Katie Gets Fisted

I left school early that day, faking a dentist
appointment and signing out at lunch time. I’ve been
signing my own forms for years and so the forged note
from my ‘parents’ didn’t raise any eyebrows. Where I
was headed actually wasn’t far from school at all, in
keeping with my mistress’ ’25 minute’ rule, but I
decided to drive to my ‘real’ appointment straight from
school anyway, without bothering to go home and shower
or change.

The woman I was meeting with apparently wanted me out
of there “before my hubby gets home”; so maybe this was
all going on without hubby’s knowledge. His loss I
guess, although honestly, I could do without having to
satisfy a ‘just watching’ husband as well today. The
scenario this woman had suggested to me, and therefore
Mistress Cassandra, seemed delightfully clinical and
impersonal, I’d prefer to keep it that way.

Of course I’m a slave-cunt and so I’ll do what I’m
told. If there were twenty homeless men she wanted me
to blow waiting there, I’d do it. But sometimes
situations can be that much more erotic if they’re
impersonal and only about the physical sensations. So
many couples on those dating sites suggest ‘meeting up
for a drink first,’ which is I’m sure a good way to
ensure that the person you’re meeting is who they say
they are in their photos, and also doesn’t define
‘kinky play’ as fucking yr corpse while wearing yr
skin.

I’m not interested in discussing what people do on the
weekend over a white wine in some bar in chapel street.
I’m not going to fuck their hobbies, and the best
encounters I’ve found, so far, occur when barely more
than names are exchanged between knocking on the door
and getting down to it.

This particular woman actually hadn’t even told me her
name. And I liked that. She was a housewife, of the
fucking hot trophy-wife variety if her profile pictures
were accurate from my area; blonde, busty, bored and
debauched with a keen mind for things kinky and
fetishistic.

Hopefully ‘ma’am’ as she wanted to be called didn’t
mind me being unshowered. It’s not like I had fucked
anyone else that day (though I had greased my arse up
and kept a small plug in all morning in preparation for
the afternoon, and it had been tempting…), and
honestly, have you seen me? Would you object to me
turning up at yr door in my tight blue and white
chequered school-dress?

It only took ten minutes to drive to the address I’d
been given. And by now I’m used to driving with my cunt
leaking all over the place and only half my mind on the
road. It was a nice large place, quiet street, big
garden and driveway. I parked in the street a few
houses up and took a moment to compose myself. As well
as a few deep, shuddering breaths to try and put a lid
on my horniness, this involved putting on black latex
collar and wrist cuffs, all featuring d-rings for easy
bondageability.

I slipped out of my school shoes and into white knee-
high lace up, high heeled latex boots. Fucking in
boots, I just have a thing for it. Over the top of
those went latex cuffs similar to the ones on my
wrists, fastened at the ankles.

A quick look around to make sure the neighbourhood was
still quiet, then I opened the door and hurriedly
walked up the street, up the driveway and to knock on
the door. Thankfully no-one saw me, no curious
neighbours to question why a schoolgirl in slut boots
and slave cuffs was walking up to this woman’s house.
Even then, most people see the dress and the bag and
don’t think about the rest of it, but it was still a
small relief.

My knock was answered almost instantly. As calm, cool,
and seasoned as we try and be in these situations I
find almost all of us, regardless of role, are
absolutely jumping out of our skin with the
anticipation of how the whole hookup is going to turn
out. I mean it’s not hard to be, you’re meeting a
complete stranger, who could be anyone, your only
contact has been email, maybe a phone call, some photos
online of what could easily be someone else, and you’re
going there with the express purpose of fucking them.

So I will confess to experiencing some relief when she
answered the door and resembled her profile pictures to
a t. Most people usually do, but hey…in this case I
can say she was actually hotter in the flesh. She was
about 37, had a perfect, gym-toned body and surgery-
augmented breasts. She was dressed in a short skirt,
dark stockings, flats and a tight brown blouse opened
to reveal her impressive cleavage.

She wasn’t wearing a bra, but if she had been, she just
seemed the type to have been wearing something black,
lacy, and expensive. Her makeup was understated and
stylish, her long, blonde hair contrived to look
expensively manicured even when just hanging loose as
it was now, and her face bore an expression of cool
appraisal as she looked me up and down, in my school-
cum-slavegirl uniform. I obviously satisfied her gaze
because she smiled slightly and said ‘Katie obviously,
come in then, cunt.’

