Melia - A Feminist Learns

Melia: A Feminist Learns, Part. VI

       As each of the five Masters fucked My bitch, I took pictures to go into Our/our “binding ritual” photo album.  These pictures were meant for Us/us to savor and to remember the permanent bond that I was making for Melia.  When the last of the five Masters had taken His fuck, He cleaned Himself, as the others had, zipped up His pants and stood with Us in a semi-circle around the prone and exhausted bitch.  Each Man in turn declared Himself in casual obscenity:  “Very nice piece of cuntmeat, Victor,” “Good gash!” “Prime whore,”  “Seems to know what she’s for,”  “Hope you’ll lend the bitch to Me some time.”  With these words, the Masters retreated in order back down the aisle of the chapel and I tended to what was Mine.  When I ungagged Melia, and undid her ankles and hands, she reached for Me and held onto Me like a little girl, weeping. 

“Tell me you love Me, Master!” she said sobbing.  “I was PROUD to do it for you, but I need to know you care.”

Years of training women had taught Me that I had to retain My clarity here, though My Prick was incredibly hard because of her abjectness. 

“How many times did you come, bitch,” I said, calmly, surprising her.

“I stopped counting,” she said honestly, wondering about the change in direction of the conversation.

“You came like a fucking whore-for-all, didn’t you?”

“Yesss…”  she said hesitantly.

“So now you snivel to Me about what I should give you, when I have just given you everything?”

Melia started weeping again even more hopelessly.  I held her for a long time there, letting her weep away her ambivalence. 

“Do you know that the place I put you in is the place you belong?”  I said.

Melia, recovering herself somewhat answered, “It is, Master.  But…”

She had told Me what I had wanted to hear, so I felt more receptive to her: “When the last of the binding rituals is done, you will have Master-love from Me. But you know, little cunt, what that means?”

“I have to fucking earn it every fucking day!”  she said, somehow in much better spirits.

“Are you done manipulating Me in this matter, then?”  I asked with, knowing that she understood full well what I meant.

Melia’s meek, sniffling nod was enough of an answer.

I stood Melia up and inspected her carefully. she stood docilely before Me, like a little girl would stand before a parent.  A little combing would refurbish her pretty permanent. Her make-up was effaced by the activity and would need to be redone.  The wrinkles on her black, satin dress would need ironing.  I had had an ironing board put in the back anteroom for this purpose.  I was disgusted by the runs in her sheer, seamed, black stockings, but Melia now carried several pairs in her purse, so this could be remedied.  The large satin mat she had lain upon had shielded her high heeled shoes from scuffing.  I saw no broken or scraped jewelry. Her pretty, freshly painted fingernails showed no chipping.  In My last gesture I felt at the large mess of semen in the bitch’s crotch.  “This scum will stay where it is, whore, until tonight,” I said.  I wanted her to know that she was a dirtied whore.  I wanted her to feel it as part of our joining. 

“Get in the back and get yourself together, bitch,” I said to her.  she knew where the flaws were and the things that she needed to correct.  I sat in the front church pew, smoked a cigar, and watched her take off her stockings, replace them and attach them again to her black garter belt before she stood to iron her pretty dress.  I believe a woman should always be wearing high heels when she is doing the ironing, so I took pleasure now in seeing what I had accomplished, the more so because she stood only in sleazy lingerie.

When Melia had gotten herself back together, had put her face back on and made sure her seams were straight, she came to Me submissively for inspection.  Once I’d carefully inspected her I stood back and looked at her with her pretty, docile eyes glancing submissively downward, her prettily painted lips curled in the sweet, feminine smile that pleased Me, and felt real pride at what I had made.  I could see that this would be a really good piece of property to install in My house.  she certainly had given the appearance of being a head-strong, impossible bitch, but that is what separates the Master from the average Man. A Master can see beyond the surface bullshit that cunts will give One and KNOW what is underneath.  One of the first things that had tipped Me off was her statement that she loved the authoritarian cop’s shiny black boots.  Now this bitch would be licking shiny black Man-boot for a long time to come. This fucking “feminist” had learned.

