I awoke early, much too early for a Saturday. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, but I needed to pee, urgently. I had been disoriented, and I had almost jumped in fright when I had become aware of the body snuggled up to me. Then yesterday’s events came back to me, and I realized that the body belonged to my - roommate? Friend? Lover?
I slowly extricated myself, careful not to wake her up. She groaned quietly when I put her arm back onto the bed, but she didn’t stir. In slow motion, I got up and traipsed to the bathroom. The face looking back from the mirror was still my own, perhaps a bit disheveled, but nothing out of the ordinary. I ran my hands over my breasts, and the slight ache in my nipples told me that yesterday had not just been a dream. Now curious, I captured them between my fingers and pinched. That hurt, so much that my knees buckled, and I quickly let go.
Then I spread my pussy lips, trying to see if something down there looked damaged, but I needed a closer view. So I pulled out the round magnifying mirror from under the sink and set it down on the closed toilet. I spread my legs and crouched over it, again pulling my lips apart. And gasped. My clit was still a bit swollen, lewdly peeking out from its hood, and a lot darker than the surrounding skin.
I gave it a delicate flick and nearly lost my balance, so intense was the feeling which shot upwards between my legs. After I had righted myself, I couldn’t resist and flicked it again. Before, I had only ever masturbated in the secrecy of my bed and covered by my blanket. And while I knew that my clit would quickly swell to almost triple its normal size, I had never consciously watched it do so. I had an idea and wet my finger with my spittle before flicking it again. That felt even better. Soon I was flicking my now fully engorged clit every few seconds, relishing that wonderful spark that ignited between my legs.
“Such a naughty girl!”
I jumped backwards, almost toppling the mirror from the toilet, and shrieked. My hands quickly covered my pubes and breasts. My heart raced and my cheeks burned.
“Anne!” I exclaimed, in lack of a better response.
She only grinned at me and stepped closer. Her hand wrapped around the arm covering my breasts, and she sighed. “Silly girl, don’t try to hide what I have already seen up close.”
She was right, in a way, and I let her guide my arm to my side. Her look dared me, and after a short moment of insecurity, I let the other arm drop to my side as well.
“Better.” She walked around me, and it made me nervous. Then she was behind me, close, and rested her chin on my shoulder. “Don’t let me stop you from what you were doing.”
I almost gave in. But then a bit of rational thought returned to me, and I started to look for a way out. This was all happening too fast.
“I - I need to pee.” I waited, but instead of leaving, her arms went around my body and started to massage my tummy. “Please, Anne!”
Her rhythmic massage heightened my need to urinate, and I wondered if she was doing it on purpose. “Please, I really need to pee, Anne.”
“And? What’s the problem?”
She knew damn well what the problem was, but somehow she had managed to make me feel meek and insecure, almost like the evening before.
“Please, Anne,” I pleaded now, “I need to pee, and you’re still here.” Her hands pressed down even harder onto my tummy, and if she kept this up, I’d not make it another minute. But instead of leaving, she spun me around to face her.
“Listen, Bunnie,” she addressed me, her hands wrapped around my upper arms and her nails digging into my skin, “I have learned a few things about you yesterday. Things I’m sure you didn’t even know yourself. One: being ashamed makes you tingle. Two: pain makes you fly. Three: a girl’s tongue makes you explode. And, like a good friend should, I’ll make you tingle and fly and explode as much as possible.”
“That - that’s not true!” I protested, because it wasn’t true. I had already been worked up yesterday, that’s what had made me agree to the whole thing, and then Anne had kept me from coming and exploited my desperation.
“Let’s try an experiment,” Anne proposed, “to see if shame really doesn’t turn you on. It’ll only take a minute or two, and if it’s over and you’re not more turned on than before, I’ll never bring it up again. Agreed?”
Somewhere deep inside I knew that she was playing me like a violin. But I really thought I’d have a chance to prove her wrong. I nodded.
