Orange: The New Black - pt.2

[lezdom] [F/f spanking] [bondage] [CNC] [corner time] [humiliation]

Continued from: Orange: The New Black - pt.1

As Bailey curled up before me in her cage, her adorable face pressed close to the bars, tears streaking her cheeks and her breath coming in those shallow little whimpers that betrayed her insatiable fire, I unlocked the padlock with a deliberate click, swinging the door open just enough to let her crawl out on her hands and knees while I moved her handcuffs to the to the front. She emerged like an eager pet, her satin orange shorts still cupping her bum perfectly, the tiny white tank clinging to her perky breasts, nipples hard and visible through the cotton as she looked up at me with wide, pleading eyes.

 “That’s a good girl,” I murmured, my voice a low and sultry tease that made her flush deeper. “Now, show me how grateful you are—start with my heels. Kiss and lick them like the little slut you are.”

She didn’t hesitate, her straight claims crumbling further as she lowered her pouty lips to my black high-heeled pumps, pressing soft kisses along the glossy leather, her tongue darting out to lick the toe with tentative strokes that grew bolder, tracing the seams and arches as if worshipping a shrine. The sensation was delightful—her pert ass sticking up in those shorts like an invitation. She worked diligently, her brown waves falling forward to brush the floor, her breath hot against my bare feet inside the pumps as she lavished each one with devotion, the room filling with the soft, wet sounds of her submission.

“May I… may I remove them, Ma’am?” she asked reluctantly, her voice a breathy whisper, eyes flicking up to mine with that mix of shame and hunger, her straight façade bending under the weight of her need.

I nodded, my red lips curving in approval. “You may, pet—but make it slow, tease me with it.” She fumbled with the straps, her cuffed hands awkward but determined, sliding the pumps off one by one, the leather whispering against my bare skin as they came free, my feet now exposed, toes flexing in the cool air, unpainted but elegant, the arch high and inviting. Without prompting, she dove in—sucking on each toe with eager pulls, her lips wrapping around the digits, tongue swirling the sensitive pads, the warmth of her mouth unfiltered now, sending tingles up my legs to pool in my core. She licked the soles with long, flat strokes, tracing the arches from heel to ball, her button nose pressing into the curve as she worked, the direct contact electric, my bare skin sensitive to every lap and suck.

At some point, as her worship grew more fervent, I stood and peeled off my leather pants with deliberate slowness, the material gliding down my thighs to reveal my black lace panties beneath, stepping out one leg at a time before slipping my heels back on, the towering black pumps elevating me once more, my bare feet sliding into the cool interior, the sensation heightened without hose, each step a direct connection to the floor. Bailey’s eyes widened, locked on the sight, her whimpers deepening as I hooked my thumbs into the panties, sliding them down and off, my shaved pussy now bare and glistening, the air cool against my slick folds.

She hesitated, her straight claims warring with her insatiable nature, but the reluctance spilled out—“May I… may I lick your pussy, Ma’am? Please?”—her voice breaking, tears mingling with the flush on her cheeks.

“Granted, my little dyke,” I purred, sprawling back on the bench, legs spread wide as she crawled forward, her face burying between my thighs. Her tongue was amazing for a girl claiming to be straight—eager and skillful, lapping at my pussy with long, flat strokes that parted my folds, swirling around my clit with fervent pulls that made my hips roll, her button nose nuzzling into my wetness as she delved deeper, sucking and teasing until pleasure built like a wave. Then, at my command, she moved lower—tongue circling my asshole with reluctant swirls that grew bold, thrusting inside with wet, invasive probes that made me moan, the humiliation fueling her fire.

I came heavily onto her pouty lips, my body arching as release crashed through me, juices flooding her mouth in hot spurts, coating her chin as she lapped eagerly, her whimpers vibrating against me. “What do you say, Bailey,” I gasped, my voice husky with afterglow.

She pulled back slightly, tears streaming, her pouty lips glistening with my cum—“Th-thank you, Mistress… for the gift of your cum on my mouth…”—her voice a vulnerable whisper, the words forced out in broken shame, her face burning scarlet as she savored the flavor, her own arousal denied for now, but building like a storm.

