Dirty whore awoke swollen and juicy, hungry cunt controlling her needs. Yearning for her Mistress’s commands, not to come, but to prolong the edginess of Her wanton little slut. She has stoked such delicious lustful passions for slave– the lovely brutality of Her Beast’s pain. Stingy and throbbing, trollling Tumblr to sate her darkest desires until her Mistress appears, slut waits. Will her horniness and base hunger for her divine Owner ignite the blistering fire that burns unquelled within them both?
Bound and blindfolded, clovered and weighted erect nipples, she was positioned to wait. Lips cry for clamps to capture, but Mistress hisses a cruel ‘NO!’ to Her property as Her whip crashes upon raised ass. “Count little one, for Me”– strikes landing precisely as whore counted and soon cried out. Thirty was last number in Mistress’s frenzy that whore managed, settling into a soft whimper while still maintaining position. Mercy overrode punishment as Mistress continued Her assault, inflicting stripes of honor upon Her prey. slave was lost, only the harsh twist of the clovers off her inflamed nipples brought her back from the deep, as Mistress ferociously bit one nipple then two. Her tongue flowed like lava fire to prey’s engorged treasure– taunting, nibbling and licking, feasting and claiming, fingers thrusting eagerly. slave began her orgasmic seizure, hips thrashing wildly as Mistress relented, “Come for your Mistress, dirty little one!!” Her sacred volcano erupted on command, but before slave was empty, she was feeding hungrily upon her Owner’s fiery cunt. Savoring Her Mistress’s sticky lust, slut slid back to her nirvana, ministering to Her Beast’s desire. Mistress’s orgasm thundered, flooding slave’s eager mouth with sweet come.
Blindfold removed, entwined and lazy now, Mistress stroked Her little one’s matted hair, kissed her deeply, and traced tortured nipples to soothe. Lifting her slave’s chin, Mistress’s eyes twinkled, “you are my good girl and delicious treasure!” She admired the rosy stripes of Her whip’s paint, reaching for the large stretching plug to reward Her lusty slave…
“… She sent out for one of those short, plump little cakes called ‘petites madeleines,’ which look as though they had been moulded in the fluted scallop of a pilgrim’s shell. And soon, mechanically, weary after a dull day with the prospect of a depressing morrow, I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. No sooner had the warm liquid, and the crumbs with it, touched my palate, a shudder ran through my whole body, and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary changes that were taking place. An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, but individual, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory–this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me, it was myself. I had ceased now to feel mediocre, accidental, mortal. Whence could it have come to me, this all-powerful joy? I was conscious that it was connected with the taste of tea and cake, but that it infinitely transcended those savours, could not, indeed, be of the same nature as theirs. Whence did it come? What did it signify? How could I seize upon and define it? “~~ excerpted from ‘Remembrance of Things Past’, written by Marcel Proust.
Before our time yesterday, Your words swirled through slave’s mind and cunt. You were anticipating use of Your slave, as i longed to be Your fucktoy. You mused about christening Your slave, now free from her dominant. Knowing You placed an almost sacred importance on our first time and my longing to honor You moved me so, but You understood that in Your soul. Not only are You my Mistress, you are also a sister slave, similarly devoted to serve her Dominant.
Your command for training time included preparation of the implement with which You would take Your slave’s virgin ass. Sure, there had been ass play before, but never the mind-blowing orgasm You so enthusiastically described. You wished to claim ownership of Your slave profoundly, but also in a way that brings You great pleasure in service to Your own Master too. i was a bit apprehensive as i completed the task– what if my body rejected the impaling and i was a disappointment to You, but excited and eager for Your stretching, too.
