I placed my hands on my hips and looked down at the beautiful cross of black leather and silver links which bound my pet in a strict but comfy hogtie. The contrast between that gleaming ebony bondage, the white mesh of her lacy knickers and her glorious tan was exquisite. I felt as though I were in a gallery, staring at a work of genius with my mind falling over itself trying to work out how something so special could possibly exist.
At least that's how I felt in those fleeting moments when she wasn't breathing all over my toes and robbing them of the beautiful, conditioned air. I cocked my head to one side to get a better look at her face and ensure she still had her eyes open. I did not go to all the trouble of walking around, spending her money in leather booties all day, on the hottest day of the year no less, for her to ruin it all by sticking two fingers up to my rules and robbing my feet of the attention that they deserve.
Her eyes remained open. Despairing as a mouse in a cat's paw, but open. She's a good pet, when she tries to be. I unsheathed my remote weapon from its place at my hip and like a cowgirl who'd spied a bandit, I aimed at her knickers, right at the crease where her ass was trying its best to devour the lace, and I fired.
I kept my finger brushing over the trigger while watching her for any sign that she might be about to lose it. I'd been a little cruel today, granted. But is it really my fault that the good Lord gave her such a sultry voice and afflicted me with an addiction to hearing it wail and scream? Or that He gave her such an outrageously vibe-sensitive pussy? I think not.
I grasped at the carpet with my toes and I felt drool on the delicate skin about my left big toe. I do so adore a good spit shine down there, it really accentuates the contours of the nail. But there'd be time enough for that later. I looked over at the clock. Eleven minutes had passed. Eleven! And she was already sweltering beneath my effortless onslaught.
I fired at her again, and the knickers backed off. She stifled a weep, clearing her throat and swallowing quickly, no doubt praying Mistress wouldn't have noticed it. The penalties for rule breaking are harsh. They must be, otherwise they aren't penalties are they? We don't want to reward pets for bad behaviour.
I didn't punish her for the cry, it was her fifth edge while staring at my precious feet, after all. And we hadn't seen each other in nearly two weeks. I'm not some sort of savage. But I did lift my left foot, with its drooled-upon toe, to her lips, while watching the back of her head like a hawk. One false move, one mouth-first lunge to that toe and she'd quickly find herself crying for an altogether different reason.
I swept my nail across the full expanse of her lips, side to side and up and down, parting them and smearing her saliva all over my skin. She didn't move a millimetre. Test passed.
I lifted them a little further, teasing her nose with the tops of my toes and what I was sure would be a devilishly intoxicating and irresistable bouquet of leather, with a hint of coconut and vanilla body wash and, most importantly, the sweat of a day's mooching around the shops. Her head was shivering and I could hear her breathing turning a little laboured, but nothing that could reasonably displease me.
Which pissed me off a little, truth be told. There was a time when I didn't need to use such devious tricks as vibrating panties to work her up to this state. Maybe she was developing some kind of an immunity to me?
My toe taunting persisted. I pressed it into her mouth with my nail teasing at the ridge between her clenched teeth, daring her to take a bite and see what happens. But that question about immunity had caught in the recesses of my mind like a tiny ball of sock fluff snagged against my back teeth. I needed to be rid of it. Fast. So I knelt down and rolled my dutifully silent pet onto her side.
Then I lifted my right foot and stepped onto her face, shifting my arch into a comfortable position by her nose, moulding it onto the curve of her cheek, with my heel by her chin and the ball of my foot against her eye and her sweaty eyebrow, and I rested my weight upon her.
I will never, ever, ever let her even suspect this, but what followed caused my heart to punch the air with joy so hard it almost shot straight out of my chest.
She failed in her duties. To her credit, she never spoke a word. But she still failed. Utterly, fucking, miserably. A squeal of shock so powerful I felt it in my belly erupted from her throat the very second my foot pressed into her face. Her thighs snapped shut, her back arched and she screamed with such force I felt it ripple through my heel. I curled my toes against her forehead and she whimpered, jerking like my foot was electrified as two weeks of pent-up desire stormed through her entire body.
I let her writhe and howl beneath my foot for much longer than I should have. I had my own knot of pressure down there that was starting to screech for relief and becoming increasingly hard to just ignore. But I had to do just that. What type of mistress would I be if at less than fifteen minutes in I fell to my knees and fucked myself senseless?
