Sarah's Journey into Submission

The strap eventually stopped. It was worse, the heat rising, the tingling like an itch that must be scratched. My breath came in short imploring pants in time with my moans, and through my tears I saw Mistress Lucy looking down at me.

"Are you my impertinent slave?" she asked.

"Your devoted slave," I choked through my tears, "Mistress. Your devoted slave." And I bit her lip, grimacing, praying it was the right answer.

My breasts and my sex were boiling with the heat, and I heard my hips spanking the wood beneath them, though I had no awareness of moving them. Through the mist of tears I saw my Mistress's pretty black eyes, the black hair with its fancy little braid over the crown of the head, and her breasts swelling so beautifully.

"You're a natural," she crooned. "not one of those dilettantes who go all to pieces the first time I give them a little taste of discipline." And for all her hardness, there was a tenderness afterwards that went beyond words. As I was untied from off the counter and looked after afterwards with such softness, I knew this is where I belonged.

Chapter 4

The next day when I arrived at Mrs. Lucy' apartment, I honestly didn't think she expected that I would be back, but the grin that greeted me was all I needed to know that I had made the right decision in doing so. That first night afterall, was something beyond what I ever expected, and she probably thought she might have broken me, after all was said and done.

"Hi," said the spider to the fly.

"Hi," said the fly to the spider. I couldn't hide the smile that was on my face as I stood there in the hallway, waiting to be let in.

I was dressed in a variation of the same outfit as the night before; a short knee-length skirt and purple blouse, black bra and panties. It wasn't long after I entered the apartment and the pleasantries out of the way, before things started again.

"Lift your skirt," she commanded.

My throbbing ass pulsing under my skirt, I wasn't about to pay another penalty for hesitation. I raised my skirt to waist level.

"Just as I thought," sniffed Mrs. Lucy. "Remove those."

I hooked my thumbs under the waist band of my panties and started to draw them down. I couldn't look her in the eye as I did.

"Turn around first," Mrs. Lucy said impatiently, as though I had forgotten something obvious.

When my back was to her, she took a step forward and held my skirt up, taking in my reddened backside. "And slowly," she said. Once again, I hooked my thumbs into my panties and slowly took them off, my red ass almost glowing bright as it was exposed to the cool air-conditioned apartment.

"You won't be needing those here," she said, taking them from me as I stepped out of them. She then proceeded to give me instructions as we walked about the house, pointing out exactly what needed to be cleaned and what all needed to be done, and I nodded with each task as she laid them all out for me.

The tour ended at a locked door. It was oak panelled, with gargoyles carved into the trim around it. "This is where you'll be punished," she explained.

With a final "Yes, Mistress," she was out for the afternoon and I was left to my task.

The afternoon had been spent cleaning, my lack of panties making me always aware of my bottom, just as it was intended. Every passing breeze seemed to find its way up my skirt, and the fabric caressed my skin every time I moved, sending small shivers through my body as my still reddened ass was caressed.

When Lucy returned later that afternoon, my thighs were positively slick from a mixture of sweat and from my own juices. It didn't take long until we made our way into the bedroom though, my clothes quickly coming off and me kneeling at the foot of the bed.

"You wish to taste me," she taunted, sitting naked on the edge of the bed. "but you must wait until after you've been punished. I did say you would spend all week with your ass raw, and I want you to wet my thighs with your tears while you pleasure me."

I started shaking, not with fear, but with a much stronger and more indefinable emotion.

"Stand up," she snapped.

I rose and centered my myself between the bedposts, arms at my sides, eyes straight ahead. "Hands and feet against the posts," she said.

The bed was wide. I had to spread my legs very far apart, and my arms were almost level with my shoulders as I gripped the posts.

She took something out of the nightstand drawer and stood up. As she advanced on me, I could see that she was carrying a thick leather strap about a foot and a half long and two inches wide. My knuckles turned white around the posts. I had been expected the paddle again, or the white belt se had used the day before. This was a new and unknown threat.

She noticed my alarm and grinned. "You will find this experience to be quite different," and said, and struck.

