“Yes … “he said in a whisper.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good. Don’t force me to punish you.” She moved at him, pressing her body absolutely flat against his, running her hands down his back — he felt the sharp edges of her nails just barely, enough to know they were there without any hurt — and then squeezed his buttocks, pushing his groin at her. “Today we don’t want to punish. We’re going to play the Queen Spider and the Fly. The queen is going to suck all your liquid. She wants all of you. And you’re going to give her everything.” A pause.
She smacked him on the ass.
“Yes, Mistress,” he answered quickly.
“Good,” she purred. “I don’t want you to enjoy this. If you become aroused, I’ll have to spank you.” She moved away and her fingers lightly held his penis. “You would look pretty in women’s clothes. Have you ever fantasized about dressing up?”
“No.”
She pressed against him, reaching behind, and smacked him on a buttock. “No what?”
“No, Mistress.”
“That’s better. You have to learn to please me, slave. That’s what you’re here for. For my pleasure. Do you understand?” She was hugging him, her long hair in his face, the perfume smothering him, her hands running over his back, her nails possessing him as they lighted on his body. He was an object. A helpless thing.
“Yes, Mistress.”
A smack. “Say it with a little enthusiasm, slave.”
“Yes! Mistress.” The slaps on his ass didn’t hurt at all.
“You want to worship me, don’t you?” she insinuated in his ear.
“Yes, Mistress,” he heard a strange version of his voice. “You are beautiful. Mistress. I want to worship your ass, mistress.”
She stepped back and he felt his whole groin pulled. She had him by the ridge of hair above his penis. He stood on his tiptoes to reduce the tension. She spat her words at his face, an inch from his mouth: “You don’t tell me what you want! That’s for before we begin. If you do that again, I’ll slap you across the face and beat your ass until it’s bloody. I enjoy doing that. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Mistress,” he babbled. “I’m sorry. I understand, Mistress.”
She let his pubic hair go. She looked pleased. “Good.” She sat down on the couch. “Put yourself across my knees. I’m going to have to spank you.”
So it was real — she really did rule. He was hard down there, evidently enjoying it. He laid himself over her lap.
“Keep your legs spread,” she said, a finger touching the base of his testicles, “so I can stroke your balls if you deserve it.”
She slapped one buttock. He didn’t feel it. “You’re hard! You’re not enjoying this, are you?” She slapped his other buttock. “Answer me!”
“No, Mistress.”
“No?” She slapped each buttock in rapid succession. And then ran her cool fingernails on the underside of his balls. His prick flexed with excitement. “You should be flattered I deign to punish you, slave! Thank me for each spank!”
Smack. “Thank you, mistress.” Stroke, Smack! “Thank you. Mistress.” Stroke. “Get up.” He did quickly, surprised that he was sorry the spanking was over so soon. “Get on your knees. Put your head on the floor and beg to worship my ass.”
He spoke to the floor, his lips almost kissing it. “Please let me worship your ass. Mistress.”
“A little more enthusiasm, slave!”
“Please, please let me worship your glorious ass, I beg you.”
“Why?”
For the first time he knew his line: “For your pleasure, Mistress.”
“Very, very good. You’re going to make a good slave.”
Slowly, but surely, he lost any sense of himself. He became a series of sensations. He heard his voice saying unreservedly what she wanted, his sexual longing sustained by the slaps and by the passivity. She had him press his face into her ass, raising her skirt to reveal black leather panties. She held and stroked his penis a lot, lecturing him, running her fingernails down his chest, once bending to lick his nipples and tug very lightly at them with her teeth. She had him stand facing her back and press his penis against her, his hands behind him, ordering him to make fucking motions, the desire for her growing, but never becoming a true want. He didn’t really want anything to change, but to say his lines and let her move him around, always sure, no matter how many reproving slaps on his ass were delivered, that he remained hard.
Finally she grabbed his prick and started to walk, as though it were a leash. He stumbled behind her to the leather-cushioned table. “Lie down facing up,” she said.
He did. He watched her fasten his wrists into the cuffs, trustingly, not afraid anymore.
“Spread your legs,” she said, a hand touching his inner thigh. “So I still have this to punish.” She reached for something. He glanced down and saw a tube of ointment. She put a dollop on his hot sore yearning penis. The small area it touched felt cool and delicious. “Maybe I’ll just leave it there,” she said with a giggle. “Should I leave it there, slave?”
“Oh God,” he heard a voice wrench with agony. “God no, please. Mistress!”
“Do you want me to spread it on, slut?”
“Yes, Mistress, please, I need you to.”
“Need!” she shouted. Her hand came down on his thigh with a hard smack that stung. “You don’t need! I don’t care what you need! You only do things for my pleasure!” And her, hand smacked him over and over, really smarting, until she finally stopped and then he could hear what the deep male voice was saying:
“Please, no. Mistress … please, no, Mistress. For your pleasure. Mistress … for your pleasure. Mistress—” He stopped the devastated fragmented sound of himself.
He felt a coolness at the very tip of his penis. “Push!” she said.
He looked down and saw her thumb and index finger curved together to form a narrow circle above the head of his member. His thigh was pink from the blows. He pushed up, his penis moving through the hoop she had made for it, and the sweet ooze bathed his overheated sex in comfort.
“Push! Work for it, you slut!” Now, for what seemed an eternity, she kept at him, pausing whenever he warned her that he was about to come. She lectured him tirelessly on the superiority of women: how their beautiful sex was hidden, their climaxes dainty, not the sloppy disgusting mess men make. He babbled senselessly in agreement, pleading for more pleasure, until finally she said:
“You may come, you slut!” And she held her hoop for him to jump through, thanking her as he splattered all over himself, hearing her laugh at it, saying, “You shot right up to your chin, slave.”
Afterward he stared up dutifully, adoringly at her.
“It’s good to surrender to a dominant woman, isn’t it?”
“I loved it. Mistress.”
She nodded at him seriously. “You’re going to make an excellent slave.”
“Thank you. Mistress,” he said.
He left happy — spent. Free from all the stupid dreary constipated fantasies: his body loose with unabashed power. I loved it, he said to himself, and flagged a cab to report in at Newstime.