Words and language play a big part in the eroticism of
this lifestyle for me, I have to admit. There’s nothing
fucking sexier than watching my mistress fuck a guy
with a strap-on while she calls him ‘faggot,’ for
instance. Just that word, the way she says it as she
pounds them rougher than any gay porno I’ve ever seen,
it’s hot. In fact we have a few rules about words and
language designed to remind me of her dominance over my
daily life, as you’ll shortly see.

So the fact that I didn’t learn this woman’s name,
simply called her ‘ma’am,’ and she only used my name
that one time, for the rest of our time together
referring to me with various derogatory terms served to
remind me of my place as an instrument for her
pleasure, made the experience all the more exciting for
me. This woman was dominant, and wasn’t shy about it. I
like women who dominate me and don’t bother to check if
it’s okay. Slaves are people, just inferior, subhuman
ones. If we have limits or truly aren’t comfortable
with something, we’ll object. It’s much more erotic
just to trust in that and dominate from the get go,
without making sure everything’s okay.

She led me into a plush lounge-room, took my bag from
me and placed it in a corner, then sat down on a black
leather couch to face me, still standing in the deep
shag carpet in the middle of the room. Crossing her
legs, she took out a cigarette then lit it, exhaling
slowly before saying ‘kneel, bitch, hands behind your
head, chest out.’ I promptly obeyed, kneeling before
her, just in range if she stretched her legs out. I
thrust my chest out, put my hands behind my head and
looked up expectantly, careful not to look her directly
in the eye until I was given permission. This slavecunt
knows her place.

She gave another of those brief smiles, not quite a
smirk, then kicked off her shoes and extended one long,
toned leg, touching my face with her stockinged foot.
She probed my lips with her toes and I acquiesced
immediately, opening wide and allowing her to insert
some toes into my mouth. I pride myself in being able
to anticipate some of my dommes’ expectations – and hey
if I’m wrong, there’s nothing more fun than being
brutally disciplined for such shameful pride – and so
began to demonstrate some of my expert blowjob
technique on her foot.

This was definitely more for show than blow, and just
to make things easier (that carpet looked expensive) I
used a hell of a lot less spit than I normally do. For
my impudence I was rewarded with a smile as she
withdrew her foot, and a gentle kick in the side of the
face. ‘You’ve sucked a lot of cock, haven’t you slut?.’
I replied ‘yes ma’am’ as I swallowed a few times and
drew myself back up into the kneeling-upright position.

She got up from the couch and stood towering over me,
still appraising me like the expensive cut of meat I
am. ‘Tell me, slut… what is your mistress’ name
again?’ She asked, drawing on her cigarette.

‘It’s Cassandra, ma’am,’ I replied, unsure where this
was going. My legs and arms were starting to ache a
little but I’d handled much worse before.

‘What was that? Speak louder slut, I didn’t hear you’
she said sharply.

‘I’m sorry ma’am, her name is Cassandra.’

‘Hmmmm,’ she took another drag, then leaned over me,
exhaling in my face. She reached out and slipped a
finger under the button-up collar of my school dress.
With one deft movement she ripped it open, popping all
the buttons, exposing my cleavage. Holding her
cigarette between her teeth, she grabbed the collar and
twisted downwards, ripping the cloth to a point
somewhere below my tits. The thin cotton, stretched by
my arms being held upright, made this a lot easier.

‘Drop yr arms to yr sides,’ she said, and I complied.
The dress fell further down my body, and she took out
my 14dd tits, unhooking my bra and throwing it aside,
letting my perky young girls swing free. My tits are my
best asset, and she seemed to agree, lifting them in
her hands, kneading them, pinching my nipples so hard I
involuntarily drew breath, before taking a step back
and resuming her contemplation of me.

‘Arms back up.’ Again, I complied.

‘Tell me again whore, the name of yr mistress, quick!’
she snapped. ‘Cassandra!’ I replied, a little urgently,
although I dared not let any of my curiosity show in my
voice… where was she going with this? Oh, fuck…the
evil grin that appeared on her face. That rule. The one
I forget sometimes.

Grinding out her cigarette in a nearby ashtray, still
grinning, she turned and said ‘yes, I know. I’ve spoken
to MISTRESS Cassandra. She told me you’re to always
refer her as MISTRESS Cassandra, and if you are so
fucking stupid a little whore as to forget to speak of
MISTRESS Cassandra with the respect she deserves, you
have to do a little penance, don’t you?.’