Have her do it for me? Sure, I will be doing. Maybe. But not right now. Not immediately after she failed to; ask permission before an orgasm, keep noise levels to an ear-friendly level, and keep her feet visible at all times.
Yes, I am to blame for that last one when I rolled her over. Yes, she had no control over that. Yes, it isn't fair. I will ensure your concerns are noted.
With an eyebrow pencil. In extensive detail. Across every single wrinkle on her soles.
Life's such a fucking bitch, right?
But I'll give it a run for its money.
I withdrew my foot and sat down beside my pet, who was still near breathless and twitching with aftershocks, and I planted my hands behind me, lifted my legs into the air and fixed both of my beautifully clammy feet square onto her face. All I could see was her little nose trapped between my arches and while I do so love to admire my own feet, I much prefer to watch the agony racing through my pet's nervous system; the flexing hips, the beads of sweat forming on the outer edge of her thigh, the exposed nipple as it escapes the cup mid-thrash and the straining neck sinews.
I pressed my feet down hard, pinning her head to the floor, making her weep in haggard, broken rasps when at once a demon entered her body. I watched her hips thrust high, her feet spring up onto her little tippy toes which shuddered while she let loose a terrific howl of anguish. The knot inside of me tingled like all hell and I empathised with her cries. It was excruciating for me also.
Making certain her eyes were totally blind to all but my soles, I looked down at her crotch.
Rather, I looked down at the greying, flooding knickers clinging to her crotch. And to the great dark circle in the carpet beneath her, the edge of which had spread right underneath my own leather-clad ass. But, no matter. The beauty of wipe clean clothing is... That it wipes clean.
But I wasn't worried about the mess. I found myself clenching my thighs together, gripping onto the carpet with white-knuckled fists and, even worse, sweating. Sweating! With nothing to wipe my brow upon! There was a cushion on the sofa which would have been perfect, were I an Incredible or maybe Stretch Armstrong.
Alas, above the ankles, I am but a mere mortal. So the back of my forearm had to suffice and I swept it back into my hair while watching the ridiculously sexy sight of my poor pet unable to stop herself from cumming and wailing with panic. I watched in wide-eyed awe, wondering where on earth it was coming from. She often made a mess, but this was embarrassing. Another red mark against her performance today. Her ass fell back to the floor with a distinctly wet squish and she became a complete, unashamed blasphemer.
“OH GOD! STOP!” She screamed as the demon returned just as quickly as it had left and her ass shot back into the air again and her feet resumed their toe-bouncing jig. “I CAN'T ST- OH, GOD, I CAN'T STOP! GET THEM OFF OF ME, PLEASE!”
She squealed so very sweetly, breaking into tears when she found my feet were glued onto her face and followed her every move like a vicious, unfeeling android programmed to do nothing but maximise her suffering.
I didn't remove them. She had a safeword. And she already knew she was fucked anyway, having broken nearly every single one of my rules, so talking would make no difference, right?
Wrong.
She didn't address me by my proper title. Which at this point in our relationship is pathetic, schoolgirl level stuff. Those are my feet torturing her. Those are my buckles restraining her. It is my carpet her slutty pussy is ruining. And this is my house with my... Fucking... Rules.
But I granted her wish, lifting my feet and allowing her a little fresh air.
Then straight away rolled her back over onto her front and grabbed her calves, sinking my claws into her soft flesh and walking on my knees towards her. With my fingers wedged into the sweaty recesses between her calves and thighs, I lifted and dragged her into me, until her thighs straddled mine, her drenched ass was right there in my lap and her feet floated helplessly right in front of my face.
“Oh, come on, please! I'm exhausted!” She said, knowing damn well what was coming and testing my restraints to see if there was even an ounce of vulnerability in them.
Still no title...
“Please... What?” I said, holding her by the ankles.
“Oh... Shit! Mistress! Please, Mistress!”
“Please, Mistress... What?” Slowly I blew across her toes from left pinky to right pinky, like she was a set of panpipes waiting for me to play her while she continued to bleat for forgiveness.
“Please, Mistress, I'm so sorry! Don't tickle me!”
“Was that a command?” I said, grasping a hold of the big toe on her left foot and stretching it back, revealing that lying little patch of skin across her toe stem which claimed she was but an innocent, unsullied virgin. I pressed my fingernail into it. “I asked you a question. Don't even think about ignoring me.”
