Mistress' Dirty Slut

"Smell your Mistress," she orders and clad in black lace, he climbs on to the bed at a leisurely pace. This is part of the power exchange, the flow of energy back and forth between them. He takes his time because he can see how turned on she is already, and that it is a small amount of influence he can exert back into the situation.

"Stop," she says, a smile pushing past the stern expression she's trying to muster. "I can see you taking your time when your Mistress is ready to be pleasured! Get the paddle, and give yourself three sharp smacks on each backside cheek."

He climbs off again, retrieves the paddle and climbs back on to the bed, kneeling. She watches, glass cock in her hand. He administers the first blow. There is a loud CRACK in the room and despite herself she gasps. It is clearly harder than she would apply. CRACK again, and he smiles a lazy, contented smile. CRACK goes the paddle for a third time and he changes hands. The three delivered to the other cheek are softer, but she suspects this is more the awkwardness of his non-dominant hand as much as wanting to go easy.

She lies back again and he settles between her thighs. He breathes her in, and lets out another sigh of contentment. She can feel the tip of his nose, barely touching her as he inhales again. There is something wonderfully obscene about this, something that she gets a thrill from. He continues, breathing her in like she is the oxygen he needs to survive. He worships her, something that he has always done, no matter who was on top.

His soft, flat tongue presses onto her vulva. Now it is her turn to moan softly. He matches her moan, his delight clear as he tastes her for the first time. He traces her outlines, and there are strange moments of blankness as his tongue passes over the leather of the harness. Somehow this only makes the experience hotter.

He begins to find a rhythm familiar to them both; he knows how she likes to be pleasured and she trusts in his knowledge. She can give herself over to pleasure with little effort. She has also abandoned the need to perform, to swoon and gasp and moan out of obligation to the tattered male ego. She will moan when she's goddamned good and ready, and when she does it will be because she feels pleasure.

He finds her clit and she moans. That's it, the pleasure beginning to ignite tiny fires across her skin. Its his reward, also, because he knows she will no longer perform pleasure. It also makes it more meaningful for him; its not a false economy.

On a whim, she begins to stroke the glass cock again as the pleasure from his tongue courses through her. She closes her eyes and imagines the pleasure is coming from her girl-cock. She spits on her hand and slides the slipperiness along the length, allowing herself to flow along with this impulse.

She indulges this a while longer, allowing the masculine and feminine to blend further. She further releases the constraint of gender.

"That's a good girl," she whispers to him. "Such a good slut."

He moans loudly into her wet pussy, fingers beginning to press and part and enter.

His tongue is working magic on her inner lips and clit, while his fingers massage her outer lips. Her hand catches on the drying shaft of the glass, and she is taken by another instinct, and touches his head. Both are breathing heavily and he looks up at her, expectantly.

"I want you to suck me," she says more confidently than she feels. This feels like a larger leap than anything that's come before, but even as she feels the anxious worry rising, she reminds herself about their protocols.

He blinks for a moment then shifts to the side, fingers returning to her throbbing clit. He spends a moment or two massaging her bud and teasing her opening. Then, slowly, with his face in profile, he lowers his mouth onto her cock. It disappears between his lips, not far, but enough to appeal to all the male energies that her soul has been before. This is extremely taboo, not something discussed previously, just a fancy that has taken her.

He tentatively begins to fellate her, mouth bobbing up and down. Experimentally he takes more, gagging slightly on her girl-cock. He retreats, returning to a more comfortable depth. His fingers find her cunt again, working the flesh with more urgency. Fingers work inside her while the heel of his hand massage her clit and crurer.

"Yeah, that's nice, you're making me so hard, making my cock feel so good. I want to come in your mouth."

His fingers are deep inside now, curling upwards to the swollen front wall of her vagina. Its more difficult and crowded down there than normal, but he's doing a superb job. Even that idea is hot to her.

He begins to increase the pressure inside her, stroking her g-spot. Then he releases his lips and sits up. Her girl-cock drips with his saliva, slippery and wet. She is about to reprimand him, but hesitates. His fingers stay inside her, and his thumb is now applying pressure to her clit. He takes a hold of her glass appendage, and, slowly at first, he begins to masturbate her phallus. She takes a moment to adjust to this, and as her mind and body realign, the thrill surges through her again.

He starts to finger her more urgently, and she is transfixed by the sight of him masturbating her. Again, she imagines this pleasure is from the hand stroking her. He knows just how to get her off from here. His thumb pressed firmly against her clit while he fingers her more and more roughly.

