gritting my teeth against the continued onslaught of leather on my ass.
‘And who decides when it has had enough?’
‘You do, Mistress!’ I sobbed.
‘That’s right. And until you learn that lesson you will sleep with your hands tied to the bed posts so you can’t touch your cunt at night when I am asleep. That way you will remember whose cunt it is! Do you understand me, little bitch?’
Yes. I did.
She placed my hands on the edge of the bed, forcing me into a prone position to continue the whipping. She then released the bottom part of the belt so that each swing brought it up under my ass to snap squarely on my now engorged clit. Each blow was torture to live through but afterward my ass instinctively rose up higher to meet each one.
Quivering and barely able to stand up, I sobbed, ‘Please, Mistress, forgive me. Please!’
Another rain of sharp slaps answered my plea along with her vicious demands of ‘Whom do you live to please?’
It was all I could do to gain enough breath to gasp ‘You’ in response.
‘That’s right,’ she said, ‘and who has the power to make you come or leave you right here right now with your ass on fire, your pussy soaked through, and your clit swollen and throbbing and begging for release?’
‘You,’ I said through clenched teeth.
I tried not to think about the fire that had since turned into a low intense heat in my ass and thighs and pussy. Blue fire, I thought. It looks harmless and beautiful but it was the most intense heat known to man. It could destroy you and leave you wondering what had happened. This is how I imagined my mistress now: deceivingly calm and beautiful.
This was how I best knew her: powerful and torrential.
Blue fire.
She tightened her hold on the belt now, so only a few inches of it was being used to whip me. Furiously, she lashed out and focused her energy on my clit alone. It was so filled with blood, I thought it would explode. Harder and harder she whipped my tender, swollen clit until I thought I could stand it no more.
‘Please, Mistress,’ I said.
‘Please what, whore?’
‘Please may I come? Please! Oh, Mistress, please, I am begging you,’ I cried in distress. I could feel myself slipping into the deep warmth of an oncoming orgasm and I pleaded again.
The heat in my clit was so intense, I thought it would spontaneously combust.
I knew in just a few more seconds it would explode without my consent.
‘Yes, little one, I feel you. I feel your clit so hard and on fire from me torturing it. I know that I have your clit at the end of my whip begging, aching to be released from its confines. I know that it is ready to come. And I am ready for it to come for me. Let your clit explode for me now. Come hard for me, little one.’
She reared back and swung the belt down for one final hard smack onto the centre of my clit, causing it to explode inside of me. That final blow shattered me into a thousand tiny pieces, causing me to fall onto the bed where I lay for long moments breathing in short shallow gasps for air.
When I was finally able to breathe normally again I stood up and looked around. Mistress was gone. She had taken her clothes with her to wherever she had gone. I bent to pick up my discarded clothes.
On my way to the kitchen to do the dishes finally, I passed by the bathroom and an odd gleam caught my eye.
She had written a note on the bathroom mirror for me.
I expect the bed to be made by the time I get home. Do you understand, little slut?
Oh, yes, Mistress, I understand; I understand perfectly what not to do.
The Perfect Mistress
Monica Belle
David got down on his knees and hung his head. His hands were crossed behind his back, his knees slightly apart, the pose he had been ordered to adopt when waiting to serve his Mistress. Madame Venus ignored him as she took a bite of the chocolate-topped doughnut he had bought her, then a swallow of coffee. The lines of her dark, handsome faced creased into a frown.
‘This has no sugar in it.’
‘Sorry, Mistress, but …’
‘Shut up, you little piece of dirt. Did I say you could speak?’
David shook his head. She extended one booted foot, pressed it against his chest and pushed. He rolled back onto the floor as she extended one heavy arm, holding out the cup of coffee. He stayed down, making no effort to defend himself beyond closing his eyes as she tipped the mug sideways, to pour out hot liquid onto his body, deliberately soaking his hair and the tight cotton underpants that were his only garment. Only when she’d allowed the final drop to splash onto the bare skin of his chest did she speak.
‘Make me another coffee, and make it properly. Then you can clean up this mess.’
He scrambled up again, but instead of going to make the coffee as he had been ordered he resumed his kneeling position, this time with one hand raised, the signal that he wanted permission to speak. Madame Venus drew a heavy sigh.
‘Yes, what is it?’
David found his voice cracking as he replied.
‘Please, Mistress, may your humble slave respectfully suggest that you should … might benefit from, and I’m only thinking of your health, Mistress, but … maybe you should lose a little weight? So I thought, maybe, no sugar in your coffee, and that’s a low calorie doughnut, with … with …’
He trailed off, looking up at her from his position at her feet, kneeling in the pool of spilt coffee. She was sat on a bar stool at the kitchen work surface, her legs crossed so that the toe of one of her highly polished black boots was within inches of his face. The boots were knee high and fastened with criss-crossed laces he’d tied himself as he helped her dress. Fishnet stockings showed above her boot tops, covering full, dark thighs all the way up to the hem of the black leather miniskirt that encased her hips. A tightly laced corset held in the bulge of her stomach and lifted her huge breasts into prominence. The sight left him weak at the knees, with his cock straining uncomfortably within the chastity device he was obliged to wear whenever he visited her. But for all the awe inspired by her body there was simply too much of it for the perfection her craved.
David knew how the perfect Mistress should look. He had devoured literature on female domination ever since the awakening of his submissive sexuality. A true Mistress was tall and powerful, and Madame Venus was all of that, but the ideal was also slender, with a tiny, wasp waist in contrast to feminine but elegant hips and a full, firm chest. Madame Venus had breasts so huge he could barely support them properly with two hands, along with a bottom so well fleshed that when he was being queened he couldn’t even see, let alone breathe. Everything about her made him ache with need, but it was simply too much and he knew that in order to excite the envy of his friends as well
