The Belle of the Ball

Continued from: The Cost of Admission

A Sarah Jane story

I arrived to the party like this:

When the party ended, I looked more like this: 

I was shackled up in the filthy urinal room, beside another piss-whore I recently became acquainted with, when a dominant man made me lick her asshole. My once-elegant gown was strewn carelessly aside and soaked in urine. The metallic tang of cum still lingered on my lips, mingling with the bitter taste of piss. There was smeared writing all over my naked body. Words like "whore", "pig", "filthy" and "anal slut". 

In that moment, the writing on my naked body could not have been more true, the room even smelled of poop a-little, having just been fucked in the bum by some random man. 

I had made it through all the degrading stations of the evening. After my toilet brush gag, came a toilet paper gag, while my dress was still pristine and outfit in-tact. 

I had to kneel beside the toilet in a powder room for a few hours, reduced to a human bathroom tissue dispenser!

After this, came the disgusting funnel-gag station!

It was definitely time to wrap this night up and find comfort in Daddy's arms, after a long, hot shower.

As I stepped beneath the warm showerhead, the torrent of water washed away the lingering remnants of piss and cum, restoring a semblance of cleanliness to my degraded body. But my mind seethed, still trapped in the turbulent waves of arousal and humiliation that seemed to feed off one another. 

My thoughts fixated on the memories of being pissed on then sodomized. My fingers danced with a life of their own, diddling my little clit to the memories, until I finally had to reach for the Hitachi. 

In record time, orgasm ripped through me like a seismic event, leaving my legs shaking in its aftermath. I dried off returned to my age regressed status. 

I squeezed into a baby pink onesie, the fabric soft against my skin. The pigtails felt silly, but I went with it, wanting to please Daddy. On all fours, I crawled into the living room where the trio of Daddy, Mistress Andrea and Summer were seated. I half-expected to walk in on some raging threesome of dick and pussy and tits, but they were quite literally watching a movie and eating popcorn. It was cute, Summer was dressed like a little girl too, and was sitting on both their laps like they were Mommy and Daddy. 

Speaking of cute. I felt cute again, not like the filthy piss-whore of my recent experience. I curled into my pet bed in the corner of the room and waited for someone to notice me and call me over.

Of course it was Daddy! His face lit up when he saw me, and he opened his arms. I scurried over, crawling into his lap like an obedient puppy. The other two watched with amusement, and for a minute, everything else melted away. I was Daddy's little girl again, seeking comfort and protection. But as Daddy stroked my hair and asked me how the party was, a spark of shame flickered to life. Last night's depravity replayed in my mind - the piss, the cocks, the toilets - and I felt a dark thrill knowing that Daddy didn't know the extent of my debasement. 

That secret knowledge was turning me on. Grinning mischievously, I wiggled against Daddy's leg, the three crotch-snaps of my onesie rubbing proactively against his pantleg. Mistress and Summer continued snuggling but watched-on with keen interest. "She looks like she wants more, Daddy," they stated in harmony, their voices tinged with sly innuendo. 

I blushed, nodding furtively as the truth spilled forth in a hushed admission. " I was a very, very bad girl tonight, Daddy."

He stood and paused the movie, his hands moving with purpose now. The telltale jingle of Daddy's belt buckle echoed through the room, followed by the unmistakable snap of the leather through jean-loops.

With a quiet sense of resignation, I draped myself across Daddy's lap, feeling the worn denim cradle my tummy, as my bottom was presented into the air. "This is for your own good, young lady," Daddy lectured, each word punctuated by another strike of his belt. Mistress Andrea and Summer just quietly watched my strapping, their faces aglow with mild amusement.

Sarah Jane 💟

Continued in: Slumber Party

Across the Pond

Continued from: Glitter and Gold

I gazed over Cassandra's shoulder, my attention was drawn to the exorbitant total flashing on the screen of an Expedia page. "Good heavens, Cassie, this flight itinerary is rather...steep," I remarked, my brow furrowed in concern. But the rebellious Cassandra didn't bat an eyelash, her determined finger mouse-clicking the "book now" button. 