The paddle had stung, the belt bit. The sudden sharpness of the pain froze me, and it wasn't until she had delivered two more quick slashes, backhand and forehand, that I yielded to relax, and although it took everything to stand passively while she spanked me again, my ass eventually pushed itself out to meet the strap.

After a half dozen slaps, she came closer and ran her hands down the taut skin of my shoulders and cupped my breasts. "A bit more than you bargained for?" she whispered, her breath hot on my neck.

I nodded and whined softly, but I held firm, holding onto the bedposts. She stepped back and I closed my eyes as she continued, soon hissing as the slaps grew harder.

When she came back closer, she slipped her hand between my legs and toyed with my pussy, pinching the little lips while I winced and writhed. Her hand was making me uncomfortably aware of my vulnerability. I could close my legs or cover my breasts, put an end to it all if I wanted, but I moaned softly as her fingers entered me, and whined again when she went back to using the strap. So far it had landed squarely on my ass, but my position made everything a potential target.

It went on. When my ass was glowing and swollen again, she discovered virgin territory between my legs, the thin skin inside my thighs, terrifyingly close to my pussy, which continued to flow. And on – I could look down and see the red stripes appear on my thighs. I was outside the pain now, observing my own torture, hearing my involuntary cries, wondering at my tears.

Then it was her hand I felt again, stroking between my legs, probing the wet folds of my bare pubes. I opened my mouth but no sound came out. She dipped a finger into my throbbing puss, her thumb easing back to circle the tight opening of my anus. "Today we'll start with your anal training," she whispered, her mouth finding the bottom of my right earlobe and her thumb pushing its way inside me gently. The thumb worked its way inside and then out, and while I wasn't a complete virgin down there, it was still a relatively new sensation as it went back in.

While her hands busied themselves with my body, one hand staying down below and the other twisting my nipples, she taunted me with promises. When the time came, she would plough my ass deep and wide by the hour, but she would condition my body to accept this outrage as graciously as possible. I listened as she went on in gleeful detail how, in time, I would bend over and spread my cheeks for her.

Then her hand seized my hair and she pulled me up to kneel before her. She was sure of the power her muscular thighs craved within me, and her puss was wet and hot from that knowledge.

I had never really gone down on another girl before that points, and it's really amazing how having your rump roasted can really make you work, my tongue soon busy. Without having to be told, I knew all the best places to lick, and I didn't neglect any of them. If I found a spot that made Mrs. Lucy' breath quicken, I was sure to come back to it.

Her puss was soft and sweet and tasted better than I would have thought something like that could. She came about six times before she finally pushed me away, and yes, I wet her thighs with my tears while I pleasured her

Chapter 5

The table was icy, and I gasped when I sat down. The room was cool as well, she had set the temperature for her own comfort, not mine and I shivered, feeling very bare.

She started with some more detailed questions about my experience back there, and her hands were busy as we spoke, probing my vulva with an interest that was first clinical and soon carnal. She held up her damp fingers between us and grinned as she slipped them into my willing mouth for me to suck clean. I cast my eyes down, knowing that it would turn her on to see me demurely accepting this humiliation. I glanced up once, quickly, to confirm the head behind her stare.

"You like playing doctor, don't you?"

My mouth was full, so I nodded.

She took her fingers out of my mouth and wiped them on my thigh. "Good, that means you won't give me a lot of virginal nonsense when I start training you."

"No Mistress!" I was starting to feel like a trained parrot, with my repertoire of responses so limited, but reading this woman's temper was difficult. Her easygoing attitude could be a trap, inviting me to take liberties that would land in in trouble. At least formal replies were safe.

"Turn around and bend over."

When I obeyed, it was my front that felt the cold touch of the table. I sucked in my stomach to minimize the contact, as my nipples shrank to rubbery points. I turned my head to watch as Mrs. Lucy selected a jar form a nearby shelf, then quickly faced front as she returned, looking elsewhere the way I always did when nurses prepped me in the hospital. I felt somehow that it would be rude to confront people that way – show them my anxious face while they did something necessary and unpleasant to me.

Her gloved palm was impersonal against my cheek as she spread me, and I went rigid when an icy glob of gel touched my anus. "Relax," she cooked. "it's just a bit of lube. We'll save the hot stuff until you do something to deserve it."

