The Reluctant Mistress and Her Unexpected Transition – Part 8
Mistress: As I may have mentioned in passing, the cab of Danny’s truck was filthy. After we raked and bagged the leaves, that was next on my list. I sent him out to the driveway with a soap-filled bucket, sponges, scrub brushes, wash rags, cleanser, Formula 409, cloth towels, roll of paper towel and his cell phone.
“Text me when you’re ready for an inspection,” I told him.
He fingered his collar. “May I take this off, Mistress?”
I told him no, his cab was so filthy he deserved to be humiliated. He’d just have to deal with it if one of the neighbors came over to say hello. Danny wasn’t happy about that, but he didn’t argue.
While he cleaned the cab of his truck, I went inside, opened the laptop, caught up on email and did some more BDSM reading. It’s amazing the resources available now. And the communities that have sprung up in every city, it’s almost mainstream. But for me, this was a private affair, between me and Danny. I suppose if he took up skydiving, I’d probably give it a try. Who knows, maybe I’d love that too.
I knew I had a lot to learn. One question I really wanted answered was how could I get feedback from my submissive without relinquishing control. If you asked your slave how it was going, it seemed to me you were at risk of undermining your own authority, letting him “top from the bottom.” What were the right questions to ask your slave and how did you ask them and not show weakness? I knew I wasn’t the first to be asking these questions, so I went ahead and ordered three of the best-reviewed books on the subject: The Mistress Manual, The Hesitant Mistress, and The Sexually Dominant Woman.
In the meantime, I decided to make my own BDSM survey, and hand it to Danny to fill out, as if it were something I had found on the internet. It would have “tell your Mistress” and “list your fantasies” sections and a “kink interest” checklist. That way he would not be put on the spot, he could answer my questions as if someone else were asking them. The survey would serve as a kind of intermediary, giving us a degree of separation. Danny would be free to write whatever he pleased; I would read and know his deepest desires and be free to act on them, or not, without obligation. I stayed in control.
If you are wondering, yes, I got Straight-A’s in high school and college. Smart, sexy and nerdy.
I was 15 minutes into the “Mistress/slave Survey” project and getting into it when the phone dinged with an incoming text. It read, “Ready for inspection, Mistress. Hope I don’t have to lick.”
Ha, that was better. Humor, yes.
I found Danny standing next to the open passenger door of his truck, the soap bucket, bottles and cleaning implements arrayed at his feet. He wasn’t kneeling, but then I didn’t expect him to be. At least he had kept his collar on. The alley was empty though, so what the hell. “Get in position, slave.”
Danny looked at me with a stunned expression, but he did as he was ordered. He got down on his knees in front of me, head down, butt up, hands flat on the gravel. To be honest, his instant obedience sent an erotic thrill through me. I liked giving orders and seeing them obeyed without hesitation. It was intoxicating. Even so, I didn’t want the neighbors coming around the corner and seeing him that way. “Good slave, now you can get back up. Stand by the door while I inspect.”
Good Slave, Now wait while I inspect.
Danny hastily rose to his feet, brushed his hands on his pants legs and stood to the side. I looked inside the cab. It was as clean as you could reasonably expect, the rubber floor mats gunk-free and all the spilled soda and coffee scrubbed off the upholstery. The stains would be forever, but at least no more sticky places. And no more burger wrappers and cups under the seats. Even the leather boot around the stick was clean. For the cab of an old truck, it was as spic-n-span as you could ask for.
I backed out of the cab and stood up, turning to face Danny. “Come here, slave.”
Danny took a step closer, not knowing what to expect. I embraced him with my arms wrapped around his neck and kissed him on the lips. “Nice job, slave, you don’t have to lick,” I said with a smirk. Then I unbuckled the collar and removed it from his neck. “We’ll put this back on at your place, slave. Now put all this cleaning stuff in the bed of the truck and let’s head over.”
Inside Danny’s apartment, I locked the deadbolt and ordered him to his knees. I had him kiss his collar and put it around his neck, made him strip down and get in position. I left him waiting by the door while I surveyed the apartment. It was a mess: dust bunnies on the floors, dirty carpets, filthy couch, the kitchen a disaster, the bedroom a war zone, the bathroom post-apocalypse; no wonder I hadn’t gone over to his place in months, not since our initial dating honeymoon when I was willing to overlook such domestic squalor for the sake of a good fuck. A bad boy who’s a good man is irresistible.
Semi-furious (but not totally outraged; I expected this) I strode up to Danny, looking down at his naked, prostrated body, his raised ass ripe for a spanking. “Danny, your place is disgusting.”
