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Chapter 4: First contract
I am famished and that distracts me somewhat from the desire burning in me. All four of us find ourselves sitting at the enormous table set against the bay window. It must be over 15 meters long and two meters wide. It’s the first time in my life that I am invited for dinner in such a luxurious environment. The sun has begun to drop and its multiple shades of red fill the reception hall with a soft and warm glow reflecting off the immaculate tablecloth. This is the large room I saw coming in with Lisette. Facing the office of Madame, it opens up to the other side of the park.
Madame gives the signal for the festivities to start before sitting down, followed by Christelle and Doctor Lee. I do the same.
All three are sitting side by side. Madame presides at one end while I sit alone at the other end, facing her. Curiously, when Lisette set the table, she didn’t put any utensils or any glasses for me. To eat, I only have at my disposal a superb plate made of porcelain and a silver bowl from a renowned company that looks like a dish used to clean your fingers.
After a few moments, Madame gets up and moves towards me. Her rolling gait and the grace she shows when she walks make me shiver. I find her so radiant in the dying light of the sun.
“Sandrine, I am granting you the extreme honor of accepting you at my table. I hope you will be worthy of it. You will learn that I am very demanding regarding table manners. This evening, it will not be an easy task because you will have to keep your hands crossed behind your chair during the entire meal. I have a great deal of hope for you and I think, unquestionably, that this challenge, like the ones that preceded it, is within your reach. Of course, the previous orders still apply. You will not be authorized to speak unless I talk to you. I’m counting on you, is that understood?”
Obviously, not a moment goes by that the influence this woman has on me doesn’t grow. I nod timidly.
I do my best to adapt to this new restriction. The menu is worthy of a four-star restaurant. Appetizers are a succession of small crackers covered with foie gras then salmon then caviar, all delectable. Never before have I enjoyed such a tasty meal. The caterer must certainly be one of the most famous ones from the Paris area. Since I cannot wipe my mouth, I pick my food slowly, taking great care to eat as cleanly as possible under the bemused eyes of my hostess. There’s only one downside. Every dish is very spicy and my urge to urinate has returned after the first serving. Because instead of giving me a glass, Lisette has filled the small silver bowl with sparkling water and has placed it alongside my plate. I must lap like an animal to quench my thirst. I have a horrible thirst and I must look past the shame I feel demeaning myself like this. I can only drink sparkling water while the three ladies share a bottle of wine that, listening to them, is very fine. Another restriction, probably meant to reinforce my new condition as an inferior being.
Lisette is doing the service. She is once again donning her maid uniform, except that she is not wearing her skirt. Sometimes, Madame whispers something in her ear and she comes over to help me drink by holding up the bowl. I do not question the perversity of the situation anymore. I’ve gotten used to it, just like the victim of propaganda that eventually finds normal the worst kind of abuse.
At the beginning of the meal, Christelle checked her out thoroughly. The little maid sat on the table, legs wide open, and had to spread the lips of her sex in an obscene show of exhibitionism. Then she had to turn around on all four to present her anus. From where I sat, it seemed to me that the flesh of her pubic area had turned even redder. As for her ass cheeks, there was no doubt that the hot sauce had done its job. A red mark matching the covered area looked like an attack of the hives, springing from her ass crack and forming a red target contrasting with her white skin lined with deep marks.
I eat slowly but with appetite. When she has nothing to do, my partner of misfortune kneels between the legs of her Mistress, by the table, ready to slavishly obey any of her orders. She rushes to refill an empty glass or every time one of the diners requests it. From time to time, an indiscreet hand or probing finger finds one of her exposed charms.
When Lisette fills my bowl for the second time, my situation begins to get worse. The sparkling water amplifies my urge to go pee while still not quenching my thirst fed by the condiments on the food. I find it harder and harder to hold still. At the other end of the table, the three women have a heated conversation from which I am excluded. With the passing of time, my urge becomes pressing. Trapped by my forced silence, I must bite my lip, praying that I can hold back until the end of the meal.
The pace of service is very slow. The conversation the three ladies are having drags on forever. They ask for seconds without paying attention to me. Systematically, I am the last one served. I feel like a little girl invited to a banquet for adults and finding herself as the only child at the table. Each dish is served ridiculously slowly.