“Mis- Mistress... I'm... Not ignoring you... M- m- mistress!”
“Then answer me.” I pressed harder, needling that white patch for all it was worth.
“MistressIswear!” She spat out so fast I almost didn't understand her. “I would never command you to d- d- do- ARGH! To do anything!”
“But that is what you said. You said to me 'don't tickle me'.”
My fingernail relented. And was replaced by all ten of them. They descended upon the balls of her feet and sat there, poised and itching to unleash all manner of hell upon that expanse of pink silk.
“Oh my god, oh my god, no! Mistress! I didn't mean to! I'll do anything, anything at all!” She gurgled through grit teeth, sounding as though she were on the verge of a breakdown.
“Oh, I know you will.” I purred back at her. “But you've broken so many rules today. Made me feel like such a terrible, incompetent mistress...”
“You're not, Mistress! You're the best! The best Mistress in the- AH, FUCK!”
If you want me to tickle the living hell out of you, one easy way to achieve your desire is to take the piss out of me.
This position is fantastic for holding a pair of ticklish feet nice and still while freeing up both of your hands. With the tops of her feet crushed into my boobs I rode the waves of her thrashing legs with ease as my fingernails skittered and scratched their way across her silky soles. I clawed at her heels, raked my nails upward into her arches, leaving pink trail marks in their wake, before sinking them into the ball of each foot and piercing between each toe, torturing her beautiful white stems while she roared and spat all over the carpet, before repeating the process in reverse.
Back at her heels, my nails swept a little further down and tormented the skin of her ankles, teasing around the rim of each cuff and with her attention zeroed onto her sensitive ankle bones, my lips descended upon her toes. I wrapped my lips around as many as I could and I bit, I chewed, I forced my tongue in between them and sucked them clean.
Her voice cracked and fell silent, she arched her back, her fists sprang open as if looking for something to grab onto, turned to claws of despair when they found nothing but air, and her foot struggled with a renewed vigour. I had to abandon the ankle tickling to hold it still with both hands.
Cupping her foot between them, I ate her toes for minute after debilitating minute and with her pinky in my mouth and my tongue slithering around its stem I felt a sudden warmth spreading across my thighs. But I didn't let it distract me from my task. No matter how many times her bladder squeezed itself empty, nothing was going to get in the way of her discipline.
“STOP! STOP IT!” She spat out mid-choke, but I didn't stop. I just carried on eating those toes while my hands roved along the length of her calves and thighs, seeking out ever more nerve endings to frazzle and destroy. I dipped them into the pools of sweat behind her knees and dug into the wet skin and had her howling anew.
To either side of her panty line her skin was sticky, but just as sensitive to a thorough tickling as I'd remembered it to be from weeks ago and I dug in. Hard. My fingers drilling deep into the flesh to either side of her labia, jiggling the vibrator box in her knickers up and down as they went. She wasn't laughing at that point. She was heaving, trapped in the throes of excruciating silence. And when her breath finally returned, it was the most beautiful, demented cackle I'd ever heard. Oh, her laughter was always so deliciously pained!
That's the biggest reason I record so many of our sessions. It gives me something to do when we're out at the tragically dull Costco. I can slink away into the Bluetooth speaker section and ready up a minute or two of my darling pet's greatest hits, giving folks nearby an earful of her wetting herself with hysteria while she's on the other side of the store bulk-buying some sports-drink-powder-thing or other for the gym she works at. You want to see her face when she finally hears it!
Oh, that's right. She works out. She's certainly no Annabelle Schwarzenegger type of chick, but she'd still beat my fucking ass if she wanted to.
At least she would, were it not for how pathetically she wilts under my glare.
I let go of her toes because she was kicking so damn hard I worried I might end up hurting her, or even worse, that I might lose a tooth. Such an horrendous thought! I poured all my anger at this imaginary incident through my fingers and into the muscle and tendon of her thighs until she was wheezing for mercy. Fat chance of that, pet. I can never smile again, not that I really do much of that. But still. It's the principle. They send one of our guys to the hospital, we send one of theirs to the morgue. Isn't that the saying? My poor smile. Her thighs will die for this! Though not before my hands started to cramp up something utterly wicked and I was forced to ease off. Tickling someone so terribly is hard work, you know. That easing gave her a chance to plea for her sanity.