“Good girl. Keep a tab on your arousal.” A few seconds later she had put the mirror on the windowsill and flipped up the toilet lid, then she was softly pushing me towards it.
“What are you doing?” I protested, but I let myself be turned around and pushed down on it. Then my knees were pulled apart, and Anne knelt down between them, her arms resting on my things. Then her fingers pulled apart my pussy lips.
“Pee, Bunnie,” she ordered, “I want to see that hot, stinky piss shoot out of your body and into the bowl.”
Her eyes were only a foot from my pussy. It felt obscene, and degrading. My cheeks pulsed in shame. But even though I begged her to stop this, with my eyes and voice, she didn’t relent. But I just couldn’t pee like this - until she pinched her nails into my pussy lips. The pain, while far from the pain when she bit my nipple and clit, was still unexpected, and the moment of distraction was enough for my bladder to claim its release. And while my mind was mortified about what was happening, the relief of finally being able to pee was wonderful, almost sexual. It seemed to take ages, like a river leaking from between my legs and splashing into the white bowl, but after a minute it slowed to a trickle and finally the last drop splattered into the toilet. I tried to reach for the toilet paper.
“Stop! Before you wipe, tell me how aroused you are. More or less?”
She looked up at me, self-assured and expectant. When I looked at my own body, I gasped. My nipples were extended like tiny, blood-red daggers, and my clit almost resembled a small cherry.
“More or less?” Anne inquired again.
I had to hang my head in defeat. “More,” I whispered.
“See,” she declared, happy, “I told you so, but you wouldn’t believe me. You should really start to trust my judgment. Talking about judgment,” she pulled a few sheets of toilet paper off the roll and folded them, “I think your infatuation with Jason was a case of bad judgment on your side. Lean back.”
I leant back, a bit miffed now. “What do you mean with bad judgment? He’s not that bad.”
“Not bad, my ass, he wouldn’t know how to treat a submissive if she lay at his feet with a manual. He’s a jock.”
“Submissive?” I had come about that term a few times browsing through the internet, looking for something to read that didn’t stretch my purse to the limit. “I’m not a submissive.”
“Not? I didn’t realize.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Then how do you call a girl who asks her girlfriend to bite her clit, tortures her own nipples, pees on command and lets her friend wipe her after peeing?”
I guess I’m just naive. I really hadn’t made the connection, and I swear that I had, in my righteous indignation, completely missed that the hand guiding the tissue through my folds wasn’t my own. Both points did nada to alleviate my shame. The tissue dropped into the bowl, and I hastily jumped up and closed the lid when Anne pressed the button to flush. She immediately guided me down to sit on the lid.
“As I said, before you so helped so brilliantly in proving my point, Jason was an error in judgment, one I couldn’t let you make, photos or not.” Her eyes scanned mine, probably looking for hints of protest. I was still trying to wrap my mind around everything, but perhaps she was right. Jason was good-looking, true, with a fit body, but apart from that and the one moment in the hallway our contacts had consisted of friendly hellos in passing. I nodded, a bit defeated.
“He’s not coming to the card game on Wednesday evening.”
Now my eyes went wide. “When did you…”
“I didn’t invite him in the first place. I knew it was a bad idea.”
I gasped. So all of her elaborate planning had been a farce? Well, everything that was going to happen after the pictures were taken anyway? I asked her that.
“Oh, Bunnie, baby,” she just smiled, like she was chiding a small child, “nothing was a farce. I was just trying to prove something to you, so I had to work Jason into the mix. Otherwise you’d have balked at the first minute.” “But the photos?”
“Come here.” She ordered instead of answering my question. When I didn’t react immediately, she repeated the command, in a sharper voice, and like in a trance, I got up from the lid and stepped in front of her.
“Remember the orgasm you had yesterday? That all-consuming, powerful climax?”
I nodded, my mind racing back through my memories to that wonderful moment when time had seemed to stop.
“Do you want to experience that again and again?”
Once more I nodded.
