The Last Submissive – Mistress Elisabeth Hunter (18)

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Mistress Hunter, The Femdom Drill Sergeant From Hell

The next morning, I woke to the peaceful sound of Mistress Hunter’s rhythmic breathing and the chirping of birds in the garden. It was a short-lived peace. When she woke, Mistress was on me like a drill sergeant from femdom hell. She climbed out of bed, unlocked the cage, snapped a leash to my collar, and half-led, half-dragged me unceremonious to her toilet throne.

Snapping her fingers, she pointed to the tile under the throne. “Get in position, slave.”I didn’t dare hesitate. I dropped to my stomach, flipped over on my back, and scooted under the throne. A moment later Mistress Hunter’s privates were exposed above me. Her voice floated down from above, “Mr. Green, you had the best swallow every drop.”

Mr. Green Makes Breakfast For The First Time

mistress hunterI opened wide just in time to catch her stream. Her urine was salty, and I fought to keep from gagging, wishing that I had been in a college fraternity and learned to chug down beer. Just as I was on the verge of retching, her flow ended. I took a deep breath, eyes watering. “Get out, slave. Go downstairs and make me some coffee and toast. If your darling Miss Lilly never instructed you, I like my coffee strong and black, my toast nearly burnt and dry.”

“Yes, Mistress.” I scrambled out from under her throne and escaped the bathroom on all fours. Once through the bedroom and into the hallway, I rose to my feet and fled downstairs to the kitchen. I had heard Miss Lilly grind and brew coffee dozens of times, but being on my hands and knees on the floor, I never actually watched her do it. How hard could it be to make coffee? Harder than I thought. After a panicked search for the beans and grinder, I eventually got the fancy Italian coffee machine loaded and percolating.

Next, I cut two slices from a multi-grain loaf and popped it in the toaster, pausing to watch the filaments turn orange. My thoughts turned to Lillian. Was she really locked in a cage like a farm animal? What had turned Mistress against her? What causes her fury? Had she planned to send Lillian to the farm all along or was this a way to keep us apart? Or something else?

Rushing To Put My Cock Cage On

I watched the bread brown, waiting until it was nearly burnt before I popped the lever. The slices jumped up and dropped back down before I could snatch them. I singed my fingers in the process of fishing them out of their slots, thinking that Lillian probably had wooden tongs somewhere for this purpose. It would take time to learn my way around the kitchen.

I found the serving tray and china and eventually got the continental breakfast assembled, tendrils of steam rising from the coffee urn. Heading up the stairs, being careful not to trip, I looked down and realized I didn’t have my cock cage on. I set the tray down and raced down the staircase to the basement and the mud room. The cock cage hung where I had left it last night, next to the shower stall, the key to the mini-padlock handing on a strand of twine below a peg.

Fortunately, there wasn’t an iota of arousal in me, only fear and trepidation for the punishment Mistress Hunter had in store for me this day, so the cage slipped on easily. I snapped the padlock in place and sprinted up the staircase to where I had put down the tray. Entering the bedroom, I caught a glimpse of Mistress Hunter seated in front of a mirror, applying makeup. Thinking I might have escaped her attention and hoping she wasn’t fuming over my glacially slow service, I quietly put the tray on the corner table and dropped into position, facing the door.

Mr.Green Won’t Be Going To Work Today

Apparently, she had eyes in the back of her head. “Pour me a cup of coffee and bring it with the toast, slave,” she ordered nonchalantly. I rose and poured her coffee, then carefully carried the steaming cup on a saucer and plate with toast into the bathroom placing them on the countertop. I quickly dropped down to the floor and assumed a submissive position, forearms on the floor and fingertips near her feet.

Above me, Mistress picked up the coffee cup and put it back down. I heard her take a bite into the toast, the sound of munching, then another cycle with the coffee cup . . . so far, so good, no complaints from Mistress. I must’ve gotten it right, I figured with relief.

After a few minutes, Mistress Hunter rose to her feet. “Mr. Green, you won’t be going in to work today,” she announced. “Go downstairs and put on a suit and tie; be ready to leave in ten minutes. Use the kitchen phone to call in your absence. You’ll find your clothing in Miss Lilly’s room.” “Yes, Mistress.” “You did well with breakfast—a little slow, but not bad for the first time—and I’m pleased you remembered your cock cage this morning. You may kiss my feet, slave, then get moving.”

