The Last Submissive – Mistress Elisabeth Hunter (8)

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When she had finished, Mistress Hunter left me shackled underneath her throne and started the water of her bath. Before long, the bathroom filled with steam. From my vantage, I could see the ornate feet of a vintage claw-foot bathtub. I saw her bare feet, then heard her settle into the tub with a sigh. She bathed thirty minutes in silence, with only the occasional sound of her shifting about in the tub, water sloshing.

My stomach gurgled a little, processing its unfamiliar contents, but otherwise, I felt fine. Mostly, I wished I were kneeling by the side of the tub, scrubbing Mistress Hunter’s exquisite body. Perhaps an intimacy for the future, if I became her full-time slave.

Bath Hour


When she had finished her bath, I saw Mistress Hunter’s feet land on the tile floor next to the tub, then heard water draining. I imagined her toweling off. I caught glimpses of her feet moving about, heard water running at a sink, the brushing of teeth. After Mistress Hunter had finished her feminine ablutions, she padded over to me. The hem of her white cotton bathroom was just visible.

“I’m going to release you now, Mr. Green. Wait until I’ve left the bathroom, then get up and take a shower. Dry off and then come into the bedroom, crawl to the side of the bed and assume a position on your knees, with your hands crossed behind your back and eyes cast down. You’ll find a toothbrush, toothpaste and floss on the vanity; do brush and floss before you come to me. Understood?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She unshackled my wrists and freed the restraints around my thighs and ankles, then padded out of the bathroom, into her bedroom. I waited a minute, then shimmied from underneath the throne. I rose to my feet, a little stiff and unsteady, had to pause briefly to let a mild bout of head-rush pass.

The bathroom was well-equipped, with the tub and a two-basin vanity, and a spacious, glass-walled shower occupying one corner. Inside, the shower featured three different heads. I turned them all on and enjoyed hot spray coming at me from unusual angles. I could’ve stayed in there thirty minutes, but cut it short after five and quickly toweled off. I cleaned my teeth and rinsed, then made my way to the bedroom door. I dropped to my hands and knees, pushed through the door and crawled across the bedroom floor to the side of the bed, then assumed the instructed position, my eyes cast down.

Assume the Position

Candlelight threw flickering shadows on the Persian rug under my knees. I heard a patting sound. “Close your eyes and climb up on the mattress, Mister Green. Lie on your back.”

I did as she instructed, lying back on cool sheets with a thread count fit for royalty.

“Move this way,” said Mistress Hunter, grabbing my still-hard cock like it was a handle, tugging me toward the center of the bed. I lifted up on my elbows and shifted over, keeping my eyes squeezed shut, not about to risk eye contact. I felt her swing a leg over my stomach, then her legs bracketing my torso. As her weight settled down on me, I processed the thrilling recognition of her bare flesh pressed against my own.

Bare Flesh

I couldn’t help but think about what Miss Lilly had told me. I felt like she had slipped me an ace card. With this unfolding hand Mistress Hunter was dealing, it seemed I’d get the opportunity to use it.

Mistress Hunter placed a blindfold over my eyes and adjusted elastic straps behind my head. “There’s no need to grimace, Mr. Green; it mars your handsome face.”

She was right; I realized that by squeezing my eyes firmly shut, I was scrunching my features, creating furrows across my forehead. I relaxed my face, cautiously opening my eyes as she centered the mask on my nose and shifted it down against my cheekbones. Through the black silk fabric, I could make out her feminine silhouette crouched over me, backlit by flickering candlelight.

Spread Them to be Shackled


“Now Mr. Hunter, I want you to spread your arms to the corners of the bed, and keep them there. Consider your wrists are held by shackles. Same for your legs, spread them so that your ankles are at the corners of the mattress. Again, you will consider them held by shackles. No matter what, you are to remain spread-eagled.” As she said this, Mistress Hunter stroked my erect cock. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I choked out, spreading my arms and legs to the corners of the bed.

