Pain for Ma’am

“Come here, bitch,”
The order is sharp and matter of fact. The girl switches off the water in the kitchen and immediately comes to her side. Although they are not usually so formal at home, the girl can hear in her tone that kneeling would be the appropriate course of action. She slips, gracefully, to her knees and looks up at her Lady, waiting to hear what she will be told.

Her Lady smiles at the gesture; Her slave, who listens intently to read her needs. Who seeks to please and give her what she wants, even in the smallest of gestures. She will have the chance to do so later. Her Lady has been plotting quite an evening of amusement for herself. A day really. She smiles to herself.

“Life is good,” she thinks as she leans back in the desk chair and listens for a moment to the birds. She looks down at the girl and raises an eyebrow, simply to see her blush and squirm. Instantly, the flush raises in her cheeks and her shoulders curl. Instantly, she’s wide open and an inch high. The girl giggles nervously. She can’t help herself. Her Lady knows the meaning of this giggle very well. She’s feeling tiny. Miniscule. Torn open. Exposed. Delicious, her Lady thinks. Her sweetness. Her vulnerability. The slight glisten on her olive skin.

“Finished with the dishes?” her Lady inquires.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good, go upstairs and bathe. Shave. Scrub yourself, inside and out. I want you pristine. Got it?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the girl replies and instantly rises to do her bidding once the Lady offers an almost imperceptible nod of her head. But, the girl sees it and understands. She heads up the stairs, trying hard to make no noise, and enters the bathroom where she bathes herself thoroughly and shaves until she’s as smooth everywhere as baby skin. Because it is her will. Because she prefers her property, clean, bare, exposed to her, and pleasant to touch. When she’s finished, she steps out of the tub and on to the bath mat. She wraps a towel around her body and one around her hair to prevent any dripping on the carpeting. She brushes her teeth and makes sure her eyebrows are well-groomed. She looks in the mirror and is pleased with the results. Her skin has that after scrub glow and she feels smooth to the touch. She smells like black currant vanilla, one of her Lady’s special favorites. She applies lotion of the same scent to ensure the smell lingers, careful to rub it everywhere so that her skin remains milk soft for her Lady’s pleasure. As always, she wishes to appeal to all of her Lady’s senses. And it is with this desire for her Lady’s pleasure in mind that she completes the grooming ritual. She neatly hangs her towel up to dry, cleans out the grey porcelain of her Lady’s bathtub, and returns to the bedroom to dress.

To her surprise, her Lady is waiting, and she has laid out clothing for Her slave on the bed. This is unusual. Her Lady generally only selects Her slave’s outfits when She has a desire to play dress up or wishes her dressed a certain way when they are going out to play. However, according to her Lady, they will be going shopping. She needs a new red dress and shoes for the evening. Her slave is excited that they will be shopping for Her. She so rarely treats herself and She deserves it. She’s always thinking of others before herself.

The Lady smiles at her slave and arches an eyebrow. The girl squirms, once again. She’s certain her Lady’s eyes can see inside her heart and mind. Under her Lady’s hand, she has grown out of the urge to cover herself and the need for the carpet to swallow her whole. She still has to fight the urge to fidget, especially as she knows her Lady prefers her to stand still.

She is not there for a minute before a hold is taken of her hair and she’s taken down to her knees. Her Lady walks rapidly, and she has to crawl quickly to keep up with Her. Although the girl cannot see, the Lady smiles, amused by the way her hips wiggle as she moves, petlike, to keep pace. She’s led down the stairs and into the basement, where the couch has been covered by stretcher sheets and the table has clearly been prepared, with what the girl cannot see. Her Lady pats the couch and the girl obeys the wordless command. She climbs up and perches back on her heels. Her eyes adjust to the darkness; the white paneling of the walls comes into focus, and her nostrils fill with the familiar scent of Her, of that space.

She pats a spot on the floor and the girl kneels.

“Lay down, pet,” She commands, and, instantly, She is obeyed. The girl lays down and does not resist as her Lady pulls her legs apart.

“Are you ready?” she asks.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Ready for what? The girl does not know, but it hardly matters. She is ready now. She is always ready. If it pleases her Lady, there is nothing she wouldn’t do. It does not even occur to her to think that these words frequently preface tremendous pain. And today will be no different. Still, pain seems inconsequential when compared to her Lady’s pleasure.

She is surprised to feel cold between her legs. It precedes the brief moment of painful insertion and fullness.

“No lube I felt was necessary, I knew my dirty little whore would take it for me regardless,”

“Yes Ma’am,” she replies. Take what? Clearly something has been inserted, but the girl has no idea what. All of a sudden she jumps as she feels intense vibration. It catches her by surprise as it stimulates THAT spot. She moans as the vibration grows stronger and stronger, edging towards release…

“If it pleases you, Ma’am, may your…” but as she begins to beg, sensation stops, and the girl is left to breathe through the pressure and fullness of unreleased ache. Everything has happened so quickly. Device inserted. Sensation applied. Sensation removed. She can’t even think about the hows and whys? What has she inserted? How has she controlled it? What is she going to do?

