A Split-Personality Slave

I used to have a guardian angel who was a French Catholic priest from the 19th century - at least I did according to a fortune-teller I once visited in Blackpool. Being English and brought up a Protestant I figured that this relationship wouldn't last.

It didn't.

Now the only guides I have to steer me through life's many challenges are the two voices in my head. One is positive, the other negative. I call them Mr High and Mr Low.

Mr High is adventurous and bold, and the reason I get anything done at all. Mr Low is reserved and cynical, and the reason I don't achieve as much as I should. So it was just myself – a forty-two year old male – and these two little helpers who eventually took their first faltering steps into the world of domination and submission.

That's Female domination and male submission.

Curious readers may want to know why, at such an advanced stage in my life, I would want to experience this particular realm of sexual activity: that is a difficult question to answer - in fact I'm sorry I urged you to bring it up! However, since you ask, I will give you a brief outline of the developments that brought me to this door.

Even from my earliest recollections I realised that I adored women: young, old; thin, large; short, tall - it made no difference. I loved their breasts, and what an array of breasts there are to enjoy, and I loved their legs and their hips, their feet and thighs, waists and shoulders; and forgive me, but at the same time admire my honesty - I adore their shaven pussies, their hairy pussies, cute little clits, prominent clits, pussy lips, pullable, lickable and suckable pussy lips. And then, and then – ah, those bottoms! All shapes and sizes: tight and round, bouncy and swaying, slim or bulging. And all so spankable. Heaven.

I even developed a method of masturbation that I could engage in at any time, day or night, no matter where I found myself. I realised that the 'traditional' way of masturbating, with the movement of your hand rapidly sliding up and down the shaft of your cock, faster and faster, would not go unnoticed for long in a public place. Consequently, and I am rather proud of this, I invented a new way to masturbate.

Well, it was new to me, and as far as I was aware all my acquaintances stuck to the 'traditional' method of doing 'it'.

My method involved putting my hand in my trouser pocket, feeling my cock through the pocket material, taking hold of the head only, and turning it from side to side, slowly at first, and then changing the tempo accordingly. This movement of the hand, or rather the movement of three fingers and a thumb, was so discreet that nobody had an inkling of what I was doing. Just imagine the difference: rather than my full hand making the lengthwise movements along my shaft, representing a jerking distance of a few inches at least, I replaced it by the turning of my cock's head only, thus eliminating jerky movements altogether. And it worked: I could bring myself off by using this method in almost any environment, be it on a train, at the cinema, or in the park, undetectable except for a slight flushing of my face when I came. Neat don't you think?

SPANKING

As this is a brief overview of my developing perversions, I will skip the years of teenage angst and take us to a relationship I had in my late twenties.

Vera was a strong, sturdy girl – not thin, not fat – and she loved sex. In the sixth or seventh month of our relationship, in the midst of writhing around on my bed, she asked me to spank her, or to be precise, pleaded for me to spank her. Now, despite my fascination with the female bottom, spanking was still only fantasy to me, but here I was, being presented with this lovely plumpish bottom and a delightful woman pleading with me to smack it. I hesitated – okay, it was for about two seconds actually – and then gave the left cheek of her bottom two light slaps. 'Harder than that,' was her response: somehow, it sounded more like a command than a request, and I obliged, administering some fairly sound slaps on each cheek. And then again, and again... and again, just waiting for her request to stop. That request never came, and as I continued to spank her, I felt underneath her for her pussy: she was absolutely dripping wet. I had never experienced a woman so wet, and it was a shock - a bloody delightful shock - and it spurred me on. I increased the strength of the slaps and awaited her request to stop, but still it never came. So I hit her lovely reddening bottom even harder and with more rapid strokes. I thrashed her for what seemed like hours, and finally fucked her from behind, admiring her stunningly red and beaten bottom. Exhausted we both lay back and relaxed on the bed, she hugged me and gave me a heartfelt 'thank you' kiss. She had just experienced one of her fantasies, and unbeknown to her, I. had just experienced one of mine.

