I Don't Want This!

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Pasteurized

Continued from: Cornertime Revelation

[F/f] [whipping] [lezdom] [public humiliation] [submission] [sex slavery] [CNC] [babygirl]

Written by Skylar St. Germaine

I watched her walk away, noting the subtle sway of her hips beneath the clinging fabric of her nearly sheer, white dress. She disappeared into the restroom, to do my bidding and sneak her panties off from under her dress. 

I pulled out my notebook and began jotting down my observations. 

Subject exhibits signs of anxiety and embarrassment when given a public task, but ultimately complies with minimal resistance. 

Willingness to obey suggests a strong submissive streak...

I paused, tapping my pen thoughtfully against the page as I considered the psychological implications of her actions. Was her obedience driven purely by fear of consequences, or was there a deeper, more primal need at play?

I made another note, just then, Eesha emerged from the restroom, her face flushed and her steps hesitant as she approached the table. Without a word, she slipped something small and silky into my hand before resuming her seat, her eyes fixed firmly on the table top. 

I glanced down at the offering in my palm - a pair of white lacy panties, still warm from her body. As I inspected the inner gusset of Eesha's panties, I noted with fascination how incredibly wet they were. The damp patch spread across the delicate crotch, evidence of her arousal at the mere thought of the dynamic we once had, the gentle taps I just gave her on the bum as we first greeted. 

I raised an eyebrow at her, my expression a mix of playfulness and judgement. "Well, well, well," I murmured, my voice laced with false disapproval. "It seems we're right back where we left off, E, all those years ago." Eesha squirmed in her seat, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. I could see the conflict playing out across her features as she squeaked out a desperate plea. 

"P-Please, Sky...not here...not like this."

Just then, a handsome young waiter arrived and set down a glass of milk, directly in front of Eesha. I watched her expression closely, eager to observe her reaction to the little surprise I had arranged for her. Her eyes widened in shock and embarrassment as she spotted the tall glass for the first time, carefully placed by the waiter amidst elegant wine glasses adorning the rest of the table. 

She just gave me a look of terror and desperation, remembering how I used to treat her in public, back when we were in university. How she wished to be treated, rather, when we fully embraced our D/s dynamic, well beyond just spankings. I could practically see the wheels turning in her mind as she tried to process this unexpected twist, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of crimson. 

"I hope you don't mind, E," I said sweetly, gesturing to the offending beverage. "I thought you might enjoy something a bit more...age appropriate." Eesha's mouth opened and closed several times, as if she were struggling to find the right words to respond. I could tell that she was torn between her desire to assert her independence and her deeply ingrained need to submit. 

After a moment of awkward silence, Eesha finally managed to stammer out a reply. "Um...thank you, Sky," she muttered, her gaze downcast and submissive. "That's very thoughtful of you." I smiled indulgently, reaching across the table to pat her hand reassuringly. "Of course, honey. I only want what's best for you." 

I could sense her growing unease and involuntary arousal, her body language betraying her inner turmoil. It was clear that she was acutely aware of the other diners' curious glances, their whispered conversations undoubtedly centered around the grown woman in a gown, being treated like a child. I found the entire situation utterly captivating, my mind racing with theories and hypotheses about the psychological impact of public humiliation. 

Determined to push Eesha's boundaries even further, I picked up the glass of milk and held it out to her expectantly. "Drink up, sweetheart," I cooed, my voice dripping with condescension. "We wouldn't want it to go to waste, now would we?" 

Eesha hesitated for a moment, her gaze darting nervously around the room as her analytical brain  weighed her options. Finally, with a resigned sigh, she took the glass from my hand and brought it to her lips. 

When she finished her substantial gulp, she set the glass back down on the table, her eyes downcast and her cheeks burning with shame. I couldn't help but smile at the sight of the thin white moustache clinging to her upper lip, a tangible reminder of her submission. 

Leaning forward, I gently wiped away the residue with my thumb, my touch lingering on her perfect lips. "There's my baby girl," I cooed, my voice low and sultry. 

No, I haven't seen the movie yet, but I saw the trailer with the milk scene. Summer and I are planning on watching it at home together. Or I'll be watching it at least, she might be on her knees, between my legs for most of it, if it's hitting all the right marks for me.  

I would naturally assume that if you're in the testing stages of a D/s dynamic, or in the case of Sky and Eesha, a re-kindling phase, you might pull a stunt like this, in public, to gauge a person's reaction to public humiliation. 

A key worn around the neck or on an anklet of a female, having dinner with a lone male. A wife taking her husband to a pretty check-out girl at a lingerie store, to help pick out panties. (That's a Miss Julie signature move). Or a subtle choker worn in public with a single, silver O-ring. 

I can only imagine the milk scene here, is a play on the thrill and arousal of public humiliation. 

The compounding humiliations of the evening fueled her arousal, which in turn, heightened her need for discipline, creating a vicious cycle from which there was no escape. A slave to her own pussy, and her own pussy making her into a slave.

