Friday Rituals: Part XI

I spent the rest of the workweek furtively examining my fellow employees. Being an insurance claims adjustor is boring work. It’s paper. And in the end, I know I’m going to piss someone off. I wondered if any of my colleagues suffered the same angst I was suffering.

Rick, in the cubicle to my left, was in his fifties, and had the shoulders of a man beaten down many years ago by his wife. He was a sweet man, but on occasion I wondered if he had the urge to go to a gender checkpoint, just for verification of his status.

Lois, to my right, was in her forties, overweight and hardly spoke to anyone. Living the double personality I was living, I wondered why. Maybe she had a secret of her own. Or, maybe she was just disappointed with life, and had given up.

Wednesday and Thursday passed, and I was no closer to deciding what my future held for me. For once, I could define what I wanted, and I didn’t know. Go figure. Talk about living up to the stereotype of women.

Friday arrived, and as I went through my stack of claims, my brain was pondering how to approach my decision. As the clock drew nearer to 4:30, I decided I needed a night out. Not just a night out to drink alone. I needed to go pick someone up, to have the power, to see if I could use the power within me to control what happened. Perhaps then I could decide if being a submissive on a more permanent basis was really what I wanted.

4:30 came, and I clocked out. I said goodnight to Rick and Lois, and left, anxious to get the drive home and prepare for the evening.

* * *
Finally I got home. Traffic was worse than ever, of course. I entered my apartment, and didn’t even bother with eating. Something about living alone doesn’t appeal to my sense of hunger. I eat the bare minimum. I guess it works out in the end, because I stay pretty slender.
I went to my closet, not sure what to wear. I didn’t know yet where I was going. Of course, this causes a problem, because different places have different dress requirements. I stood there, drumming my fingers on the mirrored door, trying to decide.
I could go to Max’s. It wasn’t too dressy. But, it was a young crowd. I didn’t feel like picking up a young pup. But the music was primarily the 70’s and 80’s, which I love.
I could go to the Purple Orchid, a lesbian bar I heard about. But part of me chickened out immediately. I didn’t have a friend I felt trustworthy enough to include into such an adventure, especially if it turned sour. Plus, I just didn’t feel ready to walk into a lesbian bar. Butch women don’t particularly turn me on.

Then there was Fletcher’s. That was a pretty cool bar, if you liked loud rock n’ roll bands and really young people.

Nope. Max’s appeared to be my choice. Maybe someone my age or a little older would decide to come out as well.

I looked in my closet. I decided simple was best. I grabbed my black low-riders, a black turtleneck, my black four-inch heeled boots, and laid them out. Satisfied, I opened my lingerie drawer, and pulled out a black and pink bra and thong set reminiscent of Betty Page. My attire selected for the evening, I jumped in the shower.

The shower felt wonderful. I let the water rain down on me, as if to clear my head and body of all negative feeling. My plan was simple. I just wanted to pick up someone, not necessarily a man, and fuck for satisfaction. I wanted to see if I needed to feel dominated over to get my satisfaction, or my obsession with being submissive was a temporary escape from the realities of my failed relationships.

I shaved my pussy again. I liked it shaved. I liked it being open and ready for stimulation. Whoever was my victim would be pleasantly surprised indeed.
I finally got out of the shower, and dried off. The ritual of getting dressed began. I kept my hair simple. I merely blow-dried it, and put it in a very neat ponytail, with only my bangs and a few tendrils pulled loose around my ears. My make-up was simple as well. A smudge of gold eyeliner, some mascara, and copper-colored lipstick, almost the color of my areolas.
When I got dressed, I grabbed an earring and necklace set made of sterling silver and turquoise. Against the black, with my blonde hair, it was striking.

I looked in the mirror. Ok, you look like you mean business. No giggly, frilly stupid bimbo. Serious shit here.
I grabbed my keys, and headed down to my car. Max’s was calling me.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I was in Max’s. It had a couple of pool tables at one end, and at the other were booths and tables that surrounded a dance floor. The place had a Roman coliseum theme, complete with columns and Roman faux architecture. Of course, it wasn’t well lit so you could take your newest friend home with less of a twinge of guilt. What are condoms for, I thought.

It was early yet…I never was one for waiting until late at night to go out…I always get too tired. But, the happy hour crowd was still hanging around, which actually meant a better type of crowd. They weren’t focused on getting absolutely trashed and laid. It might be possible to actually start a conversation with someone.

I walked up to the bar, and grabbed one of the few remaining empty stools. A blonde bartender with a set of tits that I could imagine myself kissing and sucking on asked me for my order.

“I’ll have a Sierra Nevada, thanks.” She grabbed a glass and began filling it from the tap. I looked around me to assess who was at the bar. There were a few groups of people whom I could easily classify the “happy hour” crowd. They were gossiping about work and laughing, still in their Friday business casual clothes. There were some couples sitting at the bar, quietly talking to each other. I wondered if this was a first date for any of them. And…there were a few men just sitting and nursing beers while staring aimlessly at ESPN on the television. I was sitting in between two such patrons.

The bartender brought my beer. “Are you running a tab, or do you want to pay as you go?”

“Tab, please.”

“Sure thing.” She touched a few buttons on the screen, and walked to the other end to take orders from a couple of men.

I took a swallow of my beer. Inside, I was wondering if I knew what I was doing. Setting the glass on the bar, I surveyed the bar again, this time evaluating my potential lover for the evening.

Too sloppy…too old…he’s married…he has dirt under his fingernails…
“Come here often?”

The voice jolted me out of my assessment. It was the man to my left. I looked at him. He appeared to be in his 30’s, and was dressed in a golf shirt and khakis. He was balding, but not a nice balding, and looked like in a few years he’d be a prime heart attack candidate.
I smiled benevolently. It wouldn’t pay to be seen as a bitch right off the bat. “Mmm…on occasion. Not very often. I just needed to get out of the apartment for a bit.”
He raised his scotch on the rocks at me. “I gotcha. Cabin fever. I get it myself.” I took another sip of my beer. This man was lonelier than I was, and I didn’t want a desperate soul. One desperate soul cannot save another. Together they’ll drown. I wasn’t in the mood to drown.

I took my cell phone out of my purse and called my home voicemail, as a ploy to temporarily interrupt any conversation. My ploy worked, Mr. Lonely went back to staring at the t.v.

The music was the typical 80’s, and for a moment I focused on it. It took me back to my high school years. Flashes of boyfriends, hurried immature sex, lying out in the sun with my girlfriends…life was definitely simple then.

I felt someone standing behind me, and I turned to look. Much better, I thought. He was about 45, but seemed to take care of himself. He smiled at me, but didn’t say anything. He was waiting patiently for the bartender to service him. I smiled back, and thought, he’s the one. He didn’t look desperate, or lonely. He just looked like a man out for a beer, and that’s all. I glanced at his left hand. No ring, good. I took a chance.

“Hi”, I said.

He gazed at me with intense brown eyes. “Hello, how are you?” His hair was dark brown with silver interspersed. It was wavy, and he kept it combed back.

“I’m well, thank you.” He was staring at me, and words suddenly failed me.

His eyes flitted to the bartender who was now at our spot on the bar. “I’ll have a Sierra Nevada,” he ordered. I turned around, feeling foolish inside. What made me think I could come here and just pick up an absolute stranger to answer my own internal struggles?

A light touch on my shoulder made me turn around. “A woman as attractive as you shouldn’t sit at the bar alone, “ he said.

The bartender placed his beer on the bar, and as he reached for the glass he said, “Excuse me.” His arm brushed my right arm and breast. The touch was not unpleasant.

“My name is Sarah.” I extended my hand to shake his.

“My name is Dave. I’m sitting over at one of the booths by the pool tables. If you get tired of the lonely souls at the bar, you’re welcome to join me.”

