Breathless

Your heart. Beating. Waiting for what I do next. Breathless. Willful. That is what you have been, slut. I hear your heart beating faster. Faster as I pull you by your collar to the floor before me. Faster, as I hold you firmly in place at my knees. Faster as I look you over with my dark eyes. Faster, as I make you lick my black leather high heel boots. Faster, as I watch you scramble to cover every piece with your tongue, worried about the consequences should you miss a millimeter.

And there will be consequences, slut.

You tire me.

Stand up. Turn around. Bend over.

Deeper. Spread your cheeks.

Whose ass is this?

"Yours Maitresse."

Oui, it is mine. But you seem to have forgotten what that means, my dear slut.

When your ass belongs to Maitresse, it belongs to no one else--not even you. Do you understand?

"Oui Maitress."

Tell me what you are?

"Yours Maitresse."

My what?

"Your slut, Maitresse."

And what does a slut do, slut?

"He gives himself wholly to Maitresse."

Correct. But you have not yet given yourself in that way. Not completely, not deeply. That is why Maitresse does not fuck you, as you desire to be fucked, up your tight ass, your waiting, wanting, tight little ass. There is nothing that you desire more than to be fucked in this way. Am I right, slut? "Oui Maitress."

Nothing you desire more than to have Maitresse fuck you good and hard with her huge "cock" as you lie helpless, dressed as her femme on the bed, your stockings ripped and your lipstick smeared like the wothless slut that you are. Open and waiting for her to tell you that you are her slut, worthless.

Give me your belt.

Bend over the chair. "Oui Maitress."

Deeper. Spread your cheeks. Show me your ass. Cup your balls in your hand. Let me see them move. I want your cock hard. "Oui Maitress."

Release your hand.

I slide the belt up between your legs, pressing on your cock and balls, creating an edge up the crack of your ass. I pull it tight. Tighter. I watch you squirm. "Merci Maitress."

I pull the belt out quickly, before you know what is happening. I hit you with full force across your ass--once, twice, three, ... ten...twenty times. The red welts rise up on your raw skin. "merci Maitresse."

I take my hand and run it softly over your ass, caressing it as an open display of what you are: a worthless slut, here to amuse me and do my bidding. Nothing more.

Stand up. Crawl into your cage. "Oui Maitress."

I leave you, in the dark, waiting, awaiting my return. Hours or what seem like days go by. You dare not sleep. You wait only for the sound of my heels in the hall. That familiar sound of salvation, redemption. "She has not forgotten me."

I enter the room. You rise to all fours. I stand over your cage. My little animal. How I wish you would amuse me more, then I could spare you.

I open the door. Crawl to me. "Oui Maitresse." You come close to my feet, your eyes focused on my red toes. You may lick them. Merci Maitresse.

I blindfold you. Push you to the ground with my foot. Press on your chest with my heel. Pull the collar tight, tighter, until you choke. I like to hear you gasping, begging me to stop, to spare you. Then I release.

This is what you want, right, slut? To feel close to your own death? You try to answer, but I pull the collar tighter.

It is only close to death that you feel truly alive. To feel that She may bring to an end your masochism and groveling. But most of all bring to an end all the false pretences of modern-day romance and Hollywood happy-endings. Finally, bring to an end the dating game and the charade of "normal sexual desire."

That point where you are still breathing, but breathless, wondering whether She will allow you to take that next breath, or end your miserable existence now. That is the point that you live for, isn't it slut?

For what have you done to deserve Her mercy, slut?

Why should She not stuff your mouth with her black panties, push them down your waiting throat with her black heel, and watch while you expire? Why should She not spank you with Her belt until your ass is a mass of red welts, until you fear for your life? Why should She not shove a dildo deep up your waiting ass until you feel split in half?

What possible reason do you have for remaining alive, save one.

To please Her.

But you do not please me, slut. You bore me. You bore me terribly.

Try to save yourself if you can.