A Femdom Bachelorette Pt. 04

I awoke to my alarm at 8:30. Probably late for getting up by slave standards, but Dana had told me (and Kendra's dossier had emotioned) that when tying one on the girls didn't rise until 10 at the earliest, I figured I had some time to work with. They had left me no instructions on anything to wear or that sort of thing, so I threw on jeans and a plain white shirt and headed downstairs. I made a pot of coffee, pouring one cup for myself and putting the rest in a pitcher in the fridge to cool for iced coffees. I readied the machine to make another pot as soon as I heard someone stirring. Breakfast was eggs and bacon with toast on an amazing brown bread that I got from a local bakery, with fresh fruit and avocado to include as people saw fit. I wanted to be able to move quickly once the girls were up, so I unpacked bacon and laid it out ready to be fried, cracked eggs into ramekins, and hulled strawberries.

By ten I felt prepared but I hadn't heard anyone stir, so I made another pot of coffee and poured myself another cup, taking it out on the kitchen deck and taking a moment for myself. Once again I marveled at the position I had found myself in and felt lucky as hell. Before long that drifted into fantasizing about everything else the weekend could possibly bring, including some stuff that wasn't really realistic but was fun to groove on. Or who knows, maybe I could do such an amazing job that the women would all want to abandon their lives and live here now, using and abusing me on a daily basis. I was shifting in my chair, awkwardly trying to get the cage to be a little more comfortable when I saw Kendra and Lorelei crossing the living room towards the kitchen. I jumped up and headed inside.

"Good morning Ma'am," I said. 'Ma'ams' still felt awkward to me. "Can I get coffee for either of you?"

"Hot coffee, black" said Kendra and I obliged.

Lorelei looked at me with a wry smile on her face. "I want iced coffee, thing, with a strong splash of half and half, and I dearly hope you brewed it strong enough to not get all watery before I'm done."

"It's brewed strong," I said, "but I go at that problem in another way." I opened the freezer and took out a tray of coffee ice cubes, cracking the tray and dumping several into a pint glass. Pouring the refrigerated coffee on top of it, I asked Lorelei if she wanted me to splash the half and half or she'd prefer to do so herself.

"I would like it done for me," she said, and I wondered if this was a challenge or even an impossible task. One of the pros I saw loved to have me make her a drink and then insist I had screwed up. I joked about making her martinis with a graduated cylinder for consistency's sake, but we both knew that wasn't what it was about. In any case, I threw a splash of half and half in her coffee and she took it without comment.

"thing," Kendra said as she sipped her coffee, "In our earlier conversations and in our weekend so far I did not particularly get a 'sissy' vibe from you, but I know looks can be deceiving."

"Indeed Ma'am," I said.

"So I am wondering if you have a frilly little apron you would rather be wearing while you cook four gorgeous women breakfast."

"Truthfully Ma'am it's not entirely my thing but I have played with different people of varying preference and they have wanted different things for themselves and from me and OK I'm rambling I do have an apron."

Kendra laughed. "Go get it and come back for breakfast in nothing but the apron."

"Yes Ma'am," I said. That sort of clothing was kept in the dungeon's walk-in closet but it was a short trip and as soon as I was in the house I stripped naked and threw on the apron, which was made of a pink sateen with a fluffy white ribbon trim. I returned to the kitchen to find Dana looking through the cupboards, presumably for a coffee mug. "I'll get that for you, Ma'am," I said, hustling across the kitchen without really giving much thought to the fact that it would give the three of them the view of my bare ass. They had asked for it, right? I got the mug and poured Dana her coffee.

Getting the info on what everyone wanted for breakfast, I got to work. Eventually Molly drifted into the room and I believe I heard her give a small start when she rounded the corner to my bare ass, but I was cooking and she didn't make much of a fuss beyond that so I quickly forgot about it. The girls took their coffee and breakfast and sat around the table, talking about their day and everything else as if I weren't there. I waited out of the way, in the way I'd seen maids do on television. I did manage to overhear the general plan: more poolside lounging, dinner out in the Arts district, and then Absinthe at Caesars. It seemed like a fine tourist day to me. Dana inquired as to if I was making myself breakfast and I told her I was waiting until they were done. She told me not to wait and after the few minutes it took me to throw my breakfast together she got up from the table and walked over.