I dropped like a stone; thank god we were on the small rug in the middle of the bathroom. Otherwise it might have hurt. Looking up at her, something shifted inside me.
“Sit on your heels and spread your legs, then grip your wrists behind your back.”
A little shuffling and I had done as she asked. She studied me with obvious pleasure, and I felt a bit like a pet. Adored, small, and subject to the whims of her owner. Still, I couldn’t deny the moisture accumulating between my legs. Something about this treatment resonated in me, and the more I tried to deny it, the more obvious the truth became.
“I’m a submissive,” I declared, testing the word on my tongue, and suddenly there was a warm cocoon of surrender wrapped around me.
“My submissive.” Anne’s voice was sharp, but it held a loving undertone.
“Your submissive,” I conceded.
“And that makes me?” she asked, one eyebrow lifted.
“My - my mistress?” My answer was tentative, and it felt a bit strange. Yes, I had read a few stories featuring that kind of mistress, but those women always were older, more the governess type. Addressing someone my age, someone even a few months younger than me, like that took a bit of getting used to. Hell, addressing anyone like that needed getting used to.
“Yes, your Mistress,” Anne said and stroked my head. “And to make it easier for you to distinguish between your best friend Anne and your mistress you’ll address me as ‘Mistress Summers’ when we’re alone or when I tell you to.”
“Okay,” I said, and immediately realized my mistake when Anne’s hand shot down and pinched my nipple painfully.
“I’m sorry, Mistress Summers.” The pain faded as soon as I had finished my sentence.
“Good. You’re a fast learner, though nobody who knows you would have doubted that. I need to use the loo myself and then I’ll have a shower, why don’t you make me a coffee and wait for me at the table?”
“Yes, Mistress Summers.” I almost jumped upright again, nervous, then traipsed outside and closed the bathroom door behind me. At the table, I had to sit down for a minute. My thoughts were swirling around in my head like a swarm of butterflies. Sitting didn’t help though, and so I started to prepare the coffee. I filled up the water, added more beans into the grinder - Italian blend, her favorite - and put a big cup under the outlet. The grinder made a hell of a noise, but it was one of the best machines on the market. After a lot of bubbling and clicking from inside it, the brew ran into the cup, and the aroma made my stomach grumble. I realized that the exertion yesterday evening had left me low on calories, and hastily fished a vanilla cookie from the sweets drawer. It tasted wonderful.
It also managed to appease my stomach, so I finished preparing the coffee. A half teaspoon of sugar and just a hint of milk. I placed it on the table in front of her chair and sat down in mine, awaiting her return.
Then a memory of one of the stories I had read came back, and after a bit of struggling with myself, I dropped to my knees and crawled to the side of her chair, my cheeks flushed and a crazy, giddy feeling in my chest. I spread my knees about shoulder-width apart and set down on my heels, put my hands on my thighs, arched my back and put my chin up, with my eyes to the floor.
The pose was harder to hold than I had expected, and I had to move my upper body back and forth a few times until I found an angle that didn’t put too much strain on my back. Then I waited. I heard the water start, then after a minute or two, stop again. A few minutes later it started up again, and I couldn’t help but imagine Anne in the shower, her hair slick and shiny, small speckles of foam adorning her petite breasts, drops of water traveling down between her legs and adorning her beautiful pussy like pearls.
Oh god, when had I started to find her pussy beautiful?
Then the door opened, and Anne stepped into the bedroom, a white towel around her body, her hair wrapped up inside a pink one. She started to glow when she saw me, and I was assured that I had done something right.
“Your coffee is ready, Mistress Summers.” I lowered my gaze to the floor, demure and content.
Anne sat down on the chair and rewarded me by caressing my cheek. I leaned into her touch and enjoyed the smell of her clean, freshly lotioned skin while she sipped her coffee.
“It’s perfect,” she proclaimed, “and I’m not just talking about the coffee.”
“Yes, Mistress Summers,” I agreed, wholeheartedly.
“Fetch me a pad of paper and a pen, Bunnie, then hop into the shower yourself.”