I turned around, and pretended to stare at the television. Inside, I was working up my nerve. He could be a creep, he could be married, this could end in a complete failure…or I could have fantastic sex tonight, and maybe find an answer within myself…the battle raged within my head.

Fuck it, I thought. As the blonde bartender came by, I asked for the tab. She laid the bill on the bar. I left a five, and got up.

Now or never.

* * *

I walked toward the end of Max’s where the pool tables were. Dave was sitting in a booth, watching a couple of guys play pool, drinking his beer. I walked up, and smiled. “So, is the offer still valid?”

He looked up at me, and smiled. “Sure…are you taking it?”

“Why not? I have nothing else to do.” I sat down in the booth, opposite Dave.

“Surely someone is waiting at home for you, wanting to find a way to take up your time tonight.”

“No. Just an empty apartment.”

“What a shame.” He looked at me, and I wondered what to say next.

“So Sarah, what do you do? Lemme guess. VP of a Fortune 500 company.”

I laughed. “No. I’m an insurance claims adjustor. Nothing glamorous. What about you?”

“I’m a computer programmer. It pays the bills, but my true love is pottery. I have a small studio set up in my condo. It’s my stress release.”

“I don’t really have a stress release. Sometimes I read, but I mainly veg out in front of the tv.”

Sounds of a new pool game starting filled the momentary silence. Dave stared at me. “You don’t sound like you’re a social butterfly. Why are you here tonight?”

His bluntness caught me by surprise. “Why do you ask?”

He chuckled. “I’m too old to play games. I’m 45, and I don’t need to do the watussy to get what I want. Why are you here?”

I took a deep breath. “I’m here, basically looking for a one-night stand. Simple as that. It’s not something I do normally, but I’m actually looking to answer a question I have within myself.”

“And you expect to find it in a one-night stand?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than you think. For my own personal reasons, I want to test my own reactions about something I’m questioning within myself. I don’t know you at all, so I don’t want to really talk about it.”

“Well, that’s pretty up front, I suppose. And how do you intend to select your partner in this one-night stand?”

The fact that my intent was out in the open made me relax. I didn’t have to hide anything, at least for the moment.

“Some people were already eliminated based on appearance, some based on mannerisms. So far you’re the only candidate of interest.”

“Why?”

I looked steadily at him. “It’s how you carry yourself. You don’t seem desperate. You don’t seem creepy. You’re a fairly handsome guy. You aren’t afraid to carry on a real conversation, without using sickly pick-up lines.”

He stared at me, his left hand rubbing his five o’clock shadow, the other hand playing absentmindedly with his beer bottle.

“So. When do you let me know?”

I stared at him. Perhaps this was my cue to take the plunge.

“Now. We can go to my apartment. I have beer, a bed, and condoms.”
He smiled.

“And I have time.”

* * *

He followed me to my apartment in his car. On the way home, I played no music in my car. I needed the absolute silence to fill my head, and calm my nerves. We parked out cars, and I got out, waiting for him to follow me inside. He got out, and came up to me, putting his arm around me. We took the three flights of steps up together, in silence. When we reached the door, before I could unlock it, Dave stopped me.

“Wait. Before I go in, I have my own test.”

He gingerly held my face in his hands, and kissed me on the mouth. It wasn’t a porno kiss, but a timid one, as if to test the waters before entering my apartment. I kissed him back, but there was something amiss. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

I unlocked the door, and opened it. I turned on a lamp beside the door. Dave followed me in, and took my coat off, laying it on my couch. He lay his own on top of it.

I decided a good icebreaker was to have another beer. I got two out of the fridge, and gave him one. I pointed to the couch. “Wanna sit for spell?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Sure. This is your plan. I’m along for the ride.”

I turned on my stereo, and kept the music low. It was just a local station that played a mix of music. I didn’t feel like going through the charade of playing just the right mood music.

I looked at Dave, and in momentary shame, I said, “Dave, I don’t do this as a habit…”

“I know. I can tell. I don’t know what demons are eating at you. I’m not sure that I want to know. But I also don’t get very much female attention, and I’m no dummy. So, no more explanations or excuses.”

He took my beer, and set the bottles on the trunk that served as my coffee table. He leaned over, and began kissing me. I pulled my hair out of its ponytail, and his hands found their way into my hair, gently pulling and tugging. As he kissed me, I slowly fell back on the couch, the coats beneath me. His hands made their way down my side, and pulled my sweater out of my pants. He shoved the sweater up, and a low animalistic growl emitted when he saw my black bra. He pushed that above my tits, making them more pronounced and my nipples stood erectly in the chill of the apartment. He began sucking and licking them. I lay there, my eyes closed. I tried to enjoy the simplicity of the moment, but somehow, there was a missing element. His hands caressed and squeezed my tits. I pictured Lysistrata biting them. The thought of my nipples between her teeth pleased me.

“Let’s go to your room, and get comfortable. This couch is limiting,” Dave whispered. I sat up, inwardly annoyed. I pulled my bra and my sweater down, feeling the need to cover myself for the moment.

He followed me into my bedroom. I flipped a switch to turn on the lamp by my bed. He began taking off his shirt. His chest was thick, and he had the beginning paunch of a man who was aging. I didn’t mind. The hair on his chest was graying, and somehow was endearing in a sterile way. I took off my sweater and bra. He looked at my tits, and smiled. “Lovely. I can’t wait to get back to those.”

I smiled, taking off my boots and my pants. “Leave your panties on,” he said.

At least he’ll take charge of that, I thought to myself. He took off his shoes, socks and pants. He was wearing boxers, which only gave a hint of his semi-erect cock.

He walked over to me, and guided me to the bed. He began kissing me, and slowly pushing me to lay back. I put my arms around his neck, and could faintly smell his Obsession cologne. He slowly began kissing my neck, and made his way back down to my tits. I closed my eyes once again.

I could hear him noisily suckling my nipples. It felt ok, but there was a spark missing.

He doesn’t have command of me.
I need someone to have command of, to control and manipulate me physically.
Give him a chance. Every lover is different.

He began making his way down my stomach, making light circles with his tongue. My stomach quivered in a ticklish reaction to his light touch. He took my panties and gently slid them off.

I wish he’d just rip them off. But something instinctual told me he wasn’t that kind of lover.

“Mmmm…what a beautiful pussy. A man could get lost in this forever.” He parted my legs, and lightly flicked his tongue around my pussy lips and teased my clit. His touch was pleasant, but it wasn’t exciting.

I was beginning to realize the answer was making itself clear. I knew Dave was a good man, a gentle man. But I needed someone who could control me, take me on a roller coaster. I needed that element of the unknown. Dave was predictable, safe.

I decided I wasn’t going to cheat Dave, but I also needed to get this show on the road. I sat up, watching him lick and eat my pussy. He looked up at me. I ran my fingers through his wavy hair, wondering about the women in his life before me, if they’d run their fingers through his hair.

“Let’s take off your boxers.” He kneeled up and sat back. I gently pulled his boxers off. As I did, there was a pleasant surprise. His cock, now fully erect, was not long, but it was thick in girth. That could be such a commanding cock. I leaned over, and took his thick shaft in my mouth. I swirled my tongue around the huge head, and imagined it spewing its juice on my lips as I sucked it in servitude. Pity. Dave moaned and grabbed my hair. I grabbed his dick with one hand and ran my tongue up and down the shaft. His balls were engorged and hard with excitement. I took them and licked them, finally sucking on them.

“Fuck me…” Dave moaned. I knew I had him in my power. I knelt full on my knees, making sure my ass was arched enticingly in the air. I wondered which way he’d want to have me. I kept sucking and licking his thick cock.

Looking up at him, I said, “Fuck me now.”

“Baby, this is your deal. I’ll do what you want.”

