Landlady's visit

Landlady’s visit

Standing in front of the full-height mirror, Christine studied her naked body thoughtfully. Not too bad for a 23 year old, she thought. Hips are a bit narrow, though: boyish, she’d say. And this stupid birthmark on the left thigh. But breasts are alright, thank God. Good and proper 36C, nothing like her friend’s Susan flat chest. Poor thing. Christine laid her hands on her beauties and massaged them a little, nipples hardening under her fingers. She loved her breasts. Turning sideways, she made sure that her waist was still slender, no extra fat and folds. She looked below, at her butt and smooth legs, but they were perfectly fine as well.

Despite all this, Christine was still a virgin. Not technically, of course: she learned how to use a dildo a long time ago. She wore baggy clothes, never wore any cosmetics, never went to night clubs and never stayed too long at her friends’ parties. She was too afraid to let the boys know that she wanted them. She was too afraid to get out of her own cozy lonely shell. More than anything in this world she wanted to spread her legs for a real and hard cock, but the fear of being ridiculed stopped her. It was much safer to engage in fantasies. She was just a helpless toy there, while strong and cruel men ravaged her bound and naked body without end. The intensity of her humiliation within those fantasies could only be overpowered by a sheer pleasure and irresistible urge to feel it again and again.

All that prepared her long ago for the world of BDSM. Deep in her laptop there was a folder with a meaningless name where Christine kept all pictures and videos of bound women she could find. She visited a lot of web sites where kinky people like her met each other, but she was too scared to place there an ad of her own. She just read them: eyes wide open, a sweet tingle between her legs. The fantasies were okay, but she absolutely didn’t want to end up in hands of a real sadist: she was afraid of pain, and who knows if he lets her go at all? So she just watched and read and exhausted herself with masturbation. She became a real pro in that, her small collection of dildos and vibrators never lay idle for too long. Not to mention the other toys.

When she discovered that she can tie herself up, she dived into this little hobby with all fervency of her always dissatisfied nature. She stopped living with her friend Susan and moved to a separate apartment: not too expensive, not too cheap, just enough to live on her own and make ends meet. Nobody would have disrupted her little solo games. It wasn’t too good for her budget, but it was worth it. She always feared her secrets would be disclosed for some reason, and despite living on her own, she still hid her toys in a huge luggage bag, locked and shoved under her lonely queen-sized bed.

The bag was on top of the bed this time, opened invitingly. Seeing its reflection in the mirror, Christine felt she was getting wet just with the sight of it. She slowly lowered her finger to the bristle of hair down below and touched her slit, shuddering with pleasure. She took it as a rule to shave it before every “act”, as she called it; and the last “act” was a couple of weeks ago. It was time to tidy up and start. Still, she took some more time, touching herself with eyes closed in front of the mirror, anticipating another long and uninterrupted “act”, which would take the most of this Saturday.

Finally she sighed and went to the bathroom. She woke up a couple of hours earlier and decided not to dress up at all, walking naked around the apartment. In her today’s fantasy she was captured by a gang of brutes who didn’t allow her to wear any clothes, and soon they were expected to return: to humiliate and torment her again. She even ate her breakfast sitting on the floor, feeling cold woodboards under her bare butt: they didn’t allow her to use chairs, of course. For the same reason she had to stand on her knees when she checked her emails and updates on BDSM sites. After taking a shower Christine dried herself and began to get rid of extra hair. Her captors wanted her to be smooth like a little girl down there, and because she didn’t shave for such a long period, she was going to be punished. Carefully she shaved off the bristle and polished the rest with a depilatory cream. Even a tiniest hair on her pussy or butt could inflict unthinkable tortures on her, and imagining them she hardly could keep herself from climaxing there and then. Finally, everything was ready. She checked herself in the mirror briefly, touched her now smooth and hairless sex with another shudder of pleasure, and went to her bedroom. She felt much more naked now, after the shaving, and it made her even hornier.

From the bag she took a black leather collar. It was high, covering all of her neck, and had a shiny metal ring in front of it. She slowly lifted the collar and pressed it against her throat, enjoying the touch of cold leather. Then she meticulously fastened it on her neck, savoring each movement. Now she could barely turn her head and could not lower it at all. That’s how a slave should look like, her captors always told her. Collared, like a wild animal. After that Christine put on her old nylon stockings, taking them from the same bag. They were torn in several places, but that didn’t make them bad; on the contrary, they witnessed her countless sufferings and reminded her how pathetic and worthless she was in the eyes of her captors. Touching her nylon-covered calves and thighs, she almost went crazy with arousal. She had to be quick, though: her captors could return at any minute.