“Yes, Mistress Summers.” I acknowledged her order and started to get up, but a hand on my shoulder stopped me.
“I want you to crawl, Bunnie. In fact, I want you to crawl all the time inside our rooms, unless you have to stand, like for washing the dishes.”
“Yes, Mistress Summers.” I shifted to all fours and started to crawl to the sofa where our writing utensils were stowed. It wasn’t far. As dorm rooms go, ours was quite luxurious - more of a small flat, with space for two beds on both sides of the window, partial walls that separated the sleeping area from the living room. It had a sofa with a coffee table and an ottoman on one side, framed by a low sideboard, and a small kitchenette on the other, with an extensible two-person table and four chairs, of which two were usually stacked between the kitchenette and the wall. The rest of the wall on the sofa side was filled up with our closet, while the other wall held the door to our en-suite bathroom and a slim bookcase. The room was probably a little more than twenty feet wide and a bit longer.
Nevertheless, fetching the pad and paper only took a few seconds, but I could feel Anne’s eyes on my naked bum the whole time. And I enjoyed it. I fidgeted a little with the utensils, fearful to crumple the paper or break the pen when I was crawling, but then I found a solution. I put the pad on my back and the pen between my lips, then I crawled carefully back to her.
She picked up the pad from my back and pulled the pen from my lips with a smile. “Off you go,” she ordered with a giggle and a light slap to my bum.
And so I crawled to the bathroom, stretching to turn the knob and pushing open the door with my nose. It felt silly. And hot.
I was just about to close the door when Anne’s voice interrupted me. “Leave the door open, Bunnie, all the way. And make sure to wash that sticky snatch of yours out well.”
I realized what she was doing, really. I’m not as dumb as I appear from time to time. I was on my way to get a degree in digital advertising, after all. I’m just a bit naive now and then, but I was very much aware that she was starting to strip away my privacy, piece by piece, to make me feel more naked and exposed than pure nudity could.
And it worked. I could feel it between my legs.
“I will, Mistress Summers.”
Then I crawled into the shower. I had to stand up to get to the shower head, but once it was in my hand, I dropped back to my knees. My shins got a bit cold until I had the water temperature adjusted, but then it was like every other shower - okay, perhaps a bit more awkward. I turned the water off and started to soap my hair and body.
Following Anne’s order, I inserted a soapy finger into my pussy and moved it around. This, of course, made me horny, and it took all of my willpower to stop fondling myself. Instead, I turned the water up again, this time a half turn more of the cold. Not really freezing, but not comfortable either. Once my hair and skin were free of soap, I turned the shower head to massage mode, one single, hard jet of water, and pointed it between my legs with one hand while opening my sex with the other. It was almost painful, but I forced myself to count down from ten before turning off the water and crawling out of the stall.
Anne was already waiting for me, a towel in hand, and ordered me to stand up straight, with my arms extended to the sides. She toweled me dry, a new experience. This was sensuous, intimate. She dried every inch of my skin thoroughly, starting from my hair, even my ears, then my arms and down my back, through the crack of my bum and down my legs. When she turned me over, she even dried my face with a corner of the towel, and it was a lover’s caress.
She lingered longer than necessary over my breasts, and when she rubbed my pussy even longer, instead of getting dry, the opposite was happening. She even had me lift my feet and toweled between my toes, which tickled like hell, but I bit my lip and managed not to pull away.
She proclaimed her work finished, and I dropped back on my knees. Without a word, she turned and walked back to the table. I hastened to keep up with her on all fours. She snatched the writing pad and went over to the couch, flopping down in the middle, and like an obedient puppy, I knelt next to her.
She patted her lap. “Jump up and lay here, with your back across my thighs.”
I did that, and it wasn’t really comfortable, with just my back resting on her thighs and my bum and my head in the air. It got even more uncomfortable when she ordered me to spread my legs as far as the couch allowed and to stretch my arms over my head.
“Are you comfortable, little one?”
