The Birthday Mistress
by Shawna M.
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009 Shawna M.
Published by Smashwords
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‘The Birthday Mistress’ by Shawna M.
“Well, Slut, don't you just look lovely?” his voice comes from across the room.
I hope he will be pleased with me. I have followed all of his instructions down to the letter. He left me a list earlier this afternoon – a list that he had written on the back of the receipt from last week's trip to the grocery store and left, along with a leather blindfold, on the floor of my cell next to my water bowl:
Slut's To-Do List
1. Ensure that all hair is removed from your legs and your cunt
2. Administer enema to cleanse internally
3. Take shower to cleanse externally
4. DO NOT apply and deodorants, perfumes, etc.
5. Cover yourself in unscented moisturizing cream
6. Apply necessary finishing touches (brush teeth, style hair)
7. Remain naked and go to your chair
8. Sit in your chair and place the blindfold over your eyes
9. Under no conditions are you permitted to masturbate!
10. Wait for me silently and motionlessly. I will come when I need you.
I'm not sure exactly how long I've been sitting here on the old, wooden kitchen chair in my cell. I'd estimate that it has to have been at least an hour so far, but with the blindfold pulled over my eyes it's hard to guess. I wouldn't have dared to peek during that time, for that would displease Master greatly. He specifically commanded me not to speak or to move. Besides, there is not a clock in my cell, so peeking wouldn't have helped me anyway.
“So...” he begins, his voice suddenly just inches from my ear, startling me. “Slut is forty years old today.” He announces this to an imaginary audience, as he frequently likes to do to add to my humiliation by making me feel like I'm on display in front of a crowd. “The big four-O,” he exclaims. “Slut is getting old, isn't she?”
“Yes Master,” I softly respond, sensing that that's what he wants.
“I thought it fitting to do something special,” he explains to the imaginary crowd. “It is one year today since Slut became my slave. Do you remember this day one year ago, Slut?” he asks me.
“Of course, Master,” I tell him with a smile. “It was a wonderful day for me.”
“Tell me about it,” he commands me. “Describe for me in exactly five sentences an abridged version of the events that transpired one year ago today.”
I feel my face reddening with embarrassment as I think about my memories of that day. I'm suddenly very thankful for the blindfold covering my eyes. He's become quite an expert at making me blush.
“We met at a fetish club one year ago today,” I inform him.
“That's one,” he counts.
“One thing led to another and we went to a nearby hotel for some privacy,” I continue.
“Two,” he announces.
“You asked me how I would like to be the slave of a man fifteen years younger than me,” I stammer after a moment of hesitation.
I wait for him to count aloud but he remains silent.
“I nervously admitted that just the thought of being your slave made me horny beyond belief, and less than a minute later I found myself naked and at your mercy with a pair of handcuffs holding my wrists to the headboard above me,” I continue.
Still he says nothing, not even commenting on the length of that last sentence.
“And I've been yours ever since,” I tell him, finishing my synopsis.
There is a long silence. He says nothing and I don't dare to say anything more. My pulse begins to rush in anticipation. Have I displeased him?
“I suppose that was a satisfactory summarization,” he finally mutters. I think... I hope that he is just feigning the trace of disappointment I detect in his voice.
“Thank you, Master,” I whisper timidly.
“Tell me, Slut,” he starts, “how does it make you feel every moment of every day to know that you take orders and commands from me... to know that you're forty and that you belong to a man in his mid-twenties, and that you will suck that man's cock whenever he commands you to, because if you don't he will put you over his knee like a child and smack your bare ass with his belt?”
“It humiliates me greatly, Master,” I assure him. “But it also makes me wet. And that in turn makes me feel like less than nothing, to have to live with the knowledge that I get turned on by being demeaned and humiliated,” I then add. “It humiliates me greatly to think that I willingly choose to live in this cell and have every aspect of my life governed by you – what I eat and when I eat it, what I wear, when I have orgasms... it is all humiliating beyond belief, Master.”