Yup, it’s true, if I forget to refer to her as Mistress
Cassandra three times in a row: ‘Yes ma’am,’ I gulped
in reply. To be honest I was playing up my fear a
little bit. I get off on pain and actually like this
particular punishment. I do it very occasionally when
masturbating just for fun, but it’s generally one of
those special tortures I reserve to please my mistress.

‘Well then, you know what to do, don’t you?’ she
smiled. Turning to the couch, she took another
cigarette from the packet she’d left there and lit it,
handing it to me. I took it with my left hand, taking
the right from behind my head to cup my right boob and
hold it up. Announcing clearly, aloud, as I’d been
ordered to do if I had to complete this penance.

I said, ‘I apologise, Mistress Cassandra,’ adding to my
dome, ‘and you, ma’am,’ then pressed the lit cigarette
to the skin of my right areola, butting it out on my
skin, burning myself in the process. I sucked in a
breath, hissing through gritted teeth, as the burning
embers singed my flesh. Being burnt with a cigarette
isn’t as bad as you’ve probably been lead to believe
actually. It’s certainly not as bad as being burnt with
a lighter. But it still hurts a fuckload.

But then again, things that hurt just generally make me
wetter.

I looked up, again avoiding my dominant housefrau’s
eyes, but still catching the massive horny grin
threatening to break out over her face. ‘Good,’ she
said, the cool tone of her voice developing a slightly
husky timbre and catching in her throat just a little.

‘You’re as obedient as you claim to be. The kitchen’s
over there dear. Go put some cold water on the burn,
then return here and resume the same position, wait for
me.’ I did as I was told, soothing the heat with some
cool water from the tap, before returning to my
kneeling position in the lounge-room, now empty.

I probably spent two minutes kneeling upright like
that, hands on the back of my head, elbows out, all
muscles taught and under tension, waiting for her to
return. The carpet was so deep I wouldn’t have been
able to hear her walking back into the lounge. So when
I suddenly felt the sharp sting of what can only have
been her foot connecting with my tailbone, sending me
flying forward, almost unbalancing me.

I barely caught the urge to cry out in time,
suppressing my yell into a strangled grunt. I caught my
balance and drew myself upright again. I confess to
feeling a little pride that my hands had stayed in
their position at the back of my head. Don’t
worry…after I’m done writing this I’m going to have a
cigarette. I’ll punish myself when it comes time to
stub it out.

She chuckled a little, then grabbed me by my ponytail,
used it to draw me back, pulling upwards so I had no
choice but to scramble to my feet. She then lifted me
by the waist – holy shit, she must work out! – and
literally threw me into the couch.

I hit the wooden edge and this time I couldn’t stop
myself from crying out, before rolling onto the ground
and landing on my hands and knees, hitting my head on
the floor. It dazed me a little so it took me a few
seconds before I returned to the same upright-kneeling
position, hands behind head, though this time facing
away from the couch.

The sight that met me? Wow. All I can say. She was in
some kind of lingerie that had to have been custom
made, it fit her so well. A combination of dark lace (I
knew it!) and latex. Corset, thigh-high stockings,
suspenders, garter belt, no panties, breasts exposed,
high heels. Holy shit! It fitted her lithe, athletic
body perfectly, and, with her blonde hair now pulled
back severely into a tight pony tail, suited her stern,
mature good looks. What I’m trying to say is my domme
looked hot as hell.

In her hands she held a pile of bondage implenta.
Placed behind her in the middle of the room was a
padded horse, the kind you use for vaulting in gyms and
are so useful in the adult games we like to play behind
the closed doors of suburbia. If only the people
walking past in the street could see through the front
garden and drawn curtains to what was going on in here.

She threw a spreader bar and a chain with a dog-clip at
each end at my feet. ‘You know what to do, bitch,’ she
said, and I did. I attached the spreader bar to the d-
rings on the cuffs around my boots, it kept my legs
spread a good three-feet apart. Then with practiced
ease I attached the chain to the wrist cuffs. It’s not
as hard as it sounds. She leaned over me and attached a
leash to the d-ring on my collar, and hauled me
upright, c*****g me slightly.

Standing with my legs spread so wide wasn’t too bad,
and the feeling of the latex of my boots stretching
tight against my legs was lovely. She hauled me over to
the horse – moving with the spreader bar was a
different story altogether, but something that’s easy
once you’ve got the hang of it – and then shoved me
forward onto it. As I hit I went limp, effectively
making my body flop over onto the other side, lifting
my arse up into the air.

