The Reluctant Mistress and Her Unexpected Transition Part 7
The Reluctant Mistress and Her Unexpected Transition – Part 7
I took a long bath instead of a shower, sitting there in the steaming tub, feeling guilty. What had come over me? My first bout of mistress remorse. I reassured myself that I had done my homework well; I had read up on the differences between spanking, paddling, flogging, and the harsher options, caning and whipping, which were not for me. Spanking I found was intimate and sexy; you got direct feedback from your beloved’s ass. Paddling seemed like spanking only it spared your hand; that might be a future option. Flogging seemed relatively safe. The strands of the buffalo hide flogger were broad and soft. For all my blows, I hadn’t come close to breaking Danny’s skin.
I sunk back in the tub, looking up at the ceiling. I noticed it had a faint sheen of what looked to be mold. Damn. Then it occurred to me that I now owned a slave who would scrub and paint my ceiling on command. Being a mistress had its benefits. I thought about Danny, strung up down in the basement, straining in the shadows, literally on his toes. My, it gave the cliché new meaning.
Time for Chores
After my bath I dressed in work clothes: paint-smattered jeans with tears at the knees, white tank top layered with a blue work shirt I had borrowed permanently from Danny. I wore sneakers, my hair in a ponytail. Not exactly dominatrix wear, but we had chores. I checked my watch and realized it had been 45 minutes since I left Danny. A spurt of panic shot through me that he might have been there too long, but I reminded myself that had he been in real trouble, he would’ve yelled for help. With the cock cage in hand and the slave collar stuffed in a rear pocket, I went down the creaking wooden steps.
Sunlight filtered through the glass block windows and cast a shadowed half-light into the basement. I left the light bulb off and paused and let my eyes adjust. I admired Danny’s masculine profile, hanging motionless from his wrists. I listened to his steady breathing. I watched him for a minute, seeing him shift his weight from one foot to the other. I walked up softly and placed a hand on the cheeks of his behind. It was cool to the touch. He didn’t flinch. His back and ass were no longer red; only a pink blush remained. I spoke in a tender voice, “I see you’ve been a good boy down here, my pet.”
“Yes, Mistress,” he replied in a hoarse whisper.
Thankfully, his cock was flaccid. I slipped the cage over his penis and slid it up against the base of the shaft. The leather straps that went around the base of his scrotum were another matter. Danny had put on the cage himself last night; now I had to learn to do it myself. Well, they were my balls now so I might as well get used to ‘mistress-handling’ them. With some trepidation I squeezed his scrotum and drew his balls away from his body, holding them at bay with my left index finger and thumb while with my right hand I maneuvered first one leather strap, then the other, bringing them together so they joined at the base of the scrotum. I pushed the D-ring through the slot and snapped the mini padlock in place.
Throughout this process, Danny stood silently, motionless, like a horse letting you brush it down. Not a quiver from his cock; it remained flaccid in the cage. I retrieved the foot ladder and placed it next to the pole. Standing on it, I reached up and swung in the gate of the carabiner to free the cuffs, letting Danny’s forearms come down. He groaned with relief. I’m sure the muscles of his arms and shoulders were screaming. “Get down on your knees, slave, hold your arms out in front of you,” I ordered.
On you Knees!
He dropped to his knees. I used the universal key that locked the padlock on his cock cage to open the padlock holding his cuffs. I undid the locking buckles and let the cuffs fall to the floor. There were compression marks on the flesh of his wrists, but no real damage. I gently caressed his wrists, cooing, “There, there, such a good boy to suffer for his Mistress. Now on your hands and knees.”
Danny dropped down on all fours, like a dog. It occurred to me that I needed a leash. I cast my eyes around, looking for a substitute. Nothing. Well, I’d just have to swing by the pet store this week. I could imagine the conversation: “I need a leash for my boyfriend” . . . “Honey, don’t we all.” For now, I’d have to make do with verbal commands.
“Pet, I want you crawl your way over to the steps, then upstairs. Crawl through the living room and to the bathroom. I’ll be following close behind. Consider yourself on a short leash. You will crawl in my presence like a dog unless I give you permission to stand, is that understood?”
