Mrs. Scott's Ordeal

Mrs. Scott and I had met through the internet. We had spoken over the phone several times, chatted a bit online, and had decided to arrange a meeting. I am a professional Dom, and she had sought out my services. She was an older girl, in her mid-40s, and seemed to be having some kind of mid-life crisis. Her children were grown up, her husband having an affair and doing little to hide it, and she was lacking any real direction or inspiration.

She had discussed with her husband that she didn't want to go through any messy breakups. It would be hard for the family and their kids, and they had a comfortable living arrangement that she didn't want to ruin. The fact that he was getting some on the side meant that she was free to look for whatever she could find too. Trouble was, she had no idea what she was looking for or how to find it.

It had been a little over a year with her husband banging his trophy-bitch, and Mrs. Scott hadn't found anyone to play with. She had tried the bar scene, and found out how much that had changed in over twenty years. She had tried internet dating sites, but no one seemed to be interested in anything past a hook-up with any 46 year-old married woman. Her self-esteem had plummeted lower and lower.

Left only with her loneliness and internet connection, she began researching different sites and finding out things that she never would have dreamed of. One of the things she discovered was that the idea of being dominated was something that, as reluctant as she was to admit it, gave her a great thrill. Some of the romance and erotic novels she'd read recently probably led her to consider that scenario somewhat too.

Mrs. Scott had not had to worry about looking attractive for men for a long time, and as a result, she had become out of touch with her inner seductress. She owned little provocative clothing, and ceased wearing makeup years ago. Her hair was short, upswept, practical, light brown and greying. She did, however, have one asset that never needed upkeep and never left her – a pair of very large breasts. They hung low but swept out, like gigantic swollen bananas with nipples that pointed straight out.

As an indication that she was serious about meeting me, I had her attach a pair of clothespins to her nipples while we IMed. She sent me pictures, and she had done exactly as I had asked. I was pleased, so based on this, I decided to agree to meet.

She arrived at precisely 7:30 PM as I had instructed. I could see by the camera I had installed at my doorstep that she hesitated for about a minute. This made me smile. She then knocked on the door nervously. I instructed her to enter, as the door was unlocked. She did so and stood in my doorway, wearing a white satiny blouse and a black velvet skirt, with stockings and heels. She had eye-makeup heavily applied and was wearing bright red lipstick. This was all as I had instructed, so things were going well so far. I bade her lock the door behind her. Then I told her to place her gratuity in the metal dish on the stand by the door. She removed the agreed fee from her purse and placed it in the dish.

"Welcome to my home, Mrs. Scott," I greeted her. "First some ground rules. You will speak only when spoken to. You will take no action unless directed by me. You will follow all instructions given you as quickly and completely as possible. You will be polite, respectful, and grateful to me at all times. You will address me as 'Master M', or as 'Sir'. I will address you in any manner as I see fit. Is that understood, Mrs. Scott?"

She paused slightly before answering, "Yes, Master M."

"Good," I replied. I turned back to my computer and began typing, deliberately ignoring her. She stood there in my doorway, not speaking or moving. This pleased me. She was doing very well so far for her first session. No attempts at small talk, no enquiries, no demands... Just quiet acquiescence.

I let her dangle for a few minutes before turning to face her. She looked very sheepish. I stood in my leather pants, boots, and black silk shirt to appraise her. She waited silently as I looked her up and down, a bit of colour rising in her cheeks.

"Take off your shirt," I instructed her. I peered intently at her as she slightly hesitated, then bit her lower lip and began unbuttoning her blouse. Her cheeks darkened as she looked at the floor.

"You will speak when spoken to, Mrs. Scott," I stated directly. "Don't make me remind you again."

"I'm sorry, Sir," she replied meekly. "It won't happen again, Sir."

I smirked as she finished opening her blouse and spread it revealing a black, lacy bra. Her ample tits were spilling over the top of it. She removed it completely and stood there blushing.

"Let it fall to the floor," I instructed her.

She let her blouse drop and followed quickly with, "Yes, Sir."

I regarded her for a few moments, then pointed at the picture window in the living room. "Walk over and stand in front of the window, facing out with your hands on your hips."