Turns out, there was no reason for worry– Your Beast took over. Primal needs overwhelmed us both, sister slave morphed into her Mistress’s needy whore, willing to surrender her most intimate hole. Lubed generously, gentle entrance begat fierce pounding, feeling Your presence fucking Your property, lost to subspace. “Are you close, my slut? Come with Your Mistress. I will count to ten and we will come together!” Her countdown of ten simple numbers seemed interminable, robotic slamming of my cunt, internal spasms of pleasure building until… “TEN! Come now, slave!” i have never experienced such a mindbending, full body release like that. Our recovery was sweet and calming, savoring my surrender.
Wanting to commemorate the experience and honor Mistress, i accepted her task to write, but had a terrible block until midmorning. Too many feelings, sensations and thoughts to harvest into a single post left me deliciously filled, yet unexpectedly empty. Until an autumn breeze fluttered through my window…
The remaining scent of the implement used to impale me so lustfully filled my nostrils and claimed every inch of my body, not yet dissipated from yesterday’s training. It recaptured the memory of our communion, much like the madeleine did for Proust. A celebration of release from sadness, a renaissance of slave and self, freedom to explore and joy that i get to share it with You. From now on, every time You take me this way, i will shudder at the blissful memory of yesterday, recalling not only the stretching of me and my limits, but of the tool You used. American cucumbers will never quite be the same, divine Mistress…
Emerging from her comfortable cocoon
Past is honored
Hoping to find treasure within
Are you ready for?
Tasha has found a safe snuggly space in my heart, making room to grow. The blog will be renamed, but all that got me here will remain. Stay tuned…💜
Simple, almost sterile, it read: “slave is to be pure– shaved, oiled and properly scented. Only her aubergine silk robe to adorn. No sandals or jewels. At the front door 7pm, eyes closed. Comply or there will be punishment.”
There was no signature, so for an instant, she wondered who might be requesting her, but Emily’s time to prepare was short. Filthy thoughts were banished as she hurried to run her bath– there was but an hour till 7. Wax set to warm, candles lit as steamy water flowed from the tap into the soaking tub, gushing over the lily scented oil so lavishly poured, Emily lowerd herself compliantly into the claw footed vessel. She scrubbed, lathered and waxed till her body glowed, silky and prepared. After toweling off and drying her luxuriant hair, she poured herself a buttery Chardonnay. Gentle makeup and splashes of her favorite lily scent applied, she stopped to finally ponder… as the purple silk kissed her nipples and hips. As Emily sipped, she felt the wetness building between her shivering thighs. Her cell phone shone 6:55 as she padded down the hallway. To obey and…
At 6:58, slave positioned herself just the right of the door, able to simply turn the knob and closed her eyes as commanded. The bell rang softly, she was grabbed by her hair, turned round and blindfolded so swiftly that she almost lost her balance. Hands gruffly took her hair, gatheringing it into a ponytail used to lead her to the car. Emily’s other senses kicked in– plush carpeting cradled her feet as her robe was pushed aside, a lip bitten and hands inspecting slave’s breasts, slit and ass. “Very well done, slut. There will be no punishment for preparation,” a voice hissed in her ear, trailing a tongue down from neck to collarbone.
“Hands in front of you. NOW!” another growled as steel shackles claimed wrists. Mercifully, Emily’s ankles were left to dangle, presumably so she could be led into… As apprehensive as she was, Emily prayed that her sopping cunt wouldn’t bring unexpected punishment. A kaleidoscope of her fate swirled round her soul– would she be exhibited, forced only to watch, humiliated or maybe subjected to pain… or pleasure for her Dominants or others? That enveloping reverie was abruptly interrupted by screeching tires on gravel and a door opening suddenly.
slave Emily was positioned on her stomach atop a steel table, ankles expertly bound and knotted, hoisted on a carabiner, seemingly a meter from the floor. Clover clamps bit her nipples harshly, stinging as weights were added and a soft cry escaped her lips. A maniacal chuckle echoed sadistically nearby as an inflatable dildo claimed her ass and another filled her cunt. The fullness of her holes combined with the pain from her nipples was exhilarating, but held no sway as the crop struck her ass in blistering, staccato rhythm. Pulsing, pulsing, pulsing as slave whimpered and cried out and was raised higher. Her breasts were assaulted by an unrepentant other, alternating between pinching and willowing slutty aching nipples. Her need to come, to please whomever was ministering to her, was building toward its crescendo, but Emily knew better than to beg… yet.