As her Lady uncovers the supplies on the table, the question answers itself. Medical supplies and a 3.0 suture have been laid out like surgical implements. And the girl’s mind comes to rest upon a threat her Lady had once made.

“I’m going to put something in you, sew you shut, and take you out like that.”

As with so many things, the threat is about to become a reality. The girl whimpers a bit in thinking about how painful being sewed shut will be. She finds any sort of pain inflicted on her delicate bits to be intense. Sutures will be…she shudders, but instantly lets go of the fear. It is Her pain, after all, Her will, and therefore not to be fought. She closes her eyes and tells herself that pain and fear mean nothing, all that matters is her Lady’s pleasure. She lets go of every thought but this. She closes her eyes and immerses herself in Her. In her pleasure. In the scent of her, that reminds the girl that she is home. In the twinkle in her eyes as her sadistic need is fed. In the way She hums as she sews and the blood begins to flow.

“Don’t forget to breathe girl, you know this will hurt.” With that, she begins, and the girl’s world reduces down to the stinging pain as the suture is inserted and slowly pulled through the flesh of her labia. The girl quiets and focuses her mind away from the intensity of the pain and towards Her pleasure. Relax. Accept it. It is her desire and her will. It hurts Intensely so. And she sews slowly. With purpose. The tears fall and form, but the girl does not resist. She opens herself to the pain, allows it to flow through her. She is Hers. Her property. Her toy. Therefor Her pleasure and to fill Her needs. At the moment, her sole purpose is to be stitched for her Lady’s amusement. To suffer at her hand. Suffer she does, and amused She is. She, indeed, hums softly as she sews, smiling as the needle dulls and the sting grows sharper. As the girl’s tears flow harder. As she sees her little flower close up its petals, hiding away the little jewel she has placed inside. As her glee becomes tangible. Oh the fun she will have today.

“Ok kitten, all set. Go on upstairs and get dressed. Your clothing is on the bed.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” she replies. Her voice a throaty whisper. Her Lady smiles to hear the pain She has inflicted manifest itself in her body. The girl’s cunt is throbbing. The sting of the needle has been replaced by the dull ache and stretching of the sutures as they pull. Soon she will feel a sharper sting as her own body betrays her, and the stitches fill with the acidity of her own wetness. Reminding her that she, her body, everything she is, everything she has is Hers. Her property. A toy to facilitate her further amusement.

“Hurry up now, I’ll be waiting for you at my desk.”

Quickly, quietly, the girl makes her way up the stairs. The stitches pull, a subtle reminder of her place. She cannot help but release a soft moan as she steps first her right leg, then her left, into the ruffled panties her Lady has laid out. Just stiff enough to be irritating to the tender bits that have been so thoroughly used. Her Lady’s clothing choice is equally deliberate. A restrictive pencil skirt hobbles her further, ensuring she cannot spread her legs too far. There will be no relief from the ache. She will suffer because it is her Lady’s will. For as long as she so chooses to have it so. Each step, each shift of her knees, each fidgit, each tiny motion will serve to give her Lady’s pleasure as the stitches will pull and her cunt will throb. Not so different from the every day, where each gesture, each though, each move she makes is executed with her Lady’s pleasure in mind. Merely externalized. And facilitated by her Lady’s fantasies come to life.

She finishes dressing, fixes her hair neatly, and quickly applies makeup as she wishes to represent her Lady well. She is loveliness incarnate in her dress and heels, and her slave wishes to ensure that she does her justice. However, her desire to turn her Lady’s property out well is balanced with the need for expedience. Her Lady is ready and the girl knows she does not like to be kept waiting. And there is still the business of readying her belongings and ensuring her Lady will have all she needs. She makes her way down the stairs, and gasps as she feels the strong vibration between her legs. Her senses flood with pain? pleasure? Both? All she knows is it is intense.

The stitches throb. Her pleasure button is pushed over and over again, thanks to her Lady’s strategic placement of the device. The combination is intense, and there is no relief for the sensations, save her Lady’s mercy. She begins to moan and pant, with pleasure, with pain, with the sense of what it is to be Hers. Her dirty little whore, so close to cumming for Her, even with her pussy sewn shut. This thought supercedes pleasure and pain. She is Hers. Her slave. Her toy. Her property. The realization once again brings her to the verge.

“If it pleases you Mi’Lady….”

And once again it is stopped. Pain floods her senses, just as both knew would happen. The vibration and her wetness are a potent combination. Her head spins, her eyes glisten with tears.