Her finger speared into me, twisting, exploring inside. "You're pretty tight, all right," she observed. "The first thing you have to learn is how to relax, honey. When you're touched here, you need to open wide – for whatever anyone decides to poke into you. You've got to assume that the longest, fattest cock you can imagine is about to come in. Like as not, it will be. That sucker better GAPE, unless you want it to hurt."

As she spoke, her fingers were alive inside me. Two now, wiggling and scissoring. The stretching sensation was painful at times, but her hands were clever, finding areas that relaxed me, soothing the tense muscled that gripped them, triggering the flutter of arousal, the preparation of a virgin. This beautiful stranger was handling me in the most intimate way possible.

"How does it feel" she murmured.

I moaned. "I think I like it!"

Her free hand smacked me, and I jumped, clenching against the fingers inside me.

"Mistress!" I added quickly.

She chuckled and her fingers slithered out of me. I lay gasping, staring straight ahead, all of my tension centered in my tight fists as I strove to relax for whatever she might decide to do next. Her hot handprint on my ass, delivered with such enthusiasm, warmed that I might expect more, but apparently she had more pressing business to take care of first.

The nozzle was cold as it entered me. I gasped, then whimpered as I heard a hiss and felt it swell inside. This wasn't an altogether new sensation, as I had long ago learned to keep everything clean, inside and out. As she squeezed the rubber ball in her hand, the swelling inside me increased, and she grinned as she squeezed twice more. I caught my breath and began to pant like a woman in labour, slumping over the table and bending my knees as I strove to relax the internal muscles that tightened reflexively against the pain. It was like having a balloon inside me.

I had been filled and emptied several times, until I was passing nothing except the witch's brew she had been pumping into me, and for my last load she screwed a large and well-lubricated plug into me to help me retain the last fill.

"That should do for now," she said, coming around and teasing me with the perfume of her scent before taking my head in her hands and straddling me. My distended belly gurgled and whined while I worked my tongue frantically to pleasure her. She wraps her things around my head and lays her heels on my back.

"Eat," she tells me. "When I come, you can go."

By now you should know how perverse I was. Can you understand me if I tell you that the agony was sweet? Sweeter still was the nectar I lapped, and knowing I had primed it. She used my hair for reins, and though she tried to hold off as long as possible, I had the urgency of need fuelling my tongue. I whine into her body as the cramps cause me to spasm, and my lips engulf her hood, drawing the throbbing bud out. She cums soon and hard.

When I was done, she was up in a bound and had me kneeling over the drain. After all, if she didn't keep her word, there would never be any trust. Dizzy with the afterglow, she takes a hold of the plug as I kneel over the drain.

"Who's the Mistress?"

"You are!"

"Ask permission."

Once I was emptied, I was returned and bent over the table again. Bending, I became aware of the air, cool against my cheeks. When she lifted my unresisting hands and strapped them to the legs of the table, my worst suspicions were confirmed. My ankles were next, and the edge of the table extended beyond the legs. To reach them, she pulled my ankles apart and forward until my feet no longer reached the floor. There was a strap for my waist as well, snugged down until my belly was tight against the icy table and my cheeks yawned. My ass couldn't be more open – not a more inviting target.

It was a taws she used, and it hummed as she spanked me yet again. The pain was sharper than before and I was glad that the table was bolted to the floor; otherwise I would have toppled it, recoiling from the blow. When she shouted, "Right cheek!" I raised my hip from the table and strained to present it to her. "Left cheek!" Even though the breath I had just drawn exploded from my lungs as a tortured bark, I rocked on the table to show her the clearest possible target.

"Center!" she coached. "C'mon, show me that crack!" I pushed up and out, gooseflesh rising, my eyes shut tight and my jaw clenched in anticipation for the awful stroke. I howled.

"Again!"

While my mind silently protesting the impossibility of enduring another like that, my legs contrived to spread themselves a little more and expose the tenderest flesh. It wasn't the lash that found me, however, it was her finger that slipped between my scorched cheeks with a thick glob of lubricant and ticked my ass inside. I flinched at the unexpected tough, then sighed and pressed myself back upon it.

