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We’ve gone over to Jon’s one evening. Susan is out of town, and we decided to keep Jon company. He made dinner for us, and we brought some good German beer. I’ve had a few glasses of wine with dinner. After dinner, we’re sitting in the living room, just talking, some about art, some about people you and Jon know. It was a long week for all of us and it’s nice to chat with friends and relax. Everyone feels very calm, although you suspect there is some undercurrent of sexual tension. You had teased me before we left home, and now, after dinner, you notice my nipples through my shirt. I’m a little flushed, but it could be from the wine.

I’m sitting at your feet and your hand is on the back of my neck, sometimes stroking my head, almost petting me. I am drifting off a little as you and Jon start to talk about some esoteric part of history that doesn’t interest me too much. I am content to let my mind meander and not worry. I lean back, now, between your legs, and put my head on your thigh. As you lean forward, you reach down and stroke one of my breasts very gently.

At first it is very natural and not conspicuous. Jon may not even notice because he is very intent on the discussion at hand. But as time goes on, you become more and more purposeful, obvious about what you are doing. Your fingers occasionally stray over my [tag]nipples[/tag], even pinching the right nipple, once. I close my eyes to concentrate on the feelings, so I am pretty unaware of how much Jon is noticing. You start fiddling with the buttons on my shirt, and almost casually undo the first three or four. Reaching into the opened shirt, through my bra, you take hold of my ring firmly and suddenly.

“Jon, Alice’s breasts are really very beautiful” you say, almost quietly.

Jon looks confused for a moment about Alice, but then realizes. You or I must have told him that Alice is my bottom name, and your signal that we are playing. It clicks in his head with what you have been doing for the last ten minutes.

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Well, it was Thursday afternoon. Almost the end of another long day at work. As Amy passed my desk she said, “Cheer up – dinner time soon.” She and I had begun to share dinner together on Thursdays as we are almost neighbors and, being recently divorced, enjoy visiting. I replied with a tired smile, “I know – if I can survive that long!” Little did I realize what was soon to be in store for me.

Five o’clock came after what seemed an eternity and we were heading home together in the car. As we came inside the house, she said, “Why don’t you go ahead and change, I’ll start the pasta?” I agreed and went off toward the bedroom. I began removing my blazer suit: hung my blazer in the closet; unbuttoned my blouse and tossed it into the laundry basket; kicked off my pumps and wiggled my tired feet; unzipped my skirt and put it over the chair; unrolled my hose and tossed them on top of the blouse, removed my bra and panties and tossed them also.

I went to into the bathroom to wash up but before I could start the water Amy came in. “What are doing?” I asked. She had never seen me undressed before now. She grabbed my wrists and before I could react she had handcuffed my wrists together behind my back. “What the fuck are you doing!!” I yelled. She answered, “I’m going to give you what you deserve slut. I’m tired of the way you tease the men at work! You and your slutty clothes!! Where do you get off coming on to the guys like you do?? Wearing no bra, and skirts to show off your pussy – you must be a slut or whore!!” I was shocked speechless by what she was saying.

She pulled me over to the bed and tied my ankles to the corner bedposts. She then tied a piece of cord to each wrist and then to each bedpost at the headboard. As she unlocked the handcuffs, she pulled tight on the cords and my wrists were then securely tied also. I was very scared and began struggling against the bonds she had tied, but it was no use – they were very tight. She then placed a ball gag in my mouth and fastened it with a leather strap. I was very terrified now. There I was: tied spread-eagled to the bed and gagged. I couldn’t move or yell!

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I had never been an actual slave in “real life,” although I had had strong fantasies about being a slave for just about as long as I could remember. I have a very submissive nature, especially around someone who is able to bring out that side of me. This story is about a Mistress I served.

Mistress R. was my online Mistress. We had never actually met; we only corresponded through the email on a local BBS. All I knew about her was what I could read in her “bio.” She was 33 years old, 5’9″ tall and weighed 140 pounds. She was married and had red hair. Most of the other answers in her bio were normal enough, but under a question about personality types, she had selected “dominant.” Of course, with my submissive side, I had to write to her and explore just what she meant by that answer, and I was happy to learn that she liked to fantasize about being a Mistress. Based on this, we soon formed an online relationship with her as the Mistress and me as the slave. She made it very clear that since she was happily married this could never be anything more than “electronic play,” and I readily agreed. Right from the beginning she was very demanding. She remained totally in control and things seldom went the way I wished, but as I followed her orders (by myself, in front of the computer), I began to feel myself mentally coming under her control.

