Julie 1998: She gets the Belt

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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!

Serenity

Continued from: Christian Christmas

[F/f] [dungeon] [bondage] [spanking] [strapping] [strap-on] [ball gag] [degrading] 

As I stood before the Christmas tree, admiring this powerful man on his hands and knees, kissing my recently unwrapped Loubies, all felt right with the world once again. 

"You may stand, young man." I announced graciously, extending a hand to assist him in standing. Once he was upright, I gestured towards the nearby coffee table, where an array of colourful wrapping paper and ribbons lay waiting. 

"Be a dear and help me with the rest of the girl's presents, won't you?" I requested, my tone playful yet commanding. 

As we worked side-by-side, two more Christian Louboutin boxes were produced from beneath the tree. I reached for one of the boxes, then the other, carefully lifting the lid to show Russell its contents. Inside, nestled amidst tissue paper, lay a pair of glossy black Mary Janes with a lower heel, their patent leather surface gleaming in the soft light of the tree. 

Then the second pair, featuring a darling double strap design, lending them an air of youthful innocence that seemed almost at odds with the sophisticated elegance of the red soles. 

"I must admit," Russell remarked, "I wasn't aware that Loubie produced Mary Jane styles. Aren't these like four-thousand dollars a pair?" 

I chuckled softly, "not quite...well, Sarah's boots were." 

"So...business is going well then, Ma'am?" Russell sheepishly asked, almost with a touch of jealously in his voice. 

I explained that yes, in fact, business was going quite well of late. Between the Facility U.K. sending a cut of their profits our way, and Vanessa and Summer's foot fetish racket, things were quite financially comfortable of late. 

"Summer sold a pair of her Loubies that she wore on flights for like two years," I giggled as I spoke, "to some gentleman on the west coast for twelve grand." 

"Oh, is that all?" Russell chuckled. "She has quite a gift that girl." 

As we finished wrapping the two Loubie boxes, I carefully placed them under the tree with a smile. "I'd like Summer and Sarah Jane to wear these Christmas morning, Daddy, when they're in their little velvet dresses." 

They'll look simply adorable in their white tights and Christmas dresses, I thought to myself , all while humming a holiday tune. 

My mind quickly changed direction, as I began to envision what must be happening in the basement this very moment. A significant contrast from Mary Janes and opaque tights... 

A Sarah Jane story

Meanwhile, down in the sex dungeon... 

I had Mandy right where I wanted her - on her hands and knees, her tongue diligently tracing the contours of my new Christian Louboutin boots. As Mandy's tongue worked its way up the shaft of my boot, I could feel the heat of her breath, sending a delicious shiver up my spine. 

My body thrummed with anticipation as I lifted one booted foot onto a nearby surface. With a firm grip on Mandy's hair, I guided her head between my thighs, forcing her face into the damp heat of my pussy. 

As Mandy worked her magic, the supple leather of my riding crop whispered through the air as I brought it down on her bare ass. "That's it slut," I purred, my voice dripping with sadistic glee. "Worship your Mistress with that lezzy little tongue of yours." 

After a few more sizzling strokes of the whip, Mandy redoubled her efforts, her tongue delving deeper into my slick folds. I could feel the familiar tightening in my tummy, the telltale signs of an impending orgasm. As the pressure mounted, I increased the frequency and intensity of my strikes, steadily whipping her bare butt as her tongue took me over the edge. 

As the last tremors of my orgasm faded away, I released my grip on her hair, allowing her to slump back on her haunches, her face glistening with the evidence of my pleasure. 

"Thank you for your cum, Ma'am," she breathed out deeply, as I patted her on the bum. 

 

"You're welcome, my pet. Now strip!" 

Mandy wasted no time in obeying, her fingers trembling with eagerness as she shed what little garments she had left. With a satisfied nod, I took her by the hand and led her toward a narrow, flat bondage bench with a bolster pillow in the middle. 

"Up you get, huni," I instructed, watching her with predatory interest as Mandy climbed onto the padded surface, arranging herself face down with her hips elevated by the strategically placed bolster. The sight of her, naked and vulnerable, her ass raised invitingly towards me, sent a fresh wave of desire pulsing through my clit. 