I retrieved the ball gag from its display—a red rubber sphere on black straps—and fitted it into her mouth, buckling it tight, the ball filling her, forcing her to savor and maintain the pussy flavor on her tongue, her moans muffled into drooling hums. She was already in handcuffs, so I led her by the upper arm to the metal stand-up cage in the corner—a tall, narrow enclosure of bars just wide enough for her to stand inside, the door swinging open like an iron maiden’s maw. “In you go until I need you again,” I purred, guiding her inside, her body pressing against the cold metal as she stood straight, the cage’s height forcing her posture rigid, her perky breasts brushing the bars.

I padlocked the door with a resounding click, the key pocketing once more, leaving her locked upright, ball-gagged and cuffed, her eyes wide with a mix of humiliation and that unquenchable fire. “Reflect on your addictions, Bailey,” I whispered, blowing a kiss through the bars, as I left her to stew.

Not long after, I unlocked the stand-up cage with a satisfying click, swinging the door open to let Bailey stumble out on her knees, her adorable frame quivering like a leaf in the wind, those satin orange shorts still tangled at her thighs, her tiny white tank soaked with sweat and tears. She looked up at me with those wide, pleading eyes, her blonde waves matted, her pouty lips glistening from the ball gag’s residue—my cum’s flavor no doubt still coating her tongue like a lingering humiliation. I removed the gag first, unbuckling the straps with deliberate slowness, watching her jaw flex as she gasped for air, a string of drool connecting her lips to the red rubber sphere before it snapped free. “Good girl,” I purred, wiping her chin with my thumb, smearing the mess across her cheek for that extra touch of degradation.

Next, the handcuffs—cold metal unlocking with a twist of the key, her wrists red and marked from the strain, her arms falling limp as she rubbed them, whimpering softly. I hauled her to her feet by her upper arm, leading her to the fancy dark wood and padded leather spanking bench in the center of the room—a exquisite piece, its mahogany frame gleaming under the lights, the black leather cushions soft yet unyielding, designed for perfect exposure. “Up on the bench, young lady,” I commanded, positioning her face down, her perky breasts pressing against the padding, her pert ass elevated high, shorts taut over her cheeks like a canvas waiting for my art.

I buckled her down methodically, starting with her ankles—thick leather bondage belts wrapping around them, cinching tight with brass buckles that clicked shut, locking her feet in place. Her calves followed, straps just below the knees pulling her legs flush to the bench, immobilizing her lower limbs. Thighs next—belts high on her quads, spreading her slightly to expose the inner curves, the pantyhose shimmering as she strained. Her lower back got a wide belt across the waist, pinning her torso down, arching her ass higher. Finally, her wrists—straps securing them to the bench’s sides, her arms outstretched, leaving her completely helpless, her body a bound offering, whimpers escaping as the reality sank in.

The strapping began over her cute shorts and pantyhose—nothing severe, just enough to leave a lasting impression she’d feel for a few days later, a reminder of her “punishment” every time she sat or bent. I doubled the leather strap in my hand, its supple length worn from use, and brought it down in measured swings—crack!—across her cheeks, the impact muffled slightly by the satin and nylon but thudding deep into the muscle, alternating sides with steady rhythm, pink blooming beneath the layers as she yelped—“Ow, Ma’am!”—her ass jiggling delightfully under each lash, the strapping building a warm, lingering ache that would bruise subtly, a secret she’d carry home. Twenty strokes in total, each one a playful punctuation to her addiction, her sobs mixing with moans as the heat spread, the bench creaking under her futile wriggles. “There, my insatiable pet,” I whispered, setting the strap aside, “feel that for a days—let it remind when you get the urge to masturbate.”

I unbuckled Bailey from the strapping bench with deliberate slowness, my fingers lingering on the leather belts that had held her calves, thighs, lower back, and wrists so securely, her body quivering as each restraint fell away, her skin marked with faint red lines where the straps had bitten in during her earlier whimpers under the leather’s kiss. 