It was time now for ritual two.  I put Melia in the limousine to take us to the Masters’ Club.  This was Our special private club in Pacific Heights.  I wanted to introduce her to Others in Our group with Whom We/we would be sharing Our/our

leisure time.  Our Masters’ Club was a Men’s Club in the truest sense. There, in a luxurious, relaxed atmosphere We could be free to be Ourselves.  The surroundings and atmosphere was reminiscent of the story, The Story of ‘O,’ in that no free woman was to be found in the club, but only those truly enslaved.  But of course We/we had Our Own distinct Way.   We weren’t constructing Our lives based on some bitch’s novel (Pauline Reage, a female, was the author of The Story of ‘O.’)

       I escorted Melia into quiet hallway at the entrance of the very large stone building in Pacific Heights.  Nothing externally betrayed the inner secrets of the place.

The dark-windowed limousines always arrived along a long driveway shielded from view by large hedges and thick groves of trees.  Adjunct to the cloakroom off the hallway was a small anteroom that served as an equipment room for the Masters.  There were arrayed on hooks and on shelves various leather and metal shackles and straps, gags, hoods and dildos, collars and leashes, and quite a number of corsets and radical high heels and boots.  These might be taken as formal wear for the women who were brought here and everything there was designed for the subjection of woman.  Along one wall were sections for the individual Masters (numbering only 12), where special accoutrements for their owned female property.

       I put upon Melia without any fuss a pair of leather wristlets that I attached behind her back to secure her hands from use.  Then I put a similar pair of cuffs, with soft velvet insides, upon her ankles and attached a 8” chain between them.  Melia would walk prettily in her high heels with this extra attachment to modulate her gait and hobble her.

I selected, also, for Melia one of the standard, stiff, black leather collars from the “general” shelf along with its attached soft leather leash.  Though this was the first time I had actually collared and leashed Melia, I did not make a fuss of it, as she was now My instrument and subject, to be used at My Whim and pleasure. (There was only One AGENT in this fucking room; this bitch’s agency was a thing of the past and she well knew it.)  I did observe Melia closely, though, when I attached the collar and the leash.

her desire  for true submission had become such that I saw her nearly melt when the collar went on her.  I saw her eyes go soft, as if, inwardly, she were experiencing a new sense of release and relaxation, one that gave her intense inward pleasure.  In one of her passionate letters to Me she had said, “You do not know how deeply I yearn to be your collared bitch, Sir.  You do not know!”  Certainly I could see Melia come forward with most feminine softness that in kinesthetic terms seemed to say to Me clearly that she had begun to understand her place.   Mastery is an art and I took real pride in this moment too.  It is a thing of beauty to see a woman who knows what she truly is. 

       

Matter-of-factly and without speaking I took the leash in My hand and tugged it to get Melia going. she leaned forward in response to the pull going even deeper into the mincing, ultra-feminine walk that was My teaching and which, now was more effectively enforced by the hobble.   I shall always remember the studied clicking of Melia’s high heels on the hardwood floor as I lead My new property down the hallway to the barroom and lounge area. 

When We/we reached the doorway and turned the corner, there were, by prearrangement the other six Men drinking, sitting or dancing with their own fuck-doll property.  All the Men, were like Me, dressed in expensive tuxedos and all the cunts were dressed quite similarly to Melia with variations not as much in the clothing, as We were Men Who thought alike in terms of dress and accoutrements for cunts, as in the bonds and constraints that marked their slavery.   I did feel a true surge of pride as I lead Melia into this room as Mine.  Not all of the Men had known what a smart-mouthed feminist bitch Melia had been when I met her.  Certainly, My accomplishments with her were worthy of respect of these Masters. But it was the case, also, that there was not a single piece of cunt property in this room  that was not highly educated; they all had been (or were)  unlike Melia,  entrepreneurs, lawyers or college professors before entering these precincts.  Except for one, old-fashioned, very conservative type girl, who had come to her position from a biblical understanding, all the rest had been in greater or lesser degree feminist bitches, who, too, had LEARNED.

