Now, Jane

by Jane L.S.

 

Part I: Friday

Lydia’s car wasn’t there when I drove up to her house a little before one. I wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t arrived yet. I’d been able to leave my office just after noon and had rushed over because I’d been aching to get there ever since listening to the message that was on my machine when I arrived at work that morning.

"Hi, baby. I’m looking forward to playing with you this weekend, all weekend. As a matter of fact, I want you to get out early today. We’ll closing up at 12, so your job is to come over to my place as soon as you can. … I want you, doll, and I want to get started right away. You don’t have to bring anything over; I’ll take care of everything. … Now don’t keep me waiting. I’ll expect you before one o’clock. You don’t want to be punished for being late, do you? Of course not. ... See you soon, then. Bye for now."

The only plans we had made for the three-day holiday were to spend it together in town, with maybe a quick trip into the city. The prospect of spending all that time with Lydia had me full of anticipation; that she wanted to get an early start was nothing short of exciting – especially since her message had let me know she wasn’t planning a quiet, restful weekend by any means.

I dug out the not-too-well-hidden door key and entered her house. There was a bottle of red wine and a handwritten note on the dining room table.

"Sorry, doll. I had to run back out and take care of a couple things. Shouldn’t take more than an hour or so. Have a glass of wine and sit tight, OK? And please check my phone messages. Soon, L."

I couldn’t figure out why she wanted me to check the message machine, but I opened the bottle, took it and a glass into the living room and sat in the chair next to the phone. The answering machine’s red light was blinking, indicating one message. I pushed the speaker button and heard:

"Hi, doll. Nice to have you in my house again. Now I want you to listen to this carefully and do exactly what I say. Exactly. I know you’re capable of following instructions, so pay attention.

"I want you to go to the upstairs bathroom and strip. Leave your clothes on the floor, then go into my bedroom. On the bed you’ll see what I want you to put on. I won’t hold you in suspense. It’s your black lingerie set – bra and panties, garter belt and stockings. Fill your bra cups with the balled-up pantyhose I’ve left you – we both love it when you have big full tits, don’t we? – and don’t forget to put your panties on last, over the garter straps."

I hit the "stop" button, took a gulp of wine, shook my head and felt a tingling run through my body. I decided not to think, but to listen to the rest.

"Once you’re all dressed, go over to the dresser and get the lipstick. Yes, doll. Bright red lipstick. I want you to paint your lips for me. Use the mirror and do a good job.

"Back on the bed you’ll see a black scarf and four locking cuffs, which are connected to the legs and the headboard. I want you to get on the bed face up and lock the cuffs on your ankles. You’ll know they’re locked on when you hear the wonderful click. … Then blindfold yourself with scarf and lie back on the bed. Then put your hands over your head, find the cuffs and fasten them around your wrists. … I know you might have to struggle with that a bit, being blindfolded and all, but I’m sure you can manage. Anyway, you’d better. And I’ll try to remember where I put the key.

"So that’s how I want to find you when I get back: On my bed, chained hand and foot, blindfolded, wearing bra, panties, garter and stockings, with your lips painted a luscious red. Hmmm, imagine what I’ll want to do with you when I see you, my sexy little captive. That’s what I want you to think about while you’re lying there squirming in your naughty black undies, unable to see, unable to touch yourself, unable to do anything but wait and wonder what’s in store for you.

"You’d better get going, doll. You don’t want me to show up before you’ve followed all of my instructions. Believe me, you don’t. … And, babe, if you can’t handle this, if it’s too much for you, just get up and leave. But don’t bother coming back. Ever. … Bye."

I refilled my glass, adjusted my erect cock in my pants, and hit the replay button.

This wasn’t exactly new territory, but it was a new twist. Lydia had let me know the night we met that her tastes ran to the wild side. "I have to tell you that I’m not into just straight fucking," she told me as we walked up to her place. "I like to play, I like games, and some guys aren’t comfortable with what I like to do, so I thought I’d better let you know and give you a chance to back out if you want."

"What kind of games?" I asked.

"Ones where I make up the rules," she said calmly.

"And what do you like to do that makes some guys uncomfortable?"

"Stuff that threatens them. But I don’t think you’re like that. I don’t think you’re threatened at all, I think you’re intrigued. Why don’t you come in and find out?"

I found out just moments after we had undressed, when she whispered into my ear, "Put your hands behind your back. I’m going to tie you up. You won’t be using your hands. All I’ll need is your mouth and your cock."

I was hooked then and there, and even when she untied the scarf from my wrists hours later I remained under her control.

We started seeing each fairly regularly. It wasn’t all kinky sex – we’d go to dinner, movies, parties and so on – but the sexual activity was what make this something special, thrilling and, for me, unique. I had never been with someone like her before, a woman who forced me to face situations I’d never imagined and feelings I’d never confronted, a woman who could get me so hard so fast in so many ways.

Lydia delighted in introducing something new and nasty almost every time we were together: She had spanked me, bound my cock and balls, finger-fucked my ass and put me in her panties before I’d known her a month. She set the schedule, she called the shots, and she absolutely loved playing with my mind. I never knew what she was up to, when she might choose to turn me on, when she might have me play with her pussy while sitting in a theater, when she might send an obscene e-mail to my office, when she might take me or send me shopping for a sex toy, porno video or item of lingerie, when she might lean over the table at lunch and softly say, "I’m all wet and my nipples are hard because I can’t stop thinking of you last night, kneeling on the floor in front of me, licking and kissing and biting and lapping my pussy on and on and making me cum over and over until I almost passed out. That’s how I love you, baby, that’s how I want you, and that’s how I’m going to have you again tonight. But maybe tonight you’ll be handcuffed and blindfolded when your head is locked between my thighs."

No matter what she did, I couldn’t get enough of it. Lydia had taken me to places I had never been before, and I wanted, no, needed to go keep going. Submitting to her recorded instructions, I reckoned, were just the next step.

"And, babe, if you can’t handle this, if it’s too much for you, just get up and leave," her voice said. "But don’t bother coming back. Ever. … Bye."

Leave? Not a chance. I turned off the machine, drained the glass of wine and went upstairs. As instructed, I stripped in the bathroom and went into her bedroom. I closed the door and saw on the bed, as promised, the lingerie, the scarf and the cuffs. I ran my fingers over my cock for just a second then stepped over to the bed.

