Sometimes we do things in the heat of the moment that we regret for the rest of our lives. Recently I’d let myself be filmed, naked and masturbating, admitting on camera that I was Abby’s slutty little plaything. Funny thing is, even now, six days later, I had no regrets. If anything, I was rather proud of myself. It had taken a lot of courage to do what I’d done. I felt like I’d somehow taken a step into adulthood. Seventeen year old Shannon Spencer was growing up quickly.

“What are your plans for the weekend, honey?”

Blinking, I looked up from my cereal, my mind a million miles away from the breakfast table. Some things hadn’t changed. At home I was still a teenager attending high school and, as far as my parents knew, still a virgin with very little interest in boys. If only they’d known why, I thought, feeling my cheeks warm at the thought.

“Oh, I don’t know. Stuff. You know. Hanging out with friends. Don’t forget I’m babysitting for the Vandermeers Saturday.”

Typical teenage response. I hadn’t really given it much thought, quite honestly. Most of my thoughts had been on what had happened last weekend and the consequences. My mom’s comment barely registered as I replayed the emails Abby, or should I say Mistress Abby, and I had exchanged during the past week. I had, of course, not only saved them, but actually memorized them. I felt my cheeks burning even brighter, stealing a glance at my mother, sure that she felt the heat of embarrassment radiating from my face, surprised at how oblivious she yet remained of what was going on behind her back.

Dear Kitty – that’s how they always started now. I remember practically purring as I read that for the first time. It had been the name I’d used in my confessional film and she’d been quick to adopt it.

Dear Kitty,

I had a delightful time this weekend. I trust you did as well. You truly are a treasure, my nasty little cum slut. I have yet to share our video. In fact, I’ve decided to leave that up to you. I’ve attached it to this message, hoping that makes your decision easier. Have a lovely day.

Mistress.

PS. You have my permission to indulge yourself and make yourself come as long as you tell me about it.

In retrospect, it was kind of funny, trying to download the video. I’d been shaking so hard that I kept missing the keys on my computer, panicking when I’d thought I’d accidentally attached it to a note to a friend. Bursting into tears, I’d thrown myself on my bed and simply lay there, my heart pounding in my chest, until finally, I’d calmed myself down enough to start over. So much for my newfound maturity. Eventually, I managed to save the incriminating evidence on my hard drive, locked away where no one but me would ever find it (although the idea of being found out left me with a thrill as well). After that, I made myself wait, unable to concentrate on anything but the thought of watching it later, alone in my room with my parents safely in bed. I had no illusions about my behavior. In the space of only a few hours, I’d been forced to change my panties three different times, each time worried that my mom and dad would notice the odor of overheated teen pussy. What was even more humiliating was, each time I held them to my face and breathed in the aroma of my own juices, I was unable to keep my tongue from extending and licking the tangy sweet discharge from the soaked cotton panel that had been nestled against my cunt.

Dear Mistress Abby – I’d written, fingers once again trembling, in the privacy of my room long after I was sure my parents were sound asleep – I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you. I had to change my panties three different times they got so wet. Humiliating! I don’t care. I want you to know. I am going to watch it now for the first time. I’m naked. Already I’m wet and my nipples are so hard they hurt. It won’t take much for your nasty little slut to cum. Thank you.

Kitty

I hit send before having second thoughts and then, propped up with pillows on my bed, naked and trembling, breathless and wet, I brought up the video and hit play…

“Hi, my name is… Kitty.”

I watched myself, transfixed, my hand moving from the keyboard to between my thighs, unable to keep from stroking myself. My swollen clit was already peeking out from under its hood, so sensitive to the touch that I could barely touch it.

“I asked to do this, to be filmed like this, because I wanted to show… my Mistress, as well as both of you, Candy and… and you, what a slut I am. It’s my choice.”

My heart was pounding audibly against my ribcage. So violently, in fact, that I wondered if it was possible for it to explode. That would take some explaining, I thought with a nervous titter. Teenager found dead after watching own sex tape. News at 11. Breathlessly, I watched myself on the screen spreading my legs like a porn star, sucking on my fingers until they glistened, my eyes glued to the camera as I played with my pussy, both on-screen and off, my muted moans meshing together almost harmonically.

