Tara Gregory: Daddy's New Rules

Continued from: Daddy's Girl

**Warning - This story contains taboo, family-dynamic, BDSM content** 

**Everyone depicted in this story and A.I. generated are adults, over the age of 18** 

Despite the agony and humiliation coursing through my body, I found myself oddly grateful for this long overdue experience. I knew that Daddy was only doing this because he and Mom loved me, and that knowledge helped to ease some of the effects of his belt. The same belt he so recently used on my Mother's bare bottom...also, out of love and protection. 

I was jackknifed over the back of the sofa while Daddy strapped me, feet completely off the floor and dangling, I remained fully naked and vulnerable. With the kicking and flailing of my legs, I'm certain he was getting quite the view of my puffy petals and puckered little bud. It was dreadfully humiliating for me. 

Eventually, the spanking came to an end, and Daddy helped me to stand upright. I was crying openly now, apologizing for being a bad girl, my face streaked with tears and my bottom throbbing with pain. 

But there was also a sense of relief and accomplishment that came with enduring such a harsh punishment. 

Daddy pulled me into his arms and held me close, whispering words of comfort and reassurance into my ear. I clung to him gratefully, knowing that I was safe and loved in his care. 

"Tara," he began, his voice soft but serious. "I want you to know that I only did this because I love you and I want what's best for you. Do you understand?"

I nodded, my eyes still filled with tears. "Yes, Daddy. I know you are just trying to help me."

He smiled kindly at me. "That's right, sweetheart. And from now on, every Sunday afternoon, I want you to come to me in this very room for a follow-up spanking. This way, we can keep you accountable and make sure that you're staying on track." 

My heart skipped a beat at the thought of receiving another spanking, but I knew that it was necessary. If this was what it took to get my life back on track, then I was willing to do whatever it took. 

"Okay Daddy." I replied, my voice steady despite the fear that lingered in my heart. "I'll be here every Sunday afternoon, with your belt in-hand." 

Daddy smiled approvingly. "Good girl, Tara. Now, let's get you cleaned up and dressed. Daddy has some revisions that we'll be making to your wardrobe. 

I nodded gratefully, following him upstairs to the bathroom where he helped me wash away the tears and soothe my sore bottom. After a few moments, Daddy went to lay out my new clothes, leaving me to the privacy of the bathroom. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I knew that things were going to be different from now on. 

Even though the thought of future spankings filled me with dread, I also felt a strange sense of excitement and anticipation. Because deep down, I knew that this was exactly what I needed to finally turn my life around. 

As I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I couldn't help but feel a wave of shame wash over me. My bottom was bright red and covered in welts, a clear reminder of the punishment I had received. 

But as I continued to look at my reflection, something strange began to happen. Instead of feeling pure shame and humiliation, I started to feel a sense of arousal building within me. The sight of my bare bum, so vulnerable and thrashed, sent a thrill of excitement through my body. 

Without even realizing what I was doing, my hand began to move downwards, tracing along the curves of my hip and thigh until it finally reached the damp folds of my pussy. 

I bit my lip as I felt a jolt of pleasure course through me, and before I knew it, I was shamefully masturbating in front of the mirror, my fingers moving faster as I neared the edge of orgasm. 

As I came, a loud groan escaped my lips, and I collapsed against the sink, my heart racing and my cheeks burning with embarrassment. What had possessed me to do such a thing? 

But even as I chastised myself for my actions, a small part of me couldn't help but feel satisfied. 

As I hurriedly cleaned up after my secret masturbation in the bathroom, I couldn't help but worry that Daddy might smell my arousal as I entered my bedroom to dress. However, when I opened the door, I was greeted by a sight that took my breath away. 

There, laid out neatly on the bed, was an outfit unlike anything I had seen before. It was a yellow gingham dress with puffy sleeves and frilly white trim, paired with delicate knee socks and black Mary Jane heels. The sight of it made my pulse race with both excitement and trepidation. 

Just then, Daddy entered the room, his eyes fixing on me with a stern yet kind expression. "Tara," he said softly, "my rules will be followed in this household, you are to start dressing like a little girl around the house. Every day, you will wear outfits like this one." 