“Mistress I'm so... SO... Sorry! Please, tell me what I can do to... To make it up to you.”
If fitness wasn't literally her job, I'd be beyond impressed that she hadn't used her safeword even once. However, it is her job to have the stamina to endure. Which is just one part of what makes her such an amazing plaything.
“I'm considering your apology.” I said, glancing over at the sofa.
“Oh, thank you, Mistress. Thank you... So much!” She said, on the verge of tears. I could barely take my eyes from the marks my tickling had left on her skin. Somebody won't be wearing shorts at the gym tomorrow.
I pulled her up onto her knees and held her shoulders while she steadied herself and she waddled, knee step by knee step, toward the sofa. She knelt before it, and I sat myself down on the far side. That tingling at the base of my belly was starting to fizz almost out of control. The ghosts of her toes wriggling between my teeth and against my tongue had flicked a switch even a bath full of ice cubes wouldn't cool off. My own feet were getting hot, my ankles too. And it was spreading, I felt gooey all over. I needed her mouth down there so fucking badly! More than anything on this earth I needed my toes to be inside of her mouth, having orgasm after blinding orgasm sucked straight outta them!
However, her mouth was busy. So my husband's mouth would suffice. I leaned back and propped my feet up on his chest and my pet, kneeling before him and still trapped in her hogtie, took him in her mouth and went to work.
“You know the rules.” I reminded her. “If he cums before me, you sleep in the coffin tonight. He cums after me, and you're his for an hour. Understood?”
She spluttered an acknowledgement all over my artfully restrained and naked husband as my feet smothered his face and he licked his own tears from the balls of my feet. I looked down at my pet giving the most gentle and unsatisfying blowjob a visibly straining cock had ever received in all of human history, and almost felt bad.
Then my big toe was inside hubby's mouth. And while his mouth lacked the passion of our pet's, I was too fucking horny to care, and that bad feeling melted into nothingness.
But there was no need for guilt. She'd been very, very naughty today. And naughty slaves must be severely punished, no matter what it may mean for the sexual agony of her Mistress or her Master. Besides, we're a trio. Her mistakes are our mistakes. Seems only fair that we're all disciplined for them.
Maybe I'm not such a bitch after all, huh?
At least that's how I felt in those fleeting moments when she wasn't breathing all over my toes and robbing them of the beautiful, conditioned air. I cocked my head to one side to get a better look at her face and ensure she still had her eyes open. I did not go to all the trouble of walking around, spending her money in leather booties all day, on the hottest day of the year no less, for her to ruin it all by sticking two fingers up to my rules and robbing my feet of the attention that they deserve.
Her eyes remained open. Despairing as a mouse in a cat's paw, but open. She's a good pet, when she tries to be. I unsheathed my remote weapon from its place at my hip and like a cowgirl who'd spied a bandit, I aimed at her knickers, right at the crease where her ass was trying its best to devour the lace, and I fired.
I kept my finger brushing over the trigger while watching her for any sign that she might be about to lose it. I'd been a little cruel today, granted. But is it really my fault that the good Lord gave her such a sultry voice and afflicted me with an addiction to hearing it wail and scream? Or that He gave her such an outrageously vibe-sensitive pussy? I think not.
I grasped at the carpet with my toes and I felt drool on the delicate skin about my left big toe. I do so adore a good spit shine down there, it really accentuates the contours of the nail. But there'd be time enough for that later. I looked over at the clock. Eleven minutes had passed. Eleven! And she was already sweltering beneath my effortless onslaught.
I fired at her again, and the knickers backed off. She stifled a weep, clearing her throat and swallowing quickly, no doubt praying Mistress wouldn't have noticed it. The penalties for rule breaking are harsh. They must be, otherwise they aren't penalties are they? We don't want to reward pets for bad behaviour.
I didn't punish her for the cry, it was her fifth edge while staring at my precious feet, after all. And we hadn't seen each other in nearly two weeks. I'm not some sort of savage. But I did lift my left foot, with its drooled-upon toe, to her lips, while watching the back of her head like a hawk. One false move, one mouth-first lunge to that toe and she'd quickly find herself crying for an altogether different reason.