God, it was sexy. I was sexy. I had a sudden, unexpected glimpse into what Mrs. Vandermeer saw in me, a sense of pride, strangely enough, taking root. Funny, I’d had this image of myself as kind of awkward, and perhaps I was when I wasn’t with Abby. But when I was with her? The Shannon Spencer on film was kind of hot. Shifting on my mattress until I had my knees spread as far apart as I could manage, I continued to tease myself to the image of me pushing the fingers of my left hand into my sopping wet cunt, then licking them clean as I rubbed furiously at my clit, my mouth hanging open, my eyes rolling back, and my perky tits shaking as I begged her for release.

“Please?”

“Come for me, baby.”

And I did, not only on the video, but watching it as well, so overcome with ecstasy that I almost fell over, an inarticulate cry washing over the words pouring from the speaker of my laptop.

“Oh my god, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

And then, when I thought I was done, her final words set me off again.

“Good girl.”

I came even harder the second time, or perhaps it was the same climax, peaking once more. I was too far gone to know. Afterwards, I simply lay there, slumped against my bedroom wall, my sheets wet with sex, and the smell of pussy permeating the air. Somehow I managed to shut off my laptop before falling into senselessness.

That had been the start of a week-long routine. The next day Abby emailed me asking if I’d enjoyed watching myself. Yes, I’d admitted. I also told her that’d I’d come to the sound of her voice.

Good girl. Was her simple reply, one that left me with a feeling of warm pride as well as an insatiable need to rewatch my performance, once again coming to her words of praise.

“Good Girl.”

Her good girl. Her nasty little cum slut. Her insatiable little fuck toy. Her kitty.

That day I had trouble concentrating, the image of standing on her porch as she opened the door, her husband standing just behind her, her smile wicked and cruel, her eyes fixed on mine.

“Good girl,” she’d say, one eyebrow arched expectantly as I lost control of myself and orgasmed in front of her and Mr. Vandermeer…

I wanted him to watch.

Once again I hit send before I had a chance to change my mind after which I spent an eternity locked in my room nervously awaiting a reply, trying to release tension by making myself cum, frustrated that, no matter what I did, I was unable to push myself over the edge time and time again. By the time she replied, I was ready to scream.

I’ll need your services this weekend. We have an event. Saturday. 6 pm. Be on time.

Abby.

Still frustrated, that night I slept uneasily, waking several times to find my hands between my legs, on the verge of orgasm and yet too emotionally worn out to come.

“You look tired, Shannon,” my mom had commented. “Not coming down with something, are you?”

“Didn’t sleep good,” I mumbled crossly and proceeded to ignore her for the rest of the morning. Thankfully, I think she wrote it off as typical teenaged behavior.

“Babysitting for Mrs. Vandermeer Saturday,” I told her before shuffling off to my room, sort of my way of apologizing for being moody, my mood shifting mercurially as I noticed an email from my Mistress waiting for me. Tremulously, I opened it.

Mr. Vandermeer is looking forward to seeing more of you.

Abby.

And, just like that, my world was in turmoil. She’d actually shown it to him. I wanted to die. So much for the new, mature Shannon Spencer. I wanted to crawl under the covers of my bed and never come out again. Instead, I opened up my secret file where I kept all the pictures and correspondence that Mrs. V had sent me and watched it again, my mind racing with the thought that Abby’s husband had seen it too. And, once again, I came to her “Good girl.” Only, this time, it was his voice I heard.

Saturday couldn’t come fast enough. It started out with a final message:

Don’t forget. And wear shorts. The tighter the better.

Abby.