The pressure in my bladder becomes painful. The only means at my disposal to get a little bit of relief consists of a lateral movement of the knees which I open and close as discreetly as possible. I dare not imagine the punishment that Madame would subject me to if I were to let my urge take over and pee on her chair. The minutes tick away slowly and the looks sometimes mocking, sometimes suspicious that she frequently throws my way reinforces my resolve.
After serving the plat de resistance, Lisette comes over to assist me. She feeds me like a young child who wouldn’t know how to hold her spoon without spilling food everywhere. The perspiration exuding from her body and her face bears witness to the torments she is putting up with herself. A few pressing looks make me realize that she has perceived my despair. We each have to endure our torment in silence. In spite of the mild temperature, I have cold sweats.
The main course is very spicy. Discreetly, she makes me understand that I have to eat it all. My growing thirst adds to my ordeal. In despair, I drink two additional large bowls, not without trying to resist the need for it as long as I possibly could.
When at last we get to the dessert, my bladder is on the verge of exploding. My legs are shaking convulsively and I have the toughest time preventing my hands from doing the same. I must look very pale because, suddenly, Madame stops in mid-sentence, throwing an inquisitive look my way.
“Is something the matter Sandrine?” she asks me with a sly smile that profoundly bothers me to the core.
It’s now or never. I go for it.
“It’s just that…” Her hypnotic look makes me lose all my senses. I have the feeling that her large blue eyes can read my thoughts.
“It’s just that…”
“Well what’s going on girl? You’re repeating yourself?”
“I… I… I have to go pee.” I say with a little girl’s voice, overwhelmed by the three pairs of eyes starring down at me.
“Big deal! Is that why you are making all that fuss?” I was afraid that you were going to be sick again. Not if that’s it. The meal will end soon, you won’t have to wait much longer. I still strongly suggest that you do not make me ashamed of you, my pretty one…” she adds with a voice filled with innuendos.
And with that, she loses interest in me. Only Lisette discreetly throws an encouraging wink at me. Of course, their discussion turns to the problems of incontinence and the diuretic virtues of the sparkling water. I have to suffer this agony while I must patiently wait. From time to time, Madame throws me a suspicious look, as if to verify that I am following her orders.
When finally comes the time for coffee, she leans towards Lisette and whispers something in her ear for the longest time.
Then, turning to me. “So my darling, how are you holding up?” The little maid hurries to the kitchen.
I can’t take it anymore. I open and close my legs like a pair of scissors with all the energy of despair. My efforts to stay discreet have long gone. Cold shivers go through me like daggers. I think my bladder is three times its normal size. An incontrollable shaking runs through me head to toe.
“I… I beg of you Mad… Madame, I absolutely must go to the bathroom. I… I can’t take it anymore.” Tears of distress drown my eyes.
“And you think that crying will bring you relief?” Her cruel tone floors me. “The old saying: Cry, you will urinate less,” she adds talking to the other two who burst out laughing. Unable to contain my grief, I burst into tears.
“What is your mental age if you must cry like this? If you could only see yourself. You will make you nice makeup run.” As incredible as it may seem, her unforgiving voice gives me renewed strength.
“Lee, I would like for you to check her blood pressure please. I find her frighteningly pale,” she says, turning to the Asian woman as if I was an object.
The doctor gets up and comes over to sit next to me to take my pulse. Her hand touches my bloated belly. Delicately, she feels and examines my bladder. I shriek in surprise.
Christelle bursts out laughing. “With everything she’s drank, she must have a bladder as big as a hot-air balloon.” The redhead seems to enjoy my suffering. She lifts her glass up to me before bringing it to her lips. “To your health my pretty one.”
The hand on my stomach brings me pains that travel all the way to my urinary tract. All my muscles are contracted to the max. “Poor little girl that has to go pee!” Her demeanor surprises me since she was so calm and helpful a moment ago.
Finally, Lisette returns with the coffee. In the middle of her tray, a large silver soup tureen is resting, out of place amongst the cups. Without a change in style, she serves the three women then puts a cup in front of me.
“Thank you Lisette. Now take your place.”
“Very well, Madame.” She picks up the soup tureen, takes the cover off of it and kneels at my feet.
“Come on, hurry up and drink your coffee and you will be able to relieve yourself. I authorize you to use your hands to go faster.”
“Thank you Madame.” I drew my last ounce of strength to use a respectful tone and not betray my impatience. This is not the time to make her change her mind.