"What do you have, thing?"

"Bacon, fried eggs, toast," I said. "Nothing fancy, Ma'am."

"Coffee?"

"Yes Ma'am, just poured my third cup."

"Would it turn you on if I were to spit in your coffee, thing?"

"Oh. Uh, sort of, Ma'am." I had not expected the questioning to move in that direction.

"Sort of?" She had a skeptical look on her face.

"It turns me on a little, Ma'am," I said, "But it gets exponentially more appealing if it turns you on or pleases you in any way to have me do it, if that makes sense." I saw Molly turn her head at my answer.

"Present your cup," Kendra said to me. I did so and she took a minute building up some saliva, then let it drip slowly, landing with a small plop. "Enjoy," she said as she walked away.

"Thank you Ma'am," I told her and I dug into my breakfast.

Their time at the pool was no easier for my having seen them in swimsuits already. For one, now I couldn't look at Dana without thinking about a strap-on cock swinging between her legs, or her laying back on the lounge chair while I rode her cock, or her and Kendra double-teaming me on the outdoor dining table. Kendra, who had enjoyed seeing me in the apron, had found that she had packed a pair of bikini bottoms but not their corresponding top, so she repeated her suit from the day before and handed the orphaned bottoms to me to wear. So I was decked out in powder blue bottoms, a pale pink floral pattern from one side to the other. After my chastity cage kept falling out at one side or the other Kendra had the excellent suggestion to turn the briefs around, and the wider back portion offered more support. The afternoon was filled with trips to fetch champagne refills, Arnold Palmers, and more cucumber sandwiches.

There was a break as things wrapped up at the pool, where Molly asked me for a tour of the dungeon while the rest of the girls went and got ready for the evening. I took Molly in and ended up giving something between a tour of the facility and a run-down of what half the stuff on the gear wall was for. She asked if the magic wand on the wall had been used by many people and I said that yes, it had, although it was thoroughly cleaned between uses. She seemed to consider that and then I somewhat sheepishly admitted that there was a brand new one in storage just waiting for someone who objected to one that had a bit of community mileage on it. She laughed at that, telling me it was very considerate.

When it was time to leave Kendra came down before the rest of the group, telling me that Molly had requested to reserve me for the evening. I thought it was a bit odd that Molly had not told me herself but I made no complaints. Friday's chauffeur duty was less eventful than Thursday's had been, with the ladies taking in their dinner while I waited in the car without restrictions, then ran the ladies over to Cesars for their show. They requested that while they were taking in the show I should seek out "a very good whiskey, something deeply interesting." I headed to my favorite upscale liquor store and settled on a bottle of Kaiyō 10 year, figuring most people weren't deeply familiar with Japanese whisky. It got a good reception when they piled back into the car and that made me happy. When we got back to the house they requested the ice bucket be refilled and placed on a tray with three glasses. "Please make mine neat," Molly told me, "and bring it to me in the dungeon." I was happy to oblige.

Entering the dungeon, I did not see Molly on any of the central couches/seating. After taking half a dozen steps in I heard her behind me, requesting that I place the drink on the floor and then take a few steps forward, face away from the mirror. I did so and I heard her come up behind me, pick up the drink and take a small sip. "This is very good whiskey, th-." She paused. "I don't love calling you thing. you do have a name, correct?"

"I do, Ma'am."

"I don't love Ma'am either, but one thing at a time. What's your name?"

"Rob, Ma-" I cut myself off.

"Robert?" she asked.

"Yes, although most people just go with Rob."

"Robert feels like it fits the occasion." I said nothing, unsure of the exact occasion she was trying to craft. "Thank you for the whiskey, Robert. It's very good." She paused, taking another sip. "We're doing things this way because I felt awkward and unprepared for this, and I think a costume might help. I don't want you seeing me until I feel ready." I said nothing and she continued. "Please fetch me a second neat whisky for when I finish this one. You may get yourself one if you wish. If I am still in the closet when you return, uh..." She paused. If I sat with my back to the closet I'd be able to see her in the mirror, if I faced the wall I'd see her coming out. "Oh, whatever. Sit facing the mirror. Go get the whisky." I exited and when I returned she was nowhere to be seen. I sat down and sipped slowly. It was good.

