Amy Miller was exhilarated almost beyond bearing.
She’d been this way for weeks now of course. But ever since she’d checked her email around noon and learned that they’d actually been accepted for the Humiliatrix competition she couldn’t stop giggling, shivering, and clutching her elbows with irrepressible delight. And they were not just accepted as alternates or anything, but as actual contestants. The various certificates of acknowledgement, consent forms and liability waivers were already in the post and should arrive within days. Once they signed and mailed them back it would all be official. That made today the absolutely perfect day to spring her big surprise on Steve.
She still couldn’t believe they’d been accepted.
How amazingly wonderfully could things possibly turn out? She was undoubtedly the luckiest girl in the entire history of the world. Already married to a really great guy and enjoying a simply fantastic life, both marriage and life had recently been elevated to the stuff of which unbelievable dreams were made. And now both were about to get immeasurably even more fantastic. She simply couldn’t stop pinching herself to make sure she was awake.
As far as Amy was concerned (and its organizers no doubt intended), entering this contest had already made her a winner in so many unimaginable ways. Getting to compete now and having not only their fifteen minutes of fame but a one-in-five chance at the ultimate prize of a million dollars and their own weekly TV show was just sumptuous gravy on top of an epicurean banquet. And the way things were going, who was to say they couldn’t win? And if they did win…holy shit, how could she possibly be more totally spoiled than she was now?
Currently Amy, the incomparable Lady Love, already lived like an unchallengeable queen, or even an omnipotent goddess. She had unlimited leisure time, with no responsibilities at all. As she had established with exhilarating paddle strokes over two months ago, she no longer did a lick of housework, or indeed any work at all.
Every day she slept in, or lounged around the bed as long as she liked. Then she was served a simply scrumptious breakfast right there by her endlessly fawning slave, who worked at home (as she’d wanted from the beginning and he’d formerly resisted) and was now at her beck and call around the clock. She then left her disheveled nest without a single look back, confident in the knowledge that it would be aired, changed, and scrupulously made with a single rose resting on her pillow when she eventually returned to it.
She took equally languid, leisurely soaks in the tub after Steve had bathed her and shampooed her long thick hair for her exactly how she like it: done not twice but thrice. He’d also been trained to give her meticulous manicures and pedicures, back and foot rubs and even full body massages – not to mention endless expert cunnilingus upon demand.
After that she could swim or lounge by the pool, soaking up the always reliable Southern California sun, exercise all she liked or just read and watch their home theater all day, where she enjoyed exclusive use of the remote control and the Netflix membership – “chick flicks” all the time in other words. She had all of her favorite meals prepared just as she liked them and faultlessly served to her, and (every wife’s dream) now had free rein with the finances without having to justify a single purchase. Plus of course best of all there was the unlimited amusement and distinctly sexual excitement she got from ruling her husband’s every least move and extravagantly punishing him for the slightest infraction real or imagined.
By this point she’d learned to merge her two complementary personas perfectly to always keep things freshly exciting and unpredictable for Slave Steven, who must continue to love and worship her unconditionally and yet be kept constantly on his toes and have his submission addiction fed in just the right doses. She could switch effortlessly from sweetly fun-loving and delightfully vivacious Amy to the capriciously cruel and tyrannical Lady Love without warning or reason. And seeing the startled chagrin seize her slave followed instantly by that insanely needy craving and tremulous arousal never failed to tickle her ego and spike her own eager libido in the most fulfilling and exciting fashion.
Of course she’d been binding and paddling him regularly since that first wonderfully instructive session, and with increasing severity. She’d had Steve drill dozens of holes in one of their old ping-pong paddles after peeling the worn coverings off, and then sand, lacquer and polish the entire thing to a beautifully smooth, hard finish. In addition she’d removed the buckle from his stoutest leather belt and had him rivet a comfortable loop into that end into which her hand snugly fit. Both of these made far more effective implements of discipline than her original paddle, and she delighted in using them at every opportunity.