I gulped, my face flushing crimson as I took in the sight of the innocent-looking ensemble. But despite my initial hesitation, I found myself drawn to the idea of wearing such a sweet and girlish outfit. It was almost like stepping back in time to a simpler, more carefree era. 

Daddy must have sensed my apprehension, because he snapped his fingers at me causing me to jump, then pointed to the outfit on the bed. "Come on, sweetheart," he urged sternly. "Let's get you dressed for your new role." 

With a deep breath and a nervous smile, I took Daddy's hand and allowed him to help me into the childish outfit. As he fastened the buttons and zipped up the back, I couldn't help but feel a sense of transformation taking place. I was no longer that objectified Hooter's girl, or the drugged-out stripper of my college years - I was becoming someone new. Was it possible that I was becoming Daddy's perfect little girl? 

As I looked at myself in the mirror, dressed in my new outfit, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. On one hand, I was incredibly embarrassed by how babyish and innocent I looked. The frilly yellow gingham dress with its lace trim and child-like features made me feel like I was playing dress-up. 

But on the other hand, there was something oddly comforting about being wrapped up in such soft and vulnerable attire. It reminded me of my childhood when I used to play with dolls and pretend to be a princess. And despite the humiliation I felt, there was also a sense of excitement building within me. 

Perhaps this was what it felt like to truly be Daddy's perfect little girl - to be taken care of and protected, even if it meant sacrificing some of my independence and pride. My mother has clearly sacrificed some of her independence also, wearing vintage dresses and hosiery every day, always subject to Daddy's belt when he deems it necessary. She seems happier than I've ever seen her. Would I be able to reach this utopian state as well? 

With a deep breath, I turned away from the mirror and headed downstairs to face whatever the day had in store for me. 

Tara Gregory 💋

Continued in: Daddy Issues

 

 

A Return to the Woodshed Pt.1

Continued from: Deepthroating "Daddy"

Well...back to the clients I guess. I better go see Cassandra. I think I have a 1:30 today. 

Russ and Sarah were off doing their thing somewhere. I thought I could hear her crying out from her room in the basement, "noooo! Daddy, not in my bum!" C’mon…Who's she kidding?

Summer was in the shoe closet with Vanessa doing...ahem...feet things. They just unveiled their new featured content with the two of them together for the first time. This was Summer's big suspenseful reveal during their promo video: 

And Vanessa's: 

These two shots culminated with that song, Way Down we Go, by Kaleo, playing in the background of the video. 

Way Down we Go 🎵

Their promo video was actually really hot. They even started out with a shot of the two of them in their Flight Attendant uniforms, power-strutting through a terminal. 

"Way down we go"...could have A LOT of different meanings too. If you catch my drift.   

Anyway, back to work, after I go tell Russ to gag Sarah already! Good lord she's loud when she's having her arse fucked. Suck it up down there sister! 

Russ actually never fucked my ass when we were together back in the day. Too beaucoup! 

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

Cassie confirmed I had a 1:30 today. I was quite shocked when I learned who it was. 

"Like original Nancy?" I asked Cassie inquisitively. 

"Yes, woodshed Nancy," Cassandra replied. 

"Is that type of therapy session she wants today?" I asked. 

"Yes Ma'am. She said she needed 'Daddy' to march her out to the woodshed. She actually sounded like she was on the brink when she was on the phone Ma'am." Cassandra went on to explain. 

Oh my. I hadn't seen Nancy for a punishment strapping in quite some time. She was the very first woman to request a woodshed session and actually wanted me to present as masculine, as her "Daddy" so to speak. 

Nancy, Nancy. She got a good leathering from "Daddy" on that particular day let me tell you!

She certainly knows what she needs and when she needs it though. She was always very honest with herself and very honest with me. She knows it's for her own good, even if it stings a little. 

I better go change. She's expecting to see "Daddy". 

I told Cassie to put her through the full check-in experience when she arrives, the change room, the nudity and shame, the butterflies of anticipation. 

