I owed a painful debt to Mistress Lisa and, my Mistress informed me, would be given to her for a weekend at the end of the month to settle the debt. I had known this was coming, but now I felt a wave of fear and excitement cascade over me. 

Mistress Lisa was twenty-six, almost half my age, but my Mistress had given her dominance over me when my Mistress, Mistress Lisa, and Mistress Cathy, all three of them colleagues of mine at work, had stripped, beaten, and fucked me in my own office. In the process, I had gone from being someone who enjoyed being sexually dominant and submissive, to their willing sex slave.

The debt I owed Mistress Lisa was to strip naked and be kicked hard in the balls, twice. Mistress Lisa was a beautiful sadist who was turned on by a naked man writhing and groaning on the floor at her feet, clutching his balls. I owed the debt because I had failed to take the agreed number of kicks to my manhood that time in my office but, in reality, my Mistress had invited Mistress Lisa to kick me in the balls as many times as she saw fit. 

It was Saturday at noon when I knocked on the door of Mistress Lisa’s apartment. I wore jeans and a smart shirt, although I knew I wouldn’t be wearing them for long.

Even in the unflattering light from the hallway, Mistress Lisa looked gorgeous. She wasn’t tall, maybe 5’ 5” or 5’ 6”, and her long dark hair, shining even in this light, fell past her shoulders. Her skin was pale, her eyes a deep brown and she had a lovely and slightly snub nose. Her lips, accentuated by bright red lipstick, were naturally soft and full, and she was smiling mischievously.

She wore a simple, sleeveless black silk dress that fell a couple of inches above her knees. Her bare arms and legs looked toned from the gym. The dress plunged low, revealing a lot of cleavage. Her breasts were large, her nipples outlined by the silk fabric. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

Her beautiful, well-manicured feet were small and bare. I had made the mistake before of thinking they looked too dainty to inflict pain.

Mistress Lisa settled herself on a sofa and left me standing in front of her. She looked me up and down slowly, surveying her property. She was still relatively junior at work, a good number of grades below me, but there was no doubt - as I stood nervously before her - who was in charge now.

“Get me a glass of wine, Slave, there’s a bottle open in the fridge,” she ordered. Her voice had a soft and slightly husky quality to it but wasn’t tentative at all. If she was nervous about taking charge of someone who at work was her senior, then she didn’t show it.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said. Uttering those words always sends an erotic charge through me. It is the act of subservience and the humiliation that goes with it that turns me on more than the pain that often accompanies it. 

Her apartment was open plan and I felt her watching me as I went to the kitchen and poured her a glass of the cold Sauvignon Blanc. I walked back and went to offer her the glass. 

“Kneel as you give me the glass, Slave, know your place,” she warned. 

“Yes, Mistress, I’m sorry,” I said, kneeling quickly on the hard wooden floor and giving her the wine. I bowed my head.

“Look at me, Slave,” she instructed.

I lifted my gaze and our eyes met. She sipped the wine slowly, leaving a red lipstick mark on the glass.

“Are you ready to give yourself to me, Slave?” She asked, “Just like you give yourself to your Mistress, and just like you gave yourself to the three of us in your office?

“Yes, Mistress, I belong to you now,” I responded. 

“How does it make you feel,” she asked, “that I’m so much younger than you, and your junior at work?”

“I should probably say, Mistress,” I ventured, “that it makes no difference, that I’m here to serve you and pay my debt, but it just adds to my sense of humiliation.”

“I wonder,” she said, “what makes a man crave humiliation so much? And, talking of which, I have put something out for you to change into, in the bedroom.” She gestured to a door off the main living area. “You may walk there, but you will crawl back to me on all fours when you have changed.”

“Yes, Mistress, thank you,” I said and stood up. 

On the bed, I found a pair of ladies’ red lace panties, leather cuffs for my wrists and ankles, each with a metal loop attached, and two nipple clamps attached by a chain. An outfit designed to inflict both humiliation and pain.