I picked up the bra and put it on, then filled the cups with the two mounds of balled-up pantyhose that served as my breasts. I adjusted the bra against my chest, smoothed out the shoulder straps and took a peek at the mirror above the dresser to check out my new, full bosom.

The lacy garter belt was next, then the dark sheer stockings, which I rolled up while reclining on the bed with my legs in the air, as Lydia had shown me. I stood to fasten the four garter straps, looking in the full-length mirror to make sure the straps were properly straight and to view my legs in the sleek hose. I stretched and twisted a bit to feel the tightness of the bra, garter and stockings against my body and to see the delicate black fabrics strain and shimmer.

I picked up the panties by thumb and forefinger and slowly slid them up the smoothness of my stockinged legs and over my hips. My cock jumped to the sensation of the cool, satiny panties, whose tightness only promoted my stiffness. I ran my hands over my body then stepped over to the dresser to put the lipstick on. I trembled as I carefully applied the lush redness to my lips. My breathing was quick and heavy as I sat on the bed.

I sat in the middle of the bed and spread my legs to reach the ankle cuffs, which were attached to the bed frame’s legs by lengths of thin chain. I wrapped a cuff around my left ankle and closed the metal clasp. Lydia was right about the click: It was solid, final. I repeated the procedure on my right ankle. I moved my legs as far as I could – about two inches. There’s no going back now, I thought.

I took the silky black scarf, placed it over my eyes and tied the blindfold tightly behind my head. I let myself fall back onto the bedcover and reached up for the two wrist cuffs, which I had noticed were attached to each other by metal rings, which were in turn connected to the wrought-iron headboard by a short chain. It was easy getting the cuff locked on my right wrist as I was able to use my still-free left hand, but getting the left one on was tougher, and I fumbled and strained and panted a bit before I finally heard the unmistakable metallic click. I yanked on the restraints to test them; they didn’t yield.

I had made myself her prisoner.

I writhed on the bed, sliding my encased legs and pantied bottom over the smooth bedcover, heaving my heavy chest against the restraining bra, licking my glossed lips, pulling and twisting against the binds that held my wrists and ankles, tossing my head in the tantalizing darkness, thrusting my cock against the unyielding softness of the panties. I reveled in my delightful helplessness, my sweet bondage, and a pleasing chill swept over me.

"Lydia, Lydia, please come soon," I moaned.

The sound of my voice startled me. Whoa, I thought. Calm down, take it easy. I forced myself to relax, to settle into my bonds, to wait patiently for her, to try not to think of what she was going to do to me when she arrived.

As I tried to get as comfortable as possible I felt the satisfaction I always did when I successfully completed a task ordered by Lydia or made it through another demanding sex session. I felt a sense of pride in being able to take whatever she could dish out. It was a submissive sort of pride, perhaps, but very important to me.

Besides, following her orders was much more rewarding than failing to please her. She had really punished me only twice. My first offense was paying too much attention to an attractive graduate student at a university party. Back at my place that night Lydia had me strip and then tied me securely to a wooden chair. Still wearing her black party dress, she interrogated me and slapped my face and cock repeatedly until I "confessed" that, yes, I had flirted with the woman, that I had stared at her breasts, legs and ass, that I did want to lick her tits and eat her pussy, that I did want to fuck her. Lydia gave me one last sharp slap across the face, said, "I wish you luck," reached up under her skirt and pulled down her panties, rolled them up and forced them into my mouth, secured the gag in place with her scarf, turned off the lights, shut the door and walked out. She came back about an hour later to untie me and tell me: "Don’t you ever try to get into another woman’s panties when I’m around."

The other punishment came after I had failed to buy every item on a long and, for me, baffling list of bath oils, lotions, creams, makeup and other feminine products. This time, at her place, she cuffed my wrists and my ankles, gagged me with a scarf, bent me over a padded chair, pulled down my jeans and briefs and began slapping my ass cheeks with what I thought was the back side of a hairbrush. This was no playful spanking; it was quickly very painful. I moaned into my gag and tried to move my hips to fend off the blows but she kept on, burning my ass good and adding a few strokes to my thighs and calves for good measure. When she finally stopped. She then cupped my chin with one hand and whispered: "Next time I tell you to do something, do it right." She then released me and sent me away.

Then the thought: Was this a punishment? Had I displeased or failed her in some way? Had she duped me into imprisoning myself as the penalty for some transgression? I couldn’t think of anything I had done to displease her. Besides, the tone of her voice was playful and sexy, not cold or angry. Or was that part of the trap? Damn. Why didn’t I just get dressed up and then wait before putting on the blindfold and locking the cuffs? I could have read or something, or at least moved around for a while, maybe until I heard her car pull up or the front door open.

But now, could I hear a car pull up or the door open? I had shut the bedroom door, right? And the windows: Were they open at all? They must have been closed. I didn’t feel a breeze or hear any rustling. In fact I hadn’t heard anything at all. Was that because I hadn’t been paying attention? I lay still and listened. I didn’t hear a thing except a slight ringing in my ears. Was this room always this quiet? Would this area be this quiet at this time of day? What time was it? It had to still be the early, no later than two. I’d only been there for an hour or so, right? Or had I?

I sighed and wriggled on the bed, the movement serving only to elevate my consciousness of what I was wearing. I felt the thin straps of the bra and garter belt dig into my skin, the stockings chafe my legs, the filled bra weight my chest, and the panties tighten around my ass, balls and hard cock. I rubbed the blindfold’s tight knot against the bed, twisted my wrists in the cuffs and extended my arms and legs to the limit. I realized all I could touch with my hands was the top of my head. I started to feel warm, even sweaty. I hissed a string of curses, and wondered why she hadn’t ordered me to gag myself.

Then the noise. A car door being closed. Definitely a car door. And in the driveway. Then a few seconds of silence, then some sounds on the front porch below. Steps, for sure. Lydia, at last. Thank heaven. I surely didn’t know what would happen next but I was definitely ready for anything other than lying there alone.

The sound of the doorbell struck me like a shot. Damn, it wasn’t Lydia. Then who was it? Delivery person? Neighbor? I didn’t care. "Go away," I thought. There were no voices, so it must have been only one person. The bell rang again. "Go away," I whispered.

