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.
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