The Last Submissive – Mistress Elisabeth Hunter (7)
Upstairs, Mistress Hunter’s home was not what I expected. The rooms were bright and airy, well-lit, the walls cream-colored, rooms sparsely decorated with modern furniture—these observations made from what little I could see with my eyes cast down as Miss Lilly pulled me by the leash at a brisk pace. On all fours, I struggled to keep up, climbing steps and scuttling across maple-hued hardwood floors dotted with the occasional Persian rug. We went up three flights of stairs from the basement to Mistress Hunter’s chambers.
Inside the spacious bedroom, Miss Lilly led me to a cage at the foot of a canopied four-poster bed. The cage was made of heavy-gauge brass wire, about six feet long and a foot taller than me on all fours. A thin nylon mat served as a mattress/liner.
A Slave Cage
“Get in the cage, Grunt,” said Miss Lilly. I already hated that nickname. Ajax was better than Grunt; I wondered if I could convince her to change it.
I started into the cage and Miss Lilly jerked me short.
“Back in, dumb doggy.”
I turned around and backed into the cage. Miss Lilly unclipped the leash from my collar and swung the wire door shut, flipping down a latch and locking it with a small padlock.
“This is where you’ll sleep if Mistress Hunter is pleased with you and wishes your company, slave,” she explained, “. . . that is, if you get selected as her sub.”
She squatted down so that we were almost at eye level.
“Look up at me.”
I raised my eyes, looking into her bottomless, chocolate-brown eyes.
“I’m going to give you a little advice, dear Grunt, some priceless information, because I prefer you to the other candidate . . . but you must use what I tell you wisely, is that understood?”
I blinked. Miss Lilly had a face like Mary of Michelangelo’s Pieta . . . a simple beauty, not as striking as Mistress Hunter, with softer features, her cheekbones not quite as prominent, the tip of her nose turned up slightly. It was a face without guile, one you could trust, one it would be easy to adore.
“Yes, Miss Lilly?” I replied, my tone cautious.
“If she rides you . . . if she fucks you cowboy style, and your hands are free, Mistress Hunter will be far more likely to orgasm if you lightly flick her nipples . . . work them gently between your fingertips and give them light flicks . . . but not until she is fully aroused. You’ll know she’s close to coming when she throws her head back . . . not before. Do you understand?”
I absorbed this unexpected information while grappling with the idea that Mistress Hunter would have sex with a lowly slave. But really, what did I know? I was a novice. What little I knew was based on my limited experience with pro-doms and from reading femdom literature. Obviously, Mistress Hunter played by her own rules, for her own pleasure. And why not?
“Thank you, Miss Lilly,” I said gratefully.
“Understand it’s a rare privilege to have sex with your Mistress, Mr. Green. She normally takes her slaves from behind, using her strap-on. But she didn’t tell me to clean your insides out, so apparently, that’s not in her plans tonight. This may be your best chance to impress her.”
“Yes, Miss Lilly.”
Miss Lilly broke eye contact and rose to a standing position. She put her fingers through the wire cage and tousled my hair.
“Have fun, tonight, Grunt.”
I took a chance. “Miss Lilly, may I ask a question?”
A brief pause, then she allowed, “Go ahead.”
“May I ask why you prefer me over the other guy?”
I heard her snort, followed by a chuckle.
“Because you left a bigger tip.”
I smiled to myself, looking down. I took another chance, what the heck, she’d have to open the cage to use her cane on me.
“May I ask a favor of you, Miss Lilly?”
Another pause, this one longer. I knew I was being cheeky, but what the hell.
“What is it, slave?” she said in a guarded tone.
“Do you think you could pick a different nickname for me, Miss Lilly?”
“Oh, poor doggy doesn’t like his name,” she mocked.
“A different nickname . . . like what?”
I actually hadn’t given it any thought; I just hated ‘Grunt.’ I had taken a chance, and now she had given me it, and I was drawing a blank. Then it came to me.
“Um . . . how about, ‘Chance?’”