Today would be torture. I did my best not to think about it, but how could I not? The clock seemed to move in slow motion no matter what I did. As I’d told my mom, I mostly hung out with friends. Caught a movie, had burgers, typical stuff. But the whole time, in the back of my mind, I wondered what tonight would bring. Scenario after scenario played constantly through my head, leaving me distracted and so incredibly aroused that I actually slipped my hand into my jeans at the theatre and played with myself while the movie was rolling, stopping just short of yet another intense orgasm. I’d actually lost count of how many times I’d come in the past week. It was humiliating, or it should have been. I was beyond caring.

Were they really going out? The thought of facing Abby’s husband, knowing that he’d seen me on video, naked and…

I could always cancel. Claim to be sick. Move to another city. Join a convent…

In the end, I went through my dresser and picked out a pair of skin-tight powder blue lycra shorts that I’d worn sophomore year when I’d had aspirations of playing volleyball. They’d been a bit snug even then. Now? I laid them out on the bed with a smile, regaining a little of my newly found confidence. I was going to look like a teenage sex machine when I showed up at the door. Now, I’ll I had to do was find a top that completed the look.

o-O-o

I’d left the house in sweats and a hoodie, not wanting my parents to see what the Vandermeers would be seeing. Not surprisingly, the closer I got to the house, the more nervous I got until I was practically shaking, my finger poised on the doorbell, and my sweats bundled up and left behind. I felt naked standing at their front door, skin-tight powder blue shorts clinging to my ass and creating an obvious camel toe. And no, I wasn’t wearing panties. Just the shorts. My top wasn’t much better. Skin tight as well, leaving very little to the imagination about the size and shape of my tits, nor the state of my incredibly stiff nipples. Converse low tops and ankle socks seemed to match the look. I’d tried on some heels but really, they’d just looked kind of stupid with the shorts and tee.  And, of course, I had my collar with me. 

Taking a deep breath, I pressed the buzzer and waited, shifting nervously from foot to foot while playing with my hair, and wondering if I should have tied it off in a ponytail instead of leaving it to fall over my shoulders. I wondered what Mr. Vandermeer would enjoy more as my heart pounded erratically and the knob of the door began to turn and the door swung slowly open.

“On time and everything. Good girl,” Mrs. Vandermeer said with a smile, pausing to get a good look at me, her smile deepening just a little as she saw the effect her words had on me. There it was again. Good girl. I was her good girl. All thoughts of the effect I’d have on her husband fled as a sudden need burned through me for my Mistress. I felt my pussy flood and humiliation burned my cheeks as I watched her gaze settle between my thighs, twinkling with wicked laughter as I felt my shorts dampen. I didn’t dare look down, knowing what I’d see: a visible damp spot darkening the powder blue material.

“Come in, Shannon,” she ordered me, stepping aside and then closing the door behind me while I tried to catch my breath. I failed miserably when I felt her touch on my hair, lightly stroking her fingers through my brunette locks, a touch both intimate and familiar.

“I hope you won’t mind, baby, but the children’s grandparents stole them away for the weekend at the last minute. I would have called and canceled, but I thought you might appreciate a chance to have some time to yourself, away from home. Your choice. Either way, I’ll pay you what I would have, regardless.”

My mouth went a little dry, realizing that I was alone with Mrs V. and her husband. Of course, they were dressed up and obviously still going out, but still. At some point they would return and it would only be the three of us.

“Greg? Why don’t you go get the car warmed up. I want to have a word with Miss Spencer before we leave.”

I watched him kiss her. Not the gentle peck that I was used to seeing my parents exchange, but a lingering kiss that promised more. Much more. Once again, Abby’s husband was on my radar. To be kissed like that… I didn’t have time to finish that thought, however.

“Sit,” my Mistress demanded, pointing to the living room sofa in an almost impatient gesture.

I sat, heat and electricity flowing through my limbs and up and down my spine, most of it migrating between my thighs and into my throbbing nipples.

“I imagine you’re wondering what’s going to occur upon our return, kitty.”

Wordlessly, I nodded, not trusting my voice and unable to tear my eyes from her suddenly chilly gaze.

“Good. I want you to think about it the entire evening. I’m not sure when we’ll be back, but in the meantime, I want you to make yourself at home. You may entertain yourself on the computer in my study. I’ve written the passwords you’ll need in a small notebook next to it. Also, there’s a file labled ‘My Kitty’ that you might find interesting.”