The horse had a series of holes on both sides near the
corners, in which metal rings could be mounted. She
quickly set about doing this, attaching my feet with a
short length of chain looping through the shackles and
wrapped around the spreader bar, locked at one end with
a padlock. She ordered me to lift myself up and placed
her hand on my back, commanding me to stop when my body
was almost at a right angle to my legs. Using the chain
to drag my cuffed wrists down, she placed rings nearer
the top on the other side of the horse and again
attached me with another length of chain. My balance
was upset slightly with my center of gravity forward
and I felt like an animal on display, it was wonderful!

The horse to which I was now chained was positioned
under a brass light fitting hanging from the ceiling.
She took a further length of chain and looped it over
the light fitting, one end attached to my leash.
Pulling my head upwards so I was looking straight ahead
at a slightly upwards angle, she slipped a leather
thong around the base of my pony tail, drew it tight
and then looped the chain to the precise length and
attached it to the thong.

I now had two chains holding my head in position, one
pulling my hair and one c*****g me slightly around my
throat. The tension was set so I had to hold my head in
that position – at crotch height, natch – otherwise
either my hair would pull painfully, or the c***e-
collar would cut too tightly against my throat. It was
a masterful bondage arrangement. Simple, sexy, slightly
painful.

I heard the unmistakable click and whirr of a digital
camera, my suspicions confirmed when she stepped into
the field of view available to my now immobilised head
and took a few more shots. She then dragged a coffee
table into position so I could just see it, and the
arrangement of lube, dildos, gag, and crop arrayed on
it out of the corner of my eye.

Some dommes like you to be noisy and incompliant,
pretend like you’re innocent and don’t want any of the
depravations they’re inflicting on you. Others like you
to be quiet and acquiescent, humbly submitting like the
perfect little whore to everything they inflict, until
they find yr personal breaking point and make you
scream in various combinations of pleasure and agony (I
like those ones the best!). She’d been meticulous in
planning this scenario in her emails, and so as she
placed the ball-gag in my mouth and buckled it
underneath the base of my ponytail, I knew that was the
signal that I could now be as loud as I liked. Less
chance of neighbours hearing I guess.

Just, incidentally, how fucking good are ball gags? I
often wear mine at home – after my parents are asleep
or if they’re out – just for fun while I’m doing my
homework, watching TV, idly playing with myself. Hell,
I’m wearing it right now as I type this! I love the
feeling of being gagged, the way yr spit ends up
dripping out the bottom of yr lip all around them, the
feeling of yr mouth being stretched, so sexy!

She took a few more photos with the camera and then
placed it on the table, lifting the crop, making sure I
could see. All this was being done in silence and all
the more erotic for it. I could hear the rustling of
cloth as I felt my now-ruined dress being lifted higher
up to expose my naked arse. The snip of scissors in
fabric as she cut my black g-string from my body. Then
the whoosh of the crop just before I felt the sting as
it hit my arse with a snap.

The sting and the shockwave rippled all the way up my
spine, rocking my body forward. My chains clanked, I
grunted against the gag. She was definitely strong and
her swing was powerful. She continued cropping me, my
whole body responding to each impact with a twitch and
high, guttural grunt, which would probably have been a
yell if it weren’t for the gag. She methodically worked
me all over my arse cheeks and the backs of my thighs,
still in complete silence, as she said in her email,
‘warming up’ my skin.

The b***d was rushing around that part of my body. I
could feel my pussy opening up, dripping thick goo down
my legs and the front of my dress. My sphincter was
clenching and relaxing, in anticipation of what I knew
was coming next. She again took photos; my red arse and
thighs, my face, sweat streaked, red, drool escaping my
mouth around the gag, loose strands of hair stuck to my
forehead with sweat. She put the camera and crop down
and picked up the bottle of lube, again walking slowly
behind me, taking my time, teasing me.

My pussy was absolutely pulsing by now and I couldn’t
help but groan long and low. I heard her chuckle and
mutter ‘you whore, you really want this huh.’ I groaned
my acknowledgement and tried to nod, c*****g off my
groan as the collar bit into my throat. My anus went
into pulsation-overtime as the first drop of lube hit
it. She began massaging it into my butthole, still a
little open from my attentions earlier in the day. It
wasn’t long before she slipped her thumb in, eliciting
another groan from me.