I undressed quickly, folding my clothes and placing them on a chair in the bedroom. I put my shoes and socks underneath the chair, already feeling exposed and vulnerable.

The panties were tight, but I managed to ungracefully pull them up across my thighs and hips. They offered little support for my cock and balls, but the tight, slightly scratchy, lace fabric offered plenty of sexual stimulation, rubbing against my cock.

I sat on the edge of the bed and attached the leather cuffs to my wrists and ankles. Each one had a buckle that secured it and, even though the leather was surprisingly soft, it felt strong and unyielding.

I massaged my left nipple to make it easier to attach the clamp, turning the little wheel and watching the metal jaws tighten on each side of the nipple and then bite into my flesh. I winced but turned it some more until the clamp was securely attached. I did the same to my right nipple and stood up, the weight of the chain between the two clamps applying additional pressure. My eyes were watering from the pain.

Having stood up, I looked at myself in a full-length bedroom mirror. I’m in decent shape for a man my age, although I’d like my stomach to be flatter and my cock not to need Viagra to perform. The tight red panties didn’t flatter me.

I took a deep breath and got down on all fours, before crawling back to Mistress Lisa, the soft bedroom carpet under my knees giving way again to the hard wooden floor of the main living area. I crawled to her and waited on all fours, looking down at her beautiful bare feet, her toes painted the same bright red as her lips.

“Kneel up, Slave,” she ordered.

I did as she said, my breathing a little heavy from trepidation and crawling across the floor.

“Tighten each clamp another half turn,” she said, and I noted how she was adding to my humiliation by making me inflict it upon myself.

I gasped and inhaled deeply as the clamp bit harder into first my left nipple and then my right.

“Good,” she said, “You know I like to see a man in pain. Now, to give you time to contemplate the pain from your nipples, the greater pain to come, and your servitude to me, you are going to spend the next hour cleaning my apartment. My cleaner couldn’t come this week, so I want you to focus on the kitchen and bathroom. You will clean them properly, but you will finish by cleaning the floors with your tongue. If you do a good job, I may let you take a Viagra later for that pathetic cock of yours. If you do a bad job, I will take a whip to you.”

“Yes Mistress, thank you, Mistress,” I said as she nodded to dismiss me.

I found cleaning materials in the kitchen and started to meticulously clean every inch of the room; all the while, the panties agitated my cock and the clamps sent darts of sharp pain through my nipples. When the sink, work surfaces, cupboard doors and appliances were spotless, I got down on my knees again. I must have spent 30 minutes crawling methodically around the floor, my arse in the air, my knees aching and my tongue, dry and sore, licking the floor.

It was humbling to be ordered to perform this mundane task and to do it without question. I must have looked ridiculous in my near-naked state and with my tongue out, but I was more worried that it was taking too long.

“You have failed, Slave,” Mistress Lisa said, suddenly standing over me. “I told you that you had an hour to clean, and you haven’t even finished the kitchen. What did I say I’d do if you did a bad job?”

“You said you’d take a whip to me, Mistress,” I replied tentatively.

“Do you agree that you deserve to be whipped?” She asked, haughtily.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said. There was no other answer available to me.

“Come with me,” she instructed.

I crawled after her into a second bedroom, although there wasn’t a bed in it. It looked like it was used as an office, but most of the room was empty. My eyes were immediately drawn to two bright metal rings in the ceiling and two below them in the floor.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “the rings are very secure. A builder friend of mine installed them as part of a debt he owed me, although like you he paid most of the debt with his balls. Now, stand between the rings.”

I got up from all fours and stood between the rings, then she pushed my legs further apart with her foot, before expertly using rope to attach my ankle cuffs to the rings on the floor. She then stood on a small stool, lifting each of my arms and using more rope to attach my wrist cuffs to the rings in the ceiling. She tightened the ropes so that I was pulled onto my toes and slightly off balance, my arms and shoulders protesting.