She was a sight—her adorable 22-year-old frame flushed and slick with sweat. I slipped the ball gag back into her mouth, buckling it tight behind her head, the red rubber sphere filling her pouty lips, stretching them wide and muffling her into drooling silence, her eyes widening with that mix of humiliation and insatiable hunger that made her so deliciously pliable.

I took my time with the ropes—thick, soft cords that whispered against her skin as I bound her, deliberately arousing with each loop and knot. Starting with her legs, I tied her ankles together first, the rope coiling snugly around her pantyhose-sheathed calves, pulling them tight to emphasize the curve of her thighs, her body already arching slightly as I worked. Then her knees, the bindings forcing her legs straight and together, the tension building a subtle strain that made her whimper through the gag, drool spilling down her chin in glistening trails. Her wrists came next—crossed above her head, the rope weaving intricate patterns around them, hoisting her arms high to a hook in the ceiling beam, stretching her slender form taut, her perky breasts thrusting forward against the tank, her back arching in a beautiful curve that left her ass jutting out invitingly. The process was slow, my fingers brushing her skin with teasing caresses—trailing along her inner thighs, grazing her nipples through the fabric.

With her bound and stretched, I retrieved the medical scissors from a nearby drawer—sharp and gleaming—and approached her tank top, the blades snipping through the thin white fabric with slow, deliberate cuts, starting from the hem and working upward, the material parting like a veil to let her beautiful young tits spill free—perky and firm, nipples hardening instantly in the cool air, begging for my touch. I sucked on both, my red lips wrapping around each adorable peak in turn, tongue swirling with fervent pulls that made her arch against the ropes, her gagged moans vibrating through her chest as I lavished them with wet devotion. Then, I blew cool air from my mouth onto the wetness, the chill making her nipples tighten into rigid peaks, goosebumps rippling across her skin as she whimpered, her body twisting in the bonds.

I tortured her nipples for a while—pinching, twisting, flicking with my nails—each tweak eliciting gagged cries that filled the room like music, her tears spilling as pain and pleasure blurred. Adding clothespins while she was blindfolded—I slipped the leather blindfold over her eyes, securing it tight, plunging her into darkness—clamping the wooden pins onto her hardened nubs, the bite making her buck and sob, the pins dangling like humiliating ornaments as I flicked them, sending jolts through her chest.

Eventually, I untied her—ropes uncoiling with slow tugs that teased her skin further—removing the gag and blindfold, her pouty lips swollen and glistening, her eyes dazed with arousal. I attached nipple clamps with bells—the tinkling a merry mockery as I made her prance on the spot, her legs kicking high in those slouch socks and pantyhose, the bells jingling in the most humiliating way possible, her adorable face burning scarlet as she danced like a puppet, tears streaming while her perky tits bounced, the sound a symphony of degradation that made her whimper, “Ma’am, please…”

I left the bells in place, the jingling a constant taunt as I finally got into the strap-on cock harness—realistic and decent-sized, veined silicone buckling around my hips with a satisfying snap, the dildo jutting forward like an extension of my will. Bailey’s eyes widened, locked on it with a mix of fear and hunger, positioning her to straddle me face to face. She lowered herself onto it with a gasp, her slick pussy engulfing the shaft as she began to ride—bouncing on my lap with desperate thrusts, fucking her own pussy while the nipple bells jingled shamefully with each movement, the sound a humiliating accompaniment to her building moans, her cries eventually escalating into screams as orgasm crashed through her, her body shuddering, pussy clenching around the dildo in hot waves, collapsing into my chest in a heap of sobbing release.

She got back into her full Hooters outfit—the tank now cut and ruined, but I let her slip on a spare—snuggling against me on the chaise, thanking me deeply with breathy whispers—“Thank you, Ma’am… for everything…”—her pouty lips brushing mine in a kiss that I returned, both of us sharing the sweet taste of pussy on Bailey’s lips, her tongue tentative but eager, the lesbian act a final humiliation she embraced with her insatiable fire.

The session ended with Bailey asking, her voice soft and pleading—“When can I come back next, Ma’am?”—her eyes gleaming with that unquenchable hunger, ready for more. 

She's definitely getting a discounted rate next time! 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo