tagBDSMNo Holiday at the Beach Ch. 1

No Holiday at the Beach Ch. 1


Part I. At the Airport

He waited anxiously for her at the Phuket Airport. He felt strange among the bustle of Thai hotel limousine drivers with confirmed guests and cabmen trying to hustle a fare. This American felt distinctly out of place. He held his sign stating simply "Mistress Wendy" to his chest. The flight from Singapore had arrived just fifteen minutes earlier. No need, he thought, to show the sign until the passengers were leaving baggage claim, and he was reasonably sure he would know her when he saw her.

And there she was. Rather tall, alone but surely confident, scanning among the waiting touts and family members gathered in the arrival lounge. She was more cute than beautiful. A fair-skinned Chinese lady, trim but strong, Cute as she was, the way she carried herself was downright sexy. She could own a man.

She wore a simple white cotton dress, rather short and buttoned down the front. Flesh toned pantyhose graced her long legs. They gave off a faint sort of metallic shimmer. Her lovely feet were partially displayed, as she wore brown, heeled sandals with open toes. She tipped her jet-black sunglasses, as shiny as her hair, to the end of she perfect nose and scanned the crowd. He knew her for sure, and shyly raised the sign, "Mistress Wendy". She nodded, let go of her two bags—surprisingly large for a weekend holiday—and waited for him to greet her.

Trembling, he moved forward and said, "Mistress Wendy. Welcome to Phuket. I will personally do my best to assure you have a pleasant holiday."

She smiled, a lovely but menacing smile, and said simply, "I hope so".

Part II. Chastened

After his first contact with Mistress Wendy, they had exchanged several emails. Describing themselves, their jobs, their homes, their fantasies and their limits. Soon enough they had agreed to meet in Phuket. For seventy-two hours he would be a real slave, and she a mistress.

They had set a few ground rules. No blood. No burns. No scars. No scat. No photos. No overtly public displays. No servicing of men. The rules about servicing other women were more vague. Actually there were no rules about other women, though he supposed that bringing other women into the picture might cross the line into public display. Beyond those simple rules, he was Mistress Wendy's entirely. Her slave. Her toy. Her property with which she could do entirely as she pleased. Moreover, he knew that once this thing started she would be in a position to bend or break the rules as she pleased. She would be in control, and he would be powerless to do anything about it.

His uncertainty about all of this was frightening, but also part of the thrill. His thoughts raced, as he carried her heavy bags to the rental car, making sure to reach it in time to get the bags stowed in the trunk and the rear door opened and waiting for his Mistress. He handed her the fresh coconut after he helped her into the seat. She had once mentioned how she loved fresh coconuts when vacationing at the beach. A nice touch, he thought. He hoped she would appreciate his remembering. She did, sort of.

"Good for you that you remembered I love coconuts. I would have been most disappointed had you not had one waiting for me." So it was between Mistress and slave. No thanks are offered. Remembering things and pleasing one's Mistress were expected and counted for nothing. Only forgetting and failing to please counted for anything, and that of course was bad.

As they drove he had a chance to study her in the rearview mirror. She might at anytime admonish him for such indulgence. Who was he to enjoy such a sight? He was not worthy. But clearly for now she wanted him to study her, to take in fully the lady who owned him. She sat in the rear on the opposite side of the car to give him a full view.

Her skin was nearly perfect. Soft looking. Light, but not pale. Though her eyes were shielded behind her dark glasses, he knew from the glimpse at the airport that they were big, dark brown, almost black, and penetrating. Beautiful eyes. Her full lips sensuously wrapped around the straw as she took a sip from the coconut. They were glossed with a deep, brownish red. Almost the color of dried blood, but with a sheen. He noticed her long fingernails and toenails were painted the same color.

He couldn't help noticing her toenails through the fabric of her hose. She lounged back in her seat, with her left leg crossed over her right so that her lovely foot dangled between and just behind the two front seats. It took a lot of willpower, and a sense of his place, not to reach over and caress it. To pull the car over and smother her foot in his kisses. Not yet, he knew.

She had unbuttoned the bottom two buttons of her sundress to free her legs and to afford him a tantalizing view of her perfect thighs. Her shimmering panty hose were exposed just to the point to reveal the beginning of the darker, reinforced fabric at the top.

Mistress Wendy was everything he desired, but she was not his. He was hers.

It was as if she could read his mind. "Slave, pull the car over. Over there," she ordered, pointing.