“You are less than nothing, Slut,” he reminds me, deciding to comment on that one particular sentence out of everything I just confessed to him. “You were put on this earth to serve me and do my bidding.”
“Yes, Master,” I manage to whisper, holding back tears. We both know that this is part of the play, but with time the mind can begin to make it into reality.
“Now don't forget, Slut, that I want you to take everything you're given tonight,” he tells me solemnly.
“Yes, Master.”
“Your safeword, as always, is goldfish. But I must warn you... should you choose to use it you will find that you have a lot of free time for the next month while I ignore you completely, save for coming to your cell once a day to bring you your meals,” he explains. “Do you understand, Slut?”
I don't even dare to think of how awful such a punishment would be. It would be much worse than even the most unbearable physical pain, the emotional torture that I would suffer... to be denied Master's presence and his touch for an entire month, confined to my cell in his basement – a bare-walled room with a bed, a toilet, a sink, a shower stall, a microwave, and a water dish... and whatever clothing or bondage gear Master permits or mandates me to wear... I do not think I could survive a whole month without him. No, I am sure I could not survive a whole month without him!
“Do you understand, Slut?” he asks again impatiently, snapping me back into reality.
“Yes, Master,” I quickly assure him, shuddering at the thought of enduring an entire month of solitary confinement in my cell.
“Good Slut,” he tells me softly. I feel his hand lightly pet the top of my head and then caress the back of my neck reassuringly. “Shall we begin the Birthday Slut's birthday celebration then?” he asks happily.
“If it would please you, Master,” I respond with a smile.
“Very well,” he says as he takes my hand and gently tugs on it, indicating that he wants me up and on my feet. “This way,” he commands me, leading me by the hand in my personal darkness.
I take small steps in my blindness – not because I don't trust him to lead me to our destination safely, but simply because of the overwhelming disorientation brought upon me by the blindfold. He leads me patiently to the door of my cell and out into the dungeon and I feel the change from my cell's cold, ceramic tile floor to the dungeon's polished wood floor under my bare feet. After what feels like miles, we finally stop somewhere in the middle of the large room.
“It's time for Slut to receive her first present of the night,” he announces loudly, his voice echoing off the concrete walls of the vast space. He then proceeds to rotate my body slightly before pushing me backwards six inches or so until my back rests against a hard, flat surface, then grabbing my wrists and simply uttering the word, “Lift.”
Instinctively, I raise my arms out to my sides and recognize the soft coolness of leather as it comes into contact with my skin.
“Put your arms into those cuffs,” Master instructs me. “There are four cuffs for each arm, all attached to a bar at shoulder level. Just extend your arms straight out to the sides and slip them each through all four of their respective cuffs.”
I quickly obey, having each of my arms in position just seconds later. I realize that I don't recognize this position or the feeling of these cuffs, and that this must be a new piece of furniture that Master has never attached me to before.
“Well done, Slut,” Master tells me. “Now to tighten things up a bit.”
Master wastes no time in beginning to strap me into... onto... against this mysterious new addition to his collection of dungeon furniture. I feel the cuffs slowly taking away my freedom as they tighten one by one. My left wrist is the first to be imprisoned, followed by my left forearm just beneath the elbow, and then he moves on to the third cuff just above my elbow and the fourth cuff just before my shoulder. I subtly test the bonds on my left arm as Master quickly repeats the tightening process on my right arm, though this time in reverse order. I find that, to both my excitement and my dismay, I am unable to move my left arm even an inch. Seconds later, my right arm is secured in an identical fashion and I am left standing there naked and on display, helpless to cover myself even in the slightest with my arms held rigidly outstretched and perpendicular to my body. I feel the heat in my face as my skin turns what I would imagine to be a vivid shade of scarlet.
“You're so beautiful when you're on display for me, Slut,” Master says, reveling in the humiliation I'm enduring.