My spanking activities were born. They even took my mind off turning thirty years old, a date I had been dreading since I was about eighteen years old. "Hey, you're thirty years old, and you've still got your own hair and teeth... cool." To be truthful, at eighteen years old I was even dreading reaching twenty-one because I figured that after that age life was all down hill. So it took something special for me to forget the landmark age of thirty, and my introduction to the world of spanking was indeed special and although I continued to meet girls and have ordinary sex, every meaningful relationship I have had since Vera – that is, over the last ten years – has involved some form of spanking activity: you could say it has become something of a prerequisite.

Now here's the point. This is where it gets psychologically deep - too deep for me, if I'm being honest, but I'll try: as I experienced the submission of the female – over my knee or a chair, or on all fours on the floor - and I saw them spanked, sometimes even thrashed and humiliated, and I saw the expressions on their faces, I grew to realise that what I saw in them was a reflection or projection of my own submissive desires. Initially I tried to deny the truth of it, but I couldn't, I wanted to be like them. I wanted to be spanked and humiliated. No matter how I fought against it and tried to pretend it wasn't true. Domination was great, don't get me wrong, but submission, I thought, would be better.

You see, I told you this was deep.

MISTRESS

So it was that one sunny Saturday morning I, along with Mr High and Mr Low, turned up outside the semi-detached home of Mistress Jean.

I can't remember the exact date that Mr High and Mr Low came into my life. It wasn't during my schooldays I know that. Nor was it during my teenage years, they were straightforward days when I could get by with my own thoughts. I probably first noticed them around the time my first marriage broke up. I recall their contradictory advice during that stressful period. 'Never mind, there are plenty more females in this world' was from Mr High, whereas Mr Low offered something like, 'That's it then. You'll never find another girl as good as her.' And they have been there ever since, my constant companions. Sometimes I ignore them and let them chatter and bicker amongst themselves, sometimes I engage them in conversation, not out loud of course, people might form the wrong impression, in fact people might think I was not right in the head. 'And people would be right' Mr Low interjects. 'Coming here like this, getting us into these weird situations, yes, people would be absolutely spot on, you're not right in the bloody head.'

As I pressed the doorbell I had a moment of regret about responding to her newspaper advert asking for a 'weekend sub'. Indeed, I had doubted the wisdom of it since I made the reply, but I had had a couple of telephone conversations with her and she seemed okay. So here I was, destined, for the next two days, to be the slave and at the command of a woman I had never met.

Mr Low expressed his reservations. 'If a Rose West look-a-like opens this door then we're fucking off home right?' I ignored him and waited as I heard the sound of feet clattering down the stairs inside. I held my breath and waited. The door swung open and I was somewhat reassured when a rather pleasant looking lady peered at me. Blonde, about 5ft 4in, with a slim body, and looking pretty much as I'd imagined her from our telephone chats. Also, to my relief, there was no sight of any rubber or leatherwear, just a plain dark blue dress and black slip on shoes, and no stockings.

"I knew you would turn up," was her greeting. "Come in and go through to the front room." She ushered me through and I followed, doubts hammering in my chest. Before I had the chance to settle down she came to stand at my side and whispered in my ear: "From this second onwards you will address me as Mistress and I will address you as slave. And you will do absolutely everything I command." She didn't wait for an answer, but added: " Now strip naked, and when I return you will be down on the floor on all fours."

'So a cup of tea is out of the question then?' observed Mr Low.

POSITION ONE

Mr High and I felt a tingle of anticipation while I knelt awaiting her return. Thankfully she returned dressed in the same attire, looking more like a housewife than a dominatrix. I thought that was much sexier.

She positioned herself at my head. "Put your hands closer together, slave. Put your knees together and bring them up under your belly and lower your bottom. Place your forehead flat on the floor at the point of my shoes." She surveyed my position. " Good. Now remember that is 'Position One'. Whenever you greet me that is the position you adopt, and whenever I say 'Position One' you instantly revert to how you are now. Do you understand?"

"Yes Mistress." I muttered.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that. A bit louder if you please."

'Is she fucking deaf?' Mr Low mumbled in my ear, but I ignored him. "Yes Mistress."