"Cassie go grab Sarah Jane downstairs. See if Russ is done with her. Just set her up in the lobby as a prop, to enhance Nancy's experience." I told Cassandra.

"Good idea Ma'am." Cassandra replied. 

At exactly 1:25 with five minutes to spare. A very sheepish Nancy walked through the front door of the Facility to be greeted by Cassie, after walking past our strategically placed "prop". Well done Sarah Jane! 

Nancy was quickly directed toward the locker room and asked to return to the waiting area, bare naked. She knew the drill.  

She did as she was told and did so quickly. Cassie reported that she was a bit weepy and trembling from the butterflies when she emerged. 

"Mrs. Landgraab, you're sure you need to be here? You're sure you need to see 'Daddy'? Cassandra asked her, as she asks of most clients who appear emotional. 

That got the tears flowing. Nancy nodded her head in the affirmative and took a seat across from Sarah Jane, who had now perked her ears up like a deer when she heard the term 'Daddy'.  

Sarah probably assumed that meant HER Daddy, Russ. I think she turned crimson with jealously. She didn't know it was me, playing a masculine role of Nancy's father-figure. 

I told Cassandra to give Nancy 20 minutes of exposure time in the lobby, then to remove her restraints and gag and dress her like a little girl. There was an outfit pre-arranged in the locker room for Nancy and Mary Janes in her size. 

Once she was dressed and ready, I told Cassie to send her to the den to see Daddy and remind her that Daddy is very disappointed with her behaviour. 

Ooooo, that one will cut deep when she hears it. It most certainly did. I could hear Nancy sobbing from down the hall as she shuffled toward the den. She was hugging her mid-section with her own arms and had her head lowered to hide the snot she was trying to sniff back up her nose. 

I stood when she shuffled into the room, making a big show of my masculine role of "Daddy". I hastily fumbled for my belt buckle like I had to get my belt off urgently, before she bolts out of the room. I doubled it over and held it like a weapon. 

"You need a trip to the woodshed, don't you young lady?" I barked at her in a raspy voice. 

"Yes Dadddddddy! I'm sorry I disappointed you Daddy!!!" Nancy cried out. 

She dropped her face into her hands and absolutely bawled for the next five minutes!

When she regained her breath, I dragged her over my lap and declared it was time to begin. 

A nice, long warm-up before we do the walk of shame outside. 

To be continued. 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Return to the Woodshed Pt.2

  

 

"Big-Girl" Room

Continued from: Beautiful Brainwashing Pt. 2

A Sarah Jane story

My first day of "big girl" school! Why was I so nervous?

Mistress Andrea and "Daddy" did a lovely job on my new room. It had a petulant teenager feel to it and rather than having to sleep in a frilly pink, princess bed, I now had a big-girl bed. Hopefully I'll be permitted to do big-girl "things" in it (*giggle*).

I requested of Mistress, that my room still have a lockable cell door. I still wanted to feel like I was at her BDSM Facility against my will. Forced to dress as my owners wish, forced to perform degrading sexual acts and punished when I do not. The consensual non-consent element of my time at the Facility was all part of my fetish and my fantasy.

They happily obliged and each evening I spent at the Facility and other times throughout the day when I was idle, I spent that time locked behind heavy, steel bars. 

Daddy "tucked me in" last night, before locking my cell. Since my recent age-progression promotion, my bedtime attire now allowed for cute satin slips, teddies and babydolls. I knew Daddy was coming down to do our bedtime ritual, so I picked out a cute little cami, I didn't wear any panties and I attached a collar around my neck that had the lettering "DADDY" on it. Super cute right?

As per the rules of our bedtime ritual, over I went. Over Daddy's knee for a loving and caring spanking before bed, followed by a quick dose of Daddy's belt. Daddy enters my room and without saying anything, sits on the edge of my bed. I immediately rush to his right side and drape myself across his lap. We do this every evening that I stay here. 

After I am sufficiently spanked and strapped, part of our ritual, one of my favourtie parts actually, involves Daddy's tongue on and in my little bum hole. He gives me special Daddy kisses on my little pucker while I masturbate for him. I love bedtime with Daddy! 

