Mastering Submission Ch. 05bysdbnnc©
In the manner of Gregory Maguire, who provided us with a version of the childhood standard The Wizard of Oz through the eyes of the "wicked" witch, I have re-written my favorite BDSM story, Both Master and Slave written by Martin Sharpe (published in 2001 by Silver Moon Books in Great Britain), from the point of view of the submissive, rather than the Master, who was Mr. Sharpe's narrator. I hope that fans of the original book will accept my version for the tribute that it is meant to be.
Once we were in the bathroom, Master turned on the taps and added a little bath foam.
"Take off the rest of your clothes," he commanded, "and throw them in that bin. You can fish them out later, when I'm not looking. Now, stand to attention, Meat, and listen."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"This evening you're going to suck my penis and drink my semen," Master said. "This is an honour a worthless slave like you doesn't deserve." Master cuffed my left breast lightly, then said, "Don't look at me."
"No, Master," I replied. "Sorry, Master."
"In order to transform you into something a little more worthy, you're going to be bathed and made up and dressed to look like a good one," Master went on to say.
"A good what, Master?" I asked.
"What do you think, Meat," Master replied. "A good what? Say it."
Swallowing hard, I responded, "A good cock sucker, Master?"
"There," Master said, smiling. "That wasn't so hard was it?"
"No, Master," I agreed. "I'll try to be a good cock sucker, Master. I want to be a good cock sucker."
The bath was about ready. Master checked the temperature with his hand, added a little cold water and nodded. "Get in," he ordered.
I lay back in the water while Master worked over every inch of my body with a variety of soft brushes. I could understand that, especially for this first cock-sucking, Master wanted to ensure that I was clean enough to meet his exacting standards, but it was disconcerting to be bathed, and by the man whom I had so recently agreed -- in writing! -- to service, worship, and adore.
"Did you shave your legs this morning?" Master asked.
"Yes, Master," I replied.
"Don't do it again," Master said. "I've got an old electric epilator, one of the very first models. It's not particularly good at leaving your legs smooth, but it hurts like crazy."
Master ducked my head under the water and shampooed my hair before pulling me to my feet by the nipple. Once I was standing, Master rinsed me off using a handheld power shower, and had me step out of the tub onto the plush rug beside it. Then Master dried me, using three huge white towels. Master even unwrapped a new toothbrush and cleaned my teeth, an experience which, after a gurgle of surprise, I came to enjoy.
"Can't have a dirty mouth on the end of my knob, can we?" Master asked cheerily. "Now, off we go to the bedroom."
In the bedroom, Master had me sit at a dressing table whilst he combed and dried my hair. I steadily gazed into the mirror, watching Master apply toner and moisturizer to my face, neck, and breasts. Master even covered over the mark he had made on my right breast with foundation.
Master brushed light iridescent powder over my shoulders and chest, and applied the Colour Endure lipstick to my nipples. I watched in amazement as Master cut, filed, and fitted the false nails onto my fingers, and sat there dazed whilst Master painted them bright red.
At that point, I had to return to myself enough to apply make-up to my face, according to Master's precise instructions ("Not slutty enough. More mascara"). As I applied the Colour Endure lipstick to my mouth, I noticed Master slipping the matching Dior lipstick into his trouser pocket, but had learned better than to ask why.
"Now put that miniskirt on," Master ordered. "If I'm not going to fuck your cunt I don't want to see it."
"How do I look?" I asked, posing.
"See for yourself," Master said, taking my wrist and twisting my arm behind my back before marching me over to the big mirror by the window.
"Well," Master snarled, "What do you think?"
For a moment, all I could do was stare at the reflection in the mirror. I felt as though I were looking at a stranger, but on some level I was aware that the "stranger" was a part of myself that had been denied and disguised until I met Master.
I noticed Master's expectant look, and replied, "I look very pretty, Master," but there was surprise in my voice.
"And?" Master prompted.
"And sexy," I replied.
"You look like a whore!" Master said, almost shouting. "And that's what you are."
"Yes, Master," I agreed.
"Let's get on with it," Master said harshly. "Pick up those hats and bring them to the main room."
"Yes, Master," I said, gathering up hats, and following Master from the room.