Then there were some other noises from the wooden porch. And not the steps of someone leaving. Hell, what if it was someone who knew where the key was hidden? A neighbor or co-worker – "Oh, if I’m not there, just get the key from under the ceramic flower pot and let yourself in." – or a repairman – "Here, I’ll show you how to let yourself in." – coming into the house with me like this? Finding me like this? No, no way. Lydia wouldn’t let a colleague or a cable guy come upon a blindfolded man wearing women’s underwear chained to her bed. She just wouldn’t.

But I didn’t hear any footsteps going down the steps or the car starting. Instead, there was a soft thud, and the slow metallic screech of the screen door opening. God, no. Nobody could be coming in. But what if they were? And what if it wasn’t a co-worker or repairman coming over at a bad time, but someone who was there by design?

Lydia had often said that when the time was right she was going to have a third party join our activities, someone who could "appreciate the special nature" of our relationship. Could this be it? Had she decided that the time was right? Had she found the right person? Was I about to be "introduced" to a new partner while in this humiliating position, totally subjugated, unable even to see who it might be?

I heard the car in the driveway start up, then pull away.

I lay still and as I my pulse slowed I smelled and felt the fear-induced sweat on my skin, and recognized, with a tinge of embarrassment, that during my stint of paranoia my cock had not shriveled at all but rather swelled.

It wasn’t long, or so it seemed, before I again heard noise from the front of the house: the screen door being opened, then a bump, then the front door being opened. Within seconds the sound of steps coming up the stairs, a woman’s steps, familiar steps, Lydia’s steps. Then a hand on the bedroom door’s knob. I held my breath at the sound of the knob turning, the door opening, the first step into the room. I gasped: "Lydia."

A harsh, quick reply: "Shhhhh."

Compelled by an intoxicating mix of feelings – excitement, relief, anticipation, dread – I panted and shifted my body on the bed, flexing my legs and arching my back and lifting my head and raising my hands as far as they could go, all to invite her touch, to silently beg for her touch. Whether that touch would deliver pleasure or pain did not matter.

Two steps toward the bed, toward me, then the first contact: a soft stroke on the bottom of my right foot. I emitted a sigh, and feared I would ejaculate right then. I relaxed for a second, then she placed her hand, her right hand, on my right leg and slowly moved it up, running a finger in a gentle zigzag over the smooth tightness of the stocking. I felt and heard her move closer, and I could smell a trace of her body’s presence. She placed her left hand on the bed near my right arm, then with her right hand playfully snapped the right front strap my garter. Then she rubbed her hand on the bare flesh of the inside of my right thigh, up from the top of the stocking to the edge of my panties, then down, then up again. I tried to calm my heavy breathing but failed as she delicately drew two fingers over the unrelenting bulge in my panties and traced a circle on the head of my engorged cock. Then a single nailed finger slipping up to my navel, to the band of the garter belt, onto my bare stomach and up to my bra; then a full hand grabbing my false right breast and pressing it down against my heaving chest; then the single finger again, up the middle of my chest, to my chin, onto my painted lips.

I eagerly kissed then licked the sweet finger and tried to suck it into my mouth. She put it in deeper then pulled it back and ran it over my lips as I flicked my tongue to meet it. She pulled her hand away her, and I felt the weight and warmth of her body as she sat on the side of the bed. She softly stroked my hair above the blindfold and adjusted her position on the bed, moving closer to my body but not touching it. I heard and felt her gentle breathing and inhaled her light, sweet scent.

Again I felt a brushing on my lips and I opened my mouth to accommodate her touch. But my kiss encountered something other than a finger, something wider, smoother. I drew back but the object – rounded, slick – was pushed past my lips and into my mouth. From past encounters, I knew what it was and what I was expected to do – kiss it lovingly, run my tongue around the base of its head, lick its shaft, suck on it as it was pumped back and forth, accept its full length into my mouth. She grabbed my hair and pushed my head forward to meet the movements of the dildo as she slid it to and fro and twisted it around in my mouth. I feverishly kissed and licked and bit and sucked the phallus, desperate to please her, desperate to have her pull it away, grateful that it wasn’t the longest or widest one in her collection.

After I don’t know how long she did pull the dildo from my mouth. She let go of my hair and my head fell back to the bed. I feel drool slide down my chin. She got up from the bed, and I heard her open then quickly close a dresser drawer. I trembled all over. Then I felt a hand on the waistband of my panties. She roughly yanked them over my hips and down, exposing my balls and rigid cock. Then I felt something brush my lips, then I felt her fingers on my mouth, pushing it open. Then she began to guide something into my mouth. I recognized the texture and taste and smell: panties. I bit down and tried to close my mouth, I groaned in protest and shook my head briskly, but she succeeded in jamming them all the way in to fill my mouth and gag me.

I feared that I knew what was next, and I was right. She moved on the bed, and positioned herself between my legs. She put her hands on the inside of my thighs to spread my legs to the fullest extent, then put one hand under my ass, lifted me slightly and pushed what had to be a pillow under me. Her hands left me, and I heard wet, squishy sound: the lubricant. I tensed my body then felt a cool, jellied finger first on, then inside my exposed hole. The finger probed shallowly, then was withdrawn.

Seconds later I felt the rounded hardness of the dildo against my puckered opening. First there was pressure, then an electrifying mix of discomfort and delight as she gently forced the head inside of me. I moaned and chomped on the panty gag as she eased the probe in deeper, deeper, painfully deeper, until I felt its base make contact with my bottom. My mind went totally blank as I was overwhelmed by the sensation of being penetrated, of being filled. Then she began to pump the dildo back and forth, very slowly at first, then a bit faster, then a bit harder, then gently, then fast and hard, then slowly and gently, then faster and harder in a maddening rhythm. Breathing furiously, overwhelmed by the invasion of my ass, I rocked my hips to match the thrusts and felt my balls slap against my groin and my prick bob uselessly in the air. She was fucking me up the ass. Yes, oh, yes, she was expertly fucking me up the ass. I knew I should have felt humiliated, ashamed, but I welcomed each thrust of the dildo, each thrust that enforced her power, each thrust that sealed my fate as her helpless toy, her pathetic captive. I pictured myself – bound, blindfolded and gagged, the bra straining against my chest, my stocking-clad legs spread obscenely, the fake cock up my ass – and edged my hips forward to take in more of the dildo, to take it in deeper, to surrender to it. I thought for sure my cock was going to burst at any second. God, how I wanted it to explode, how I wanted to cum while she raped me.

