Mistress Shirleen, Trailer Park Queen

by Bob Salinas

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© Copyright 2003 - Bob Salinas - Used by permission

Storycodes: FF/m; D/s; bond; cbt; cons; XX

I met the lady on one of those evenings I spent at a joint in the Tenderloin, which catered to the BDSM-oriented crowd. She was definitely a little older, fortyish, than the usual pro Dom, but I found that more of a turn-on than -off; it told me she wasn’t some twenty-three-year-old who had been handed a costume of a tiger-skin bikini, whip, and high heels and shown how to pose with a sneer. This was a grown-up woman who had been around the block several times and had the scars that go with the trip.

She looked really good, although she was dressed conservatively for that crowd- skin-tight leatherette pants, a silk blouse open halfway to her waist over a bustier that both enhanced and displayed her ample cleavage (which I would wager was natural), and a pair of heels you  could hurt yourself falling from. My practiced eye evaluated her measurements at about 40C-32-38, which is more into the ‘naturally voluptuous’ range than teenagers get.

Anyway, I gradually worked my way to her side and struck up a conversation. It turned out that she was Shirleen and spoke on a soft east Texas accent when (after she allowed me to buy her a couple of drinks) she kidded about being ‘Texarkana trailer trash’. Actually, she’d departed twelve years ago from Beaumont, Texas, which she described as being ‘the gateway to Vidor, the national headquarters of the KKK’.

When I summoned up the courage to stare deep into those moist hazel eyes, she stared right back while she told me “Yes, Bob, I come here to look around to survey what’s available for me to use for my pleasure, sorta like shopping. I’m non-pro, an amateur Dominatrix; I do this for enjoyment and thrills. The rest of the time, which is sadly most of the time, I’m a computer operator for Orchard Supply, the California do-it-yourself hardware chain. It’s amazing how many kinky things they helped me build without any idea of what we were into! But when I’m finished feeding the machine, I come here to find an occasional ‘Mister Not-Completely-Right’ who I hit it off with, a guy who wants to play games with me.”

So, after I focused my charm on those hazel eyes, she ‘acquiesced’ (yeah, right) and let me follow her home. ‘Home’ turned out to be a trailer park, no lie! Actually, her unit was a double-wide mobile home, a nicely-landscaped three-bedroom home, but it had wheels hidden underneath, so I guess it qualified. She gave me the obligatory tour one gives a guest- living room, kitchen, a quick reverent longing look into her exquisitely feminine master bedroom and bathroom, back across the living room to the guest bedroom and then... the dungeon. Yes, to me, this was the Inner Sanctum, somehow more of a religious experience than her bed. Okay, if you’re reading this, you’re screwed up the same happy way I am, and you oughta understand.

The ‘dungeon’ was, of course, a modified guest bedroom. For a non-Pro Dom, Shirleen qualified as an extremely serious amateur. This room was paneled (or ConTac papered) to look like a stone-walled dungeon, and its light came from a single light in the corner than really looked like a flickering, smoldering torch. Along one wall was arrayed an assortment of whips, crops, and cuffs. Yes, Shirleen had been around the block a couple of times- maybe several blocks!
Shirleen put her hand on my back, just above my butt, and showed me in. “Well, Bob, this is it, the place you want to be. Look, we both know we’re both here because we play the game we call ‘Consensual Exchange of Power’” She sounded like she were reading from a memorized script. “You have decided to play a game with me. You will agree that I’m not going to let you change your mind about doing whatever I decide is best for us. I agree that I will not hurt you, at least not permanently. If you really want to play this game with me, close the door; if you don’t want to give me the power to change your mind, step through the door and go home with the memory that you chickened out and blew your chance.” Without hesitation I stepped firmly to the bedroom/dungeon door and closed it. The door closed with a hollow booming sound I somehow expected to hear from a thick wooden door.