On Master's instructions, I laid three of the hats on the coffee table in the main room, and put the green one on my head. As I walked toward Master, adjusting the veil, Master pointed out, "That hat will get in the way of any serious cock sucking. But it's ideal for wearing while you're telling me what you're going to do."
I was at a loss -- I thought we already had established what was going to happen, but responded, "I'm going to suck your cock."
"Yes," Master said. "And then?"
Realisation dawned, and the words began to pour out. "I'm going to kiss it all over," I told Master. "I'm going to kiss your big, beautiful prick and lick your balls. I'm going to make your cock all shiny with my saliva and then blow on it till it's dry. I'm going to take your cock deep in my mouth. I'm going to rub it against my cheeks. I'm going to sniff it, savoring your man smells."
I paused, wondering what more there was that I could say to please Master, rather hoping I had said enough, since I knew the hat's veil was not obscuring my blushes, especially since I could feel them moving down across my breasts.
"And then?" Master persisted.
"And then I'm going to swallow your semen," I added.
"And then?" Master asked again.
"And then I'm going to thank you," I replied.
"And then?" Master was pushing the limits of my understanding of my role as his slave here. I just was not sure what he wanted me to say that I had not already said, but I knew I had to keep trying.
"Then I shall wait patiently in case you want to slap my face," I said, smiling at having come up with another duty I could perform to serve Master.
"Not bad for a beginner," Master said grudgingly. He took the Dior lipstick from his pocket and picked up a small hand mirror, holding it steady while I applied the lipstick.
"I can't see where the new lipstick starts and the new one ends, Master," I complained.
"It doesn't matter," Master replied. "Just make sure you put it on thick. Can you suck your own nipples?"
"I don't think so, Master," I said, astounded at the idea of such a thing.
"Try," Master encouraged.
I lifted my left breast toward my mouth, managing to get a smear of lipstick just above the nipple.
"A reasonable effort," Master grumbled. "Now, go put the yellow hat on."
I perched the yellow hat with the big bow at a cheeky angle and held up my arms, posing for Master, and asked, "Do I look OK?"
"Shut your face, you vain bitch," Master snapped. "I'm thirsty. You'll find ice in the freezer and an ice bucket on the draining board. Get the champagne out of the fridge and the glass we bought, and bring it all in here."
When I returned, Master was naked, lounging on the sofa, his erection greatly in evidence, and commanding my attention. I was a bit surprised by Master's sexual excitement, given the non-erotic build-up to this point, but Master was teaching me that eroticism comes in many different flavours and shapes.
"Put the champagne on the table," Master commanded. "Open it carefully: if you spill a drop I shall change my plans for the evening and throw you out into the street."
"Yes, Master," I said, then held my breath as the bottle opened beautifully.
"Now, fill the glass and bring it to me -- on your knees," Master commanded.
I did as told, then handed Master the glass and kissed the end of his cock.
"Now, Meat," Master said, "I don't want to have to beat you, not tonight. When a slave's face is positioned close to a master's cock, she can open her mouth in readiness. She may even lick her lips. She may ask permission to suck, but she must not do anything more until given precise instructions. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Master," I replied, somewhat downcast. "Sorry, Master. It's just that I wanted to suck your cock so much. I've been thinking about it all day. I was thinking about it in Sweden while I was listening to those scholars, wondering what you would taste like."
"Then beg," Master said. "And spread your legs. I hate a whore who kneels with her knees together."
"Please, Master," I began, once again finding that words failed me. "Let me suck your cock. Let me put your big, hard cock in my mouth."
Master put his finger under my nose to tilt back my head. Then he grabbed his cock by its base and slapped my cheeks with it. He bounced it against my lips, but I knew better than to open my mouth without permission, so I merely smiled blissfully in response.
Master released his cock, and pushed my head toward his balls, ordering me to smell them, and kiss them, and lick them. Anticipating some serious cock-sucking in the near future, I nuzzled them, inhaling deeply, then began to give Master's whole scrotum what I hoped would be the tongue bath of its life.
Master picked up the mirror and held, giving a second view, watching almost clinically, especially given the tongue lashing his balls were enduring. I later realised that Master used the mirror to expand his knowledge and control. By observing me closely, he could judge if my mind began to wander or my knees began to hurt. Once again impressed by the difficulty experienced and the deliberation required of my Master, I licked my way up from Master's balls.