When they were stopped she said, "Unfasten your seatbelt and place your arms at your sides. Now." As he did so he noticed his erection had formed a tent in his shorts. It was not his mind she was reading, though she was probably capable of that too. She reached over and re-fastened the seatbelt so his wrists were pinned at his sides. She pulled the seat back in its full reclining position, pulling the belt tighter across his wrists and chest. She knelt on the back seat and bent over, her beautiful face a few inches above his. Her warm breath had a hint of coconut.

"Just look at you," she said as she grabbed his hair and pulled his head forward. "You embarrass me, slave. You have no control. I thought this could wait at least until we reached the resort." She reached into her large purse and pulled out an oblong metal cage with leather straps. A cock harness. She unfastened his shorts, and pulled them down to his knees, cursing him because the job was made more difficult in the confines of the car.

First Mistress Wendy tried simply to jam the cold iron over his member, but since he was now fully erect the cage would not quite fit. Her rough efforts were painful but also further arousing. He was afraid he would come and they had only been together for fifteen minutes or so. Finally she gave up and slammed the device on his chest.

She pulled his head back harshly by the hair. Then with one hand she pulled down his jaw and with the long fingers of her other hand she held his eyes wide open.

"You want me so bad so soon, slave? You must be crazy. You are not worthy to be near me, let alone to touch me or have that useless cock of yours satisfied." She had removed her sunglasses and was staring directly into his eyes. It was a glare so penetrating he could feel it. Her dark eyes were flashing, furious.

"You are not even worthy of my spit," she hissed. "Well maybe you are at that". She closed her mouth tightly, her plump lips working back and forth, then pursed her lips and let dangle a long chain of saliva. She briefly swung it back and forth just above his face, finally letting it settle onto the back of his tongue, and releasing it into the back of his mouth. She spat again, this time just a blast of spit, mostly into his mouth but spraying onto his face as well. It dribbled down his cheeks.

She let go of his head and reached again into her purse. This time she brought out a small bottle of baby oil.

"You don't deserve this kindness, but your Mistress is afraid we will never be able to get you properly harnessed without it. You have no control."

Indeed, his recent treat of her sweet spittle—and the dominant way in which she had fed it to him—had only increased his erection. He knew the second his Mistress touched his throbbing member with the oil he would explode. Again, she could read his mind.

"I'm surely not going to touch that thing. God knows what you might do," she said. "Your Mistress is going to take a walk down to the beach for a while. You better get control of yourself and have that harness fully on and buckled before I get back. If not, you will be very, very sorry. And don't even dream of jacking off first. That is not an option. You are not to come. If you do, it may be your last time."

She unfastened his seatbelt. As she left the car she slammed the door she and said, "God I'm pissed at you, slave." She opened the door again and said, "One more thing. You sure better put the clamp on nice and tight. You need it, obviously, and I assure you that you do not want to make me have to tighten it when I get back. You would not like that."

He had no idea how much time he had, and little idea of how the device worked. But he knew he better get it on soon and that the toughest part would be getting the metal cage over his erection. The easiest way would be to release his excitement by masturbating. He was so aroused by his Mistress he wanted nothing more in the world. But he remembered her warning. As she said, that was not an option.

He gently applied a generous supply of the baby oil to lubricate his penis. Then he tried to simply settle down. How could he? All he could think of was the sensuous beauty of his Mistress. Those thoughts only intensified as he tried not to think them. Finally he gave up any hope of calming down. He took the cage, much smaller than his erection, and began to gradually work it onto his penis. It was a painful and difficult task. The head itself was larger than the opening at the base of the cage, and the cage tapered off towards its closed end. He managed to work his erection about halfway into the cage. Torture, and the job seemed harder—maybe even impossible—the rest of the way. Worse, he was dangerously close to coming.

He rested for a moment. The cage was actually wagging as his penis pulsed. He applied more oil. He pulled flaps of his penis's skin, as taught as it was, over the bars of the cage. Finally, it was almost in place, and the effort of trying to get it on had relaxed his erection just a little. He took a deep breath and yanked the cage fully into place. His swollen member bulged slightly through the openings of the cage, but it was on.

Next, the clamp. At the base of the cage were two thin leather straps with snap fasteners at their ends. Thinking of his Mistress's admonition he looped them around the base of his penis, then around his scrotum, and snapped it off as tightly has he could bear. He paused for a moment to look at his handiwork. His erection was smothered in the cage, and his balls bulged out shining from between the loops of the clamp. He carefully touched himself and noticed that the cage and clamps allowed—even caused—just enough sensation to keep him aroused, but not enough to ejaculate.