"Worth every penny, Mistress," she muttered under her breath, as I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued to see where she was headed. Much to my surprise, Cassandra wasn't going anywhere, rather, she was flying someone to her. I suspected it had everything to do with the lovely Carley, Cassie's beloved goth-crush from across the pond. 

"You're still hosting the golden shower party, right, honey?" I asked her. 

She giggled and nodded in delight. 

"Tell me, is this flight you just booked a mere coincidence, or are you planning on surprising Carley with an unforgettable experience? 

Cassandra's cheeks coloured ever so slightly. "Maybe a little of both, Mistress, I just really fucking miss her," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. 

As I digested the revelation, I watched tears fill Cassie's eyes, a thrill ran through me - my sweet Cassandra was falling in love!

I could envision a world where these two take over and run this fetish studio one day, presiding over events like this piss party, their chemistry sparking as they guide the submissives through their deepest and darkest fantasies. 

"We must ensure Carley feels welcomed, honey, and empowered in her new role. See to it that she is briefed on our protocols and procedures. Use that toilet roll test for this one, ok? I want this party to be nothing short of spectacular."

Cassandra's eyes lit up, her enthusiasm evident as she hastened to obey, already mentally preparing for the delightfully debauched evening that lay ahead...

**********

A few days later, the gentle buzz of my phone interrupted some Netflix, with Summer's name appearing on the screen. 

I smiled, knowing exactly why she'd be reaching out. As I read her message, a sense of satisfaction settled over me: Carely was officially en route. Cassandra was at least smart enough to book with Summer's airline and chose a day she'd be working trans-Atlantic - the discount didn't hurt either ; ) 

I called out to Cassie who was out in the back yard. "Sweetheart, it seems your British baby-girl is wheels up. Summer just text me." 

Cassandra's radiant grin triggered my maternal feelings toward her. I couldn't help but feel a warmth towards these young lovers. 

As Cassandra's initial elation faltered, her gaze drifted towards me, searching for reassurance as the realization hit her - Carley would be here by morning. A soft uncertainty clouded her beautiful features, like a wispy haze of smoke. "Andrea...is it suppose to feel this way?" she asked, as tears befell her eyes. "I can feel my own heart in my chest!"

Her vulnerability was very telling. I was a little concerned however, when it comes time for Carley to fly home, and how Cassie is going to react. 

With a gentle hand, I reached out to guide her through the uncharted territories of her emotions. "I'll take you to the airport in the morning, honey, ok?" 

*******

As we arrived at the terminal, Cassandra's restless energy beside me was almost overbearing. Our destination was soon in sight - the descending escalator of arrivals. Then, suddenly, there she was: dark hair cascading like nightfall and porcelain skin glowing like moonlight. I watched as their gazes intertwined.

Time seemed to suspend as they rushed toward each other, arms open wide in desperate longing. Forever might not have been long enough to describe the length of their embrace and the kisses that ensued. 

As the spell of their reunion came to an end, Cassandra's trademark audacity resurfaced, accompanied by a mischievous glint in her eye. "Hey, Mistress? Can we stay at your place? You have better shit to play with." she requested, a sly undertone colouring her words. 

I nodded my consent. The girls had two days before the golden shower party was set to occur. I'm sure they'll spend most of it in Cassie's room or the dungeon, getting re-"acquainted" with one another. 

As for me...Summer just sent me a naughty selfie from the empty plane that Carley so recently disembarked. Someone looks to be in the mood for a very red ass tonight! 

More to follow, stay tuned, dear readers. 