Reaching over to my nightstand, I grabbed one of the few remaining condoms I had left, took it out of its wrapper, and slipped it on Dave’s dick. I lay back, and opened my legs for him. He leaned over me, and slid his thick cock inside of me. He looked down to watch his shaft sliding in and out of my pussy. I spread my legs as wide as possible to accommodate his view, to give him another element of pleasure. “Aaw, baby, this is so sweet!”

He lay closer on top of me and began making slow strokes. I could barely breathe, and focused on his dick sliding in and out of me. He pushed harder, as if to push his cock up to my throat. He was so big around, his dick filled me, and as he pushed harder and deeper, he was rubbing me raw. I closed my eyes, hoping he’d cum soon.

Dave stopped midstroke, and raised up. He took my left leg, and put it over his shoulder. He went back to fucking me royally. “Feel my cock, honey. Is this what you wanted?” He was pumping hard, as if every stroke would be the answer I was looking for.

“Yeah baby, c’mon, give it to me.”

I didn’t think he could fuck any harder, but somehow he did. My tits were bouncing, and I felt like a porno star.

“Here you go baby…”

“C’mon…give me that cum…”

“Ooohhh, goooddddammmnnn!!!” And with that, Dave was done. I moved my leg off his shoulder, and he lay on top of me, sweaty, breathing hard, and just barely supporting his weight.

Underneath him, my thoughts were beyond his exit out of my apartment, ahead to the next week, when I would give Lady Madonna my answer.

* * *

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Friday Rituals: Part X

That night, as I sat eating my dinner of oatmeal, accompanied by a beer, the phone rang. I picked it up. “Hello?”

“Sarah, this is Lady Madonna returning your call.”

“Hi…um…I’m pondering your question regarding my dedication to submission. I have tried doing some reading, but I feel like I’m more confused than when I started.”

“What you’re going through is normal. Few slaves know from the beginning that they want to be slaves. What is more important here is how much control over your life are you willing to hand over? I can’t tell you that. What I can tell you is just as there are many variations of submission, there are many variations of domination. It’s a matter of meeting the right person, and the two of you mutually agree what relationship you seek.”

“So what am I supposed to tell you in a month?”

“Simple things. Do you want a mistress, or a master, or it doesn’t matter. Do you want to live as a slave 24/7, or is your submission a periodic scenario? What kind of submission do you enjoy most? Bondage, spanking, humiliation, or sensory depravation? My sessions with you will give you a sampling of the basics.”

“I didn’t think I needed to analyze myself so deeply.”

“You have to, or this will never work for you. BDSM is not whimsical matter, unlike what song you want to listen to at a certain moment. For BDSM to have a positive influence in any participant’s life, that person must be in a constant state of self-analysis.”

“Ok.”

“Look, quit making it so hard. Ponder what you’ve enjoyed thus far. Are those things you’ve enjoyed so far?”

“Absolutely!” I stated.

“Then ask yourself if that’s what you want the rest of your life. With each session, take it from that simple formula. With the other additional pieces I’ve given you to think about, you’ll be able to answer me in a month’s time.”

“All right. Then, I’ll see you in two weeks for the next lesson.”

“See you then.”

We hung up, and I sat on my couch, reliving the last two sessions. The question of mistress or master…I don’t think it matters. My relationships with men haven’t been all that successful, and the most recent session rocked my world like I’d never been rocked. So, I didn’t feel that I was going to eliminate a prospect based on sex.

I drank the last of my beer, turned off the lights, and walked quietly through my silent apartment to my bedroom, to my solitary bed.

Friday Rituals: Part IX

I drove home, and walked three flights of stairs up to my apartment. Unlocking the door, I entered, taking a look around me. I had done my best to decorate my suburban apartment, as much as I was allowed, but it wasn’t home. No pets to greet me, which was fine, because that also meant no responsibilities to another life either.

I kicked off my heels, and treaded softly down to the bedroom. I was suddenly overcome by the silence in my apartment. I took off my red dress, and examined myself in the mirrored doors again. Lovely red welts laced my cheeks, and I could see where the paddle had made its mark.

I had no need to masturbate-Lysistrata had taken care of me. I lay gingerly on the bed, and decided to roll over on my stomach. The tick-tock of the clock was thunderous in my head as I pondered over Lady Madonna’s questions. I had done some light research on BDSM activities…meaning I visited some porn sites showing women mildly tied up and eagerly doing things their daddies probably wouldn’t be proud to see. I had hints of deeper and darker doings through media exposure to people like Marilyn Manson, but I didn’t fit that genre. I had watched some porno videos, but everyone knows those aren’t realistic. Those were stimulation for my masturbation.

I needed more research.

I got up, put on my soft terrycloth bathrobe, and went to the computer in my makeshift dining room-office. I began searching for erotica to read. How else would I know what I wanted?

I was shocked to find Anne Rice had a pen name and had written BDSM erotica. I kept searching, finally made some purchases on line, requesting next day delivery – I didn’t have time to waste in making my decision.

* * *

The books arrived dutifully Monday-I retrieved them from the rental office when I got home from work. I raced upstairs, and began my education of being a slave.

* * *

One book I ordered was the foundation of all BDSM erotica, The Story of O. I began with that one, believing all others take their cues from O.

O turned me inside out. I read it in one night – my emotions going into sensory overload. I found myself turned on, frightened, excited, disgusted, and at the end, sad. I tried picturing myself in O’s position. How far would I be willing to let my master or mistress take me? How much pain was I willing to bear to feel that significance of love and fulfillment?

I don’t think branding is something I could do. Most of the other things O was demanded to perform I think I could do, but the branding, only to lose her master and go to another…part of me believed a person should not be passed on from one to another so freely.

I went to bed, unsure of what game I was playing.

* * *

While at work Tuesday, sitting in my gray cubicle, I pondered if O was the reality. I decided to call Lady Madonna. I had Anne Rice’s novels to read still, but I also knew those were intended to arouse the reader more than inform.

On the way home from work, I called her.

Lysistrata answered.

“Hello, Lysistrata. This is Sarah. Is Lady Madonna available to speak?”

“No, she’s with a client. Can I help you?”

“Lady Madonna gave me a proposition Friday, and I need some information.”

“What type of information?” asked Lysistrata.

“I know very little about submissive lifestyles. I don’t know how far it goes. I’ve been doing some reading, but it seems very extreme.”

Lysistrata laughter sounded like crystal. “Let me guess, you’ve read O, and you’re intimidated.”

I felt like a child. “Yeah, in a nutshell.”

“Listen. BDSM lifestyles are as varied as normal lifestyles. Some couples live it 24/7, to the utmost extreme, and others create rules and settings.”

I paused. “What about you?”

Lysistrata hesitated. “I’m not at liberty to discuss my relationship in detail. I can say it’s a 24/7 life. It’s fulfilling to me – Lady Madonna is my perfectly matched mistress.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“Do you still want to her to call you back?”

“Please. I need information from her perspective.”

“Okay,” said Lysistrata, “I’ll have her call you when she gets a chance.”

“Thank you.”

We hung up, and I didn’t feel any more informed than I was before.

Friday Rituals: Part VIII

As I passed the office to leave, Lady Madonna called my name. She was sitting at the small secretary, paperwork spread out in front of her.

I entered the office, and went to parade rest.

Lady Madonna smiled. “No, no…relax. We are not in training mode now. Right now we are in client discussion mode.”

I was confused. “Okay…what can I do for you?”

“Mmmm, the question is, what can I do for you?” she responded.

“I don’t get your meaning.”

“Today was your second training session. Did it meet the requirements of your fantasy?"

I wasn’t prepared for this question. I thought the answer had been obvious. “You’ve more than met my expectations. I never thought I’d really get to live out my fantasies.”
“Where are you in your life, as far as relationships?”