The next item that saw the light of day was a tube of anal lubricant. Squeezing some gel on her palm, Christine lay on her back, bent her legs, pressed them to her breasts and carefully greased her hairless butthole. One of her captors liked this tiny little hole of hers so much! Christine had to stretch it a little bit to lessen her sufferings, so she sprang to her feet and went to the kitchen. There, in a bowl of hot water, was a butt plug. Christine dried it and covered it with the rest of the lube; then she returned to the bedroom, lay on her back again and began to place the warm plug into her generously lubricated anus. Biting her lips in half pain, half pleasure, she felt herself absolutely dirty and perverted, and this brought another wave of sweet shame to her. As soon as the thickest part was in, she let the plug slide into her completely and got up on her feet. A sensation of fullness was a bit uncomfortable; but, oddly enough, it only intensified her growing pleasure.

She walked around the bedroom a little, listening to her sensations. Heaviness of the plug in her butt, strict leather of the collar under her chin, coolness of nylon on her legs… it all was converting Christine from a quiet office mouse, as she was known by her friends and colleagues, into a spoiled and horny slut, who only lived for the cocks of her masters. She came back to the bed and, taking out the rest of necessary items, began to complete her attire. A minute later her left leg was tied with a rope, ankle to thigh. Christine made sure that the knot wouldn’t go off and tied her right leg in the same manner. Then she inserted her best vibrator into her pussy: it was programmed to turn on and off randomly, with random intensity, and the battery could last for six hours. It slid inside her instantly, so wet and aroused she was. Breathing heavily, Christine tied herself with one more rope, placing it on her waist and crotch in order the vibrator not to slip out.

Only one more item remained: her handcuffs. Christine closed one cuff on her left wrist and put both arms behind her; then she sat motionless for a minute, butt plug and vibrator pressed deep inside her. Only a couple of metal clicks now separated her from a total helplessness. This moment always scared and excited her. It was one of the strongest moments of every “act”. She bid her time, savoring this unstable moment, the last moment of her freedom for the next several hours… and suddenly, hearing the footsteps of her imaginary captors in the hallway, she put her wrist into another cuff and quickly closed it.

That was it. She was helpless now. She couldn’t untie her legs being in handcuffs, and surely she couldn’t take the handcuffs off either. The key from her freedom was in the kitchen now, on the edge of the table, frozen into a large chunk of ice. She had no other choice but to wait until the ice melts, and then she would have to crawl like a frog to the kitchen to stand on her knees there and take the key from the table with her mouth. But it would take at least two hours until that moment. Two hours of helplessness and sweet torture.

Sitting on the floor with her eyes closed, she felt her captors looking at her. They were standing around, eyeing her naked breasts with erect nipples, her bound legs in torn stockings. Someone ordered her to bow her head: a slave must not take her gaze off the floor. She tried to do that, but she couldn’t: her high collar wouldn’t let her. She turned her head desperately in every way possible, but she wasn’t able to lower her chin, and she could only see the tips of her nipples. She had to be punished for such misbehavior; and one of the men laughed viciously and kicked her in the back.

She fell on the carpet, squeezing her breasts against it. It hurt, but she forgot about that in a second. She was so vulnerable now, so exposed with her legs spread apart. Someone forced a finger into her tight anus, while several fingers roughly entered her pussy. They laughed at her, made remarks about her body, their callous hands were all over her. They told each other what a dirty and pathetic slut was now before them. Christine could only lie there with her face down, dying of humiliation, aroused beyond the point of madness. She begged her tormentors to have mercy on her, but she knew it was useless, and any minute they would start using her body (their body!) without a slightest remorse.

Her vibrator kicked in at last and shook her body with an avalanche of sensations. A grey and quiet mouse called Christine disappeared without a trace. There was a dirty slut on the floor who was violently raped by her captor, while other men watched and laughed. They were waiting for their turn, while all she could do is squirm and writhe on the floor, moaning with fear and pleasure. After only a couple of minutes vibrator turned off, and the slut moaned again, this time in frustration, causing another wave of laughter from her captors. Oh no, said this laughter, you exist for our pleasure only, and if you so stupid that you can’t come yourself, the worse for you. Christine wriggled in her bondage, unable to get free, unable to bring her climax any closer; but she knew that her captors hadn’t finished with her yet, and there was more and more for her to come.

