Mistress debbie

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Mistress debbie

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Her somewhat deeper voice could growl and purr almost simultaneously, and today it purred sexily and growled menacingly, and her every word seduced me further into a deeper state of submissiveness.

You know I told you many times that I wasn't a sadist, but using you even a little like this today is making me very wet. I see I'm going to have to explore my limits as well.

So do you submit to me as my slave? I asked that only as a courtesy because of our old friendship. I have concluded you indeed need punished and I mean truly punished, no safe word shit; I mean completely under my control, my degree of pain and humiliation, not some arbitrary degree based on your sense of pain.

I know what to include in a session, so do not make any suggestions—at all! I am sexually excited by the thought of inflicting pain and humiliation on you.

A pool of my pussy juice covers this seat from watching you grow submissive and hepless over the last 10 minutes or so.

The more submissive I perceived you to be, the more my sadistic nature was aroused. I think you should lick all this juice up.

You'd love that --wouldn't you, my little slut? My tongue tasted the plastic but her cream's taste shot through me as if it were a drug.

In moments, I cleaned it. I complied and she sat back down. Not exactly guilt over feeling turned on by doing it, but a sense of self-embarrassment about my own sadism.

But since then, I have lost any sense of guilt or self-embarrassment; I have masturbated quite successfully and numerously to a variety of fantasies--having a whip in my hand and beating you and seeing you experience pain and humiliation caused by me, and many other fantasies.

Do you still agree to serve me as my slave? Take out the panties in the bag and wrap them about your nose and mouth—go in a stall, of course; masturbate and cum in your hand.

Then, wipe the cum on the panties and stuff the panties in your mouth and return here. Instantly, I obeyed, leaping, diving into what was to come.

Part Three: Humiliation Continues In the closed stall I opened the brown bag; inside was a zip-plastic bag with her panties.

I opened the zip; placed my nose and mouth inside the bag and took several deep breathes. Within 30 seconds I orgasmed into my hand, wiped the cum on the panties and stuffed them in my mouth.

I was like a rollercoaster car going over the other side of the steep climb, and all I could do was continue the ride to an eventual, inevitable end.

And like the law of gravity --the law of my own masochism and my need to submit were too strong to break or resist as I willingly flew headlong into the web of her domination.

Afraid and still turned on, I walked back to our booth feeling like a condemned man—but loving it! Aware that what was to come was no fantasy but the real thing—not my silly and abortive attempts at self-inflicted masochism while beating off.

Upon my return she was talking with a customer. So I sat, my mouth full, and amazingly --my cock still hard. The bitter mixture building in my mouth I ignored.

When she finished, she lit a cigarette and sat with her legs open wide. And inside--a part of me realized I would do anything, anything she said, anything—and I wanted it all to be depraved.

And I wanted to hear her evil laugh over and over. They are cheap cotton panties, a three pack, I bought just for you.

Two weeks ago, I wore those the day I moved. Remember how hot a day it was, and I drank a lot of cold liquids and pissed all day long.

I never wiped myself; I just let those panties soak up my droplets. So the liquid dripping down your throat each time you swallow is the golden nectar of your Goddess.

He, he! The Golden Nectar of my Goddess, a vile mixture of her piss, spit and other pussy drippings seemed to rush through me and instantly drug me, making me dizzy, giving my cock more rigidity and deepening my slave mind.

All I could think: she was dominating me in front of the flea market but no one else knew; only she and I, and I had no reason not to expect more extreme depravity.

Sitting there tasting her pissed-soaked panties was the beginning of a fantasy I had shared with her dozens of times, so truly every drop I swallowed was Golden Nectar to a slave like me.

Swallow again! She knows everything about you, everything. Understand, slave? I could feel my humiliation covering me like an invisible blanket and like a man tied to rail track with a runaway locomotive bearing down --I was helpless.

The head between my legs, bulging and throbbing, overruled any flickering doubts my other head had. Mary Lou began laughing when I pointed to my stuffed mouth; she turned and continued to laugh her great ass off for at least a full minute.

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I sat, smoked and drank coffee for 10 minutes or so. She had told me she would make me lick and suck her boots completelty clean and use my mouth as a toilet when she took possession of me as a slave.

So when she returned, she had a bag with her shoes in it and was wearing new black, patent leather boots that went to right below her knees --and they had 4 inch heels.

I stood, she sat --in the only chair we had. On a milk case, directly across from her, I sat, almost drooling and staring at her boots.

I experienced a not so subtle, erotic intoxication, a mind altering one, a penis engorging one. My cock--harder than ever before in my life; my mouth opening slightly, my tongue darting about, my saliva flowing--and my hand reaching and squeezing my hardon.

I could picture me on the floor laboriously licking and sucking clean every square centimeter of her black leather boots. My emotions vacillated between gut wrenching fear and absolute joy.

I dared to look up her short skirt [not something she usually wore] and saw her smooth , shapely bronze thighs; their rounded perfection touching, forming a dark sensuous line, and my eyes ran up that interior line of dark flesh to the space beneath her skirt's edge, to a sight I had seen many times before--but now, shame overwhelmed me as my eyes begged to see the pussy of this magnificent, dominant female.