When I turned from the door, she was standing tall with her hands on her hips and had clearly assumed her Dominatrix role. “Good. Do you accept being my prisoner?” “Yes, I do, Shirleen.” “Do you yield to me your right to change your mind?” “Yes, I do, Shirleen.” “Good. As of right now, I will not let you quit our game. And from now on you will address me as Mistress or as Mistress Shirleen. Versteh?” “Verstand, Mistress.” 

“Just because I’m a kind and thoughtful Mistress, I’ll give you a fire escape. I’ll let you pick a ‘safe word’, so if things get seriously too strong for you, you’ll be able to speak your ‘safe word’ and I’ll stop whatever it is that’s too much for you and I’ll let you. I will not allow you to moderate the activity, only to bail out, to get your clothes and go home. Go ahead, pick a word.” “I  pick ‘hypotenuse’, Mistress.” “Oh, a mathematically inclined slave, eh? Okay, that’s good. Just remember not to use it lightly.” “Yes, Mistress.”

“Satisfactory. I think I will address you as slave-boy.” “Fine, Mistress Shirleen.” “Did I ask your approval?” “No, Mistress!”, I said with some surprise. “Then shut up. You will address me only when I speak to you!” “Yes, Mistress!”

“Better. Now I bet you think I want you naked before me, right?” “Yes, Mistress! May I take off my clothes and be naked for my Mistress?” “Wrong, slave boy! You will be only as naked as I want you to be. I want you to strip down just to your shorts. I will tell you explicitly when I want you naked. You should learn that your body is my property and it will be naked if and only if I desire it to be naked.”

“Yes, Mistress!” I quickly pulled off my shoes and my socks, which I stuffed into my shoes, and set them in the corner next to the walk-in closet’s mirrored doors. Had this been a typical suburban bedroom and this a typical suburban tryst, I’m sure I would have been fantasizing about how the double-wide trailer’s mirrors would have provided an erotic reflection of our athletic exhibition. But here I saw that the mirrors would reflect only my humiliation.

Per my orders, I unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it off. Quite conscious that Mistress Shirleen was watching me very closely, inspecting her new property, I pulled off my shirt. I’m reasonably muscular, but I also have (possibly as a result of some of the B&D suspension games I used to play) a well-shaped pair of tits that reasonably well fill out a 38B bra and provide a marvelous secondary erogenous zone. “Nice tits, slave boy! I bet you play with them a lot.” “Yes, Mistress Shirleen, I do. They provide me with a lot of pleasure!” “Or I believe they could give you a lot of pain, too, slave boy!” “Yes, Mistress, I believe they could!”, I said as I peeled off my pants. “Not ‘could’, slave boy”, she responded, and I didn’t have to wonder about what she meant. I stood there in my purple bikini shorts, glad I hadn’t worn something gaudy like leopard skin or nothing (which would have seemed too eager, I’m sure).
“Hmmm... nice ass, slave boy.” “Thank you, Mistress.” She walked to the center of the room and its central fixture, the pyramid. “This, slave boy, is my own invention. All by my little girly self, I built what I call “The Pyramid of Pleasure and Punishment”. I examined it, a hexagonal pyramid roughly two feet tall and maybe three feet wide, made of stone or at least covered with ConTac paper to look like stone, and with brackets which showed that it was securely anchored to the floor. Its top was flattened a bit, and along the base were hooks and eyes and anchors. “Stand over it, slave boy, and I will show you how it enables us to play my conception of the game of Consensual Exchange of Power!” “Yes, Mistress!”

And so, with foolish eagerness, I stepped up to the Pyramid of Pleasure and Punishment. She placed her warm hand against my butt and maneuvered me to a position where I straddled the Pyramid, my legs spread wide. She made a circuit of the Pyramid, buckling straps at my ankles and knees.

“Hmmm... nice. However, I would say that you need instability to enjoy your position more.” She stepped to the closet and brought out a pair of police handcuffs. Effortlessly, mainly because in my eagerness to submit I didn’t resist, she locked my wrists behind my back. 