My Handsome Pet
My handsome pet made his way on hands and knees across the concrete floor to the wooden steps. I picked up the leather cuffs and followed behind. He went up the stairs bent over, sort of a faux crawl, his gorgeous, pert ass inches from my nose. His leashed balls swung like a pendulum between his thighs. I noticed his cock was quickly swelling inside the cage, the glans of his circumcised penis now pressing against the head ring of the cage. Good doggy. On the main floor, he crawled through the living room and down the hallway to the bathroom, with me right behind.
At the threshold of the bathroom I ordered, “Heel.” Danny froze.
“Good boy.” I caressed his back, then gave his butt a light slap. He flinched. “Now slave, as you can see, I’ve placed cleaning tools in the bathroom.” I pointed past his nose with my forefinger. On the floor at the base of the vanity was a plastic tub with a scrub brush, sponge, cloth rag towels, scouring powder and a spray bottle filled with a 50-50 water/vinegar mix I make myself. “I want you to scrub the bathtub, pet, then the toilet and floor. Use the scouring powder and the scrub brush first, then use the sponge and spray cleaner, then wipe everything down with those towels. I want it all squeaky clean.”
Lick it all Clean
“Clean enough to lick, understood?”
“Now get to work.”
While Danny worked in the bathroom, I prepared breakfast. I knew he must be starving; half a bagel was an appetizer after last night’s marathon, not to mention the calories he had just burned straining on his toes, not to mention the long day of work we had ahead. I was hungry, too. We would have our usual Sunday breakfast: a big bowl of oatmeal, laden with bananas, blueberries, raisins, walnuts and flax seed. I prepared the fruit and nuts while the water heated to a boil, then poured in the oatmeal. I let it cook for few minutes and then turned the burner down to simmer. I returned to the bathroom.
Danny was facing away from the door, drying the floor, the muscles in his shoulders rippling as he made circular motions with the towels. I saw that his cock was flaccid in its cage.
“Have you done a good job, pet?”
My voice startled him. He rose up on his knees, turned to face me. “I think so, Mistress.”
Know your Place
“Slave, never rise up higher than your Mistress’s cunt unless she tells you to.” I had been doing my reading. “Keep your head low, butt up, eyes cast down, hands on the floor.”
Danny quickly dropped down, the towels still clutched in his hands. I let that slide. The bathroom is narrow, so his prostrate body filled the space between vanity and tub. I cast my eyes on the interior of my vintage four-legged tub. The ceramic needed resurfacing, but it was as white as I had ever seen it, buffed to a soft glow. I edged past Danny to inspect the toilet. It shined, even down in the nooks and crannies at the base. Amazing that he could do such a fastidious job as a slave but as a grown man, the bathroom of his apartment was disgusting. Well, he would be retrained.
With sudden inspiration, I kicked off my shoes, stripped off my jeans and panties and folded them on the top of the tank. I put down the seat and sat, legs bracketing the bowl. Danny faced away from me, his head pointed toward the open bathroom door, the soles of his feet by my right foot. “Slave, turn around and crawl over here to the toilet. Keep your eyes cast down at all times.”
Danny turned around, keeping his eyes lowered. He crawled on his hands and knees to me, turning himself in the narrow confines to face me straight on, his head lowered between my feet. Now he could see that my legs were bare. I felt like I was sitting at a throne . . . a very kinky white throne.
“Lick the bowl, Danny.”
I don’t know why I called him ‘Danny,’ and not ‘slave,’ but that’s what came out.
He tilted his head to one side and tentatively reached out with his tongue, pressing it against the bowl and giving a modest lick. That wouldn’t do. “No, lick the bowl like you would lick my cunt, Danny. Show me how well you cleaned the toilet, show me how much you want to lick my cunt.”
That set him off; he began licking the white ceramic bowl with fevered enthusiasm. I hoped he had followed my directions and used the vinegar spray after the cleanser; I didn’t want him ingesting any toxic chemical residue. “How does my toilet bowl taste, slave?”
