Not Exactly a Master

I glared at my reflection once more. Fucking pink! I wouldn't have thought they even made Hello Kitty bikinis in my size. The shoes with four inch heels were a perfect match. To finish the pink horror, she had even found matching opaque thigh-highs. I looked ridiculous.

My nipples pushed prominently through the thin fabric. She had cut out the padding, both from the top and from the bottom, and I had to bow to her keen eye. The sizing was just perfect, the bottoms so tight that all my tugging and shifting couldn't get rid of the camel toe.

I prayed that I wouldn't get pulled over when I drove to the club. Her instructions had been clear. I wasn't allowed to cover up on my way there.

*~*~*

We were sitting in a circle of leather armchairs. I was half lying on the armrest of Miss Jazz's chair, listening to their conversation and feeling deliciously awkward. Her hand was idly stroking up and down the inside of my thigh, keeping that flame of arousal burning between my legs.

I wasn't the only sub. Jenny was sitting on Mistress Donna's knee. Lyra was kneeling next to Miss Rose and staring adoringly and unblinking up at her face. Romy, Miss Clare's sub, and Mistress Jessica's sub whom everybody called Puppet, were cuddling on a large cushion on the floor, whispering and giggling.

At some point, the dommes got into a discussion whether the size of a clit was in any way related to its sensitivity. The talk turned a bit heated.

I stiffened. Miss Jazz's fingers slipped inside my bottoms and parted my lips. My breath hitched when her fingertip touched my clit. The finger stopped moving, and I heard a quiet, surprised, "Oh!"

She pulled out her hand, and I thought for a moment that was it, but then she sat up, put the hand against my tummy and reached for the waistband with her other hand.

"Miss Jazz!" I hissed in panic when she leaned closer and pulled the waistband down, but she ignored me.

Within a second, my pubic mound was exposed to all the women, and then her hand slid down and her fingers spread my pussy lips. My already aroused clit swelled even more, and I wanted to die on the spot when her loud gasp drew all eyes towards my genitals and the one part of my body I had always been self-conscious about, ever since I had realized that I was different than my friends. They called their clits 'pearls' or 'tiny nubs'. Mine, when completely stiff, was over an inch long and thicker than my pinkie finger.

"Oh my god," Mistress Jessica gasped, covering her mouth with one hand and pointing between my legs with the other. "You've got to see this!"

I whimpered, but after a sharp look from Miss Jazz I stayed still while the dommes and even a few of the subs took close-up looks of my freaky clit, all of them gasping and staring.

The last one was Romy. She was a cute blond girl, a little on the chubby side but it was well distributed. The first thing I had noticed about her were her large, blue eyes. Those eyes were now staring at my bean, and she tentatively reached out towards it.

"If you touch her, you have to bring her off," Miss Jazz said sharply.

My mind screeched to a halt. I stared into Jazz's eyes. There was a challenge there. She lifted a brow for a moment, narrowed her eyes, and I realized she was reminding me of the talk we'd had a week ago.

I forced my eyes back on Romy. "Please don't!" I pleaded meekly.

I had told Jazz how much a rush it had been when she exposed my ass to everybody, and she had asked me how I felt about the idea of being touched by others.

No fantasy could have come close to the emotional roller coaster I found myself in. I was terrified, aroused, excited beyond belief and dying with shame, all at the same time.

A strangled sound escaped my throat when Romy guided her fingers to her mouth and let a big wad of drool roll over her lip. She rubbed her fingertips together to spread the drool, then she reached out once more.

I had a few boyfriends play with my clits before, but it was nothing like this. My nerves were super charged, and her touch was that of a girl knowing exactly how sensitive a female's parts were. Her fingertips spread the moisture over my bean with flighty dexterity, and then she formed a perfect little sleeve with her fingers that she slid over it without exerting any pressure.

Her eyes moved to my face.

I groaned and started trembling. Like a tiny vagina around a matching cock, she fucked my clit. It felt unbelievable.

When I touched myself, I used a single finger, any more was too much, too fast, and I had to back down. I didn't know how she knew, but not doing it myself opened me up to an intensity I otherwise wouldn't be able to stand. I heard myself moan in time with her finger's sliding motion, sparks shooting through my center and lighting me on fire.