She walked softly out of the room and left me there, splayed, exposed, my balls hanging vulnerably out of my red panties, my tongue dry, my arms and knees aching and the clamps continuing to torment my nipples, although that was now a dull rather than sharp pain.

I waited, five minutes, maybe ten, the apartment silent, before Mistress Lisa returned carrying a whip, or rather what I thought of as a flogger. It was black, and had a thick leather handle, maybe eight inches long, from which numerous, thinner, leather stands protruded, each maybe eighteen or twenty inches in length. It looked to have both weight and bite.

She walked up to me and stood less than a foot away, so that I could easily smell her subtle perfume. Even with my legs spread by the cuffs and ropes, I was taller than her. She looked up at me, excitement and a little amusement in her brown eyes.

“Now, tell me again how you feel, Slave, I want to know what’s going on in your head,” she said.

“Before that time in my office, Mistress, with the three of you,” I said a little hesitantly, “I felt – when I was in a subservient position – that I was still thinking about how far I would let myself go. Like I felt I always had a choice, a veto. I’ve stopped thinking that, I’ve accepted that it isn’t my decision to make.”

“So, now I feel pain, discomfort and fear at what else you’re going to do to me, and definitely humiliation. You know this position leaves me completely exposed to you, the panties make me look foolish and I’m concerned that I won’t be allowed to take a Viagra because I failed in my cleaning task.”

“Ah yes, your pathetic little soft cock,” she said in a taunting baby voice. “Although that just tells me that you still haven’t fully understood that being a Slave means that your sexual fulfillment is irrelevant. The only thing that matters is my sexual fulfillment, which will come from inflicting pain on you. So, I’m now even more convinced that you need to be whipped. In fact, after each blow from the whip, you will say, ‘Thank you, Mistress, my sexual fulfilment is irrelevant.’”

“Yes Mistress,” I said.

She began to walk in circles around me, her large breasts moving freely under the thin black silk of her dress.

“Men are so pathetic and predictable,” she said, “You are almost naked, tied up and I’m carrying a whip, and yet you still ogle my tits. Another good reason for you to be flogged, to teach you some manners.”

With this, she pulled her right arm back and struck me hard across the buttocks with the whip. I felt both a hefty thud and multiple sharp, sting. I gasped and tried to move away from the blow, but my body was well stretched between the metal rings, and I had no escape. I did, however, remember to say, “Thank you, Mistress, my sexual fulfillment is irrelevant.”

Mistress Lisa nodded as I thanked her and let me briefly absorb the shock of that first blow and then proceeded to rain multiple blows across my back, buttocks, and the backs of my thighs. They were stinging blows without quite the same heft as the first blow, but they hurt.

After several long minutes of this, with me constantly trying to fit in my thank yous, she paused. The back of my body stung all over and felt hot. She stood in front of me again, her face a little flushed from the exertion.

“Open your mouth wide, Slave,” she ordered, “and look me in the eyes again.”

I obeyed and watched helplessly as she stuffed the thick handle of the whip into my mouth, fucking my mouth with it and making me gag repeatedly.

“Have you forgotten what we taught you, in your office, to be a good little cocksucker?” she teased. “I may have to invite my boyfriend over to give you a nice big, hard cock to suck on.”

Yes,” she smiled, “I have a boyfriend and putting your cock next to his will be very humiliating for you. He knows you’re here too and knows how horny I’ll be for his big cock when I’ve finished with you. Now, how would that make you feel?”

I paused and then, tentatively, said, “Mistress, I have no desire to suck another man’s cock, but the humiliation you describe and the ridicule that would accompany it excite me.”

“Good,” she said, “for being honest with me, and I definitely will invite him over tomorrow. I’m also going to reward you now by removing the nipple clamps, although I haven’t finished whipping you yet.”

