back to tell me I’d “missed a bit”. When I returned, it was obvious that she had taken the rubbish bag I had left to take to the chute and deliberately emptied it out all over the floor. She had even left the bag on the floor, so there was no mistaking where the rubbish had come from; and she stood there, smiling at me, as if daring me to protest.

Of course, I couldn’t complain. I had to just bite my lip and start again. I picked up a dustpan and brush and began to sweep the rubbish back into the bag. As I did so, under her supervision, I heard the sound of her spitting and felt something light land on my hair. A couple more tiny drops splashed on the kitchen floor where I was sweeping. Then several more landed on me.

N was pushing me, testing my ability to continue to obey her without comment as she degraded and tormented me, making me feel pathetic and demoralised and at the same time, aroused and frustrated. I took it. Some people may say that makes me weak, but it actually takes a lot of self-discipline to endure such treatment without complaint. Perhaps I am stupid to choose to endure it, but I am not weak.

My actual punishment was scheduled for after the cleaning session. N had already told me by then that it wouldn’t just be confined to today. Next week, we have our session in Mistress V’s dungeon booked and N thought it would be better to save the main punishment for then. That afternoon’s beating would be by way of a prelude. That didn’t mean that it would not be lengthy and severe.

N led me into the bedroom, where she sat on the edge of the bed and I knelt at her feet.

“So you’re jealous of me and (let’s call him “K”)?” I lowered my eyes and nodded.

“Please may I say something?” I begged.

“Go on”.

“I am sure I can control my jealousy. When I said I was jealous, I was just being honest about how I feel inside.”

“I know you were. But that’s not how you should feel. It’s not acceptable to me.” She grabbed my hair and pulled me towards her, her face right up against mine.

“WHAT ARE YOU?” I felt my stomach churn. When she talks to me like this, I genuinely feel afraid of her, although physically I am stronger.

“A slave”, I replied, guessing the answer she required.

“WHOSE SLAVE?”

“Your slave, N” She slapped my face, hard.

“MISTRESS!”

Only last week, she had confirmed that I would continue to call her by her Christian name. Was the change just meant to unsettle me? In any case, I switched as required.

“Your slave, Mistress.”

“WHY DO YOU EXIST?”

“To serve you, Mistress.” A second slap.

“AND?”

“To make you happy, Mistress”, I ventured. She softened her voice slightly.

“So what is your focus, slave?”

“On whether something makes you happy, Mistress”.

“That’s right. That’s all that should matter to you. Whether it makes me happy. If it does, you help me obtain it and you rejoice when I do. You don’t think of yourself or how it affects you. If I’m happy, you’re happy. GOT IT?”

“Yes, Mistress, thank you.” I couldn’t help thinking how odd the word “rejoice” sounded coming from her lips.

She let go of my head and told me to bring her a cane and a riding crop from the small collection she kept in a metal container in a nearby cupboard. I hurried back across the room to her and when I knelt back before her, I saw that she had removed her leggings and  panties. I confess that my eyes lingered, briefly but longingly, at her vulva. I hoped that this meant she might require me to pleasure her after my beating. I felt the cock cage tighten.

To my surprise, she then pulled her panties over my head, so that I was partially blindfolded. I stayed motionless, with the cane and crop held out for her to take.

“Face down on the bed”, she ordered and I obeyed like a Pavlovian dog. I felt her hand on my buttock cheeks, her bony fingers digging in.

“18 with the cane, then another dozen with the crop. Keep count and thank me for each one”.

“Yes, N – Mistress – “WHACK! A stupid mistake, instantly corrected.

“One, thank you Mistress”.

“No, that one doesn’t count. That was for you getting my name wrong.”

N – Mistress N – continued to talk to me throughout my beating, which made it difficult to keep count, particularly when she required answers. Fortunately, the beating was well within my tolerance, though still quite painful. I always feel there is an element of shame in a beating which is as important as the pain of the strokes. It’s Mistress saying you have let her down and deserve to be beaten like a dumb beast.

Mistress N explained while caning me that she had decided after all that I should call her Mistress when we were alone or in the company of like-minded people. On reflection, she thought it would help me to remember my place. She would call me – what she liked, when she liked, because she could and to keep me on my toes. I adjusted myself mentally to the new rule.

Toward the end of the caning, she started repeating the questions she had asked me before she commenced and I answered, exactly as before. When she changed to the riding crop, she added some more questions.

“So if I want to sleep with a guy, what should you be thinking?”

I was laying face down on her bed, her collar around my neck, my cock locked in a cage to which she held the key, blinded by her panties on my head while she whipped my already striped bottom with her crop; I hadn’t had release since 24 September and I knew that she was naked from the waist down. And yet I had to somehow focus on giving her the answer she wanted.  Amazingly, I managed it!

“I should be - hoping you get him and that he satisfies you…” WHACK! “That’s four, Mistress”

“Anything else?”

“Thinking if – there’s anything I can do to help you get what you want or make the experience more – pleasurable for you”. WHACK! “That’s five, Mistress.”

“And if I want him to be my boyfriend?”

“Do whatever you wish to help you enjoy your relationship with him” WHACK! “Th-that’s six, Mistress”.

“And if I want him to move in with me?“

“Do whatever you wish to help you ensure that you both live happily together.” WHACK! “That’s seven, Mistress”.

There was a brief pause.

“If I want him to f*ck me hard, how do you feel about that?”

“I want him to f*ck you hard and satisfy you.” WHACK! “That’s eight, Mistress”.

“And if I want to see him f*ck you, p?” The prospect and the sudden use of my first name shook me, but I knew I mustn’t hesitate…

“I want him to f*ck me because it will please you”. Did I mean that? I don’t know. All that mattered was giving the answer I thought she wanted to hear. WHACK! “That’s nine, Mistress...”

I felt her hand on my arse again.

“Good boy. You’re getting there. Mistress doesn’t actually want to see you buggered just now, but you need to be prepared to do whatever it takes to please her, and do it gladly. Your greatest desire should be to satisfy mine. Now let’s finish off.”

Mistress N administered the last three strokes and then pulled her panties off my head and let me get off the bed and kneel back at her feet. I kept my eyes to the floor until she told me I could look up at her. Her head was in front of the bedroom light and it looked a little like she had a halo. At last, she pulled me to her and cuddled me.

“I know I’m horrible to you sometimes, but it’s only because I need to train you to be the best slave you can be for me. You need to trust me to do what’s best for us and not be put off by fear or outdated patriarchal ideas. You’ll be happier in the long run. You’ll learn to be happy just because I’m happy”.

Could I ever really learn to focus on her needs and desires to the extent that my own became virtually indistinguishable from hers? If I did, would life be better? I didn't know; but just then, I felt that I wanted to try.

(The top image is courtesy of Beatmyfeet and the bottom from Gynarchylife).

You really thought I wouldn't go out dressed like this? This is nothing. Another 2 weeks in the cage. I know you also think it doesn't matter because I'm too lovely and soft to leave you in that long, bet or no. You're wrong a lot, boy. I think you're in need of correction. So I'd planned to leave you in for a month. The bet didn't matter anyway.