“Hmmm... yes, that’s nice. But now you’re too unstable- you need something to hold you upright.” She went to the closet one more time, ands returned with... oh shit, a butt plug! In her hand she held a pink rubber butt plug, shining wetly with lubricant. “Hold this, slave boy.” She put its base in my hand, and I held its weight behind me.

Standing in front of me, she reached out and ripped my shorts off my ass. Relieved of its constraint, my dong sprang out, chubby and 3/4 hard, and waved at her in its usual friendly manner. She ignored it (something which a Dominatrix always seems to do without effort, not being overpowered by desire for My Cock) and slipped the butt plug between my legs. She pushed and twisted it until it was somehow locked to the Pyramid of Pleasure and Punishment, wedged between the Pyramid’s top and poking maybe half an inch into my asshole, just enough to open me and make me quite aware that I had been opened.

“Well, slave boy, what do you think I want you to do now?” “I believe you want me to sit on it, Mistress!” “Bright slave boy! Yes, go ahead and sit on it.” She backed up a step or two and I watched her as she watched me as I swivelled my hips and the plug’s sank deeper into my rectum. I continued to wiggle my hips until the pink rubber tip pushed its way into my bowels.

I was still waggling and savoring the feeling as the plug worked its way up into my belly when Mistress Shirleen reached between my legs and wrapped around my ball-sack a  rubber strap with a noose in one end. She knelt at the base of the Pyramid of Pleasure and Punishment, snugged the strap around my balls, and pulled down on the strap. Encouraged by the threat that my balls might be pulled off, I lowered my body smartly onto the butt plug until it slipped rapidly into my bowels and my sphincter snapped closed around its narrow neck. I squirmed, but now I couldn’t wriggle too far in any direction. I just wriggled for our pleasure. Her pleasure was mine now.

“Good slave boy! Now I have something else for you, something to occupy your other end, something to take your mind off your painful unused erection. Yes, it will remain unused for quite some time; it’s not my erection and it does not bring me pleasure.” She laughed and held out... oh shit, she held out a pair of tweezer-clamps (from Spartacus) which I knew were going to be clamped onto my nipples. 
Sure enough, she reached out and squeezed my left tit so her free hand could open the tweezer-thing and close it just below the base of my nipple. Even though it had rubber tips, it still hurt! Especially when she maneuvered the little ring that slid up from the base to press the tips closed. That smarted quite a bit, but then she repeated the procedure with my right tit, and after it was securely gripped, she dropped the chain between the tweezers so it hung between my tits. Then she hooked a finger above the chain and tugged down on it! In the mirror I saw my nipples jerking downward. “Damn, that smarts, Mistress!”, I exclaimed.  Mistress Shirleen, of course, ignored my pain.

Mistress Shirleen left the room and closed the door; for a terribly long time I waited, feeling the burning of my asshole as the plug spread it open. Eventually, Mistress Shirleen returned and stood before me. My hips wobbled a bit, swishing the plug around in my belly, as she stood in front of me. She pulled her blouse out and off to reveal the bustier that was doing such a marvelous job of posturing her bust, of pushing her breasts up and apart. “Ohhh... Mistress Shirleen, you are gorgeous!!”

“Why, thank you, slave boy. Of course, most slave boys tell me I’m gorgeous when they are impaled upon my Pyramid of Pleasure and Punishment with clamps on their nipples.” “Oh, Mistress Shirleen, I truly appreciate your Pyramid of Pleasure and Punishment and the work you put forth to bind me on it, but you truly are gorgeous. You have amazing breasts.”

As I said this, she pushed off her shoes, pushed her pants down to her ankles, and pushed them off. She turned to pick them up, revealing a gorgeously firm but wide ass framed in lacy black Rio-cut bikini panties. (She had a beautiful butt, true, but thongs are for teenagers. Like Dirty Harry Callahan once said, ‘a man has got to know his limitations’.) “Ohhh- Mistress, you have the most voluptuous butt I have ever met. I would love to have the opportunity to worship it, please?”