Then she stopped. I kept rocking my hips but she held the phallus still, then gently, even kindly, eased it out of me. I felt the seemingly endless shaft slide out of my heated hole, then the bulbous head. I felt her move down and off the bed, yanking the pillow from under me. I relaxed my legs and stretched my body and relished the unnamed sensation that had taken hold in my anal canal.

I felt a hand on my face, then the panties being removed from my mouth. I gasped for breath and let out a moan – and felt a sharp slap across my cheek. I felt something push against my lips. I thought: God, no, not the dildo was just up my ass. But it wasn’t the dildo; it was only her hand, which she used to softly pat the same cheek she had just slapped. I sighed softly.

Then I felt her hands at my thighs, on my panties, which she slowly drew up into place, giving my dick a playful tug before pulling her hands away. Then I felt her warm breath in my ear, which she tongued for a few seconds, then kissed. Then she took two steps and paused for a moment. I imagined that she was looking down at me. Then she stepped out of the room and closed the door.

I was stunned. I wasn’t going to be freed? Sucking a dildo and getting fucked up the ass wasn’t enough to merit being released? Hell, what was I going to have to do? I considered calling out to her, knowing that I would likely be punished but figuring that punishment would be better than being left there for who knew how much longer. Then I realized that she would probably just gag me and leave me there and punish me later, when she was good and ready. Damn, what exactly was she doing to me? How could she be so cruel when I had done exactly what she had told me to? How could she treat me like that, ravage me like that, and do it all without saying a single word?

The sound – water running the adjacent bathroom – totally startled me. I must have dozed off, I thought. No, I must have been sound asleep. Since when? I realized I hadn’t heard anything, or didn’t remember hearing anything, from when she had closed the door and left me. Now Lydia was in the room next door. She would be coming back in any second now. Or had she been in already and found me asleep? Or had I just blacked out for a second? My panties were damp and my ass ached, so maybe I had been assaulted only a minute ago. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was near and that I desperately wanted her to return to me, to torment me, tease me, or treat me, to do anything to me, anything she wanted to do.

The door opened.

"Lydia?" I whispered.

"Hi, doll," said the voice, the soft, slightly raspy voice, her voice. "I wanted to get back here sooner, but some things came up and it simply couldn’t be helped. You understand. Now I hope you haven’t been too uncomfortable here on my bed." Her fingers grazed the front of my panties. "Hmm, this makes me think you’ve rather enjoyed it. Have you?"

"Yeah, uh, but, uh, but I’m so glad you’re here now."

"I’ll bet you are," she said as she sat beside me on the bed.

"What time is it? How long have …"

"What time did you get here?"

"A little before one, then …"

"Then you listened to my message and then you came up here immediately to follow my instructions."

"Well, yes, I did. But …"

"I’m so pleased that you did exactly what you were told. And I must say you look even cuter than I had imagined," she said teasingly. "Those stockings do wonders for your legs and garter belts are so sexy." She put her hands on my bra and massaged my false breasts. "And these tits of yours are really something. So big and full your lovely little bra can barely hold them in. I’m almost jealous." One hand moved to my mouth; fingers outlined my lips. "Your lipstick is a little smeared, but I guess that’s to be expected. You didn’t cheat with the blindfold and you managed to lock all four cuffs on. … I’m proud of you, baby."

"Thanks, I, uh, I wanted to do what you wanted."

"And you still do, right?"

"Yes, oh yes."

"That’s a good pet," she cooed as she shifted on the bed, moving down to near my legs. "Because there’s a lot more I want. … Now you just lie still and be quiet while I do something about this nasty bulge in your dainty little panties."

She moved between my spread legs. I tensed as her hands moved to my hips and the waistband of my panties. I was on the verge of exploding at the mere thought of her touching my aching cock with her hands, never mind her mouth or, oh God, her pussy. She tenderly eased the panties down. She softly scratched the inside of my thighs, then slid both hands up to my heavy balls.

Then I felt it: a soft, thin cord being looped around the base of my cock, behind my balls, then pulled and tied tightly. I reflexively jerked my hips forward and muttered, "Ow, hey, what are you …"

"Hush! I told you to lie still and be quiet," Lydia barked. "You know damn well what I’m doing. I’m tying you off."

She slowly wrapped the ends of the cord around both balls and pulled them tight.

"What did you think I was going to do with your dick, suck it? Slip it inside my pussy?" She still spoke softly, but the tone of her voice was now full of command, of menace. "You’re here to pleasure me, doll, and I’m making sure there won’t be any accidental discharges while you’re doing that. You’ve already stained the front of your panties with ooze from your tip of your cock; I’m not going to have you ruin them with your nasty cum."

She expertly wrapped the cord around my shaft, then around the base of the head, then she pulled both ends of the cord and tied a knot.

"No, you won’t be doing any ejaculating until I say so, doll. … You know how I love to tie up your cock, and I know how you love it, too."

The sensations created by the tight binding were remarkable. There was an overwhelming pressure inside me, one that I knew could not now escape, and a strong, terrible feeling that my cock and balls were grotesquely swollen twice, three times their size. I moaned. She immediately slapped my bound cock, adding simple pain to what I felt. I gritted my teeth and made no further sound.

"That’s better," she said as she slid the panties back up my legs. "Now you’re ready to serve me, aren’t you? … Aren’t you?"

"Yes, oh yes, I’m ready, I’m ready to serve you," I panted. "Please, please let me. Please let me. I want to serve you, Lydia, to please you."

"OK, pet. I’ll let you try. Starting now."

She got off the bed for just a second, then I felt her near me, above me. She lowered herself into a kneeling position with her legs aside my ribs and her ass resting on my lower stomach. She wriggled her butt as if to settle in comfortably and I felt the sheer fabric of her panties on my skin, then she pressed both hands down on the cups of my bra.

"Ooh, you’re nice and firm. I like that in a girl," she whispered. "I’ll bet your nipples are rock hard under there. I know they’d be if you were able to see the underwear I have on. Bra and panties that are brand new and delicious. They’re a deep wine color, burgundy, or maybe it’s cabernet, and the material is just fantastic. It’s stretchy and smooth and it feels just yummy. Hmmm. You know how good sexy lingerie can feel, don’t you."

"Yes, yes."

