Our first stop was the local pet store, where I picked out a black leather leash while Danny watched. I had him pay for it out of his allowance, $12 plus tax, leaving him with $27 and change for the week. Next stop, Danny’s apartment, where I ordered him to strip and get in position. I collared him and let him kiss my feet. Then I snapped on the leash. “Okay, pet, be a good boy and lead me to your files.”
On hands and knees, Danny crawled to the hall closet, me following behind, keeping the leash short so he could feel it tug on his collar. At the closet door, he reached up and turned the knob and opened the door. He reached inside and pulled out a cardboard file carton. “My files are in here, Mistress.”
“Good boy, now push the box to the dining room table.”
Danny grasped the carton and crawled, pushing the box ahead of him into the dining room.
“Put it on the table, pet.” Danny lifted up on his knees and put the box on the table. “Now get in position at my feet while I go through your files, pet.”
Danny took his place to my right. I pulled out a stack of manila folders labeled “apartment,” “bank,” “cable TV,” “cell phone,” “insurance,” “mastercard,” “tax,” “truck,” “visa,” “work,” and so forth. I started with the apartment file. Danny was paying $850 per month in rent for his apartment, plus approximately $150 per month for electric, gas and water. Unless there was a missing document, it appeared his lease had expired. “This expired in August. Do you have a new lease, pet?”
“So you’re renting month-to-month?”
“Rick said he’d come by with the new lease, but he never did, Mistress.” Rick was the apartment manager and played on Danny’s men’s league softball team. He was one of the Monday Night Football regulars. He was a slacker, and now I was glad for it.
I moved on to the bank folder. Danny banked with a competitor. Looking at his statements, I saw his paycheck was deposited directly into his account, $1320 every two weeks, $2640 a month after taxes. Knowing how hard he worked, I was bothered by his underwhelming income.
Next folder. Danny paid $95 per month for cable internet/TV and $125 per month for his cell phone. On to insurance. Danny had no life insurance policy; the folder was for his auto insurance. The F-100 was insured for $8000. Collision, liability and medical coverage cost him a hefty $1300 per year.
“Why is your car insurance so high, pet?”
“I totaled my previous truck the summer before I met you, Mistress.”
This was news to me. “And you were at fault?”
“I slid into a tree at night after veering from a deer.”
“Well that’s not your fault. Why did they raise your insurance rates?”
“The police report said I was speeding. I got ticketed for failure to maintain control.”
“And were you speeding?”
“I guess so, Mistress.”
I jerked Danny’s leash. “No ‘guess so,’ slave. “Were you speeding or not?”
Danny lowered his head. “Yes, I was speeding, Mistress.”
I went through the credit card folders. Danny was carrying a balance of $1252 on the MasterCard and $4650 on the Visa. He was making the minimum, interest-only payments on both, about $500 per month combined. The interest rates were 17.5% on both cards. I was aghast. “Slave, I’m looking at your credit card statements . . . is this correct, you owe nearly six thousand dollars on your cards?”
Reluctantly, “Yes, Mistress.”
“And you’re making minimum payments each month on both?”
“I am not pleased, slave,” I fumed. “This is disappointing . . . you’ve been irresponsible.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Danny abjectly acknowledged.
I opened the folder labeled ‘truck,’ dreading I’d find a loan with more monthly payments. Inside was the title, no loan papers. “How is it you have clear title to your truck, slave?”
Danny explained, “I got six thousand dollars from the insurance company for my truck, and I had three thousand in savings. I paid cash for the F-100.”
“I see. How did you rack up so much credit card debt, then?”
“Originally it was for furniture and the TV. Then the trip we took last February to Cancun, Mistress. And for dinners out, and the concerts we went to last summer. Things like that.”
“Things like that,” I repeated, feeling a little guilty for letting Danny pay for our first big trip together to Mexico, and the concerts. He had insisted on treating, and being the ever-frugal girl, I had let him. Had I known he was putting the trip and concerts on high-rate credit cards, I would have balked.
The work folder was filled with Danny’s pay stubs. He earned $21.50 an hour, 40 hours per week. “You don’t get paid overtime when you work late, slave?”
This news upset me even more. The shop was taking advantage of Danny. He should get overtime when he worked past five, which I knew was frequently. I pushed back my chair. “Stay, pet.”
I went into the kitchen and found a pencil and calculator in the junk drawer. I poured myself a glass of water. I returned to the dining room table. I was about to sit, but instead returned to the kitchen, filled a bowl with water and brought it back, setting it under Danny’s nose. “We’re going to be here a while, pet. Drink if you get thirsty.”
“Thank you, Mistress.”
