The Last Submissive – Mistress Elisabeth Hunter (12)
The Dinner Party Sunday Evening
The remainder of that first weekend is a bit of a blur, except for the dinner party Sunday evening, which I’ll get to in a moment. You can’t really blame me for not recalling every detail of my introduction to slave etiquette and the nuances of being a house boy under Miss Lilly’s tutelage; they’ve became so engrained that it’s hard to recall ever not knowing them. Especially when you measure those relatively pedestrian lessons to the exquisite experience of having an orgasm inside Mistress on Friday night, of receiving her brand Saturday morning, and losing my virginity to her in the dungeon that afternoon.
I do recall that is was Sunday morning when I first caught sight of Mistress Hunter’s brand in a mirror, seeing the angry red welt on the right cheek of my ass, ESH, in letters about an inch tall (the width of two fingers, as I measured it then), in the same elegant font as her business card.
A Rule That Must Always Be Followed
I also recall learning one inviolable rule Sunday afternoon, brought about while cleaning the kitchen floor on hands and knees in my new slave outfit (leather harness, chastity cage), when I found myself at Miss Lilly’s feet and rose without permission to stand in front of her, and attempted to kiss her in thanks for what she had done for me and forgiveness for the orgasm that had cost me so dearly.
In response, her eyes went wide with alarm and fear. She slapped me hard. “Don’t you dare!” she said, grabbing me by the wrists. “If Mistress Hunter ever catches us kissing, or finds us in the slightest compromising position, she’ll get rid of us both!”
I stood there dumbfounded, hearing the anguish in her voice and seeing the genuine fear in her brown eyes, which darted over my shoulder, looking to see if my foolish action had already brought us to the precipice of disaster. She tugged down on my wrists. “Get in position, slave,” she commanded.
I dropped to my hands and knees on the tiled floor.
“Put your arms out, forehead to the ground.”
Mr. Green Is Punished for His Disobedience
I assumed the position at her feet, which put my ass above my head. A moment later, I heard the whistling sound of her cane slicing through the air. A knifing blow landed on my ass, already incredibly tender from both the branding and Mistress Hunter’s whippings.
I winced, and suffered several more searing blows before Miss Lilly relented. “Don’t ever do that again, slave,” she warned without pity. “We belong to Mistress Hunter, our bodies are for her pleasure, not ours. She uses us as she wishes. If she ever catches you touching me without her explicit permission, you’ll be out the door in an instant, and I mean naked on the street. Understood?”
All I wanted was to offer a simple kiss of thanks and recognition that we were now in this together. But now I knew: this was a cardinal rule. “I understand, Miss Lilly,” I apologized.
She tousled my hair. “Good boy. Now get back to work.”
Preparation For The Dinner Party
We worked through the afternoon, preparing for the dinner party, setting the dining room table for seven—Mistress Hunter and three couples. Power couples, from what Miss Lilly shared with me as we set the table with silver (three of each utensil per side) and fine china. She also hinted that dinner would not be the only thing offered for the pleasure of at least one of the couples coming for dinner.
When our guests arrived, Miss Lilly and I had cleaned up and were dressed in formal servant wear. She was in a cute outfit with a short skirt, white lace over a black bodice, the cleavage of her breasts suggestively visible, while I was in a form-fitting, formal tuxedo with tail. I’ve never been “the help” before, never bussed tables or bartended or worked in any service role, so I was out of my element and a little nervous. Miss Lilly, on the other hand, was calm and collected, clearly a veteran. I followed her lead, taking the coats while she showed our guests to the living room.
Mistress Hunter As An Expert Hostess
Miss Hunter wore a killer little black dress, mid-sleeved, the hem just above her knees, with dark hose and stiletto heels, her luxurious red hair swept over one shoulder. She was gorgeous. To see her so poised in this social setting was illuminating; as we served cocktails, wine and appetizers, I noted that she expertly guided the conversation, drawing everyone in, especially the wives, making everyone feel included and valued. Her guests included a famous Silicon Valley billionaire and entrepreneur, a senior federal prosecutor from the Department of Justice, and a well-known U.S. Senator, chairman of one of the most important committees and known in the Beltway as a “king maker.”