My moans got louder, started sounding desperate. I realized I was making a spectacle and tried to keep quiet, but I couldn't. The whole club would soon be aware of my debauched display! That revelation made it even worse, the breathless fear of discovery like an injection of an aphrodisiac to my lust addled brain. My moans turned even louder and rose in pitch, got faster and faster. I was squeaking and whining, losing all sense of orientation.

All of a sudden, Romy pulled her fingers away, leaned forward, captured my clit with her lips and started flicking it hard with her tongue.

For what felt like a minute, I couldn't breathe. Pleasure built around my clit which I had never felt. It was too much. I was going to die from pleasure. Romy stared up at my face, her eyes wide, her cheeks sucked in, and I lost it.

"Ooooooooohhhh fffffuuuuccckkkkkk yyyeeeessssss!" I screamed, clamping my thighs tightly around her head and shaking with these incredible waves of pleasure. It felt like I came and came forever, Romy's tongue never stopping, never slowing, pushing me to the very limits of pleasure that my body could provide.

Then it got too much, painful in its intensity, and I opened my legs and pushed against her forehead. "Stop, please!" I whimpered urgently.

Thankfully, she withdrew, and I could finally take a real breath again.

She stood up, a shy grin on her lips that made her look adorable. "Thank you so much, Romy," I whispered, and her grin got wider.

A little pinch on my butt cheek almost made me yelp and brought me a bit closer to reality. "Thank you, Miss Jazz," I said, meaning it. She was the one who allowed or denied others to play with me.

*~*~*

It was our two months anniversary. Two months since I had given up my futile search for a master and accepted her collar. I knelt next to the door and watched her inspect my bedroom, opening doors, sliding out drawers, rummaging through my clothes. It felt embarrassing. She grinned, frowned, judged, approved and dismissed. She went to the bedside table on the far end and opened the drawer. Her hands found the leather bound book and took it out. She ran a finger over the front, then turned to me. "This is your diary, Peeper."

"Yes, Miss Jazz."

Her gaze kept focused on my eyes while she slowly opened her purse. There would have been all the time in the world to stop her, but I kept silent and watched her slip it inside, shivering a little when it was swallowed and the zipper closed over it.

Suddenly, she sat down on the edge of the bed, facing away from me.

"Miss Jazz?" I asked, getting worried when she didn't make a sound for more than a minute.

A strange, strangled sound escaped her throat. She slowly got up, walked around the bed and sat down again so I could see her face. This time, I recognized that strangled sound as a guilt-laden chuckle. "Some Mistress I am," she said.

Was that a tear on her cheek? I grew really worried now.

"Giving you hell about rules and proper communication. But you were just so sweet and clueless, and I thought I'd guide you the first few steps, and then you'd meet the master you were looking for and both of us could look back on a great time."

"Miss Jazz?"

"Oh, Peeper. I'm a bad Mistress. I want to do so many things with you. To you. But I haven't been upfront, and it's my kink, I can't just switch it off."

She looked so apologetic and terrified. Whatever it was, it had to be serious. "Why -- why don't you just tell me what this is about?"

She took a few shaking breaths. "We talked about it," she said quietly and gulped hard. "You made it clear that pee games are a hard limit. I should have told you then. I shouldn't have led you on."

I understood. In the last two months, I had witnessed all kinds of kinks. Some were just funny games. Others were integral parts of personalities. Like my need to be embarrassed. Jazz's kink, besides having her nipples worshiped, seemed to be wet games.

"You dream of peeing on me?"

She gulped again. "On you," she said quietly and looked away. "And also..." She bit her lip, then let out a dejected sigh.

If felt strangely calm all of a sudden, and a warmth bloomed in my chest that made my heart stumble, a feeling that exceeded attraction and trust. I gasped, and a tear suddenly trickled down my cheek. She took my reaction for something different and hid her face.

My knees protested a little when I got up. I took her hand, pulled her up and led her out into the hallway.

"What?" she asked, puzzled when I didn't turn right towards the entrance but left instead.

I walked into the bathroom and let go of her hand. My hands were shaking when I stripped for her. I glanced at the plush rug in the center and decided I'd just throw it in the wash, so I got down and laid on my back.

"Peeper?" she asked, wide-eyed, unsure.

"Only because it's you, Miss Jazz," I said, my voice scratchy. "Please don't tell anybody, or I'll die with embarrassment."

She stood frozen for a minute, then her hands were a flurry, almost ripping off her skirt and struggling to pull off her rubber panties.