I swept my nail across the full expanse of her lips, side to side and up and down, parting them and smearing her saliva all over my skin. She didn't move a millimetre. Test passed.
I lifted them a little further, teasing her nose with the tops of my toes and what I was sure would be a devilishly intoxicating and irresistable bouquet of leather, with a hint of coconut and vanilla body wash and, most importantly, the sweat of a day's mooching around the shops. Her head was shivering and I could hear her breathing turning a little laboured, but nothing that could reasonably displease me.
Which pissed me off a little, truth be told. There was a time when I didn't need to use such devious tricks as vibrating panties to work her up to this state. Maybe she was developing some kind of an immunity to me?
My toe taunting persisted. I pressed it into her mouth with my nail teasing at the ridge between her clenched teeth, daring her to take a bite and see what happens. But that question about immunity had caught in the recesses of my mind like a tiny ball of sock fluff snagged against my back teeth. I needed to be rid of it. Fast. So I knelt down and rolled my dutifully silent pet onto her side.
Then I lifted my right foot and stepped onto her face, shifting my arch into a comfortable position by her nose, moulding it onto the curve of her cheek, with my heel by her chin and the ball of my foot against her eye and her sweaty eyebrow, and I rested my weight upon her.
I will never, ever, ever let her even suspect this, but what followed caused my heart to punch the air with joy so hard it almost shot straight out of my chest.
She failed in her duties. To her credit, she never spoke a word. But she still failed. Utterly, fucking, miserably. A squeal of shock so powerful I felt it in my belly erupted from her throat the very second my foot pressed into her face. Her thighs snapped shut, her back arched and she screamed with such force I felt it ripple through my heel. I curled my toes against her forehead and she whimpered, jerking like my foot was electrified as two weeks of pent-up desire stormed through her entire body.
I let her writhe and howl beneath my foot for much longer than I should have. I had my own knot of pressure down there that was starting to screech for relief and becoming increasingly hard to just ignore. But I had to do just that. What type of mistress would I be if at less than fifteen minutes in I fell to my knees and fucked myself senseless?
Have her do it for me? Sure, I will be doing. Maybe. But not right now. Not immediately after she failed to; ask permission before an orgasm, keep noise levels to an ear-friendly level, and keep her feet visible at all times.
Yes, I am to blame for that last one when I rolled her over. Yes, she had no control over that. Yes, it isn't fair. I will ensure your concerns are noted.
With an eyebrow pencil. In extensive detail. Across every single wrinkle on her soles.
Life's such a fucking bitch, right?
But I'll give it a run for its money.
I withdrew my foot and sat down beside my pet, who was still near breathless and twitching with aftershocks, and I planted my hands behind me, lifted my legs into the air and fixed both of my beautifully clammy feet square onto her face. All I could see was her little nose trapped between my arches and while I do so love to admire my own feet, I much prefer to watch the agony racing through my pet's nervous system; the flexing hips, the beads of sweat forming on the outer edge of her thigh, the exposed nipple as it escapes the cup mid-thrash and the straining neck sinews.
I pressed my feet down hard, pinning her head to the floor, making her weep in haggard, broken rasps when at once a demon entered her body. I watched her hips thrust high, her feet spring up onto her little tippy toes which shuddered while she let loose a terrific howl of anguish. The knot inside of me tingled like all hell and I empathised with her cries. It was excruciating for me also.
Making certain her eyes were totally blind to all but my soles, I looked down at her crotch.
Rather, I looked down at the greying, flooding knickers clinging to her crotch. And to the great dark circle in the carpet beneath her, the edge of which had spread right underneath my own leather-clad ass. But, no matter. The beauty of wipe clean clothing is... That it wipes clean.
But I wasn't worried about the mess. I found myself clenching my thighs together, gripping onto the carpet with white-knuckled fists and, even worse, sweating. Sweating! With nothing to wipe my brow upon! There was a cushion on the sofa which would have been perfect, were I an Incredible or maybe Stretch Armstrong.
Alas, above the ankles, I am but a mere mortal. So the back of my forearm had to suffice and I swept it back into my hair while watching the ridiculously sexy sight of my poor pet unable to stop herself from cumming and wailing with panic. I watched in wide-eyed awe, wondering where on earth it was coming from. She often made a mess, but this was embarrassing. Another red mark against her performance today. Her ass fell back to the floor with a distinctly wet squish and she became a complete, unashamed blasphemer.