The next morning after I got myself ready and made-up, I thumbed through my new wardrobe with delight. Yes, the style of my attire was still schoolgirl, which is embarrassing for me to wear as a 40-year-old woman, but these new clothes were more grown-up. 

Knee socks had been replaced with dark tights and over the knee stockings and my patent Mary Janes had been replaced with three and four-inch heels. I felt sexy! I was really fucking aroused. I thought I should deal with myself before school. 

My previous bedroom came with colouring books, diaper cream and Legos to play with. My big-girl room came with toys too! I not only had a Hitachi, but also a great big dildo to play with. All the books provided in my room were BDSM erotica and soft-cover, spanking fiction written by an author named Julie Delmar. I even had a little photo board which shamefully displayed images of me performing various straight and lesbian sex acts. *BLUSH!!

Needless to say, the new room seemed to be encouraging...of self pleasure and arousal. 

Just as I was really getting down to business, using my body like a personal amusement park, Daddy walked into the basement and caught me. 

I think I went white. All of my face-flushing colour I caused from masturbating, drained away instantly. I thought I was in so much shit! I thought I would be sleeping on my tummy for a month.

Daddy told me to get up on the bed on my hands and knees. I obeyed immediately. 

When I heard the unmistakable jingle of his belt buckle, I just shut my eyes and gritted my teeth. I was fending off butterflies and waiting for that first lash of leather to sear across my bare ass and likely graze my puffy, pussy lips. 

The sharp crack of Daddy's belt never came. I stayed in position with my bare ass in the air. I dared not look back. I just remained in position with my lower back arched.  

The reason I wasn't being belt whipped, was that Daddy's belt was still in his pants...that were now on the floor, along with all of his other clothing.

He came up behind me, grabbed a handful of my hair and plunged his raging cock directly into my pussy. 

Daddy fucked me good and hard on my big-girl bed, right before school that morning! 

Is this what grown-up girls at the Facility get, at this stage?! No longer spanked for being naughty, they get fucked instead?!! Wtf?? 

I think I was starting to like this big-girl concept!

When Daddy pulled out I laid on my back and opened my mouth for him, displaying my eagerness, showing him that I was in-fact a big-girl now. 

He came into my mouth while he fucked my throat and I cleaned my own pussy flavours off his cock. 

Nothing was said about being caught with my Hitachi. Maybe this is what a "punishment" actually means now, for a big-girl. 

We tidied up quickly and I found my extremely short kilt to go with my outfit. Daddy took me by the hand and led me upstairs to find Mistress. I didn't want to be late for my first day of senior school.

Could you imagine?? 

"I'm sorry I'm late Mistress, Daddy caught me masturbating in my room so he fucked me and came into my mouth. That's why I'm running behind."

Could you imagine her face!! Gawd, I'd be in so much trouble!

Mistress is so pretty! Even when she's angry. 

Sarah Jane 

xoxo

Continued in: Senior School

 

 

 

Only if it's ok with Daddy

Continued from: Sexual Aggression

A story from slave sarah 

Hi everyone. It's sarah. Mistress Andrea has set me up in her office once again and has asked me to post about what's been happening for the last few weeks at her Facility. 

If you remember back to my last post called Age Progression, Russell officially became my "Daddy" Dom and I became his "little", complete with diapers and pacifier gags. I can only say with all honesty, it's been dreadfully humiliating for me, but there is a certain level of comfort and care that comes along with it...it's difficult to explain. 

Most days of the week I report to the Facility after work where that young Cassandra girl, rids me of my normal clothes and helps me dress and do my make-up the way Daddy want's me. I always look so little and ridiculous, dripping with bows and ruffles and satin. I'm ashamed to admit however, that the humiliation gets me dripping in other ways too. It's involuntary and I can't help but feel a rush to my princess parts, when Cassie puts me in ruffled ankle socks and Mary Janes.

On weekends I am typically checked-in to the Facility Friday night and I am not released until late Sunday. I spend time locked in my frilly pink cell, between play and training scenes with Daddy and I have been earning plenty of gold stars on my progression chart.  