An hour later she was immensely tired; and, as usual, she somewhat regretted about the whole idea. Her legs were numb, her handcuffed wrists hurt, her hair was a mess, and she was panting and glistening with sweat. But then her vibrator came alive again, and several seconds later she was shaking in another orgasm: she didn’t even know the number of it. She was lying on her back now and wailed like a cat in heat, rolling from side and side. Her breasts were red with carpet markings, her toes were contracting under the wet nylon. It was worth every second of this long naked morning. It was worth living through those dull, grey weeks. Her climax had passed, and she lay still, drained of all strength. She saw the masters passing her by: they were already satiated with her body, they didn’t even look at her. But she still was available for them, unable to get free, and she was as happy as any dirty slut could be.

And at that happy moment she heard the key in the lock of the front door.

Those sounds were real. She didn’t imagine them. She froze in terror, unable to believe it. Then she heard the door opening, and a split second later it was shut. Someone was in the hallway now. She heard the footsteps. She began to get up on her knees frantically, thoughts about the key on the kitchen table racing through her mind. And then she remembered. Her landlord (or landlady, to be exact) made her a call last night, when Christine was asleep already. She told Christine that she would come tomorrow for a brief inspection. Which meant today, of course. Christine agreed sleepily, hung up the phone and completely forgot about the call the next morning. When she woke up, she could think only about the “act” scheduled for today. How could she be so stupid?! What was she going to do?! She rose on her knees finally, not knowing yet why she did that; and right at this second the landlady appeared on the bedroom doorstep.

Miss Westlake was 42 years old, and she was quite a sight for her age: trim figure, beautiful skin. Christine knew little about her. Only that the woman lived alone at her own house, without a husband or children. Red as a lobster, Christine stood on her knees and couldn’t meet woman’s eye: even if she wanted to act like he was robbed and bound by someone else, the bag on her bed, full of bondage gear, gave her away completely.

“Wow,” said Miss Westlake at last.

Christine didn’t say anything, paralyzed with shame. She had never felt so ashamed in her entire life. Her worst fear, a fear to be discovered, came true.

“Wow,” said Miss Westlake again, this time with a hint of smile in her voice. “Who would have thought you had it in you?”

“I’m so sorry,” said Christine quietly, almost crying. “I forgot you would come.”

“I could see that.” She was definitely smiling this time. She entered the bedroom, came to Christine and squatted in front of her. “And you’re doing this for how long?”

“For some time,” whispered Christine.

“How long?”

“I don’t know… seven years or so…”

“Seven years. Who would have thought? I suppose you don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

“No.” Christine felt water swelling in her eyes, and before she knew it she burst into tears, shaking and sobbing. “Please don’t tell anyone, Miss Westlake. I’m so sorry and embarrassed.”

“I bet you are,” she nodded. If Christine wasn’t so busy with crying right now, she would have noticed the strange look in woman’s eyes: they were studying her naked breasts, her hairless crotch with a rope between the pussy lips which soaked with the girl’s juices. “Of course you’re embarrassed. Such a modest girl turned out to be so pervert. What do you think your parents would say? What about your friends or your colleagues? Could you imagine that?”

Christine cried like a baby. Kneeled before a woman whom she barely knew, naked, frogtied and handcuffed, she sobbed, unable to wipe her eyes and nose, mumbling about how sorry she was. Finally Miss Westlake seemed to feel sorry for her and patted her shoulder gently.

“There, there,” she said. “Everything’s okay. Stop crying. Tell me how you were going to release yourself.”

Still sobbing, Christine told her about the key. Miss Westlake went to the kitchen and returned with the small piece of ice. Right at this moment, as if she wasn’t humiliated enough, Christine’s vibrator turned on again. She shuddered, feeling waves of pleasure spreading all over her body against her will. Miss Westlake looked at her with a strange smile, and then another strange thing happened: Miss Westlake began to take off her clothes. Christine couldn’t believe it. Fighting with waves of pleasure from her vibrator, she watched incredulously how the woman was undressing in front of her; looking right at Christine’s eyes, still smiling. Soon she was standing in front of the girl completely naked. Despite the mess of thoughts in her mind, Christine couldn’t help but admire the woman’s physical shape. She wished she could look that good at her age.