The billionaire’s wife was a dark-haired beauty and mostly silent; I sensed she came from a wealthy family and was used to servants; she spoke with a Latin accent, perhaps Colombian or Central American. The prosecutor’s wife was buxom and beautiful, very opinionated and spoke like a lawyer, so my guess was she still practiced law. The Senator’s wife was attractive, tall and elegant. She treated us graciously, taking the time to learn our names. It seemed odd to hear my first name spoken aloud again.
Mr.Green’s Admiration For The Dinner Guests
Of the three women, I liked the senator’s wife the best. Of the three men, the billionaire impressed me the most. He seemed humble, mostly asked questions and listened attentively; I only surmised his status because of what the other two men said as they discussed his investments in space technology. They teased him about a Ted Talk he had made recently on colonizing Mars. The conversation ranged from space exploration to global warming to terrorism, the usual stuff people talk about, vanilla with salt sprinkled on top, so I found it hard to imagine what Lillian hinted, that at some point in the evening the activities would veer from vanilla to kinky. These were powerful people, and seemingly ordinary.
Maybe that’s true of all kinky people. I doubted if anyone would guess how I had spent my weekend when I returned to work Monday morning. “Oh, I got branded and pegged by a dominatrix, you?”
Dinner was a sumptuous affair, the food catered; all we had to do was reheat as necessary and serve it up. The starters were a creamy spinach-artichoke soup and a salad with fresh-baked rolls, the main dishes steak entrecote and Cornish game hen, side dishes sautéed vegetables and steamed asparagus; the main courses followed by a cheese and fruit platter. I found the hardest thing was serving around shoulders without spilling, that and hovering in the background, being attentive but not intrusive. The invisible help. I looked for signals from Miss Lilly for when to approach with refills of water and wine.
Who knew when I signed up to be Mistress Hunter’s slave that I’d become a vanilla servant?
The Dinner Party Turns Kinky
Dessert was served in the library. We offered key lime pie and chocolate mousse cake, accompanied by the usual after-dinner drinks: brandy, cappuccino, Irish coffee, tea, White Russians, etc. After an hour or so of conversation, the billionaire and prosecutor gave leave and departed with their wives. That left the senator and his wife, and it was she, quite unexpectedly, who steered the evening off its vanilla rails.
“Savannah dear,” she said, “I’m quite impressed with your new help.” She gestured in my direction. “Paul here seems an exceptional find; over-qualified, even. Wherever did you find him?”
Mistress Hunter smiled over her coffee. “He eagerly applied, Dabney. Actually, he beat out dozens of other candidates for the position. Isn’t that so, Mr. Green?”
For an instant I was frozen, no doubt looking like a deer-in-headlights, tongue-tied. A sudden flare of heat rose up my too-tight collar and flushed my face. We had never discussed—or I had forgotten—how I was to address Mistress Hunter in a public (or semi-public) social setting. I stole a furtive look toward Miss Lilly. She held a faint smile on her lips and looked straight ahead. No help there.
Oh well, if I was going to be outed, better here and now than many other setting I could think of. After all, the woman had her brand seared on my ass. “Yes, Mistress,” I replied, nodding respectfully.
She beamed. That was the right answer.
A Dinner Guest Is Interested In More Than A Nightcap
“Well, perhaps you’d share him with Conner and me this evening,” the senator’s wife said without the slightest embarrassment, as if she were asking to borrow an interesting book from the library.
I didn’t dare glance around the room. Did Mistress Hunter know these people that well? Were they part of some secret sex club? I kept my eyes cast down but my ears were burning.
I heard Mistress Hunter say, “But of course, Dabney, you can take him home with you this evening or to one of the spare bedrooms, as you wish. My staff are at your disposal—always.”
I wondered what the senator thought of this. Here he was, one of the most powerful men in Washington, D.C., and his wife was arranging for . . . what? Obviously, more than a nightcap.
“How kind of you, Savannah,” said the senator’s wife. “Our daughter and her husband are staying with us this week, so perhaps we’ll accept your offer and stay here a while longer?”
“Of course, Dabney. The blue room is yours, everything just as you and the senator like.”