“OH GOD! STOP!” She screamed as the demon returned just as quickly as it had left and her ass shot back into the air again and her feet resumed their toe-bouncing jig. “I CAN'T ST- OH, GOD, I CAN'T STOP! GET THEM OFF OF ME, PLEASE!”
She squealed so very sweetly, breaking into tears when she found my feet were glued onto her face and followed her every move like a vicious, unfeeling android programmed to do nothing but maximise her suffering.
I didn't remove them. She had a safeword. And she already knew she was fucked anyway, having broken nearly every single one of my rules, so talking would make no difference, right?
Wrong.
She didn't address me by my proper title. Which at this point in our relationship is pathetic, schoolgirl level stuff. Those are my feet torturing her. Those are my buckles restraining her. It is my carpet her slutty pussy is ruining. And this is my house with my... Fucking... Rules.
But I granted her wish, lifting my feet and allowing her a little fresh air.
Then straight away rolled her back over onto her front and grabbed her calves, sinking my claws into her soft flesh and walking on my knees towards her. With my fingers wedged into the sweaty recesses between her calves and thighs, I lifted and dragged her into me, until her thighs straddled mine, her drenched ass was right there in my lap and her feet floated helplessly right in front of my face.
“Oh, come on, please! I'm exhausted!” She said, knowing damn well what was coming and testing my restraints to see if there was even an ounce of vulnerability in them.
Still no title...
“Please... What?” I said, holding her by the ankles.
“Oh... Shit! Mistress! Please, Mistress!”
“Please, Mistress... What?” Slowly I blew across her toes from left pinky to right pinky, like she was a set of panpipes waiting for me to play her while she continued to bleat for forgiveness.
“Please, Mistress, I'm so sorry! Don't tickle me!”
“Was that a command?” I said, grasping a hold of the big toe on her left foot and stretching it back, revealing that lying little patch of skin across her toe stem which claimed she was but an innocent, unsullied virgin. I pressed my fingernail into it. “I asked you a question. Don't even think about ignoring me.”
“Mis- Mistress... I'm... Not ignoring you... M- m- mistress!”
“Then answer me.” I pressed harder, needling that white patch for all it was worth.
“MistressIswear!” She spat out so fast I almost didn't understand her. “I would never command you to d- d- do- ARGH! To do anything!”
“But that is what you said. You said to me 'don't tickle me'.”
My fingernail relented. And was replaced by all ten of them. They descended upon the balls of her feet and sat there, poised and itching to unleash all manner of hell upon that expanse of pink silk.
“Oh my god, oh my god, no! Mistress! I didn't mean to! I'll do anything, anything at all!” She gurgled through grit teeth, sounding as though she were on the verge of a breakdown.
“Oh, I know you will.” I purred back at her. “But you've broken so many rules today. Made me feel like such a terrible, incompetent mistress...”
“You're not, Mistress! You're the best! The best Mistress in the- AH, FUCK!”
If you want me to tickle the living hell out of you, one easy way to achieve your desire is to take the piss out of me.
This position is fantastic for holding a pair of ticklish feet nice and still while freeing up both of your hands. With the tops of her feet crushed into my boobs I rode the waves of her thrashing legs with ease as my fingernails skittered and scratched their way across her silky soles. I clawed at her heels, raked my nails upward into her arches, leaving pink trail marks in their wake, before sinking them into the ball of each foot and piercing between each toe, torturing her beautiful white stems while she roared and spat all over the carpet, before repeating the process in reverse.
Back at her heels, my nails swept a little further down and tormented the skin of her ankles, teasing around the rim of each cuff and with her attention zeroed onto her sensitive ankle bones, my lips descended upon her toes. I wrapped my lips around as many as I could and I bit, I chewed, I forced my tongue in between them and sucked them clean.
Her voice cracked and fell silent, she arched her back, her fists sprang open as if looking for something to grab onto, turned to claws of despair when they found nothing but air, and her foot struggled with a renewed vigour. I had to abandon the ankle tickling to hold it still with both hands.
Cupping her foot between them, I ate her toes for minute after debilitating minute and with her pinky in my mouth and my tongue slithering around its stem I felt a sudden warmth spreading across my thighs. But I didn't let it distract me from my task. No matter how many times her bladder squeezed itself empty, nothing was going to get in the way of her discipline.