“‘Chance,’” she repeated. “Hmmm, that’s not too bad . . . actually, I think I like that better. Okay, ‘Chance’ it is. If you end up here permanently, I’ll have a nameplate made for your cage. But for now, this name is between you and me, is that understood, doggy Chance?”
“Yes, Miss Lilly,” I replied gratefully.
“Mistress Hunter is with the other candidate, Mr. Green—I mean, Chance—I don’t know how long she’ll be. You may be in the cage for a while. Are you claustrophobic? Do have to go pee?”
To the first question, the answer was no. To the second, I was hard to gauge my bladder with a Viagra-enhanced erection. “I don’t mind the cage, Miss Lilly . . . as for needing to pee, maybe a little.”
“Do you see that zipper in the mat, just under your cock, Mr. Green?”
Well Did You?
I shifted my gaze rearward and saw a short, zippered strip.
“Yes, Miss Lilly.”
“Unzip and you’ll find a recessed space underneath, with a hole in the bottom. Reach in and you’ll find a hose in there, like the fill-nozzle of a gas can. If you have to go at night, that’s how you do it.”
Nice to know Mistress Hunter had thought of everything.
“Yes, Miss Lilly.”
Miss Lilly slapped her folded leash against the side of the cage and strode out of the room. I listened to her heels click down the hallway, then down the stairs. Nice to have a friend (well, not quite a friend, but apparently an ally) under Mistress Hunter’s roof, I thought.
I waited patiently in the cage, shifting my weight from my hands to knees, sometimes arching to stretch my back, sometimes dropping my chest and doing modified push-ups; call it cage calisthenics, or cage yoga, if you like. I figured if I were going to be spending nights here, I should adapt.
I thought about how I would sleep in the cage. It would be a tight squeeze; I would have to lay on my side in a semi-fetal position. Of course, I didn’t dare try it out; god forbid Mistress Hunter came into her bedroom and found me that way. I knew I needed to be fully alert and anxious to please when she arrived at her chambers. Fortunately, with the Viagra still in my system, my erection showed no signs of diminishing.
Please Choose Me
Even so, I stroked myself from time to time, thinking how fortunate I would be if Mistress Hunter chose to use my cock for her pleasure this evening.
After waiting for what seemed like an hour, I realized I did have to go pee, so I pulled the zipper down and spread the liner, exposing an inset in the floor the size of a golf cup, with an extendable plastic hose inserted in the drain pipe. I pulled out the hose and pushed my penis into it, trying to relax and empty my bladder. Of course, as fate would have it, just then, Mistress Hunter walked in.
“So, are we trying out the plumbing, Mr. Green?” she said teasingly, no real malice in her voice, stepping up to the side of the cage.
She was still dressed in high stiletto heels and black leather.
I hastily retracted the head of my member from the tube and pushed the hose back down into the hole. Thank goodness, I hadn’t gotten a stream going or it might have been a disaster.
“No, stop! I want you to go, Mr. Green. Put your penis back inside the tube.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I replied, and hastily retrieved the hose from the recessed drainpipe. The hose had corrugations to make it flexible and extendible, and it flared out into a suitably sized receptacle at the open end. I pressed the head of my penis inside the hose end and knelt there frozen, unable to pee.
“Can’t seem to go, is it? Are we a little tense, Mr. Green?”
I nodded my head, eyes fixed on the black cage liner. “No . . . I mean, yes, Mistress.”
Time for A Little Chat
“I’m in no rush, Mr. Green. While we wait, let’s have a little chat about STDs, shall we?”
“Yes, Mistress.” In one of her first emails, she had instructed me to report to a pre-arranged clinic for testing. In the clinic I signed a release. I presumed they mailed her the results. I was certain they would be negative; I was never one to sleep around. I’ve had very few sexual partners, the last being my long-term girlfriend. Truth is, I was a nerd when it comes to dating. I presumed that if my test had shown any evidence of STDs, the interview process would have terminated.
“Have you had sexual contact with anyone since you took your tests, Mr. Green?”
“No, Mistress.” I corrected myself, “Except for just now, Mistress, the man in the dungeon.”