That endearment was new, and for a moment I felt compelled to lie to her. But I answered truthfully, “No, Mistress Summers.”
“Good.” She paused, perhaps to let it sink in. Somehow, she had become an enigma to me. While I had known her as a reliable, funny person under all her flightiness, she was now a mixture of loving tenderness and cruelty. But my thoughts didn’t have long to stray.
“It’s not meant to be comfortable. I want you accessible, in case I want to play with your tits or your pussy. And it’s meant to make you more sensitive.” A fingernail trailed over my stomach, slightly scratching my taut skin, which made my muscles twitch uncontrollably. My breath quickened and I had to fight the urge to squirm.
“See what I mean?”
“Yes, I do, Mistress Summers.”
“Good. Then let’s start going over your new house rules.”
And go over the rules she did. It was a whole page, in her neat, small script. As she had hinted, she did play with my body while she read the rules, stroking me, pinching me, even sticking a finger up my pussy and having me suck it clean again. She pulled on my pubic hair until I squirmed, only to softly caress my nipples a minute later. Pleasure and pain, both in equal measures, until I was nothing more than a boneless heap of arousal once she was finished reading the rules. Of which I could only remember the first. ‘I will always follow all of my Mistress’ rules and orders, instantly and without hesitation.’
Of course she quizzed me about it, and I failed spectacularly.
For a moment, I feared that she’d be angry, but the knowing look in her eyes told me that I had performed as expected.
“I want you to memorize them before this evening,” she told me, “and I’ll quiz you again to make sure you have. Make sure to also memorize their number, I’ll ask them out of order.”
I gulped. The list was quite long. But on the other hand, I’ve had to memorize before for my courses and always scored well. So I said with some confidence “I will, Mistress Summers.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will. I’ll give you some incentive that will make sure of it. Get up on the floor and kneel on the other side of the table.”
My back protested, as did my arms and legs, so I crawled rather slowly after I had managed to make it to the floor. But I managed, and I assumed what I had now privately dubbed ‘the position’. Meanwhile, Anne had put the rule list in front of me and was now rummaging in her school bag. With a “gotcha!” she came back, her fist closed around whatever she had been looking for, and looked at me expectantly.
“You’ve got a choice. Do you want the incentive for your nipples or your pussy?” I must have looked a bit lost. I didn’t have the slightest clue what the incentive was, so how should I decide on one or the other? But Anne got impatient. “Hurry up, we haven’t got all day!”
“My pussy,” I blubbered, hastily, before she could get really annoyed. “I choose my pussy Mistress Summers.” That earned me a wide smile, and I was glad that I had pleased her. But not for long.
She ordered me to turn towards her, and when I did so, she opened her fist and showed me the two big, black binder clips she had hidden. They were at least three inches wide, those clips made from folded metal strips that closed on their own and could hold a hundred pages safely together, with two handles to squeeze them open. “Please, no!” I gasped, the color draining from my face, my hands instinctively covering my sex.
Anne clucked reproachfully. “Are you refusing an order?”
Her eyes seemed to burn holes through my head, and I could only keep up with her stare for a few seconds. Then I hung my head, put my hands back behind me and whispered, “No, Mistress Summers.”
“I’ll let it go this time. But this is the last time; in the future, refusal means punishment. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress Summers.” I seemed to say that phrase quite often, I noticed, while I watched Anne crouch down on one knee in front of me.
“Whatever happens, keep looking me in the eyes. And keep your wrists behind your back.”
I nodded while I kept my eyes on hers, the trepidation about what she was going to do constricting my chest for a moment, and it seemed enough.
Her fingers nestled with my left pussy lip, stretching it out, running up and down its length. It felt good, and she took her time finding the right spot. She managed to make me almost forget about the clip, but just as I started to hump against my finger, cold metal wrapped around my lip and closed down on it with a snap.