Driving Mistress Hunter To Work

I kissed the tops of Mistress Hunter’s feet, grateful for what seemed like a reprieve. I backed away and crawled out of the bathroom. Once in the hallway, I rose to my feet, hustled downstairs, stopped in the kitchen to call in sick, then made my way to Lillian’s room, finding my clothing in her drawers and suits hanging in the closet. I hoped it was only a temporary arrangement.

Lillian had picked out a nice selection of suits for escorting Mistress Hunter’s various lady friends, including a black tuxedo, grey Armani suit with vest, various linen jacket and sport coat combinations, and a classic blue business suit. I chose the latter, matching it with a short-sleeved dress white shirt with a button-down collar, grey-and-red pinstriped tie, dark socks, and black loafers.

I drove Mistress Hunter to work in her Lexus, my first experience as her chauffeur. She worked on her phone in the twenty minutes it took to get to her office at L’Enfant Plaza, making a half-dozen calls. After parking in her reserved spot, we rode an elevator to the thirteenth floor. A guard buzzed us into the spacious, tastefully appointed lobby of Hunter Solutions, LLC.

Naked In Mistress Hunter’s Office

A comely receptionist wearing a striking two-piece tangerine suit greeted Ms. Hunter as we entered. I recognized her voice from my call to arrange for an interview, what now seemed like a lifetime ago. Mistress Hunter introduced me without explanation. Nice to meet you, Melony with the nerdy-but-sexy horn-rimmed glasses. As we walked down a hallway past numerous offices, all with open doors, I caught glimpses of well-dressed men and women already engrossed in work behind their desks.

The hallway terminated at Mistress Hunter’s expansive office. A huge mahogany desk dominated one corner. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered commanding views of downtown Washington, D.C. Mistress Hunter closed the door behind us. She took my hand, and with an expert twist of the wrist, spun me around so that I faced the door. “Strip your clothes off, Mr. Green,” she commanded.

The prospect of stripping off my clothing made me lightheaded, knowing there were dozens of people on the other side of the door, but I did as I was told. Soon my clothes were in a heap on the carpet and I was naked. Betraying any reservations I might have had; my cock was rock-hard. Mistress Hunter grabbed my ass and pushed me against the door. She pressed against my back and thrust a hand between my legs, grasping my cock, swollen between the steel rings of the cage.

My Place Next To Her Feet

“My, aren’t you aroused, Mr. Green,” she said in a husky voice. “You’re going to be absolutely still and silent today unless I tell you otherwise, pet. You’ll find your time here both entertaining and highly educational.” Her tone turned brisk. “There’s a closet in the corner. Go hang your suit and stack your clothing inside, then take your place under my desk . . . Move.”

“Yes, Mistress.” I snatched up my garments and carried them to the closet, a cedar-paneled walk-in behind mirrored sliding doors next to the entrance of her private bathroom. There were numerous dresses hanging inside, and a substantial collection of high-heeled shoes arrayed on custom shelves. I hung my shirt and suit, placed the shoes on the floor, and put my underclothes in an empty drawer.

As I finished and slid the closet doors back together, I heard Mistress Hunter speak into her intercom. “Mel, bring me the Packard file and some coffee, please.” “Yes, Ms. Hunter,” I remembered to get on my hands and knees and crawl across the plush carpet around to the back of the desk. Mistress Hunter was already seated, her high heels kicked off. She pushed her chair back and pointed under the desk with a snap of her fingers. “Get in your place, slave.”

I crawled into the footwell, which was just big enough for me to turn around to face the opening. Mistress Hunter returned her chair to a working position against the desktop. My face was now inches from her feet, her legs sheathed in a dark, cross-hatched hose and crossed at the ankles. My brain was addled, circuits overloaded by the mind-blowing circumstances—here I was in the office of a powerful businesswoman, naked, crouched on hands and knees at her feet.

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The Last Submissive – Mistress Elisabeth Hunter (17)

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