“You deserve to be punished.”
“Crawl over to the dining room.”
The small dining room adjoined the kitchen, barely big enough for a cheap rectangular IKEA table with four chairs. I pulled out one and sat down. “You know what to do, slave.”
Danny climbed onto my lap and bent over, his hands and feet supporting his weight. I felt the rings of the cock cage against my thighs. “We’re going to do this a dozen times, slave.”
I gave him a firm swat on the right cheek. He flinched.
“One. Thank you, Mistress.”
“No, let’s try it again.” I swatted his left cheek.
“Two, thank you, Mistress.”
“No, wrong answer.” I swatted his right cheek.
Silence. I really do think subs get stupid. “Slave, why am I spanking you?”
“Because my apartment is dirty, Mistress.”
I rubbed his ass, making circular motions with my hand, loving caresses. “That’s an understatement, my sweet pet. Your apartment is unfucking, unbelievably filthy. So what should you say?”
“I promise to keep my apartment clean, Mistress.”
It was a sincere reply, no sarcasm. That I would accept. “That’s right, slave, so what should you say each time I have to make that point on your ass to get it through to your thick sub head?”
“I promise to keep my apartment clean, Mistress.”
“That’s right. Now shall we start again?”
I spanked him hard, aiming the blow on the crack. It made a sharp sound.
Flinch. “One. Thank you, Mistress. I promise to keep my apartment clean.”
“Very good, slave.” I spanked him again.
“Two, thank you, Mistress. I promise to keep my apartment clean.”
Another spank, this time on the side of his right cheek. He winced.
“Three, thank you, Mistress. I promise to keep my apartment clean.”
And so it went, up to twelve. As I rained blows down on Danny’s ass, I wondered how well the walls and floor were insulated, if his neighbors could hear the ruckus. Oh well, let them wonder. I gave Danny a thirteenth spank for good measure, and then set him to work—picking up months of accumulated trash (filling two 25-gallon garbage bags), sweeping, vacuuming, scrubbing, washing, polishing, doing the laundry, on and on and on . . . even with me working by his side, it took the better part of the afternoon. By the time we had finished, Danny’s cock was limp in his cage and we were both tired.
This left me with a Mistress’s dilemma, how to finish the scene? It wasn’t really even a scene; it was more like four hours of hard vanilla work. Did I simply release Danny and we call it a day, order pizza?
It was six p.m. and I was hungry. If I was hungry, Danny was starved. What to do? When in doubt, drink wine, that’s my motto. Seriously, while cleaning out the pantry I had found an unopened bottle of Charles Shaw Cabernet Sauvignon, 2013. I had probably purchased it myself and brought it over on one of our early date nights and we never drank it, Danny being more of a beer guy. Anyhow, it was a decent wine and I had an idea. We would order a pizza delivered, and while we were waiting, I would drink wine while Danny . . . hmmm, what would I have Danny do?
I called the neighborhood pizza shop and ordered my favorite vegetarian pizza, large. From now on, Danny would be eating better, too. I found him in the bedroom, folding laundry. “Slave, when you finish, I want you to come to the dining room.” He looked up from his pile of socks, T-shirts and underwear. He was still nude, his cock limp in the cage. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Don’t be long, I’ll be waiting. You have done such a good job, I have a reward for you, slave. And I’m having pizza delivered.”
His face brightened. “Yes, Mistress.”
I wondered if he thought pizza was his reward. Silly sub.
On the way to the kitchen, I stepped into the bathroom and took a small tub of Vaseline from the medicine cabinet. In the kitchen, I uncorked the Charles Shaw Cab and poured myself a glass. I took the lubricant and wine to the dining room, setting the Vaseline on the table. I sat on the chair I had used earlier to bend Danny over my knee. I stripped down to bra and panties, a leather strand around my neck with the little key that went with the padlocks. Chic Mistress jewelry. I was halfway through the first glass of wine when Danny walked in. His eyes popped at the sight of me.
“Shouldn’t you have crawled into my presence, slave?” I chastised him. “Try it again.”
He backed out of the room. A few moments later he entered on hands and knees, crawled up to my bare feet at waited. I took a sip of wine. “You may kiss my feet, slave.”
Adoring kisses on each foot. I have pretty feet, so they deserve it.
“I bet you would like to suck my toes, wouldn’t you, pet?”
He started in with his tongue, sensuously licking between each toe, sucking the toes, then moving on to the big toes, sucking them like he was sucking cock. It felt amazing. I had never enjoyed a foot rub more. Which gave me an idea. “Lick the soles of my feet, slave,” I commanded.