She’d also become much more sophisticated in her application of bondage. One unconscious attempt to filch the coverlet, one accidental kick beneath the sheets, any snoring at all, and Steve would spend the rest of the night gagged and hogtied on the hard floor next to her, while she enjoyed the entire big bed. And of course no act of intercourse could be performed (always female superior now, whether she faced forward or back) unless he was elaborately restrained in some humiliating fashion. As for orgasms, counting those delivered orally Amy had enjoyed more in the last two months than her entire life previous. Slave Steven of course, had never been even close to limited to so maddeningly few.
Currently he was serving another celibacy sentence for failing her, this time an indefinite one. And while she wallowed in endless cunnilingus, he was restricted to one orgasm a week under very strict circumstances. He was forced to stand bound head to toe to a supporting pillar in their basement rec room, with only his clumsy left arm free from the elbow down. Then as she whipped him with her belt and ridiculed and castigated him for his shameful inadequacy and contemptible performance he was forced to look her in the eye and humbly masturbate.
Of course while he was serving these celibacy sentences Amy chose to go completely nude, taunting him with what he couldn’t touch outside of bathing, foot-rubbing or other strictly proscribed rituals. And when she did choose to have sex with Steve, Amy had taken to wearing one of his football jerseys. As a former star quarterback in college – they’d met at one of his games – he had over a dozen of these to select from. Amy particularly favored his hometown LA Raiders shirt. Oversize even on Steve, it was like a voluminous black dress on her, concealing her entire body except for her lower arms and legs – and what peeked through the tiny mesh everywhere, or was fleetingly revealed by the plunging, occasionally off-the-shoulder neckline.
Yet despite Amy hiding her body from him this way, Steve still kept consistently failing her during sex. That was the only flaw in her wonderful new life. As much as she enjoyed receiving lavishly unstinting cunnilingus at the flick of an imperious finger, there was still no substitute for riding a big hard cock to her heart’s delight. Unfortunately though, her slave’s unrelenting desperate arousal and enforced regular deprivation made it impossible for him to perform up to expectations now matter how severely she punished his ‘short-comings’. But yesterday, while re-reading the specifics of each stage of the contest they’d entered, Amy had been scandalized, struck by absolute hilarity, and instantly inspired like never before.
Clearly she’d only scratched the surface so far in the sexual uses there was for a slave. Straightaway she’d gone out and purchased an amazing fetish costume ideally suited to a sexually deprived Lady Love.
She’d kept this hidden so far, intending to let the already nearly unbearable anticipation build until the exquisitely perfect moment. And yet already here it was: they’d actually been accepted to compete for Mistress Humiliatrix and Slave. Obviously the Goddesses of femdom intended her to end Slave Steven’s celibacy sentence in the most appropriately emphatic fashion today; right now in fact.
Currently she had him tied to their bed – how convenient! Not too elaborately tied however, just enough to keep him honest and excited. Not that the latter would have been a problem, given what she’d been doing. She’d simply lashed his wrists together with the same pair of tights as always (she liked to remind him of where this all started, and they worked so well too) and thence to the center of the headboard. She had his hips propped on a pillow to elevate his penis, and that was it. Well, maybe not quite. If she was going to spend a couple hours (as she just had) rubbing in his celibacy sentence by endlessly teasing and toying with his erection, allowing him to ejaculate through some miscalculation of her own would rather defeat the point of the whole exercise. To that end she’d used a pair of specially purchased extra-long rawhide bootlaces to very intricately bind his prick and balls all about, until they bulged and pulsed in their complex leather wrapping in the most entertainingly impotent way.
Finally deciding that the moment was indeed perfect to spring the wonderful news – and her devastatingly superb surprise – on her delectable slave, Amy removed the two dozen clothespins she had decorating her favorite toy and methodically untied the lacings. She actually had to peel these out of the angry red furrows they’d sunk in his most tender flesh, and she cooed and giggled ruefully as she did so.
“Aw, little Stevie looks wounded to me. And big Slave Steven, to whom he’s connected, looks sweaty, worn-out, and practically crazy with frustration. Well, I’ve got some wonderful news that should definitely perk you both right up,” offered the Lady Love, as she at last cast the laces aside. Actually, little Stevie didn’t look like he needed perking up at all: wounded or not, he was as adamantly demanding attention as he’d been when she’d started in on him. Oh well, celibacy sentence about to end or not, he was likely to remain disappointed a while still.