Even with the blindfold on, I can tell that there's a smile on his face. That makes me happy.
“I love it when you're bound before me... or beneath me,” he continues. “I love seeing your body just screaming for me to abuse it... seeing your luscious tits crying out for the whip and your glistening pussy dripping with anticipation as if begging to feel the sting of the riding crop.”
I shiver at the memories of events passed – memories of being tied to Master's bed and begging for mercy through his favorite ball-gag while thrashing about in a vain attempt to escape the thick cuffs that held me in a perfect spread-eagle as Master swatted at my exposed and unprotected clitoris until I finally couldn't take anymore and screamed goldfish! through the gag and my tears. He has played such a game with me only twice in the year that I've known him, claiming that he has a need to bring about my complete and total surrender every now and then – a need to show me the full extent of his power over me. I pray that tonight is not the third time we follow that tradition. I will endure it for him if I must, but I cannot think of anything that could be worse...
“Yes, I certainly love it when you're helpless,” Master says, his voice bringing me out of my daydream. “You should be helpless all the time, constantly bound and writhing pathetically in an attempt to get my attention while I blatantly ignore you,” he suggests. “Would you like that?”
“Yes, Master, if it would make you happy,” I tell him.
“Or how about if I wrapped you up in plastic and gagged you with a dildo and made you watch as I amused myself with younger, prettier women instead of a worthless slut like you?” he asks.
“Yes, Master,” I stutter, feeling a single tear roll out from underneath the blindfold and down my right cheek.
I feel Master's breath on my neck as he approaches. He leans in and licks away the tear from my skin.
“Stop crying,” he commands me softly.
“Yes, Master,” I stammer, focusing all my energy on fighting the pressure I feel behind my eyes.”
I hear the sound of a zipper and realize that he is unzipping the zipper of his blue jeans.
“Play with my cock, Slut,” he softly commands me.
“Master?” I ask in confusion, unsure of what he is asking of me with my hands so tightly bound and useless.
“Do you need it spelled out for you, Slut?” he asks impatiently. “Use your feet. Put those pretty little toes of yours to good use and play with my cock... now.”
“Yes Master,” I say, quickly lifting my right leg off the ground and carefully exploring the space in front of me with my foot, searching for his cock while taking care that I won't injure him if I find some other part of his body first. When I am unsuccessful after ten or fifteen seconds, he roughly grabs my foot in his hands, running two of his fingers across my sole.
“Oh, Master,” I gasp, instinctively trying to withdraw from the his ticklish touch.
“Don't you pull away from me, Slut,” he commands me gruffly, then lowers my foot to his groin and places my toes against the side of his cock. He stands there in silence then as I softly slide my foot up and down the length of his shaft, teasing him as best I can with first my toes and then my sole and then the curve of my instep.
“Enough, Slut,” he finally says after several minutes have passed, and I am relieved when he follows up with, “put your foot down,” rather than instructing me to switch over to my other foot as I had expected him to do.
I then hear the clinking of metal several feet away from me and soon I feel his boot kicking at my left ankle to signal for me to spread my legs. I feel the cuff of a steel spreader bar close around my left ankle and then Master's hands closing around my right ankle, tugging on it. He pulls my right foot out and away from my body, spreading my legs to the exact point where I'm still relatively comfortable and then going another couple of inches past that point. He locks my right ankle into the cuff at the other end of the spreader bar and the jingle of the lock echoes through my head as I realize that I am now helplessly exposed from waist down as well. I feel myself blush again as I imagine what I must look like.
“Beautiful,” Master whispers, as if he hears my thoughts.
“Thank you, Master,” I reply, pleased that I have pleased him.
“It's almost time, Slut,” he announces as he runs his fingers over my naked body, beginning on my left cheek and traveling down between my breasts and over my stomach to finally brush against my pussy momentarily before quickly pulling away.
Almost time for what, I wonder. It is my birthday; I have no doubt that Master will give me a night to remember tonight. But will it be a pleasant night or will he make me suffer for his pleasure as he sometimes likes to do?