She withdrew her thumb, placing it on the skin below my
arsehole, pulling tight, stretching my arse open, to
drip more lube in. As she did she said ‘you did clean
yrself out for me, right, whore?’ I tried to say ‘yes
ma’am’ through the gag and again choked myself trying
to nod. I’d given myself an enema prior to lubing up
that very morning. I regularly enema myself anyway,
they feel sexy.

‘Good’ she said, and continued massaging lube into my
anus, inserting a finger this time, then quickly two.
She began thrusting them in and out in a circular
motion, periodically stretching her fingers to widen up
the penetration as she continued pouring lube all over
me, it was now dripping down to my cunt and down my
arse. She must not worry about the cleaning bills
because there was nothing down to protect the carpet
from all the fluids that must be by now dripping off
me; spit, sweat, pussy juice, butt grease, lube. But
then again she looked pretty wealthy, from the house
and the quality of toys being used on me here. I wish
we could all live a life of such luxury.

Her hand holding the lube bottle gently massaged my
arse cheeks with it, keeping the b***d circulating in
the area, as she continued to work fingers into my
anus. Four now, the thumb probing. I’ve had huge things
up my elastic arse before, including fists, so I know
it’s possible, but the feeling of fullness, of being
expertly massaged to open up like that, is so, so
wonderful, something I hope I never get used to!

The thumb was in and she gradually worked her way,
penetrating me deeper, getting in to her wrist. This
was the part I loved the most, as she got deeper and
began to make a fist inside me, working her hand in
towards my bowels. My whole body was quivering now, my
legs trembling uncontrollably, my back flexing, my head
flopping around, flexing against the restrictions of
the two chains. I was moaning and groaning continuously
through my gag, spit flooding from my mouth, down my
chin, onto my tits. My ruined dress was practically
hanging from me by now, and the chains were all
rattling and clinking as my body trembled.

My domme let out the occasional sigh and quietly said
things like ‘oh, nice, you like that’ but otherwise
remained silent. I imagine she had that same small
smile on her face as she intently concentrated on
opening up my anus though. Soon she was properly
fisting me, working her arm in and out with her hand
inside me, working up a rhythm, gently fucking me with
her fist. After a few minutes she withdrew her hand
from my arse with a loud, sticky, sucking pop. That
feeling, like you’re shitting something the size of a
baby, is something else I’ll never get used to, I hope!
A huge dollop of cunt goo literally dripped out of me
as she did that.

Walking slowly in front of me, she again smiled,
placing the lube bottle on the table and taking up the
camera. She stopped in front of me long enough to catch
my attention, and put all four fingers in her mouth,
sucking the combined lube and my arse-juice off them,
before returning around behind me with that slow-
teasing walk. My cunt dripped again. That was hot.

The camera clicked a few times and then was thrown
gently onto the same armchair I had sat in before. She
had a few photos of my gape and that’s all she wanted.
Personally I would’ve gotten a few photos of her fist
in my anus, but these photos weren’t for my pleasure.
My pleasure was to be there, tired up, fulfilling her
desires.

And pleasure it was, my body was still trembling
uncontrollably, and I experienced a brief moment of
panic…what if I passed out and choked? But that
thought evaporated as soon as her fist went back up my
arse. She went knuckles first this time, the stinging
bite against my ring sending searing pain up my spine,
quickly followed by waves of orgasmic pleasure as her
fist penetrated me deep, thrusting up inside so hard
and quick I expected it to come out my mouth. I came. I
shook. My chains rattled.

I screamed through my gag. My head shook, I choked,
spit flew from my mouth as I gagged and tasted bile.
Cum dripped down over my legs from my pussy. My anus
rippled and pulsed around her hand and wrist as she
fist-fucked me. My domme lost her cool for a moment and
squealed with delight, before resuming fisting me. I
rode the cum straight through into a second, then
collapsed against my chains. She still didn’t let up
and I felt like I was going to explode, my all the
pleasure in my body was going to come boiling out of me
through every skin pore and orifice. I came a third
time, I squirted like a fire-hose, all over her
stocking-clad legs and expensive carpet. I felt like I
left my body for a little while.

When I came back my body was trembling and I felt like
I’d simultaneously shit half my body weight and run a
marathon. I could barely hold myself upright. Sweat was
pouring off my face onto the carpet with audible
dripping noises. She was standing in front of me,
removing my gag, holding her hand up to my mouth.