“I checked our email earlier, and guess what? We’ve been accepted for the femdom contest! We’re actually going to get to participate!”
Slave Steven indeed perked up at that. His head came off the mattress at once, his eyes suddenly lit up with interest.
“No shit – really?”
“Yes really. That calls for a celebration I think – maybe champagne and cigars. No wait, I have a better idea! We’ll end your celibacy sentence a little earlier than I’d planned, and start practicing for the one part of the presentation we haven’t yet: the sexual reward at the end. How would you feel about that, Slave Steven?”
“I would be humbled, honored, immensely grateful and limitlessly gratified by it Lady Love,” he answered gravely, an obvious tremor in his voice betraying what an understatement this was. Obviously little Stevie was champing at the bit. Amy giggled again for her own private reasons, and climbed off the bed.
“Very well, slave. Wait right here. I need to slip into something appropriate for such a momentous occasion.”
Though she tried to proceed in the stately manner befitting a potentate on her way to the walk-in closet, Amy’s own bursting anticipation wouldn’t permit this. Soon she was skipping, springing, and at last bounding through the door, which she pulled shut behind her. With breathless haste she began pawing through boxes to where she’d hidden her new outfit, and then clutched it to her pounding breast a second in exultation. Then she began swiftly pulling it on.
First she donned a pair of shiny black boots, just under knee-high with pointy toes and high spike heels. She happened to know a guy who would be spending a lot of time kissing them; maybe even polishing them with his tongue the next time he used a vulgarity in her presence. After that she drew on the matching fingerless gloves and skin-tight black latex bodysuit.
From the high-collared neck to the cut-out crotch, this left all of her arms, shoulders, hips, legs and most of her back and buttocks bare. Two more circular cut-outs let her naked breasts poke boldly through in front. Speaking of boldly poking though, what really had her motor running in overdrive and her nipples so erect they could dial a phone or put an eye out was the eight by one-inch hard rubber penis that jutted up from low on her crotch, the balls below resting firmly against her clitoris where that lower cut-out exposed it. Examining herself in the mirror, Lady Love smoothed away a few wrinkles and then posed clutching her erection, snarling with menace and then laughing at herself with ebullient approval. She absolutely loved her new look, and determined on the spot that she must use a lot more of Steven’s earnings to buy herself many more and even better fetish outfits soon – as well as more and bigger dildoes too.
Swiftly she lubed up the one she sported. Then she could put off her own wondrous reward and incredibly exhilarating new sex life not an instant longer. She threw open the closet door with an authoritative bang, and out strutted the Lady Love on her killer new boots and in her more-imperious-than-ever new persona. She paused and posed: hands on her hips, cock thrust aggressively out and smoldering with the most utterly irrefusible intent imaginable.
Poor Slave Steven’s openmouthed expression of flabbergasted dismay was so comically priceless that she would have laughed herself silly if not for the need to stay in character.
Why oh why hadn’t she thought to set up their expensive video camera for this moment, so that she could record it to watch over and over again throughout the years on their superb home theater? Well, it was too late for such regrets now. The Lady Love sneered contemptuous scorn at her waiting captive.
“Ha! You couldn’t possibly have thought the reward phase involved boring old regular sex could you? You have a lot to learn about female domination, slave.
“In the femdom world, slaves almost never get to fuck their owners. The very idea is heretical. It’s always the other way around! You, dear boy, are going to get fucked in the ass in front of millions of people on live TV, and the clips of it will be circulating on the internet for as long as people use computers. So it’s time you got used to the idea, don’t you think? And far past time you were introduced to the actuality! Something tells me I’m going to enjoy fucking you this way far more than I have any other. At least this way it won’t matter how shamefully early you come. I can just keep on riding you all night anyways!”
Deliciously savoring Steve’s exquisite consternation, Amy resumed her haughty strut, advancing to the bed, climbing on and seizing his legs, which had snapped automatically together. She wrenched them apart and moved between.
“Resistance is useless, Slave Steven. More, it will be horrifically punished with a repeated knee to the balls. Now lift your legs above your head. Present yourself for properly submissive sex. Your mistress demands it!”