"And the fabric’s so sheer that the bra cups and front and back panels of the panties are see-through. You could see my nipples, and my bush, and the crack of my ass … if you weren’t blindfolded, that is."

"Please, Lydia, let me see."

"What? You’ve got to be kidding. I’m not going to let you stare at my body. Hell, you’d probably just stare at the underwear, covet it, figure out how to sneak off some day and go into my hamper and pull them out and sniff the panties and put them on."

"No, no, I wouldn’t …"

"You wouldn’t what? Go into my dirty clothes? Are you telling me you’ve never pulled out my soiled panties and sniffed the crotch or rubbed them over your balls or put them on and jerked off into them when you thought I wasn’t paying attention? Don’t lie to me, bitch. I know you. I know all about you. … But I’m willing to give you a treat. I’ll let you sniff these panties while I’m still wearing them. How would that be? Would you like that?"

"Yes" was all I could say.

"OK, but first you have to kiss my nipples," she said as she moved her hands to the sides of my head. "Nice and gently. Respectfully."

She shifted and lowered herself and I soon sensed, then felt the soft firmness of her breasts at my mouth. I puckered my lips and raised my head slowly and kissed. I felt the hardness of a nipple through the sheer fabric of the bra, and raised my tongue to it.

"Don’t lick it. Kiss it. Again. And don’t stop till I tell you."

I did as she said and kissed her left nipple six or seven or eight times, following the breast’s subtle movement and she swayed gently above me.

"That’s it, that’s it. Now the other one."

I repeated my actions on her right breast, all the time resisting the powerful urge to lick, suck and bite her tempting tit.

"Nice job, doll. Now try this."

She pulled away, then climbed up my torso, placing her knees astride my head. I knew her cunt was only inches in front of me. She wiggled up a bit, then lowered her crotch right onto my face.

"Go ahead, take a good whiff. Sniff my panties, smell my pussy. Here."

She nudged her hips forward, pressing herself onto me. With each heavy breath I took in her rich, damp scent and inhaled it deeply.

She eased back just a bit, then said: "Kiss me. Kiss me on the panties. Kiss me on the panties that are keeping you from getting to my pussy."

I meekly lifted my lips and kissed. "Again," she purred.

I must have kissed her there at least a dozen times – feeling and tasting the thin panties and her wire-fine public hair, breathing in her musky scent – before she raised herself up and got off the bed.

I heard her removing the bra and panties. Then she paused for a second or two before climbing back onto the bed and back onto my midsection.

"That was pretty good, baby. Not bad at all, and very disciplined. … But I want more. I want more from you."

She leaned forward, and I felt her warm breath just above my face. I dared not speak.

"Look, it’s been fine so far, but it’s not enough that you’re dressed in panties, or tied up, or gagged, or spanked. I have to have more from you. Can you give it?"

"B-b- but wh-what?" I stuttered.

"Everything. … Devotion. … Obedience," she said, then she lowered her mouth to my left ear and whispered: "Total submission. … Complete surrender."

God, what could she want of me? How could I be more submissive? What power did I have that she had not already taken?

"But I do, I mean I am, I have …"

"No. You’re still just a man in panties, a playtime captive. I need more. … I need you to be something else this weekend." She cupped my face as she breathed into my ear words that I never imagined hearing, couldn’t believe I was hearing: "For the next three days, I want you to be my sissy girl … my panty pet … my dildo whore … my lesbian slut. … I want you as my slave bitch."

I turned my head to the side, away from her, but she bit my ear lobe then slid her body onto mine and began to rub her breasts and hips and legs against me.

"What’s the matter, doll?" she whispered harshly. "Is that too much for you?"

"No, Jesus, I, uh, I’m …"

"You’re what? Afraid?" She stroked my face and continued to grind against my body, all over, everywhere except my tortured groin. "Are you scared of what might happen to you between now and Monday night? Terrified of what you might wear? What you might do? What you might feel? What you might want? … That’s too bad, really a shame."

"Wh-what’s a shame?"

"That you’re not man enough to be my slave girl … that you don’t have the balls to be my sissy, my slut."

"No, Lydia, please, I do, I will."

"You’ll what?"

"Be your … bitch. Your slave … your slave girl."

She had me. And she knew it.

"You’ve fantasized about that, about being my slave slut, haven’t you?"

"Yes, yes, I have."

"Being my sissy whore, that’s what you want, isn’t it?"

"Yes, yes, that’s what I want."

She reached down and grabbed my tied-up cock and balls. I moaned in lust and pain.

"Tell me what you want."

"I … I want to be your bitch, your slave girl."

"Convince me."

"I want to be your bitch, your slave girl," I panted, hardly believing that the words were coming from my mouth. "I want to surrender entirely to you, to dress up for you, to serve you, to worship you."

"Beg me."

"Oh, Lydia, please. … Please let me be your slut, your sissy. I’ll be your whore. I’ll be your devoted slave girl. I’ll dress up for you and always be ready to serve you."

"I said beg!"

"Please, Lydia, please, please let me be your bitch. Please let me be your slave girl, your panty slut, your whore, your lesbian toy. Please, please let me dress up for you and service you. I’ll be pretty, I’ll be perfectly obedient, I’ll do whatever you say, whatever you command. … I know I’m not worthy, I don’t deserve the privilege of serving you, but please, please accept me as your sissy, your slut, your pussy slave."

"OK, bitch," she said, then she released her grip on my groin. "I’ll let you be my slave slut."

"Oh, Lydia, thank you, thank you," I gushed. "I’ll please you, I will, you know I will."

"You’ll be punished if you don’t. … And from now on, for the rest of the weekend, you’ll address me as Mistress Lydia."

"Yes, Mistress Lydia, of course, Mistress Lydia."

"And you’ll be Jane."

"Jane?" I gasped.

"What, you don’t like your pretty new femme name?"

"No, uh, yes, yes, I like it, Mistress Lydia. I like it very much, it’s very pretty. Thank you for giving me such a lovely girl’s name."

I couldn’t believe what I was saying, but I couldn’t imagine not saying it. Damn, I admitted to myself, I meant it, I meant all of it. I did want to be called Jane. I did want to submit to Mistress Lydia. I did want to be her sissy slave.

"Now, Jane, are you ready to prove your devotion to me?"

"Oh yes, Mistress Lydia. Please let me."