Despite my tiredness, my body wanting to just curl into
a ball and pass out, I eagerly extended my sore tongue
and licked, drawing in the moisture to my mouth,
savouring the taste of my arse juice and lube as I
sucked her fingers and tongued her forearm clean. She
smiled and gently patted my face ‘good whore,’ she
said. ‘Good little cunt-bitch, and we’ve still got time
to play some more.’

She loosened the slack on my head-chains and stood
before me, legs spread, guiding my head into her cunt.
I knew what to do. I’ve been licking cunt since I was
fifteen. My tongue is pierced, and I’m an expert. She
was shaved, delicious, and sopping wet. She twisted her
hands in my hair and cooed ‘good whore, good little
whore’ as I lapped away eagerly at my domme’s delicious
cunt, trying my best to repay her for the pleasure she
just gave me.

I doubt it was more than two minutes before her grip
tightened, she grunted ‘ohhh,’ with a rising note on
the end, she tensed, up on tip toes, and then with a
long, loud ‘AHHH!’ her body relaxed and her hot cunt
juice flooded into my mouth. And kept flooding, into my
mouth, out of my mouth, down my chin, onto the floor. I
love squirters!

She leaned forward, hands on my head, pushing it down,
panting, while she recovered from her cum. I took the
chance to relax my body a little as well. When she
finally took a step back from me, she had composed
herself again, and gave me yet another of those sexy
smiles and said ‘you are well trained, aren’t you?.’

I swallowed through my dry mouth and gasped out ‘yes
ma’am, thank you for letting me taste yr delicious cunt
ma’am.’

She set about releasing me from my bondage, but I
didn’t actually get up until she tapped me on the back
and said ‘up.’ Obedience matters. It was damn good to
stretch my aching muscles though. She took a thick,
black strap-on dildo from the table and threw it on to
the chair. ‘lose the chain and bar, and dress, and put
that on, then sit.’ She busied herself with packing up
the chains and horse, taking them off down the hall to
wherever they were kept out of the sight of the prying
eyes of normal people.

By the time I was naked but for my boots, collar and
cuffs, and her strap-on, sitting in the chair, she was
done and returned with several condoms. Taking one from
a packet and throwing the rest on the table, she rolled
it on to my fake dick, tugging me down into a
slouched/sitting position as she did.

Then without any further word, she spread her legs and
mounted me in a cowgirl position, taking me balls deep.
Grabbing a handful of my boobs in each hand and sitting
on the cock, she looked me in the eye and said, ‘Now,
you, sit still, and shut up. Don’t thrust, don’t hump,
don’t do anything. You’re not meant to enjoy this, you
don’t have the power even though you’re fucking me.
You’re just a holder for a dildo for me to pleasure
myself with.’

With that, she started rocking back and forth, building
up very quickly until she was in full bounce, nails
digging into my tits, hard enough that she broke the
surface of the skin in a few places, drawing a few tiny
drops of b***d.

She rode me still harder and harder, all in silence
except for the squelching of her cunt and the noises my
naked arse made rubbing against the leather of the
chair. I was biting my lip to keep silent, but she
wasn’t…this woman’s control was amazing, and so
fucking sexy. She seemed intent on cumming with a
ferocious determination. And she left me feeling the
power of her words…I was a slave cunt, my body was
just a lump of meat for her to use to orgasm. This was
so sexy.

Her cum came in the same way, she tensed, seemed to
lift up, go completely still for a second, and then
bam! It came in a flood. She sat on top for a while,
gently rocking herself on the dildo, before standing
up. ‘Stay,’ she told me, then busied herself taking the
condom from my fake dick, together with my bra and
panties, and throwing them into a waste basket in the
corner. Turning to me she said ‘stand,’ which I
promptly did. She took the harness off me, acting as if
I was just another inanimate object, then re-arranged
the furniture, finally cleaning my sweat off the
leather of her chair with my school dress, which she
bundled up with the other toys, saying ‘I’m keeping
this, whore.’

I just stood there in the living room, watching this
all being done, waiting for her next command. Once
everything looked exactly like it was, my carpet stains
already almost invisible, she picked up the other dildo
from the coffee table. It was black as well, about the
same size but much thicker, with a suction cup base.
This she wet with her spit, then walked into the
hallway near the front door and stuck it to the floor.
Testing the suction, she then rolled a condom onto it.