“Do you like my body?” Miss Westlake asked her.

“I’m sorry?” Another wave of pleasure shook Christine. She couldn’t hold it much longer.

“My body. Do you like it?”

“Um… yes… I think…”

The woman’s breasts were small, but firm. Her nipples were huge and stood erect right now. A thin line of short dark hair ran down to her shaved pussy lips.

“Have you ever had sex with a woman?” Miss Westlake asked, and at this moment Christine came. It was too much. The vibrator buzzed inside her, while she was squirming in front of the naked woman, all senses lost. When it was over, Christine couldn’t meet Miss Westlake’s eyes. She felt she could literally die of shame right now.

“You’re so cute when you’re coming,” Miss Westlake said. “So tell me, Christine. Have you ever had sex with a woman?”

“No,” the girl whispered, catching her breath.

“Never? And didn’t want to?”

“No.” She looked at the woman at last. She tried to ignore her words, longing for all this to as soon as possible. “Please untie me, Miss Westlake. I’m so sorry. I won’t do this anymore, I promise.”

“Really?” The woman was clearly enjoying the situation. “And you hope this is going to stay a secret between us two, Right?”

“Please, don’t tell anyone, Miss Westlake. I’m begging you.”

“You’re a good girl, Christine,” she said softly. “I agree with you. I don’t think anyone should know about this either. Let it stay like this, like our tiny little secret.”

“Thank you, Miss Westlake.” For the first time Christine smiled, feeling an immense relief. “Thank you so much. I—”

“But you’ll have to do something for me first,” said Miss Westlake.

“What?” Christine began to panic again. “What should I do?”

“Firstly, just stay like this for a while.”

She went to the hallway, still naked, and returned with her cell phone a minute after. Before Christine knew it, Miss Westlake held it up and took a picture of her.

“What are you doing?” was all the stunned girl could say.

Not answering, the woman went closer and took another photo; a close-up of Christine’s naked breasts and her red sweaty face with eyes wide open.

“Please stop it!” Christine said, her fear growing. She didn’t understand what was going on. “Why are you doing this? Please don’t!”

Miss Westlake took two more pictures and threw the phone on the bed. Then she squatted in front of the girl again, her small breasts so close to Christine’s face.

“I had some thoughts about you, I have to confess,” she said. “But never, even in my wildest dreams you didn’t end up being like this. Wrapped, packed and ready to use. I guess you didn’t dream about this either. But here we are, and the opportunity must be seized. Do you want to have sex with me, Christine?”

“No!” said Christine, appalled. “I’m not like this! I don’t have sex with women! I’m not a lesbian!”

“Are you sure?” Suddenly Miss Westlake moved closer. She was almost sitting on Christine’s lap, looking at her from above. Her right nipple touched Christine’s face, and she jerked repulsively. But still, Christine felt the warmth of the woman’s body, the scent of her perfume. “You know what they say: a properly secured straight isn’t much different from a lesbian… and you’re secured well enough, aren’t you?”

“Stop it!” Christine shouted. “Leave me alone! I’m not having sex with you, I don’t want it!”

“Sure? Well, that’s too bad.” Miss Westlake stood up. She looked into the bag on the bed and found a ball gag harness inside. She quickly shoved the big rubber ball into Christine’s mouth and strapped the gag tight, despite the girl’s protests. After that Miss Westlake began to dress up and did that in a couple of minutes.

“I understand your concern,” she said, taking her phone from the bed. “If you don’t want me, it’s your choice, I can’t blame you. Just remember that the first choice may not be the best. Think about it while you’re sitting here bound and gagged. I’m not gonna take advantage of you; the only thing I’ll take is the key from your handcuffs. Just something for me to remember this day. And I’ll keep the pictures, of course. I think your neighbors would be happy to see them in their mailboxes tomorrow. And your colleagues as well. I know where you work, remember? It won’t do you much harm, though. Bound as you are, I don’t think you’ll be able to get out of the apartment at all. I don’t think you’re expecting any guests in the next few days, huh?” Christine shook her head no automatically. “That’s what I thought. I wonder what it’s like to stay like this for days, unable to call for help. But like I said, it’s your choice. So goodbye, sweetheart. See you next time… or probably not, ha-ha.”