Soft lips and tongue danced upon her own as somehow vibrations tormented the dildo in her whorish ass and greedy clit. There must have been at least 3 using her, but she was flying and wouldn’t have cared if there were 30. Primal cries erupted as clamps were torn and nipples massaged and bitten savagely, “PPPPPPP-pppplease, might slut come for all of You? N-nnnnnow,ppppppl-ease?PLEASE!!” The symphony of pain and pleasure continued and just as she was about to lose consciousness, the dirty, used whore was commanded to come, by all. Her body strained against the restraints and implements, shuddering uncontrollably, to fly and shatter into a million pieces, offering her sacred juices to all. The dildos flew out of her holes, caught by those lingering at her cunt and ass longing to savor Emily’s lust.
A gentle voice whispered, “Time for slave to take a break now.” A deep, knee-weakening kiss gathered Emily’s pieces as her blindfold, cuffs and restraints were removed. As her eyes focused from the orgasmic haze, she saw her five– 3 nude women, touching, entwined, kissing one another, pleased by their pain slut and needing release themselves. Mistress and Master were conversing quietly in the corner, observing and satisfied with their shared slave’s obedience. For the first time, they were able to admire marks on their shared slave’s flesh, property owned by them separately and together.
Yet there was more to come. Stiil returning, Emily’s eyes hadn’t noticed the fucking machine on the other side of the room, much less the whips, floggers and four men waiting to use her other hole…
This series speaks eloquently to my essence– the pain slut, the bisexual, and the service slave. The blog is marvelously crafted and is a joy to follow. Consume this blissful read on its own or as part of the ongoing serial. 💜
Continues from Slave Tales: The Hunt (XXV)
Image – “Forest Dreams” : Photo of Model: Andrey Stanko – Art Work: Gonzalo Villar
Only a couple of hours past dawn and the forest was already bathed in warm sunlight. It was going to be another hot day. I lay comfortably naked – and I hoped invitingly so – on a patch of grass by the riverbank shaded by the thick majestic branches of a tall and probably very old oak tree. A few feet away the Riverman was still studiously carving the tip of a spear he was making from a long branch. He appeared totally immersed in the work, oblivious to all else, including me, but I knew he was watching me like a hawk. Not with his eyes – he never looked at me once – but with his senses.
He had captured us – myself, my…
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Sometimes the post you’ve been composing in your head just has to wait. Spending time, sharing, talking and opening your heart and life to another… slave wasn’t expecting tears and an eventual catharsis, but it’s slowly happening. Speaking for myself, but perhaps others too, it’s honorable and easy to prioritize your Dominant’s needs and desires and serve Them truly. From childhood, i was taught to sublimate my own needs and that has carried me through adulthood. A mentally strong personality emerges– filled with compassion, empathy and a profound desire to understand and accept others. That’s the rock that people gravitate toward and depend on, a positive role model. Except when it isn’t.
Allowing others to know your pain and sorrow is heart thumpingly scary– God forbid the rock that you’ve become for others crumbles under the weight of your own need. My pastor’s son, a pastor himself, committed suicide in 2013 ten days before Christmas. Isaac had led a spirit filled church and was that rock for many in his congregation, yet he couldn’t allow anyone to comfort him in his own unbearable sorrow after the death of his 5-year-old niece. His death has left a gaping hole in the fabric of his family, church and others who knew him that may never be mended.
You have reached out, offered comfort and Dominance to this humble slave. Vulnerabilty is unsettling, but i feel the reassurance of Your thick rope about me, both as protection and possession. slave treasures that and the gift of You.💜