“STOP! STOP IT!” She spat out mid-choke, but I didn't stop. I just carried on eating those toes while my hands roved along the length of her calves and thighs, seeking out ever more nerve endings to frazzle and destroy. I dipped them into the pools of sweat behind her knees and dug into the wet skin and had her howling anew.
To either side of her panty line her skin was sticky, but just as sensitive to a thorough tickling as I'd remembered it to be from weeks ago and I dug in. Hard. My fingers drilling deep into the flesh to either side of her labia, jiggling the vibrator box in her knickers up and down as they went. She wasn't laughing at that point. She was heaving, trapped in the throes of excruciating silence. And when her breath finally returned, it was the most beautiful, demented cackle I'd ever heard. Oh, her laughter was always so deliciously pained!
That's the biggest reason I record so many of our sessions. It gives me something to do when we're out at the tragically dull Costco. I can slink away into the Bluetooth speaker section and ready up a minute or two of my darling pet's greatest hits, giving folks nearby an earful of her wetting herself with hysteria while she's on the other side of the store bulk-buying some sports-drink-powder-thing or other for the gym she works at. You want to see her face when she finally hears it!
Oh, that's right. She works out. She's certainly no Annabelle Schwarzenegger type of chick, but she'd still beat my fucking ass if she wanted to.
At least she would, were it not for how pathetically she wilts under my glare.
I let go of her toes because she was kicking so damn hard I worried I might end up hurting her, or even worse, that I might lose a tooth. Such an horrendous thought! I poured all my anger at this imaginary incident through my fingers and into the muscle and tendon of her thighs until she was wheezing for mercy. Fat chance of that, pet. I can never smile again, not that I really do much of that. But still. It's the principle. They send one of our guys to the hospital, we send one of theirs to the morgue. Isn't that the saying? My poor smile. Her thighs will die for this! Though not before my hands started to cramp up something utterly wicked and I was forced to ease off. Tickling someone so terribly is hard work, you know. That easing gave her a chance to plea for her sanity.
“Mistress I'm so... SO... Sorry! Please, tell me what I can do to... To make it up to you.”
If fitness wasn't literally her job, I'd be beyond impressed that she hadn't used her safeword even once. However, it is her job to have the stamina to endure. Which is just one part of what makes her such an amazing plaything.
“I'm considering your apology.” I said, glancing over at the sofa.
“Oh, thank you, Mistress. Thank you... So much!” She said, on the verge of tears. I could barely take my eyes from the marks my tickling had left on her skin. Somebody won't be wearing shorts at the gym tomorrow.
I pulled her up onto her knees and held her shoulders while she steadied herself and she waddled, knee step by knee step, toward the sofa. She knelt before it, and I sat myself down on the far side. That tingling at the base of my belly was starting to fizz almost out of control. The ghosts of her toes wriggling between my teeth and against my tongue had flicked a switch even a bath full of ice cubes wouldn't cool off. My own feet were getting hot, my ankles too. And it was spreading, I felt gooey all over. I needed her mouth down there so fucking badly! More than anything on this earth I needed my toes to be inside of her mouth, having orgasm after blinding orgasm sucked straight outta them!
However, her mouth was busy. So my husband's mouth would suffice. I leaned back and propped my feet up on his chest and my pet, kneeling before him and still trapped in her hogtie, took him in her mouth and went to work.
“You know the rules.” I reminded her. “If he cums before me, you sleep in the coffin tonight. He cums after me, and you're his for an hour. Understood?”
She spluttered an acknowledgement all over my artfully restrained and naked husband as my feet smothered his face and he licked his own tears from the balls of my feet. I looked down at my pet giving the most gentle and unsatisfying blowjob a visibly straining cock had ever received in all of human history, and almost felt bad.
Then my big toe was inside hubby's mouth. And while his mouth lacked the passion of our pet's, I was too fucking horny to care, and that bad feeling melted into nothingness.
But there was no need for guilt. She'd been very, very naughty today. And naughty slaves must be severely punished, no matter what it may mean for the sexual agony of her Mistress or her Master. Besides, we're a trio. Her mistakes are our mistakes. Seems only fair that we're all disciplined for them.
Maybe I'm not such a bitch after all, huh?
)
