Rebecca Rules – I
Saturday, January 11, 2015 (Part 1)
In my first diary entry, I wrote that the day I first put on the cock cage was the first time I felt like Mistress Vanessa’s slave. Yesterday was a day like that, a turning point, the first time I knew that Mistress Vanessa truly thinks of me as a slave. Over breakfast, she informed me that she was loaning me to Mistress Rebecca for the day. She instructed me to write a detailed account in this diary for her to read on Sunday. I’m writing in my cage by flashlight, Saturday night.
After breakfast, she led me by the leash out into the January cold, stark naked, in broad daylight, crawling on hands and knees to her Civic, which she had backed up to the gate, She opened the trunk and ordered me to get in, on my stomach, She hog-tied my arms and legs behind my back and stuck a ball gag in my mouth. I was already wearing the cock cage. There was one other touch; lately she has taken to making me wear a butt-plug, she says to remind me of her cock up my ass. She no longer lets me have intercourse, she only fucks me with her strap-on. That, or she rides my face, her favorite dildo mounted on the face harness. The only time I’m allowed to cum anymore is Sunday mornings, after a spanking for my weekly infractions, If I keep it under 12 infractions, she lets me masturbate and cum into my dog dish, then makes me lap it up.
When we started this, I had no idea how much I would give up to gain a Mistress. Fantasies of female domination are one thing, but if you live them out (and I consider myself fortunate to so so), the irony is that you end up horny day and night, you hardly ever get to cum and you may never put your cock in a woman again. Instead, she puts her cock in you. You’ve begged her to treat you like a slave, and when she does, in time she comes to think of you as her slave, not a boyfriend or lover. You become her pet, her slut, her fuck toy. And as humiliating as all this is, you find yourself loving it, wanting nothing more than to please her, accepting whatever she chooses . . . including choosing other lovers.
Mistress Rebecca
Specifically, Mistress Rebecca, her boss and mentor, fortyish, very beautiful, and as it turns out, with long experience with BDSM. At least it’s not a man. I think about that a lot, what if she took a male lover? We never discussed that, it wasn’t written in our contract, but the contract permits all things without restriction. I don’t know what I would do. It would be devastating. I think I might have to call it quits if there was another man in her life. Because in the end, when our contract expires and we decide about marriage, I want to be her man, the father of her children. Yes, I want to be her lifetime slave, and if the price of that is serving another Mistress whom she loves, I think I could live with that because after all, it’s a Mistress – a sacred goddess – not some guy off the street,
I know about cuckolding, how when a Mistress turns a man into her slave, she’s unable to think of him as her equal anymore, she can’t allow him the privilege of being her lover because he is now less than a man, he’s only a slave, so she finds male lovers. I hope and pray this doesn’t become the case with me and my Mistress. I would like to think that in due time, I can prove my devotion and earn my way back as her lover. To me, cuckolding makes more sense when a Mistress takes an older slave, as Mistress Rebecca has done with Hamilton, Maybe he can’t satisfy her the way a younger guy can. Maybe it’s just their deal, it excites him. But for me, someone close to the same age or even younger, as I am with Vanessa, Mistress, especially if you are going to have kids, it seems to me that . . .
Honestly, I don’t know what I think, I adore her, I love being her slave, I guess she could do whatever she wanted and I would probably accept it, as long as I remained in her life. What does that say about me? What have I become? Some worthless slut, or a man? Is a slave something in between? Is there honor in absolute devotion to a goddess, a woman divine, trusting her to do what’s best for her and accept her terms, whatever they might be? If she took a male lover, would I really call it quits? Or is being her slave more important to me than my male ego?
I don’t know. I guess I’ll know if it happens. I do know that I want to be the father of her children. I want to be with her when she has the baby, I want to change diapers, I want to push our kid in the stroller and on the swing set, I want to go to school plays. I want to go to Little League games. I’m a nut case. She can have a male lover but I insist on raising the kids? Really?
