The Mistress Tests (part 2)

She lays on the bed. Slicked, naked, glistening.
"You're not done." I nod. "Rope comes off."
I strip off once more, naked as her. Naked as purity.
I begin at her shoulders, kneeling next to her, my leg pressed against her warm body. I rub her shoulders, feeling the joints and bones and muscles as they slide under my fingers. Every breath makes her shoulders and back expand and contract in a way where I feel blessed to know her body so intimately.
As I move down her back, I shift, making the bold move to straddle her lower back, my ass resting against hers. Every shift feels epic. Every movement of skin on skin feels like the world tilting. Every muscle flex feels like a change in the tides.
"I can feel your cunt dripping onto my back." She says. I pause, my hands going from soft extensions of my will to stiff indications of my fear. I open my mouth to choke out an apology, but instead I feel her smile and laugh slightly and I relax again.
I slide down, my hands moving to her lower back, and my legs sliding onto the back of one of her cream colored thighs. I shift to press into her back and I feel her thigh left up between my legs. I pause, letting a soft sigh escape.
I struggle not to push down until she moves her leg farther up. I shift my hips down, pressing my open, dripping cunt into the back of her leg.
"Good girl."
I nod, unable to speak as I begin to rock my hips, feeling the pressure on my clit with nothing but pure desperation.
"Keep massaging." I nod, my hands becoming more fierce on her muscles as I rock my hips, fucking the back of her leg like any pet. I grind, cunt dripping down the sides of her thighs. My hips buck as my hands remain as steady as I can make them. My fingers grip the muscles of her lower back, working out knots as if it will free mine as well.
I whimper, and with the tiniest voice I possess I ask her if I may please, please cum. I beg over and over and over, but she doesn't respond. I whimper, grinding and begging at the same time.
Finally she opens her mouth and I stare, waiting for words.
"No." I nod, taking a deep breath. She shifts and point to the pink double-headed dildo sitting near us on the bed. "Present it to me."
I nod, crawling over, picking it up and crawling in front of her. I open my hands, resting on my knees, offering it up to her as gleefully as I offer myself.
She takes it and points one side to me. "Suck it. Make it as wet as your sad little cunt."
I nod, eagerly opening my mouth and receiving the pink plastic, sucking eagerly. I want to show her how much I want to be good. I lap at it, making it slicked and wet. And I watch as only inches from my mouth she slides it inside her, following with a harness. I chew on my bottom lip nervously.
She asks if I am thinking about our missing third. I nod. She asks if I am wishing her was here. I nod again. I am less afraid when he is here. I find comfort in his warmth.
She points to the phone on the bed and and I crawl over, picking it up and presenting it to her, my eyes continually falling to the cock she wears. The cock I want inside me.
She says that he is also wishing he were with us, and he is just as ready with a plug in his ass - and I can only hope to be so lucky. I watch as she write a text, taking her time with me waiting.
"Suck." And I do. My mouth winds its way over her cock, and I eagerly choke myself on its length. My tongue finds the head and begins to lap as she allows me some relief. "Fuck yourself."
I nod and as I bob up and down on her firm, swollen cock, I push two fingers inside my eager pussy. I am soaking, waiting.
"Put in a third finger." I nod, looking up at her as her cock rests and bobs in my mouth. I fuck myself harder, pumping my hips and tensing my cunt.
"Four." I nod, wincing a little, tightening my mouth around her cock. But I cannot resist, and I would never want to. I want to be filled.
"Five." I nod again, angling down to push in my thumb, letting it pound inside me, forcing more and more into my cunt.
"Stop." I whimper as she pulls her cock from my mouth. I want more. I want to cum. I ache. She points to my hand and I dutifully begin to lick it clean. It is wet with juices and oils and sweat and I run my tongue over every finger, sucking them clean.
"Get on the bed." I lay back and close my eyes as I feel her tie my hands back and away from my wanting hole. She pushes a vibrator inside me, with one side still pressing my clit. I wait as she slowly crawl off the bed. The time feels cruelly slow. She is painfully calm as she stands and pours herself another glass of wine. I am speeding along painfully, my heart pumping, my blood coursing, my mind whirling. She stands there in pure glory, wine in hand, pink cock hard and ready to destroy me. Should I be so lucky. She picks up the phone again and sends another message. Another long, long moment I wait.
I see her pick up what I can only assume to be a remote control and press the vibrator on and I am off again in a torrent of vibrations and stimulation and want to cum.
She finally walks over, slowly. I am trying to arch up but against nothing, it does me little good to exert such energy. I am trying not to cry out, I am trying not to cry.
She comes closer, crawling on the bed in a serpentine glide.
"Beg me."
"Please fuck me, please God Mistress please." I string together more religious words, more pleading, and more whimpering in a nonsensical stream of consciousness. I feel her between my legs, holding the tip of her cock there and it takes everything not to simply scream.
I whisper once more, "please" and she relents, forcing her cock deep inside me. And I scream. I fuck her back as she fucks me. I want to give her everything as she pounds inside me. She owns my cunt. My wet, dripping pussy is hers. She holds her hips and I simply buck against her. I do not whimper or cry or scream, only beg. I beg to cum. I beg for release. I beg for more and more.
She picks up the phone and I hear his gasps, his dripping southern begging matching mine. She tells us both to cum and I relent, screaming and pulsing around her cock. I am so wound up I almost break as I cum. My body feels ripped apart. My cunt feels spent and used.
And I feel owned.

