Written for and posted on Exposed Loving’s blog
My Mistress was having another of Her dinner parties and there was only one serving wench.
I was run off my feet and I was really envious of the slave pets who just knelt at the guests’ feet and, if they behaved well or performed a trick, were given morsel of food from the table as a reward.
Whereas I could really have done with some help.
I spent all my time running from the kitchen, seeing to drinks, serving the food, clearing the plates and generally answering to everyone’s needs. Apart from my collar and cuffs, I was completely naked and obviously any mistake or tardiness on my part would lead to an immediate spanking. Or worse.
One time I’d been punished with a week of sleeping chained up in the barn. Just because one of the sugar bowls didn’t have a spoon.
My Mistress always demanded perfection from me.
But I was happy for Her too. She looked absolutely divine tonight. She was always an excellent host and Her parties were renowned. This evening had been meticulously planned some weeks in advance. Some of the finest wines had been brought up from the cellar and the menu had been prepared by a well-known local chef.
And I was the serving wench. Of course I had to keep my eyes down and I was not allowed to speak to or look at any of the guests directly, but I could see out of the corner of my eye how regal She looked at the head of the table.
She was always the life of the party and I really wanted everything to go well for Her. I knew there were some important connections there that She wanted to impress.
There were six Masters and Mistresses in all (and some slave pets but they don’t count) and I spent most of my time running around the table attending to each guest as they summoned me with a click of a finger or even just a look. I had to be on my toes the whole time and already felt worn out. It was non-stop. And I knew I would get sloppy and do something silly sooner or later and then I would get yelled at and receive a spanking.
There was one particular Mistress who seemed to want me to do everything for Her – cut Her meat, move Her wine glass, pick up Her serviette – and each time She would fondle my pussy or pinch my ass. That was OK – I was available for use or abuse by any of the guests, but She in particular seemed to have taken a special fancy to me and was running me off my feet and hogging me all for Herself.
This made me nervous as I knew I would also get a punishment if any of the other guests thought I was ignoring them.
Again, after desert, once more She summoned me to pour Her some more coffee. Her cup was already half full.
Just as I leaned over the table She grabbed me by my collar and forced me down over Her lap. She hurt my neck but I submitted immediately and relaxed and made my body available to Her. Not to do so would have caused Her offense and me punishment.
She held me down and greedily ran Her hands over my back and pinched my ass. Then, She spanked me hard a few times and said, “Silly wench. See what you did.”
I hadn’t done anything.
But I could hear the guests laughing.
Then She pinched my ass again and put Her fingers between my legs. I immediately parted them for Her and raised my ass so She could gain access to my anus or pussy more easily if She needed it.
Her fingers dug into me hungrily. She was a rough with me and it hurt. She pushed Her fingers up into my pussy and I couldn’t help but cry out.
“Shut up, you stupid wench. Submit in silence or I’ll have you clamped and pussy-whipped.”
She said to my Mistress, “This cheeky serving wench is a beauty, Mistress B. How much can I offer you for her?”
My Mistress laughed, “She is beyond price, Mistress Z. She is special to me. And I’m afraid she is not for sale.”
“Such a pity. Very fine flesh indeed. Beautiful skin. Nice muscle tone too. She’s fit. You must work her hard. How does she perform under the whip?”
“She is at her most beautiful under the whip.”
“Really? Does she dance?”
“She dances like a dream. A generous sensual suffering that is truly beautiful. Her flesh is taut like a drum and when her arms pull at the restraints and her breasts rise to receive the lashes, there is – how can I describe it? – a quiver, just a soft tremor at each blow, that is absolutely breathtaking. Such grace and beauty in a whipping are rare. She is a joy to me. And very precious.”
The conversation around the table had quietened now and I sensed that all eyes were on my ass.
I was really overjoyed at my Mistress’ kind words and I just about managed to contain myself. I suddenly wanted to come for Her. I lived to give Her pleasure. She was my life now and would hate to be sold to another Mistress.
Especially this one.
Mistress Z’s hands still continued to explore and poke at me – She probably thought my new pussy moistness was due to Her rather than my Mistress’ loving words. The Master sitting next to Her was pulling hard at my hair. I think He might have been trying to get my mouth closer to His cock – I couldn’t see very well – my face was about 12 inches from the floor. I could also feel someone tickling my feet. However I managed to remain passive and compliant. And silent.
My Mistress continued. “But it is her singing that gives me the most pleasure. Her song under the whip is the most beautiful whipsong I have ever heard.”
There was silence now. All conversation had stopped and I knew now what the evening had in store for me.
Image – Author Unknown
My Mistress had many toys and instruments of torture. I had experienced all of them in my time of servitude to Her. There was a dungeon downstairs – complete with a rack – where all the larger torture devices were kept, however the Dining room was also equipped for play and there were three large reinforced metal hooks in the ceiling from which slaves could be publicly suspended for punishment.
One of them hung in front of the main window – the one with the sea view – and it was to that hook that I was being attached now by two of the naked slave pets.
Freedom of movement had now been denied me, and with it of course, any right to will or emotion. It was a relief in many ways. Finally I felt I could relax. Responsibility for my actions had been declared null and void so, as far as the evening was concerned, I didn’t have to worry any more. I was free.
I had found my true purpose.
I was a toy. Just a thing made interesting by the abuse it was subjected to.
To them I was nothing. An object.
The stress that I had been feeling all evening disappeared and I felt a calm descend upon me. For the first time that night, I felt the true joy of submission.