And she left the bedroom.

A thousand pictures raced through Christine’s shocked mind at once, while she was listening to the woman’s footsteps behind the wall. Somehow she knew that Miss Westlake wasn’t joking. She was going to leave her. Without a single chance to escape. Christine saw herself after the next few hours: naked and bound, crying for help, with gag muffling all her screams and shouts. How long will it take for someone to find her? Will she be alive by then? And what her parents will say when they find out their daughter died of thirst and starvation during a self bondage game? And those pictures in the woman’s phone—

Christine became so panicked that before she could think she shouted at the top of her lungs, begging the woman to stop. A second later Miss Westlake appeared at her doorstep.

“You wanted to say something?”

Christine nodded desperately.

“You want me to stay?”

She nodded again. A drop of saliva fell from her gagged mouth onto her right breast.

“Are you sure? I could just leave you and go, I don’t want to interrupt your little game.”

“Mmmph! Mmmph!” Christine shook her head violently. She was sick of her little game. She wanted only one thing: to become free, at any cost.

Miss Westlake grinned and came up to her. She undid the straps of the girl’s gag and took it off. Then she squatted next to her, looking at Christine’s eyes with the expression so triumphant and eager that Christine shuddered involuntarily. Less than anything she wanted to be with that woman, but right now she didn’t have a choice.

“So, Christine,” Miss Westlake said calmly, “I think I may ask this question again for the last time. Do you want to have sex with me?”

“Yes,” she whispered after a brief pause.

“Sorry, what? I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes!”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I want to have sex with you, Miss Westlake.”

The woman smiled. Her hand touched Christine’s breast gently, and the girl shuddered again.

“Good girl,” she said. “I like your attire. You have taste. And a good body, of course.” Her hand ran down to Christine’s waist and then further, to her pussy lips spread apart with rope. Christine shivered. The touches felt good, but the fact that she was touched by a woman almost nullified the pleasure. It was almost like being touched by her mother.

“I never tried bondage play before, you know,” Miss Westlake said, beginning to untie the rope on Christine’s right leg. “But I like to be on top of the game, if you know what I mean. And you look so awesome I think we may give it a try. I will be your first girl, and you will be my first girl in bondage. You will be my plaything today. My cute little toy. Are you sure you didn’t want to have sex with a woman before?”

Christine shook her head.

“We’re a lot better than men, trust me. We know our bodies. We know how and where to touch. We endure much, much longer. Men are not like that. They’re like matches. Pff, and it’s gone. All they want is to stick it in, squirt, and leave. I believe you know it already.”

Something in Christine’s silence made her look into the girl’s eyes intently.

“Or do you?”

Christine couldn’t lie. Not in front of this woman. She shook her hand and blushed, probably a hundredth time for today.

“You got to be kidding me. You still a virgin?”

Christine nodded, almost crying. Her legs were free now, and Miss Westlake was taking off her crotch rope.

“That’s okay,” Miss Westlake smiled. “I had my first-timers before. Don’t worry, sweetheart, I will guide you. I want you to feel as good as I do. Now let’s take this dildo out. There you are. So slimy, you definitely had a good time with it. Well, isn’t this a butt plug? You’re such a slut, young lady. Let it stay where it is, I don’t want to get my hands dirty. Now stand up.”

Christine rose on her feet clumsily, her arms still handcuffed. With an effort Miss Westlake took the bag from the bed and put it on the floor. She led Christine to the bed and suddenly pushed her. The girl fell on the bed and froze wide-eyed, watching the woman. Miss Westlake lifted Christine’s legs and placed them on the bed too. After that she began to undress again. A couple of minutes later both women were lying naked in the bed: one on bottom, handcuffed and shaking with fear, and one on top, smiling viciously and touching the helpless body in front of her.

“Don’t be afraid, my little toy,” Miss Westlake said, her fingers playing with the pussy lips of her prey. “Tell me about your fantasies. Tell me what you think about when you tie yourself up.”

