I Don't Want This!

Continued from: Pasteurized

[F/f] [CNC] [riding crop] [slave] [forced bi] [strap-on] [lezdom]

**Warning** The following is a consensual non-consent scene. 

It might be someone's darkest fantasy, to be able to cry out, "no" and "stop" during a BDSM scene, whether it be a sex act occurring, impact play or some other manner of physical or psychological discomfort. It could be this person's greatest source of arousal. That's why they have a safeword to use which would end everything, instantly. 

Mistress Andrea

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

Written by Dr. Skylar St. Germaine

I could tell that Eesha was deep into her role at this point, wanting me to push her further, to break her, as she lay draped over the vaulting horse in the kitchen of the home. 

I whispered in her ear, my breath hot against her skin. "You know what's coming next don't you?" I taunted, my voice laced with malice. "You're going to get on your knees and lick my asshole, my pussy, maybe even my boots if you're lucky. And you're going to love every second of it." 

Eesha's eyes widened in fabricated horror, her mouth opening to protest. But before she could utter a single word, I brought my hand down on her exposed ass, eliciting a yelp of pain. "No!" she cried out, her voice cracking with emotion. "Please, Skylar, I don't want this! I can't do it!"

She still needed some softening up, evidently, and her words fell on deaf ears, as I continued to spank her quivering bottom. 

Eventually, I secured her wrists behind her back with handcuffs, rendering her helplessly draped over the pommel horse, her high heels now off the floor and dangling. I stood poised with the riding crop, and declared that she was getting a whipping for her insolence. 

"Please Sky, I don't want this. I'll do anything else, just not this," she sobbed, her voice breaking with desperation. But I remained unmoved, my focus singular and unwavering. I brought the crop down sharply across her exposed bum cheeks, again and again. Despite her vocal protests, I could see the telltale glisten of arousal between her legs - the flush that spread across her neck, the way her hips unconsciously arched upward in a silent invitation to the crop. 

"Okay!" she cried out, her voice raw and ragged. "Okay, I'll do it. Just please, don't whip me anymore..." I smiled in triumph, my own arousal building to a breaking point. Without hesitation, I braced myself on the kitchen counter as Eesha knelt in defeat, my pussy mere inches from her trembling lips. 

"Lick," I commanded. 

And to my delight, she complied, her eager little tongue emerging to lap at my swollen folds. "See, that wasn't so difficult, now was it?" I cooed to her, my voice reaching a degrading and taunting pitch. As the final tremors of my orgasm subsided, I looked down at Eesha, her face flushed and glistening with my juices. But I wasn't finished with her yet. Not by a long shot. 

With a sudden movement, I spun around, presenting my muscular ass to Eesha's startled gaze. "Lick my bum," I commanded, my voice low and menacing. "Put your tongue inside my ass and show me what a good little slave you can be." 

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes downcast in shame. But then, slowly, tentatively, she leaned forward, her tongue snaking out to lap at the puckered flesh of my anus. I reached down between my legs, my fingers finding the swollen nub of my clit and I began to rub in slow, circular motions. 

It was a unique sensation, having my ass eaten while simultaneously pleasuring myself, and I found myself fascinated with how empowered I felt. With each probe of Eesha's tongue, I could feel my sphincter relaxing, allowing her greater access to the sensitive nerve endings within. And then, with a sudden explosion of sensation, I came again, my body convulsing violently as waves of pleasure crashed through me. My asshole clenched around Eesha's tongue, trapping her inside me as I rode out the aftershocks of my climax. 

I snapped my fingers and pointed downward as I spoke, "floor!" And with that command, I watched her curl into a little ball before me, her arms protectively attempting to cover her breasts and genitals, before I drew her hands back to handcuff her once more. 

Her eyes widened in simulated fear, as she watched me step into the large strap-on harness, securing it firmly around my hips. In her prone state, handcuffed and vulnerable, the taste of my pussy on her lips, the protests resumed. "No, not that, please no!" she whimpered, struggling and flailing against her handcuffs. 

"Skylar, please, you can't do this!" she cried, as I rolled her directly onto her stomach, her breasts smooshing against the cool tile floor. Reaching to my side, I snatched up my discarded panties, wadding them up into a makeshift gag. Before she could utter another word, I stuffed the damp fabric into her mouth, effectively silencing her please. 