I wrinkled my brow, wondering where this was going. “I don’t have anyone right now. My last boyfriend was with me purely for soaking off of me. I ended it when he asked me if his pecs weregetting smaller after cumming in me.”

Lady Madonna raised her eyebrow at that story. “Sounds like he needs a good spanking. How long ago was he in your life?’

I looked at her, and sheepishly answered, “Eight months ago.”

“So what do you see in your future relationships?”

These questions were deeper than I was prepared to respond to at the moment. “I haven’t considered it. Right now, I’m enjoying indulging myself. This is purely self-gratification for me. Why are you asking me these questions?”

“I’m asking because I have the ability to make connections. If I know a dominant that is looking for a submissive, I can make introductions. Periodically I throw parties to make these introductions. I don’t know how serious you are about being a submissive, or if you are just dallying for the moment. Personally, it doesn’t matter to me-if it’s for the moment, I make money. If you really enjoy it, I can help make positive changes to your life. And I still make money. For me, it’s a win-win situation.”

I stood there quietly. I had not considered where I was going with my love life, my sex life, and my relationships with people in general. Currently I was contentedly in a vacuum.

“I tell you what. I’m throwing a party in five weeks. That gives you two more sessions. It gives you time to think, and decide what lifestyle you really want to pursue. It also gives you time to get tested for AIDS and STDs. At the second session, you tell me, and if your decision makes the grade, then I’ll invite you into the inner circle.”

I looked at her, measuring the sincerity of her offer. “Ok. I’ll think about it. See you in two weeks.”

I walked out into the cool, crisp air, feeling very hot, flustered, and confused. Where was I going in my life?

Friday Rituals: Part VII

I fell down in a crouch, breathing deeply. I was sore, sexually unsatisfied, and broken down.
As a slave should be.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I lifted my head.

Lysistrata unbuckled her strap-on. She laid it on the floor next to me, and lifted me up.
And kissed me full on the mouth.

It was my first kiss with a woman. Her breasts were hot against mine. We were both sweaty, but the sweat added to our desire. She pulled my hair out of its French twist, and grabbed me by my hair. She now was in control.

I sucked on her tongue, and nibbled on her bottom lip. I pushed her hair out of the way, and kissed and suckled and nibbled on her pale white neck. She smelled so fucking good. I was crazy, my head was spinning.

I slid down, to feast on the breasts that I had stared at earlier. The amber nipples that beckoned my mouth to feed on them. I took one between my teeth, and pulled slightly. I heard Lysistrata gasp. Her hand clutched my hair harder. She shoved my head down to her pussy. I gladly let her push me.

She fell back on the large pillow, and I pushed her legs apart. The dripping honey was beautiful. I leaned my face in, and for the first time in my life, tasted another woman.
I spread her lips, and pushed my face in. I wanted to feel her cum on my face. She moaned and grabbed my face, pulled it into her harder. I took the hint. I began licking her pussy, seeking the clit. I wanted to make Lysistrata scream in ecstasy. I needed to know I bring another woman to the edge of heaven and send her reeling.

I pulled at the hood, and her clit sprang out. It was pink and hard, her own little cock protected from the ravages of the world. I gently sucked on it between my lips. Lysistrata was grinding her hips, and thrashing. I didn’t know if I could stay with her.

“Suck me, goddammit!” I readjusted the hood covering the pink treasure and sucked again.

Lysistrata arched her back, moaned like a banshee and ground her pussy against her face. Cum covered my chin, and I licked her clean. Absolutely fucking beautiful. I wish I had a video of it.

By now, I was sopping wet.

“Lay on your stomach,” she said hoarsely.

I did as she said, and she began massaging my ass with her body. I could feel her nipples on my cheeks, her hands working up the backs of my thighs, spreading my cheeks as if she were going to touch my pussy, but then backing off. I moaned. I couldn’t much more teasing.
She was kissing and biting my lower back, down to my ass. My legs spread apart. I wanted to giver her easy access to every inch of me. She spread my cheeks, pulled up on my hips to lift them, and began licking me from my ass to my pussy. I spread my legs as far as a human could possibly spread them.

She slid two fingers in, and I could hear how wet I was.

“Roll over,” she directed, and in a second I was on my stomach. She grabbed the dildo that had been in my pussy, took off the condom, and inserted it. She looked up at me and winked. “I’ll pay for this one and keep it just for you.”

She pushed my legs apart. I was wide open and exposed to her. As she stroked the inside of my pussy with the dildo, she pulled up on the hood covering my clit and sucked on me. The double ecstasy of being fucked and being sucked was golden. I arched my back and spread my legs more. If I could have absorbed her inside of me I would have.

I closed my eyes and replayed the whole afternoon in a flash. Some of my darkest fantasies were now reality. The beautiful woman fucking me and sucking my clit was taking me to my final destination.

The orgasm built, and when it came, I screamed in joy. I also ejaculated. I didn’t believe women could actually do that, but I did. The evidence was on Lysistrata’s beautiful pale face.
I gingerly sat up, and began licking my cum off of her. I kissed her, and sucked on that pouty bottom lip.

“Your time is almost up. You have just enough time to get dressed.”

We stood up. I didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t say anything. Just get dressed. Go on with your life. See you in two weeks?”

“Yes. In two weeks."

I walked downstairs, leaving Lysistrata to clean up the dungeon.

Friday Rituals: Part VI

I parked in front of the red brick row house, and took a deep breath. I couldn’t wait to find out what was next.

I paid two hours again on the meter, and knocked on the door. Lysistrata answered, wearing a floor-length Mandarin robe and black platform heels. With her red hair down, she was hot. The image of ripping open that robe and diving in to eat her delectable pussy filled my head immediately.

“Sarah…you look different. Come in.”

Different? What the hell did that mean?

I stepped in, curious about the comment.

“Payment, please.” I followed her into the narrow office and gave her my bankcard.

Once the receipt was signed, Lysistrata asked me to remain in the office. I stood there, growing apprehensive, as she walked out. I could hear the click-clunk of her platform heels down the hallway. I assumed parade rest.

Two sets of footsteps were returning. Lady Madonna entered, took one look at my face, and grinned, most evilly if you ask me.

“So, my little cat, what mouse did you eat?”

Lysistrata stood nearby, also in the position of parade rest, not looking at me.

“Wh-what d-do you mean, Lady Madonna?” I stammered. Damn the stammering.

“First, you have not earned the right to wear red. Red is a color of dominance. You are not dominant over anything in my domain. Not even Lysistrata. You pay me to be the lowest of the low.”

I couldn’t believe I was being admonished for a color. “Yes, Lady Madonna.”

“There will be consequences for wearing red today.”

“Yes, Lady Madonna.”

“Second, what did you do that put that shit-eating grin on your face?”

“L-lady M-ma-madonna, I have no panties and I teased the employee at my nail salon.”

Lady Madonna burst out laughing. “So you want to be a cocktease? Well, my little cat, I will teach you about cockteasing.”

She ordered Lysistrata, “Prepare her and yourself for the strap-on upstairs. Five minutes, or both of you will receive punishment.”

She turned and left, footsteps heading upstairs. My heart was pounding.

Lysistrata called me. “Quickly. In the changing room. No time.”
We went to the changing room, and Lysistrata deftly took me out of my red dress. When she saw my shaven pussy, she licked her lips, perhaps subconsciously.
“Leave your heels on.”

Lysistrata took off her Mandarin robe, and revealed that she too was utterly naked underneath. She had a red patch of pubic hair the size of a guitar pick. Her nipples were amber colored, and my nipple fetish made my head dizzy as I stared at them.

“Come, we have three minutes.”

She was nearly at a run out of the changing room up the stairs. I don’t know how she was doing it in those platforms. I followed her, trying not to lose my balance.