She slapped me hard across the face. “That’s it- you’ve gone too far. A slave is permitted to worship his Mistress’ body from below and from afar but should never be as presumptuous as you have been..” My brains rattled inside my head. “Now you are going to learn the meaning of suffering.” She stepped to me and quickly removed my nipple clips; they burned with the return of circulation.

She took the nipple clamps to the closet, returning with a pair of agonizers I had played with once upon a time in an adult novelty store. Each clamp had two jaws an inch wide, each with four sharp teeth; the only thing that kept them coming together under the pressure of a too-strong spring was a limiting screw which kept the jaws from biting through tender tit-flesh. I thought about trying them out, but the clerk was six-one and a guy. What if he had said ‘yes’ but only if he put them on me?  I’ve had daydreams and nightmares!

Mistress Shirleen grabbed a piece of my left breast in her hands, squeezing the nipple out between the horrible jaws, and let the jaws slowly close behind the nipple, grabbing a substantial amount of meat. Damn, that hurt! “Oh, please, Mistress... that hurts too much! Please, please don’t do this to me!” Noting that I hadn’t used ‘my word’, she just said “Shaddap, wimp”, and continued to turn the adjusting screw. Finally the clamp held firm.

“Oh shit...  Mistress, that hurts something awful.” “Good! It’s supposed to.” She loosened the limit screw another quarter turn. “The clamp will slip if it’s not tight enough, and if it does the pain will be so bad that... the pain would be as if I had grabbed your nipple with a pair of ten-inch pliers, pulled it far out of your breast, and crushed your damned nipple completely flat and bloody.”
Then she repeated the process on my other suffering nipple. Whatever might be worse, I couldn’t imagine! She loosened the screw to tighten the clamps repeatedly, and finally tugged outward on them to test their security. It hurt a lot, but I could deal with it. She saw me dealing with it and smiled. She stepped to me, stroked my chest, and then tightened the clamps another quarter-turn until she saw me wince. Then she backed out the screw yet another quarter turn, ignoring my obvious pain.

She stepped away and removed her bra; her ample breasts dropped from their support, wiggled a bit, and danced for me.. She smiled as she saw me gazing at her, stroked the side of my face, and left the room. I squirmed for a long, long time, managing to do nothing more than to enlarge my rectum to the size of a Texas storm drain.

Finally the dungeon door opened; I turned my head quickly to see Mistress Shirleen and another woman who had her arm wrapped around Mistress Shirleen’s waist, pulling their hips together. This second woman was about the same age and shape as Mistress Shirleen but was more dressed the part of the woman I had sought at the club: she wore a rubber cat-suit which was cut up at the sides to reveal all her hips and dipped in a ‘V’ at her crotch that was... well, actually incredible. I really thought I could see her pussy lips through the rubber! But I couldn’t stare too long.

The two bitches strode over to me. “Slave boy, this is my lover, Mistress Angelica. You will soon see why I have taken a female lover... although she knows how to make use of ‘appliances’ which provide the muscular thrusting my lust desires, she also knows all the tricks a lady needs. You will soon find out what you are lacking.” Ohhh,  shit... I had read awful stories about lesbian bitches, but this was my first experience with the reality.

Mistress Angelica stood by me, watching Mistress Shirleen and patently ignoring me while her hands stroked her hips and backside. Then Mistress Shirleen went to closet and returned with an exercise mat, which the two spread before me on the floor. Mistress Angelica stood astride the exercise mat, one foot on either side, and waited for Mistress Shirleen to embrace her. The two clung together for a long time before their hands wandered; finally Mistress Shirleen’s hands slipped under the backside of Mistress Angelica’s catsuit and began to firmly probe her ass. Mistress Angelica’s feet slipped a few inches farther apart, spreading her thighs even further, allowing better access for her lover. Then her knees buckled, and the two of them sank together to the mat.

Understandably, I was having a difficult time, securely bound above the two bitches. I was impaled on a fat rubber butt plug, my hands cuffed behind my back, my nipples clamped between toothed agonizers, and my balls were being stretched downward by a rubber strap. I would have grabbed my aching cock and jerked myself to an angry orgasm in seconds, but that wasn’t about to happen. All I could do was to watch two horny lesbians writhing at my feet.