She continued, “Now, having been drained recently, I doubt it’s possible, but if you do feel you are nearing a climax, you will inform me immediately, Mr. Green. If you ever cum without permission, you will receive the severest punishment . . . and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”


“No, Mistress,” I gasped, my cock now rigid as a flagpole. She placed a condom on it and rolled it down the shaft. “This has a mild numbing agent that will help you control your impulses, Mr. Green,” she said. “And remember—your cock no longer belongs to you. It exists strictly for my pleasure.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I replied, thinking that while it might belong to her, it was still attached to me, and given the circumstances, that would actually be a huge problem, knowing I’d have to struggle to fight off the climax that I sensed lurking deep in my loins.

I could see some of her body through a crack at the bottom of the mask. Her stomach was as flat as a pole dancer’s, the belly button taut, pierced with a silver ring.

Pierced by a Silver Ring

The ring disappeared out of view as she rose up, then I felt her position herself on my shaft and slowly sink down, taking me inside her body, slowly settling on my shaft until I saw the ring come back in view and felt her full weight resting on my crouch. It was exquisite. I couldn’t believe my incredible good fortune: THE Mistress Hunter was riding my cock. I never imagined this great honor so soon . . . certainly not during this trial period.

She began grinding against me, her hips making a circular motion, her breath deepening, sounding sexy as hell. She leaned forward and put her palms on my chest, fingernails digging into the flesh just above my nipples. It was not painful, but the precursor of pain, like when a cat kneads your thighs and you can just feel the tips of its claws digging through your jeans and into your skin.

Just Breathe

I was beginning to breath hard, fighting the impulse to bring my arms in and take her flanks in my hand, to pull her breasts to my lips. Now it began to dawn upon me just how cruel a test this actually was. She was fucking me without physical restraints, testing the limits of my self-control.

“Mr. Green, she said in a low, guttural voice between accelerating breaths, “do you know why I’m allowing you this great honor, the privilege of your Mistress allowing your cock inside her?”

I really didn’t know, but I ventured a guess, “Because it pleases you, Mistress?”

“Because it pleased me that you drank all that I offered you earlier, my sweet boy.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Would you like to earn the privilege of casting your eyes upon me while I fuck you, slave?”


She had never called me slave, before, always ‘Mr. Green.’ I felt a surge of elation. Clearly, I was making progress, hopefully outdistancing the other candidate. Of course, I would like to cast my eyes on her! “Anything, Mistress,” I moaned, “I’ll do anything you say.”

“Oh, dear Mr. Green, you want to be my slave so badly, don’t you, you’d really do anything?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I answered emphatically. “Anything.”

All this time she was rising and falling on my shaft, her hips gyrating, her breath quickening. I sensed she was growing increasingly aroused, perhaps close to a climax. “All right then, the condition is that you’ll have to agree to accept my brand on your body, Mr. Green. You’ll be branded as my possession.”


With those words, ten-thousand amps of electric current poured into my body; every nerve jangled on overload. I had just said I would do ‘anything,’ and she had called my bluff. ‘Anything’ included being branded. Did Mistress Hunter’s brand constitute permanent disfigurement or a badge of honor?

I was up against a hard limit and my brain was overloaded. I was too far gone to say no; I would have said yes to anything at this point. My body writhed with pleasure on Mistress Hunter’s bed; I desperately wanted to see her, and now I felt a powerful orgasm welling up in my body.

Clearly reading my hopeless condition, Mistress Hunter sweetened the deal beyond any possible resistance, “Perhaps I’ll even let you cum, Mr. Green, would you like that?”

“Oh, yes, Mistress, yes,” I replied between breaths, “yes, please, please.”

Yes Mistress

“Then you agree to accept my brand, Mr. Green? It’s a real brand, it will be seared into your flesh; it’s going to hurt a great deal. It’s permanent. Do you understand?”

It didn’t matter any longer; pain or permanent mark, I didn’t care. I wanted to be this woman’s slave, I wanted her mark. I wanted her to own me, body and soul. Her mark would seal the deal.

“Yes, Mistress, I accept. Please let me see you, please let me cum.”

“Very well then.” Her gyrations eased for a moment and I felt her hand grasp the corner of my eye mask, with one sweep she pulled it clear of my face. She was more beautiful than I could have possibly imagined, a mane of red hair swept across one shoulder, her face ablaze with pleasure, beautifully tapered torso, flat belly with muscles rippling under taut flesh, her breasts two perfect globes dangling over me, begging me to lift up and draw the nipples to my lips.