Upstairs, there were three doors, two to the right, and one to the left. Lysistrata entered the one on the left, and I followed her.

It was a dungeon. It wasn’t painted black or anything stereotyped like that. It was painted in white walls. The various instruments and restraints in black were made all the more stark by the white walls. The floor was white ceramic tile as well.

Lysistrata grabbed me by the shoulder and placed me in the center of the room. There were two chains hanging from the ceiling.

“Raise your arms,” she commanded, and quickly placed the Velcro straps around my wrists. The chains were adjustable by hiking hooks that could link the chain links however necessary. She adjusted the links to the point where my arms weren’t quite perpendicular to the ground, but uncomfortable nonetheless.

She drug a bar stool with a black leather seat nearby. She walked to a closet, and opened it. There were drawers on the left side, and she opened one, taking out a leather strap-on harness. It had two holes, which at first I didn’t understand. When she took out two dildos, one smaller than the other, I began to comprehend.

She inserted the two dildos and began putting on the harness. Just as she adjusted the last strap in the back, Lady Madonna walked in.

“Ahh, good, right on time.”

Lady Madonna stood in front of me. I looked her in the eye, my breath coming more rapidly.

“Are you eyeballing me, slave?”

“No, Lady Madonna.”

“I think you are. Lysistrata, the crop and the small leather paddle.”

With her penises bobbing, Lysistrata walked to the closet and opened another drawer and pulled out the two requested instruments of my degradation, walked back and handed them to Lady Madonna.

“First, for wearing red and assuming dominance. Ten lashes. Arch your back. With every lash you will thank me properly.”

My hands tightened into fists as I heard the punishment dictated. I arched my back, and waited.

WHACK!!!!! The first lash brought tears to my eyes. “Thank you Lady Madonna.”

“Do you wear red in my domain?”

“No Lady Madonna.”

“Louder!”

“No Lady Madonna!” I shouted.

“Arch your back! Show me that ass!”

WHACK!

“Thank you Lady Madonna.”

I was becoming breathless. The punishment, as extreme as it sounds, was sublime. I was in pain, but she was in control. I was surrendering, and I wanted to surrender.

“Are you my slave?”

“Yes! Lady Madonna, I am your slave!” I wanted to be her slave. At this moment, I’d have stayed here forever, just to be in her command.

WHACK!

“Thank you Lady Madonna!” Tears were running down my face. My ass stung, razor hot.

The lashings continued, and as the tenth one came down, I didn’t think I could take another one.

“Are you dominant?!” she yelled.

“No Lady Madonna!” I yelled back, bracing for the final and tenth lashing.

WHACK!

I hung from my chains, and whispered, “Thank you Lady Madonna.”

“Oh, sweetheart, we’ve just begun your training.”

These words sent chills down my spine that made my nipples hard.

“Lysistrata, bar stool.” Lysistrata walked over and ripped off the Velcro straps. When my arms came down, the screaming ache overwhelmed my upper torso.

She helped me lean over the bar stool, and pushed my feet apart.

“This is for eyeballing me.”

SMACK!

The leather paddle on my ass made my knees buckle. Lysistrata grabbed my arm to keep me from falling. She hoisted me up to a standing position, and I went to parade rest. My ass was quivering uncontrollably.

“Thank you, Lady Madonna.” I was dizzy from the pain. But the lesson was deeply imprinted in my mind.

“Lysistrata, kneeling position please.”

Lysistrata opened the closet door on the right side, and took out a large pillow and tossed it in the middle of the floor. She took me by the elbow, and brought me to the pillow.
“Please, on your knees,” she said.

I got on my knees, wondering what was next.

Lady Madonna meanwhile was getting on her own strap-on dildo. It was a red one, as opposed to the black ones Lysistrata was wearing. There were so many lessons in every little thing she did, I thought to myself. It was about seven inches long, and fat in girth.
“Now, since you like cockteasing, today you will feel the cocks teasing you. We will use all your orifices to torture you, to bring you close to the edge, and take you away. Lysistrata, prepare your devices, please.”

I could hear Lysistrata in the closet, but my eyes remain fixed on the huge red shaft. My ass was still on fire, and I wondered what the rest of me would feel like at the end of the hour.
I could hear the sound of a condom package being opened and the condom being put on, and then a second one. I could hear the bottle of lube, and my pussy and ass tightened instinctively.

“See this beautiful red cock? Mine is the dominant cock. It’s red. Take it in your mouth.”

She neared me, and I went to take it in my hands.

WHACK!!! The crop found the side of my thigh. I flinched.

“No hands! Just your mouth.”

I took the huge dildo in my mouth and the rubbery taste filled my mouth.

“Lick it. Love it.”

I did as she ordered. I closed my eyes, and let the tip of the dildo rub my lips. I took my tongue and flicked it on the underside, as if it were a real man’s.

“Tell me you love my cock.”

“I love your cock, Lady Madonna.” And at that moment, I did. I wanted that cock. I wanted it banging the back of my throat, my pussy, it didn’t matter.

“Tell me you adore my cock, bitch.” Her voice got rougher, and my pussy got wetter.

“I adore your cock, Lady Madonna.”

“Bend over, on your hands, keep your back arched. Lysistrata, begin.”

Lysistrata grabbed my hips, and began pushing both dildos in. The pain in my ass was matched by the pleasure in my pussy. I had never thought about double penetration, but here it was being done out of my control, and I wanted it.
The moans coming out of me were uncontrollable.

Lady Madonna sank to her knees on the pillow. “Suck my cock, slave.”

I eagerly wrapped my lips on the red shaft. Lysistrata gradually sank both dildos in to the hilt, and held my ass tight against her pelvis. She began her stroking. The lube made it easy, and I was in ecstasy.

“Out.”

And like that, she pulled her red shaft out, and Lysistrata pulled her double-torture toys out of me.

I moaned in frustration.

“Oh, does my slave feel frustrated? Do you want some more?”

“Yes, please Lady Madonna!”

I did. I didn’t care how hard or soft, I just needed one of those shafts invading my body. I’d never needed to be fucked so hard in my life before.

“Beg me.”

She waved the red prick in front of me like a matador at a bullfight.

“Please, Lady Madonna, fuck me some more.”

“Beg harder, slave.”

“Please, Lady Madonna, this unworthy slave desires to be fucked and used. Please use me.”

“Lysistrata, begin.”

At the same time, three cocks invaded my being. I looked up at Lady Madonna, her breasts jiggling, the nipples hard and taut, her hips thrusting the red devil into my mouth. Lysistrata grabbed my hips and this time there was no gentleness as she slid her devices of debauchery deep inside of me. As I sucked the dildo in front of me, the fucking I was receiving from behind elicited uncontrollable grunts and moans.

“Lysistrata, you may punish,” ordered Lady Madonna.

I immediately felt the hardest slap on my ass, still freshly ripped in shreds from the ten lashes. Lysistrata was not afraid to use her hand. She slapped me again as she was fucking me. I moaned uncontrollably.

In my shock at the abuse I was receiving in the rear, I stopped sucking Lady Madonna’s cock.

“Focus on me, slave. Or there will be more lashes!”

I licked the head, kissing it tenderly, trying to atone for my absent mindedness.
I arched my back more…as bad as it hurt to be doubly penetrated, I wanted to be penetrated deeper and harder.

“Stop.”

We all stopped, and Lysistrata pulled out. I cried in frustration.

“Punish.”

Lysistrata again smacked my ass, but in a double sequence that made me squeal.

“Tell me you love my cock,” Lady Madonna commanded again.

“Lady Madonna, I love your cock. I love how you torture me with your cock.”

“Good girl. You can learn. Who’s in charge?”

“You are in charge, Lady Madonna,” I sobbed in frustration and agony.

“Lysistrata, I am finished.”