My dildo entered her glistening pussy with ease, as I held the chain of her handcuffs as though it were reins. Despite the panty-gag muffling her cries, Eesha's protests persisted, a constant stream of garbled pleas that grated on my nerves. With a firm hand, I clamped my palm over her mouth, silencing her once and for all. 

The sudden silence was quite soothing, broken only by the harsh rhythm of our breathing and the wet slap of flesh against flesh as I resumed my relentless assault on her pussy. 

As Eesha's orgasm ripped through her, I could feel her entire body trembling beneath me, her muscles contracting and releasing in a symphony of involuntary spasms. Her muffled cries of ecstasy were barely audible, but the sheer intensity of her climax was impossible to miss. 

Then, as quickly as I could, I got her uncuffed and my panties out of her mouth, and we tangled around on the kitchen floor, giggling and tickling one another. 

"Just like old times, Doctor?" I giggled onto her lips as I spoke. 

"Ohhhh, Sky!” she panted out, her entire body still shaking in my warm embrace. "You have no idea how much I needed that! Thank you!" 

It was as if someone had flipped a switch, instantly transforming us from dominant and submissive, back into our everyday selves. This was what it was always like, back in the day for us. Whether it was a severe spanking over my knee, for issues relating to her actual grades, or when we began to escalate our dynamics into the world of D/s and BDSM, when the scene was over, it was over, and we were just Sky and E, once again. 

Wordlessly, I helped her to her feet and retrieved a soft satin robe from a nearby chair, draping it around her in a cocoon of warmth and modesty. Her high heels clicked against the tile on wobbly legs, but I was quick to intervene, guiding her onto a couch with a gentle touch. Kneeling before her, I carefully removed the heels from her delicate feet, taking a moment to massage away the tension in her soles.

I made Eesha a steaming cup of chamomile tea, the fragrant aroma filling the room and soothing her frazzled body. As we sipped and chatted, I couldn't help but marvel at the depth of our connection, the unspoken bond that had formed between us, so many years ago, through our shared exploration of dominance and submission. 

It was a relationship unlike any other, and I was happy to have Doctor Eesha Patel back in my life. 

Sky 

 

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!

Country Roads, Take me Home

Continued from: Tara Gregory: Revelations

[F/f] [mature] [age regression] [babygirl] [strapping] [woodshed] [cornertime]

It would seem that naughty little tart, Tara Gregory, has been completely stealing my thunder with her step-Daddy stories and using A.I. to eclipse my original works. 

Well, let me get my eclipse glasses on here, sweetheart. Two can play at this game! 

*****

The phone on my desk buzzes, interrupting my morning yoga. I take a deep exhale before answering, my voice cool and collected, ready to address whatever request the day brings.

"Good morning, this is Mistress Andrea speaking." On the line, I hear the familiar voice of Cassandra, my ever-efficient receptionist. "Nancy called, Ma'am. She has requested an appointment for the woodshed, the usual story with her, right, a good whuppin from "Daddy"...shall I confirm?"

With a satisfied smile, I nod, already envisioning the scene. "Yes, Cassie, please schedule her in for tomorrow afternoon. And remind her to bring the necessary outfit. 

As I hang up the phone, I rise from my pose and walk over to the window, gazing down at the ominous woodshed in the back garden. The sunlight filters through the trees, casting dappled patterns across the mossy ground. Tomorrow, my beloved client, Nancy, will be marched out to the shed in shame, dressed in her demure, county-girl attire. A simple gingham dress and socks with sandals, to truly tap into her age regression desires. As usual, I'll be playing the role of her farm-hardened "Daddy". 

The next day, the appointment hour arrives. Dressed in her usual Sims outfit, Nancy strides sheepishly towards the steps of my home. 

I hadn't changed into my role yet. I usually do a more therapeutic and professional consultation with her before we begin, to establish her needs and the reasons she is harbouring for wanting a trip to the strict and unforgiving woodshed. 

It had been a few months since I'd seen Nancy, so after greeting her warmly, we had some tea together and I took a little extra time to make her feel at ease, despite her inevitable fate.

When it was time, I pointed to the corner of the room. Nancy's face was stricken with embarrassment and was about to lift her skirt and lower her panties but I stopped her. Nancy is on the wrong side of 50, she has a successful career and adult children. Although naked cornertime and bare-bottomed cornertime has its time and place, sometimes it can be equally humiliating for an adult woman, to stand and face the walls fully dressed, in her adult attire.