The pressure is wonderful and intense and building, his rhythm firm and steady, his other hand gliding up and down the shaft of her girl-cock. Her legs part further, involuntarily, as her first orgasm approaches. The pressure, that exquisite build up that feels unstoppable now. His fingers are making the most wonderfully obscene sounds in her cunt, which only heightens the pressure. He grips the base of her cock and pulls it up and clear so he has no interruptions to his movement. She imagines, as the pressure begins to crest, that he is holding her at that last moment before she ejaculates and sprays her hot come all over him.

With a scream of release, she does just that. Not from the head of her cock, but from deep inside. She feels the warm gush as she squirts that glorious hot liquid all over his hand and the sheet and the leather of her harness. She exults in this first release, riding the pleasure as he continues to finger her.

He knows the moment to shift the tempo, and his movements slow, replacing the frenzied movement of the final throes with gentle rhythmic pressure. While wonderful and pleasurable, this, she knows, is not the soul-consuming climax she will have later. This is the orgasm that has properly awoken her desires.

"No more cock now," she smiles and he smiles back. He helps her out of the strap on. Once cast off, she touches his face, his chest, his hip, his thigh. The later feels strange but wonderful beneath the material of the fine fishnet stocking. Her wetness is there; he delights in how it feels to be covered in it.

His cock is still rock hard. The material of his panties has shifted to one side, the lace now framing his throbbing shaft. She eyes it hungrily.

"I want my cock inside me, slave," she says, reaching for her small clitoral vibrator. She parts and the head of his cock rests on her clitoris. It feels red hot and she growls her appreciation. He shifts, hovering at her opening, now dripping and pink and open. He slides in smoothly as the vibe hums to life.

"Fuck me slave, fuck your Mistress with her beautiful cock."

He begins to fuck her with long, smooth strokes, letting her experience it luxuriously. God he's hard. She is already hovering in a highly aroused state, and the vibrator finds exactly the right spot beside her clit.

She closes her eyes, going internal for a moment, conjuring images and ideas, things that are just for her. She lets her desires unfold in her mind, sliding past old stories and fantasies, searching for the right one.

There. That's it. She pulls the image onto the screen in her mind, expanding it and giving it colour, life, depth. The sensation of her cock fucking her and the toy ramping her arousal become part of the fantasy, fitting seamlessly into the tableau. Fuck, it's a good one, new, hot, perfect. She lets it flow and morph, her mind taking over from conscious thought, and her pleasure surges forward.

She is speaking, she's aware, but she's not sure what she's saying. Doesn't matter, she's safe, and this feels good. The words seem to be part of the narrative but she flies on, no longer stopping to consciously analyse her sexuality. She's free, and it feels so good.

The tableau shifts to something hitherto unexpected, and it does the trick. In seconds she's at the edge of her climax, hovering, eyes squeezed tightly shut, suspended.

"Uh, I'm coming," she manages to say as the contractions start, thundering and gathering pace as they explode from somewhere deep behind her belly button, surging up and out and through. She screams. A primal, exulting sound without regard for neighbours or blasphemy. This release of sound pushes the pleasure higher again.

She's held. Her head is gently stroked. Her ragged breath is returning to normal, slowly. Timelessness replaces the outside world and she lies like this for a million years, content and smiling. He kisses her and coos and whispers words of encouragement and love.

Gradually she returns to this plane, eyes again able to focus on here. He is smiling at her and she can feel the warmth of his love for her. Also, she can feel actual warmth. His erection is still raging, and resting inside her. She realises she's forgotten about the toy in his arsehole. No wonder he is so hard. Her thoughts return to the devious.

She reclines on to two pillows, allowing him to slip from her.

"Kneel, slut," she orders, and once again he complies. "You're going to clench your delicious arsehole around that toy. I know that its been pressing up inside you while you were fucking me, building that pressure and pleasure, and now we're going to work that prostrate properly."

He moans and nods. The toy has been inside for a long time, and because its not been his focus, his physiology has reached the point where he is close to prostate orgasm.

"Work that toy, slut. I want to watch my cock leaking come. I want you to make a mess, and when you can't come any more, then I'll decide what further pleasure I'll take with you tonight."

His eyes are closed, and she continues to use filthy words to urge him on. There is a sheen of sweat that makes him glow, and the shaft of her cock pulses up and down in a steady rhythm. This, she now knows, is how the muscles respond as the toy essentially fucks him up the arse.

"You'll tell me when you're close," she says as she grabs him roughly by the throat. "And you will not keep your eyes closed."