More than a few minutes passed and I heard the door to the closet crack. A pregnant pause later and out stepped Molly, her hair pulled back in a tight pony tail, a leather bustier showing plenty of cleavage and her very cute stomach, a leather miniskirt hiding just enough to frustrate a locked up little sub, and calf-high leather boots completing the look. She strolled across the room slowly, letting me drink it in. She came around the couch, traded her empty glass for a fresh one, and stood in front of me. "How do I look, Robert?"

"Amazing, Ma'-" I cut myself off again.

"Dominant?"

"Unquestionably."

"Good." She turned and looked at the gear wall and seemed almost to deflate a bit. There was another pause. "Okay, I'm kind of overwhelmed and don't know what to do."

"Permission to speak freely?" I said.

"Please," she said.

"This doesn't have to be anything. You don't even have to be in here, but once you're in here it doesn't have to look or sound like a movie, like anything you've read about, or even like anything you thought you wanted. When it's good it's just going to feel right for you. As best you can, relax, and let it flow."

"Thank you, Robert. That was helpful." She paused again and appeared to be genuinely considering her options. "Okay, these boots are gorgeous but they don't fit perfectly and they fuckin' hurt. I'm done with them and I want a foot rub." She walked over and flopped down on the day bed and pulled the boots off, then put her feet out and gave me a 'come here' wave. I went and knelt at the foot of the day bed and took one of her feet in hand, starting with moderate pressure and working my way up. "Oooooh," she said, "that's nice. I've spent more time in heels on this trip than I had in the previous four months combined. It's been nice and we look ah-may-zing but my feet hurt." I switched feet. "Okay, feeling better. You know what, call me 'sir.' Ma'am makes me feel old but 'Sir' makes me feel powerful. I want you to call me Sir for the rest of the weekend and I want you to do it in a way that makes the rest of them think "what did she do to him in there."

"Yes Sir," I said. "Can do."

"Good," she said. "Keep rubbing." I switched back to the first foot. "Honestly what I really want to do is talk, at least for the first while. I'm honestly kind of curious about you. Is that okay?"

"If it pleases you, Sir."

"Did you say that to remind me that I'm in charge?"

I was a bit caught off guard but I decided to try to match the energy. "Yes," I said, "I did. Kendra told you I have a safeword, correct?"

"She did."

"It's not a natural thing, but you have to trust me to use it. Honestly with most play it's a combination of reading people's reactions, body language, etc, and trusting them to say when it's too much. Have I done anything since we've been in here that suggests you needed to check in to see if I was OK with where things were going?"

"Not that I noticed," she said.

"You can rest on that," I said. "We can talk." She nodded her head and there was another pause.

"How long have you been doing this?" she asked.

"Been doing kinky bdsm stuff, or kinky femdom bachelorette parties?"

"Both."

"I've been trying kinky stuff of various kinds and intensities since I was 12."

"12?" There was moderate shock in her voice.

"Little tie-up games with friends that you slowly start to realize are hitting you on a different level. Then stuff in relationships, playing at topping and bottoming. Then more serious play in the local scene, seeing some pros, trying to get a real feel for the full range of stuff that's out there."

"Okay, fair. And the parties here at your house?"

"Two years to feel like I was ready for one, another year for one to find me."

"Are we the first?"

"You are."

"Well it doesn't feel like it, Robert. You're on top of your game."

"Thank you Sir, I try."

"Why do you think you're submissive?"

"That's a big question," I said. "May I take a minute?"

"You may."

I thought for a while. "I'm not the biggest 'why' person in life. It's never felt useful to me. But in this area in particular, there isn't really a 'why.' There's no origin story, like I climaxed during tie-up games with friends and it imprinted on my sexuality or something. BDSM has always been culturally represented, right? Some corset wearing Mistress in a scene played for laughs?"

"True," she said.

"So as long as I remember being aware of it I remember being intrigued. And from there...my earliest memories of lusting after someone else include some level of kink. Always. Maybe other men look at beautiful women and just think about sex, but I've always thought about spanking and sex, or bondage and sex, or relentless, demanding service and sex."

"So it always involves sex?" Molly asked.

"On a fantasy level, I suppose so, Sir," I said.

"Did you host us for this weekend so you could fuck us?" She asked, not in any sort of accusatory way, but more from a point of curiosity.