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: The Cost of Admission

 

Glitter and Gold

Continued from: A Rose by any other Name

We haven't seen or heard from Russ and Sarah Jane in awhile. I thought I would reach out in my own unique way. She wrote about that morning. Mistress Andrea xo

A Sarah Jane story

As I wandered into the kitchen, the morning sunlight dancing across the countertops, I couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. My little gingham dress, baby blue with ruffles and puffy sleeves, rustled with each tippy-toe movement, its childish charm a stark contrast to my age. White socks added a touch of innocence to my overall ensemble, while ringlet pigtails bounced with each step, framing my face with an air of sweetness. 

Clutched in my hand was a mysterious parcel, wrapped in golden paper and adorned with a silver bow. Alongside it, an envelope bearing the familiar crest of Mistress Andrea's "Facility". Daddy, engrossed in a book, looked up as I approached, curiosity etching lines on his face. "What's all that, baby girl?" he asked, his tone measured.

I flashed him a mischievous grin, tearing into the present to reveal a vision of elegance within. Gasps escaped my lips as I lifted out an exquisite evening gown in lavender silk, accompanied by opera gloves, sky-high heels, stockings and the most decadent pair of lace panties. A smile tugged at my lips as I read the details of the card.

"Daddy, I need to speak with you about something. May I use my big-girl words?" I ventured, trying to contain the excitement in my voice. "I received an invitation, Daddy...to...to a rather unique party." 

I held out my little hand, showing Daddy the choker that accompanied the elegant gown and accessories. 

"Tell me more, little one," he coaxed, his words dripping with concern and curiosity. I hesitated, unsure how to articulate the jumble of emotions swirling within me. But Daddy knew me too well, he sensed the thrill of humiliation coursing through my veins. 

"It's a golden shower party, Daddy," I finally confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. "A night of being pissed on and horribly degraded..." I trailed off. 

As I awaited Daddy's response, my gaze drifted to my current attire - the adult woman, trapped in a sea of ruffles and pastels. How delightfully thrilling then, to envision myself transformed, adorned in the lavish finery contained in that box. Since Daddy hadn't said anything yet, I went for it...

"Daddy, may I wear the pretty dress to the party, and be pissed on by random men and women?"

When I crawled onto his lap to straddle him and start begging in a baby voice, he simply sighed and nodded in the affirmative. 

I bounced up and down on Daddy's lap, my pigtails flopping wildly as I squealed with excitement. The silly, childish gesture was a familiar comfort, one that never failed to bring a smile to Daddy's face. My little knee socks kicked out in joyful abandon and I snuggled in closer. 

In gratitude, I dropped to my knees, my face inches from his bulge. Without hesitation I reached for his waistband, freeing his erect cock from its confines. My lips parted, eager to shower him with affection, as I took him deep into my throat.

Before long, with a muffled groan, he surrendered to my mouth, spilling his cum into the back of my throat and into my tummy. I savoured every drop, a reward for my enthusiasm. I snapped to attention, my arms at my sides as I dipped into a dainty curtsy, an ingrained habit honed from countless sessions of submission. 

"Thank you, Daddy," I murmured, "for the gift of your cum and allowing me to attend the party." 

I stood before Daddy, quivering with excitement as he spoke. 

"And when the random men and women have finished relieving themselves on you and in you, will you be thanking them properly too?"

My cheeks flushed with embarrassment and shame as I nodded my head vigorously. The thought of those strangers' hot urine splashing against my body, cascading over my face and hair, was making me sickened with wonderful butterflies. 

"Yes, Daddy," I whispered, my voice trembling with the weight of submission. "I'll thank every last one of them for pissing on me."

 

Sarah Jane 💟

Continued in: Across the Pond

 

 

Secretary Fantasy

Continued from: Mad Men

I was going to give this post more of a clever name...but nope. It's a Secretary fantasy, plain and simple.

I did however, learn a new term while I was thumbing around for images for this post. Someone was referring to their page as the "DiD Domain", with lovely pictures of corporately dressed women in extensive rope bondage, tape gags and handkerchief gags; always hosiery, always heels. Then, despite my black hair, I had a blonde moment for a quick second as I thought, "wtf does DiD stand for...?" 