With that, she unbuckled the strap-on, let it drop to the floor, and walked out of the room.

Friday Rituals: Part V

The next two weeks couldn’t pass by quickly enough. I was as anxious as a whore in church, to quote my mother, and looked at the world through different eyes. I looked at people and more voyeuristically…I wondered if they had their “freak” side, as I referred to mine. I began eyeing people, trying to discern if they too were slaves in their private life, or even tops. I didn’t have enough experience to tell. I was just incredibly curious by now.

The second Friday came. I woke up early, wide awake all at once. I got up out of bed. It was 6 a.m. Seven hours to wait until my next lesson.

I ate a bowl of oatmeal, and decided I’d get in the shower and take extra care with my appearance today. I was motivated. I wanted to please Lady Madonna. I wanted to make her want me if I could. I doubt it would happen, but I was going to try.

In the shower, I looked at my razor. I kept a pretty neat bush, almost a mohawk style, but today, I felt like doing something I’d never done.

Taking a handful of shaving cream, I lathered it over my pubic hair, and using the razor, I began making neat having stripes, taking off the pubic hair bit by bit. After the main mass of it was gone, I took some more shaving cream, lathered up the area again, and this time made my pussy smooth as a baby’s bottom. Standing in the shower, I looked down at myself. I was smooth, naked, and exposed. I could feel the ache beginning in my clit. It was the emotional sensation of doing something not accepted within social norms, at least the way I had been raised. I felt naughty, and naughty felt good. Naughty felt hot.

I was determined not to masturbate. I wanted to build up this feeling all day. I wanted to torture myself as long as I could stand it.

I dried off, and rubbed lotion into my body. The devilish thought of wearing a dress with no panties while Tony massaged lotion into my legs and feet entered my mind, and I decided I’d give Tony a little eye candy to go with his tip today.

I blow dried my hair, and began applying my makeup. I usually wear a little make-up, but today felt like a special occasion, and I went all out. Finishing with a dark brick red lipstick, I went back to working on my hair. I decided to sweep my blonde tresses into a French twist. I wanted to go for the controlled look, emulating Lady Madonna and Lysistrata.

Walking to the closet, I wasn’t sure what I’d wear. It was fall, which meant a chill was in the air, but then I decided a slave was supposed to endure such elements. I grabbed a red dress that was slightly above the knee, but with long sleeves.

Before I put on the dress, I looked at myself in the mirrored doors of my closet. In my eyes, my breasts were my best assets. Fairly large, but still perky due to being single and not having children, and nipples that weren’t bashful about standing up. I looked at my shaven pussy. It was foreign to me. The mons was now clearly evident. I wondered what Lady Madonna would say. The tingling began in my clit again. I quickly slid on the red dress before I changed my mind about masturbating. I opened my closet doors and found my matching red heels, 3 ½ inches high.

I didn’t look in the mirrored doors again, but I felt BAD. BAD in every sense of the word, proper and slang.

It was finally 9 a.m., and I could go to the salon.

Poor Tony.

* * *

I knew as soon as I walked through the doors of the salon I had everyone’s attention. Customers didn’t normally come in for pedicures and other treatments in dresses and heels.
Annie piped up, “Sarah, good morning, may we help you?”

“Yes please, pedicure and a fill. I’d like Tony for the pedicure.”

The look on Annie’s face told me she wasn’t so sure this was proper due to my attire, but I was the customer.

“Pick your color, and Tony will be right with you.” He was putting the last coats of polish on a large woman in sweatpants. His reward was on its way, little did he know.

I picked red-it seemed to be the color of the day. Red for the sex I wanted, red for the slut in me, red for the empowerment I could feel building within.

I waited ten minutes, and Tony motioned me to a chair.

“Sarah, you sure you want me do you pedicure?” he asked in his broken English, eyeing my dress.

“Yes, Tony, you do an excellent job. I want you to do it,” I purred.

He turned on the water as I kicked off my heels and eased into the massage chair. The women in the salon were eyeing me suspiciously. Annie piped up from her station. “Sarah, you dressed up today!”

I smiled my best innocent smile. “Yes, I have a date right after I’m finished here.”

“Ohhh…” What could poor Annie say to this?

Tony laid a towel across my lap. I smiled inwardly. As if this would protect him from the vision of my bare pussy.

My feet were immersed in the hot bubbling water, and I closed my eyes. Beginning the ritual. Tony tapped my left leg, and I lifted it out of the water. He began clipping the nails and cuticles and dead skin from my foot. I kept my eyes closed, and relaxed. I didn’t want to shock him yet. I kept my legs together like a good girl, and thought nasty thoughts about how these parlor chairs could be used. I knew by the end of the day I’d need my rabbit vibrator.

Tony tapped my right leg, and I switched. He began the same process, and I watched him. He wasn’t looking up at me – he was concentrating on my feet, making sure each toe looked perfect.

Finally he finished, and immersed my feet again. He took my left foot and scrubbed the bottom, then my right foot, and finally dried them off. He pushed a button on the chair remote and moved it back to position me better for the massage.

Here we go, I thought.

He put lotion on my left leg, and that’s when I began. I moved my right foot a little more to the right, spreading my legs. I very slightly pulled the towel up on my lap. Tony looked up as he began my massage, and I knew – the look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. He could see my pussy. I stared at him as his eyes met mine in surprise. His hands began massaging harder. I moved my right foot a little more, and tilted my left knee to the left a tad. I glanced around me-the other salon employees were busy with their customers and hadn’t noticed.

Sweat beaded up on Tony’s forehead. He didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t help it. His hands rubbed higher up my calf, and I could imagine laying on my stomach, feeling those hands massaging the back of my legs, up my ass, and parting my cheeks to expose my pussy. I squirmed in my chair.

Sadly, it was time to change legs. I straightened out my left leg, and bent my right leg for him to massage. Again, the same game. Slide the left foot, tilt the right knew. The furtive glances, the sweat on his face.

I didn’t want Tony in reality. There was nothing attractive about him. We were from two different worlds. It was the game. It was the danger of being caught. It was the furtiveness of it all. I had power over someone else, albeit a small bit of power.

I wondered if he was married. I wondered if he would masturbate to the image of my shaven pussy, or would he fuck his wife thinking about my pussy?

The massage continued, and I ached to feel those fingers massaging right at the point where my legs became my ass cheeks.

God help me, I’m going to hell, I thought guiltily.

Tony finished, and began cleaning the lotion off of my toes so he could polish them. When he was done polishing them, I gave him a $10 tip. He blushed, said “Thank you,” and scurried off to the back.

Annie asked me to sit in front of her while she did my fill. But Annie wasn’t talking to me. My guess is I wasn’t as discreet as I thought I had been.

We sat there in silence, and I pondered my appointment with Lady Madonna. The wetness between my legs was screaming at me to hurry up.

When Annie was done, I paid for everything and I gave her a large tip, too. No sense in getting myself banned from here, I thought. This is a part of my Friday ritual. I need this place. I walked out, focused on my next adventure.

Friday Rituals: Part IV

I drove home that afternoon. My ass was hot. The welts were feverish, and I squirmed in my seat as I drove the 20 minutes to my apartment. On the way home, my car was silent, but my head was roaring with the activities of the previous hour and its results.

Part of me was scared. What if someone found out? Am I a freak? Could I go back for the next appointment? What the fuck was wrong with me?

Part of me was exhilirated. I had finally satisfied a longing. I never thought I'd build up the nerve to do it. So many years of masturbating in my bed, crazy with the passion of wanting to be used and tortured and giving pleasure. One, two, a dozen people at once. I craved submission.
I knew, I would go back. It was like a drug addiction. You believe you'll try it once, just for the fun of it, but once you get a feel of the drug, a voice in you says "I'll be back."