“Okay,” I managed, my voice barely registering.

“Yes Mistress would be the appropriate response,” she growled, taking my chin, her thumb pressing into my right cheek, fingers into my left, gripping me painfully.

“Yesh, Mishtresh,” I managed, eyes growing wide, frozen in place as she continued.

“Some ground rules. You may play with yourself to your heart’s content as long as you don’t come.”

I watched as her gaze shift, lingering on my chest before sliding down and focusing on the hot mess between my thighs to emphasize her point.

“Yes, Mistress,” I murmured as she relaxed her grip, feeling suddenly subdued.

“Keep your phone nearby, in case I feel like texting you. And behave.”

With that, she tilted my chin so that I was forced to look into her clear blue eyes, and gave me a gentle, sensual kiss, heat growing between us the longer it lasted until at last she broke it, leaving us both breathless.

“Oh, the things you do to me, pet,” she said, her voice as gentle as her touch as she slid her hand between my thighs and cupped my pussy, rubbing it slowly until I let out a helpless moan of pure pleasure.

“Please?” I blurted out, unable to control myself as I began to grind myself against her palm, much to her amusement.

“What are you?”

“Your nasty little fuck toy, Mistress. Your teenage whore,” I breathed, trembling as I felt her thumb pressing against my clit through the stretchy fabric of my shorts.

“Good girl,” she smiled, aware of exactly what she was doing to me, and savoring my frustration as she pushed me closer and closer to climax, knowing that I wasn’t allowed to fall over the edge.

She kissed me again, her lips brushing gently against mine as she pulled her hand away, leaving me panting with need, my pussy sopping wet, my shorts soaked through.

She left me like that, trembling with desire, unable to speak as I watched her leave the room, hungering for her touch, the scent of her, the sound of her voice, and, especially, the taste of her pussy. It was going to be a very long night.

o-O-o

I felt like an intruder prowling around the house while Abby and her husband were away. Obviously, I’d been here while they were out before, but this was different. For one, the kids weren’t here. Also, there was the promise of something more on their return. The sexual tension, as my mind wandered had my shorts nearly soaked through by the time I settled down and opened up the computer in her study, using the passwords provided and ignoring the files that were obviously work-related.

"Oh, Abby,” I murmured as I found the file labeled ‘My Kitty’. All the videos and pictures she’s taken of me. Our shared correspondence as well. What floored me most was the trust she’d put in me. I watched them, of course. All of them. Remembering each moment as if it had just happened.

She'd told me I could play with myself as long as I didn't come but I was too afraid that I wouldn't be able to stop myself. The urge to do exactly as I’d been forbidden was overwhelming. She’d never know unless I told her, after all. With a sigh, I resigned myself to being a good girl. She’d know and, even if she didn’t, I knew myself well enough to realize I’d admit to my transgressions the moment she walked through the door. I was hers, now. I belonged to her in a way that no one else could understand.

I shut down the computer before the temptation became too much. Before I did something I’d regret. I needed a distraction, so I wandered into the living room and flipped pointlessly through the channels, hoping for something funny. That kept me busy for all of fifteen minutes before I gave in to the need to prowl once more. Back to the study I went, having a thought that made me giggle like the girl I sometimes forgot I was. I knelt down on the floor and carefully sniffed her chair. It smelled like pussy, but it was probably due to the fact I’d been sitting there in a state of constant arousal for so long. It had been her pussy I’d been hoping to smell. That’s what led me upstairs to the bedroom and to her closet. Yes, it was weird, but I didn’t care. It was a desire, once planted in my brain, I couldn’t shake.

In the closet I found her hamper. With my heart beating wildly, I dug through it until I came up with a pair of peach colored panties that I pressed against my face with trembling fingers. There it was. The familiar scent of her pussy. It was heavenly. Breathing hard, I closed my eyes and imagined her wearing them as I extended my tongue and began licking them. Slow and sensual. Her faint scent and her even fainter taste were what I longed for. I wondered if it was possible to orgasm without stimulation of any kind besides taste and smell. I wondered if she’d forgive me if I did.