Slowly at first, but then with an alacrity that hinted (like his still adamantine erection) that Steve might be getting over his shock and even secretly becoming as uncontrollably excited as she was, he complied.
“Good boy,” Amy breathed, wedging the pillow already under his hips further back, lifting his ass for easier access. Then she moved into place, crouching before her slave’s doubled-up body and aligning her incredibly eager organ. Panting heavily already, she used her excitedly trembling hands to pry him open wide. Then she pushed just the beautifully life-like head, then the first few inches of the heavily-lubed black shaft (marbled with upraised veins) into the tight little pucker of his anus.
Steve gasped, and bit his lower lip. But besides the hectic blushing of his face (and a remarkable bob and throb of that erection) he gave no other response. That was good. Truly Amy didn’t want to hurt him – or damage him at least. Encouraged she thrust forward again, finally pushing her big hard cock all the way inside him.
Steve cried out at this, but it was a distinctly erotic kind of distress – its tone easily familiar to her after all those sessions in the basement where she whipped him incessantly as he masturbated. Nevertheless, trying to make sure he was all right without breaking character, Amy chose a ‘Lady Love’ tone of scornful accusation.
“Yeah, you like that big cock don’t you? You can’t wait to get it from me on live TV!”
Steve turned his face away, admitting nothing, but not denying it either.
That was good enough for Lady Love. At last she threw caution to the wind: fully embracing this madly exhilarating new sexual practice and determining to revel in every supremely satisfying nuance of it. Pulling back she lunged forward again, more forcefully this time, and soon she was using all her lithe athleticism, astonishing mobility and incredible stamina just as eagerly and voraciously as always.
Damn it was good! More than that, it was heavenly, wonderful; supremely rewarding not just physically but even more so emotionally. The rhythmic pressure on her clit was stimulating in an entirely novel and wildly arousing way. She could tell immediately that it wouldn’t take long to bring her to orgasm. But far more exciting than even this was the almost god-like power she felt at thrusting brutally away, ruthlessly dominating her man in a way so quintessentially subjugating that she couldn’t imagine how he could live with it.
Yet live with it Slave Steven obviously could. The harder and faster she fucked his ass, the more he tried to raise it to her, and the wider he spread his legs above him. Nor was he just trying to make accommodating her less painful. Though he moaned and groaned incessantly, and barked out the occasional sob, his cock stayed rock-hard erect, slapping against his body with the pace and force of her fucking and continuing to throb visibly. Nor did he once beg her to stop. And when Amy finally pounded out one-two-three ecstatically shrieking orgasms, pulled out and ordered her slave to roll over so she could do him from the other side, Steve scrambled to comply. Crushing his clearly burning erection (dark pink and purple-red everywhere and not just where it had been marked by leather cords) into the plush pillow, he cried out in obvious ecstasy of his own and spread his legs as though he was the gymnast.
Lady Love hammered away at him again, for an amazing hour and three-quarters this time, the interval measured only by gasps, cries, the metronomic slapping of flesh on flesh and the unbridled screams of wrenching orgasms. Four of these came from her of course. But Slave Steven eventually celebrated the end of his celibacy sentence by madly ejaculating as well. And when his mistress put the question to him again, he was able to admit the shameful truth without dissembling or regret.
Finally Amy exhausted her seemingly endless wealth of sexual energy – at least temporarily. She collapsed forward atop her groaning slave. Still buried to the balls in his wonderfully accepting ass, she rested on his back for a good ten minutes, lightly, lovingly scratching up and down his flanks with her long, sharp, expertly manicured fingernails. At last she regained her breath. Lady Love was gone for the moment; this was sweetly playful Amy.
“So how did you like catching for a change, Mr. Quarterback?”
A weak chuckle came from under her, and then the honesty she demanded at all times.
“I think maybe I should have been a wide receiver.”
“Oh no baby,” Amy laughed back, already recovering herself. “Definitely a tight end!” She punctuated this correction with a double-jab of her erection into his. “And now we’re going to do that again, and again, probably for the entire rest of the night. We have to practice our new positions constantly for the big game upcoming!”