Mistress' Turn

by Igor Stravinsky

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© Copyright 2020 - Igor Stravinsky - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/m; bond; slave; collar; cuffs; chain; D/s; gag; chastity; bench; straps; tickle; tease; anal; electro; cockring; cbt; blindfold; crop; catsuit; naked; cons; XX

You stand at the door. It is heavy, oaken, crossed with iron straps. Pierced solely by a tiny grille at eye level, displaying the merest hint of a glow from within. Buried in the cold stone basement of the old manor, its appearance alone fills you with trepidation, to say nothing of the step you intend to take when the door opens. The air is clammy, moist. You shiver in your thin shirt and bare feet. You gather your resolve and raise a hand to strike the iron knocker in the center of the door. Just as your hand is about to grip the metal ring, you hear –

“Come in.”

– through the small porthole.

How could she know you were there? The stone walls of the basement show no cameras or surveillance devices. You take a breath and open the door. True to its appearance, it creaks menacingly, and you step into the room behind it.

The room is familiar to you. You have spent many an evening, sometimes bleeding into day, here, though the lack of windows and clocks makes the passage of time blurry. The stone walls are hung with an extensive array of tools and toys – whips, cuffs, clamps, gags, and other implements of restraint and pain. Light is provided by several bare bulbs affixed to the ceiling, giving a harsh, but dim, light. Scattered about the room are heavy pieces of furniture in manifold shapes and sizes, all of which your body knows intimately. Right in the middle of the room sits an overstuffed easy chair. The incongruity of its presence unnerves you more than any of the devices adorning the walls.

In the chair is your Mistress, dressed in a shiny black leather catsuit, thigh-high boots with spiked heels, sitting with her legs crossed, idly swirling a glass of dark red wine in her hand. She takes a sip, sets it down and beckons you with her finger. You close the door and step to stand in front of her; you lower your eyes, hands by your sides. Your anticipation and apprehension are visible in your stance and on your face.

“You know what tonight is,” she says. It is not a question.

“Yes, Mistress,” you reply.

“You know that tonight is for me, and for me alone. You trust me to use you as I see fit.”

“Yes, Mistress.” You are quieter this time.

“Understand,” she says, “my possession of you will be complete. If you assent, there will be no consideration of your needs, your pain, your desire. There will be no safeword. I will play with you, torment you, punish you as much as I want. I will abuse you until you cannot possibly take any more, and then I will continue.”

You take a deep breath and release it.

“I will keep you as long as I want, how I want. I will not talk to you, as you will be a thing, a toy for me to enjoy. Your pain will mean nothing except as it satisfies my pleasure, my...” she smiles slightly “...curiosity.” You shudder at the way she deliberately pronounces each syllable of the last word.

“But you must agree. You must tell me that you accept my ownership and use of you fully. If you do not, we will forget this, and continue as before. I will not hold it against you. So, I ask. What is your answer?”

You close your eyes.

No limits. Your Mistress has pushed you so far, and you wonder how she could possibly do any more.

No safeword. In the course of your relationship, you have only used it a handful of times. But you always knew it was there. You wonder what it would be like to be completely out of control, truly unable to stop. You admit to yourself that you are scared. But the thought also arouses you. What would it be like?

Your eyes pop open as your Mistress whispers in your ear. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.” She has walked up to you as you think. She waits.

Finally, you nod and reply, “Yes, Mistress.”

“Yes, what?” she asks, returning to her chair.

“Yes, I give myself completely to you. Use me as you wish. Do not consider me or allow me to stop you. Please, Mistress.”

A genuine smile crosses her face. She has only smiled at you a few times, and it always melts you. It overcomes your fear and convinces you to enthusiastically give yourself to her.

“Fine, then we begin.” she stands up. “I expect no more talk from you for the rest of the evening. Any violation of my commands will be dealt with quickly and harshly. I am in no mood for anything but submission this evening.”

You nod your head, unwilling to anger her this soon.