It hurt, so much that it made my eyes mist up. But Anne, clearly enjoying the picture of my teary eyes and trembling lips, stroked my cheek and promised me that the worst of the pain would soon fade. She was right, too. After a minute, the sharp pain had turned into a dull throb, and the prospect of wearing them for a period of time did seem a bit more realistic.
Then it was the turn for the right pussy lip. She once more, and despite me expecting it, tricked me into forgetting about the clip by arousing me. It hurt just as much, perhaps more, because I now knew how long it took until the pain lessened.
“They will stay on until you have memorized the rules, each and every one of them.” I had expected that, but one can always hope. “I’ll go out for two hours, so that’s the earliest you can get rid of the clips. And don’t think I’ll not know if you take them off in between. Once I’m back, you can ask me to quiz you, but only if you’re sure you know the rules inside and out. Otherwise we’ll have to add more incentives.” She winked, and I gulped. “Questions?”
“No, Mistress Summers.”
“Good, then start memorizing and don’t mind me until I’m back.”
So I turned towards the table and tried to suck the wording of the rules into my head, while Anne was bustling around behind me and got ready to go out. After some time the door opened and closed, and everything went quiet.
* * * *
Memorizing the rules was hard. I read them and re-read them, again and again. After maybe half an hour, I couldn’t tell the time because the clock was directly behind me, the ache in my pussy lips got stronger, and I felt my concentration straying. I started to read the rules aloud, to keep my focus on the words, but I caught myself reading mechanically, without realizing exactly what I was reading, more and more often.
The rules themselves added their own part to my distraction. They were quite devilish.
I was to stay naked all the time inside our flat, unless we had visitors. I wasn’t allowed to close the bathroom door. I wasn’t even allowed to go to the loo without Anne’s permission. I had to address her as Mistress Summers or Ma’am at all times, unless in the company of strangers. I was not allowed to be outside the flat without her permission.
I was not allowed my own money, only what she handed out to me, and to that extent she even required me to hand over my bank cards and pin numbers, together with the pin to my cellphone. This one made me doubt the whole thing, but then I read the small note she had scribbled next to it about a safeword and listing the pin to her small safe, realizing this was more about trust than anything, and it went both ways.
Any clothes I wore were to be selected by her. She was allowed to do with my body whatever she wished. And still things got more intense.
I wasn’t allowed to masturbate without her permission, and even touching my pussy or tits other than for washing them was forbidden. Of course, cleaning the flat, doing the dishes and all those chores I had already been doing were also on my list, but now with the promise of punishment if I let anything slide.
All infractions of the rules had to be recorded by me in a special punishment book, which Anne would consult each evening to decide the nature and severity of my punishment. A schedule that she was free to change to her liking, of course.
I was not allowed to lie - which wouldn’t be much of a problem for me - but I also wasn’t allowed to omit or circumvent the truth. And finally, the most devious of rules: every time I heard the word ‘bunny-ears’ or when two fingers - the rules especially said ‘anybody’s two fingers’, which made my skin tingle - drew a hash sign anywhere on my body, I had to answer the last question in the affirmative, anytime, anywhere, no matter who was there.
Those rules meant she owned me, almost without limits. And now that I had stopped struggling against those strange feelings inside me, reading one of them sent a dull, painful yearning through my pussy that had nothing to do with the binder clips. I was wet, incredibly so.
When Anne came back, the pain in my pussy lips was becoming hard to bear. Small tremors shook my lower body every few seconds, and when she opened the door, my bum must have been quite the sight, shaking like Jell-O. Still, I was concentrating like I had never before, and by this time I had not just the words memorized, but could see the whole rule sheet before my inner eyes, word for word, letter for letter.
I heard the rustling of paper bags behind me, then the clicking of her sandals approaching me. Her hands came to rest on my shoulders, and she bent over me. I recognized the dress she was wearing, white, with a wide collar and some blue patches; like a mix between a tennis dress and a sailor suit, it was quite stylish.
“Have you made progress, Bunnie?”
And with a huge smile, I answered “Yes, Ma’am, everything, word for word. Please quiz me.”