“Hush girl, there will be none of that today. I expect my slave to conduct herself like a proper young lady, regardless of the circumstance. We will be shopping in fine stores, perhaps having lunch or tea. You will not embarrass me today and you will reveal to no one that I am doing naughty things to you. What’s more, you will not cum without my permission. And of course, I expect to be served in a manner that befits a Lady regardless of what might be happening between your slutty little legs. Understood?”

“Y…y…es Ma’am,”

Her Lady smiles to hear the concern in her voice. Her slave is a responsive little thing. One of the reasons that tormenting her brings her so much delight. She will be able to focus and hold her reactions in check. Of this, the Lady is certain. But it will take every ounce of her will to do so.

The second piece of her command: “you will not cum without permission,” she has added to ensure the girl will fail. She knows that when the girl is in that headspace of surrender, she has no control over what her body does. Perhaps if her Lady said, “stop,” it might be another matter. Just as she can make the girl cum on command if she wishes it. But she will not. She enjoys setting her up to fail. Pushing that button and the need she has to give her Lady perfection. To constantly remind her that she will fall short. Mess up. Fail. Disappoint. It is one of her biggest fears in the context of her service. And one of her Lady’s greatest sources of sadistic pleasure.

As if reminding the girl of how difficult her task will be, she shakes the remote, carefully concealed in her right hand, and the device buzzes to life. The girl’s eyes open wide, but she bites her lip to keep from crying out. Her heart rate increases, her breathing, though quiet, grows shallow and quick. Delicious, her Lady thinks as she watches her slave carefully collect her things, attempting to focus solely on her service and on fetching the things her Lady will need for the day. She smiles, that sadistic catlike smile as she watches her poor little slave process through pain and pleasure and aches. She kneels and presents her Lady with her purse, and her cleaned sunglasses. With hands emptied and her task completed, there is nothing left to do but experience the intensity of sensations. Pleasure and pain are equally intense and equally dangerous given her Lady’s orders. She wills her mind to focus solely on her Lady’s needs. Her lips quiver. Her shoulders shake.

“Up you go girl.”

The order is given and the girl follows the Lady out to the car. The sensation does not stop its assault on her poor pussy until she has opened and closed the door and her Lady is situated in the driver’s seat.

She says nothing as the girl carefully climbs into the car, attempting not to wince as she is forced to take a wide step and sit.

“Off we go,” her Lady simpers and, with a smile pregnant with sadistic glee, she pulls out of the
driveway and into the road.

They soon arrive at the downtown boutique, small, but elegant, and situated in an old Victorian-style brownstone. Seas of purples and blues frame the doorway and the trees slowly rustle in the mid-morning breeze. A welcome fit for a queen, the girl thinks as they step inside. She cannot help but blush as she drinks it all in. The marble floors, the soft music, the abundance of sterling roses. The cases full of jeweled accessories, polished to streak-free perfection. The regal chaise, strategically placed in the center of the store immediately draws the eye. Its gilded edges and fine silk brocade taunt the girl, hyperconscious of her full and aching cunt, of her station, of her place. A little nothing, a mere piece of property, no different than the haute couture that her Lady currently peruses. How small she feels in contrast to her surroundings. Like the cinder girl at the prince’s ball, hyperconscious of her calloused feet and her dishpan hands; worried that someone will spot a speck of dirt beneath her nails or the hint of a low country accent.

Her Lady strolls by each display against the wall. And the girl watches as she isolates each piece, inspects each seam, each bit of beadwork, the quality of the fabric. The girl says nothing as she trails behind her and slightly to her right, watching to see if and when her Lady will hand back her purse or an item for her to hold up. Her attendant, her servant, her slave. There to care for her. There to provide her pleasure through the simple fact of her existence. There to suffer silently. Every so often she feels a quick jolt between her legs, which floods her senses with pain, reminding her that she has been stuffed and sewn, like a thanksgiving turkey for her Lady’s pleasure and amusement. But neither make mention of her state. The Lady walks, the girl attends, providing her opinion when it is requested of her, observing with the watchful eye of a 20th century bookkeeper.

“May I suggest something that would look lovely with your coloring,”