“Stand still,” she says. Your Mistress approaches you and begins to peel the thin t-shirt up. You raise your arms to let her pull it over your head. She takes her time, finally sliding it off your arms and tossing it aside. You are now clad only in your jeans – per your Mistress’ instructions, you wore no underwear. You take a moment to glance at your naked torso, proud of the work you have done to sculpt it, proud to offer it as a gift to your Mistress.

For tonight is for her. She has taken so much time with you, training you, making you feel things you never thought you could feel. She has pushed you to the edge, and then shown you that you could go further. So tonight, you will allow her to take what she wants from you, whatever that may be. You meant it when you said you trusted her, and so you will give her this gift.

She reaches down and undoes the snap and zipper of your jeans pushing them down over your hips. You shimmy the rest of the way out of them and kick them aside. You will not be needing them again for a while. You stand naked in front of her, looking straight ahead.

“Present,” she orders. You have practiced this many times, and so you put your hands behind your head and spread your legs, remaining motionless. You feel exposed, which is the point of the position. You want to move, to cover yourself with your hands, as inadequate as that would be. It is difficult, because you truly wonder what she is capable of when allowed free reign on a willing subject, but you stay still. She walks back over to her chair and sits, picking up the wine again.

She is silent for several minutes, casually sipping her wine until it is gone. You have a hard time judging how long and are starting to get nervous. Along with the nervousness comes excitement, and your body reacts accordingly. You become stiff and she looks at you with a mocking grin.

“You think you’re going to enjoy this,” she says. Not a question, but a statement. “Oh, this will be fun.” She gets up and walks back to you, standing in front of you. She is not small, and normally stands only a fraction of an inch shorter than you. In her heels she looms over you. The leather of the catsuit hugs her body, revealing every curve of her voluptuous body. The view, and the situation, increases your excitement, which is only inflamed when your Mistress grabs your cock and gently squeezes it.

You forget yourself and whisper “Please, Mistress, Please.” A mistake. She slaps you, hard, shocking a gasp out of you.

“What did I tell you?” she shouts. “You’ll regret that, you stupid slut! Did you hear me?”

You barely catch the reflex to answer vocally, and nod in the affirmative.

“Better,” she says. “Stay.” As if to a dog. She takes several items from the wall and comes to stand behind you.

“Chin up.” You comply and she buckles a high posture collar around your neck. It prevents you from lowering your head or turning more than a few degrees in either direction. She then pulls down one of your hands and buckles a thick leather cuff around it, clicking a small padlock on the buckle, repeating the process with your other hand. She padlocks your hands together to the end of a short piece of chain – you can hear it rattling, and you are familiar with these cuffs and collar. She then clips the other end of the chain to your collar, holding your hands up in the small of your back. You pull but know from experience that the cuffs will hold fast. Your Mistress caresses your ass gently, and your breath quickens, but you control the desire to make any other noise.

“Good boy,” she says. “Open.” You open your mouth and she shoves a large ball behind your teeth. It is attached to an elaborate harness that she closes around your head and chin, pulling each buckle tight. As she finishes, you grunt at the discomfort – you know that when you are gagged, your Mistress allows you to vocalize any way you want, as she relishes the sound of your muffled attempts at speech, your whimpers, your screams. She comes around in front of you.

“Understand,” she says, “this is for me, not for you. I will push you as far as you can go, and then farther, then farther again. I will not stop, and I will not care, because your wants and needs are not important tonight. I will allow myself free reign over your body, and the only thing that will keep you from permanent harm is my desire to not damage my property – my toy. This is your last chance, and after this I will ignore anything you say – any begging, pleading, bargaining will go unanswered and probably be severely punished. If you wish to continue, nod your head. If you wish to stop, shake your head and I will release you – without judgement.” She stops and looks at you, waiting.

You are unsure. This is farther than you have ever gone. You don’t know what she is capable of, but you want to please her – to give her this gift. She has made you hers, and you would not go back for anything. The idea of displeasing her gives you a knot in your stomach. You think for a few more moments, and then your desire to please her outweighs your trepidation. You close your eyes and slowly nod your head.