She looked up with a horrified look on her face, quickly checking herself. "...Yes, Master M," she affirmed as she flushed crimson. She reluctantly strode over to the window and did as I ordered.

"Closer," I directed. "Get right up to the window."

She briefly hesitated again. She then shuffled up closer to the pane. "...Yes, Sir," she said with a quavering voice. She was following instruction quite well so far. I was impressed. I let her stand there for a minute or so, blushing twelve shades of red with her eyes shut as she faced the window in her bra. I then flipped the light switch on, illuminating a pair of lamps at either side of the window. Her position instantly went from dimly to brightly lit.

She opened her eyes at the sound, and uttered a cry of "No!" with a terrified expression.

"Excuse me?" I enquired with a sly look. "I didn't quite catch that."

"I... I'm sorry, Sir. I'm sorry. I just... it won't happen again, Sir."

My property was surrounded by thick hedges on all sides, so it was unlikely she would have been seen anyway, but she was truly terrified. She was trembling slightly. It looked like she was fighting back tears. I was quite pleased. This was her first experience with any sort of submissive scene, and I was pushing her. Not hard, but she was responding well.

"All right, that's enough," I told her. "Come here and stand before me. Same position. About two feet from me."

"Yes, Master M, thank you, Sir," she replied, in obvious relief. She did as told, and resumed her posture directly in front of me. Her relief quickly turned to apprehension as she stood before me. I stood six foot five in my boots, towering over her, my intent gaze peering straight through her. She maybe reached five foot six with her heels. She was clearly intimidated. As I intended.

I regarded her from a close distance. She had her makeup impeccably applied as I had instructed – dark eyeliner and mascara, red lipstick and subtle dark eyeshadow. Her mascara was beginning to run very slightly at this point. Her lip trembled slightly, betraying her unease. Creases were beginning to form on her face, particularly around her mouth and eyes, but her features were attractively arranged. Quite a good-looking older woman, I surmised.

"Do you know why you're here?" I asked her.

"To serve you, Master M," she replied.

"Very good," I said. "And you know that as we discussed, I am going to strike you, yes?"

"Y... yes," she stammered. "Yes, Sir."

"And I am also going to humiliate and degrade you, yes?"

"Yes, Sir," she answered.

"Very good. Before we start with anything too involved, let's review the safe words. If I am doing anything that is getting too intense, and you need to slow down or take a rest, you say, 'Yellow'. You know this?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And if you are injured, panicking or otherwise losing your grip and you need to end the scene, you say, 'Red'. You also know this?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Exemplary," I praised her. "You are doing splendidly so far, Mrs. Scott. Since you have done so well, I am going to grant you the honour of choosing a pet name that I will call you from time to time this session. Would you prefer to be referred to as 'Slut' or 'Cunt'?"

"S...Slut..." she managed to stammer out.

"I beg your pardon?" I fixed her with an intimidating stare from above. She averted her eyes. "I couldn't quite hear that, and I don't believe you had the proper tone of respect."

"I... wish to be called Slut, Sir. ...Thank you for giving me the honour of choosing my pet name."

"Very good, Slut. That's much better. Since you are new, I will be gracious, but nevertheless, I cannot tolerate impoliteness like that in my toys. I am afraid I must punish your tits. I will be gentle, since this is only a reminder. I advise you not to warrant a proper punishment. Remove your bra, Slut."

"I'm sorry, Sir. I'll try to remember. Thank you, Sir."

Still standing two feet from me, she reached behind her back to unclasp her bra and slid it over her shoulders, then let it drop from her chest. Her knockers were truly impressive... A bit of a larger girl, she had to be about a 40E. Red marks persisted where the straps had restrained her flesh. Her nipples were pale pink and erect in the centre of four-inch areolas, jutting out a good half-inch.

"Place your hands underneath your tits, Slut," I ordered her. "Lift them up for me."

"Yes, Sir, Master M," she replied, doing as I bade. She hefted her melons up and presented them to me.

"Ask me to punish your tits to make up for your indiscretion, Slut."

"Yes, Sir, Master M. P... Please punish my... my tits for my indiscretion, Sir," she stammered softly.

"I will, Slut, I will..." I trailed off as I backed off and slowly walked a circle around her. She was clearly ashamed and apprehensive. I walked as deliberately and menacingly as possible, staying in her personal space, to increase her sense of unease.