He paused, drew his tongue back into his mouth, swallowed. “It tastes wonderful, Mistress.”
Good, You may Continue
“Good. You may continue. Lick the entire bowl. Start from the bottom and work your way up, right up to the rim. Take your time, show me how much you adore your mistress.”
I watched as Danny set to work, his tongue flared out against the white ceramic, making big slurpy stokes. The sight of it—I think it was the passion he put into the task—made me wet. I let him work his way up until he had elevated his chin to the level of the seat. I took his head in my hands. “Enough.”
He obediently retracted his tongue.
“Look in front of you, slave.” Danny raised his eyes, getting a good look at my exposed cunt. “I want you to work up some saliva and spit into to bowl,” I instructed.
I watched as he worked his tongue around the inside of his mouth, building a wad of spit.
“Now spit it out.” He spat out a wad of whitish saliva into the bowl.
“Good, now you may lick your Mistress’s cunt.” I pulled him closer, so that his chin came over the rim of the bowl. I guided his mouth against my wet cunt. His tongue pressed up against the lips of my labia and reached deep inside the vagina.
“Softer,” I commanded. “Move your tongue up higher, where my clit is.”
Softer Danny, Softer
As enthusiastically as Danny went down on me, he never quite got this right. Now I felt empowered to guide him directly to the spot and make him do it right. Over the next several minutes, I gave him explicit instructions, how hard, how fast, up, down, lighter strokes, circular strokes, now cup your lips around the clit and gently suck while tapping the tip of your tongue against the engorged head, it’s just like your penis, don’t you know (of course, he didn’t). With him on his knees and the cheeks of his face firmly in my hands, these instructions came naturally, without any of the inhibition that had always constrained me in our vanilla lovemaking. Do it this way, just so. Before I knew it, that tingly, welling feeling rose up, filled my loins and exploded deep inside my vagina. I came so hard my legs went weak. Oh, my god it felt so good. And shocker—I felt myself squirting. I had never done that before.
I tried to push Danny’s face away, but bad slave, he resisted and drank it all up, just like I swallowed his cum when he came in my mouth. I relaxed and let him ‘worship at my temple’ (I read that phrase in a dominatrix tome and kind of liked it). I tilted my head back in bliss and gave thanks to heaven that I had finally cum with Danny’s mouth on my cunt. No more faking it. Hallelujah. I looked down and saw that his cock was engorged, the flesh bulging out between the cage rings, his glans poked completely through the head ring. Wow. I wondered if that hurt. Well, if it did, he was oblivious to the pain.
Your Pain, Her Gain
Just at that moment the smell of oatmeal wafted into the bathroom. Yeah, I know, it should’ve been roses, but it was oatmeal, and hopefully it wasn’t burning. This time I pushed Danny’s face away more firmly. I put a hand over his mouth and looked him deeply in the eyes. “Thank you, slave, that was really nice. Now finish up in here and then crawl to your place in the dining room.”
In the dining room, I made Danny eat from his bowl set on the floor by my feet. His cock still bulged in the cage, so clearly he got off on being treated as a dog. I would definitely have to get a leash. I was learning to appreciate that cage more and more. Not only was it a chastity device, it made erections look super sexy while giving me a visual barometer of my slave’s arousal. Not that a slave always had to be aroused, but when he was, the cage was an immediate, unrelenting reminder of who owned his cock.
After he had done the breakfast dishes, I had Danny stuff himself into his blue jeans, put on socks and shoes and a sweatshirt to go outside. I made him keep on his slave collar. With a five-foot wooden slat fence (that badly needed whitewashing, another project for my slave), my backyard is reasonably private; no one would see him wearing the collar unless they came up to the gate and looked in. I was willing to take that chance for the sake of Danny working with the threat of humiliation hovering in the air, a bit of erotica to heat up the cool autumn air. As we raked and collected leaves, we looked like an ordinary vanilla couple, except that my man wore a collar and had a caged cock bulging in his pants.
Next Episode: The Rewards of Cleanliness
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