Here is part of Melia’s journal account of the last hour:

i had badly needed reassurance after the first ritual arranged by Master.

my monogamy really kicked in after being fucked by all these Men.  i had never come so hard in my life and i did need to feel like Master’s owned-one, His alone. There is much more to be said here, but i want to talk about my feelings entering into the “Master’s Club.” As i rode in the limousine to the club, i could feel the thick drip of the semen of the Men who had used me.  The insults when they had finished still rang in my ears.  Master had often said that teaching a BITCH to be a “real woman” was like peeling an onion, except within was a perfect, shining gem. Master had seen my deep need to shed the bullshit disguise i had worn so long and to feel my core.  Riding in the limousine with that thick, squishy mess

wetting my upper thighs.  “Cunt, bitch and whore; cunt, bitch and whore.”  These were the epithets that i gave myself as the Men’s insults resonated within me.

Master had expertly peeled away the bitch layers.  Everything about women and womanhood that i had aggressively avoided for so long was coming home to roost.  i was so close to it now and i let the flush of orgasm rise up in me as i rode,

keeping the careful posture and demeanor Master had graced me to reveal.  And Master, riding next to me in his catbird seat was so precious to me--- (i do know how much this is “cunt-thinking,” Sir!) I had so much needed a Man  Who had the pride to just be a MAN.  i am speaking to you directly now, Sir, as you review

this communication.  As I rode in the limousine, feeling the roil of passion and pleasure in my submission, the deeper emotional pleasure for me was that, at last,

I was put in my fucking place!

We/we arrived at the Club, and this docile little fuckdoll was led in by a Man Who had pride. i knew nothing of the parameters of the club or anything more about the membership, though, of course, I had really learned something from Some of the membership earlier.  (But i did know that it is not a cunt’s place to bother with bitch questions). Sir, when you graced me with the collar I had so craved, in your own matter-of-fact, emotionless, slave-Master, bastard way, i felt my cunt give way to a copious flow of slut-juice that made a slush out of the place there, coming, as it did, over the accumulated mass of my earlier lessons.  Sir, I did start floating inside within my proper, ordained containment externally.  When you clipped the leash on I felt like a little cunt yo-yo getting her string put on and the giddiness was very, very strong in me as i made the high-heeled clicking that is your pleasure, hobbled as i was in walking behind you, held by Your leash. i entered, then, with racing heart, the new confines of the Club--- for the second stage of the ritual You had decided for me. 

The surge of excitement in being lead, collared, into a Men’s Club, looking my best and being on my best behavior, was intense.  Seeing the rest of the Club Men (I had met the first five already in a direct way!) accompanied by Their Own bitch property, drinking, joking, laughing, and, as some were, sexually using Their cunts, as was Their right, had a remarkable affect on me.  I felt my commitment to the rituals you had planned bolstered greatly by seeing other women who knew their proper role.  i speak truthfully, Master, here, far above the feminist bullshit i spouted for so long:  i saw embodied in that Club, as i focused my eyes,  the deep caring of Masters Who truly wanted to make women better.  I felt very much at home seeing the beautifully dressed and accoutered cuntdolls, obediently present for their Masters in every way.  I noticed immediately the tallish, handsome, black haired Master, doing a Man-dance with a very sexy blonde cunt who was kneeling on a small,wheeled dolly (no pun intended!), her hands cuffed, as mine were, behind her back, her pretty mouth filled with His large penis. He kept one hand on the back of her head, and the other on her slave leash, as He slowly pushed in and out of her in time to the quiet music.  i say this because i have learned, Master: what i saw in first scan of the room was a vision of authentic Man/woman relationships that touched me to the core; i am absolutely sincere in what i am saying in this journal, Sir.  Absolutely sincere.  And i will say that the first thought i had when i saw that particular scene: i wished that it were me on that dolly for you, I wanted to be on that dolly for YOU, so that i could please you obeisantly as a woman should a Man.