A loud cranking sound interrupts my thoughts – the turning of a winch, I realize a second later as I feel my body being lifted off the floor by the bar holding my arms. I am lifted onto my tiptoes, frantically trying to keep my feet on the floor. And then the cranking stops and I am left like that, my toes just barely able to touch the floor, which is once again ice cold against the soles of my feet since I've been pulled away from the spot that my feet had slowly been warming up until now.
“How do you feel, Slut?” Master asks, suddenly standing right next to me once again.
“Helpless, Master... and afraid,” I answer truthfully.
“Good,” he says, gently caressing my face.
He then leans in and kisses me deeply, passionately. I feel his tongue push its way into my mouth and I follow suit. Our tongues sword fight for a minute and we exchange saliva as we each explore the depths of the other's mouth. Master lingers there, holding the kiss way past the point where I'm sure it's the longest kiss we've ever shared, before finally breaking it and pulling away.
“Happy Birthday, Slut,” he says. “Have fun.”
I listen to his footsteps as he walks across the room, away from me.
“Are you ready?” I hear him ask.
“Yes, Master,” I call.
“Quiet, Slut,” he responds to me. “Nobody's talking to you.”
And then it dawns on me – there's somebody else here! Instinctively I pull at my bonds, suddenly overcome by the desire to cover my nakedness. But Master's bondage is always complete – there is no escape until he decides to release me. I blush yet again, this time more than all the previous times put together, as I nervously focus on the two sets of footsteps slowly approaching me.
“She's all yours,” Master informs his mystery guest. “Her safeword is goldfish but she knows that it's in her best interest not to use it, so she won't unless she absolutely has to. If you're feeling shy, you can leave the blindfold over her eyes all night long and she'll never know who you are. Do your worst, and happy birthday,” he finishes.
I hear Master's fading footsteps as he makes his way across the room, presumably to the door to exit the dungeon, leaving me alone at the hands of an unseen master. I trust him completely and I know that he would never let any harm come to me, but the sudden fear and suspense coursing through my body begin drive me crazy. I strain against my bonds, tugging desperately and with all my might at the cuffs around my arms and violently twisting and bending my legs back and forth in the hopes of somehow wriggling free of the spreader bar's grasp, or at least keeping my mystery captor at bay.
A sharp stinging on my left nipple interrupts my struggling. Before I can react, the riding crop hits me a second time, again right on the nipple. Then three more swats in quick succession, all directly on my tortured nipple. The pain registers immediately, exploding in my mind and in my nipple simultaneously.
“Aaaaaghhh!” I cry out, twisting my body the little bit that my bondage will allow. “Please, Master! Have mercy!” I beg my unseen captor, desperately trying to hold back tears.
The tip of the crop hits me once more on the nipple, not as swiftly as the previous five swats but still enough to get my attention. And then my captor slaps me once across the face before holding my head firmly between his hands.
“I am not your Master,” a woman's voice says. “You will call me Mistress... Mistress Marissa.”
A woman?! Master's letting a woman dominate me? I can't believe he would do this without asking me! But then I remember a conversation we had months ago – a conversation during which he at one point asked me how I would feel about being topped by a woman... and I had told him, assuming the hypothetical date of such an event to be well into the future, that if it would please him then I would give it a try. And now here I am... and here she is... much sooner than I ever would have anticipated.
I have the power to end this right now. Just say goldfish... but no, I can't. I can't bear the thought of going a month without feeling Master's touch or looking into his eyes or tasting his kiss or sucking his cock. But if I use my safeword, I'll have to. Of course, I could always use my other safeword... the one that would completely and permanently end everything. All I have to do is say a word and Master will pack my bags for me and put me on a train or a plane headed for anywhere I want to go, no questions asked. And I'll never see him or hear from him again... another thought I can't bear. No, there's only one possible course of action that makes any sense: I must suffer at the hands of this woman and take everything she gives me... I must submit to her completely.