Somehow, I made myself stop. Mostly, it was the frustration that was building up inside of me. It was just making my predicament worse. The narrow confines of the walk-in closet began to smell like pussy. My pussy. I ached to be touched. My nipples were bloated and swollen with lust, as was my clit. I could feel them pulsing as I felt myself getting lightheaded, or imagined it. Same thing, really. And, of course, that’s when my phone chimed, announcing her first text of the evening.

Remove your shorts. Leave your top on. Leave them on the entryway floor. I want them to be the first thing I see upon our return. A.

It felt like an electric current spreading through me, leaving me gasping for breath, my thoughts a confusion of images; the Vandermeers closing the door behind them, my sex-soaked shorts laid out on the tile. My shorts replaced by me, legs spread, laying before them, on display like a good little slut. Mr. Vandermeer’s hand grasping my hair firmly as he pushes me onto all fours and takes me from behind while Abby, my Mistress, grinds her beautiful pussy against my face, allowing me to lap up her nectar like the kitty that has become her pet name for me.

I was so engrossed in my fantasies that I stripped down to my tee without thought, obeying her command as I took the stairs two at a time. The air felt lovely against my hot little cunt as I carefully laid out my shorts where they couldn’t be missed as soon as the door was opened.  Then, flushed with my own private embarrassment, I slunk back up the stairs and threw myself on her bed, wishing she would come home soon and put this ceaseless torture to an end.

I was still in that position, feeling a little sorry for myself, when the next text arrived.

Tee-shirt. On the bar. You know which one I mean. A.

My thoughts were drawn instantly to that day. My confession on video. How she…

I left it there, laid out like my shorts, giggling as I added an extra little touch by wiping myself on it, smearing my dripping wet pussy on the thin cotton and leaving a tell-tale wet streak down the front. It felt deliciously naughty. My mood lightened, I paused in front of the curtained picture window, and just able to make out my reflection in the glass, tried to see what my Mistress saw in me.

I was pretty enough, I thought. My figure slim with small breasts and narrow hips, made to look bigger by a small waist. Dark brown hair fell past my shoulders. Dark eyes framed by darker lashes. Yeah, I was pretty, if not gorgeous. Funny that I hadn’t noticed that, in the past year, I’d left my girlish looks behind and was now somewhere between the girl I’d been and the woman I would blossom into. Secretly, I thought that, in a few years, I’d be a bit of a hottie. It was a good feeling, this burst of sudden confidence and the realization that Abby had probably seen that as well. It wasn’t one sided; she was as attracted to me as I was to her. Since meeting her, perhaps because of it, I’d become… sexy.

Turning, my bare shoulder brushed the glass, making me shiver, I surveyed the room, eyes drawn to the footstool where I’d made my confession. Where I’d orgasmed on film. A thrill went through me, recalling how it had felt, not only that day, but watching myself in the secrecy of my own room. Greg had seen it, too. I was sure of it. I wondered what he’d been thinking earlier when he’d seen me. I wondered if he was thinking about me now. God, what was going to happen tonight when he and Abby returned?

“I want him to fuck me,” I whispered, suddenly feeling a little light-headed, trembling at the admission, my heart thumping against my ribs.

Running my fingers along the edge of the only thing I still wore, my collar, I shook my head, my feet taking me over to the bar. I needed a drink. Just a little sip, though. I didn’t want to get drunk. I just wanted to calm my nerves. I found a clean glass and filled it halfway up with white Zin, sipping at it rather than swallowing as I moved over to the scene of the crime; the ottoman.

I sat, all too aware that, when I stood again, there’d be a damp spot on the leather. What was I doing sitting here, naked, waiting for my Mistress and her husband to get home, hoping that they would use me for their pleasure? One thing I did know. I wanted this. More than anything else in my life, I wanted this. Abby made me feel alive. I liked the way she treated me, not just like a pet, a plaything, or a slut, but like someone important. When I was with her, I felt treasured. Wanted. I felt loved.