She pushed up and moved off me, but only for a brief moment. She jammed a pillow under my head to prop it up, then she got back on me, over me. Only when I felt her toes near my armpits did I realize that her back was facing me. Seconds later I felt the roundness of her ass cheeks brush against my nose and I smelled the ripeness of her bottom.

"Kiss my ass, slave," she ordered. "Both sides, five times each."

I raised my head and gently pressed my lips to the tender flesh of her right cheek. I had never felt more completely hers. After applying the required five kisses, I turned my head slightly and quickly duplicated the gesture of subservience on her left cheek. When I finished and let my head drop back to the pillow, she pressed her bottom down, closer to me. I felt her wiggling it right in my face.

"Now lick me, bitch. Tongue my asshole. Do it until I tell you to stop."

She lowered her ass right onto my face, trapping my nose and mouth beneath her. Repulsed, I hesitated for a second. Compelled to obey her, I then extended my tongue and, for the first time ever, licked an ass. I tongued her tight hole reluctantly, hesitantly, slowly at first, but the impact of her cheeks smothering my face, the strong smell, the rocking and swaying of her body, my abject humiliation, my total helplessness, and her breathless urgings – "Deeper, deeper." … "Lick it faster, slave, faster." – soon had me probing farther, licking more intensely, sucking and licking until I totally lost myself in her grinding, pumping ass.

She eventually slowed her movements, then rose off me. I felt her get off the bed then return in a matter of seconds. Then her fingers were at my tired mouth, forcing it open. I felt and heard her spray something – antiseptic? perfume? – into my mouth, then she was again on top of me, facing me this time.

"Where did you learn to suck ass like that, bitch? I think you’ve had a lot of practice. Exactly how many shitholes have you licked?"

"N-n-none, none. I’ve never done …"

"Don’t lie to me, Jane. A slut like you must have had her tongue up countless asses. And you like it; I can tell. … But now, little slave, let’s see if you know how to worship your mistress’s tits."

She grabbed my head with two hands, lifted it up and pressed my face between her firm breasts. "Show me how you love my tits," she hissed, then guided my mouth to her left nipple. Again totally and willingly incapable of doing anything else, I kissed and licked then gently bit her firm nipple. "Oooh, a biter. A nasty bitch. Think I like it rough? I’ll show you rough."

She forced my head back down, pressed her breast onto my mouth then pulled it away. She slapped my face two, three times. I lifted my mouth to her but she pulled away as soon as I made contact with a nipple. Then she again forced my head down and again pressed herself on me, then began rubbing her breasts across my face, back and forth, slowly at first, then faster and harder until she was almost whipping me with them.

"You like this, bitch? You like being tit-slapped?"

"Stop, please, please," I panted. "Let me lick them. Let me suck them. Please let me suck your beautiful tits."

She stopped her swaying and said: "Then do it good, slave."

She lowered her tits to my mouth and I did my best to satisfyingly kiss and lick and suck her nipples, the sides of her breasts, the delicious space between them, their tender undersides. She cooed and sighed and drove me on with her gyrating body surrounding mine, her pussy scratching and slurping against my stomach.

"Oh, yes, bitch, that’s it. … Oooh, gentle there, yessss. … Now suck that nipple good, slut. … Yes, yes, God, I’m getting all wet from your mouth on my tits. Can you feel it down there? Can you feel my cunt dripping on you? … Jane, dear Jane. Keep it up, keep it up. … Do my tits like no man ever has."

She was calling me Jane. And Jane tried to please her.

She then pulled away. But my service wasn’t finished. She crawled up my torso and knelt astride my head, again placing her cunt inches from my mouth.

"Now the real test, sissy. Let’s see how you do with pussy. Show me how good a cunt lapper you are, bitch, how good you are at making me cum. Eat me, slave. Eat my cunt."

I loved Lydia’s pussy. I loved to go down on her, to have her sit on my face. I loved burying my face in her bush, driving my tongue around and between her lips. I loved fucking her with my tongue. I loved making her writhe and moan and cum and cum. And though my tongue was beaten and my mouth was sore and my arms were rubbery and my legs were numb and my cock, my tied-up cock, was painfully swollen, I absolutely had to please her. And though she had trapped me, assaulted me, abused me, humiliated and enslaved me, I wanted nothing but to please her. I had no choice; I wanted none. I lifted my head to put my tongue into her hot, damp, pungent pussy.

"That’s it, bitch," she whispered harshly. "Get that tongue inside of me. Make me feel good, slut, make me feel good."

She pressed herself down on me, locking my head between her firm thighs. I probed inside her with my tongue, located her clit and attacked it with my tongue and teeth. She responded to my efforts with a slow rocking motion, then I felt her lean back and rest the weight of her upper body on her stiffened arms, which pushed her cunt forward, farther onto my face. I continued to lick and bite at her clit.

"Oh yes, pussy slave, yes. … That’s it, oooh, that’s it. … Do me, bitch. Do me good. … Worship my cunt."

Soon her verbal urgings gave way to soft moans and grunts, and she rocked her hips and ground her pelvis on me so furiously that I thought my jaw was going to snap. My tongue was no longer central to her excitement; now she was simply fucking my face.

She cooed softly and moaned loudly and her gyrations became so frenetic that I knew she was close to orgasm. Overcome by the sensation of being captured by her cunt, I reactivated my tongue inside her, and her body reacted with a series of rapid shudders.

"Oh, God, fuck, yes, yes. … That’s it, make me cum, make me cum, you fucking slut. … Now, bitch, now. … Yes, do it, whore, you goddamn whore. …. Oh, oh, yes, oooh, yes. … Oh, Jane, Jane. … Yes, fuck, yes, yesssss. … Aaaaahhh!"

Her body’s explosive spasms gradually subsided, and she sat up straight, then rocked back a bit to lift her pussy off my face. She panted heavily; I gasped for air and shook my head back and forth. Then, after only maybe a minute, after she had regained normal breathing, she eased her slit back down onto my mouth and said flatly: "Again, slave."

I again inserted my weary tongue between her spread lips. She grabbed my head tightly, and the thrusting of her hips became intense almost immediately, so intense that at one point she was rocking and rubbing her clit on the bridge of my nose. I pushed my head forward, as if to burrow inside her, and nudged and twisted until she slipped back down to my mouth. I bit her cunt hair and lips and tongued her saturated interior. Seconds later, she came again – furiously, powerfully, loudly.