Lightbulb...Damsel in Distress!

I saw a meme once that said: "blame Sunday morning cartoons for my current kinks" .

Fair point...

Check out the below shot. The camera seems to have captured and somehow emphasized the ring-finger of the woman in this image. If this is like a marriage or engagement announcement by this couple, that's pretty friggen cute and creative! 

Speaking of other damsels in distress, let us get back to Bella shall we? I had her dress into something more sexualized that entailed slutty "office" boots. The image below is how the scene ended for my bound and gagged damsel. I'll narrate the juicy details leading up to this. 

As Bella knelt before me, her normally composed demeanour was now fractured by the desperation of her roleplay "script". She clasped her hands together in a pleading gesture. 

"Please, Sir...don't fire me. I'll do anything. Anything at all."

The quaver in her voice was almost palpable, her body language screaming surrender. I leaned in to explain our next steps and after a deliberate pause, I spoke, my tone strict and unforgiving. 

"Very well, Mrs. Goth. You may keep your job - but there will be conditions." Her face lit with hope, only to flush crimson red as I continued. "You will receive a corrective spanking, on the bare, followed by a more...intimate demonstration of your appreciation."

With a reluctant nod, she sealed her fate, acknowledging the terms of our little arrangement... 

As Bella rose from her supplicant position, her trembling legs barely supporting her weight, I issued the inevitable command. "Remove your pants and panties, Mrs. Goth, lets get this over with." 

As I led Bella to the sleek, polished expanse of the boardroom table, her slutty heeled boots clicking against the floor in rhythmic obedience, I couldn't help but admire the vision before me. Her gorgeous figure, attired in such provocative clothing, seemed tailor-made for the debauched scenario unfolding. 

Her slender fingers fumbled at the zipper, hesitant yet resigned, as she shed the confining fabric of her dignity. It was a sight both poignant and surreal - a grown woman stripped of her defenses, about to submit to a punishment more suited to a naughty schoolgirl than a capable, executive secretary. 

I ran my hand over the smooth curves of her bum, usually hidden beneath layers of professionalism, lay bare and vulnerable, framed perfectly but her suspender straps. 

Bella's palms came to rest on the boardroom table, steeling herself for the impending correction. Without being prompted, she bent forward, presenting her bare bottom and blooming princess parts, as she arched her lower back. 

She turned and looked to the corporate office windows, shuddering at the thought of someone witnessing this from the street below. My hand rose, paused, and descended with a resounding crack onto her bare bum. 

Well spanked and contrite, Bella knelt before me as I settled into one of the office chairs. Her trembling hands reached up to grasp the button tab of my pants. From the fly, my substantial strap-on cock sprang forth, hidden beneath my pin-stripes this whole time. 

The velvety grip of her fingers encircled the base, stabilizing the monstrous shaft as she prepared to take me into her throat. 

The sweet and degrading sounds of Bella's sloppy blowjob, echoed through the room. Strings of saliva connecting her lips to the cockhead, was evidence enough that my strap-on was lubricated enough for her slutty pussy. 

Her legs, still clad in stockings and boots, formed a shameless 'V', as I laid her prone on the board table. Her exposed pussy glistened with arousal and trembled in anticipation for the impending invasion. The very same cock that had so recently brutalized her mouth, now menaced her delicate opening. 

In a fluid motion, I flipped Bella onto her tummy and bent her forward. A crisp, authoritative smack landed on her already-spanked backside, reminding her to arch her back like a whore. 

I grasped a handful of Bella's hair, forcing her to look out the window while she was being fucked. Simultaneously, my free hand slapped her bare ass, ensuring that her climax would be entwined with the shame and debasement she felt. 

And then, it happened - a pitiful, helpless cry escaped Bella's lips as her body betrayed her, yielding to the overwhelming sensations of orgasm. I released her hair, allowing her to collapse to the table as she began to giggle in disbelief at just how shattering her orgasm was.