“She needs me as much as I need her,” I murmured, relaxing as the wine entered my bloodstream. It was a heady revelation for a seventeen-year-old high school student to make.

“Please, please, please come home soon,” I prayed, picturing my Mistress somehow hearing my words and chuckling cruelly.

o-O-o

By the time the next text arrived, I’d moved on, a little bored now, or at least frustrated, and perhaps a little tipsy after having a second glass of wine. I could feel my bladder waking up, which in turn, reminded me of being punished in her study. Giggling, I considered peeing into a qglass, which led me to another thought. Probably not a wise one, but one I acted on before I could dwell on it overly much.

Mistress – I need to pee. Permission?

Your Kitty

It didn’t take long to receive an answering text.

Denied. Arriving home in half an hour. Expect you to be waiting on hands and knees in my study.

Panic welled up inside of me. Half an hour. Not just Abby, but Abby and Greg. What had I been thinking? My first thought was to get dressed and run home as fast as I could before they got here. I must have spent fifteen minutes talking myself out of it. My shorts were in the hallway on display, wet spot and all. My tee was on the bar. Would he see that as well? I’m sure Abby would make sure of it. I began to wonder if it really was possible to die of humiliation. I felt flushed, out of kilter, my heart beating so fast I thought it might explode. God, what if she really did let him fuck me? Up until now it had been a fantasy, a whim. Was it really something I wanted? And what else was going to happen? Fear, strangely enough, was acting like an aphrodisiac. Despite my misgivings and my sudden apprehension, I found myself growing wetter by the second. The more I thought about it, the more my body responded. It was only my mind that was resisting. I needed, very badly, to take a moment and calm down. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I realized that a minute was all I had. Any moment now, they would be pulling into the driveway, expecting to find me in the study, naked and waiting, and then…

“Fuck.” The word burst out of me like a hot blast of steam escaping from a broken pipe.

At least I was already undressed. Really, it was just a matter of convincing myself of the importance of not failing my Mistress’ expectations. Surprisingly, or perhaps not, that came easier than expected.

I waited, naked, toes, knees, and palms planted firmly on the carpeting, trembling every time I heard a car pass the house while my pussy grew so moist that I could feel it seeping down the insides of my sensitive thighs.

So many scenarios played themselves out in such a small span of time. Abby spanking me. Being forced to lick her pussy while her husband watched. Greg fucking me from behind while she watched. Being tied down helplessly and used. Each fantasy became darker and darker until, in my mind, I was covered with clips, writhing in pain, forced to give Mr. Vandermeer head while Abby fucked me up the ass with a strap on…

That’s how they, or rather she, found me. Quivering with need, fingers gripping into the carpet, toes curled, cunt sopping wet, and my nipples and clit swollen and pulsing with desire. I was so engrossed in dirty little fantasies that I’d never heard them arrive.

“Enjoying yourself, Miss Spencer?” she asked, her words mocking, startled me into stillness.

"Yes, Mistress?” I answered, apprehensively, my voice sounding appropriately meek.

“You didn’t disobey my directives, I assume?”

This time, I merely shook my head, though with such fervor that I was gifted with a soft chuckle.

“Good. I would have been quite cross if you had spoiled my night by forcing me to punish you.”

“What’s going to happen?” I blurted out without thinking, regretting it instantly, my eyes focusing behind her before settling on her sharp, glittering eyes.

“What do you want to happen?” she replied, her voice crisp.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted.

“It doesn’t matter, baby. It’s not like you have any say in what I decide to do with you.”

“No, Mistress.”

And, just like that, it was settled. She was right. She could do anything she wished, and I would gladly accept it, no matter how humiliating. No matter how painful. No matter how debauched or debased. It’s who I was; her nasty little slut. That realization was freeing, in a way.

“Greg’s searching the house. I left your shorts with him. Your pussy scented shorts. I told him that, if he could find your missing top, I’d reward him.”