Such a Beautiful Mistress

“Oh . . . my . . . God,” I sputtered. “You are so beautiful, Mistress.”

She smiled a Cheshire grin but said nothing, resuming her motion, her hips circling in a rhythmic gyration with each rise and fall of her body. The exquisite sight of her pushed me that much closer to the edge; I knew I had to start begging now before it was too late to ask permission. “Please, Mistress, I beg of you, please let me cum,” I pleaded.

Her eyes flared wide and she locked my gaze. “No, Mr. Green, you may not,” she replied.

With those words, she broke eye contact and closed her eyes, going inward, pleasuring herself on my shaft. I tucked my chin and set my gaze on her shellacked red nails, focusing on the pain welling from my chest, trying to block the orgasm rising inside me, rising like molten lava in a volcano.



I gritted my teeth and tried to focus on my breath . . . anything to distract myself. I was failing.

Unable to resist, I looked up and took in the sight of the Goddess riding my manhood, a vision which only inspired awe and boundless worship. With a shock of recognition, I saw that her head was thrown back, her breasts bouncing with each rise and fall of her body. As if by their own will, my arms broke free of their imaginary shackles and my hands found her breasts, fingertips alighting on her nipples.

I caressed Mistress Hunter’s erect nipples with the lightest possible touch, flicking and twirling them between the pads of my thumbs and fingertips. She moaned with deep pleasure, either oblivious or a willing party to my transgression, I couldn’t tell which. Her eyes remained shut. I heard a low animal sound rising up in her chest.

Nipple Play

I began flicking her nipples, now hard as stone. In response, her nails cut my flesh like sharp knives, a searing pain that momentarily distracted me from my impending orgasm.

Suddenly, Mistress Hunter’s body arched up violently. A sharp sound escaped her lips, something like the snarl of a panther. I watched a powerful orgasm ripple through her body. The sight ended my last vestige of self-control. Hard spurts of a powerful orgasm coursed up from my loins, shooting out the shaft of my cock. I shifted my hands and drew Mistress Hunter down against my chest. Aftershocks of pleasure rippled through our fused bodies. Unconsciously, my right hand caressed the nape of her neck. For one glorious moment, it felt as if we were lovers, coming down from a shared climax.


Mistress Hunter put that thought to an end by taking my wrists in her hands and spreading them out to the corners of the bed. She lifted herself up and gazed down on me, a mirthful but stern expression on her face. “Mister Green, you have been a bad boy. And it would seem you have a friend in court.”

I looked up at her, feeling a little terrified. For one thing, I hadn’t asked her permission to orgasm. For another, I was pretty sure she was referring to Miss Lilly. “Yes, Mistress.”

“‘Yes, Mistress,’ what? You’ve been bad or you have a friend under my roof?”

“I’ve been a bad boy, Mistress. I came without asking your permission. But it happened so—”

Permission is ALWAY Needed

She put her hand over my mouth. “Shush, Mr. Green, I know you came too fast to ask permission, and I know Miss Lilly is fond of you. You were at the top of her list from the beginning. I venture she couldn’t resist giving you a little inside information. She will be punished, and so will you.”

I couldn’t reply with her hand over my mouth, so I nodded my head.

“Don’t look so frightened, Mr. Green. I enjoyed myself with you, and I’m a fair Mistress. To reward you for my pleasure, I’m going to let you drink from me again.” And with that, she rose off my shaft and placed her cunt over my mouth.

For the second time that night, I drank the sweet juices of Mistress Hunter. Only this time, it did not take an act of will, no deep reservoirs of self-control involved. I hungrily swallowed every drop.

Next: Branded


The Last Submissive – Mistress Elisabeth Hunter (7)

Passionate Letter to My Goddess, My Mistress, My Life – A True Slave Experience (4)


2 thoughts on “The Last Submissive – Mistress Elisabeth Hunter (8)”

  1. Test limits of self control using no physical but imaginary restrains.
    Mild numbing agent that helps control the impulses to climax.

  2. J’ai lu plusieurs histoires BDSM mais celle ci sort du lot, certainement une acceptation de son état de soumis et un désir d’apprendre et s’améliorer tout ça pour une maîtresse que je trouve *parfaitf*

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