Mistress Angelica seemed the dominant of the pair, and Mistress Shirleen acknowledged this by servicing her. Mistress Shirleen gently removed Mistress Angelica’s catsuit, first pulling her shoulder straps down until her breasts bobbled free, and then pulled it down until it slid off her hips. Mistress Shirleen laid the vinyl aside, returning to service Mistress Angelica’s naked body orally. After a long, long time (Mistress Shirleen must have been getting tired), Mistress Angelica showed definite signs of arousal, her thighs separating, and Mistress Angelica pushed Mistress Shirleen’s head toward her snatch.
Rather than go muff-diving, Mistress Shirleen reached into the closet for a huge double-dong- eighteen inches long, two inches thick (that’s more than six inches around), and with prominent flared cockheads on either end. Mistress Angelica watched happily and lustfully as Mistress Shirleen dropped to her knees over her hips, dipped the ends of the dong into her mouth, and then repeated the lubrication of the dong in her pussy.

Mistress Shirleen then slowly eased herself to her back, her head away from Mistress Angelica’s, and slipped the double-dong between the two twats. Giggling lustfully, the two of them squirmed their butts together until the dong burrowed its way into both of them. Mistress Angelica’s legs spread wide apart, while Mistress Shirleen’s spread apart over hers. Mistress Angelica’s hands rotated between her breasts and her clit, while Mistress Shirleen kept her hands down, sometimes lifting her hips to get a better angle, sometimes to play with her clit.

Me, I was going crazy. My cock had been dark-blue hard for the longest time, and only the pain from various parts of my body (mainly my tits) kept me from an orgasm. But then the bitches got mouthy: “Oh, Shirleen, shove that cock deep into me!”, and the like. Finally I couldn’t take any more of it, and when the two of them started one of a series of orgasms, my balls cramped and my cock erupted. Mortified and yet relieved, I watched my cock spurt wad after wad of hot cum over the two writhing bodies. As my aching cock softened, I watched it horrified anticipation as Mistress Shirleen’s hands wandered into a puddle of cum on her belly. Her eyes opened and she looked up at me.

“YOU GOD-DAMNED MISERABLE SCUM-SUCKING BASTARD! I AM GOING TO RIP YOUR BALLS OFF AND POUND THEM UP YOUR BLOODY ASS WITH A BOARD!” She pulled herself backward off the dong and sat up. Rising to her knees, she reached up and seized the chain between my nipple clamps. Pulling hard enough to lift herself, she ripped the clamps from my tits. Their teeth skidded across my breast flesh and off my nipples with a pain I can’t begin to describe. I really thought she was going to kill me, but Mistress Angelica reached up and pulled her back down. They cuddled for a bit and then started to hatch a plot.

A bit later, the cuddle-huddle broke up and Mistress Shirleen left the room to return with a roll of Duct Tape, a kitchen-sized garbage bag, and a small chair. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen as Mistress Angelica took the bag and tore its bottom out. She took the damaged bag, pushed the open bottom around my neck, and taped it there. I was trying to figure out what they had in mind as Mistress Angelica picked up my shorts, jammed them streak-first into my mouth, and sealed them there with a long strip of Duct Tape. “You don’t deserve to have our panties as a gag, dirtbag slave boy!”

Mistress Shirleen reached between my legs and pulled the butt plug off the Pyramid and out of my suffering asshole. Then the two Dominatrices together pulled me back from the Pyramid of Pleasure and Punishment and set me on my freshly-vacated butt. Mistress Angelica uncuffed my wrists and in moments they had bound me spread-eagled in the floor, my wrists rebound to cables attached to rings in the corners of the dungeon.

I saw Mistress Shirleen bring over the chair, and as she set it down over my head, their plans became obvious: this wasn’t a chair but a child’s training potty chair! Oh, shit.... Mistress Angelica pulled up the plastic garbage bag and champed it to the potty chair. Oh, shit, shit... I was at the bottom of a funnel, and they were obviously going to dump on me. I struggled, but my bondage was simple and quite inescapable.