As I licked, I could hear Master begin to call softly, "Do it, dick-licker. Lick that prick. Show me how talented that little pink tongue can be. Rub my cock on your face. Stroke it with those whore's nipples of yours. But don't put it in your mouth until you've earned the privilege."
"Anything you say, Master," I said, and continued my work, even whilst appreciating that nothing written by Shakespeare I ever had read had affected me quite so much as Master's quiet little exhortations.
"Stop for a moment, Meat," Master commanded. "Tilt your head back and part your lips." When I did as instructed, Master spat a little champagne into my mouth before tapping the side of my head with the base of his glass.
"Meat?" Master queried.
"Yes, Master?" I responded.
"My glass is empty," Master said, "And you need to freshen your lipstick. Besides, while that hat is eminently suitable for kissing and licking, I'm not sure it will look exactly right when you've got a cock deep in your mouth. Off you go."
"At once, Master," I replied, putting my hands to the floor to help me rise.
"No need to get off your knees," Master interjected.
"No, Master," I said. "Sorry, Master."
Master watched me crawl away and pick up the bottle, and then said, "Don't spill a drop, now. This is not an occasion for spilling anything."
"I'll be careful, Master," I said, already apprehending that ambulation on one's knees was quite difficult to do gracefully and with coordination. I filled Master's glass, not quite to the top so as to help ensure nothing would slop over the sides as I crawled back to him. Then I followed the rest of Master's instruction -- off came the yellow hat, on went the purple crocheted bonnet.
I came back on my knees and handed Master his glass, then waited, lips parted in readiness for the cock that pulsed an inch from my face.
"You may continue your task, Meat," Master told me. "And this time you can put it in your mouth."
"Thank you, Master," I said.
Before I could close my mouth, Master thrust his cock forward saying, "Thank me again with your mouth full."
I let out a muffled squeak, but kept his cock in my mouth.
"Speak up," Master commanded. "Don't worry if the cock going in gets in the way of the words coming out. I'll understand."
"Yes, Master," I said thickly. "Thank you, Master."
Master held the mirror close to my cheek; I worked out that it was so that he could watch my red lips sliding over his flesh and my scarlet-tipped fingers caressing his balls. As I built up a rhythm, I could feel the excitement growing inside Master as his cock began to twitch in my mouth. Almost as soon as I had that realisation, Master tapped the side of my head with the glass once more.
"Stop that, Meat," Master commanded. "Time for more champagne, and a different hat."
I reached up for the glass before withdrawing my mouth reluctantly, and shuffled off, still on my knees of course, to the table. I left the nearly full glass on the table whilst I removed the purple bonnet and replaced it with the straw hat with a turned-up brim. Once the fourth hat was secured to my heat with the large scarlet hatpin, I picked up Master's glass and returned it to him.
"The turned-up brim was selected so that you can get your face flat against my stomach," Master said. "Always assuming you can get the full length of my cock down your throat."
I handed the refilled glass to Master, and turned my attention to his cock. I actually had been looking forward to tasting Master, but I had no idea just how much of him there would be to taste. As it turned out, I was not able to manage the full length of his cock, but not for want of trying.
My efforts were rewarded by hearing Master croon, "Take it as deep as you can. Choke for me."
I obeyed, my gag reflex making its presence known to us both. To add emphasis to his words, Master grabbed my ears and forced me closer, impaling my face on his cock. Only when my coughing became desperate did Master release me, and even then I did my best to carry on sucking.
Master picked up the mirror again, speaking with admiration of the tears on my cheeks and the spittle on my chin. As I regained my rhythm, Master continued to speak, saying "That's where you belong, on your knees, praying for spunk. Your mouth is soooo sexy. Fill your mouth with cock. Feel that cock in your mouth, cock sucker. Make me come, you little whore!"
"Open your eyes!" Master commanded, tilting his hand mirror so that I could see myself. "See how lovely you look with a hat on your head and a cock in your mouth. Suck it, you brain-dead bitch! It's what your mouth is for. That mouth can discuss literature and philosophy with Pulitzer Prize winners and it can suck a cock. Which do you think is more important, slut?"
"Sucking cock, Master," I replied, gagging.
Master put down the mirror, but continued talking, exhorting me with louder and louder instructions. "Faster, you lazy bitch!" Master shouted. "Move that mouth! Faster!"