Hurriedly, I bring the steaming hot cup to my lips. The coffee is boiling hot. I don’t have time to let it cool down. My lips and tongue are going through hell while I complete this latest ordeal without any further ado. Suddenly, two hands make their way up between my knees and spread them apart widely. Lisette has slid between my legs. The element of surprise almost made me let go a squirt of urine.
“Above all, make sure you follow carefully all my instructions,” she tells me from under the table cloth. “Move your chair back about a meter and sit forward on the front edge of the seat as much as possible.”
Ready to do anything to end my ordeal, I quickly obey. The three women get up and move closer to us. Lisette places the soup tureen between my legs, right under my hairless sex. With her elbows, she pushes on my knees, spreading me almost in a split.
Finally, I understand what they want. The spicy meal, the sparkling water, all that is premeditated. I will have to urinate in the soup tureen in front of everyone. But my urge is so strong that I cannot hold it one second longer.
That is when the little maid puts her mouth against my sex.
“Good girl, just in time it seems.” The low voice of Madame sounds unreal to me, stunned as I am by the behavior of Lisette. Her lips press up strongly against my sex and I feel her brush my flower lightly with the tip of her tongue. A fantastic wave of pleasure begins to grow between my legs. A few drops of pee escape. Lisette gobbles them up without a hitch.
“Let’s go Sandrine. The time for deliverance has come my darling.” Her hand takes over from the doctor’s.
Torn between shame and pleasure, I let go with merciful relief in the little maid’s mouth.
“Don’t spill a drop, girl. If you ever stain the carpet…”
The threat, half implied, seems to stimulate Lisette. She applies her lips even more hermetically against my vulva. The sound of my urination, stifled by her mouth, is muted by the noise of her throat. She swallows in great gulps my urine held in for so long.
Never have I imagined going through something so degrading and so exciting at the same time. I just cannot take my eyes away from the maid’s face. Her eyes closed, focused on her task, she does as best she can not to miss a beat. But I have been holding it for too long and the flow of my urination is too strong. Quickly, I realize that she is overwhelmed by the tide that I expel with power in her mouth. Her cheeks swell. Every gulp makes her fall behind. Obviously, she doesn’t have time to breathe.
At the cost of a considerable effort, I manage to suspend the stream of pee. My bladder is not as painful. It gives her time to catch her breath. It was about time. As I stop, Lisette starts coughing. The poor little girl had trouble swallowing. A little bit of urine drips from her nostrils.
“You’re done already?” Madame is mocking me. “It wasn’t worth all this drama, girl.”
I raise pleading eyes to her. Next to her, the Asian woman has opened up her white blouse to slide her hand between her legs. A little further back, Christelle is holding a video camera and is immortalizing our performance, not missing a bit. She moves up towards us and crouches by my side. I can imagine her zooming on my face, my sex and the mouth of Lisette.
A bolt of pleasure travels through my clitoris. The maid has recuperated. She licks me greedily, as if to thank me for my thoughtfulness.
“I… I still hav… have to go.” I struggle to spell out
“Well, what are you waiting for, you little idiot?”
I let get again. The stream, just as powerful as before, slams the throat of the little maid with force. I wonder how she prevents it from leaking everywhere. Visibly, she is experienced with this sort of thing.
I had to stop the stream two more times, for the same reasons. When my urge begins to subside, after what seemed to me an eternity, Lisette starts licking me again hungrily. Pitifully, I moan under the assault from the waves of pleasure shaking me to the tip of my nipples. I imagine myself, seen through the lens of the camera, obscene, legs widely apart, arms crossed behind my back, my face twisted by the rise of sensual pleasure. That thought has the effect of a lash from a whip on me and brings my excitement to its full height. A torrent of molten lava threatens to explode in my mucous membranes swollen with blood.
I am on the verge of an orgasm. My source has dried up. Only the tongue of Lisette ties me to reality. Waves of pleasure hit me in succession at a diabolical rate. My legs and my arms are beginning to go numb when suddenly, following a sign from Madame, Lisette stops.
“No!!!” A cry from the heart. The frustration is too strong. “Keep going, don’t stop, I’m begging you!!!” As a reflex, my right hand moves over to replace her mouth, inexplicably drawn to my sex in turmoil. Every part of me desperately needs this fabulous orgasm that she has just “short-circuited”.