The scene was over. We shared a joyful, tender giggle and a passionate kiss, as we basked in the afterglow of our unique dynamic. 

Hold on a second!

How can Bella be my Secretary? Her daughter, Cassandra, is my actual admin assistant and receptionist...

Hmm...

Maybe I should just get the pair of them together, and back into my boardroom? A little Mommy / Daughter session...what do you think? 

Or maybe a Mommy / Daughter school spanking? The sky is the limit. Let me know what I should do.

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Difficult Choices

 

 

Quality Control

Continued from: Minute Man

A Sarah Jane story

Hello everyone, it's sarah jane.

Just look at these socks! Ohhhh my word. I'd be in so much trouble with Daddy! I'm not sure who this young lady is but she probably has a very red bum! I know I would. (And by "young lady", of course I mean a full-grown adult woman, over the age of consent, which she clearly is, even though her attire does not suggest this). 

As many of you know, after Daddy and I shared a glorious moment of loving devotion followed by some filthy-hot sex, I moved in with him as his 24/7 submissive. His home is not a full-blown fetish and BDSM studio like Mistress Andrea has, but he does have some specialty rooms, designed specifically for my discipline and correction. 

If you remember from last time, there is a long hallway with multiple doors and a stark, lifeless stool facing a full-length mirror. These last few weeks, now under Daddy's roof and Daddy's rules, I have spent some time on the unforgiving rigidness of that stool, nursing a freshly spanked bottom. 

Why, you might ask? 

Two words...that I am getting to know painfully well...QUALITY CONTROL. 

I learned about quality control while under the care of Mistress Andrea at her Facility. Standing with my ankles together, walking on tiptoe when not in heels, or having to perform a curtsy when entering or leaving a room that my dominant was in. 

These were essentially my service standards while at The Facility. I was in-service always, as a submissive sex slave. Now, happily in the service of my Daddy, usually dressed like the above I might add, things are a little more...detailed, I guess I could call it. Daddy takes my service standards to the next level! I think he has a little bit of OCD.

Hehe. (Sorry Daddy, but you DO and it's true! *sticks tongue out*). Fuck, I'm gonna be sorry for that one! 

It was Daddy's attention to fine details that ultimately landed me in the hallway with these dreadful rooms. 

Such as:

If I present myself to Daddy with uneven socks, uneven knee socks or stockings, like the young lady above, I am given a spanking on the spot! 

"C'mon Sarah Jane, you're better than that!" Daddy will scold. 

"You know better than that!" And so on...

Then, regardless of where we are or who else is around, my bottom will be bare and I will be immediately over his knee. His heavy hand will take things well beyond the scope of a warm-up. You know that point when a man's strong hand starts to feel like a wooden paddle?

Daddy will then reach for an implement of opportunity. Wooden spoon or spatula if we're near or in the kitchen, a hairbrush from a bathroom, but he usually just takes off his belt, hauls me back across his knee and thrashes me good and hard. 

Between me kicking and flailing-off articles of clothing during these spankings and Daddy stripping pieces off me, I always end up fully nude. Then I get the dreaded, "go wait on the stool."

My hands cover my flaming bum cheeks and I find myself doing this little scamper/scurry run, usually while sobbing, as I make my way upstairs and onto the rigid stool to wait for my actual punishment. The one that fits the crime and the reason for these rooms. 

A run in my hosiery? Ohhh you better believe I'd be in for it!

Uneven knee socks, caught wearing flats, not walking on my toes when not in heels...White sock bottoms that are not looking so white anymore, dirty or dingy? The list goes on. 

You probably don't have to guess what will happen to me, after my spanking and now nervously waiting in the hallway for the corresponding specialty room. 

This particular room, for quality control violations relating to my feet, has only one bondage apparatus for the purpose of securing and displaying my soles for correction. 

This room really sucks. But, will my knee socks ever be uneven again? Would I present myself before Daddy with a run in my hose? Certainly not. His quality control is at least effective. I only have to touch the hot stove once. 