She grabbed a clump of my hair and yanked my head up forcing me to look her straight in the eyes. "That's, 'yes Mistress, thank you, Mistress,' isn't it?"

"Yes Mistress, thank you, Mistress."

I could sense Mr High was keen to make his presence felt for the first time. 'This is exciting stuff. She's one hell of a sexy lady.' But Mr Low snorted derisively, 'This is fucking embarrassing: what on earth are we doing here?'

While Mr High and Mr Low were bickering, my Mistress was watching me staidly. Seemingly content with my answer she sat down on the sofa and studied my obedient posture. "This is how I live, slave. I have three other slaves at my command and they are privileged I let them serve me. You will be my fourth. Your mind and your body are no longer yours. They belong to me, and I alone decide what your body is used for".

"Mistress, what if..."

She didn't let me finish my sentence. "You will not speak unless I give you permission to speak. If you have something to say when we are alone then you will lie on your back, kicking your legs in the air, like a dog trying to get the fleas off its back, and I will consider granting you permission to speak. If we are in company you may raise your right hand and await my response."

'So we're not going to be speaking much are we?' said Mr Low sarcastically.

"There are many rules for you to learn," she continued. "Your training will not all be done in one weekend. It takes time to train a slave fully, but at least these two days are a start." She walked around me, appraising me, nodding her head slightly. "I have a feeling you will become a very good and obedient slave. I have high hopes for you."

'This is going to be v-e-r-y interesting,' quipped Mr High.

'I have high hopes for you?' queried Mr Low. 'Sounds like a bloody Careers Advice worker when you're just leaving school.'

As you can see, my doubts continued. But there was no way I was going to stop.

PAIN AND HUMILIATION

My Mistress beckoned me to stand up. I stood in front of her, with my arms at my side. I noticed her deep blue eyes for the first time, and the small dimple on her chin. She looked me up and down: at six feet I was a good deal taller than her, and at thirteen stones a hell of a lot heavier. Yet, damn it, I was ready to submit to her. She told me to turn around, with my back facing her, as she remained seated on the sofa.

"Grab your ankles," she commanded, I held my breath and dared myself to go through with it. Slowly, I began to bend, feeling incredibly exposed. She got up and moved towards me. I could feel her breath on my back, and then her hand on my skin. It was like an electric current running through me. I sighed as she proceeded to spread the cheeks of my bottom apart. I could feel the slight touch of her finger on the rim of my anus. She had donned a pair of dispensable gloves and after a moment's prodding she gently inserted her finger into my rectum: my God, I thought, this was going to be a medical examination. She moved it in a small circular movement then withdrew it. It felt so erotic. She turned me back to face her, took hold of my balls and asked me to cough. I felt a bit like a schoolchild as my examination proceeded: I had to spread my arms out, level with my shoulders while she checked my armpits. Even my feet didn't escape attention: I had to raise first my left leg and present my foot for inspection, and then my right, almost stumbling over on a couple of occasions as I struggled to keep my balance. In total I think she covered every inch of my body.

"I am not particularly fond of this next part," my Mistress commented, with some concern in her voice, "But it is a necessary part of your training." Even Mr High was a little worried by this pronouncement of doom, let alone the absolutely dumbstruck Mr Low. "Eventually, as my training takes effect, you will obey my every whim because you truly wish to please me, with no regard for your own discomfort. But until then you will obey my every whim only because you fear my wrath. Now, if you have never experienced my punishment you will quite understandably not fear it. So I have to administer a taste of the pain I can administer. It is regrettable: I only wish to punish you for any disobedience or hesitation on your part but my dear slave, how can you possibly fear my punishments when you have never experienced them?"

'That makes sense to me' whispered Mr High. Idiot, I thought. It's not your arse that's going to get blasted.

"So, let's get on with it. Put yourself over my lap. Rest your weight on my knees." I had known what was coming, but even so I felt a sense of shock as she spoke those words: I was going to get a spanking. Well, I had dished out plenty over the last few years, so I had a good idea what to expect. She hitched up her dress slightly, and I hovered over her, daring myself to submit. Quietly, I lay across her knee. I could feel the warmth from her body, and it felt good.

" How old did you say you were?" she enquired.

