New Year's Eve on Ocean Drive

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Mistress & former slave encounter each other.
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Crayon
Crayon
5 Followers

I saw that bitch again on New Year's Eve. She went in and out of my view as the mob shuffled back and forth in a mysterious non-rhythm. Waitresses in tuxedo tops, short skirts and fishnet stockings swam through the crowd like sharks through a school of guppies, carrying champagne bottles atop ice buckets, atop black trays. Dressed in a latex mini-dress, her huge tits defying Newton's discovery, she was perched on a barstool at the local tourist trap on Ocean Drive. God, how I missed sucking those beautiful tits! With legs crossed at the knees, she dangled those really high heels from her painted toes teasingly. God, how I missed sucking those beautiful toes!

There she was, not twenty feet away from me, talking to some muscled stud. Yeah, the clinging shirt barely concealed his bulging biceps. His shoulders stretched powerfully, narrowing in a v-shape to his tapered waist and leather pants. He even chomped on a cigar, probably a Cohiba, blowing thick smoke into the night sky. He was the kind of dude who drives a Harley or a canary yellow Hummer, not a four door Honda. A manly, macho guy, right? Not if he was with her!

The woman's name was Megan. At least, that was the name on her driver's license and overworked passport. I think I even called her Megan once, though probably not after our first date. I simply called her Mistress. I have no doubt that her new stud called her Mistress, as well.

I don't call her Mistress anymore. Whether I ruined that or she did, I'm still unsure. You, the reader, should decide for yourself.

As far as I could tell, she remained completely unaware of my presence, which I took advantage of. I could spy on her in her natural element, laughing and talking, drinking and partying, dancing and flirting, seducing men easily if she chose, just by being herself. Such a gift. I ogled her for a long time that night, sipping my dark beer, ignoring my friends, lost in the memories of a dream world.

I actually lived in dream world once, for almost two years, as Mistress Megan's property. My friends had no clue about my secret life as a sex slave, thank goodness. But, all of her friends knew. Every damned detail. I mean, I had bravely taken that plunge into realizing my deepest and darkest personal fantasy; living as chattel to a demanding dominatrix. Her friends treated my fantasy life and me as a perverted joke.

Of course, her friends laughed about my enslavement, thinking it some type of cute game, especially when I served them drinks dressed in a French maid's uniform, curtsying before and after placing the glass on the table. They laughed, not thanked me for coming out of the closet with my true desires.

For instance, on her friends' birthdays, Mistress would drag me to their homes and order me to clean everything, from top to bottom, dressed in my own birthday suit. Then Mistress took my clothes and walked out the door, her friends in tow, to have a night on the town. Loud giggles could be heard from outside once the door closed. I used to dream that one day she would let me service her friends in a sexual manner. Never happened. Mistress preferred to humiliate me in front of her friends, not show off my vast sexual abilities.

Want more examples of my humiliation at Mistress Megan's feet? There was that Fourth of July morning when she took a magic marker and stenciled "BITCH" on my ass in big, thick block letters. In the afternoon, she paraded me around naked at Haulover's clothing optional beach. My new tattoo was an especially big hit among the three or four hundred men in the gay section of the beach.

Just for kicks one night, she decided to see how small she could get my dick to shrivel. She forced me to stand in front of the toilet and masturbate to three orgasms, door closed. When I emerged from the bathroom, my mistress had the ice bag waiting. After three minutes of intense cold, my penis looked like half a peanut being held up by two purple grapes. "I think I can shrink it some more," she pronounced, before unceremoniously dropping the ice bag back onto my groin. Thirty minutes later, she came back and took pictures with the digital camera. I laminated a full body print and a close up of my micro-member, back to back. She hung them from her Corvette's rearview mirror for any passenger or admirer to ridicule.

"Who's that?" A passenger might ask. "His penis is really tiny."

"Tell me about it," she'd laugh, then roll her eyes.

For all I know, those pics are still hanging there.

Mistress Megan did not even dominate me full time. Rather, she used her powers when she chose, as selectively as she desired. Like at four in the morning, when she sometimes called me at home, awakening me. Mistress was hungry, or wanted champagne, or wanted me to take out the garbage. I put on my clothes, drove the 20 minutes to her home and performed the menial tasks. Sometimes I spent the night in her bed. Sometimes on the floor. Mostly, she just pulled down my pants, rubbed my shaft until it became hard, then sent me home. I'd fuck my sheets wildly, imagining what might have been.