The expression in her eyes when she lowered herself to her knees over my face was one of pure adoration, and my heart somersaulted. She gently settled her naked butt on my chest, then she tapped my chin with her index finger until I opened my mouth wide.

"I'm such a pig," she said softly, spreading her pussy lips, and started to play with herself. "The first thing I thought when I caught you staring that day was that I'd love to pee all over your cute face. To push my pussy against your sweet lips and fill your warm mouth with my piss. To watch your reluctant struggle when you swallow my pee and feel it fill your insides."

Her fingers started rubbing circles over her clit. She let out a gasp and started peeing. She never stopped masturbating, and the pee splattered everywhere, my face, my hair and the tiles around me.

"Fuck, yes!" she gasped, and she lifted off a little and slid forward while her pee still flowed, finally pressing her mount over my mouth. Hot, salty, bitter liquid filled it quickly, and I struggled, as she had promised, to swallow fast enough. It seemed to go on forever, but then the flow ebbed into a trickle and stopped.

I breathed in the strong scent of arousal and pee, and the shame of what I had just done filled every pore of my being. She lifted her pussy off me and slid back, further than I had expected. She wiggled her left leg under my right and folded my leg up, and I understood. Her pee-soaked pussy pressed against mine, wet and stinky and soft, and she started moving her hip in a circle. Pussy lips slid against pussy lips. Clit against clit. We started breathing hard, in synchronicity, then moaning, then screaming out our joined climax.

"You reek," she said, minutes later, lying on top of me, brushing a pee-soaked lock from my face.

"I reek of you, Miss Jazz. What does that tell us?"

"Impertinent little sub," she chided with a giggle.

"I'm sorry, Miss," I said with mock contriteness.

"Oh, you'll be sorry soon enough."

"Before or after we had a shower?"

She rolled off, turned me around and swatted my butt hard. "Does that answer your question."

"Not sorry yet!" I singsonged.

*~*~*

I shivered a little, partly from being out in the chilly night air in just a flimsy robe, and partly from my nerves. The small bonfire did little to warm me. Miss Jazz's friends, who also had become my friends, stood in a circle around us. It had been a godsend that she had to go away for the last two weeks for a training, coming back just in time for our one-year anniversary. I had moved in with her six months ago.

"Do you recognize this, Miss Jazz?" I held out a sheet of paper to her.

She had no clue what all of this was about. Mistress Donna had thankfully offered her property for the celebration, but all Miss Jazz knew was that we had been invited to a private get-together.

It dawned on her now that this was more. "That's the list of your limits," she said slowly and looked me in the eyes.

"I'm surrendering my limits to you, Miss Jazz. We've been together for a full year as of today. I trust you to the moon and back. Some limits, you already helped me overcome. The others, I leave at your discretion now. Please throw the sheet into the fire. Let my limits dissolve to ashes and scatter in the wind. Make me utterly, completely yours." And for the first time I managed to shape the feeling I had in that tear-filled moment in my bedroom into words. "I love you, Miss Jazz. I love you so much it hurts sometimes."

Her hand started shaking. Tears streamed down her cheeks and gleamed like pearls in the flickering light. I prayed I had not judged things wrong, that I had not gone too far.

"You stupid sub you," she said with a strange voice. Her eyes widened, and I felt a wave of panic, but then her arm reached out and the sheet was caught by the flames. Embers danced high into the night sky, and I started crying too.

Then she was there, hugging me hard, mashing her lips over mine, kissing, licking and biting.

"Yours!" I gasped.

"Mine!" she growled.

"Wait!" I gasped.

She let go and stepped back, breathing as hard as I did.

"There's one more gift from me." One night, after coming back from the club, we opened a bottle of wine together and got rather tipsy. She let her guard down and confessed that she was a bit sad I didn't want tattoos. Though she was trying to be close lipped, I learned that she had a recurring fantasy of seeing herself immortalized on my skin in a scene of utter domination and submission.

When our anniversary came up, I remembered it. My stance against tattoos had been born from the fear that I might one day regret having them, especially ones who were linked to a partner. The examples of Hollywood stars seeking to remove the traces of their failed relationships from their skin were plentiful, after all. But back then, I couldn't have imagined feeling as deeply for someone as I did for her now.