As they attached me to the restraints I could sense the lust permeate through the room. It was like a muggy heat. The kind you get before a storm.
I knew my Mistress would let the guests take turns to flog me – individually or in groups if they wished – but the climax of my torment, the closing whipfirestorm, the grand orgiastic finale, would be left for Her.
I was going to be very be sore tomorrow.
There was a pulley on the wall and one of the slaves was raising the chain so my arms were stretched tight above me. My ankles were manacled to a metal bar about two feet wide so I couldn’t close my legs and protect my pussy from the blows.
Once my feet had left the ground, one of the slave pets, under instructions from her Mistress, began to whip my belly and breasts. The other lashed at my back and ass.
Being stretched like this made my skin taut and more sensitive to the lashes – it should have been more painful but the slaves were lethargic and clumsy and it hurt only a little. I cried out a few times but mostly for show. I had expected them to be crueler with me.
It wasn’t really going anywhere so one of the Masters got up and pushed the two slaves out of the way. He had stripped naked and I furtively raised my eyes to look at his cock and abs as he started to whip my breasts. He aroused me – I love the look of the torso (male or female) as it draws the whip back to strike – and at first I willingly suffered the force of his desire.
But he was too brutal. Really aggressive. And I sensed the intensity of his lust was winning over his self-control. There was no artistry or skill in his whipping. No knowledge of me or what he could do with me.
Being whipped is a like a dance. The mating call of two lovers – dominant and submissive – there has to be a call and response. It’s a bit like the Tango – in my view one of the most erotic dances in existence. Watch the way the two dancers respond to each other. The man leads the woman and she responds to him. They ease into each other – until they move as one, become one – more than any other dance, the tango is erotic dance as art form. And truly beautiful when done well.
I too want to be called, danced with, worked, teased, tormented, taken beyond my limits and brought alive by the whip – I want to be made to yield but I want the person who whips me to work for my surrender, to truly understand how my body works and how I can be made to give myself to His or Her pleasure.
My flesh is the idea, the canvas, the manuscript – when you whip me, you are writing a story on my skin. There is the foreplay of the prologue – the discovery of the flesh, the testing of it, the getting to know it and exploring it, finding its weak spots and what buttons to push. Then there is the tension of the main story. Having established where the pain/pleasure limits are, what happens if we push beyond them? And then there is the conclusion. The climax.
Like any story, it’s a journey. A whipping is not just wild brute force. Though that has a part to play obviously. But there must be skill and, yes, artistry.
My Mistress is an artist with the whip. She paints me in red fire and I sing for her. I offer my tears to Her and she tastes my beauty.
Image – Author unknown
Anyway, I digress.
Back to the wonder of His cock. It was full-bodied, hard, dripping – a crimson missile targeted straight for me. As the lashes fell, I couldn’t help but imagine taking it in my mouth, savoring it and my tongue sucking all the hot goodness from it.
He was very erect now, in ecstasy at the sight of my naked body writhing under His power. I could see He was close to climax. His free hand kept touching His cock. He couldn’t leave Himself alone. Would He come just from whipping me?
I cried out to him, whimpering and moaning my surrender to His full cock, pleading my submission to Him, trying, as much as the restraints would let me, to draw near to Him, to meet his whip, to plead for his cock, to commune at that magical ancient crossroads where pain and pleasure convene and summon the devil’s own desires.
But it was no good. He had no artistry. No whipsoul. It was all power and ego with Him. He didn’t want to lead me to that magical place. He just wanted to gratify His manhood.
I put on a show for Him – wailing and pleading – and after a few more lashes he withdrew and took one of the slave pets and forced her mouth to His cock. He immediately came inside her and then, when she started choking, pushed her roughly away and went to get a drink from the table and clean himself.
But I was still left hanging…
Were there no artists in the house who could play me, draw my song from me, reveal my secrets to the world? Where was my Mistress?
The mirrors at the back of the room reflected the sea view behind me. Night was falling and scattered glistening diamonds over the shimmering sea. The Moon was rising and shone like a powerful searchlight scouring the night for lovers and lost souls.
And from Her throne at the head of the table rose my Mistress.
I saw Her approach and I knew that with Her, my call would be answered. With my Mistress would come my deliverance.
She came to me and tenderly massaged my breasts and nipples. She tidied my hair and pushed it behind my shoulders. I glanced up at Her. My desire was plain. I was lost to Her. Only She could save me. She touched my cheek and I whimpered in pleasure. Her fingers descended to my pussy and discovered my wet clit and She whispered, “My sweet slave.”
Then She put the blindfold on me.
The Moon was rising but my Mistress was the Sun. And like a terrible desert sun She beat down on me hard and relentless. I pulled hard at the restraints as Her merciless bullwhip wrapped me in its brutal embrace. Time and time again it bit into my flesh and devoured me in its ravenous whiplust. I lost all conscious control of my movements – I was just a writhing doll consumed in jerking spasms of pain. I had no words or thoughts – I could only shriek and scream as I was slowly and surely engulfed in an agonizing conflagration.
I have no idea of how long it lasted. Time became a series of infinite everlasting moments. There was only heat and fire and my pleasure-pain.
Then I felt Her. Soft hands were upon me. She kissed my tears and led me down to the cool sea. Under the stars I bathed in the jewelled waters and I was embraced and healed by the adoring Moon. Waves of love flowed through me and I was raised up into the night illuminated by the grace of the Moon and I soared and I cried and I moaned and I wept and
I sang and I sang
and I sang
until there was