Hands and knees, right in the restaurant when her meal arrives, placing it on the floor in front of her? No...I didn't go that far, but we did book a more private session and decided on an upcoming date.  

**************************

Several days later, as I stepped into the bright, empty bedroom, my eyes fell upon Eesha's naked form. She was kneeling, her nose pressed to the wall and her hands clasped atop her head, just as I had ordered her to wait for me. 

The sight of her vulnerable, exposed body sent a thrill of excitement coursing through me, and I took a moment to drink in the scene, before making my presence known. I was dressed in my finest dominatrix attire - a black chest harness bra, sheer stockings hugging my legs, and towering stiletto boots that clicked menacingly against the floor with each step. 

My long blonde hair was styled and down, and my makeup was flawless, accentuating my sharp cheekbones and piercing hazel eyes. As I approached Eesha, she turned her head slightly, her gaze meeting mine with a mix of fear and anticipation. 

I frowned sternly, my voice cutting through the silence like a whip. "Did I give you permission to move?" I demanded, my tone laced with disapproval. Eesha quickly returned her nose to the wall, her body tensing as she awaited correction. I circled around her, my boots echoing ominously as I inspected her from every angle. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, her bum more full and curvaceous than I remembered. I ran my nails along her spine, feeling her shudder beneath my touch as she whimpered out a "nooo, Ma'am...p-please don't."

"You've been a very naughty girl, haven't you?" I hissed, my hot breath against her ear. Eesha nodded silently, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to control her breathing. I smiled in satisfaction, knowing that she was safe, that she was playing her consensual-non-consent (CNC) role quite well. Something she confessed to me back in school, when our regular spanking sessions evolved into more intense, impact play. 

Without warning, I delivered a sharp smack to her bare bum, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot. Eesha yelped in surprise, her body jerking forward reflexively. I grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her from the wall to face me as I jerked her head backwards. "That's for disobeying me," I growled, my lips brushing against her ear. 

 I could see the conflict playing out across her features - the shame of her nudity warring with the desperate need for submission. Reaching into my bag, I retrieved a pair of black strappy stilettos and tossed them carelessly onto the floor beside her. 

"Put those on," I commanded, my voice firm and authoritative. "They're the only thing you'll be wearing tonight, E." 

With Eesha now standing before me, naked save for the towering black stilettos that adorned her feet, I was ready to put my latest experiment to the test. What I had noticed since starting with The Facility, was that most sexual activity and BDSM scenes were done in specialty rooms or bedrooms, or in basement dungeons, hidden away and kept in secret. I believed that there was untapped potential in exploring these dynamics in more unconventional, vanilla settings - places where a collision between depravity and domesticity would create an added psychological effect. 

And what better place to start the heart of the home itself? The kitchen.

Eesha's body quivered with anticipation as I guided her towards the bondage vaulted horse that I had strategically placed in the center of the room, glittering with D-ring metal plates and brass padlocks. The absurdness of the scene - a piece of bondage furniture nestled amidst the gleaming appliances and polished surfaces of a modern kitchen - only added to the sense of vulnerability and heightened arousal for her. 

"Bend over it," I commanded, my voice low and seductive. "Ass in the air, hands behind your back. It's time for your whipping, my sweetheart." 

Eesha hesitated for a moment, her nervous gaze flickering between the vaulting horse and the riding crop that lay beside it. But ultimately, she complied, draping her naked body over the padded surface and presenting her vulnerable bare bottom. 

Obediently and without prompting, Eesha's slowly spread her legs for me, teetering on her high heels and coming up onto tip-toe. Her soft cries filled the air, pleading with me not to proceed. 

"Please don't do this, Skylar. I don't want to be whipped. I haven't misbehaved, I promise," she whimpered, her voice cracking with emotion. 

Despite her protests, I noticed the unmistakable evidence of her arousal - spider-silk strands of pre-cum soaking her thighs and cascading between them in a glistening web. The sight sent a surge of excitement through me, my own body responding viscerally to the visual confirmation that I was playing my role well. 

I reached out and collected some of the sticky fluid with my fingers, marveling at its silken texture and the way it clung to my skin. Without hesitation, I rubbed the mess onto Eesha's lips and face, smearing it across her tear-streaked cheeks and forcing her to taste her own arousal. 

"You're sure you don't want this huh?" I questioned, my voice laced with a mocking edge. "You know you have a safeword to stop it all." 

I could see her shoulders sinking into the padded horse - the war between her rational mind, which insisted that she didn't want this, and her primal instincts, which craved the intensity and release that only submission could provide. 

The time for talk was over - I had my baby girl right where I wanted her. 

Sky

Continued in: I Don't Want This!

Save the Last Dance

Continued from: Christmas Cards

[F/mfff] [F/f] [lezdom] [spanking] [BDSM] [kink] [lesbian] 

Watching Sarah and Mandy cuddled together on the couch, their bodies intertwined and their faces glowing with the aftermath of their heavy session downstairs, I couldn't help but marvel at the unique connection that had formed between them. 