I cried out as she released the first clamp, blood rushing back into my tortured nipple. I just managed to stifle a cry for the second nipple, but the pain was intense, and my eyes filled with tears. I desperately wanted to massage some of the pain away, but I was tightly bound.

Through vision blurred by my tears, I watched Mistress Lisa lift the flogger and target my right nipple. The leather tips of the flogger were like bee stings as they landed on and around the nipple. I cried out again and watched helplessly as she targeted my other nipple. The pain was just as bad, and I wailed.

Two more stinging blows, one to each nipple, were followed by a harder upward blow between my spread legs, that thudded against my balls before the leather strands wrapped around and dug into my buttocks. My body bucked and writhed, but I was held firmly in place.

She then delivered three swift blows in a row to my left nipple and the same to my right nipple, before standing in front of me again, watching tears stream down my face.

“That, in particular,” she said, “was for ogling my tits without permission.”

“Yes Mistress, thank you, Mistress,” I replied through the pain, my eyes, still blurred, looking nowhere near her breasts.”

“I’m going to give you another thirty strokes with the whip, all over your body, and then you will pay the debt you owe with your balls,” she explained. “If you take it all well, then I will untie and let you beg to kiss my feet.”

I didn’t know how I was going to tolerate the pain, but I knew I desperately wanted to grovel and kiss and suck her beautiful feet.

She raised the whip, pausing to tell me I no longer needed to thank her for each stroke. “Your whiny voice is starting to annoy me,” she scolded, “and I think you are gradually realising that your sexual fulfillment is a very low priority.”

She began to whip me, more methodically this time, letting each stinging blow sink in. I watched as she used the flogger to leave harsh red lines all over my flesh. I tried hard to breathe deeply, to help absorb the pain. The blows were sharp and stinging, heating my body, but were just about tolerable, except when she revisited my nipples, which brought fresh tears to my eyes.

“I’m going to give you a few minutes to prepare yourself,” she said gently, “and then it will be time to pay your debt. I’m also going to give you a choice. You can just take the two kicks to the balls that you owe me, or – for four kicks – I will take my dress off first and give you permission to look at my body. And I will remain naked while you beg to worship my feet.”

She turned and left the room. I was still breathing heavily, my body aching, my skin highly sensitised from the stinging blows of the whip, but I knew that I would ask for four kicks.

She finally came back into the room, having brushed her hair and freshened her lipstick.

“Well?” she enquired.

“Four kicks please, Mistress,” I said, and she smiled.

“Before I undress,” Mistress Lisa said, “we need to remove your panties. As foolish as they make you look, I want to see your cock and balls as I kick you.”

With that, she took a large pair of scissors from the desk and cut the red panties from my body, leaving me securely bound and completely exposed to her.

“You realise,” she said, “that once I remove my dress, there is no turning back? You will get the four kicks no matter how much you beg me to stop.”

“Yes, Mistress Lisa, I understand. Thank you,” I replied.

She undid the dress at the neck and let the silk garment fall softly to the ground and pool around her feet. She stood still, completely naked, looking at me while I admired her body.

Her long, shiny, dark brown hair cascaded over her shoulders. She was smiling and her slightly snub nose, lifted a little, gave her a haughty look. Her skin was pale, but had a delicate glow to it, and the rest of her body was as toned from regular sessions in the gym as her arms and legs. Her large breasts were full and firm, and her hips too had a gentle, womanly swell to them. Her pussy was completely shaven so, as she stood with her legs slightly parted, her pussy lips – glistening from her arousal – were clearly visible.

“I hope it was worth it, Slave,” Mistress Lisa laughed, stepping away from the dress and bending to pick it up. I watched her ample breasts swing forward as she bent down.

She stepped forward, much closer to me, her breasts just touching my stomach, and reached down to fondle my balls, cupping them and then letting her fingernails graze the surface. I shivered in response.

“So soft, so vulnerable,” she whispered, her breath warm against my chest. My cock stirred at her caress and then I gasped as, with her other hand, Mistress Lisa viciously tweaked my abused right nipple and laughed.

She stepped back, facing me, her legs slightly apart, but firmly planted. I watched helplessly as she swung her right leg back and then up between my legs, the top of her beautiful foot smashing into my balls. I cried out and slumped against my bindings. If I hadn’t been tied so securely, I would have bent double and slumped to the floor. The pain was awful, my eyes filled with tears, and I felt nauseous.

As she steadied herself for a second kick, I tried – through blurred vision – to focus on the movement of her gorgeous breasts. They swayed heavily and then jumped a little as her foot again slammed into my balls.

Another wave of pain and nausea shot through my body, my legs buckling, and I realised I was sobbing now.

She stepped forward again, her body now pushed firmly against mine, and whispered, “Be brave for me, Slave, two more kicks and then no more pain today.”

“Yes Mistress,” I snivelled.

I was visualising myself sucking her toes, my eyes closed, when the pain from the third kick coursed through my body. I screamed again, sobbing uncontrollably.

The fourth kick followed quickly, but maybe wasn’t quite as hard. Maybe she had taken mercy on me? Even so, I was in agony and felt sick.

She knelt at my feet to release my ankles, and then used the stool to free my wrists. She helped support my weight, her naked body pressed briefly against mine, as she lowered me, battered, sobbing, my breath ragged, to the ground, where I curled in a ball.

She used a tissue to wipe my eyes and to wipe snot from my runny nose. She stroked my hair and I marveled at the incredible intimacy that comes from giving yourself to someone the way I was giving myself to her.

I lay like that for ten minutes or more, the pain gradually easing and my breathing returning to something more normal.

Eventually, she said, “I’m going to sit on the sofa. When you are ready, you will crawl to the kitchen, get yourself a long drink of water, and then bring me more wine. You will then grovel and beg to be allowed to worship my feet.”

I did as she instructed, and the cold water felt good as I gulped it down.

I knelt in front of her again, holding out her glass of wine. She took the wine and told me to put my hands on my head. I did as she instructed and watched as she dipped two slender fingers into her glass of wine and smeared her wet fingers around my lips.

“Don’t lick,” she commanded.

I obeyed, tasting the wine on my lips but not with my tongue.

She again dipped her fingers in the glass, but this time smeared the wine around my left nipple. The acidic liquid stung as she worked it into my grazed nipple and the red lines from the whip that were still visible crisscrossing my chest. She did the same to my right nipple, looking straight into my eyes as I winced.

Leaning forward on the sofa, our heads almost touching, she tipped the glass and let wine spill and run from her right knee, down her shin and onto her ankle and foot. Some of it formed a small puddle on the floor.

“Lick up all the wine on the floor but don’t touch me,” she ordered. “When the floor is clean, you may beg to lick the wine from my leg and foot.”

I bowed my head to the floor and began to lap at the wine, being careful not to touch her. Just as I had almost completed the task, she let more wine trickle down her leg to the floor. I continued licking, wine now all over my lips and chin, and this time she let me finish.

On my knees and with my face pressed to the floor by her feet, I begged, “Please Mistress Lisa, please let your pathetic Slave grovel and kiss the wine from your leg and foot, I beg you, please.”

“Kneel up, Slave,” she instructed. “Just so you don’t forget that this isn’t about your sexual fulfillment, tuck that pathetic cock and balls of yours between your thighs.”

I obeyed, wincing again because my balls were sore and tender from the kicking she had just given me, so that my cock and balls were hidden from view.

“Look, just like a little girly,” Mistress Lisa teased. “And tomorrow you’ll be sucking my boyfriend’s big, hard cock like a little girly slut! How does it feel now to be one of the weaker sex?”

“It is humbling, Mistress. You, My Mistress and Mistress Cathy, have demonstrated very clearly that you are the stronger sex and that I am nothing. I beg only to be allowed to grovel, to kiss your feet and to lick the wine from you. Please let me serve you, Mistress?”