A swift slap from a crop, on my hand, makes me freeze in place. “That, girl, is out of the question.” The voice of Madame shakes in anger. “Rule #1: I and only I decide when you can have pleasure. To caress yourself without my permission represents a very grave crime…”
I reconnect with reality. I feel like I got caught. My emotions are mixed. On the one hand, I have the impression of having been denied a priceless gift. On the other hand, a sense of deep depravation makes me feel guilty to the highest degree. A bottomless emptiness fills my mind. Never, ever since my childhood the idea of deserving punishment seems so obvious to me.
“Aren’t you ashamed, you dirty sex fiend? Deriving pleasure from urinating into the mouth of my maid. Just where do you think you are? In a whorehouse?”
Her foul mood hurts me terribly. Her eyes express her anger with even more vigor than her words can. I feel like I have committed an unforgivable sin.
“If this ever happens again, I will give Christelle free rein to take care of you for 24 hours.” The idea, terrifying, of being tortured with a lighter invades my thoughts.
“You, get out from under there!” she orders sharply. “The table won’t get cleaned up by itself.”
In less time than it takes to say it, the maid is standing up in front of her boss.
“Christelle, check to make sure she hasn’t spilled any.” Her tone leaves no room for contradiction. Without a word, the redhead hurries up. It’s obvious that no-one in the house wishes to face her wrath.
“As for you, I wonder why I shouldn’t send you home.”
Getting slammed on the head with a club would not have generated in a more disastrous result. The urge to urinate that tortured me during the entire meal was nothing compared to that threat. Under normal circumstances, I should have been happy with that conclusion. I should have been rejoicing to return to my past life, my parents, my friends, the high school. But no, everything has changed. My priorities are totally different. The idea of being chased away like a slob, of being rejected by this woman is, all of a sudden, insufferable. Not for one moment, in spite of everything I had endured since I started seeing this woman, have I considered such a possibility.
“No!” A cry from the heart. “I beg of you, Madame, don’t do that.”
What kind of carnival monster has she turned me into for me to take so much pleasure in humiliating myself and accept being mistreated then ask for more?
“And why shouldn’t I do it? What pathetic reason could you give me to make me keep you around? You have spent almost two days here, fed, housed and cleaned. All that cost money, you silly thing. Are you that much of an idiot to believe that tonight’s dinner fell out of the sky? All told, we’re talking four thousand Euros, minimum. And that does not include the service. How do you expect to reimburse me those expenses?”
I burst into tears. “Everything you want, Madame, I will do everything you want. Don’t reject me. Have mercy.” I say, sobbing.
“Everything I want? But you already do everything I want, you little slut. Look at yourself. With you makeup running, you look like a troll up. What do you want me to do with you?”
“P… Pu… Punish m… Punish me if you want but I’m begging you… D… Don’t send me away.”
She pauses for a moment in silence. “It’s clear that you deserve some punishment…” Not a sound disturbs her thinking. Only my sobbing rings out miserably. “I can be magnanimous. We can perhaps come to an agreement, you and me…” She stops again. “I propose a trial period of… It’s eight o’clock in the evening… Let’s say that I keep you on trial for twenty hours. We will review the situation tomorrow afternoon at four o’clock sharp then. What do you think?”
I throw myself at her feet. Tears of relief join my tears of sorrow. “I thank you Madame.” Humbly, I press my cheek against her boot. Her leniency fills me with happiness. She pulls her other foot back in an inviting gesture. Showing gratefulness, I cover with kisses the shiny leather she deems worthy of me.
“Careful, young lady. This isn’t a decision you want to make lightly. During the next twenty hours, you will not be allowed to change your mind. Regardless of the difficulties you will encounter. Are we in agreement then?”
“Yes, yes Madame. I promise you that you will not regret it.”
“Well of course, you will be punished for your bad behavior. Are you sure that you can honor your commitments?”
“Yes Madame. Keep me by your side please.”
“Ok, I’m almost done. You will also have to be totally obedient. That is, you will not only execute all my orders but on top of that, you will have to do so with enthusiasm. I want to see you take pleasure in everything I will demand from you. At the slightest sign of protest, at the tiniest lack of willingness on your part, our pact will end immediately.
“I will do everything you want Madame.”
“Good, the matter is closed. Lisette, your punishment is over. When you are done clearing out the table, you will find Sandrine in the office. Christelle has some administrative formalities to complete with her. Next you will both go make yourselves pretty and you will both wait for me at 10 p.m. sharp in front of the pool.”
“As you wish, Madame.”