Stumbling and blushing, Christine began to tell her. She thought she couldn’t be more embarrassed until then, but she was wrong. Not only her body was naked in front of this woman; her soul was becoming naked too. Her deepest and darkest secrets were coming out. And she couldn’t do a single thing about it. She was in complete and absolute power of this woman. She told her about her imaginary captors, told about other fantasies she had before. Trying to wrap images into words, Christine began to get aroused involuntarily. The fingers of her landlady were everywhere, in the most intimate places of her body, and that helped too. Christine’s speech began to falter and then ceased completely. It didn’t matter now that her partner was a woman, a human being of her own sex. Christine breathed heavily and moaned, her eyes closed, feeling soft and warm flesh against hers. She couldn’t think of anything else. She didn’t want to.

Suddenly she felt Miss Westlake’s lips against her own. She opened her mouth slightly, and Miss Westlake’s tongue slipped there, meeting hers. It was the first real kiss in her life. She moaned again, unable to resist the sensation. Two females were kissing, entwining their tongues, and Miss Westlake’s hand between Christine’s legs moved faster and faster, until suddenly the girl uttered a scream and arched her back, accepting the orgasm. The first orgasm that another human being gave to her. And not just a human being. A woman. Just like herself.

“Did you like it?” Miss Westlake asked when the last spasms of Christine’s pleasure died out.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Told you. You like being my plaything so far?”

“Yes,” she whispered after a pause.

“Say it.”

“I like to be your plaything, Miss Westlake.”

“Good. Now show my little girl how much you like it. Say it to her.”

Miss Westlake rose and kneeled on both sides of Christine’s head, as if riding it. The woman’s pussy was in front of Christine’s face.

“I like to be your plaything, Miss Westlake,” she said uncertainly, addressing to the woman’s vagina.

“You silly thing,” woman laughed. “Say it with your tongue. Kiss it. Kiss my little girl.”

“I can’t,” whispered Christine, unable to divert her gaze from the woman’s sex.

“You can and you will. Kiss it. Use your tongue. Now.”

Slowly Christine raised her head and kissed the woman’s pussy. She felt its lips against hers. The touch was hot and moist. She probed them with her tongue, and Miss Westlake moaned above her. Suddenly the woman pressed her groin against Christine’s face, literally sitting on it. The girl’s nose and mouth were now sealed by the woman’s pussy, and she couldn’t do anything else but to lick. Her tongue went in and out, and Miss Westlake’s moans were her answers. The taste was strong, but not unpleasant. Christine licked and licked, forgetting about everything, forgetting even about the pain in her handcuffed wrists beneath her. Miss Westlake began to thrust her hips against the girl’s face, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Christine’s world shrank into countless slick folds of soft flesh under her tongue, into a pungent smell of aroused female, into the moans and heavy breathing above. Suddenly the rhythm broke, and Miss Westlake’s hips squeezed her head harder than before. Moans turned into screams. The woman was climaxing sitting on Christine’s face, smearing it with hot juices, and the girl could only wait until it ends.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Miss Westlake said when she dismounted Christine’s face and sat beside her, smiling. Both women were panting, faces glistening with sweat.

Christine smiled uncertainly, not knowing how she should answer. She had just had sex with a woman. Was she a lesbian now? She didn’t want to be a lesbian. But she had to admit that she did climax from this woman’s touches, and the feeling was incredible. Better than any dildo or vibrator could give her. “I didn’t have a choice,” she reminded to herself. “I had to obey that woman, or she wouldn’t free me. But what’s next?”

“I like this slave character of yours,” Miss Westlake continued. She smiled, but the look in her eyes was so strange that Christine couldn’t even guess what it meant. “Very sexy. Did I tell you it’s my first time with a girl in handcuffs? It’s hot, I must tell you. I didn’t even know what it was like, to have sex with a completely helpless person. To make her do what I want, not caring about anything but my own pleasure. You can’t believe how it feels. You know what, I think you’ll stay like this for a little while longer. I’m too horny to set you free right now. I want you to be my little slave for a while. You like to be a slave, don’t you?”

“Yes,” whispered Christine. She couldn’t lie to this woman.

“Say: yes, Mistress.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“’Yes Mistress’ what?”

“Yes, Mistress, I like to be a slave.”

“Oh God. You can’t believe how awesome it sounds. Say: I am your slave, Mistress.”

“I am your slave, Mistress.”

“Mmmm,” she moaned. “Unbelievable. Why didn’t I do this before?”