“Very well, Slave, but keep that pathetic little cock and your bruised balls tucked between your thighs.”

I did as I was told and started to gently run the tip of my tongue from her right ankle, along her instep to her toes. I felt her shiver a little in response and then I took her big toe into my mouth and sucked, circling her toe with my tongue and tasting her. I kept my thighs together, but my cock stiffened in response to this sensual act of submission.

I sucked each of her toes in turn, letting my tongue explore each brightly painted nail, delving into the creases between her toes and finally tracing the path of the white wine over her ankle, up her shin to her knee. I lingered there because I had a glorious view, her legs parted, her pussy lips wet, swollen and spread. Her skin, so smoothly shaven, nothing hidden.

“You are not worthy of my pussy, Slave,” she said softly, “but you can watch as my boyfriend fucks me there tomorrow. I intend for you to have the best seat in the house!”

I didn’t know what she meant by that, but I was busy now turning my attention to her other foot, kissing and sucking with the same care.

Mistress Lisa’s moaning had intensified, and a glance told me her fingers were deep inside her pussy, moving purposefully.

“Yes, Slave,” she said, breathing deeply, “because your cock is so pathetic and you are not worthy, and because your sexual fulfillment is irrelevant, I must bring myself to orgasm. You won’t have forgotten that I squirt when I orgasm. So, when I tell you, you’re going to rest your face on the sofa between my legs, as close as you can get without touching me, and you will open your mouth and be ready to swallow. If you let any of my wetness spill on the sofa, you will receive a spanking in the morning.”

Talking to me like this must have tipped her over the edge, because she said, “Now!”

I quickly rested my chin on the sofa between her legs, close to her pussy. I could smell her arousal as she started to buck and moan more loudly. And then she came. Her squirting orgasm quickly covered my lips, tongue, eyes and even nose with clear, sticky liquid. It was impossible to stop some of it getting on the sofa and I knew that I would be spanked.

“Kneel up and put your hands on your head,” she ordered, as her orgasm subsided.

I knelt up, being careful to keep my cock and balls tucked between my legs, my hands on my head. My eyes were sticky, and I could hardly open them, so I waited, her scent, her taste, overwhelming me.

Then I felt her gently wiping my eyes and, as she cleared them, she bent forward and kissed me firmly on the lips, my lips still covered with her juices.

“You have served me well today, Slave,” she said softly. “Now go and run me a deep, hot, bubble bath.”

I found the bathroom, which I had failed to clean earlier, and started running the bath. I smelled of sex and my body hurt all over. The deepening bath looked inviting, but I knew only Mistress Lisa would decide if I got to wash too.

I crawled back to her, my knees aching, to tell her the bath was ready. She had me follow her back to the bathroom, still on all fours, but admiring the gentle side-to-side undulation of her buttocks as she walked ahead of me.

“Stand by the bath,” she commanded, “Not at the tap end. Elbows by your side and forearms outstretched, but first, tuck your cock and balls back between your thighs. Stand still, don’t move.” I did as instructed and she draped a towel over my left arm and put a bottle of bath and shower gel in my right hand.

She climbed gracefully into the bath, settled down and let out a deep sigh.

While Mistress Lisa relaxed into the warm embrace of the water, I tried to focus simply on standing still but struggled. It was impossible to ignore my body. My face was covered in her pungent juices, my skin bore the stinging red marks of the whip, although they had faded a little, my nipples stung, my arms, shoulders and legs ached from being restrained, my knees were sore, and my tender cock and balls were very painfully squeezed between my thighs.

I tried to slow my breathing and gradually I struggled less with my complaining body. I started to find some peace in the knowledge that I felt like this because I had submitted completely to this beautiful, dominant young woman.