There have been a few demerits earned, which usually means I get Daddy's belt right on the spot, draped over his knee with my bum bare, regardless of who is around to see or hear. 

"Sarah Jane, go fetch Daddy's belt and meet me in the living room," is what I recall him saying to me. He and everyone else at the Facility call me by my first and middle name now, when I am in trouble. It definitely stirs the butterflies in the pit of my stomach when I hear that and know I'm in for it!

I then have to do the walk of shame to the spare bedroom, also known as "Daddy's room", and retrieve his well-worn belt from the hook it hangs on the back of the door. 

I sheepishly shuffle into the living room with it, doubled-over in my hands. Once again, regardless of who else is present, my panties are hiked down to my ankles and I am strapped, over Daddy's knee. I end up sobbing in the timeout corner of the living room for about 25 minutes, then I have to put a sad-face sticker 😢 on my progress chart. 

But my gold stars certainly outweigh the demerits I have earned. I hope to have enough to be promoted soon and get the hell out of these crinkly diapers and ruffled diaper covers I am often made to wear. 

When Daddy has me lay on my back and changes me, right in the living room, I want to crawl under the floor and die of embarrassment. 

This happened to be one of the first times I met Mistress Andrea's wife actually. I feel sick to my stomach even now, typing about this humiliation. 

I was on the living room floor with my legs in the air. ME! A grown woman...being powdered and diapered by Daddy when the two of them walked in. 

Daddy led me by the hand to meet Summer for the first time and I could barely look at her I was so ashamed. 

I found her to be very sweet and bubbly. Even though I was on the verge of tears, she hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. 

I remember her whispering something into my ear to the effect of, "don't be embarrassed Sarah Jane, I know what crinkly diapers feel like too." 

I think Mistress Andrea overheard. She was sitting on the couch with Daddy. She suddenly turned to him and said, "Russ, maybe we could get these two together for a playdate?" 

"A playdate!!" Summer squealed out loud!

Then I watched this little thing, still in her work uniform; I guess she's a flight attendant or something, run over and jump into her wife's arms like a child and begin to call her "Mommy". 

"Mommy, can we, can we?" She repeated out loud while bouncing up and down in Mistress' arms. 

Daddy and I watched on. Daddy actually started chuckling at Summer's behaviour but I was still paralyzed with humiliation. 

"Only if it's ok with Sarah's Daddy." I heard Mistress say. 

Well...that was a week ago and I have since been promoted. I earned enough gold stars on my progress chart that as I sit here and type this, I am no longer sitting on the padded crinkle of a pink diaper. 

Rather, Daddy has me in a cute plaid jumper and knee socks with proper school knickers. 

How did I earn enough gold stars to be promoted you ask? 

I'll have to post about the playdate with Summer, if Mistress and Daddy allow it. Then it will become abundantly clear. 

Sarah Jane ; ) 

xoxo

Continued in: Slave Sisters

Toilet Humiliation and Anal

Continued from: Sarah and Russ return

A post from slave sarah

As I sat naked, gagged and blindfolded in this tiny, locked cell, I caught myself deliberately pulling against the shackles on my wrists and ankles, just to hear the chains jingle and feel the rigid steel.

There was something very alluring to me, about the strict metal bondage and the added weight the shackles provided. Apart from the robust-sized plug up my ass, these were the only sensory stimuli I could feel, in my solitude and captivity. My pussy was shamefully soaked, as Master's words, threats even, that I would soon be fucked in the ass, echoed in my ears.

I had lost track of time but knew that I hadn't been abandoned for all that long, twenty minutes maybe, before I heard footsteps approach. 

The sound of brass clattering against metal shocked me to a hyper-attentive state, as I listened to the heavy cell door unlock with a key. 

My Master had finally arrived for me! To use me for his pleasure and amusement. My headspace was that of an abducted or purchased sex slave, fearful of a beating if I do not do my very best to offer my holes to him. My mind was exactly where I wanted it to be. I was so dreadfully aroused! 