       As I had scripted it, Melia and I would enter Our Men’s Club without fanfare.  Certainly there was always interest among Us Men in a Man’s new piece of property, but all six Men there had read all of Melia’s postings to Me and My replies, so she was known to them.  We are all meticulous in how We keep and show Our cunts, so Melia’s

very high-heeled, showy look I’m sure was appreciated in the flesh.  The men all of whom dressed elegantly in tuxedoes and highly buffed black leather shoes (kept to a spit shine at all times by the cunts they were with) were aged from 30 to 70 years.  The six pieces of property that they had brought along, the women, also were in that age span.

Mostly, the cunts’ ages were within a decade of the Man, but there were two couples that were a greater variance.  There was a 70 year old Man with a 35 year-old cunt and a young 40 year old who had taken to a 65 year old bitch.  All of the bitches were on slave leashes where they belonged.

As I had wanted Melia’s entrance into the Men’s  Club to be “normal” in the first entry, nothing out of the ordinary had been scripted.  As it happened, three of the Masters were having their cocks sucked as they talked of obscene or other Manly matters with the Masters sitting or standing with Them.  One of them, of course, was Blackie Who had found this smart-mouthed business-bitch downtown, who He said had much less time for smart talk since He’d started sticking His Prick in her face anytime it pleased.  The oldest of the Men, Stan, a wildcat oiler, rugged and pretty good looking still, Who certainly made a habit of viagra, stood up (in His Macho way) at the bar with His young trophy bitch kneeling below on her dolly doing a close study of His Cock with well-trained attention of mouth and tongue, her hands, as was usual, cuffed behind her back.  He happened to be talking with Roger, Who had His piece of ass kneeling down on the regulation dolly beside Him.  Finally, Larry talked with the Two Others, while Rachel, His slave-wife, put at a good level on her dolly near His couch, had her lips latched like a fucking leech onto His turgid Dick.  It sounded like He was discussing His present experience with the Two Others whose cunts were kneeling on their dollies and doing their faces, quietly. 

       I lead Melia by her leash to the bar where she knelt, without prompting, on the velvet cushioned dolly.  I pressed the elevator button on the dolly to bring Melia’s prettified face and shoulders to a point they could be seen above the bar.  Now, her face was about at My chest level, the steel extension-bars on the dolly being sufficiently long to project an object quite high off the floor.  I readjusted her hands so that she wore her leather cuffs now in front of her.

       “So this is the one you are going to install in your house,” Ron said with a snicker.

       “Excuse Me fellers, I have some scum to dump here,” Stan said, getting that abstracted look on His face of a Man taking His satisfaction.  (Viagra and His Own Strong Will could testify to the fact that Stan could get hard instantly, after He had come.)

       “Yeh,” I said, replying to Ron, “This is a bitch who has really learned something.”

       We both were pleased that Melia had taken this moment to reach into her expensive handbag and get her make-up out and redo it for Our pleasure.

       Ron nodded, as He had read every word Melia had ever written to Me and knew her much better than she ever would have imagined.  Of course, I had never told Melia of this habit of Mine, which really was the custom of the Men’s Club.  Ron was in His fifties, was nearly bald and was a bit overweight.   He had a pleasant face, but might not have been so physically attractive as psychologically attractive to women.   Good-looking women, once they got to know Him, found Him, somehow, irresistible. 