"Forty-two Mistress." I replied respectfully.

"Right, count them slave."

"One, thank you Mistress... two, thank you Mistress."

She started off lightly, more like a gentle slap, and then around ten she increased the firmness of the strokes. By thirty they were beginning to get harder still, and they were beginning to hurt. Fortunately, after every ten hits she caressed my bottom and gently massaged each cheek. As the pain and the stinging sensations increased I mentally locked on to the approaching number forty-two. I could make that.

"Forty one, thank you Mistress... forty-two, thank you Mistress." I had made it. I relaxed slightly.

What a mistake. Her hand came down for number forty-three, forty-four, forty–five and on and on. Despite myself, I was whimpering.

I heard her laugh. "I didn't say I was going to give you only forty-two strokes, did I? I was only enquiring about your age, silly boy."

Mr High was impressed. 'Hey, you've got to admire that. Pretty original or what?'

My Mistress paused at one hundred. "Have you ever been spanked until you cry?" she enquired.

Strangely, despite my discomfort, that sounded deeply erotic, and I could feel a stirring between my groin. "No Mistress, I haven't."

At one hundred and fifty my Mistress stopped.

"Get up and go and look at your bottom in the mirror."

I gently raised myself off her knee and eased over to the full-length mirror on the wall at the far end of the room. I looked in astonishment at my blazing red bottom. The skin was raised and livid, made even more prominent because of my naturally very white skin. I went to rub it gently, but it stung, and I thought it was better left alone until the burning sensation had settled down. As I studied my glowing bottom in the mirror I thought to myself how a seemingly 'ordinary' looking housewife had marked my body like this. Despite the hurt and the burning, I had a feeling of how sexy this was, how disgustingly sexy that a woman, slightly younger than myself, probably about thirty-five, had marked me this way. Was I discovering a part of my nature that previously I had only a vague awareness of? "Yep, you sure are" glowed Mr High.

Eventually my Mistress interrupted my thoughts. "Come back over here. Get on all fours in front of the sofa."

I turned from my reverie and walked back towards my Mistress. To my horror, I saw that she was now holding a strap in her hand. It looked about 12 inches long, perhaps a bit more: I wasn't in the right frame of mind to gauge the implement properly.

And more importantly I wasn't sure just how much of this strap I could actually take.

However, I did as I was told. I got on my hands and knees, trembling as I awaited that first stroke.

It wasn't too bad, and nor was the second or the third, but by the fifth it began to hurt and sting badly. Several more strokes and it was almost unbearable. I don't know if my Mistress had increased the power of the strokes or I was weakening under the onslaught. Either way I was in agony.

I struggled to continue the count, but my Mistress waited patiently until I had uttered my thank you, and then brought down the strap seemingly harder than ever. My knees buckled and I sunk, belly down, onto the floor. My Mistress knelt down at the side of my head, which was buried in the thick carpet.

"Assume your position," she said, quietly but sternly.

I struggled to my knees. "No more, please Mistress," I pleaded.

"I don't remember giving you permission to speak. In fact I don't remember you asking for permission."

I hazily recalled how to make such a request and rolled over on my back and kicked my aching legs into the air.

"Yes, slave, you wish to speak? Please continue."

"Please Mistress. No more please. That's enough."

"Are you begging?"

"Yes Mistress."

"Well, beg respectfully and I will consider your request."

"Please Mistress, I respectfully request that you don't beat me any more, I will do anything you say, but please no more. Thank you Mistress, thank you very much indeed."

'Well that kept your dignity intact,' smirked Mr Low.

I didn't care, I just needed to remove my bottom from my Mistress's fire. I glanced up and could see my Mistress with her finger to her lips, tapping gently.

Finally she looked down at me. "Request denied. Assume your position." The next six hits with the strap were excruciatingly painful as I could feel it cutting into the cheeks of my bottom. A final six more and it was finished. I had screamed, begged and pleaded. My eyes watered and my knees wavered and buckled on several occasions. But my new Mistress had ignored all of this and had finished when she wanted to, and not a second before.

I was left alone to contemplate what I had just received. Left alone that is except for the nagging of my two misnamed helpers.