On the purpose of lending.

His cock in side me, thrusting. I am pushed against an island in the middle of a kitchen and his cock is inside me. My panties are down around my thighs and my skirt is pushed up over my ass. He is behind me, pushing in and out in short thrusts. Every time he thrusts in my hips slam into the wood and marble, and I fear they are going to shatter if we're not careful.
But he is not careful. He is forceful.
His belt is looped around my neck and he pulls back, watching as my face turns red and my eyelids droop. He pulls until I make the smallest gasp and then releases. I gasp, color returning to something more normal. He continues to fuck me.
My hands grip onto the marble counter top, slipping as they try and find traction. His hands cover mine, and the way his hands stroke the back of my fingers are the only thing that betrays his affection as my hips bruise and my cunt is destroyed by his hard cock. His mouth is on my shoulder, kissing, biting, gnawing, aching.
I turn my head slightly, his limp belt still looped around my neck. Tears have stained my face as he has been pulling, choking until I fear I may be making a final gasp and then releasing. Sweat and cum coat my inner thighs. Red circles where his teeth have dug in decorate my shoulder.
And out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman watching. Her long black hair rests softly in front of her shoulder. Her black cotton dress hugs her frame. I try and make eye contact with her, my eyes already only slits. She watches all of this, arms crossed. There is nothing tense about her body. She is simply enjoying watching as I shift towards being broken.
If he sees her, he makes no note. He is simply intent on fucking me until I can no longer stand. Until I am all used up and made worthless. He will leave me dripping with cum and blood on this tile floor.
I see her walk over, and as she comes closer, I feel the belt tighten again. I cough, sputter, trying to take a final breath as it begins to shrink my esophagus. I squeak just slightly and she leans in, touching my hand softly with the tips of her fingers. I feel her whisper something to him. I feel him nod. I feel his fingers tighten around mine. I feel his cock push in. I feel my eyes droop. I feel my lungs ache. I feel my cunt tighten. I feel my blood pulse through my veins.
She climbs onto the counter where I am against and her releases the belt. I gasp, opening my blood shot eyes, and coughing. I tighten my fingers around his.
His lips move to my ear. "You know that you're Daddy's property, right?"
I nod, still unable to speak, my larynx in a state of shock, my heart in a state of awe.
"Will you be my good girl?" I nod eagerly.
His hand moves into my hair and pulls my head back to look up at her. She smiles. Her smile is cold and cruel and beautiful.
I watch her pull up her dress, her beautiful cunt bare underneath. His hand grips my hair and pulls my head completely back, his other hand moves from my fingers and grips my jaw, opening my mouth forcefully. My fingers feel cold and my hand moves back to hold onto his shirt, gripping the fabric in my hand.
I close my eyes as she spreads her legs over my mouth and begins to release a hot stream of piss directly into my open mouth. I struggle, trying to swallow, trying not to scream, trying not to struggle, trying to be so good as I feel it pour into my mouth and down over my cheeks. I swallow over and over and over, wanting my mouth empty. I feel his cock inside me, pulsing. I tighten my cunt around him as his fingers tighten on my jaw and in my hair.
"Good girl." I hear his whisper into my mouth.
I try not to struggle. I tighten my grip on his shirt as she fills my mouth over and over and over. I close my mouth to swallow and it runs over my lips and down my neck. I am determined. I open my mouth back up, ready to receive more.
It slows to a trickle and I am swallowing, gasping.
She steps back, releasing her dress. His fingers loosen and I feel his lips kiss the back of my head as his hand returns to mine.
"Your girl is very, very good." He thanks her and I lower my head and lean back into him as he slowly begins to thrust once more.