The redhead comes next to me, ties a leather strap to my collar and pulls me behind her, on a leash. We follow the long corridor. She is taller than me and moves at a brisk pace, forcing me to jog to keep up with her. On her hip hangs a riding crop that slaps against her thighs with every step. Little by little, I get over my emotions. What can those mysterious administrative formalities be? We enter the room in which I saw her for the first time.
“Sit over there,” she orders me, pointing to one of the chairs facing the desk. “Hands behind your back, legs opened.”
She sits down, facing me. The desk, entirely made of mahogany, is huge. At each of its ends sits a flat screen. Perfectly at ease, she grabs a mouse and navigates through some files for a while. I am watching her. In spite of her severe demeanor, she has a pretty face and her short hair give her a masculine look. Her green eyes are alive. She leans forward and picks up a document that just silently came out from a printer located under the desk.
“What are you looking at?”
“Caught red-handed, I lower my eyes. I have yet to see that woman smile. Her thin and harsh face never seems to lose that stern look she has while staring at me.
“I forbid you to put your eyes on me. Understood?” Her aggressive tone makes me shiver.
“Yes, Madame.”
“Yes who?”
“Yes, Christelle.”
“I prefer that.” Totally ignoring me, she crosses her feet on the desk and starts reading the document. Her black short leather skirt shows a large part of her long legs covered with dark nylons.
“Climb on the desk and get on all four. Position #5.”
A hot flash fills my face. I scramble up on the huge desk. The screens are so far apart from each other that I could lie down completely stretched out between them. The tips of my breasts extend.
She resumes her reading. Her feet are resting on top of mine. Not without some apprehension, I obediently spread out my buttocks. A draft of cool air drifts down my intimate parts, reviving the sensitivity of my clitoris.
“Not like that, you little pervert! Facing me.”
Red with shame, I rotate on my knees without letting go of my buttocks. My nipples are hard as stone. I find myself only centimeters away from her red stilettos with spiked heels. Her legs, covered with black nylons, hypnotize me for a moment.
“Bend down more than that.”
Holding on to my buttocks, I put my chin down on the polished surface of the table. Her feet move and come to rest against my face. A mixed smell of leather and perspiration fills my nostrils. With a small mocking laugh, she rubs the sole of her left foot against my right cheek. The rough contact is unpleasant. A drop of sweat trickles down from my forehead and slide along my nose, giving me an itch I have a tough time containing. Using the tip of her crop, she pats me on the right cheek. My mind is a blur. Between my opened buttocks, a draft of air gives me an icy sensation, making me realize how wet my intimate parts are. A slap from the riding crop, harder than the others, forces me to turn my head. I end up facing her stilettos. From the openings on top of them, I can see the black nylons covering her feet.
The smell becomes insistent. This woman has stinky feet.
“Kiss my toes.”
I overcome my revulsion and place my lips on her big toe. The unpleasant smell is strong. Nose pressed on her stilettos, I breathe in with disgust this humiliating fragrance of leather, old cheese and perspiration mixed together. Lips glued to the black nylon, I plant kiss after kiss on the foot of my torturer. The redhead doesn’t make a sound. Only the clicks from her mouse and the purring of the printer spewing printout after printout break the silence of the room. An irresistible urge overtakes me. A perilous urge to slide my finger between the lips of my sex. Under duress, my breathing becomes faster. The horrible odor of stinky feet takes hold in my nostrils. Discreetly, my index finger progresses to the heart of my soaking intimacy. Never, ever have I felt such a desire.
“Now the sole.”
I willingly obey, desperately stretching my finger to reach my wanting clitoris. Her shoes are dusty and the demeaning contact with the rough and used leather adds to my humiliation. The orgasm, held back for so long, rises up sharply in my loins, threatening to erupt inside me with the power of a river that just broke the dam. With a fingertip, I tickle my little appendage on fire.
Suddenly, a lightening fast strike hits me in the back.
“Who gave you permission to fondle yourself, you little whore?”
The pain, along with the surprise, is such that I rise up grimacing. Another blow lands on my left hip. I startle, putting my hands in front of me in a useless attempt at protection. My eyes are bathing in tears.
“Did I ask you to stop? Kiss the sole, now!” she says raising her arm to attack again.
Terrorized, I hurry up getting back to work, nails clenching my ass cheeks. She has not moved, content to flog me with all the might at her disposal. The stinging pain relegates the pleasure tormenting me to the deepest depth of my libido.
“Little idiot!” she says again with contempt in her voice. “You thought that I wasn’t aware of your little game? Know that nothing you can do escapes me. Here, take a look over there.”