"Ooooh, you are a cunt-eating bitch," she said softly after she had collapsed on the bed next to my right side. "I think I’m going to have one hell of a pussy slave. … Are you happy that you were able to please me, little Janey?’

"Yes, Mistress Lydia, yes," I replied, still short of breath. "I’m happy that I was able to please you."

"You probably think you deserve a reward for making me cum, don’t you?"

"No, Mistress, I, uh, only wish to serve you. … The privilege of serving you is reward enough."

"Well, there’s one thing I think you do deserve. … I’m going to unwrap the tied-up package in your panties. Would you like that?"

"Yes, Mistress, yes, please."

"OK. But lie still, and do your best to exhibit whatever self-control you may possess. If you spurt on me while I’m untying you, you’ll suffer like never before. Understand?"

"Yes, Mistress."

She shifted to a position between my legs, slid my panties down a bit and told me to lie still. I felt her hands on the ends of the cord, then on the knot at the head of my cock. I expected to explode any second. I tensed my body and held my breath and tried unsuccessfully not to think about her lithe fingers on my aching genitals. God, how could I not cum?

She undid the top knot, then went to where the cord was tied at the shaft of my penis and undid that, too. The built-up pressure in my balls subsided a bit and my dick started to feel almost normal, though still rock-hard. Then she gently pulled on the cord, which tantalizingly wound it way around and around and finally completely off me. I let out a deep sigh as full circulation returned to my cock and balls.

"Very good, doll," she said mockingly as she guided my panties back into place. "You were able to control yourself. … Training you may not be as difficult as I expected."

"Th-thank you, Mistress."

"But I bet you’d like to ejaculate now, wouldn’t you, slave?"

"Oh, yes, Mistress, yes, please."

"With all the cum that’s been building up inside you all this time, I’d say you’re probably really desperate to cum, aren’t you?"

"Yes, Mistress, yes. Please, please, let me cum."

"Why should I, slut?"

"Because I, uh, because I’ve tried to please you and, uh, because you are a kind Mistress."

"You don’t think I’m going to touch you down there, do you?"

"No, Mistress, no. That would be too much to expect. I’ll masturbate, I’ll masturbate for you. … Please let me cum. Please let me jerk off."

"Does Jane want to jerk off into her little panties?"

"Yes, oh yes. Please let me jerk off into my panties."

"I don’t know. … Oh, what the hell. You’ve been a pretty good slave girl so far, and maybe I am a kind mistress."

"Oh thank you, Mistress Lydia. Thank you."

"Hold on. There’s a price you’ll have to pay."

"Anything, Mistress, anything. Please."

"All right. Listen up. I’ll disconnect your cuffs from the headboard and let you play with yourself. But if you cum before I say you can you’ll get a good spanking, 10 hard smacks on the ass. Got that?"

"Yes, Mistress, yes. I understand."

"OK. Don’t say I didn’t warn you." She moved up on the bed and I felt her hands at my wrists. I heard a soft clicking sound, then she moved off the bed and told me I could move my hands and arms.

My wrist cuffs were still locked on and linked together, and my arms felt hollow, almost weightless, as I slowly lifted them over my head and down onto my stomach, as instructed.

"I’m so good to you," she said, "I’m even going to unshackle your legs."

Two more metallic clicks and two quick tugs and my ankles were free of the cuffs. I flexed my knees and stretched my legs to get feeling back into them.

"Thank you, Mistress. Thank you for freeing me."

"You’re far from free, doll. Remember that."

"I know. I just meant …"

"I know what you meant. Now shut up or I’ll gag you. Got that?

I nodded eagerly.

"That’s better. … Now, about masturbating for me. You’ll do it with your wrists cuffed and your hands outside your panties. You can fondle and stroke all you want, but don’t you dare slip your hand inside the panties or cum until I give you permission. Understand?"

I nodded.

"And on second thought, I think I will gag you. … These dirty panties of mine will do the trick just fine. Open your mouth."

I did and she stuffed the damp panties into my mouth. She then sat beside me on the bed.

"Now, Jane, you may put your hands on your clit. That’s right. It’s not a cock or a dick anymore, it’s a clit. Your sissy clit. … Go ahead, but keep your hands outside those panties."

I eased my hands down my stomach, over my garter belt and onto the bulge in my panties. My cock jumped at my touch. I bit down on the panty gag and slowly ran my hands over the engorged shaft and swollen balls.

"That’s it, bitch. Slide your slave hands over your little panties. Get a good feel for your sissy clit. … Oh, I can imagine how you want to shoot your load, how fucking hot to cum you must be after being chained up here all afternoon and sucking dildo, getting fucked up the ass, licking my boobs and tonguing my pussy and eating out my ass."

I chomped on the panties and pressed my hands down harder and moved them faster, up and down, from the head of my dick to the base of its shaft. I know I emitted audible moans.

"You should see yourself, doll. A helpless little slut, blindfolded, her mouth filled with nasty panties, tits heaving under her bra, sliding her chained hands over her clit mound. And loving it, loving every humiliating minute of it. … Oh, I know how you want to explode, how you need to spurt, how you absolutely must fill those panties with your hot cum. … I know how you can’t wait for me to give you the word, to give you permission to climax. … But no, you can’t do it. You can’t control yourself. You know you can’t stop yourself. … The way you’re moaning and writhing I’d say you’re going to cum any second now … any second now … any second now ..."

Right then an unstoppable surge rose from my balls and I stroked my cock frenetically and then I came and came, gushingly, deliciously, like I never had before, shooting what seemed to be quarts of cum into the satiny black panties, soaking them as if in retribution for their imprisoning my cock all day. The panty-gag only partially muffled my long, primitive moan.

But even as the last spurts of cum jumped from my cock, I realized that I had climaxed before receiving Lydia’s permission. God, who on earth wouldn’t have?

As I settled back on the bed, she roughly yanked the panties from my mouth and said, "You’ve made quite a mess down there, sweetie. And you did it too soon, so you’ll be punished. ... But now I want you to slip fingers down into your panties, so you can feel your nasty cum."

I did as she said, and ran my fingers through the clinging, viscous fluid.

"How’s that feel, bitch?"

"Gooey, warm, oozy."

"Now pull your fingers out … and stick them in your mouth."