She began my training by telling me that as her slave, my body become her property. Just like I wouldn’t think of touching a Mistress without permission, she required me to ask for her permission and to follow certain rules she set forth before I was allowed to touch “her penis.” She ordered me to relieve her penis three times a day, but I was never allowed to even touch it if I was on any kind of furniture; I had to be kneeling or laying on the floor. This was very hard for me, since reading her letters or chatting with her or thinking about her made me very horny; it was hard to keep my hands off of her penis. I was required to send her a daily report once a day about how I had relieved her penis, how I had carried out any of her other orders, and describing my feelings to her.

Let me explain that although we never played in person, I tried to the best of my ability to obey her every command exactly as she wished, without complaint. I was not entirely successful, I think in part due to the fact that I probably needed her watching over me to insure total obedience. It was enough, though, to make me feel totally like her property. I was honest with her, so whenever I disobeyed or did not follow her orders, I told her so. Being an online computer relationship, I could have lied and she would never have known, but I think then I would have missed out on many of the feelings that came along with it. I really began to think and feel as if I were under her control.

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I think it was the blood that kept my attention, really. Not that there was so very much of it, but it was quality blood. I mean the image. I’m not explaining this right. I mean amidst the almost three dozen rising welts on her back there were only three slashes that were bleeding. I think they were on purpose. But they were bleeding so well. Not a lot, mind you, but attractively.

You see, the blood was trickling in rivulets from these three lashes and running down her back. The scarlet tracks split and joined and resplit as they made their way to her shapely ass. Just in the small of her back they spread thinly into the fine lines and contours of her skin like a red river delta. And surrounding each gash, was a slight red spattering, where the blood mist flew from the lash had settled.

Where not rising or running red, her skin was pale. It was beyond pale, it was white, like snow or alabaster. Like the little cotton puff clouds on a fair day, her skin was. The contrast was shocking.

She hung there, her knees bent, legs unsupportive. Still conscious, but no longer holding herself up, she hung there by her arms. Almost without will. Her head was bent to her chest, and I could see that the strain on her shoulders was tremendous. Yet she hung as she had been told to before the whipping. The fact that she could relieve the pressure on her shoulders but chose not to was unfathomable. Admirable. (click to read entire story…)

Chip was waiting in the hotel lobby right on time. Since he had been scheduled to work today for the early early lunch shift, he was off at six. That was OK with me, since it had been a late one the night before. Much as I had enjoyed balling all night with this great looking stud, I was a little tired today. Not as young as I used to be, I guess. Nonetheless, the offer to meet his friend in Georgetown sounded too good to miss – tired or not. The friend, according to CHIP, was “into leather”, and had his own playroom in his house. Although I consider myself to be fairly experienced, I had never gotten much into the leather scene. Most of the leather types I had met in the past had been nothing more than bank clerks dressed up in leather jackets and playacting. A definite turn-off as far as I was concerned. When Chip had described his friend to me the night before, this one sounded different, so I was looking forward to meeting the guy and – if things worked out – seeing what he had to offer.

We got a taxi easily at the hotel, and headed for Georgetown. Along the way, since neither of us had eaten dinner, we stopped for two pizzas to take with us. We drove along what appeared to be a major parkway for a while, and then Chip had to give the driver directions through Georgetown to his friend’s house. The house turned out to be a small, very ordinary looking semi-detached house along a very ordinary looking street. I was a little disappointed. I do not know what I had expected, but this didn’t look like it. We paid the driver, the cab left, and we walked up the walk to the front door and rang the bell.

Unlike the house itself, the guy who answered the door WAS everything I had expected – and more. He was about 6’2″, a little taller than me, and had the broadest shoulders I had ever seen. Standing in the doorway of this little house made him look even bigger than he was. He had short jet black hair and a thin inch wide beard running along the edge of his jaw. The beard and his rugged facial features made him look particularly formidable. He was wearing a loose sweat shirt and tight, faded jeans which outlined a nice looking piece of meat to the left of his crotch. It seemed to extend half way to his knees. We shook hands and he took our coats and threw them over a chair in the living room. His name was Mark. (click to read entire story…)