With her riding crop, she taps me on the right cheek so that I have to turn my head. On my left, a zoomed-in image of my face fills the entire screen. The definition is so clear that I can see my tears. My makeup has run. A click and an image of my back replaces the previous one. A small cut, red, swollen, stands out against my pale skin, as plain as the nose on your face.
“Madame will be furious with you. I wouldn’t want to be in your place when she sees that.”
This new revelation throws me in a deep state of bewilderment. I understand now why Lisette was so worried about the cameras in the infirmary and the showers. Big Brother is watching you…
“The whole mansion is under electronic surveillance. You are always monitored and everything is recorded on a hard drive. I look at all the files before selecting them for Madame. The slightest oversight will be relentlessly chastised with great severity. I am patiently waiting for her to leave you in my good care. I am anxious to play with your nice little slutty body.”
An immense sense of despair sweeps over me. My back and my hip are in extreme pain. I see myself, naked, tied up and spread, left to endure the worst tortures this sadistic woman can inflict on me. My blood turns to ice. One time, she tortured me with a lighter… I had blisters for several days… The memory of Lisette’s words has the effect of a cold shower. Goose bumps cover my entire body.
“Here.” She says, handing me a printout with a header from the modeling agency. “Read this.”
ANGELS
Models
Last Name:
First Name:
Address:
I hereby authorize any and all persons, mandated by or working for the agency “ANGELS Models” to photograph me and shoot me on film regardless of the process used. Similarly, I authorize Madame Irene de Villemonble, Duchess of Villemonble, representative and general manager of the agency: “ANGELS Models” to exploit my image in any way including commercially. In payment for these services, I acknowledge benefiting and having benefited from financial and moral support from the Duchess of Villemonble to whom I give all powers to manage my career and handle our relationship, be it professional or private, as she sees fit. Under no circumstances will I turn against her or the agency “ANGELS Models”, no matter what the state of that relationship is.
I certify being over 18 and consenting, in full possession of my faculties and acting with full knowledge of the facts.
Prepared at: on (date)
Signature
“Read it out loud, fill in the blanks and sign.” She tells me, handing me a magnificent brand named pen. “Hurry up, we haven’t got all night.”
She gets up and circles me. Using the tip of her nails, her fingers brush against the scars she gave me with her crop. In spite of myself, I whine pathetically.
“Just read instead of groaning like a little bitch.”
I resume my reading with the feeling of having gone back to grade school, confronted with a despotic teacher. Her hand moves down to my buttocks and caresses them deliciously for a long time before diving between them.
“You are gushing like a fountain.”
A glance at the screen shows my face, red as a beet. Using the tip of her nail, she endlessly teases my anus while I get on with my task. With a simple signature, I give Madame de Villemonble every power to use as she sees fit all the compromising videos of me she has made.
“Good. It’s about time.” She says snatching the printout from my hands. “That doesn’t mean we’re done.” After leisurely sitting up straight in her chair, she hands me a pile of documents and a folder. “Turn around the other way and file these in the tabs while I check to make sure you didn’t make any mistake.”
The folder is full of transparent tabs. I turn around and bow down to do the work. I must take each sheet one by one and file them in order. There has to be a hundred of them. On each one of them appears a detailed description of the rules to which I must submit, the constraints imposed on me, the different positions I will have to take on demand, the outfits I will be authorized to wear and the ones that are forbidden.
All the while, she moves her crop between my ass cheeks and has fun exploring my private parts with her fingertips. Those ministrations bother me and more than once, I drop a sheet, clumsiness immediately chastised by a distracted lash from the crop or a slap on the ass.
“Boy, are you clumsy. It’s as if you’re doing it on purpose to get punished.”
What is she thinking? I do my best to do my work as quickly as possible but the constant state of arousal in which she keeps me prevents me from correctly concentrating. Sometimes, she pushes her fingers through the opening of my sex or my anus. Or, sadistically, she very slowly rubs her nails against my mucous membranes, having fun scratching me lightly. But pain isn’t part of the equation. My desire is so strong that my secretions protect me from torment by lubricating my flesh.
The last pages make up a submission contract, spread over 10 pages or so. I don’t have time to read it.
“Give me that.” She says once I finish my task.
She puts the folder in a drawer and grabs my leash. With a sharp pull, she makes me get off the desk and, without a word, drags me out of the room.
Next: First evening with Madame.
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