I turned around, opened the clasp and let the robe slip to the floor. It had taken six full, painful afternoons, but I thought it was perfect.

Jazz sucked in the air.

Finding an artist who could do such a life-like drawing from photos and transfer it to my skin hadn't been easy. I grinned proudly. It showed Jazz in all her perfect imperfection, nipples bared, hands buried in my hair, holding my face close to her chest, staring down with dark hunger and lust. My face showed the adoration and need I felt for her, showed my struggle to reach one of those adored nipples with my tongue. And further down, our legs were linked, and a wide golden jet erupted between her thighs and splashed against my grotesquely swollen pearl, splattering my lower body and thighs.

Soft fingertips touched my back and traced the markings. "Oh my goddess! I love it," she breathed. "It's perfect. You're perfect."

Her hands slid to my shoulders, and she gently turned me around. "I could look at this all night," she whispered and pulled on my lip with her teeth. "But this has made me so horny, and I want to do something really, really nasty. Can I have one more gift, Peeper?" She looked me hard in the eyes, and I understood.

"Always, Miss Jazz," I said and followed her gentle pressure down to my knees.

I tilted my head back and opened my mouth.

"Oh fuck," I heard Romy whisper, which was followed by a sharp smack.

Miss Jazz reached between her thighs from behind and pulled the front of her rubber shorts down without breaking eye contact. She was trembling when she stepped over me and pressed her pussy over my waiting mouth, adjusting her position until she felt the tight seal of my lips.

We had only ever played this kind of games at home, though she often liked to embarrass me in public by talking about it. But now there would be witnesses, witnesses that knew me well and whom I met every week.

I felt that shiver in her body and knew it was happening. I think the others held their breath, because the only sounds were the crackling of the fire, the hissing of Miss Jazz's pee and my desperate gulps.

"I love you so much, you nasty, dirty sub," Miss Jazz moaned, and she started rubbing her pussy all over my face, still peeing, showering me with her pee, rubbing her slit over my nose, using me as the most lewd masturbation device imaginable. The embarrassment was unfathomable, and I sobbed, and creamed, I reached down and played with my pee-soaked, freaky clit. I found Jazz's clit in front of my lips and latched onto it, sucking hard so we came together in the crescendo of this mad spectacle.

"Wow," Mistress Donna said, minutes later, looking at the others. They were still standing around us, watching us snuggle on the dewy grass in post orgasmic bliss. "I don't know about you ladies, but I need something alcoholic now, and it needs to be strong." She looked down at the two of us, and I grinned back up and giggled. "The two of you better take a dip in the pool before you come inside. There are towels on the recliner."

*~*~*

We had done that, splashed around in the pool for a bit, then washed off the chloride in the outdoor shower. Now we were in Mistress Donna's bathroom drying our hair and fixing our makeup.

"I almost forgot," Miss Jazz suddenly said while I was working the knots out of a particularly stubborn strand of hair. "I got you something too."

I watched her dig through her purse until she found what she had been looking for. She hid it in her hands.

"Don't you think that Peeper is a bit of a mouthful?" she asked with a mischievous grin.

I tried to stay serious, but a giggle escaped my lips. I quickly shot her an apologetic look. "If you say so, Miss Jazz," I said demurely.

"Pee would be so much easier to pronounce, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, Miss," I said.

She grinned brightly and held up her gift, three oval badges that were connected with little hoops. There was no doubt where they were meant to go.

The topmost one read "Pee" in flowery letters.

The one below said, "Sucks Nipples. Drinks Pee."

The bottom one, of course, declared proudly, "Property of Miss Jazz." And underneath that, in smaller letters, stood, "If found keep hydrated."

I gulped and blushed and giggled. "This is so embarrassing, Miss Jazz," I said with a pout and leaned closer so she could exchange the badges.

*~*~*

Not everything was daisies and sunshine all the time, of course. We had disagreements. We stepped on each other's toes. We brought home bad emotions from work and had to work a lot on our communication. But we did, and got through it together.

Then, a little over five years after we got together, in the middle of recession, the shit hit the fan. I was working for a marketing agency at the time that, unfortunately, had mostly conservative politicians as their main clients. The agency, in turn, had become the biggest customer for Jazz' computer business.

All it took was a little slip - a careless step and a slippery spot in the puddle next to the water dispenser. My legs were whipped out under me, and I hit my head on the way down, losing consciousness.