Her eyes widened, and then narrowed. “Are you sure, absolutely sure? It’s your last chance to change your mind. If you fail to answer a single question, you’ll be back to memorizing, and the last two hours will seem like a walk in the park.”
But I was confident, more confident than I had ever been in a quiz for school. And I let her know.
Soon, she was propped on the sofa, her naked feet resting on the table in front of me, and quizzing me on rules and numbers. And I answered every single one with a shaking voice and brightly flushed cheeks. It was exhausting, but over time, a proud giddiness gripped me.
Then Anne clapped, and I thought my cheeks would rupture, so wide was my grin.
“Well done, little one,” she congratulated me, “I know that you’re a quick learner, but I wouldn’t have thought it possible that you could memorize them that fast.”
“Thank you, Mistress Summers,” I answered, even a little cheekily. “It’s just a question of the right incentive.”
That made her laugh. “Oh my, you’re brilliant. But I’ll remember that comment, and pray that it won’t come back and bite you in your lovely bum. But you know what?” She studied me with a smile. “Because you were such a good girl with the memorizing, we’re going out tonight.”
“I’d like that, Ma’am.”
“Oh, I know you will.” That was a bit ominous, but I didn’t want to get a headache about things that were hours in the future. “Drink some water, then join me on the bed.”
And now that she said it, I realized that my mouth was quite dry, and I gladly crawled over to the kitchenette and poured myself a big glass of water which I gulped down without a break. Someone, somewhere, had commented that I was never to go near the Great Lakes, because I’d dry out Lake Michigan in a fortnight after seeing my drinking habits. My water drinking habits, that is, I’ve never been a big fan of alcohol, it made me dizzy and stupid. I grew up on a farm, that’s where I had learned to drink much and quickly, just a question of necessity after a half day of climbing ladders, jumping into the hay and playing catch across the stubble fields.
With my thirst sated, I put the glass into the sink and crawled to Anne’s bed. She had meanwhile changed into one of her large t-shirts, a white one that read ‘slut tamer’. I had seen it before and found it a funny gag. Now, I looked at it with different eyes.
Anne grinned, aware of the thoughts running through my head. “C’mon,” she ordered, “hop onto the bed. I’ve been running around all morning and my feet hurt. I need a foot massage.”
So I climbed onto the bed at her feet and was just settling down and extending a hand towards her right foot, when she stopped me.
“I’ve changed my mind. What I need is a tongue bath.”
I looked down at her feet that had been inside her sandals for hours and collected sweat and dust. It was gross.
But then I remembered rule number one - to follow every order, instantly and immediately. Heat rushed up my body and into my face. I dropped to my side and lifted her foot a bit. There was something incredibly dirty about the idea alone, and I stared at it for long moments, struggling with myself. And the longer I looked at her pretty feet, the faster my breaths became.
I licked the sole from heel to toes, hesitantly, afraid that this single act of submission might be too much for me. It tasted sweet and salty, and a bit stale, but after a second lick, I decided that I’ve had worse in fast food restaurants. A quick glance at Anne’s face showed her head tilted back, her eyes closed and a smile on her lips. That was all the encouragement I needed, and I continued licking her soles with gusto.
Once I had finished with both, she told me to straddle her so I’d be better able to reach the upper side of her feet. This also had the advantage that she was able to play with my pussy, and play she did!
While I licked her feet, sucked on her toes and let my tongue roam between them, her fingers were busy rubbing my throbbing clit. She brought me to the brink of orgasm and held me there for minutes, only to back off and let me cool down before she started over. I was almost going crazy, but I focused on my task and worshipped her feet, like a good submissive should - even if my gasps, moans, and jerks made it hard to keep my tongue on curse.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, I was allowed to stop. My tongue felt dry and swollen, and my pussy and nipples ached with need, so intense that I didn’t even realize that I was still wearing the clamps.
I lay down as ordered, and with Anne spooning me once more, I fell into an exhausted sleep.