“Excellent,” she says. She looks at you for several moments that stretch into minutes, looking up and down your body. You can’t do much – your arms are immobilized, and your mouth is filled with a large gag – so you stand still, increasingly uncomfortable. She enjoys your discomfort, and finally retrieves a stout leather lead and clips it to the front of your collar. She pulls you over to the wall and wraps the lead around a hook in the wall, trapping you there, still visibly excited.

“We have to take care of that,” she says, giving your erection a light swat that still makes you wince and whimper behind the gag. She leaves for a moment, coming back with a plastic bag filled with ice.

“Hold still,” she says, resting the ice on your stiff cock. You yelp and try to jump away but she grabs the lead attached to your collar and holds it close, keeping the ice on you. Gradually your erection begins to subside, leaving you limp and disappointed. Your Mistress pulls a device off the wall nearby. It is a chastity device, but one you have never worn before – and you have worn many. You look down as best you can, the stiff collar preventing much movement, to see her closing a metal cage around your now limp cock. She clicks it closed around the base of your balls and locks it, and you can feel dull spikes lining the interior, surrounding you. You start to whine, knowing that anything that gets you excited will cause a great deal of pain as the spikes press against you. Your Mistress just smiles at you and unhooks your lead, ignoring your distress.

She guides you over to a bench. You know it well, and its capabilities make you nervous. It is heavy, made of thick wood and stout steel fasteners. Unpadded, the flat top has a large hole near the center. At the end, two sturdy poles rise about two feet high, tipped with heavy rings. The rest of the bench is similarly equipped with rings and hooks. Your Mistress pushes you down on your stomach on the flat of the bench, and your now-trapped cock fits through the hole in the center. She quickly clips a snap hook from your collar to a ring near the end of the bench, holding you down with your head hanging over the end of the bench.

She takes her time with the next steps, and you can see a malicious grin playing over her mouth when she moves in front of you. First, she clasps a cuff around each foot, clipping them to the rising posts at the end, holding them up in the air and your legs apart. She then runs straps over your thighs, pinning them to the bench. She does the same over the small of your back, and then higher on your back, pressing your arms down. She runs more thick leather straps around your calves, fusing them to the upright posts. You are now completely immobilized on the bench. It holds you immobile yet exposes every vulnerable part of your body - your back, ass and the bottoms of your feet, completely exposed to whatever your Mistress decides to do with them.

For the moment, she chooses to leave you here. She walks to the door and flicks the light off. Saying nothing, she leaves and closes the door with a thud.

You are now alone, in the dark, pinned to this bench like a specimen, with no idea when your Mistress is coming back or any way to measure the passage of time. In the darkness, your thoughts start to spin. You regret making this offering, knowing there is now no way out of it. You are afraid of what your Mistress will do given free reign over you. You struggle against your restraints, uselessly. The fear, restriction, and loss of control is a powerful mixture, and you begin to become aroused again. Knowing what will happen when you push up against the spikes only hastens the inevitable, and you cry out as the spikes press into your most sensitive parts.

The room is mostly silent, except for your moans and breath. Your mind begins to play tricks on you, and you think you hear her enter, pleading wordlessly with her, only to learn each time that it was an illusion. It feels like you have been here for an eternity, and you fear that you may go mad. Knowing that this is merely the beginning of your Mistress’ play only makes it worse. The spikes are now pushing into your cock, and you squirm and yell into your gag, begging your absent Mistress for release. Of course, there is no answer and no relief, and eventually you slump in defeat and despair, whining softly into the tight gag.

The lights burst to life, temporarily blinding you. The surprise causes you to yelp, and this tangible proof your Mistress has returned goads you into wordless begging.