She saddled Christine again, mounting her waist this time, and squeezed the girl’s nipples in her fingers. Christine yelled in pain, looking at the woman in fear… or was it just fear? Suddenly she saw the whole picture in her mind: naked and handcuffed, with a naked woman sitting on top of her— the woman she had just had sex with, the woman she called “Mistress”. It was so wrong on so many levels, but so exciting at the same time. She really was this woman’s slave now. She was completely in her power, and she couldn’t break free. Weren’t that her exact fantasy coming true? Wasn’t she always dreaming about being somebody’s slave? Yes, but not for another woman… or did it really matter? She couldn’t answer. She wasn’t able to think straight. She could only look into her Mistress’s eyes, hypnotized and submitted completely.

“You’re my plaything,” Miss Westlake said, twisting the girl’s nipples, kneading her breasts. “You’re my toy, you’re my dirty slut, you’re my fucking female slave. You’re my dirty little slavecunt. Say: I’m your dirty little slavecunt, Mistress.”

“I’m your dirty little slavecunt, Mistress.”

“Get up on your feet, slavecunt, I want to inspect you. Now!”

Christine began to get up from the bed clumsily.

“Faster, you fuckmeat!”

Her voice scared Christine: this time for real. It was metal. It was ruthlessness you only could obey. As fast as she could, Christine stood beside the bed, trembling, her stomach twisted in one icy knot. Miss Westlake was studying the girl’s body, still sitting on the bed, her hand slightly moving between her legs, the same metal in her eyes as in her voice. Then she suddenly sprang up and took Christine to the center of the bedroom. “Stand still,” she said and then began to slowly walk around the girl, as if examining her body. Christine felt like she was a slave on a market, and despite her fear she felt that it was turning her on. Suddenly Miss Westlake slapped her naked ass with her hand, and Christina ouched. She winced in pain but didn’t dare to move. She couldn’t disobey the order of her Mistress to stand still.

“You’re a good piece of meat, slave,” she said at last. “I’ll make a good slave from this nice and tasty meat of yours. You want to be a good slave, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mistress.” She could only agree with this woman. It was impossible to do otherwise.

“Say it.”

“I want to be a good slave, Mistress.”

Miss Westlake stepped closer and pressed against Christine’s body, holding her in her arms. Their breasts squeezed against each other. The girl felt her landlady’s hands moving across her back and her ass.

“I made a decision, sweetheart,” Miss Westlake whispered in the girl’s ear. “You will be mine from now on. A hundred percent. I will own your body and soul. Every little cell of skin on your beautiful body, every little drop of juice from your virgin cunt will be mine. Either that or your pictures are going everywhere. And I will make more, I promise. You’re going to be my property. My own little fucktoy. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress,” whispered Christine almost inaudibly.

“From now on only I can have sex with you. No other women, and especially no other men. Only me and my cunt. You can masturbate as much as you want, but no living cock is allowed to enter your pussy. You’re going to stay virgin until I decide otherwise. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Everything this woman was saying was unthinkable. Unbelievable. But why was she so aroused with her words?

“Tell me you’re going to be my fucktoy.”

“I’m going to be your fucktoy, Mistress.”

“And no one else can have sex with you now, but me.”

“No one else can have sex with me but you, Mistress.”

“Do you want this, girl? Do you really want to be my slave and my property? Tell me the truth.”

Christine couldn’t tell her the truth. She didn’t know what was true anymore. The only truth was this woman’s orders, and that left her no other choice.

“Yes, Mistress,” she whispered. “I want to be your slave and your property, Mistress.”

“I knew it,” Miss Westlake said and kissed her tenderly. “Of course you are. And I will make a good use of your servitude. Let’s go now.”

They returned to the bed. Miss Westlake unlocked Christine’s handcuffs and took them off. Instead she put two wide leather cuffs on the girl’s wrists, and another pair of cuffs ended up on the girl’s ankles. All those items came from Christine’s own bondage bag, and while it was good to feel soft leather instead of metal handcuffs, she didn’t have time to think about it. The ball gag entered her mouth once more, leather straps harnessing her head. Miss Westlake spread-eagled Christine on the bed and began to tie her hands and wrists to the bedposts. Soon the gagged girl’s limbs were stretched so tight that she could barely move. Exposed and helpless, she lay in front of the woman and could only watch her getting off the bed and dressing up.