I felt a jab to my side; Miss Lilly’s elbow. She jerked her head with eyes cast upward, signaling me to depart the room. “Top of the stairs to the left,” she hissed. “Go in and stand next to the cage.”
Mr.Green’s First Experience as A Bull
I departed the room, my head spinning. Up the stairs, first door on the left, into the blue room, with a large four-poster king bed. And a cage, just like the one in the dungeon, heavy black iron frame with vertical stainless steel rods. What the hell was I doing here? A threesome with the senator and his wife?
I soon found out. Congress’s kinkiest power couple entered the bedroom five minutes behind me. The senator’s wife entered first, snapping her fingers at her husband. “Strip, Conner; get in the cage.”
I could hardly believe my ears.
I watched in astonishment as the senator dutifully obeyed. He shucked off his jacket, undid his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and took off his shirt, exposing a portly belly. Next, he undid the belt. His pants fell about his ankles. He had spindly, white legs. He removed his shoes, then the socks, kicked his pants free, finally the underwear, stood naked there for an instant, and then dropped to his knees and crawled into the cage. When he was inside, his wife turned her attention to me. “Don’t be alarmed, Paul, my husband may be a very powerful man in public, but in private, he is my obedient slave, and has been so since we married. I’m his second wife, and he’s so much happier this time around, aren’t you, Conner?”
“Yes, Mistress,” the senator replied gratefully.
Dabney and Mr. Green Begin Their Night of Pleasure
She swung the cage door shut and then secured the padlock, which made an audible metallic click as she squeezed the shackle into the body. The senator wasn’t going anywhere. He was naked and caged, a state of being with which I had recently gained intimate familiarity. The only difference I could see was that the senator’s dick hung entirely limp. He didn’t seem at all upset with his humiliation.
The senator’s wife—Dabney—walked from the cage where she had secured her husband to the foot of the bed. She beckoned me with a finger. “Paul, if you haven’t already guessed, we are now going to fuck while my husband watches. It gives him great pleasure to see me satisfied by a young bull like you. A handsome one, I might add. Come.” She patted the bedspread.
And so, I did, I came to her. I stripped the clothes off this elegant woman, who I guessed was in her mid-fifties, unveiling a slender, well-kept figure, a taut belly, and pert, beautifully shaped C-cup breasts, the nipples already erect. I tugged down her panties to reveal a lovely, modestly trimmed bush.
Resisting the temptation to ask for the senator’s permission, I went down on my knees and thrust my mouth against her crotch, found her clit and tongued her until she began to moan with pleasure. Then I rose, threw her on the bed, stripped off my clothes in a frenzy, and fucked her hard.
The Senator’s Wife’s Night of Ecstasy Continues
The second time, we threw back the bedspread and did in on the sheets, this time with her on top, rodeo style, the same as Mistress Hunter the night before. She was a sight. I could only imagine what her husband was thinking as he watched his wife in her glory, a modern-day goddess fucking her bull.
The third time, Dabney had me take her from behind, doggy style, and directly in front of the cage, up close and personal. She instructed that when the time came, I should pull out and squirt my cum on her back. I didn’t take long; I had been holding back an orgasm with difficulty. It was all I could do to pull out and strip off the latex sheath before I ejaculated, my hot cum flying out and landing halfway up her beautifully arched spine. The intensity and volume surprised me—especially considering I came so hard only last night. Something about being a slave to Mistress Hunter, her bull for the senator’s wife.
An Unforgettable Experience
When I had finished, Dabney told me to let her husband out of the cage. I found the key and opened the padlock, swung the gate open. “Come here and lick it all up, Conner,” she said, turning her head but remaining in position on all fours. I couldn’t help but notice the senator had quite a hard-on. He crawled over and I watched, my eyes transfixed, as he dipped his head and began licking my cum off her back.
“You are excused now, Paul,” Dabney said politely. “And thank you. Please close the door behind you and return to your Mistress. I will let her know how well you’ve pleased me.”
I hastily collected my clothing and left, dressing in the hallway. It was my first experience cuckolding, and not my last as Mistress Hunter’s branded sexual property.
But no question, that first time was the most memorable.
Next: Dancing Lessons