I circled her once and stood in front of her with an appraising look and my arms folded behind me. She still held her tits aloft. I raised my right hand and brought it down in a slap on her left breast. Not hard, but hard enough that it made a nice sound and scared her a bit.

Her face grimaced in fear and pain, but she did not move. She continued holding her tits up for me. I raised my hand again and brought it down on her right breast. She gave out a small grunt of pain, but otherwise remained essentially still. Her tits were still presented for me. I smiled.

"Very good, Slut," I said. "Now let your tits go and place your hands behind your head."

"Yes, Master M," she replied as she complied.

I let her stand like that for about half a minute, then with my right hand I came across and slapped her left breast from the side. A bit harder than I had from above. She gave a little yelp of pain, winced and straightened. With my left I slapped her right breast from the side. Again, a small yelp, and she shifted her weight and straightened. Her boobs bobbled from right to left, then settled. Her face betrayed mild distress, but she maintained her posture with her hands locked solidly behind her head.

"Nicely done, Slut," I complimented her. "Now ask me to slap your tits again."

"...Please slap my tits again, Master M..." she said.

I gave her a hard slap to her left tit with my right, immediately followed by a hard one to her right with my left. She barked out in surprise and pain, doubling over, but barely managed to keep her hands behind her head.

"Good again, Slut. You're doing very well. Do your tits hurt?"

"...Yes, Master M. Thank you..." she managed as she straightened. Red imprints from my hands were visible on either side of her tits. She clearly wanted to rub them, but kept her hands behind her head.

"You have a difficulty with cursing, don't you, Slut?" I enquired of her.

"...Yes. Yes, Sir, I'm sorry Sir."

"No, no, that's good, Slut. It will make things easier for me. First of all, thank me again for punishing your tits."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Thank me for what?"

"...Thank you for punishing my tits, Sir."

I smiled. "You're welcome, Slut. Now tell me that you are a filthy slut who deserves to have her tits tortured."

She paused again, struggling with the words. "...I'm a... a filthy slut, who deserves to have her tits tortured."

"Again, Slut, a bit louder this time."

"I'm a filthy slut who deserves to have her tits tortured," she said plainly.

"Again!" I prompted her. "Louder!"

"I'm a filthy slut who deserves to have her tits tortured!" she called out.

"That was better, Slut, but once again you failed to use the politeness required. So I will torture your tits. Doubly so, now, I'm afraid..."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Sir! Really, I am! Please, please forgive me! I know I said I wouldn't slip up again, please, please forgive me Sir!" she begged, her hands still behind her head.

"Oh, I will forgive you, Slut. Once you have been properly punished. Stand there," I ordered her, heading back to my computer desk and retrieving a pair of clothespins from the drawer.

"You recognize these, right, Slut? You know how they felt before, right? Are you eager to feel them again?"

"Yes, Master M," she replied, her voice wavering.

I clipped one to each nipple as she gasped. She was being very brave. Her arms must have been getting tired, but she gave no sign.

"So I will have to torture your tits properly this time, Slut," I continued. "Please count to 200, slowly. Don't move. When you reach 200, your tit torture will begin in earnest. And don't speed up the count or you'll pay dearly for it."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Master M," she said. "One, two, three..."

I sat down at my computer with my back to her as she counted. She counted very slowly and deliberately. She seemed very compliant... Obviously she was responding strongly to my domination. The only time she had reacted was when she was standing in front of the window... Perhaps humiliation and immodesty was the route to test her limits?

She finished her count, so I retrieved a flogger from my desk drawer and turned to face her. She was still in position. Discomfort was clearly portrayed on her face. I walked slowly toward her with a slight smirk on my face.

"And now, Slut," I began, "I will bring you pain. I will flog your tits for a long time. Don't labour under the impression that I am being lenient. Although the blows will be soft, the duration of the flogging will eventually become unbearable for you. Are you ready to feel unbearable suffering in your worthless, sagging, whore udders, Slut?"

"Yes, Master M," she responded. I grinned.

I removed the clothespins from her nipples, causing her to draw breath sharply. I then gently massaged each breast, restoring blood flow to her nipples and heightening their sensitivity. Then I began flogging her breasts. I struck lightly, just enough that she could feel it, in a rapid motion. I lightly whipped all over her expansive breasts, from all angles, warming up the flesh.