Adorable little things, those two are. Kissing each other's lips and nuzzling noses as they giggled and whispered about the ferocity of their recent orgasms. Mandy eventually made her way home, back to her own family, with a very sore bottom to sit on during Christmas dinner. 

Christmas Day here, had been an absolute delight, with Summer and Sarah slipping effortlessly into their age-regressed personas, their innocence and charm enhanced by the darling Mary Jane Loubies they unwrapped in the morning. 

Seeing them clicking around in their festive attire, their eyes sparkling with childlike wonder and excitement, filled my heart and Russell's, with warmth and joy. The girls had become very comfortable with calling Russell and I, "Mommy" and "Daddy", with Summer slipping in the odd "Papa", in her thick accent. 

Up here in the North, we ended up getting a white Christmas, which seems to becoming more and more rare of late. News people said only three out of our last eight Christmas Days were white ones, which, twenty years ago, would have been unfathomable. Climate change is real, people! 

Of course, the highlight of the day was undoubtedly the feast I prepared for everyone - a traditional prime rib roast with Yorkshire pudding. Turkey was outlawed in my household years ago, due to its similarity to sawdust on the palate. 

The beef was much better. High heat sear on all sides to get a nice crust, then 200 degrees only, very low and slow, for 4-6 hours depending on the size of the roast. Pull it out when your internal is 137 if you want a perfect medium doneness, evenly from outside to the very middle. 

Once I was able to shed my apron, "Mommy" got herself into a velvet dress, just like the girls only a little more sensual and mature. 

As I descended the staircase and, the click of my heels echoing through the marble grand lobby, I was greeted by the sight of Russell, standing there in a suit, a glass of champagne held out in offering. His eyes widened with admiration, as he took in my appearance. "My Goddess," he breathed out, his voice thick with emotion, "you look absolutely radiant." 

Blushing at his heartfelt compliment, I step into his strong arms, allowing him to enfold me into a tender embrace. 

He tossed his jacket aside as I melted into his arms once more, swaying gently around the room with absolutely no music playing. From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Summer and Sarah, their faces aglow with happiness as they watched Mommy and Daddy slow dance. 

As we swayed gently around the room together, lost in our own memories, I was transported back to a time when he and I were younger, carefree, our love burning bright and fierce like a raging inferno. 

As our impromptu dance came to a gentle conclusion, I found myself drawn irresistibly to Russell's face, my gaze fixed upon the single, crystalline tear that was trickling slowly down his cheek. With a tenderness born of our history together, I leaned in to capture the salty, briny tear, kissing him on the cheek in the process. 

The tears I'm afraid, did not stop there, as Boxing Day marked the tearful departure of Cassandra, back to the U.K. and back into the arms of her wife, Carley. After saying goodbye to Russell, to Sarah Jane and to a bawling Summer, Russell took the girls shopping, allowing some alone time for Cassie and I. 

"Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave, Mistress? You've done so much for me!" A slow, wicked grin, spread across my face as I considered her question. 

"As a matter of fact, there is," I purred, my voice laced with seduction. "Come with me." Taking Cassie's hand in mine, I lead her up the sweeping staircase and down the hallway, towards the hidden entrance to the strip club that lies concealed within the depths of the Facility. 

Gentle music was playing in the background, as Cassandra turned and began to grind her ass into my midsection. I leaned in close, my voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Dance for me, Cassie. Just like you used to." 

She pushed me back onto the couch, her little frame pouncing on me like a jaguar locking eyes with its prey, before she drove her tongue into my mouth. "If I dance for you, Mistress" she gritted her teeth and put a hand around my throat, "can we fuck afterwards?"  

I smiled at her softly and gestured to the change room, despite being partially strangled at that moment, I was able to breathe out a, "you can change in there."

Cassie quickly slipped into a scandalously revealing outfit that left little to the imagination. Her body is a work of art, all sleek muscles and tantalizing curves with a skinny waist and juicy arse. 

I jumped when the music started, the first note ripping through my chest with a deep boom of bass. This was definitely a stripper song, carefully chosen by Cassandra. 

Winner till the day I die

She likely picked a song like this to reflect her current mood, brazen enough to put her hand onto her Mistress' throat! How dare she! 

Truth be told, I think I did this move on her once, when we were having sex, and directed her hand around my neck. She's never let me forget that *blush*.   

I found myself utterly captivated. Each thrust of her hips, each sensual roll of her shoulders, sent a jolt of electricity directly to my pussy, igniting a fire deep within my core. Lost in the hypnotic rhythm of her dace, I allowed myself to be swept away by the primal, animalistic energy that filled the room, surrendering to the dark, delicious pleasure that only Cassie can provide.

Turn that song up really loud, gaze upon the image below and just image our little Cassie, working that stripper pole as she slowly rids herself of her clothing. 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Guilty Pleasures

 

 

 

The Season for Giving

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Tiptoes and Tears

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