Saturday mornings were my heaven. I awoke at 6 am, showered and drove to Mistress' home. The key would be waiting under a rock just outside the door. I'd let myself in and read the instructions, followed by the list. The instructions indicated what I should wear, from elaborate leather harnesses and boots, to nothing at all. The list consisted of things to be cleaned, before serving her breakfast at 11 am. Over eggs benedict and just-squeezed-by-me orange juice, she would divulge our weekend plans. This was my weekly revelation, when she told me how she would torture me until her bedtime on Sunday, or how she would just ignore me. She spoke to me like a cat hovering over a trapped mouse, her smile true and wicked. I craved to hear these revelations, almost as much as living them out.

The end came one Saturday night, the culmination of an elaborate plan that backfired. Mistress had me set up some new video equipment in her bedroom. She decided that she wanted to relive, over and over again, her conquests in the bedroom by videotape. Of course, I assumed that I would be the conquered. I was only slightly embarrassed about having a video library of my submission, as it paled in comparison to some of the humiliations she put me through in the past. So I set up the equipment, kind of stumped as to why she wanted the camera ensconced on the top shelf of the closet, hidden by clothes and shoeboxes. Why not on a tripod? And why did she want the cables to run to the guest bedroom and its TV? I couldn't ask her at the time, because she had gone to the gym. And when she came home, it slipped my mind, as she sat on my face and I licked the perspiration out of her cunt. Hey, you would have done the same.

After dinner that evening and a bottle of wine, we drank another bottle of wine. Followed by just one more, though of a lesser vintage. In my less than sober state, my questions about the video gear were forgotten. Eventually, she decided we should take a shower together. So we did, laughing harder than ever, even telling jokes during this obviously sexual situation, as only people who have been there and done that together can do. I remember that we were almost equals while we bathed that night. She lathered me up and washed me down, and I did the same for her. The only difference in our statuses came when I gave her an orgasm with the shower massager, while my cock remained hard, balls full. Still laughing, she tied me down to the bed in the guestroom, securing all four limbs to the corners. I remember thinking that though she was still the leader, this night she dominated me with a smile. Gone was the strict, no-nonsense, leather disciplinarian that she morphed into when we played for long periods of time. I loved seeing this sweet side of her, eagerly obeying when she requested that I lick her to another orgasm.

Though I spent considerable time orally servicing her, the orgasm never erupted, as the bell chimed at precisely 10 PM. Her smile grew greatly, eclipsing the rest of her face, as if Santa Claus were knocking at the front door with a bag full of presents. She did not untie me. Instead, Mistress Megan placed a black penis gag in my mouth and turned on the TV, VCR and the video camera before donning a thick, white bathrobe. I assumed, because of her actions, that one of her girl friends was coming over with some half-baked scheme to degrade me once again.

My assumption was half-right. Yes, I would be subjected to a huge humiliation. But no, it was not one of her friends at the door. It was my friend Glenn.

I did not learn of this until later, though. All I heard at the time, from the conversations in the living room, were a woman's voice (my Mistress) and a man's voice. Their words flowed loud and quick, like two people nervous about what was to happen, but both knowing that something indeed would occur. They were flirting, as two teenagers would over a milkshake at the high school hangout. Or the backseat of a car on a dark, dead end road. After a while, the voices quieted down, but they remained in the living room. What were they doing, my Mistress and Mr. Anonymous? Were they kissing? Of course not, I believed then. Finally, I heard their footsteps approaching, then passing, as they entered Mistress Megan's bedroom.

Like a shock, finally I saw movement, but only on the TV screen. My mistress entered her bedroom, looking directly into the lens of the video camera, hidden where I had placed it. Then I saw Glenn's face or, rather, the side of his grinning face.

Now, my friends, I don't have to tell you that my cock had been at full mast since I came to Mistress' home early that morning, 15 hours before this moment. Serving her whims is extremely erotic and my excitement is obvious, especially in profile. My Mistress preferred my cock to be hard and my balls to be full, hairless and blue. But the shock! My cock started to wilt and I tried to scream, but the penis gag performed its job flawlessly. My screams of "you fucking bitch, what are you doing with my friend" and "you motherfucker, what are you doing with my girlfriend" came out as an agitated whimper, at best.

This went way beyond anything we had discussed in the past and I felt my Mistress to be breaking some trust or unspoken bond. Yes, I had agreed to be my Mistress' property and to obey without question. Yes, I did sign the enslavement contract that she downloaded off the Internet. Yes, I reiterated these pledges on the 14th floor balcony of our hotel room in Cancun, naked, as she collared me. But...had I agreed to this? A lawyer might say so, but I'm not a lawyer and don't want one in my bedroom.

What could I do? At this moment, with my mouth full of plastic cock and tied to the bed, about the only thing I could do was close my eyes. But I didn't. Yes, I watched. Yes, I was humiliated as never before. Yes, I was angry at the betrayal. Yes, I swore to never speak to Glenn again. Yes, I even vowed to break up with Mistress Megan. And, yes, my cock was harder than ever.

Could I, should I be mad at Glenn? Yes and yes, but I understood him. He just wanted to stick a hot piece of ass.

Mistress Megan? She knew everything, then and now. That bitch planned this event, right down to the time Glenn would arrive. She deserved neither my pity nor concern, once I was freed from this bondage.

On the screen, I watched Mistress step onto the bed, facing the camera from a slightly elevated position. Glenn stood on the floor, his back to the camera, looking up at my Mistress. From her perch, Mistress leaned over and started to kiss Glenn, lightly at first, then the passion soared and their mouths melded, their lips forming a donut hole, tongues passing through the center. After a time, Mistress straightened her back and Glenn was at eye level with her large breasts. He did not kiss her breasts, as that is too polite a term to describe the act. That motherfucker fucking sucked the fuck out of those big fucking tits and that fucking whore fucking loved it! Her white bathrobe, the only piece of clothing she wore that night, slipped from her shoulders, dropped off her body and puddled on the bed. She was naked and he fully clothed.

As he continued exploring her body, she looked over his head, into the closet, directly at the video camera and into my eyes. She smiled, she gloated silently, she reveled in her conquest of another man and the simultaneous humiliation of me. She stuck her tongue out at me, as a child would do, then wiggled it around sexually, as a child would not do. My own thoughts swam through a sea of Jell-O, before being drowned mercilessly by uncontrollable emotions. Anger, arousal, betrayal, excitement and a hundred similar emotions meshed together in my mind, one rising, then subsiding, as another took its place until finally all were equally powerful.

I saw everything on that screen, everything that happened in that room, for I doubt my eyes ever closed. But the next instant that I can recall, they were both naked and in a 69 position. Well, actually I remember looking at the soles of Glenn's feet first, my eyes rising up his legs until I saw his cock. I silently said to myself in that moment that his cock was abnormally large, but in the same instant my Mistress yelled loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear, "Your cock is so fucking huge," before she lowered her mouth onto his shaft. His reply came muffled, as Mistress Megan's pussy engulfed his mouth, her knees somehow welded to his ears. Over and over she complimented him on his size. Over and over. Again and again.

Her hands, I would guess, are average-sized for a girl. Yet she had one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, the next one on top of that like she was gripping a baseball bat, and yet his cock still extended further upward. If she had a third hand, she could place it further up his cock and still wouldn't even cover the head!

Glenn and I had been friends for five years, but I had no idea he was so equipped. Hell, I thought only porno stars had cocks like that, not real people. But here was Glenn the high school chemistry teacher, on his back, in my Mistress' bedroom, with her loving every inch of that thing. My mind was in shock, but my cock worked great.

I don't subscribe to the theory that all people are somewhat bi-sexual. Hell, I've never had a single sexual desire for another man in my entire life and certainly never will. But watching my Mistress perform oral sex on another man's cock was amazing! I had devoted the last two years of my life to this woman's pleasure, doing the best I could to satisfy her every desire, sexual or otherwise. Yet here was this guy, my friend Glenn, who in just a few minutes had given my Mistress more pleasure than I ever could, in an entire lifetime of devoted sexual servitude.

My Mistress has never been a size queen, stating on many occasions that a man's penis pretty much felt like any other and that mine, at 7 inches, could satisfy any woman. Yet, watching her on that damned TV screen, I thought of the guy who had driven Buicks all his life getting behind the wheel of a Ferrari. Yeah, a Buick pretty much is an Oldsmobile is a Pontiac is a Ford. But a Ferrari is in a different league, another magnitude of excellence. And while my Buick penis will get you where you want to go, Glenn's Ferrari cock was so beyond anything that Mistress had experienced, I knew that I would forever feel lacking to provide her with that pleasure. I was incapable, my 24 months of devoted service washed away with just one videotaped sexual encounter.

As she deep throated as much as she could of Glenn's telephone pole, I could see a bell going off inside Mistress Megan's head. The bell reminded her of me, probably startled her, as she had been so preoccupied with her new conquest. She looked up into the camera. Her head bobbed up and down, trying to devour more and more flesh with each thrust. A smile of true bliss grew on her cock-filled mouth. Our relationship ended at that moment for all intents and purposes. I saw this in her smile, her eyes looking deep into my soul through that televised electronic image.

The same look came into her eyes again, as that big cock split her pussy wide open. I saw in her eyes my worst fear come to life. The pleasure she was finally feeling had surpassed anything that I could ever offer her. She'd want more than me, now. No, Glenn's cock didn't fit lengthwise, but she tried anyway, even through the pain. Pain? Mistress Megan accepted the pain from Glenn. But she did much more than that, she demanded the pain, needed him to impale her and force her to live through the agony of this hellish heaven. She became happy, elated even, with the pain. Was this my Mistress? The one who couldn't even endure emptying her own ashtray? It used to be my Mistress, but she had outgrown me now.

I watched it all, though I saw little more.

Sometime later, I know not how long, my mistress yelled that I'd be arriving at any second. That Glenn had to leave immediately, still clueless to all that I had witnessed.

After a few minutes, Mistress came into the guest bedroom where I lay, announcing that Glenn had gone. She grabbed the remote control and rewound the tape as she removed the penis gag from my mouth. "Be a good little slave boy and lick Glenn's cum from my pussy while I watch the replay," she said to me, before planting her knees next to my ears and lowering herself, and what was left of Glenn, onto my face. In my lowest moments, I can still conjure up that taste.

Eventually, she released my bonds, commanded me to leave and return the next morning.

I never went back. I didn't pick up the phone when she called. I read her letters, but never wrote back. It was over, at least in my mind, and she eventually got the hint.

Some months ago, I emailed her. I explained my feelings and thoughts. She understood, she said. Over the Internet, we eventually began to confess our recent sexual exploits. Hers were ever more kinky, mine hopelessly vanilla. The Internet seemed safe. We even enjoyed cyber-sex domination in a chat room, completely ignoring the attempts by other sex-starved men, and one other mistress, to join. I flatly rejected her requests to get together as friends, as that prospect scared the hell out of me.

I had not seen Mistress Megan again until tonight, at this club on Ocean Drive, New Year's Eve. Eventually she saw me and smiled, right before kissing her new muscled stud in the most exhibitionistic manner imaginable. Finally she broke the kiss and looked me in the eye, her face planted on his massive shoulder, and her right hand reaching down to grope his tight butt. She wanted me to watch. Behind his back, she made the whip-cracking motion with her other hand, and my cock sprang to attention, rock hard in my pants. My everlasting mistress then made a covert motion with her hand, ordering me over to the restrooms at the back of the open-air club.

I sprang from my seat and walked quickly in the indicated direction, just as a good slave should. I looked back over my shoulder to see my former Mistress whispering something into the guy's ear. Dutifully, he stood up straight and clasped his hands behind his back. To show off her prowess to the entire club or just to tease me, I'll never know. But, she lowered her head to his chest and bit his nipple, just like that, in front of anyone who cared to see. He winced, for the pain was apparent, but the obedient little boy did not pull away. Mistress Megan may have been torturing his body, but she was looking into my eyes. I lowered my gaze as she lowered her hands to his lap, obviously sizing up his rampant erection. Off to the back I went, where I waited for her to join me.

Unlike me, she did not rush to the rendezvous. It took her longer to make it through the crowd than either of us expected, but she did arrive in front on me.

Crayon
Crayon
5 Followers
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