“Good. We’ll still use condoms and exercise safe sexual practices, Mr. Green. You can rest assured than I am clean and disease-free. My sexual toys and implements are sterilized between use.”
“Thank you, Mistress,” I replied. I knelt there, trying to release my bladder. My Viagra-maintained erection was so hard that I wondered if that’s what was blocking me.
“Take some slow, deep breaths, Mr. Green. Relax.”
I did as instructed, taking several deep breaths. Finally, a stream began, my urine flowing down the tube. It was humiliating, having Mistress Hunter watch me pee into a tube. I knew I would have to learn to jettison my pride and get used to the feeling . . . she owned me, body, mind and soul.
Owned; Body, Mind and Soul
Mistress Hunter watched silently as I pushed the pee tube back into the drain pipe and zipped up the cage liner, resuming my doggy position.
“Excellent, now I have to go,” she said.
I wasn’t quite sure what that meant. Was she going to leave me to go to her bathroom?
I saw her hand reach in front of me and she unlocked the padlock. The cage door swung open. “Come out, Mr. Green, follow me.”
I followed her on hands and knees into her bathroom.
“Over there, Mr. Green, to that odd-looking chair next to the bidet.”
I saw the porcelain bidet, and next to it, a stool-like chair with a high, upholstered red-leather back, almost like a throne. The frame was gold-plated, or painted gold, and highly polished. “Lay on your back and put your head on the pad under the opening, Mr. Green.”
Hope Your Ready
Oh, my god; now I realized what was coming. Could I do this? I knew I had to if I wanted to stay.
I rolled over and scooted rearward on my back until my head rested on the pad under the center of the gold-plated seat, an oval opening directly above me.
“Arms up, put your wrists through the restraints, Mr. Green.”
I hadn’t noticed them, but thick leather loops were attached on either side of the seat. I couldn’t see them but I could feel them, and I pushed my hands through. I felt Mistress Hunter cinch down the loops. A few seconds later, she put restraints on my ankles and cinched them tight, then snapped them to a spreader bar.
Next, she wrapped a broad leather belt around each thigh, just below my ass, and then snapped my ankles tight against my thighs, so that my knees were up, bracketing the front of the what I now understood to be a sort of toilet throne. I was immobilized underneath it.
I heard Mistress Hunter kick off her high heels, followed by the sound of a zipper. I caught a glimpse of her leather pants falling to the floor. A moment later, she sat down above me, her bare feet and legs bracketing my thighs. Through the hole above me, I looked up into the sacred privates of a Goddess.
She gave out the sigh of a woman settling down on her toilet after a long, grueling day.
She spoke down from above.
“As my slave, you will service me in any way I please, including this. Now . . . the other candidate, your competition, the gentleman you met earlier . . . well, to put it bluntly, he wasn’t able to receive this honor. He gagged and threw up. So instead, he got to suck your cock . . . how fortunate for you. You did seem to enjoy it, didn’t you, Mr. Green?”
Not my first choice, not my team, but there was no denying it.
“So, now it’s your turn. In time, you may be privileged to place your lips upon this holy temple, your place of worship. You will be allowed to pleasure me, and when I come, to drink my nectar, the ejaculate of my orgasms. But for now, you will be given the opportunity to drink my precious urine. If you cannot do this, you will become a cock sucker. Which one will it be, Mr. Green?”
So Which Will It Be?
Ah, this again . . . the metaphysics of the loaded questions. Which first, good news or bad? Whiskey neat or on the rocks? Drink Mistress Hunter’s bodily fluids or swallow a stranger’s cum?
Honestly, for me, it was an easy choice. Or so I thought . . .
The first time was the hardest. It was so much more difficult than simply telling myself not to choke or gag, to draw her stream into my mouth and let it flow down my throat . . . I had to drill down into the deepest part of my being, to find resolve I didn’t know existed, to surrender in a way I never imagined.
But I did it; I drank it all.
I know you are wondering. No, this was not a submission she demanded often of me. On the rare occasions that she did, I was honored. And yes, in time I acquired a taste for her precious golden wine.
Next: His Mistress’s Bed