His job was nearly complete and he knew he better finish it before his Mistress got back. The point of this all was supposed to be to help conceal his erection. In its current state the bulge in his pants would be even more obvious. The device had another two straps with which he could tie his erection down, so it would point down the inside of his thighs. He completed the work and noticed that there were two rings of metal dangling at the base of the cage. He could only imagine what those were for.

For the first time he noticed passing cars and motorcycles on the road. He feared someone might stop and discover his position. He wanted dearly to pull up his underpants and shorts. But what would his Mistress want? Surely she would want to examine his work, and make sure that the clamp was tight to her satisfaction. Moreover, she had not given him permission to pull his shorts up. He figured that from now on, at least the next three days, he could not do anything without his Mistress's permission.

Fortunately the wait was not long, though it seemed so as he listened to the passing cars and imagined he heard them slowing down and pulling off to the side of the road. They didn't. His Mistress returned and opened the driver's side door.

She crouched there revealing a generous view of her beautiful thighs, almost to her crotch. He could feel his member bulging at the sides of the cage, but realized with relief that he was not likely to come while constrained so. When she started tugging at the straps, though, he wondered. Maybe he could come. This was strangely, and completely, arousing. He just hoped she would finish her examination before it came to that.

She didn't say a word as to whether he had done the job right. She just said, "Slave, pull up your shorts and take me to the resort. You're wasting my time."

He figured he had done all right after all.

III.Arriving at the Resort

His fear and excitement grew as they pulled into the resort. He had been with Mistress Wendy for little more than an hour and already he was obsessed. What might happen when they got behind closed doors?

As they checked-in he came to further realize what an extraordinary woman his Mistress was. She turned on an innocent charm and immediately won over the resort's staff. She was so cute and friendly. He kept mostly quiet, only signing in and giving the imprint from his credit card. Mistress Wendy was almost friendly to him when she remarked to the ladies at the counter what a "sweetie" her "sla.., uhh, man" was. "He's such a catch. He does everything I ask of him." "Everything," she repeated, giggling along with the girls. He had to wonder what the receptionists were thinking when she said "everything". Women were a mystery to him, and he always assumed that they could communicate beyond the comprehension of men.

Mistress Wendy informed the young bellhop that he need not bother with their luggage. Her "man", she again turned to the receptionists and smiled, " would prefer to carry the bags himself".

She lingered in the reception area as he carried her heavy bags, and his own small toilet kit, for he had brought no luggage, to the bungalow. It was a bungalow only in the sense that it was a detached unit, not part of the hotel. Actually it was two attached units, "Sundown A and Sundown B", but they had booked both. Privacy, and space if they needed it. The Sundown units were at the end of the resort grounds, perched on a point just above some rocks and the ocean below. They were well appointed like rooms in a 4-star hotel, and had sliding glass doors opening to balconies and a small swath of grass before the short drop to the ocean.

When the last bag was in the room, he paused to admire the view. The surf crashing on the rocks was melodious. He almost forgot what had brought him here. He thought what a romantic spot this was. He was jolted from his reverie.

"What are you doing, slave?", Mistress Wendy shouted as she entered the room. She slapped him hard on the buttocks, then turned him and slapped his face. "What are you doing?", she asked again.

He was a little stunned. He stammered, "I was waiting for you Mistress".

"Waiting for me by standing, and not removing your clothes? You obviously have a lot to learn. Down on your knees, dog." He didn't need any help, but she gave it by grabbing the hair at the back of his head and pulling him down.

"Look at my feet, slave. Tell me what you think of them. Are they beautiful? Are they not infinitely more important than your entire being? Would you do anything just to make sure my feet are happy? Tell me, slave."

He heard his Mistress, and had no choice but to look at her feet. Not that he needed encouraging. To him they were beautiful beyond description. He kissed her stockinged toes and muttered, "Mistress, I can hardly speak. Your feet are… they are what I live for, Mistress".

"They should be," she said, "but consider this." She slowly pulled his head so he could scan the full length of her beauty. Her ankles. Her rounded calves. Her knees—he noted a small stretch of her stockings on the bend behind her knees and was somehow further aroused. Her perfect thighs. She still wore the white sundress so as he continued his "tour" he could only imagine the perfection of her vagina and ass and navel and belly and breasts. He stared in disbelief at her throat and even the fronts of her collarbones wrapped in perfect skin. Her lips. Her nose. Now he was looking into her deep, dark eyes.

"Well? Slave, you may speak."

"I exist only for you, Mistress. You are a Goddess and I am at most a simple man. I am nothing but yours."

She slapped him across the face but not quite so hard this time, and said, "Don't you think I know that. Get out of those clothes."

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