“Mmm! Nngh! Leee! Ih-resh! Leee!” You try to convince her to let you go, that you cannot take this anymore, craning your head up slightly to look into her eyes and plead as she walks in front of you. Her look chills you to the bone. She regards you for a moment, head cocked, curious almost, as if she were examining a specimen at the zoo – certainly not a human being. Then, slowly, she grins, wide. She says nothing at all, ignoring your attempts to communicate entirely. You grunt in frustration and she does nothing for a moment.

She walks around behind you and you whine a muddled question, knowing that it will be unanswered, that it will only play into your Mistress’ cruel game, unable to stop yourself anyway. You feel her grab your left foot in both hands and squeeze with a strong grip. She begins to knead and massage your foot, and you hum with pleasure, enjoying the touch of your Mistress in spite of your bonds. She has caressed you in just such a way so many times, giving you hours of pleasure mixed with pain, blending the two into an addicting drug. You dread what will come next but cannot help but respond to her. You had almost gotten used to the small, spiked cage around you, but you become even harder in it and the spikes press deeper into your erection, which is painfully constricted. More jumbled begging from you does not elicit a response from your Mistress as she continues to massage your feet.

Then, she stops. You wait with held breath. You can feel her fingernail slowly trace a line along the sole of your foot. No! Anything but that! She knows how ticklish you are and has rarely taken advantage of it. It is the only time you have used your safeword with your Mistress. You buck involuntarily from the touch, rocking the bench slightly, and she stops, speaking again, to herself.

“Ooh!” she says, “this will be fun!” With that, she digs her fingertips into both of your soles, causing you to laugh and shake uncontrollably. The sensation is almost immediately more than you can handle, and your mind spins out of control. You yell, pull, shake, but cannot escape her touch. She continues, digging in fingernails, fast, merciless. You beg her again, and again are ignored. Every second you think you cannot endure another second of this treatment, and every second is followed by another second like the last, blurring into an endless haze of torture.

She stops, and you breathe heavily, unable to vocalize. Were she in front of you, she would see terror in your eyes; she is not bothering to look. You can hear the heels of her boots going to the wall, and you hear a rattle as she removes something from a hook. She comes back and you hear a small click as she clips something to your gag harness. Your head is then pulled up, and you know that she has attached a chain to the ring on top of it, and she clips the other end to the ceiling. Your head is now held up uncomfortably, and you twist slightly. You know from experience that the harness is strong and will hold fast. She then holds something in front of your eyes, which grow wide as you cry.

A toothbrush! Without word or ceremony, she goes back and attacks your tender soles with it. The respite you had from the tickling was only temporary, and you react even more strongly than before, as you are driven almost immediately beyond your capacity to tolerate the tickling. You try everything you can – you beg, you demand, you threaten, you pull and shake. She ignores it all and continues, now turning her attention to your sides, digging her fingers deep into your armpits and sides. She goes back and forth, randomly, the uncertainty of it adding to your anguish.

Time stops. There is only the tickling. The uncertainty. The mercilessness. The cruelty. For her. Not, most certainly, for you. You teeter on the edge of collapse.

She stops. Absurd as it is, you thank her profusely through the gag for stopping and giving you some rest. She says nothing, but walks off, turns out the light and closes the door again.

You begin to panic. You almost hyperventilate but manage to calm your breathing. What else could she do? What have you gotten yourself into? Can you handle what’s next? Can you survive what’s next? The only, tiny, hope you have is that your Mistress has no desire to permanently harm you, that she wishes to continue keeping you as her slave, that she doesn’t want to “break her toy.” It is a tenuous line, but you cling to it as a drowning man. The silence and coldness of the room drags on, mocking you even as you attempt to break free of the restraints holding you to the bench, even as you know your pulling is futile.

After an age, the light comes back on and your Mistress reenters the room. She is carrying another glass of wine and a book. Without a word, she settles in the easy chair, crosses her legs, sets down the wine and opens the book.

You are desperate now, and try to appeal to her through the gag, more and more frantically. She looks up.

“Let me read,” she says flatly. “Or it will go badly for you.” She returns to her book, grabbing the wine and taking a sip.