       Ron said, “Well, it’s always a pleasure to teach a feminist bitch.  Let Me tell you about this cunt here,” He said, pointing to the tallish woman who wore a beautiful red dress and red high heels kneeling on her dolly with a soft, pleasing smile on her face next to Him. (Of course I knew everything about her as Us Men kept no secrets from each Other.  But Ron continued in the little charade We liked to play at the Club and in Our gatherings. We all agreed that it was good for a cunt to hear Man talk) :

       “I found this set of holes in the District Attorney’s Office.  A cunt lawyer with lots of experience.  I got hold of her over a lunch with three glasses of wine.  Fucking bitch has a husband and a girl in college, but she’s all Mine now.”

       Men slap Each Other on their backs and laugh in that haughty way when they are triumphant and We both had a good laugh at Susie’s expense.  she was so fucking well trained I did not see the sweet smile on her face vary or even twitch during this frank conversation. 

       I turned to signal Melia that “eyes averted” was suspended and that she could freely look more around the room.  I bought her a double shot of tequila at the bar and fed it to her.  (I will say that it is a thing of beauty when a woman laps and licks in her most feminine way).  When I was done with this she, as she had been trained, redid her make-up completely.  We Men were quiet as Melia lapped her second double shot down.

she redid her lipstick again, quietly.

       At this point, I spoke up, “Masters!  This fucking feminist bitch came into My sight a year or so ago.  Take a look at the cunt now!”  I gestured toward her and I saw the pleasure quivering on Melia’s lips as I drew the attention of everyone to her here.  “Now, as You/you All/all know, Us Men in this Men’s Club share an intimate and profound philosophy, one that is designed to make the world better for Men.  Of course, We have Our little disagreements and foibles, but  We are resolute about the core of it.  Now this fucking bitch only had sucked cock about 50 times before I met her.  she said she didn’t fucking like the taste!  Now that this bitch is My property, she’s going to have to really learn what a woman is and what she is for!  So I have brought her here for some fuck-face lessons.  her lipstick will be pretty, as Susie will attend to her.  But I want six stiff Pricks in this bitch’s face in the next half hour.  And you will have the vote on her!  If this cunt doesn’t treat every Prick as her very own rod of rulership and give you the RESPECT you Man-deserve, I will always be in solidarity with You. Then I will train the cunt further before gracing her with the status of property. 

       For Me there is nothing that gives Me greater pleasure (really a profound aesthetic pleasure) than seeing a bitch act like a real woman.  As the five bitches sat quietly and watched in the background, each Master came forward to take His pleasure from Melia’s compliant face.  I could see with the first Prick that slipped between Melia’s pretty lips, that she had come to PROVE that she could be Mine.  The pretty slot in her face became the gateway to her slavish soul and, hands bound in front of her, she offered her BEING as a cunt for these Proud Men.  I had taught her that she was fucking nothing!  A fucking feminist bitch needs to know that!  And her performance in that authentic ritual that evening still brings tears to My eyes.  Firstly, with the first Prick to enter her face, she was clearly in extended orgasm. What this meant to Me was that she had given up her bitch bullshit ideas and was focusing on her womanly truth.   With each Male’s use of her face slot, her eyes became more glazed and lost in the passion ripping at her soul.  Susie was waved aside after the First because We All were Proud.  Though it was Our Vow that We would not fuck a face without lipstick, the stickiness of the drool and semen there, We knew was the good substitute.  Load after load dumped into the bitch’s face and the slime dripped down her chin so evocatively.  she swallowed and gagged and puked twice, but this was her first time.  And this did not interfere in the least with the obvious paroxyms of her whore pleasure in learning Our teaching.  There was one ritual remaining in our binding ritual and it would come--- but this ritual here made Me know more than any cunt protestation this bitch had ever put in her journal that this feminist bitch had LEARNED.  Six fucking Masters Who really didn’t care!  Who would step on a bitch like a piece of dogshit in the street.  It takes a REAL WOMAN to make them tell Me: “You’ve got a prime face slot there!”  The vote was unanimous; this bitch had earned the right to be property.