"Are your arms tired, Slut?" I asked her.

"Yes, Sir, very tired, Sir," she replied.

"All right, you may place them behind your back, Slut. Make sure your tits are thrust out to meet my punishment."

"Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir."

She placed her hands behind her back and arched her spine, jutting her breasts straight out. I continued to be impressed by her willingness to obey, and seeming eagerness or at least stoicism towards having her breasts abused. Well, now I would give her a serious taste at what punishment could mean. Perhaps it would bring her to a more cautious level.

I continued lightly and constantly striking her boobs, rotating the flogger rapidly, contacting the gradually reddening skin of her mammaries three or four times a second. This went on for several minutes, and her facial expression became increasingly distressed and alarmed. Soon she was shifting her shoulders around, twitching and flinching with the blows, the fire of overstimulation beginning to set her pain receptors alight. I continued raining the lashes unceasingly all over the flesh of her tits; the upper slopes, undersides, fronts, sides, nipples... Her huge melons were now glowing a bright pink.

She began to make little gasping noises and twisting away from the blows, clearly reaching her limit. I had been administering the light flogging for well over five minutes now. I slowed the pace of the strikes and enquired of her, "Does that hurt, Slut? Are your tits sore?"

"Yes, Master M!" she mewled in desperation. "It hurts terribly. They're so sore! Please, please, I beg you to stop, Sir! Please!" She still had her hands obediently tucked behind her back.

I slowed the pace of my blows again. "You know that asking and begging will have no effect on me, right, Slut? Only your safe words. Since you have been so very keen during your first session, though, I will offer you a choice. You may either continue with the flogging for another two minutes. Or you may have a five minute rest, and then I will TRULY bring your udders agonies you haven't imagined. Or I will give you a third choice, which will spare your breasts entirely, but will more than likely be horribly humiliating and embarrassing for you. Remember when you were at the window? It will be much worse. So, Slut, what would you choose?"

"Please, Master M, please... My breasts can't take any more... I... I choose option three... Sir, please..." She was close to tears as she shifted from foot to foot, almost stomping on the ground in pain.

I relented and ceased the flogging. Her lower lip quivered and her breath was rasping in and out. She bravely kept her hands behind her back though. I strode up to her and raised her chin with my hand. She looked up into my eyes with a mixture of pain and fear. Tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes, but she managed to keep them back.

"Brave choice, Slut... The unknown. Or perhaps you truly cannot take anymore tit torture. Either way, it matters not. You are in for a completely degrading and mortifying experience. This pleases me. In the future, it may embolden you to having your tits more thoroughly abused. As I assure you they will be. Take off your skirt, Slut."

"Y-yes, Master M," she whimpered. She unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor. She was wearing black lace panties. "May I please rub my breasts, Sir? They hurt so terribly...!"

"Well, I should probably just punish them more for your presumption... I will compromise, though. If you kneel before me and lick my boots for a full minute, I will permit you to soothe your tits somewhat."

"...Ok. Ok, Sir. I... I will. Thank you, Sir..." She knelt down before me. She struggled to overcome her apprehension. Then she did as I suggested. She bowed her head down, tentatively snaked her tongue out, and began gently lapping at my polished boots. She quickly conquered her reservations, and became licking and worshipping my leather footwear. I smiled. I let her continue for about a half a minute before I relented.

"Alright, Slut, that will do. I am pleased at your compliance. You may soothe your udders."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, Sir!" she breathed, and began cautiously exploring the sorely reddened skin of her jugs, wincing and grimacing with the burning, lingering pain as she knelt.

I let her continue for about a minute as I regarded her, giving her a breather in preparation for what was to come.

I rose and stood before her. "You have informed me that you are inexperienced with sucking cock, isn't that right, Slut?"

"Yes, Master M, Sir," she replied.

"Well, I am going to give you the opportunity to improve your skills. Isn't that nice of me?"

"Yes Sir, Master M," she gulped. "Very nice of you, Sir..."

"You will remain kneeling," I said, unbuttoning my pants and lowering my fly. "Now ask me to place my cock in your whore mouth, Slut."