"Good girl," she beamed. "I told you we were going to have fun." A humming vibrator replaced her finger, entering me with sensuous slowness. "Open wide now, swallow it down." Her rising inflection carried a warning.

Threats were unnecessary. The sensations that resonated through my loins stimulated my clit indirectly; while the psychological effect of being so rudely forced in this unnatural way –- the sheer obscenity of this act, was taking me rapidly to the edge. Why would I want to deny this seductive depravity? I couldn't really tell if the vibrator was being pushed into me, or sucked in.

"They boys are really going to enjoy you!" Mrs. Lucy cackled gleefully. I actually felt proud because she was pleased with me. Perhaps it was this acceptance I felt that kept me from running while I still had the chance. No pain, no gain.

When I could feel the cold palm of her hand against my heated cheeks, she murmured, "Squeeze it out."

I tightened obediently, blushing furiously at the familiar act this suggested, and felt the vibrator shoot out of me and into her waiting hand. The tip had just cleared my sphincter when she began to push. "Open."

A rhythm was established, a given and take, in and out. She made me an accomplice to the violation. It was a kindness, really, allowing me to feel that I had some measure of control. "You do this around a real cock," she giggled. "and you will milk it dry in no time. Tighten up now. Stay that way. Try to keep it out."

She continued to pump the greased shaft. Though my clenched channel failed to slow the assault, the sensation was increased. I began to sweat and pant like a bitch in heat. Now the impression of rape was greater. This plastic love would not be denied.

"Good! Now relax completely, loose as a goose."

I sighed, letting her have her way with me. She pumped faster. "You have permission to cum, she laughed.

I let myself go, escaping into that cozy familiar world of my dreams and the shudders caught me unaware as my empty puss quivered and my throbbing clit jolted me.
She hadn't even touched me down there, and I was cumming without hesitation.

"Congratulations!" she crowed. "Honey, you are about to become the most popular piece of ass in town!"

She let me have a moment to compose myself before she resumed her thrusting. It was painful at first; in the afterglow of orgasm, I only wanted to rest, and the insistent buzzing of the shaft driving into me was irritating.

"Please!" I whined. "Haven't I had enough?"

"When you are serving a real cock," she said stiffly. "you won't be the one who decides that you've had enough."

It was exactly what I needed, of course, I had to learn that it wasn't just about me. I tested her, I suppose. The same way I strain against my shackled when I am bound, to reassure myself that escape is impossible.

It was her merciless response that stirred my treacherous loins again. I grew silent, except for the rhythmic panting that was forced from me as I rocked upon the sweat slick table.

"Permission?" I whispered, after a long pause.

"You haven't earned another," she said.

She helped me to stand after removing my bindings, and let me massage my chafed wrists while she buckled a belt around my waist. "Spread 'em."

I spread my legs and looked over my shoulder at her. She was smearing grease on an anal plug that was thicker than the vibrator. "You're making excellent progress," she said. "We'll start you off with a number three."

Wearily, I rested my elbows on the table and stoically endured yet another penetration; though I caught my breath when she threaded the crotch strap carefully between my pussy lips and buckled it in the rear, driving the plug in deep and pinching my clit.

Seizing the taws, she swept it across my bottom to get my attention.

I had remained bent over the table, letting my body adjust to the large foreign object invading me, weak from the dual assaults of pain and humiliation. The taws brought me to attention. There was outraged protest in my cry.

"Do you have a problem?" Mrs. Lucy asked sweetly.

I remembered my manners in time. "No, Mistress!"

"Good. Let's take a walk."

I was up and walking, and as we strode around the apartment, I could feel her gaze on my ass. "One foot in front of the other! That's right! Make it twitch. Shoulders back and tits out, strut like a little whore. Show the world what a nasty, dirty slut you are. That plug up your ass is there to improve your posture."

Every step punctuated every sentence. I tried to stride like a runaway model and ignore its sharp bites. The crotch strap sawed into me and the plug shifted with every step I took. It was another absurd parade, but I never felt less like laughing.