After two or three minutes of this, I was tiring, but I believed Master's orgasm wasn't far off. Just as I started to be afraid I would not be able to keep going until Master got off, Master spoke to me, quietly and calmly.
"Now, Meat," Master said, "Listen carefully. No, that doesn't mean you can break your rhythm. Keep your head bobbing up and down, but concentrate on what I have to say. I'm going to come pretty soon, Meat, and I don't want to do it in your mouth. I know that's what you were hoping for, but you'll have to wait until you're wearing the tiara. The first time I come in your mouth, I want you looking like a princess. Tonight I'm going to come in this glass," Master said as he drained the glass of the last of his champagne.
"Your job," Master continued, waving the glass a bit for emphasis, "is to catch all my spunk in it. If you spill so much as a drop, I'll make you run round the block as you are: barefoot and topless."
Master then tapped the side of my head with the base of the glass; still sucking diligently, I reached a hand up and took it from him.
I knew instinctively when to make my move -- certainly, my actions were beyond the realm of thought and contemplation. There was a "plop" as Master's cock left my mouth, and then I cradled it with my right hand and held the glass steady in my left.
I gave a little cry of excitement and satisfaction as Master's cock started spurting, impressive in both volume and power. I was focused so completely on watching the glass filling, that it was almost a reflex to wipe the little bit of spunk that got onto my fingers off into the glass, once Master's orgasm was completed.
Master watched me closely, and said, "Now, stand up."
I obeyed, still holding the glass of semen in my hand.
"Well," Master asked, "Are you woman enough to drink it?"
"Yes, Master," I replied.
"Then ask permission," Master reminded.
"Please, Master," I begged. "May I drink your spunk? Please?"
"You may," Master said with a smile.
I raised the glass in salute, took a tentative sip, smiled, and gulped the whole lot down.
"What about the bit that's left?" Master asked. "Why do you think I bought a champagne coupe instead of a flute?"
"So I could get my tongue inside?" I replied.
"I think of everything, don't I?" Master said. "Go on. Lick up every last drop. And hold the glass close to me so I can watch you doing it."
I lapped like a kitten hungry for cream, smiling at Master over the rim of the glass.
"Don't dare look me in the eye," Master warned. "Remember, only with a cock in your mouth."
"Sorry, Master," I apologised as I knelt down in front of Master again. "I understand about the two lipsticks now, Master. This beautiful cock is resting. I made it big, I made it small, I put those lipstick marks on it, and thanks to the smudge-proof lipstick I still have the red lips of a whore. Thank you, Master."
Master cupped my chin in his left hand and tilted back my head. I closed my eyes and smiled blissfully as Master lightly slapped my cheeks over and over again.
"Permission to speak, Master," I asked when Master had finished hitting me.
"Permission granted, slave," Master replied.
"Master, sucking your cock has made me very excited," I began.
"I'm glad to hear it," Master said.
"But, Master, I would like to come, too," I continued.
"Selfish little slut, aren't you?" Master said, rising to walk over to the equipment case. After Master opened it and took out a vibrator, he switched it on and tossed it over to me.
"But, Master, I can't use that," I protested. "Not in front of you."
"Then turn it off and stop complaining," Master said.
"But I want to come," I could hear a whining note underlying the words, and was a bit concerned that I was going to trigger an outburst.
"This is your second evening here," Master observed. "But you don't seem to have learned much. If you want an orgasm, then fuck yourself now, on the carpet. Use your right hand to shove that thing up your cunt, and your left hand to play with the bruise on your tit. Do it now."
"Yes, Master," I said. "Whatever you say, Master."
I pulled up my skirt and lay back on the carpet. Master stood over me, watching my face as the orgasm took me.
Before Master let me lie down on the little slave bed at the foot of his four-poster for my first night as a full-time slave, Master made me kneel in front of him and recite the Prick Prayer. It goes like this:
O magnificent prick,
I kneel before you to promise you unquestioned access to my cunt and my mouth any time you desire. I will deny you nothing. I promise to inhale the smell of you, to drink your semen and spread it all over my skin, to think about you all day, and dream about you all night.
Though I will fuck and suck any cock Master tells me to, this is the prick that is the centre of my life. Waking or sleeping, hard or soft, you are the core of my existence, the object that gives my life meaning. I was lost before I saw you, and sucked you.