I was roughly manhandled up and onto the cold seat of the toilet and encouraged to pee. I couldn't believe that I actually did, on command! I visualized being led outside, into the yard on a leash and forced to cock a leg and piss. Why was the thought of this so exciting to me? 

My stomach was in knots of embarrassment, as I listened to my urine echo against the water. While I was peeing, my blindfold and gag were removed, my mouth was saturated in drool and his graciously-sized cock was forced into my mouth.

I felt absolutely degraded, dehumanized and humiliated, to be sucking his cock while seated on a prison toilet full of my own urine, but I started to understood his tactic. Who was I kidding, the humiliation was fanning the flames of my deepening arousal. 

Once I had Master super erect and on the brink of cumming, he stood me up and spun me around. A slap to my ass and a gentle push, had me jack-knifed at the waist with my hands resting on the toilet seat. I was bent at the waist and forced to stare at my own golden nectar in the toilet. Master removed my anal plug which must have left my dirty hole a bit gaped for him, as he slid his cock easily into my ass. 

I wanted so badly to touch my pussy. One little tickle of my throbbing clit would have had me cumming instantly. But Master kept one of my arms pinned behind my back and my other was gripping the toilet seat for dear life. I was occasionally thrust up on my tiptoes, and grunted uncontrollably throughout my ass fucking. 

At one point my arms were both pulled behind my back and upward, which forced my head almost into the toilet. It was close enough that I could smell my own piss, as I was still forced to stare at it also. My wrist shackles were connected to some ceiling chains, forcing me into this pose. I think it's called strappado, a stress pose I have seen on porn sites before. I hated it and loved it at the same time. 

A gag was returned to my mouth, a spreader bar added to expose my most intimate parts, and Master's cock never left my asshole until he blasted cum into my bowels. 

Before his gooey seed had the chance to shameful ooze from my anus, he re-seated the anal plug into my stretched hole, to hold all the mess inside me. 

Again I was left, naked and shackled with a squishy, unpleasant feeling up my ass, all while forced to look into and smell a toilet containing my own pee.   

I fucking hated how degraded I felt in this very moment, and fuckin' loved every second of how degrading this experience was.

What a mindfuck huh? I was so conflicted and trapped in this paradox. I didn't know what to do! I did know one thing though...

If I so-much as heard someone's phone vibrate from another room, I would have cum all over my thighs in that very moment!

slave sarah xoxo 

 

Continued in: The Countess of Monte Cristo

 

Sarah's first Post

Continued from: The Journal

A post from Sarah

Hello everyone, I'm Sarah. 

You may remember me from some of Mistress Andrea's recent posts. It was I who came to her, seeking something I have never been able to fully explain, not even to myself. The need to be degraded, sexually used and humiliated at the hands of a man, it is as much a part of me as my eye colour.

Not long after I met with Mistress, things developed quickly for me. Now, I find myself alone in her office, bare naked and gagged. Both of my ankles are chained and padlocked to the legs of her desk, as I furiously copy what is written in my journal, onto her blog. 

She told me I had a penchant for writing and asked that I keep a journal of my experiences at her Facility. I am under instructions to share my experiences with you, Mistress says it will help to humiliate and shame me even further. 

I don't believe her to be wrong, as I sit here typing, with drool escaping from my gag, and my own dripping cunt, dabbing the cool leather of her office chair. 

Mistress coached me to be raw during my writing, unfiltered and to describe not only my experiences, but how they make me feel. I'll apologize in advance, if my words are harsh or descriptions vulgar. This is a BDSM blog after all...

I'll recall back to my first experience at the Facility, to begin with. I wasn't really sure what to expect when I arrived, but knew in advance there would be some manner of reception process. This is spoken about on Mistress' client website. 

Being greeted by a receptionist was not much of a shock to me either, but what was shocking, was how young and beautiful this Cassandra girl was.

She had a bit of a dykey hairstyle, she was sporting a nose ring, but she was one of those young women who is so attractive that she can pull off a short haircut. 

Miss Cassandra said a few things but I was such a ball of nerves that most of it didn't register. Only my primal instincts of obedience remained. I sat when she told me, stood when she told me and refrained from speaking unless spoken to. 