The Mistress Tests (part 1)

Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its perfect result, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. (James 1:2-4)

The car come and I am nothing but hopeful and afraid. The Mistress says we will be getting massages, and while the hope in me is excited for this, the submissive in me is prepared for whatever this means. She is kind, of course, but I have done so little to deserve such kindness.
But when I see her, I am always this way. I have hope, I have fear and it makes my heart speed up and skip and twist into knots. She has told me almost nothing. I take a breath and get into the black Sedan, my skirt hitching up just slightly as I plant my leg into the car.
The mistress is there, and as I begin to smile she commands me to look forward. I nod, doing as she says and gulp just slightly. A blindfold is over my face, and I feel as something small and hard is placed over my panties. I know my bottom lip is trembling out of excitement, and I tighten my jaw to try and stop it.
It turns on, slowly buzzing my clit through fabric as she shifts to whisper, her tits pressed into me. My hands do not move. I will be a good girl.
"You know you're mine, right?" I nod. "But." I gasp. This pause feels like the most sadistic moment we have spent together. "You will constantly have to prove your worth." She continues to whisper, her lips and the heat of her breath warming my cunt and my ear. "Today you will prove that you deserve to be mine."
I nod eagerly, my fingers clenching on the seat just a little. I want so desperately to prove this. I feel the car moving, slowing, speeding, stopping. I wait for something to not be so palpably desperate for release. I hate waiting.
She continues to whisper. She tells me what a slut I am. She tells me I am her slut. This makes me perk. I would never have the audacity to have made this gesture first. She mentions the single missing member of our little family: The man with the dripping southern drawl. He is noticeably absent in this endeavor, and I miss his presence.
When we arrive, I hope that I will be less tense, but that, of course, is not the case. The blindfold comes off and we arrive in midtown. The buildings look freeing. They are epically tall, hiding the various things which will happen inside. Inside trading. Married men fingering their secretaries. People stealing company secrets for a competitor. And whatever the Mistress will do to me. This city is full of fuckers.
In the elevator, I realize I am holding my breath and she feels it. She reaches up and runs a finger down my cheek and I release the slight breath I was keeping.
"You are a good girl. You'll try hard."
I nod, looking up at her with hopeful eyes.
"I know." She smiles softly and I smile in turn. I am prepared for whatever she has to give me.
When we get to the room, I see the evening laid out for me. It will be a long, long evening. Her hands come under my skirt, pulling down the panties I have already dampened. I blush deeply as they are shoved into my mouth. I can taste myself. I can taste how desire for the Mistress feels.
While I am meditating on the taste of my own wetness she strips me down. I am her child she is placing into a beautiful tub, brimming with bubbles. I wait, my hands being good, even when unseen. If she wanted me to touch myself she would have instructed. With my dripping cunt and perked nipples, it isn't hard to see my wants.
And as her good slut, this is always my want. I am always silently beggining her to stroke my swollen clit, to feel the drips running down my thighs of wetness, to taste my own juices, to fill my empty cunt with fingers and toys and cocks.
She returns and my breath catches. Open panties which frame her glistening lips. A shelf bra which puts her perfect tits right at eye level. I'm not sure I even notice or realize my hand moving towards my cunt. I cannot think, simply feel. And I feel ache between my legs the way I used to in class at 7 or 8 when the teacher would bend over my desk.
But the Mistress sees and grabs my hand. I am ashamed at my own lack of self control, and can only pray she knows I tried. I am trying so hard to be good.
Her hand comes across my face hard. I know I deserve this punishment. She grabs my chin to steady my head before pulling her hand back and slapping me again. I breathe hard, staying completely still for this punishment. Her long nails find my nipples and her anger is fierce. They pinch, they twist, they destroy and bruise and I whimper, trembling. Already sensitive, it takes everything inside me not to cry or beg her to stop. But I deserve this punishment. I have made a mistake. I will do anything to be worth it.
Her hands comes around, darting under water and all I see is a flash of purple. A vibrator is placed on my clit and I almost cry out. It pulses and buzzes against my clit for ages. It does not take long before I beg her to cum, holding on tightly to the rim of the tub, my fingers slicked with oil and water slipping off and into each other clumsily. She commands me not to and I whimper. She presses harder into my cunt and I push forward into her. My cunt is swollen and wanting and I am trying so hard not to cum. I beg, pleading with her to cum. I feel tears begin to well up in frustration. Her voice calm, she recites the single meanest word.
No.
It is a resounding statement.
The bell rings and it is gone and I am left to put myself back together. She stands, vibrator in hand. I tremble. I wait in the tub as she lets in the two masseuses. She allows me to take my time, gathering myself as I stand, find a robe, and walk out. I choke out works to introduce myself, a trembling hand weakly taking theirs to meet. The most mundane and memorized movements seem impossible. How I will take off my robe, how I will climb onto the table, how I will not fuck myself right at the moment in front of these strangers all seems like a question mark right now.
She watches me squirm, and the intensity of her gaze is enough to force me into action. I am a good girl. I am going to be her good girl if I am worthy. And this prize could make me crawl to the ends of the earth.
But hands and oils are upon me and I relax into the massage. I clench my pussy as it wishes to be filled, and I hope the woman over me, trying to be so respectful, does not notice. I float, I relax, I open, I close, I rest as I am stroked and caresses and touched for what is both an eternity and a moment.
Just as it begins, it ends, and I fumble to find words to thank them. My cheeks are permanently stained red, I'm sure, and my pussy still drips, pooling underneath me and between my legs.
As they leave, Mistress moves to lay on the bed.
"You're not done." I know this. And I am thrilled.