Turning to me, she commanded ‘come here,’ Then,
indicating the dildo, she said ‘mount it.’ I did,
obediently, promptly, and hell, eagerly. MY sticky cunt
was open and ready and it felt soooo good sliding down
the thick shaft. I stayed there, legs open, hands
clasped behind my back, squatting on the dick. She
leaned against the hallway wall, looking at me, idly
toying with the strap-on she was holding in her hands.

After another of those long, appraising glances, she
said ‘put on a show for me whore. Let me watch a sexy
little teen bitch fuck herself with that big thick
cock.’ I needed no encouragement and immediately went
into super-whore mode, putting on a better show than
the most expensive camgirl ever. I bounced up and down
on the dick. I moaned, I twisted my hands in my hair. I
felt myself. I played with my tits, I frigged my clit,
I even slipped a finger in my butt.
Mostly though I just grabbed my arse cheeks and, using
all the strength of my thighs, bounced up and down on
that wonderful thick tool. It felt soooooo amazingly
good. After the kind of fucking I received it wasn’t
deep I needed, I just needed to fill full and
stretched. I gripped my boots and leaned forward,
feeling the cock hit all those magic spots inside me.

She kept playing with the dildo while she watched this
show. By now I had cum so hard all I could keep doing
was just fuck myself, bouncing on the cock like the
whore I am, enjoying the feeling, not even bothering to
work up to a cum. She stood over me and dangled the
dildo in my face, laughing at me, stretching it just
out of the reach of my tongue, before thrusting it into
my mouth and gagging me, fucking my face, then drawing
it out, leading me with it like a donkey with a carrot,
almost making me lose my balance.

This continued for about half an hour before she put
her foot on my head and pushed, sending me flying off
the dick backwards, to land against the front door, a
panting mess. ‘Enough,’ she said, then commanded me to
stand, which I did, legs spread to feel the cool late-
afternoon air coming in from underneath the front door
on my cunt, hands clasped behind my back.

Turning to the hallstand, she took up an envelope and a
roll of black electrician’s tape. On the envelope was
written ‘Mistress Cassandra.’ I later found out it was
a ‘thank you’ note, written on polite mum-style
stationary. The kind of note she would make her kids
send after going to a friend’s birthday party. Cute.
And sexy as hell, in a very perverted way. Taking the
envelope and tearing off a few strips of the tape, she
placed it against my left breast and taped it to the
skin, making sure to pull it tight so the tape would
hurt coming off. ‘That stays there until you see yr
mistress,’ she said, calmly, as if talking to a c***d.
Thankfully I was seeing her tonight so I wouldn’t have
to skip showering.

She took another strip of tape and a five-dollar note.
Rolling up the note, she slipped it up my cunt, then
placed the tape on my slit, again tight, sealing the
money in there. ‘That’s for petrol…whore’ she smiled.
Fuck, I felt so used…it was great! The final things
she took off the hall table were a cotton, patterned
summer dress, and what looked like a white rag. Handing
me the dress she said ‘put this on’ and I did. So I
wasn’t going to be walking out to the car naked. Good.

Walk out to my car – fully clothed – we did, after she
collected my bag from the living room. Such a mum, but
mums don’t surreptitiously grope my arse and finger my
crack while walking down the street. I got in and wound
down the window to say goodbye. She threw the white rag
into the car and held her hand out, saying ‘my dress.’
Oh, okay. Umm… HOT!

I slipped the dress off and handed it to her, sitting
naked in the driver’s seat except for my collar, cuffs
and white boots, note taped to my chest and five dollar
note taped in my cunt. She turned around and walked off
without a further word. I haven’t heard from her sense,
although Mistress Cassandra chats to her on msn
apparently.

I took the money out of my cunt, the tape hurt coming
off, it was great. I’d love to leave it in there but
toxic shock syndrome wouldn’t be fun. I picked up the
rag… shit… it was a t-shirt. A cut off one. I
pulled it on and it barely came past my nipples. It had
‘whore’ written on it in texta. I guess I was going to
go directly to Cassie’s house, with its lockup garage
attached to the house, so no one in the street could
see me like this, rather than home to my parent’s
house.

Worn out, relaxed, better than sitting in class all
afternoon, I started the car and headed off towards
Cassandra’s house.

Well, I hope you liked the story guys! Time for a
cigarette! Oh, and one more thing… for the third
time… CASSIE!