When I got home, I got out of my car gingerly. I walked as fast as my welts would let me-the rubbing against my clothing was a lingering torture. I unlocked my apartment door, and went straight to my bedroom. I stripped completely naked. I needed to see.

I looked in the mirrored doors of my closet. What I saw shocked me. I wasn't prepared for the long red streaks that laced my ass. The welts were tinged red, the blood raised to just under the surface of the skin. I stared, hypnotized. The scene was replaying itself in my mind.

A fantasy began playing out in my mind.

I bent over, so I could look at myself upside down in the mirror. I began picturing being forced to do just this, and being forced to watch Lady Madonna bring the riding crop down against the flesh of my ass.

I spread my legs a little more. How would it look to her, being able to see my vulva? Would the crop just barely miss my tender flesh? The idea of the crop coming dangerously close to my pussy with each lash was making me wet.

I slowly stood up, and turned around facing the mirror. My nipples were hard, and I began squeezing them more. I took a hand, and brought it slowly down from my large breasts down to my pussy. I rubbed a finger on my clit, and knew I had to once again feed the hungry lion of sexual depravity.

I went to my nightstand, and grabbed my rabbit dildo.

Lying back on my bed, I spread my legs as far apart as I could possible get them, and slowly inserted the dildo. Selecting the constant vibration on the dildo, I found that special place under my clit, and pushed the ears of the rabbit inward.

I began picturing having to bend over and watch Lady Madonna lash me in the mirror. I pictured her shoving a dildo in my pussy, and spanking me further. The rabbit vibrated on my clit, and I could feel the orgasm building. I pictured Lady Madonna stopping, and making me lay down, getting on top of me, holding my wrists down with her knees, and forcing me to eat her pussy. I pictured her wiping her juices on my face, making me her slave, marking me. I pictured her commanding me to keep my legs spread, keep my pussy exposed. I pictured looking up at those incredible breasts, the nipples poking out hard, looking as if they'd burst from the excitement.

I pushed the rabbit in a little harder, and the scream that came from my throat was the scream of a satisfied slave.

I'd be back.

I was addicted.

Friday Rituals: Part III

I drove to her address. The address turned out to be downtown, not in the ghetto, but in a-less-than-nice part of town. I found it, a narrow row house, with black iron doors and red brick. I parallel parked, and paid the meter for two hours. I didn’t plan on a two hour session - my budget couldn’t handle it – but I didn’t want to take any chances on getting towed either.
I rang the doorbell. And waited.

A red head in a black shirtdress answered the door.

“Lady Madonna is waiting for you. Please enter.”

I walked in. I didn’t know what to expect, and a new person in the scenario threw me off.

“My name is Lysistrata. I handle Lady Madonna’s administrative matters. Payment first, please.”

I handed her my bankcard. Lysistrata walked into a narrow office and efficiently zipped it through the credit card machine, and quickly the receipt printed out. She handed it to me, and I obediently signed it.

She motioned for me to follow her down a narrow hallway, and I followed her, focused on her incredibly high stilettos.

Lysistrata pointed to a room on the right. “Here is a changing room. Take off your clothes, and wait for me.”

I walked into the room, and stared around me. The walls were ivory on the top half, mahogany chair rails, and then burgundy on the bottom half. A burgundy chaise lounge was in the middle, and a mahogany bench was against the wall, with hangers and hooks for hanging clothes. There were no decorations otherwise.

I sat on the chaise lounge, collecting my nerve. I couldn’t believe I was following through with this. I took a deep breath, and began taking off my clothing. I hung up my shirt and skirt, and stood in my heels and stockings. Lysistrata had said to take off my clothing.

I took off the rest for fear of repercussions.

A light knock on the door, and Lysistrata came in. It was as if she knew I was nude at that moment. She carried something white in her hands.

“Here. This is for you, for today’s session. I’ll be waiting outside the door when you are finished.”

She handed me the white material, and closed the door.

I shook it out, and wrinkled my brow in confusion. It was a white apron. Not a full chef’s apron, but a small waist-only type. The kind you see in corny films, or part of corny French maid outfits. There was nothing else.

What in the hell is going on here? I remember thinking. I stood there incensed. For

$200, I didn’t come here to play maid.

A light knock again, and Lysistrata poked her head, a most serious expression on her face. “Lady Madonna is quite serious. I advise you to hurry.”

The door shut again.

I put it on, and tied it in a bow tie behind my back. My nipples were slightly hard from the chill in the room, and having hardly anything on.

I opened the door, and walked out. Lysistrata walked down the hallway, barely acknowledging my presence or my attire.

We walked into a small kitchen area. There stood Lady Madonna. Her hair was in the same tight bun as before. But this time, there was no pin-striped suit. She was in a black leather thong, and thigh-high leather boots. She had on long black leather gloves, and in one hand was a riding crop. Her breasts were incredible. They weren’t huge, but well-rounded, with eraser-head nipples.

I stepped out into the middle of the kitchen floor, and stood barefoot on the cold tile floor.

“Good afternoon, Sarah.”

“Good afternoon, Lady Madonna.”

“First things first. Today begins your training. You will stand at what is known as the position of parade rest when you are not performing tasks for me. Lysistrata, demonstrate.”

Lysistrata stepped forward, stood with her feet shoulder width apart, and her hands were behind her back. Lady Madonna motioned me to walk around so I could observe Lysistrata from all angles. Her hands her placed against each other flat against the back, palms outward. The elbows were nearly parallel to the floor. Lysistrata merely looked straight ahead, motionless.

“This is your submissive position. Anything less will result in punishment. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Lady Madonna.”

“First time infractions result in one lashing from my crop. Subsequent infractions will result in punishments at my humor. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Lady Madonna.”

“Now, at our meeting last week, you failed to end an answer with ‘Lady Madonna’. Is my memory correct?”

Holy shit. She didn’t forget.

“Y-yes, Lady Madonna.”

“Please bend over the kitchen table then.” She pointed toward the round café table to the right side of the kitchen.

I turned and slowly walked to the café table. My knees were trembling. I had no idea how this was going to feel. I had nothing on my ass.

“Quickly. Don’t test my humor yet!”

I reached the table and bent over it.

“Now. Whenever you are directed to bend over to receive a lashing, you will arch your back, and keep your feet shoulder-width apart. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Lady Madonna.”

I looked at the ivory colored walls in the kitchen, bracing myself. My back arched, and my feet were spread. I was exposed.

The leather pad at the end of the riding crop lightly rubbed on my pussy lips. I flinched from the surprise of the light touch.

WHACK!

My breath drew in audibly as pain rose across one cheek.

“That’s for not keeping your back arched.”

WHACK!

There was now a stinging welt on the other cheek to match. My breath was rapid, and my hands clenched the edge of the table.

“That’s for forgetting ‘Lady Madonna’ last week. Now get in your position.”

I quickly stood up. I imitated the position of parade rest as best as I could. Lady Madonna’s boot spread my bare feet a little more. She interlocked my thumbs, and I was ready.

“Lysistrata, the bucket please.”

Bucket? What bucket?

Lysistrata quickly disappeared, her stilettos clacking on the wooden floor down the hallway. I heard the steps coming back. Lysistrata went to the sink, and filled a mop bucket with hot water. I could see the steam.

Lysistrata retrieved a pair of rubber gloves and a sponge from under the sink, brought everything and placed it in front of me. She disappeared down the wooden hallway, heels clacking again.

“Your training begins now. You will learn that you are my slave. You will do what I tell you, when I tell you, with no question. Not even in your mind. For the next 30 minutes, you will get on your hands and knees, and scrub my kitchen floor. While mopping, you will keep your back arched, and your knees shoulder-width apart. You will not miss an inch. I will monitor you the entire time. Is that clear, Sarah?”

“Yes, Lady Madonna.”