I sighed, in disbelief or defiance or what I don’t know, but then I did as instructed, slowly sliding my hands from inside my panties and lifting my fingers to my mouth.

"That’s it. Now lick them clean. Suck every drop of your cum off your fingers."

I gingerly licked one finger and for the first time tasted my own cum, my own slightly salty, thick, warm cum. I managed to stifle a reflexive gag, then went about licking my other fingers.

"That’s it, slave. Taste your own juice. Lick it and taste it. All sluts love the taste of cum."

I kept licking, then she ordered me to stop and remove my fingers from my mouth.

"Now swallow it, bitch. Swallow your cum."

I tried mightily not to think of what I was doing as I swallowed. I managed, barely, not to gag.

"Wow, you act like you’ve never tasted cum before," she said with exaggerated astonishment.

"I … I hadn’t," I whispered.

"What? You never slipped a finger down after jerking off just to pick up a drop and see what it tasted like? You never had a chick pull some out of her cunt after fucking and feed it to you? What about a little blowback after a blow job – never had that?"

"No, never."

"God, what a sheltered life. Well I’m glad to provide you with a new experience. And I do hope you liked it. But even if you don’t now, you’ll get used to it. I promise. … Now, your punishment. C’mon, bitch, roll over onto your stomach, prop yourself up on your elbows and kneel so your pretty panty ass is sticking up. It’s time for your spanking."

I followed her instructions, then felt her hand rubbing my two cheeks.

"Tight little butt you have there, girl. Now let’s get these panties off."

She tugged my panties down my thighs then wriggled them under my knees and off. I raised my exposed ass; my cock dangled limply.

"Ooh, nice white cheeks. But they’ll have some color in just a minute. … Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you count the strokes or thank me after each one. All you have to do is feel them. And I won’t mind hearing you whimper or moan."

I vowed I wouldn’t let her hear anything like that; I vowed to take whatever she could dish out without making a sound.

"So, are you ready for your spanking, Jane?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good."

The first slap, a loud, forceful smack to the middle of my right cheek, instantly produced an intense sting. I pressed my mouth shut and awaited the second blow. It and the third were delivered back-to-back to the same spot, and the stinging became a burning sensation. Then the fourth and fifth blows, harder than the first three, turned that burning sensation into a ring of sharp pain. I had never been beaten this hard, and never imagined that the back of a hairbrush could be so devastating, but I managed to stay silent, to suppress all reaction except for decidedly fast and heavy breathing.

Without pausing for more than a few seconds, she delivered five equally sharp, well-aimed slaps to my left cheek, likewise searing it. Again I was able to keep myself from making any sound, though it wasn’t easy. I silently congratulated myself for successfully absorbing the 10 strokes of punishment.

"Now your cheeks have a little color, doll. A nice shade of pink. … Let’s see what a few more whacks will do to that color."

"No," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

"What? What did you say?"

"No, Mistress, please, I mean, please Mistress, you said 10 and …"

"Shut up, slut. You dare to talk back to me? To question me?" She delivered a quick, strong blow to the inflamed area of my right cheek; I couldn’t suppress a grunt. "And even if I did say 10, that’s too fucking bad, because I’m the mistress and you’re the slave and I do whatever the fuck I want with you. The sooner you get that through that sissy brain of yours the better off you’ll be.

"You obviously have some serious lessons to learn. One is that if you mouth off to me you’ll be gagged. Another is that I can whip your ass – or anything else – as much as I want for as long as I want. … Now open your mouth, bitch. You can chew on these panties while I’m spanking you. They’re nice and wet and smelly. You should like them – they’re yours."

She jammed the cum-laden panties into my helpless mouth, and I gagged on the fabric and the taste and the thought.

"Hmmm. Now you wouldn’t dare try to spit them out, would you, slave?"

I moaned and shook my head.

"Good. Now get your ass back up. Nice and high so I have a real good target. That’s it."

She began her new assault, placing every powerful slap on the same two spots, sometimes pausing between strokes, sometimes delivering two, three or more in rapid succession. I bit hard on the foul gag but it couldn’t completely muffle my grunts, moans and whimpers. I lost count of the blows. I was conscious of only the pain raging on my ass, the pain that grew and grew with each strong blow.

Before she stopped, I was reduced to crying.

"OK, bitch, that’s it for now," she said calmly. "You can lie down. … Here, give me your hands."

She rolled me over onto my back and took my hands. I feared that she was going to reconnect my cuffs to the headboard, but instead she unlocked them and eased them off my wrists.

"There, now you can wipe away your tears, girl. … Did I hurt your little fanny that much, Janey?"

I shook my head, then sighed deeply. She laughed softly, then put a hand to my mouth and removed the panty-gag.

"Having your ass smacked while you’re gagged with your own dirty panties is pretty degrading, isn’t it, slave?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Now you know what can happen if you displease me, don’t you, Jane?"

"Yes, Mistress Lydia. Now I know."

"Good. Don’t forget. … Now, here’s what you are to do: Get undressed, but with the blindfold on. Don’t take it off until you’re naked. … Then pick up your things and take them to the bathroom hamper. You’ll be washing them by hand later; that’s part of a slave girl’s duties, you know. … Take a shower and clean yourself good, especially you know where. Wet your hair but don’t shampoo it. And brush your teeth and use the mouthwash. … Dry yourself, then get dressed and go downstairs. I’ll be in the living room. But be quick about it. You don’t want to keep me waiting, do you?"

"No, Mistress."

"Good. Get going then."

She got off the bed and left the room. As much as I wanted to just lie there and recuperate, I began to get undressed, removing my stockings, garter belt and bra with less difficulty than I anticipated. Naked then, I sat up and untied the scarf and slipped off the blindfold.

My eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light in the room. It was twilight, not yet dark. What time was it? How long had I been there? I looked to the alarm clock on the nightstand, but it wasn’t there. I suspected that was no accident.

I went into the bathroom and did what I had to without undue delay. I was still too stunned by what I had just experienced to think about it. When I returned to the bedroom, a little tired and definitely sore in spots but at least clean, I saw on the bed what I was to get dressed in – a short, kimono-type robe in electric blue and bikini panties in bright yellow.

"Now, Jane," came the voice from downstairs.

I quickly put on the panties and robe and hurried down to Mistress Lydia. After all, I hadn’t actually seen her all day.

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© 2002 by Jane L.S. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.