You freeze, terrified by her words. Badly? How much more badly could it go? You are afraid you are about to find out. The anticipation is made worse by your restraints, forcing you to remain still and simply watch your Mistress sit and read, ignoring you.

You take your Mistress’ words to heart and stay quiet. She is obviously letting you stew, making up torments in your head and becoming terrified by them. You imagine all the games you and your Mistress have played taken far beyond your limits and close your eyes. You wish you could take back your decision, but that is impossible. One small head shake! No! You didn’t mean it! It’s too much! She has to let you go! You shift slightly in your bonds to become more comfortable if you can, and the leather straps creak loudly. Your Mistress looks up sharply at you, and you freeze, willing a silent, desperate apology to her with your eyes.

She sets her book down and takes a sip of the wine, leaving a bit in the glass and walks behind you. You can hear her pick up some more toys from the wall and shelves, and she comes back behind your splayed legs. You hear the small pop of the tube being flicked open, and shortly feel something cool behind you, between your legs. She is rubbing thick, cool lubricant on the entrance of your exposed behind. You yelp a bit, and she smears it around liberally, pushing her fingers slowly into you.

You moan. You and your Mistress have played anal games many times, and it is something you enjoy – the violation. But now you are worried. You can feel something hard and cold push against you, and you relax, knowing it is inevitable and hoping to reduce the discomfort. The plug she pushes in feels larger than ones you have used before, and you cry into the gag as it pops home and your body closes around the tapered base. You can feel your Mistress fiddling with it, and she comes around in front of you, setting down a small table and placing something on top of it.

It is a box with knobs and electrical wires leading from it. Your e-stim unit! The last time you used it with her it was almost too much, and you didn’t even push very far. She goes under the table and you can feel a sharp pinch on your balls, then another. She has connected your balls to the unit. You can see the switches and knobs – power, intensity, program. The one that holds your eyes is “intensity.” The last time you used it, you got up to a 4, out of ten, and could barely manage. Your Mistress reaches over and turns that knob to 7 and sits back down, picking up her glass again. She sips the rest of her wine slowly, and you start to shake violently. There is no way you could tolerate 7! How can she do this? It will kill you! But you know that the current, though painful, is not harmful, though that is scant comfort now. She finishes her wine and picks up the remote.

Her hand hovers over the power switch, then quickly flicks it. Jesus! The pain in your balls and ass is unbearable! You buck and shake uncontrollably. You are lost in agony, unable to get any relief at all. You have no idea how long it will continue, but each second is an eternity, and an eternity too long.

Your world is reduced to nothing but the shocks from the plug. You yell and plead into the gag, but through the haze you cannot even tell what your Mistress’ reaction to your distress is, and you do not care. It has to stop! Please make it stop! Anything! Anything else!

And it stops. Heaving breaths through your nose. Slumping in your restraints. Heart racing. Vision finally clearing, and you can see your Mistress again, grinning at you, still holding the remote, toying with it, and she hits the button again.

No! Your yelling turns to pathetic whimpers and howls. You jerk as hard as you can, hoping in your pain-addled mind to knock the bench over, forcing your Mistress to stop. But it is too heavy, and it stays upright.

“Mmm! Mmm! Mmm!” you cry. You would be unintelligible even without the gag at this point. Finally, as you approach the precipice, the current stops again.

“That was... interesting,” your Mistress says. She takes the clips off and disconnects the cord from the plug but leaves it in you. Your breath comes fast, and you are unable to even make any further sound as your heart gradually slows. Through it all, your erection presses painfully against the spikes, and your mind returns its attention to it as you will all of it to stop, knowing that it won’t.

She rises from her chair. She goes behind you, and you are terrified of what comes next. You have no idea how long it has been – or how much longer it will continue. You have already been pushed far past your limits several times and you know there is much more to come.

Your thoughts are interrupted as you feel your Mistress’ hands on the cage enclosing you. There is a small click, and your cock pops free of the terrible device. You let out a moan of relief.