I tied her wrists and ankles off quite tightly, stretching an presenting her naked body perfectly, along the length of the padded bench. Approaching the bench, I ran my hand along the beautiful mounds of Mandy's sit spots, admiring the almost blank canvass that had already been kissed by my riding crop. 

"Such a bad, bad girl, I purred, my voice a sultry purr. 

Reaching the nearby wall, the click of my Loubie boots echoing off the stone walls, I selected a sturdy leather strap and rested it on the small of Mandy's back. 

"You're getting a strapping, young lady, on the bare," I hissed. "I expect you to count and thank me, after each stroke. We'll be doing twenty-five per side." 

Without warning, I brought the leather down across her presented ass cheeks, the sharp crack of impact filling the air. It was music to my ears. Mandy yelped in surprise, her body jerking against the restraints that held her in place. 

I settled into a steady rhythm, administering twenty-five lashes of the strap from the left side of her body, before switching to the right side to administer the same. Mistress taught me once, that this is the way you keep colour even, when using something that connects with both bum cheeks, in one stroke. 

I marveled at the way Mandy responded to the strapping, as if she was melting into the punishment bench, surrendering herself completely to the sensations. 

Once helping her off the strapping bench, I guided her towards another station in the dungeon. This particular apparatus featured a padded surface for her to kneel on, with various point of restraint and bondage. 

As I assisted Mandy into position, returning her Loubies to her feet, I couldn't help but admire the her body moved with fluid grace, even in her weakened state. 

While reaching for a ball gag that would silence her cries of pleasure and pain, I noticed something remarkable. As I slid the rubber sphere between Mandy's parted lips and tightened the straps around her head, I saw her eyes flutter closed, a look of utter serenity washing over her features. 

It was as if, in that moment, all the stress and weight of her vanilla life simply melted away, replaced by a profound sense of peace and freedom. This was a feeling I knew all to well. 

I could feel Mandy's eyes following my every move, as I clicked over to a lovely display of floggers and selected one from the rack. Satisfied with my choice, I turned back to Mandy, a wicked smile playing at the corners of my mouth as I swooshed the flogger through the air. 

I brought the whip down on Mandy's tits and nipples, landing with a sharp string that drew a muffled gasp from behind her gag. I continued with a second lash, then a third, alternating between swift stinging strokes and slower, more sensual caresses, until Mandy's chest was flushed like a sunburn. 

"So responsive, so eager to please your Mistress," I purred, setting the flogger aside and letter her watch me attach a strap-on harness around my hips. "And now, it's time for your reward."

Mandy's muffled screams dripped from the dungeon walls, as I plunged the dildo into her soaking wet cunt and set a punishing pace. With one hand firmly gripping Mandy's hair, I lifted her head, forcing her to gaze into a mirror in front of her. 

"Look at yourself," I commanded, my voice low and husky with desire. "Look at the wanton slut you've become, the desperate little whore who lives to serve me!"

The moment the words left my lips, calling Mandy a slut and a whore, her body erupted in a violent orgasm. The humiliation and degradation proved to much for her to bear, pushing her over the edge into a realm of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. 

Her pussy clamped down around my strap-on like a vice, pulsing and spasming as I slowed my pace, praising her and calling her my babygirl.

I got Mandy all unhooked and rid myself of the strap-on. We collapsed onto a mattress on the dungeon floor, our bodies still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. 

Despite the rigidness of our roles in a scene - mistress and slave, domme and submissive, top and bottom - there was a warmth of camaraderie between us. As we lay there, entwined in each other's arms, laughter bubbled up from deep within us. 

"Holy shit!" Mandy, breathed, her voice still hoarse from screaming through the gag as she came. 

"That was...incredible!"

I pounced my little frame on top of hers, giggling and showering her with kisses as her toes curled in her Loubies. 

"Merry Christmas, my babygirl," I cooed. 

"I'm so glad this world exists Sarah, and that I get to escape to it with you."  

Happy holidays, from Sarah Jane and Mandy!

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Christmas Cards