There was really nothing I could say. I could only assume that I was to be the prize and it wasn’t as if my shirt had been well hidden. It was just a matter of time.

"In the meantime,” Abby continued, breaking into my thoughts with a surgeon’s skill, drawing my attention quickly back to her. “That gives me a little time to enjoy myself.”

I held perfectly still as she produced my collar. I had told her before, quite truthfully, that it didn’t feel right putting it on myself. That was her prerogative. She’d taken it to heart, something I was grateful for. I can’t begin to describe how I’d longed to feel it buckled snuggly around my throat. Just watching as she slowly undid the clasp left me breathless. I could tell that she was enjoying playing with me which made me smile shyly up at her, butterflies suddenly filling my stomach.

“You like being owned, don’t you? You missed this.”

I felt a fevered blush spreading across my face as I nodded, admitting as much. I hadn’t simply missed it. I’d craved it. I practically purred, my pussy pulsing with pleasure, as she placed it around my throat, fastening it, placing a kiss on the top of my head to seal our relationship of Mistress and pet. I felt my face burning with a strange sense of pride as well as a familiar sense of embarrassment.

“Who do you belong to, Kitty?”

“You, Mistress. Only you.”

“Such a good girl. Good girls deserve a reward. Come.”

Her meaning was clear as she spread her shapely legs, first hiking up her hem so that I got a healthy glimpse of her red lace panties. Wasting no time, I hurried forward on hands and knees, pressing my face between her thighs, my tongue extending, eager to taste.

“Slowly,” she chuckled, her hand resting atop my head, her fingers splaying into my soft tresses, gently squeezing her thighs closed until I was trapped, the tip of my tongue barely brushing against the lace of her damp undergarments.

“Just a taste,” she cooed, fingers tightening painfully, tugging at my scalp until I gasped out loud with pain.

“A taste of what is to come, as well.”

I moaned softly at her words, recalling how cruel she could be and how I’d reacted, in the past, to her torments.

“Does the thought excite you, Miss Spencer?”

“Yes,” I whispered, hissing with pain as she released my hair from her grip and reached forward, her nails scoring the flesh of my shoulder as I pushed my face against her concealed cunt, her scent intoxicating as I got my first real taste of her divine nectar.

“Good girl. Worship my pussy.”

I didn’t even have to be told once. My goal, in fact, was to make her come before she decided to stop me. I began lapping eagerly, like a puppy, attempting to push the crotch of her panties to one side so that I could obtain entrance.

“Slut,” she growled.

I paused just long enough to reply.

“Your slut, Mistress.”

Had she let me, I would have made her come. As it was, I pushed her close to the edge before she pushed me away, breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling hypnotically under her dress while I sat there, my face, glazed, or so I imagined, from rubbing it against her slick pussy.

“Such a delightful sight.”

I jumped, startled, and jerked my head in the direction of the doorway. Mr. Vandermeer stood there, leaning casually against the door frame, smiling, his eyes full of hungry desire focused, not on his wife, but on me.

“She’s an eager little thing,” Abby replied, pulling down the hem of her dress as if nothing unseemly had been happening. “And she is very fond of eating pussy.”

Shame burned through me at her words. Delicious, delightful, arousing shame.

“And delightfully depraved as well, darling,” she continued, her gaze fastened to my face, her smile tightening even as she slid her fingers into my hair and tightened once more, holding me in place on the floor.

“I haven’t told Greg anything about what we do, Miss Spencer. All he knows is what you told him in your confessional. He is curious, however.” Then, in a voice so soft that even I could barely hear her words, she continued. “Don’t forget your safe word, baby. You can stop this at any time you want.”

Strangely enough, it was her reminder that soothed my fears. Returning her fixed gaze with one of my own, I simply nodded, the fear that had been growing turning into something else. Anticipation, as well as the confidence to voice my concerns.

“I’m not ready, Mistress. I want to be, but… not yet.”

“Out.”

Her voice startled me, and my heart skipped a beat thinking it was meant for me. Her eyes, however, had changed their focus from my face to her husband’s.