“You will enjoy this part. It pleases me to tell you that as far as your pleasure goes now, so far will go your pain after.”

There is a snap, and then a squishing sound, as something squeezing from a bottle. Then, a coldness on your now-free cock. The lubricant is initially cold as your Mistress takes you in her hand and begins to ever so slowly stroke. It quickly warms, as do you. You realize that she must be sitting under the bench, fondling you.

She knows how to play you, as a fine musician, and you respond, reveling in the sensation. You now moan with need, desperate to come. The squeezing and stroking are amplified by your bondage, focusing all your sexual energy into one small place. She speeds up, and just as you get close, she relents, leaving you hunger for more. She does this again, and again, and again. Each time you get closer, but your Mistress knows from long experience exactly how far you can go, and how long she can keep you on the edge. Finally, she stops entirely, and wipes the lubricant off with a cloth, leaving your erection throbbing and your need unsatisfied.

You feel her slide an elastic ring around the base of your cock. It is tight, almost painfully so, and guarantees your erection will remain. You then feel her wrap a piece of cord around the base of your balls, tying it tightly. There is a tug, and you are pulled straight back, tighter and tighter. Part of you oddly wonders how she will fasten it between the legs of the bench, for you know she loves symmetry. You are pulled further and further, and whine miserably. Finally, it stops, and your balls are pulled terribly tight. Your restraints make it impossible for you to relieve the pressure.

Your Mistress walks in front of you, and she takes something from a table. She walks back in front of you, not looking at you. You see that she has a heavy leather blindfold and a long chain with snap hooks on either end in her hands. She clips the chain to a sturdy ring on the top of your gag harness and leaves it hanging for a moment as she retrieves a small step ladder. She picks up the chain and pulls it to the ceiling, yanking your head up and increasing your immobility as she snaps the other end to a hook in the ceiling. Your head is now held up and you cannot move your head as she puts the blindfold over your eyes, its heaviness and texture as oppressive as the loss of one of your remaining senses. You have now lost even the control of anticipating what comes next by sight, and your Mistress leaves you for a few minutes to stew in your increased helplessness. You hear a pop, and you know that your Mistress has opened another bottle of wine and is taking her time, enjoying herself at your expense. You can do nothing but wait.

The darkness and the restraint become more and more difficult to bear, and you try again to beg your Mistress to release you, whining through the gag. There is no response. Your mind comes up with ever more awful scenarios in anticipation. Then you hear –


- the sound of a crop whistling through the air right in front of your face. You know that sound well, as your Mistress has used it on you many times before, always to your mutual pleasure. But it does sting, and the thought of it being wielded against your helpless body with no limits sets your terror alight again. You attempt to beg through the gag, even as you know that it will have no effect, and in fact may increase your Mistress’ desire to whip you and whip you harder.

But after the initial threatening swish, there is nothing. You move your head as well as you can, vainly looking for any clue for what comes next, even as you know that it will be in vain. You begin to convince yourself that perhaps your Mistress has had enough, that she has had her fun and is about to release you. You make a few quiet, questioning noise when –


- a line of fire erupts across the middle of your ass. You scream, involuntarily, trying with all your might to escape the terrible sting of the crop. There is a moment of respite as your body registers the assault when –


- another sting, right next to the first. It is harder than your Mistress has ever whipped you before, and each sting feels like it will split you open. Two more in quick succession and you are bucking at each one, causing the bench to rattle on the floor. Your screams are deafening, even through the gag.

Then you feel the tip of the crop slide gently, almost lovingly, across the sole of your left foot. No! They are still sensitive from the tickling, and you could not take that! Then, again nothing for a long moment, followed by another –


- again on your ass, surprising you. You had tensed your legs in anticipation of the whip striking your soles, and so were completely unprepared for it’s actual target. One more on your ass and then –

Thwack! Thwack!

- one smack on the sole of each foot.