The blow from the unseen hand brings me back to reality.
“Did you hear me, slave?!” the female voice asks me impatiently.
“Yes, Master!” I respond quickly out of habit, realizing my mistake only after it's already too late. Shit.
“Mistress Marissa!” the voice snaps as another open-palmed blow strikes me across the face, startling me.
“Yes, Mistress Marissa. I'm sorry, Mistress Marissa!” I practically shout.
“Good, slave,” the woman tells me softly, caressing my face where she just slapped me. “I also want you to refer to yourself as 'this slave' from now on... in the third person. So if you were to tell me that you understand, you would say, 'This slave understands,'” she informs me.
“This slave understands,” I repeat, feeling myself blush even more than I already was.
I feel the Mistress's fingers close around my left nipple and squeeze until I cry out in pain and my body jerks in its bondage.
“Who are you talking to?!” Mistress asks. “Try it again!”
“This slave understands, Mistress Marissa,” I correct myself. “This slave apologizes for her unsatisfactory performance as well, Mistress Marissa,” I force myself to add. The humiliation is just about unbearable, but worth it if it will allow me to avoid further torment of my left nipple.
“That's very sweet, my slave. I forgive you. And I suggest for your sake that you try your best not to let it happen again, or that nipple of yours will be very sore by the end of the night.”
“Yes, Mistress Marissa, this slave will do her best,” I assure her.
“That's good to know,” she replies in an almost pleasant tone. I then feel her breath on my neck and then my chest as she bends down to give my left nipple a gentle kiss. “What has your master told you about tonight, slave?” she asks me suddenly.
“Nothing, Mistress Marissa,” I stammer. “He gave this slave no indication of his plans or of your visit.”
“Wow,” she exclaims. “I really didn't think he'd be able to keep it a secret for so long. Good for him! I would imagine then that you must have a lot of questions swirling around in your head then, slave. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Mistress Marissa,” I answer her truthfully. “This slave is quite shocked and confused by everything that is happening to her right now.”
“Well, allow me to try to alleviate some of the confusion,” she tells me with a chuckle.
“Thank you, Mistress Marissa,” I respond before wondering if that will be a satisfactory answer on its own. “This slave will be very grateful,” I add, just to be sure.
“Nice recovery,” Mistress laughs knowingly.
Whew... I dodged a bullet on that one!
“Anyway... here's the deal in a nutshell,” Mistress begins to explain. “Your master and I go to school together and he told me a few months ago about you and the arrangement you two share. I recently came out of the closet as a lesbian and discovered my sadistic streak at about the same time, and needless to say, I'm a little apprehensive about going to a bar or a club to pick up a date or a playmate, seeing as how I have no experience under my belt when it comes to being a lesbian or being dominant. So your master invited me to come here and use you as my guinea pig for the night. Seeing as how our birthdays fall on the same day, I guess he thought it would be an exciting way to make our special day a memorable one for each of us. And I don't know about you, but I think he hit the nail right on the head.”
So she goes to school with Master; that means she must be his age, or close to his age... maybe twenty-four to twenty-six. How embarrassing! I think I'd prefer a woman my own age, or maybe even a few years older. At least then I could have the comfort of knowing that she probably looks at least somewhat like me. But this is a girl standing in front of me right now, staring at my naked body – a young girl, probably with a perfect body and pert little breasts that still stand high on her chest... and she's standing here with an unrestricted view of my entire naked body, and there's nothing I can do about it.
“Rest assured that I'm normally not the shy, introverted type,” Mistress continues. “For some reason I'm a little uncomfortable going to a fetish club by myself, but I'm a performing arts major and I don't expect that I'll have any trouble getting into the groove and putting you through your paces down here in the privacy of this dungeon. From what your master tells me, though, it seems that I should expect you to be feeling quite humiliated in the presence of another woman. Tell me, slave, would you say that you agree with that?”