The Future
All these thoughts were running through my head as the Civic bumped along the winter streets of Charlottesville. It was normally a 20-minute drive to Mistress Rebecca’s house, except we stopped on the way, Mistress Vanessa left me in the trunk and locked the car, with a beep for the car alarm. That made me feel a little better about not being car-jacked. It was a busy Saturday morning and I could hear car doors opening and closing, voices of people walking by, the normal sounds of a suburban shopping plaza, only there I was, a naked, collared slave, hog-tied in the trunk. Nothing more than property. The feeling only deepened as I waited for what seemed like an hour. I started to shiver. Eventually, I heard the door locks click, felt a moment of panic, fearing it was some stranger who happened to have the same key code. The trunk opened. “Hello, slave,” I heard Mistress’s voice.
Oh, my god, sunlight pouring into the open trunk, I was totally exposed in a public place, it was insane. I prayed Mistress had waited until there was no one nearby. She put some bags in the trunk by my feet. The situation hit me hard: I knew I was more than a car sack, but still, I had become a possession, property, something she stored in a trunk, a slave to dispose of or loan out as she pleased. And this was before we even got to Mistress Rebecca’s house.
There’s a two-car garage behind Mistress Rebecca’s house, accessed via a private alley with an electronic gate. I heard Mistress Vanessa pull up, open the car window and talk into the intercom. “We’re here, special delivery.” A metallic reply. I heard the gate hinge creak and we moved forward, wheels crunching on gravel. We stopped, I heard a garage door open, we moved forward, and then the door closed. I heard a side door open and close. The trunk popped open. I had that feeling on the back of your neck, eyes gazing down on me. The front door opened. I heard Mistress get out and her heels click as she walked around the car to join (I presumed) Mistress Rebecca at the trunk.
The Keys
“Here are his keys,” I heard Mistress say.” Those are your groceries. Sorry I took so long; Whole Foods was packed; the lines were a nightmare. I hope Hamilton’s mother is doing better.”
“She’ll be in the hospital a few more days, but Hamilton says she’s feeling much better,”
Hearing that exchange explained a lot. I was relieved; I don’t know how I would have handled being naked in front of another man, even if he was Mistress Rebecca’s slave, That thought had only occurred to me as we approached the house, and it freaked me out. I don’t have a shred of attraction for members of my own sex. I adore women. For me, at the heart of being a slave is goddess worship. If that wasn’t at the core of it, I wouldn’t have the slightest interest in being a slave. It’s all about women. Which begs the question, what if a Mistress has a stable of male slaves and you’re one of them? I was glad I wouldn’t have to deal with that issue today.
I got a glimpse of Mistress Rebecca out the corner of my eye; she was dressed more casually than I had seen her before, a sweatshirt and leggings, platinum blonde hair in a ponytail. I felt Mistress Vanessa unlocking my restraints. She unshackled the ball gag. “Get out, slave,” she ordered. My muscles were cramped and it took a second to climb out of the trunk. I kept my eyes down and got on my knees, not quite sure of which feet to face. Mistress Vanessa was wearing boots; Mistress Rebecca, stylish athletic shoes. Until I heard otherwise, I assumed I was under Mistress Vanessa’s authority. I turned and faced the boots. Good thing, because just then she snapped the leash to my collar.
“Here you go, he’s all yours for the day. Would you like help with the groceries?” Mistress said, handing the leash to Mistress Rebecca.
No, I’ll have your slave carry them in.” I felt a sharp tug on my collar. “Stand up, slave, get the grocery bags.” I clambered to my feet and collected the bags from the trunk. Four brown paper bags filled my arms. Mistress Vanessa caught my eye as I turned. “Daniel Simon, you are now Mistress Rebecca’s slave. You will obey her every command. If she is displeased, she may punish you as she sees fit. If she desires, you will submit your body for her pleasure. The only restriction is the one you already know—you may not orgasm under any circumstances. Is that understood?”
I understood, but I didn’t like it. Christmas Eve, that night of our threesome in the dungeon, Mistress Rebecca had proven a harsh lover. She fucked my ass hard, with none of the gentleness of Mistress Vanessa. It was a night I’ll never forget. My rear end was sore for a week.
“Yes Mistress, I replied, exchanging a brief but meaningful look before lowering my eyes.