I loosely kept an eye on her for the next 25 minutes, while I changed and got into character. Rather than "marching her" out to the shed as I usually do, this time I kindly asked her to change, do her hair properly and meet "Daddy" outside. 

This should be deliciously frightening for her, when she sees me waiting like this. And yes, I am wearing that belt for a reason! 

Pretty soon, I hear the sound of her little patent dress-sandals, crushing the pebble walk-way. Nancy walks nervously toward the woodshed, her sundress fluttering in the soft breeze, a vision of innocence and submission. 

I can't help but admire her determination to explore this side of herself. As she approaches, she lowers her eyes in respect, hands clasped tightly in front of her. 

"I'm here for my whuppin', Daddy." She sobs out, as tears pool into her eyes. 

"Nancy," I greet her sternly, taking her trembling hands in mine. "Please remove your dress right here, and place it on the straw bale, then in you go." 

Her palms instinctively clutched her bottom cheeks, clad in little cotton panties adorned with tiny pink flowers, the style a little girl would wear.

Stepping into the dimply lit woodshed, I took a moment to appreciate the ambiance. The air smelled faintly of damp earth and aged timber, lending an organic quality to the space. Cobwebs lace the corners of the ceiling, and shafts of golden light pierce the darkness through the gaps in the weathered planks. My heeled boots echo on the uneven floorboards as I lead Nancy inside. 

As I close the door behind us, the soft thud resonates in the silence, amplifying Nancy's apprehension. She looks around at the various implements hanging on the walls - straps, paddles, canes and whips - each with its unique purpose and effect. My gaze sweeps over her petite frame, noting how her braided pigtails contrast sharply with the harsh reality of her impending punishment. Her hands are clenched tightly, knuckles white, as she tried to suppress her anxiety. 

Her breath comes in short gasps as I guide her towards the sturdy oak pillory positioned in the centre of the shed. She hesitates for a fraction of a second, but then lowers her neck and wrists into the crescents, bending over and presenting her pristine bottom for correction. 

I close and secure the top portion of the pillory, applying a brass padlock to the hinged clasp. I move behind her, eyeing her exposed bottom appreciatively. Her round cheeks are milky white and unblemished, save for the goosebumps that have risen in anticipation. I run a hand along the arched expanse of her back, feeling her muscles tense beneath my touch. "You know why you're here, don't you, young lady?" My warm breath and frim touch sends shivers down her spine. 

Nodding and weeping, Nancy confirms her awareness of the awaiting punishment. I pat her gently, reassuringly. "Good girl. You know this is for your own good, honey." 

Reaching for my heavy leather belt, I jingle the buckle free and slide it slowly through the loops of my jeans, the sound seemingly amplified in the quiet woodshed. I double it over, testing its weight in my hand before resting it against her vulnerable backside, allowing her to feel its presence. 

With one final look at my target, I raise the belt high above my shoulder. Time seems to slow as it arcs through the air, landing with a resounding crack against the seat of her panties. Nancy's entire body jolts, a strangled cry escaping her lips - the symphony of discipline and surrender. I watch intently as the first welt rises, a stark line marring her perfect complexion, partially obstructed by the cotton veil of her panties which were offering modesty but little protection. 

I instructed Nancy to count each stroke of the belt aloud, teaching her the value of humility and obedience. With every impact, her cries grow louder, her apologies more fervent. 

Twenty lashes with her panties up and twenty lashes with her panties down. It was a thorough and exhaustive strapping for her. Her bottom is a sight to behold, a beautiful canvass of welts, red stripes and some bruising. 

Like an artist adding the final touches, I used my hand to try and blend out her colour and spread the welting more evenly. 

Once Nancy was released from the pillory, I took her outside the shed as-IS! I took her by the bicep as she used her free arm to wipe her tears and snot, before I led her silently down the pebble path and into the main house. 

I lead her to the designated corner of my living room - nose pressed to the wall and hands on her head. Her reddened bottom points toward the centre of the room, a visual testament to her submission and vulnerability. 

"One hour, young lady!" I declare sternly, listening to her whimper in response to my harsh sentence. 

I sat down and played on my phone after setting her timer, keeping a close watch on this adult woman in my living room corner. She remained motionless, save for the occasional hitching of her chest when she resumed her sobbing. I can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at her absolute submission, knowing that I am providing her with the escape that she needs. 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Tara Gregory: Anal Virginity

The Perfect Lubricant

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