There is a small array of implements displayed in this room. Light riding crops, small flicker-whips and leather slappers. There are even tens-unit pads for my bare soles. Those REALLY fuckin' suck! 

What do you think of this next one? 

Visible tags left in place and not clipped from panties. Do you see it? 

I told you Daddy has OCD! 

He's not entirely wrong though. I am usually made to wear full sheer panties with my school uniforms and a lot of my pretty, pink sleepwear and lingerie is sheer or lace. I can see how an unsightly tag just screws up the whole aesthetic here.

See the tag in my panties? Daddy brought this to my attention and I ended up in this pose, so I could be shamed and humiliated by having to show all of you!

Then I was thrashed on-the-spot, right over Daddy's knee. His belt came next, always on the bare!

Once again I found myself on the "sobbing stool" as I like to call it now, up in the hallway, humiliated and naked with only my reflection and my thoughts to keep me occupied. But which room would I be headed to? This one could have gone either way. There is a room just for the correction of my pussy where I am secured and presented like this: 

And there is an entirely separate room for the whipping and correction of my little pucker. 

Both rooms are just like the feet-whipping room, with a single bondage apparatus to secure and present me for punishment. It's so embarrassing, to be bound and displayed this way!

Tags in panties, not having my princess parts shaved bald for Daddy...caught wearing improper panties or failing to give myself a good, soapy enema before Daddy fucks my bum, could all land me in either of these two rooms, or BOTH!! 

Again, each room has a collection of whips, straps and floggers of a size and weight suitable for my pussy and bum hole. Each room comes with the electro-pads as well, to shock my pussy lips, clit and anus as part of my correction. 

Lastly, there is a room dedicated to my breasts and nipples. I call this the "tit room". For the life of me I could not think of any manner of quality control relating to my tits. Maybe you readers can help? Like not being in a bra or something, when I'm suppose to be or not getting erect nipples when I should? I dunno...

Leave it to my loving Daddy though...he found something! Of course he did. 

These are a beautiful pair of nipple clamps with bells that Daddy got for me. As you can see they are the alligator style with the little tension wheel on the side, to reduce or increase the pinch. He likes to have me wear these when he fucks me doggystyle. My boobs dangle helplessly and the motion of Daddy pounding me in the ass or cunt, causes my tits to bounce and flop about; thus, causing me to jingle!

*hands over eyes* It's so dreadfully humiliating!

Every nipple is different. Some people clamp just the nipple while others want them to bite the areola and the nipple together. For that reason, Daddy lets me adjust the clamps myself and set the level of pinch. He tells me that he wants a decent grip but nothing excruciating. Just enough that they stay in place, like an ornamental decoration.

Well...

The other day, Daddy was fucking me from behind. I had my bells on and I was gagged. Everything was going fine until one of my nipple bells flew off and hit the floor, because I didn't have it clamped tightly enough. 

I thought nothing of it at the time. Daddy finished and came into my hot cunt, but then I got a very firm spanking, still gagged with jizz oozing out of me! 

I was shocked when I heard, "go wait on the stool." Then it dawned on me, my clamps! So, I was introduced to the final room I had not seen yet. My "tit room".

The setup was simple as usual, just one singular apparatus of bondage to present the area for correction. I was blindfolded and shock-pads were applied first. I think they were set to about a 7, then I was left alone to endure the correction. 

When Daddy finally returned, the pads were removed but my blindfold stayed on. He didn't want me seeing and flinching or anticipating the whipping that came next, all across my boobs and nipples. I was a very sorry young lady after about 25 per nipple with a riding crop. I now understood the importance of quality control at Daddy's house.

But if I know all these rules now and adhere to them...these rooms will be obsolete no? 

I wouldn't purposely do something just to end up back in the hallway...would I? 

Hmmm. Those stocking seams can be tricky...and it would drive Daddy bananas! Should I push my luck?

sarah jane xoxo

Continued in: Pinch Hitter