Mistress Rebecca jerked my collar and led me away. As we walked into her house, I heard the Civic back out of the garage, wheels on gravel as the car rolled away. I felt abandoned, I dreaded what Mistress Rebecca had in store for me. Not that I’ve been in the military, but I imagine that’s what the first day of boot camp feels like. Anyway, I promised Mistress I would record everything that happened in detail, without editing. So here goes:
Assume the position
The first thing Mistress Rebecca did was put me on my hands and knees on her kitchen floor and explain her rules. Nothing too different from Mistress Vanessa, except she said she was “old school” and that I was to acknowledge her and respond to orders with a simple, “Yes, Ma’am.” I suppose it is one less syllable. That, or she just liked the sound of it.
She informed me she preferred to contain my cock with a leather restraint instead of a cock cage. She ordered me to stand up with my hands behind my head. She unlocked the cage and with some difficulty pulled it off. Fortunately, my cock stayed attached. What I thought she had in mind was a leather jock strap or bikini pouch, but she had something entirely different in mind.
She produced a six-foot length of leather cord, and proceeded to expertly coil it around my scrotum, forming a tightly wound leather tube, so that my balls were squeezed into a tight sac at the end of the tube, about three inches from my groin. A single cord cut across the middle, so each ball was a separate hemisphere. The skin was as tight as a drum. She continued to wind the cord around my shaft, up to below the head, tying a knot there and running the free end up and tying it to my collar. When she was done, my dick was standing straight up and my balls stuck straight out.
I admit this was quite arousing and kinky, until she produced a slender rattan cane from a kitchen drawer. She grasped the suede handle and smacked the rod against her palm.
“This looks rather innocuous, slave, but you will soon learn to dread it. Let me show you why.” In the blink of an eye she flicked the cane sharply against my balls. I doubled over in excruciating pain. While I was bent over, she snapped it against my ass. It felt like a hot wire on my skin.
“I expect perfect obedience, slave, and this is my favorite instrument to get it,” she said, flipping the cane and pushing the handle into my mouth. “Not very heavy, is it?” It was only a few ounces. “Hold it like that while I put away the groceries. Just stand there, keep your eyes on the floor.”
Stay!
I stood motionless for ten minutes with the cane sticking out of my mouth, keeping my eyes cast down while Mistress Rebecca put her groceries away. It got increasingly difficult to keep the handle in mouth, but I dared not let it fall. Finally, she was done. She stepped in front of me and removed the cane, wiping the handle on the cheeks of my face. She jerked the leash down.
I dropped to my hands and knees. She led me into the dining room, a large room with a crystal chandelier where we had enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner. The table was polished walnut, with heavy legs, big enough to sit a party of twelve. Tall paned windows filled two walls, with views on the garden and the street. “You will be cleaning house today, slave, starting with this room, then working your way clockwise back to the kitchen. In each room, start from the highest point, dusting, then work your way down, cleaning every lamp and light fixture, polishing every piece of furniture, mopping the floors, vacuuming the throw rugs. If you finish on this floor, and I doubt you will, start on the second floor. There is a ladder and all the cleaning supplies you need in the storage room directly across the hall. Pay especial attention to the bathrooms. I expect every toilet to shine.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“I’m leaving for the gym and won’t be back for several hours, so you’ll be alone here in the house. There are cameras everywhere linked to the Internet, and I can check on you with at any time, so don’t let me catch you lollygagging. If you need to use the bathroom, use the servant bathroom on the second floor, it’s behind the gray door at the end of the hall. And one other thing— “she whipped the rattan cane across my ass with a stinging blow “—that’s what you can expect for every missed spot or speck of dirt, so I’d encourage you to be fastidious in your cleaning.”
“Yes Ma’am,” I promised, still wincing from the sting of the cane. Holy shit, spanking was a love pat compared to that wicked little rod. Mistress Rebecca unclipped my leash and strode out of the dining room. I crawled out into the hallway to find my cleaning supplies. By the time I emerged from the storage room with ladder, bucket, cleaners, etc., she was gone with a slam of the kitchen door. The leather cord around my cock already chaffed. I wondered how I would survive this day. I didn’t know which was worse, the tedium of cleaning an entire house or the sting of Mistress Rebecca’s rattan cane.
My hand is cramping and the flashlight is almost dead. I’ll finish at first light.
Next: Rebecca Rules – II