“Payback time, slave boy!”, Mistress Angelica said. I looked through the plastic tunnel to see her turning her back on me, bending to present her butt, and squatting down. Her broad butt grew until it filled the end of the tunnel; already broad, it spilled over the potty seat. All I could see, only four inches away, was a small circle filled with pussy lips and hair.
I struggled again, but succeeded only in drawing laughter. Most of their mirth concerned the obvious fact that my erection had returned! “Hey, slave boy, your poor little thing says you’re enjoying this! Is it my cunt so near that you enjoy, or is it my asshole?” She opened her legs wider, and I blinked frantically as a fine rain of yellow pee sprayed down on me. I struggled, but what I felt most was my erection slamming around.

Mistress Shirleen helped Mistress Angelica get up from the seat, and once again I was treated to the sight of a mature female fanny descending upon me. In a minute, my garbage-bag telescope was focused on Mistress Shirleen’s labia majora, and in seconds more she had released a rain of pee on my face. I struggled more, and succeed only in splashing around in the puddle of pee which was collecting at the bottom of the bag and around my head.

Oh, shit, shit, shit.... “Yes, slave boy, if you’re thinking ‘Oh shit’, you’re right. I had a nice dinner at the club, thanks to you, and now you are about to reap the rewards.” I looked four inches up and saw a sight few men are ‘privileged’ to have seen: the dilation of a lady’s asshole as it releases a turd destined for their faces. I struggled, only  to be presenting the side of my face when Mistress Shirleen squeezed and it fell. It hit with a small slapping impact on the side of my face. Contrary to the fantasies I might have had, Mistress-shit still smelled like shit. But my cock was as hard as iron.

“You like my present, slave boy?” I struggled, and her present slipped down the side of my face, where my struggles squished it between the bag and the side of my face. The scent filled the bag like a science demonstration of a heavy gas; I was humiliated literally to tears. And the harder I cried, the merrier became the laughter of the two Mistresses. “But there’s more, slave boy!” Through my bitter tears I saw more Mistress-turd coming. This time it was a long, firm one. It hit hard on the bridge of my nose and fell over my nostrils just as I was taking a frantic breath between sobs; I sucked her poop into my nose. I tried desperately to breathe, to breathe even the incredible stink, to cry out to my Mistress for help. Then I blacked out just as my cum seared its way out of my cock.

I came to and after a moment of confusion realized that I was lying down in the front seat of my car. I shook my head, which rattled as the memories of last night came flooding back. I stretched out and became aware that my hands were still cuffed behind my back and that my balls were hand-cuffed to the steering wheel! After a moment of confusion, I realized that a note was on the floor of the passenger side. 

Slave boy - I’m sorry you didn’t fare better on your examination for entrance to Mistress Shirleen’s School for Male Trainees. The keys to your handcuffs are taped to your ass. Once you get your hands free, you will find the keys to your balls in the glove compartment. Perhaps if we meet again you will fare better. However, do not seek me out. Don’t come to my home without invitation.

                                                      Mistress Shirleen

I felt my ass and found a key taped there. After what seemed like an hour I managed to get my hands  free and opened the glove compartment, where I found a key to the handcuffs locking my balls to the wheel. Also in the handcuffs was a note telling me... 
Dear slave boy - now that you’ve gotten free, I can tell you that your clothes are in the trunk, and that your keys are under the driver’s side front seat. You can either get out naked to get your clothes, or you can drive home naked. Your choice, but I should warn you that you’re parked in the parking lot of Calvin Christian Girls’ Academy, and the children will arrive for class at about 6:30 AM. Don’t delay too long!

I punched the dash radio button and saw that it was 5:30 in the bloody morning! I decided that my best bet was to get the hell out of Dodge. I scrambled for my keys and found them, under the seat; in a few minutes I was driving naked down the main streets of Hayward, trying to be really cool about the whole affair, and drive all the way into the garage before I even considered opening the trunk.