She continues, with random duration and random targets, ensuring you cannot even prepare for the strikes. Your world narrows to the painful, unbearable moment. There is no past, there is no future. You have no idea how long you have been here, nor how long you will remain. There is only the pain your Mistress is inflicting upon you. Paradoxically, your body reacts not just with pain, but with excitement, and part of you rises despite your predicament.

Again and again, on cheeks, thighs, feet, she continues. Tears are flowing from under your blindfold, and you struggle to breathe around the cruel gag, continually begging your Mistress to stop. Finally, there is an interval that seems to your addled senses to be longer than before. The blindfold is removed from your eyes, and your Mistress looks into them. You plead silently, tears still streaming, hoping to finally convince her to stop and release you.

She considers you for a moment, then reaches out a finger to wipe a tear from your cheek.

“Beautiful,” is all she says, and walks away to replace her tools, leaving you for a moment to contemplate the next torment. What else could there be? You wait, unwilling to even think of the possibilities. She leaves the room again, not turning the lights off this time. How long will she leave you now? All night? Another day? And what could you do?

Finally, your Mistress returns, and releases the snap hook holding your head up. She follows by slowly releasing the straps holding you to the bench, brushing her fingers over your body. Next the cuffs holding your feet are released, and the clip holding your head down to the bench and the cord from around your balls. For the first time in who knows how long (she knows) you are not in any way attached to the bench. Your Mistress gently guides your body over the edge so you can stand, helping hold you up as you stretch the parts of your body that are now free.

She then unlocks and removes the cuffs around your hands, and the stiff collar around your neck. You are now clad in nothing but the harness gag and standing takes great effort. She undoes the tight buckles and removes the final restraint holding your body. You work your jaw.

“How...” you begin, but your Mistress’ finger lays over your lips, silencing you.

“Come,” she says, and leads you from the room, helping you stand. You step gingerly, still smarting from the whipping, but are barely able to stay with her. She guides you up the stairs. Slowly, slowly into the main residence, as your footing becomes surer by tiny increments. Then down a hall you have never travelled before. You have spent many hours – days, even – in this house, but your Mistress is always quite strict about areas that are off-limits, and you have too much respect for and fear of her to disobey.

Down the hall to its end, and she opens a door. Inside is a large, luxurious bathroom, all marble and elaborate tile, with light provided by innumerable candles. A large tub, big enough for several people, occupies the middle of the room, and it is full of steaming water. The scent of lilacs and lavender fills the air. Your gait is steadier now, as your Mistress guides you to the tub and gestures for you to enter. You open your mouth to talk, ask a question, but the merest headshake from her is enough to stifle it.

You timidly step into the bath. The water is hot, just at the edge of painful, but you can already feel it easing the fatigue in your muscles as you lower yourself in. Then, your Mistress stands in front of you and does something that amazes you more than anything that has happened so far.

She sits in a chair and languorously undoes her boots and pulls them off, revealing the black hose underneath. Then she stands, unzips her catsuit and begins to peel it off.

You have never seen your Mistress naked before. The clothes she wears when training and disciplining you leave little to the imagination, but there is a difference when she is clothed, however lascivious that clothing may be. Now she has pulled the catsuit all the way down her legs, showing her perfect skin, breasts still proud and high in the absence of any support. Finally, she pulls down the hose and unceremoniously tosses it all into the chair.

She stands before you, legs apart, hands on hips, still proud and dominant despite her nakedness. With a mischievous smile, she twirls around once on one foot. looking at you again. Your mouth is slack, and your eyes are wide. Shocked, you stammer as she climbs into the tub with you.

She gently nestles in your side, running her arms up and down your body. Unthinkingly, you reciprocate, unable to believe that you are taking such liberties with your Mistress. She slows, as do you, and she lays her head on your chest.

“Well, what did you think?” she asks as her hand goes under the water and grabs your cock, squeezing and eliciting a moan from you. “Would you like to try it again?”

“Maybe next year,” you reply, pulling her close for a kiss. You kiss her, and then let go, looking her in the eye. “Happy Birthday,” you say, letting the hot, scented water ease you pain and fatigue.


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