“You don’t know how hard it is for me to leave you like this,” she said. “But I have to be in another place now, and I’m already late. But don’t you worry, sweetheart. I will return. I want to start training you as soon as possible. I want to teach you how to please me, and I want to punish you if you do something wrong. And you won’t enjoy these punishments, believe me. I think I’ll even drop by an adult shop on my way back and buy something for that. A whip of some sort. You ever dreamed about being whipped, sweetheart?”

Christine shook her head vigorously.

“Oh but you will be. Maybe you’ll like it, too. You didn’t want to have sex with me either, and look how amazing it was. I want to see you screaming in pain, honey. It’s too sexy for me to resist. Oh Christ, I can’t believe I didn’t do this before. I want to do so many things with you, my head is bursting with them. But don’t be afraid, my little toy. If you do what I want and be a good slave, I will reward you, I promise. You liked it when I made you come, didn’t you?”

Christine nodded. She would nod even if she didn’t like it at all.

“Of course you did. And it may be much better. Think about it, while I’m away. Say cheese now.”

Miss Westlake took four of five pictures with her phone. With each click Christine felt herself more and more degraded, as if she was an animal in the zoo. She tried to move her legs a little bit closer when the woman took a close-up shot of her pussy, but couldn’t move them even for an inch. Never in her life she was so restrained and so helpless. She was trapped. And this trap didn’t have any exits.

“Good girl. The camera loves you. Now here’s my little gift for you, slave.” She shoved Christine’s vibrator into the girl’s pussy. “It will show you how merciful I can be. I can even tie it down for you, just like you did. There you go. That will do until I come back. Then I’ll show you what I can do with a strap-on dildo: it’s a lot better than this, trust me. If you will behave, of course. Otherwise you won’t enjoy it at all, trust me.”

Miss Westlake rose and went to the door. There she stopped, turned back and winked to her prey.

“See you later, beauty. Don’t forget about the pictures I made. And think about the others I will make later. We don’t want anyone else to know what a dirty bondage slut you are, do we?”

And with that she was gone. The front door was shut, and Christine became alone again. She tried to wriggle out of her bonds, then tried to call for help, but all of it was useless. She didn’t go anywhere. She belonged to this woman (her Mistress!) now, and they both knew it.

Breathing heavily, her breasts rising gently, she tried to imagine the fate that awaited her. Was this woman really going to make her, Christine, her own slave? Was she going to whip her? “Oh God,” she thought, “please, make it just a bad dream. Please. I don’t want this.” But she knew she wasn’t in charge anymore. Those pictures in Miss Westlake’s phone enslaved her more than every rope and restraint in her bondage bag could. And as if mocking her, the vibrator in her pussy kicked in, and she shuddered. It reminded her that she didn’t even control her sex life anymore… not that she had any. Her pussy already ached from the vibration and countless orgasms, but she knew she couldn’t prevent another one. Not while she was tied up like this.

“Am I really a lesbian?” Christine thought, feeling the familiar warmth spreading from her groin. “It can’t be. I never even dreamed about this. But this woman made me come. She touched me down there, and it felt good when she did that. Hell, it felt good even when I licked her pussy off, like a dog. I just couldn’t admit it. Oh God, this woman is right. I’m such a dirty slut. And now she’s making me her slave. And I don’t have a slightest choice. I have to become her lesbian slave. Oh my God. Oh my God, this is so good…”

The vibrator in her pussy buzzed relentlessly, bringing her slowly to inevitable climax. She moaned in her gag and closed her eyes, giving herself away to the power of her restraints, to the power of the device inside her pussy. She saw her captors again. They stood around her bed, talking to each other. They made remarks about the dirty slut that lay before them, they mocked her, while one of them was on top of her, ravaging her pussy with his big hard cock. But suddenly she saw that he wasn’t there anymore. It was a woman now on top of her. She resembled Miss Westlake but she had a huge strap-on dildo on her hips, which went rhythmically in and out of her pussy and glistened with her juices. Christine begged her to stop, but the woman didn’t stop, and all the men surrounding their bed went quiet, and they began to fade on by one, disappearing in thin air, until none of them was there anymore.

THE END (I may write something else about these characters, but you may consider this as a standalone story, which it pretty much is.)

Characters are fictional, similarities are coincidental.

Your thoughts and suggestions are always welcome at gawler.hicks@gmail.com.