My mind was reeling. I’d never hand-mopped any floor – not my mother’s, not mine, and here I was about to mop this stranger’s. On my dime, to make it worse.

“Start in the corner by the kitchen sink.” Her crop gave me a light tap on my ass to get me moving.

I picked up my bucket, sponge, and gloves, and carried them to the corner where the kitchen sink met the cabinets. I put on the gloves, and I could hear Lady Madonna’s boot tapping on the kitchen tile.

I got on my knees. I didn’t understand what this had to do with being submissive.

WHACK!

I jerked in surprise.

“Arch your back, and get to scrubbing! You’re too slow. You have 29 minutes.”

I began scrubbing the floor. I realized quickly it’s difficult to maintain an arched back and spread knees while trying to concentrate on scrubbing every inch of the floor. At first my knees didn’t hurt, but after a few minutes, the aching began.

WHACK!

“Your back! I want to see your pussy at all times!”

I arched my back, and continued scrubbing. The riding crop flickered lightly on my pussy again. I drew in my breath and held it, not knowing what was coming next.

“Afraid to breathe? Good. That means you don’t know what’s coming, and that means you aren’t in control. This is my world. I’m in control. I own you when you walk through those doors.”

WHACK!

I scrubbed furiously. I had reached the other end of the kitchen, which I gauged to measure 10 feet across. I began my next row of circular scrubbing moving back to the right side of the kitchen.

“I like how your breasts sway when your scrub,” she said as she rubbed my right nipple with the riding crop.

“News flash, Sarah, your ass isn’t the only part that can receive lashes.”

My whole body flushed at this revelation.

I heard her boots following pacing around me as I scrubbed. Her riding crop made teasing circles on my back my ass, the bottoms of my feet.

When I began making my way across to the right side of the kitchen again, her boot stopped my hand.

“Halt!”

I looked up in consternation. Beads of sweat trickled down my face. Tension, scrubbing and excitement were causing my body to react heatedly.

Lady Madonna knelt down in front of me. One knee was in slightly in front, one leg out to her left. It gave me a view of her thong and what filled it. Her breasts were right in front of me.
“Have you ever smelled a woman, Sarah? Have you ever smelled the essence of a woman’s pussy?”

“N-no, Lady Madonna,” I stammered.

“Get up on your knees, hands behind your back.”

I got up on my knees, sharp needles of pain shooting through my kneecaps. When my hands were behind my back, she stood up, and got right in front of my face. With her riding crop she tilted my face up to her.

“I want to you to rub your face on my pussy. Smell the leather. Smell my perfume, smell my essence. This is what a woman smells like.”

I hesitantly placed my face against her leather thong.

WHACK!

“Firmly, but do not use your mouth on me. Use your nose to rub against me. Smell me. Be honored that you are smelling my pussy.”

I did as she ordered. The smell of leather was intoxicating. And beneath the leather smell, I could smell her. I closed my eyes, and drew in her scent. I could feel the folds of her lips beneath her thong, and longed to take my tongue and…

WHACK!
Goddamn, she was vicious with that crop! But it also made me wet.

And as I rubbed my face on her thong, I looked up at her, taking in the sight of her breasts above me, the hard nipples standing at attention like two well-trained soldiers.

“Back to scrubbing. You’ve had your reward!”

Elated at being so close to her pussy, the smell of leather still in my nose, I went back to scrubbing. I worked at remembering to keep my back arched, my knees spread apart – by now I didn’t know if I’d ever walk normally again the way my knees ached.

In my revery, I didn’t hear her boot approach me from the left.

WHACK! “Stop!”

I looked up, startled.

“You missed a spot. Here-“ and Lady Madonna pointed with her crop at the toe of her boot.

I was confused.

“Here – lick my boot. My boot is not clean, and you will clean it with your tongue.”

I looked up at her like she was crazy. I had heard of boot licking, but I thought was a corny story.

“Do you think I’m kidding?” she asked icily.

“Lysistrata! The tail!”

I heard the heels click-clacking down the hallway, and a door open.

Lady Madonna ordered me to stand.

I stood as quickly as I could, considering the pain my knees were in.

“Bend over the kitchen table, and spread your legs apart.”

The heels click-clacked toward the kitchen again.

“Thank you, Lysistrata. Please stand by. Now, Sarah, you obviously thought I was kidding when I ordered you to lick my boot. I was not. Your next punishment is at my discretion. You will see what it is like to have a tail. Lysistrata, please assist.”

A small drawer was opened from the café table, and a set of Velcro restraints on ropes was taken out.

Lysistrata held my wrists, while Lady Madonna attached a rope to each leg, and then fastened the Velcro around my wrists.

Lysistrata then brought the “tail”- a fairly small black dildo with a long black fringe hanging from one end. She had a bottle of lubricant in one hand.

Lady Madonna massaged my ass cheeks, chiding, “Oh my, you just didn’t know what I would do today, did you, Sarah? Feel me now.”

As she spoke, Lysistrata spread my cheeks, and I could hear the squirt of the lube on the dildo. I’d never had anal sex, and I was totally frozen in fear.

I felt the head slowly making its way in, and Lady Madonna’s voice soothingly cooed, “Breathe deeply. Relax. My, Lysistrata, we have a virgin.”

Slowly the dildo was worked into my anus, Lysistrata keeping a tight hold of my cheeks. I had had fantasies about being taken and used for others’ pleasure, but never did I believe I’d derive my own perverse pleasure from being so coldly invaded.

Finally the dildo was in, and my labored breathing told Lady Madonna I had taken it all in and had reached a height of excitement never before reached.

“What a lovely ass! I’m going to enjoy abusing this ass! The next time you hear the phrase ‘Your ass is mine’, it will have a whole new meaning, won’t it, Sarah?”

“Yes, Lady Madonna!” I nearly shouted in pain and excitement.

“Now, get on your knees, and lick my boot, Sarah!”

Lysistrata released the Velcro, and I knelt on my knees in front of Lady Madonna. I started at her toe, licking her boot in circles the way I had scrubbed the floor in circles. The riding crop made light circles on my ass again. I was nearly dizzy with the heat. I worked my way up her boot.

“Good girl…ooooh, my how you can lick a boot when encouraged!” Lady Madonna purred.

“Lady Madonna, it’s time,” I heard Lysistrata state quietly.

“Sarah, you have 20 minutes. You may follow Lysistrata back to the changing room, and use the time however you wish. I assume you’ll make another appointment on your way out the door.”

With a turn, Lady Madonna walked out of the kitchen, down the hallway, and I could hear her going up the staircase.

I gingerly followed Lysistrata, with the dildo still inside of me.

* * *

When I entered the changing room there were some new additions. On the chaise lounged lay several towels, and several dildos of varying sizes. The intent was clear, and I needed no further prodding.

I spread out one towel, and picked up a vibrator with a rabbit. Lying back, I inserted the rabbit vibrator, and adjusted the speed for midway. Pressing the ears of the rabbit just under my clit, I closed my eyes, and thought about pressing my face against the pussy of Lady Madonna, this time with no thong, the crop dangerously near in case I didn’t make her cum.

I’m sure Lady Madonna and Lysistrata could hear my vocal expressions of release a few minutes later. They seemed to go on forever, as my orgasm shook my body for what seemed an eternity.

* * *

Ten minutes later, I opened the door, fully dressed. Lysistrata was there, with Latex gloves and a plastic bin. She held it out, waiting for the black dildo and the rabbit vibrator. I placed them in the bin, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

“It’s ok-it’s very normal actually. That’s why we provide them.”

She placed both items in a red plastic bag for disposal. “We are safe here.”

I followed her back down to the narrow office. “Two Friday’s from today?” she asked, again in efficiency mode.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

I walked out the door to my car. My knees were aching, and still trembling from the past hour.