There was another small formality with some paperwork, this occurred in a very childish and vulnerable classroom. I ended up at a little school desk facing a wall and visible from the street through the windows. It wasn't lost on me that around the room and hanging from some of the walls, were wooden paddles, straps and canes. I had a deeply pitted feeling in my stomach, the best and the worst type of butterflies, wresting with each other. It was only going to get more intense for me, as I soon found myself bare naked in front of Mistress, with a sign around my neck that said SLUT. 

It was a dreadfully long ten minutes of silence, facing that mirror with my hands on my head, forced to stare at my own reflection and vulnerability. I wanted to cry, I wanted to groan out loud, like a whore in heat. My emotions were conflicted. 

The most memorable moment of this session however, came when Mistress gently rested her fingers on my embarrassingly soaked cunt. Like checking someone's pulse, the pressure of her fingers was so light, I wondered if she was checking to feel for actual throbbing. 

"It seems your kink, is gender neutral Sarah," is what she said to me. These words didn't cut right through me, but long after I had left her Facility, I was still reflection upon what she said.

I wanted to feel pain, to be bound and captive and used only for my fuckholes, for someone else's amusement. I guess Mistress was right, my arousal doesn't need a specific gender. My very sexual identity had been betrayed by my own greedy cunt!

But she came through with a male for me, and before I knew it, I was clicking in my heels on cobblestone, knees wobbling from nerves, as I walked toward this man seated next to Mistress. 

Once I was introduced to Russell, and he to I, what I noticed first, quite shockingly I might add, was that he didn't seem to take himself too seriously. Odd I thought, for someone professing to be a Dom. 

I think my mind may have been conditioned to porn I've watched, or that dumb Fifty Shades business. Did the character Christian Grey ever smile during any of those movies? To be a Dom, does it mean you have to look and behave with such burning intensity, that women just submit to your demeanour alone?  

In very short order, what I learned about Russ was that he was serious when he wanted to be, funny, a bit quirky and goofy and was always laughing or smiling. Quite the departure from what I would have expected. Also unexpected, he didn't demand to be addressed in some formal BDSM title, in fact he didn't bring up anything kink at all. 

Oh, and one more thing I noticed. Russ is absolutely hot! 

I thought it was peculiar when Mistress abruptly left us, but she explained to me later why she did that. Once Russell and I were alone, vanilla chat continued, but my whorish mind had gone someplace else. 

He produces his cock right in that bistro courtyard. He addresses me as "slut" and tells me to get on my knees, then he grabs the back of my head and forces me down on his cock, causing me to wretch. As I struggle for air my legs were flailing a bit, causing several runs in the knees of my pantyhose. 

As I'm still trying to swallow down his giant load of cum he notices my hose and begins to tear away the rest of my clothing, eventually hauling me over his knee and thrashing my ass with his strong hand. 

I'm taught a long, hard lesson, right in public, to take better care of my hosiery. Then he grabs me by the throat and leads me back over to the table, ripping open the gusset of my pantyhose to expose my sloppy cunt. 

He fucks me right on the spot, still in my heels with wisps of torn nylon hanging from my legs. 

I was listening to him, of course, during our vanilla chatter, but this is everything I was dreaming of him doing to me. 

Could he be this forceful, this harsh with me? His personality didn't seem to fit that mold. For Christ sakes, he kissed my hand like it was 1822, before he left. 

Nevertheless, I wanted to find out. I was ALL in!

I was about to find out, as soon I finish this post actually. I'm not just bare naked and gagged in Mistress' office for humiliation purposes. I am bare naked because that's how 'Master' wanted me today, for our first session. He was set to arrive soon.

My gag was removed and I was gently led upstairs by Mistress, who took my sweaty and clammy hand into hers. 

"He wants you kneeling upright, right here Sarah," she said as she pointed to a spot on the floor.

"Hands at your sides, eyes down and only address him as Sir," she finished with, before leaving me alone in that room.  

Holy fuck! My heart was pounding. 

slave sarah

xoxo

Continued in: Objectification