02.03.12. 10pm.

I thought about you when I came last night. And yesterday morning. I know you probably already assume this, but I wanted to tell you anyway. My memory of the last time we fucked is stuck like a needle in a record's groove. Snippets repeat over and over in a way that would feel stuck if I wanted it to stop.
You didn't leave me with bruises this time, so I had nothing to touch, nothing to press when I wanted to feel you. usually I can slide my fingers down my thigh until I feel where the skin broke, or until I wince to know I've found your marks (because they do belong to you).
Instead my fingers remained on my clit, swirling in rough circles. The fingers on my right hand slid down the edge of the bed until I could find something to grip, anything to hold onto. I usually find a sheet, letting my fingers tighten into the cotton. Last night felt desperate, though. I needed to feel you, I needed to cum thinking about you, bucking my hips into my hand, potent with memories of you. Last night, though, I needed some resistance in my hand and had to rely on the edge of the bed. I feared I would grab too tight - either destroy the sheet or it would slip and my nails would dig into the palm of my hand.
Both has happened before.
I remembered the way your cock slides inside me. I thought about how much I love when you fuck me from behind. I love being on me knees, letting them splay open, feeling you pound into me.
I could practically feel your belt coming down - feel myself suffering through it for you. It is always painful. Sometimes I'm startled at how much I want to suffer for you. I don't know how I bare it sometimes, but it will always be bared.
I meditated on how your fingers bury inside me, tearing at my flesh roughly. I love to coat them with my cum and then suck them clean for you.
I lick my lips when I think about your hand coming down over my face, over and over. Sometimes I want this more than anything else in the world - more than your cock, more than your cum. Feeling your hand strike me in a way which can only be described as intimate makes me feel owned, loved, wet.
My favorite is when you pull your fingers from me and your hand cloaked in cum rests on my hip while you fuck me.
I thought about the rice. The clothes hanger. I would think more about what was coming next if the idea didn't scare me...
I thought about how I would give anything to feel that swollen bottom lip of your on my cunt. What I would do for your tongue...
But what do I finally settle on? The meanest words you have ever said to me: Your punishment is my disappointment in you.
The words made me cry. They broke my heart. They made me beg. They broke me.
The words roll around in my mind as my fingers demand more from my clit. My fingers are rough and needy. They do not ask but require an orgasm to stop. I open my mouth, wanting to form words and beg in the silence of an empty room for you to fuck me harder.
Nothing comes out but air.
I pull my hand from the edge of the bed and bury two fingers inside myself, curling and twisting and fucking. I am needy and wanton. I moan in what is almost a growl.
I want to cum. I want to cum in my hands, on my own fingers. I want to scrape this orgasm from my cunt and my throat.
I repeat the words in my head, I hear your voice saying them so quietly. My punishment is your disappointment. I pound harder as they become mantra in my head. Over and over and over I say it to myself. If I cannot push a bruise, I can remember this shattering moment. My punishment.
I fuck myself harder, feeling my cunt pulsing, tighter and longer each time. I arch up and then back, writhing in the comfort of my bed. I begin to whimper.
My punishment is your disappointment.
I want desperately to cum. I am fucking myself so hard it hurts. My legs are so tight I'm concerned they may be stuck this way forever. The fingers on my clit have curled to where I am simply scraping my clit with my nails. I am going to ache tomorrow and have no good reason why.
I am so tight. Every muscle is begging for me to cum and I want a final push. Tears have begin to escape from my eyes and streak down over my skin. My cunt holds my fingers hostage with the muscles.
Your punishment is my disappointment in you.
I cum, not screaming but begging, crying out simply "please" over and over and over again. Please fuck me. Please destroy me. Please fuck me harder. Please make me hurt for you. Please let me suffer for you. Please make me cum for you. I cannot even rejoice in my orgasm, I can simply ask for more because not even this is mine.