I did my calculations on the back of a file folder. It didn’t take that long, about twenty minutes to devise a short-term financial plan. Danny wasn’t going to like it, but too bad, he brought it on himself. “Slave, you have been quite irresponsible with your finances,” I admonished him.
“I’ve devised a plan to get you out of debt. It will be quite painful.”
Silence. I think Danny knew his life was about to change. Radically.
“I want you to listen carefully, slave. You’re moving out of your apartment immediately. Give Rick notice today. You’ll move in with me. You’ll pay five hundred dollars a month in rent and three hundred dollars for your share of food and utilities. Your paycheck will go directly to an account I’ll set up at my bank. From your income I’ll take out your room and board and pay down the credit card balances. Once you are out of debt, I’ll put any extra in a savings account. Understood?”
Long pause. “Yes, Mistress.”
Without thinking, I reared my right hand back and swung it down on the left cheek of Danny’s ass. His body jerked in surprise and he let out a guttural yelp. The blow left a red, hand-sized mark. I swung again, this time on the right check, even harder. Another jerk of the body and this time a choked, primal grunt. Another hand-shaped red mark. No words were exchanged; I was beyond words. I didn’t have to explain my anger. After all, his ass was mine now. My hand stung, but I felt better. I stood up and put the file folders back in the box. I jerked on my slave’s leash. “Come, pet. We have errands to do.”
The girls at the bank fawned over Danny and teased him into admitting he had sent the roses. I took pleasure in the thought of the cage locked around my slave’s manhood. Look all you want, girls, I own this hunk: cock, stock and barrel. When I set up the joint bank account in Danny’s name and mine, my boss and best friend Rebecca, the bank manager, assumed that meant we had become a couple and were joining finances. I made no effort to correct her, because after all, that was pretty much the case. Only in this case, I was taking over Danny’s finances entirely. His ass and his money were mine.
Next to city hall. The parking fine was $30, so that left my slave with $25 of his $40 allowance to live on for the rest of the week. He’d be eating bag lunches from here on out.
Our last stop was the DMV office, where I took possession of Danny’s truck for $1 and other valuable considerations. With clear title in hand, I filed for a vanity plate: “HER-F100.”
Starting tomorrow, Danny would be riding a bicycle to work. Back home, while he went to the tool shed to pump up the tires of my bike and lubricate the chain, I called my insurance company and put the truck on my policy. It was $595 per year, but totally worth it—I had always wanted a truck of my own.
That night Danny slept on the floor of the basement, collared and short-leashed to the pole. It’s cold and damp in the basement and I kept my slave naked, so I gave him a one-inch thick yoga mat to lay on the concrete and a comforter to wrap around his body. Before I went upstairs I ordered Danny into position. I knelt down on one knee next to him and stroked his back, then slipped my hand down the crack of his ass to his balls, circling my thumb and forefinger around his scrotum and gradually tugging his balls away from the collar of his cock cage until I was able to collect them in my fist.
“Who owns your balls, slave?” I murmured into Danny’s ear, stroking his neck with my left hand while I tugged downward with my right.
“You do, Mistress,” he gasped.
“And who owns your money now, slave?”
“You do, Mistress,” Danny acknowledged.
“And who owns your truck, slave?”
I think this was the hardest one of all. “You do, Mistress.”
“What do you own now, slave?”
Silence as Danny pondered the reality of his new existence.
I tugged down harder, making his lower back sag. “What do you own now, slave?” I demanded.
I squeezed his balls together like big marbles, making him squirm. “That’s right, slave” I hissed softly into his ear. “I own your balls, I own your body, I own your money, and I own your truck. You own nothing; you are mine to do with as I please. Isn’t that right?” I gave a sharp downward jerk.
Danny writhed in pain. “Yes, Mistress,” he gasped.
I released his balls and rose to my feet. I wore pink slippers. “You may kiss my feet, slave.”
Danny dropped his head and began kissing my pretty toes. “You’ll be sleeping here until further notice, slave,” I informed him. “If you perform well, in time I’ll consider moving you upstairs and let you have the privilege of sleeping at the foot of my bed. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, slave?”
“Very much, Mistress,” Danny agreed, pausing between kisses.
I looked down at him, thinking how much I would miss having him to spoon in bed. This would be hard on me, too. I looked wistfully at his sculpted body. What strange madness that the man I loved would sleep on the cold, hard basement floor tonight while I slept directly above him in my soft, warm bed. But this was what he needed most. I knew it in my mind, but my heart cried out.
Next Episode: His Mistress’s Sex Life
2 thoughts on “The Reluctant Mistress and Her Unexpected Transition – Part 12”
Love to have a Ms like this.
Truly a beautiful women.
Heckuva good job. I sure appreciate it.
Comments are closed.