My erotic intoxication focusing, my submissive soul falling prostrate before her; my eyes and soul captured, so I stared adoringly into the darkness beneath her dress' edge.

I dared raise my eyes to her face as she lit a cigarette slowly, and then sharply French-inhaled to perfection as our eyes met.

Her onyx eyes burned through me as she lowered them --and my eyes followed as if led by an attached, invisible leash--down Once there, a personal miracle as amazing as the parting of the Red Sea: slowly, achingly, the dark sensuous line disappeared as my eyes folowed her parting thighs again to the space beneath her skirt's edge, revealing she wore no panties; my eyes, pleasured beyond description, gazed upon a moist, many-faceted jewel crown, or brazen altar, her shaved pussy, with its full moist, pouting lips glistening as my cock, at full mast, throbbed for freedom in my pants.

In that moment, I submitted to her not only my body, but my mind and soul as well. My mind knew she was about to take me as her slave--as I had begged her to do for many months.

My mind wrapped itself slowly around the absolute reality of the situation, but not my cock. It was totally aware.

The knowledge that Debbie knew how much I craved and lusted for physical and psychological abuse from her--more than anything else in the world, that I'd beg her for it--sent fresh waves of humiliation coursing through my body.

Imobilized, I could only stare at her boots, my tongue almost hanging out, my cock about to explode. I had fully entered the state I call "slave mind.

Minutes passed --and I couldn't take my eyes off of her boots as she kept rocking them back and forth before my eyes, knowingly taunting me.

You never were that hard when you tried to fuck me," she said as her hand reached with the speed and delicacy of a mother reaching for her child's hair and smoothing it out.

And in a slim moment, her thumb's and forefinger's nail bit into and firmly squeezed my cock's head, then slid down its length to my balls, cupped them as her fingernails flicked through my pants and over the steel cockring I wore.

Your pathetic little hog is now mine; I own it and you. You will not touch this or do anything with this without my permission.

Do you understand, slave? My breathing now even heavier, and as subcumed to an even deeper state of "slave mind," I received a weak signal of drowning in submissiveness from a part of me that seemed adrift and distance --and was quite disappearing.

The feeling of being owned and used opened the vast vista and the phathomless ocean of total submission to me. And I was hooked, ready to plunge headlong into it's rewards and punishments, its pleasure and pain.

A sense of "home" so powerful in its echoing memories of eons ago, a feeling of being completely taken care of--settled over me like a warm, wet blanket.

On her crossed legs she leaned her elbow as she bent forward, "Here," she ordered. And I leaned forward, my eyes catching a glimpse of hers; they penetrated me and I lowered my own.

Now I really understand how much and how thoroughly you lust, desire and need by birthright to be owned. You are neither gay nor straight, not homesexual, not bi-sexual; that is all byproduct of you being born completely submissive.

Nature knit you into a submissive slave in your mother's womb, and you have spent your useless life trying to return.

So if you're unsure of anything--know now you're my complete slave; I am your owner, your Mistress, your Goddess, your All, and the pussy you have just stared at is the altar under which you will worhip and be sacrificed.

You will not look me in the eyes again, or I will punish you severely. I will punish you severely anyway because you must be trained, or maybe just because we both want that--or because you lust to be whipped and humiliated beyond belief.

And in the last minutes --since putting on the boots and seeing you transform before me into a drooling, pathetic creature -- my taste for power and lust to dominate you has increased beyond measure.

Time seemed suspended; I had only one sense--whatever sense My Mistress revealded herself to me. Her somewhat deeper voice could growl and purr almost simultaneously, and today it purred sexily and growled menacingly, and her every word seduced me further into a deeper state of submissiveness.

You know I told you many times that I wasn't a sadist, but using you even a little like this today is making me very wet.

I see I'm going to have to explore my limits as well. So do you submit to me as my slave? I asked that only as a courtesy because of our old friendship.

I have concluded you indeed need punished and I mean truly punished, no safe word shit; I mean completely under my control, my degree of pain and humiliation, not some arbitrary degree based on your sense of pain.

I know what to include in a session, so do not make any suggestions—at all! I am sexually excited by the thought of inflicting pain and humiliation on you.

A pool of my pussy juice covers this seat from watching you grow submissive and hepless over the last 10 minutes or so. The more submissive I perceived you to be, the more my sadistic nature was aroused.

I think you should lick all this juice up. You'd love that --wouldn't you, my little slut? My tongue tasted the plastic but her cream's taste shot through me as if it were a drug.

In moments, I cleaned it. I complied and she sat back down. Not exactly guilt over feeling turned on by doing it, but a sense of self-embarrassment about my own sadism.

But since then, I have lost any sense of guilt or self-embarrassment; I have masturbated quite successfully and numerously to a variety of fantasies--having a whip in my hand and beating you and seeing you experience pain and humiliation caused by me, and many other fantasies.

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