It was humiliating to have my manhood tucked between my legs and to be used as a towel rail and soap dish, but humbling too, and – despite the pain and discomfort – there was still a special sexual charge running through me. I needed to submit and to be humiliated to feel that special, exhilarating charge. I realised I was already longing to discover what further humiliations Mistress Lisa had in store for me. Was she really going to make me suck her boyfriend’s cock? The prospect both appalled and excited me, but I knew I would do it if she told me to.

After soaking for a while, Mistress Lisa stood up in the bath, bubbles clinging to her body, and took the bath gel from my outstretched hand. She soaped herself slowly, provocatively lingering on her breasts. My trapped cock stirred, and she smiled at my obvious discomfort. She turned away from me so I could watch her soap her buttocks and then turned back as she soaped between her legs, her hand lingering there too.

Eventually, she lay back down, my outstretched forearms now added to the long list of parts of me that hurt.

After another few minutes, she stood again and climbed out of the bath, taking the towel from me and carefully drying herself.

When she was dry, she said, “You must need to piss, do it now.”

When I hesitated briefly, she laughed, “Get on with it, Slave, you have no privacy anymore.”

I did as she instructed and felt great relief. I hadn’t realised how full my bladder was. She watched me.

“Now, get into the bath,” she said gently. “I’m tempted to give you a cold shower, but you have done well today, and I want to reward you.”

She even added some more hot water as I climbed in to the bath. I sat down and the hot water stung, but then quickly started to soothe my body.

She let me soak for a while, standing naked and watching me, and then picked up a flannel and gently washed my face. She used a shower attachment to wash my hair, her delicate fingers massaging my scalp and sending pulses of electricity through me. She rinsed my hair and told me to stand up, before slowly soaping every inch of my body, her hands gently caressing my abused cock and balls. I moaned with pleasure.

She let me rinse the soap off and then told me to get out of the bath. Still very gently, she used a soft towel to dry me, even towel-drying my hair and allowing me to comb it, before taking my hand and leading me back into the living area.

“I’m going to get dressed,” she told me. “You will stand here.” She pointed to a spot in the middle of the room, facing the sofa.

“You will stand with your feet hip-width apart and your hands on your head,” she instructed. “And at no point this evening or tonight, will you touch your cock or balls without my permission.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I replied.

She disappeared into the bedroom, emerging a little later wearing tight faded jeans and a soft pink sweater. Her breasts swayed beneath the thin fabric and her nipples were visible. She had brushed her hair again and applied more fresh lipstick. Her feet were still bare. Even after everything that had happened, seeing her suddenly dressed made me very aware of my own nakedness.

“Are you hungry, Slave?” she asked.

It surprised me to realise I was very hungry. “Yes, Mistress,” I answered.

While I continued to stand with my hands on my head, she picked up her phone and ordered food to be delivered.

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang, and Mistress Lisa buzzed the delivery driver, who sounded female, up. I suddenly realised that, when the door opened, I would be in full view of the person standing outside the door. I started to panic, but it was clear Mistress Lisa knew exactly what she was doing. There was nothing I could do except stay exactly where I was.

Mistress Lisa took her time completing the transaction, the attractive middle-aged woman who had delivered the food staring at me, stark naked and with my hands on my head, with amused surprise.

After what seemed like an age, Mistress Lisa closed the door and invited me to sit at the table. She even poured us both a glass of wine, more of the Sauvignon Blanc.

Except for the fact that I was still naked, it felt like a normal meal. We chatted and enjoyed each other’s company. She asked a lot of questions; I think trying to better understand why I submitted to such treatment. I guessed she was also trying to gauge how far she could push me the following day, particularly with her boyfriend joining us.

“Mistress,” I admitted, “I have honestly never felt like this, so able to submit, so able to give myself to someone. You have made me trust you by constantly testing me, taking me to the edge of what I could cope with, but never pushing me too far.”

“Good,” she smiled, “but tomorrow Slave I will take you deeper still...”