He is panting hard, moaning and gasping, but his eye stay closed. She smiles to herself, then slaps him, hard with her other hand. His eyes snap open and connect with hers. She keeps her grip on his throat, tightening slightly. He swells even more, veins rippling, skin a deep blush.

A grunt and a nod is all he can muster by way of communication, and she looks down as her cock begins to twitch quickly. Semen begins to drip, slowly at first, then faster as his brain tells the body to release, even though there is no contact with the penis. It doesn't spurt like during a normal penile orgasm. This is a deeper, profound type of climax, and some of the normal physiological responses have been short-circuited.

Yet he is climaxing. Wave after wave of pleasure surge through him, pushing the semen out in a steady stream. She catches some in the palm of her hand, and raising it to her mouth, she tastes his pleasure.

"Such a good boy," she whispers, releasing her grip and touching his face gently. "Such a perfect slut, such a good boy for Mistress."

He comes until spent, then she allows him to collapse. For a time he appears unable to speak or focus his vision. She strokes his brow and reaching down, she gently removes the toy. His cock is still extremely hard, though softens marginally without the pressure in the rectum.

Here is one of the wonderful benefits of allowing her slave to come like this. There is no refraction period. There's no curling up to snore while the credits roll on their lovemaking scene. The tried and tired trope of porn has no place here; there will be no money shot and done. After a moment or two she reaches down and takes a firm hold of him.

"Who's cock is this, slut?"

"Yours Mistress," he whispers, his eyes glassy but focused.

"Correct," she replies, sliding out of bed. "Stroke it slowly for me, I need a wee."

As she is about to leave the bathroom two impulses take her. She reapplies her lipstick and a dab of his aftershave, then returns to the bedroom with the lipstick and her perfume. She regards her slave with an adoring smile. He wears lingerie with more joy than she ever had, and looks utterly delicious in stockings and panties, stroking himself as ordered.

Slinking back on to the bed, she applies her scent to his smooth pubic area. She then brushes his hand away and slips her crimson lips around the shaft. The smear of makeup left as she releases him has just the right amount of scandal, but this is nothing compared to the second impulse she's following.

Taking her lipstick she writes across the flesh she's just scented. S, L U, T she spells across the skin above his panties on one side. F, U, C, K, T, O, Y, she writes on the other side. Bright red, bold, marked across his skin.

"Thank you Mistress," he breathes. He seems almost in awe of what she's done.

Without further discussion she grabs her vibrator and straddles him. She is so wet that a drop of her silky essence laces the head of his cock as she lowers herself down. She thrills at the feeling of slowly taking him inside her. This is her favourite way to masturbate, kneeling up, dildo in her cunt, fucking down onto it while she rubs her clit.

Now she is using her slave as her toy. She's going to get herself off like this, only this toy is warm, and slippery and wonderful.

She glides this way and grinds that. She is in no hurry and she delights as her arousal builds. Below her he is making the sweetest sounds again, moaning and groaning. There is something so lovely about taking her pleasure like this. Not being pounded at by some half-brained peon with a hard on and delusions of grandeur. She works herself to her own perfect rhythm.

When her orgasm hits this time, it is the one she's waited for. It comes from deep, deep inside and rather than the race and rush of earlier climaxes, this one builds like a tsunami; ponderous but inexorable. Her being hums with energy, and sings out her climax. There is wetness beneath her; she's possibly squirted again.

She is close to spent now, ready to curl and cuddle and sleep, but one final urge takes her. Though her body is wonderfully heavy and ready for sleep, she sits up and regards her perfect slut. The words are smeared but readable. She puts her fingers inside her still-dripping cunt and smears the nectar on his nose and mouth, and slides them between his lips. He moans like a good whore and takes three fingers greedily. She dips her fingers inside again, and coats his shaft in her lubricant, and begins to stroke. He was softening a moment ago, but now he is hard again.

"Edge for me, slut," she says. "Three times. You will not come."

Then she lies back, watching his pleasure. She turns her head and kisses him deeply, tasting herself on him. He gasps and releases his cock, which slaps noisily against his belly.

"Again," she says immediately and returns to kissing him. She can feel the motion of his hand, stroking quickly. Before long he moans again, chest heaving, cock twitching. The final time she puts her hand lightly over his, feeling the timing and tempo as he climbs to the edge again. He shudders and pulls their hands away, panting.

"Good boy," she whispers as she rests her head on her chest, closing her eyes. "Perhaps tomorrow I'll let you come for me."

She breaths in their sex, sighs a contented sigh, and slips into sleep.