He lifted my feet and angled his lips under them, making deep, probing thrusts of his tongue against my insteps, massaging them. Heavenly. I could have let him go on like that for an hour, but the pizza guy would be at the door before long. “Okay, slave, enough. Now rise up on your knees.”
Danny sat up on his haunches. I saw that his cock had come roaring back, completely filling the cage. Damn . . . I had planned to have him take it off and let him masturbate. I wondered if he could jack off while wearing the cage. Only one way to find out. I reached behind me for the Vaseline, opened the lid and scooped a large, walnut-sized dollop from the container.
“Put your right hand out, slave.”
Danny extended his hand. I smeared the Vaseline into his palm. “I want you to masturbate while I watch, slave. I don’t know if you even can while wearing that cage, but under no circumstances are you to cum without my permission, understood?”
“You may begin.” I poured myself a little more wine and watched as Danny wrapped his right hand around the cock cage and stroked his caged shaft, smearing it with the Vaseline.
“You can use both hands if you like, slave.”
Danny didn’t reply, he had closed his eyes and was going into subspace, but I knew he heard me because his left hand joined the right and together they wrapped around the cage. His pelvis made deep thrusts, drawing his caged cock in and out through the tunnel formed by his hands. Like a vagina.
Watching, I felt myself getting wet. I took a gulp of wine and put down the glass. “Slave, stop.”
Danny reacted slowly, reluctantly, but he obediently came to a halt. Then he watched as I pulled my panties down my legs and wrapped them into a ball. I stood up and stepped forward, spreading my legs so that they bracketed Danny’s engorged cock. I pushed the wadded panties into his mouth, filling it entirely, forcing him to breathe though his nose. I lifted the leather necklace from around my neck, grasped the key and reached under his balls to unlock the padlock, then pulled the well-lubricated cage with a swift, hard tug, freeing his cock. “Fuck my hands, Danny. Fuck the hands that spank you.”
That set him over the top. He began pumping his cock through my hands, moaning, his eyes rolled back. His chest heaved; the air sang through his flared nostrils. He was losing it. I knew it was only a matter of seconds before he came. “Look at me, slave, look into my eyes!” I commanded.
Danny’s eyes flew open. The thrusting of his cock in my cupped hands continued unabated.
“Keep your eyes fixed on mine. Don’t you dare cum without my permission. I want you to beg.”
Danny moaned a muffled reply through the panties, his eyes locked on mine, accelerating his thrusts. It didn’t take long, maybe thirty seconds. I looked into his bottomless brown eyes and watched his soul swim up from the depths of subspace and break the surface. I yanked my panties out of his mouth just in time for him to cry out, “Please, Mistress, I beg of you, let me cum.”
“You may cum, slave.”
His cock exploded in my hands; I felt him violently pulsing, ejaculating cum in hard spurts that hit my belly. The cum dripped down to the floor. I let go of his cock and took his head in my hands, pulled his face against my breast and let him heave. When his breathing finally calmed, I gently pushed him away. “You’ve made a mess, slave.”
“Now lick your cum off me.” I pulled his face down to my pubic region and made him lick it clean. I released his head. “Now the floor.” Danny looked down at the small puddle of cum on the linoleum below us and hesitated. I pushed the top of his head down, forcing him to bend over and put his hands out to support himself. “Get in position and luck your cum off the floor, slave!” I insisted.
Danny got down in position and started tentatively licking his cum off the floor. I stepped back and sat down on the chair, picked my wine glass off the table and sipped. “Lick it clean, every drop,” I said.
He eventually lapped it all up, but I could tell he found the act of consuming his cum disconcerting. That, or the taste of it. “You’ll learn to get used to it, slave,” I said. “Now crawl to me.”
Danny crawled over, putting his lowered head between my feet. “Sit up.” I unlocked the collar and removed it from his neck. “Slave, the pizza will be here in a few minutes. Go take a shower. When you come back, you are released. No need to crawl, you can stand up and walk to the bathroom.”
Danny rose to his feet. He bent over and kissed me on the forehead. “I adore you.”
I looked up at him. “I know you do.” I gave him a playful slap on the rear. “Now get.”
So ended our first week as Mistress and slave . . . I wondered where it would all lead.
Next Episode: Survey Says
Find your Slave
1 thought on “The Reluctant Mistress and Her Unexpected Transition Part 8”
Being told to clean the truck outside wearing his collar is a great way to keep me in my place. The fact that the truck is in an alley where only the neighbors might see makes this workable for me.