“If you change your mind, I’ll be upstairs,” he chuckled disappointedly, adding, as he left, “I’m much gentler than my wife, Shannon.”

“Perhaps that is why she prefers me.”

I shivered, biting my lip as I heard the door close quietly behind him, leaving me alone with her, wondering what was going to happen next, my pulse racing and my nipples so taut it felt like my skin was stretching.

“I’m sorry, Mistress,” I whimpered.

She quickly shushed me.

“When, and if, you are ready, baby. Still, I admit to being a little disappointed. Perhaps I should administer some form of punishment.”

Her tone was playful, despite her words, and I couldn’t help but smile with palpable relief as she stood, one arm around her midsection, cupping her elbow as she pressed her knuckle to her lip, a gesture that reminded me of her other role, that of a university professor. Knowing better than to speak or even move, I simply watched her, trembling as she finally seemed to come to a decision, her finger crooking in my direction.

"On your feet.”

I didn’t even hesitate, eager to obey, anxious for what was to come, holding my breath as she hooked her finger into the ring on the front of my collar and gave a firm tug.

“You still need to pee?”

“Yes,” I blushed.

“Good. Nothing like a little motivation,” she said with an enigmatic smile as she led me, not out into the house, but to the door I remembered so well. The one that opened into the room where I had discovered that pain, as well as pleasure, filled me with unbearable ecstasy.

“I’m feeling suddenly very cruel, Miss Spencer. I hope that you’ll indulge me.”

Unable to form a coherent thought as she closed the door behind us, I simply moaned, my knees wobbling as she turned me towards the wall and pushed me up against it.

“Stay,” she ordered and like any good pet, I stayed perfectly still as she tugged my arms behind my back and fastened thick leather cuffs around each wrist, buckling them on, so that they were one notch beyond snug.

“For the record, Miss Spencer, I intend to hurt you. I also intend to make you come. In order to achieve one, you must first endure the other. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I managed, fighting for each breath as she grabbed a handful of hair and pulled, forcing me to focus on the pulley overhead.

“Thankfully, this room is fairly soundproof. I wouldn’t want my husband to get the wrong idea about how I treat my slut.”

This time, I didn’t answer, unable to resist the urge to glance at the pulley suspended from the ceiling, recalling what she’d done to me in the confines of the small room last time. She’d shown me what I was, who I was, coaxing the inner pain slut from me, leaving me hungering for more. My gaze flickered down, swallowing as I caught her cold smile. So cruel. And yet, it was what I longed for. I felt my thighs dampen as my juices flowed in anticipation. If I was wise, I’d be terrified of what was about to happen, of what she was about to do to me and of how much I longed for it.

“Mistress?” I managed to whimper, making her pause, her eyes suddenly filled with warm sympathy.

“Yes, baby?”

“I want-“

“Go on," she said soothingly, stroking my arm gently as I searched for the words I needed, silent until finally, I found them.

“I want you to hurt me. Please?”

Her smile turned cruel, once more, as a spark of understanding seemed to pass between us, leaving me trembling with need.

“Be careful what you ask for, kitten,” she chuckled. "Now hold still."

I did my best to remain motionless as she carefully braided the end of the rope hanging from the metal wheel above my head into my hair, raising it until I was forced to raise myself up on my toes to alleviate the painful tug on my scalp that forced me to stand perfectly straight as she moved around behind me and began to pose me like a life-sized doll. She lifted my arms and attached my cuffs with short lengths of rope to recessed rings in the walls to either side of me, leaving me looking like Jesus on the cross, arms spread like wings as I did my best to keep my balance.

“On second thought, maybe Greg should know exactly what you let me do to you.”

She left me breathless, kissing me roughly before taking out her phone and pointing the camera at me. 

“Smile,” she teased as she took a photo, taking a moment to hit send before putting the phone down.

“Something for both of you to think about,” she said with a playful smile as she put the phone aside and kissed me once more, this time tenderly, her blue eyes searching mine deeply. “For now, however, you belong to me.”

To be continued…

oOo

for Laura & Mona. thanks for your patience.