"No," I said quickly. "Genuinely, no. I mean I'm a submissive man but I'm a man, if it happened that would be amazing but it wasn't part of my intentions for a real-world experience."

She mulled this answer for a bit. "How do you attach someone to that thing," she asked, pointing to the St. Andrew's cross.

"There are anchor points on each leg of the X that can be moved in and out to match someone's size," I said. I was happy to answer her questions about the equipment and whatnot but I did hope there was more conversation coming. I had been enjoying it, and enjoying admiring her in her outfit. "You can tie someone's wrists and ankles to the anchor points, or use cuffs and clips."

"Bring me the cuffs and clips," she said, and I notice the wall has a number of items that look like they are designed to impact someone's ass at high speed, is that true?"

"Yes sir, quite."

"Bring me a selection of those with the cuffs. But first fetch me another whisky, on the rocks this time. None for you."

"Yes Sir," I said, hustling off. I returned with the whisky, wrist/ankle cuffs, a paddle, an acrylic cane, and a flogger. She picked up the cuffs and secured my wrists one by one, then stood up and lead me over to the cross. She placed me against it, facing in, and clipped my limbs in place. I felt her hand drift down my back, nails lightly scratching, lifting away just as it got to my ass. She went back and surveyed the spanking implements I had laid out.

"This isn't every spanking thing you own, is it?" she asked.

"No Sir, it isn't."

"There are big mean whips on the wall."

"Yes Sir, that's true."

"Why didn't you bring me one of those?"

"Truthfully Sir, they require a fair bit of skill and technique to wield properly."

"I see." She picked up the flogger, swung it through the air, let it land softly on her forearms. It was the type with wide leather fingers, landing with more "thud" than sting. Swinging it a few more times, she declared it "awkward and clunky" and picked up the cane. It was an acrylic cane, smooth and straight, with a lot of flex. It stung like a motherfucker. She swung it once and "ooooh"ed as it hummed in the air. I began to feel like I was in for it. She walked over toward me. "I don't need to test the other one, this is it. Tell me how to do this."

Okay, now I was really in for it. It occurred to me, suddenly, that maybe inviting inexperienced women to dive headlong into BDSM stuff wasn't the wisest of life decisions? I guess it was a little late for that. "Well," I said, "there are kind of two ways to go about it. One is to tap-tap-tap your way with the cane, striking harder every so often. Every tenth stroke or whatever. The other is to make each stroke more deliberate and just space them out."

"And they have to be spaced out?" she asked.

"Yes Sir," I said, "Assuming one wants a fun and sexy kind of pain and not to just straight torture another individual."

"Well," she said, "I do not, in fact, want that." And she set to tap-tap-tapping across my ass. "Is it safe to hit you anywhere with this thing?"

"With all impact play, Sir, more meat is better. That's part of why people focus so much on the ass, but with caning from behind the thighs are fair game, my calves can take it. My back is pretty lean and bony so anywhere above the waist wouldn't be good, plus again as with all impact play you want to avoid the kidneys. And if you really want me to suffer, there's the bottoms of my feet."

"Oh my," she said. "Noted." And with that she stopped tapping and put a little extra oomph into her swing. I took a sharp breath. I had a very conflicted relationship with this cane. It was the perfect balance between weight, and flex, and size. It hurt, a deep, stinging hurt, and as Molly sunk in her first shot I could feel my body gearing up to start dumping endorphins into the bloodstream. "Oh my god!" she cried.

"Sir?" I asked.

"Okay, a lot is happening. There's this amazing red stripe across your ass!"

"Yes Sir. A lot of people like caning for that reason."

"Will that fade?"

"Depends how many you put on top of it, Sir. Especially hard shots or stripes on top of previous stripes will bruise. If you want the other ladies to think you did a number on me a striped and bruised backside would be one way to go about it, certainly."

"Are you dripping?"

"Oh," I said, trying to look down at my caged cock. The cross was in my way. "I might be."

"That was from one stroke!" she said.

"I-" and she cut me off.

"Hold on."

The tap-tap-tapping resumed, going on for a moment before another hard stroke landed. I breathed in again and she dropped right back to soft tapping, going back and forth three more times before stopping. I was gritting my teeth. "You are!" she cried. "Your locked up little cock is dripping all over the floor!" I was glad I was facing away from her as I'm sure I was blushing. "You love this shit!"

"Guilty, Sir."