The saleswoman’s voice startles the girl. And a second startle follows soon. The girl’s eyes grow wide as she feels the vibration begin again in earnest. She bites her lip to keep quiet and stands stone still, willing herself with every fiber of her being to ignore the pain that has flooded her senses and the wetness she can feel gathering. She focuses on the pleasantries that her Lady exchanges with the woman, lest she be asked to contribute to the conversation. She shivers slightly as she thinks of her Lady’s casual menace. There she stands, listening intently, admiring the hand sewn and dyed lace and the intricate details of the overlay. Caring nothing for the girl’s mortification or her extreme discomfort. She is the very picture of serenity and poise. For a moment the girl is stricken with fear that her Lady has forgotten that her g-spot and her thoroughly used cunt are being assaulted with vibration at the highest setting. Little beads of sweat form on her hairline and above her lip. Her chest heaves. Yet she, too, maintains
maintains her composure and her poise, as her Lady has instructed and as she expects. She makes no noise. She does not fidget. If she were more obtrusive, a careful observer might notice her pain-glazed eyes, the little beads of sweat that have formed on her hairline or the shallowness of her breath. But the girl is careful not to draw attention to herself and, thus, the shoppers and sales staff alike pass her by without a second glance. She is shadow among substance. Far less interesting to regard than the rows full of finery in crimson, navy, and black.
Her Lady takes a backwards glance at Her slave and smiles at what she sees. Her slave, obeying Her to the letter of the law. She takes great pains to mask her distress. She stands still and, although not in position as she would be if they were out in the community, her Lady can see that she is at attention and her focus is on Her. She does not whimper or moan. She has not adjusted her gait to relieve the fire between her legs. But her Lady knows every atom. To Her, she is transparent as glass. She can see how hard the girl is working in the look of intense concentration that has come over her face. She can read her mortification in the flush of her cheeks and see how very concerned she is about her body’s ability to adhere to Her Lady’s command to avoid release. She can read the questions when they pop into her mind. “Do they know? Can they smell? Can they tell? Have I been a good enough girl to hide them as she expects?”
She has strategically ensured that the girl’s g-spot receives a steady stream of sensation. Just strong enough to fill her with ache without allowing release. Yet, intense enough to make the stitches in her lips twitch and pull. To ensure she feels the sting of irritation as the thread absorbs her moisture. She smiles, but does not relieve the girl’s distress as she follows the saleslady to a dressing room with a velvet curtain. Her attendant wishes Her well, hangs the clothing in a convenient spot and leaves the Lady and the girl in peace. They are alone.
“Poor pitiful little thing,” her Lady simpers as She smiles and turns up the intensity. Her teasing is barely audible, but the girl hears every word; experiences them in every fiber of her being. Her eyes widen as she notes the sadistic twinkling in her Lady’s eyes – the only outward sign She has, thus, far, showed, that Her hunger is building as Her slave’s condition grows worse.
How she is enjoying Her foreplay before the evening’s entertainment. How beautiful she is when she suffers so sweetly for Her pleasure and to fulfill her need. How sweet her doe eyes are as they become a window into her anguish. As her chest heaves and her breasts rise and fall. As her limbs begin to tremble slightly, almost imperceptibly. In Her mind’s eye, She sees an image of Her slave, both sets of lips dripping with blood. Tears streaming down her cheeks as she’s bitten, slapped, punched, taken to the edge of what her body can handle…and then beyond. To that place where she can no longer cry or scream. Where the little mews escape her lips as she lies broken at Her feet. Her property. Her slave. Her pomme de sang. Her every sense filled with Her. Aching to give Her everything She wishes. All that she is. Needing to give Her more, though her body is weary and bruised.
“Suffer for me, girl,”
“Yes Ma’am,” the girl’s whisper is just as throaty as the Lady’s own. In that moment Owner and slave are taken far away from the queue of dresses that await the Lady’s attention. But it’s only for an instant. Though Her need to ravage has been raised, the tiger must wait. Bide her time. Let the need build until it cannot be contained. Until they are in the privacy of her basement or her bedroom or wherever strikes the Lady’s fancy. Where the girl’s body can be stripped as naked as her soul. Where the goddess can be unleashed and pleased. Where She can visibly bind her and admire the fruits of Her labor.
With the tiger held at bay, the Lady switches off the device and turns Her attention back to the dresses that have been neatly arranged on a clothing rack. She tries on dress after dress and models them for Her girl who is touched by the sight of Her. She looks so beautiful, and too long She has waited to have the finery She deserves. The well-cut lines flatter Her beautiful body and accentuate the muscle on Her calves and arms. The red is a lovely complement to Her hair and eyes. The black hugs Her curves in all the right places. The silk on the purple is loveliness incarnate. The heels are heart stopping. The girl blushes and, momentarily, averts her eyes as she feels a second throb between her legs, independent of the vibration from the wicked little device. Even after all these years, the mere sight of Her Lady makes her wet. Can move her to tears. Reminds her that she is home. Arousal. Solace. Ache. Need. The same. Evidence that she is simply Hers.
After careful consideration, the Lady decides that all three are stunning and the heels are not to pass up. She takes a last look in the mirror and twirls a little to see the view from the back. She loves how the heels accentuate the elongated lines of her calves, and how the entire picture shows just the right amount of skin. She feels the goddess rise to the surface. It is good to have her there once again.
The Lady smiles as she catches a sideways glimpse of Her slave. She is smiling as she watches the Lady, normally so humble, admire herself in the mirror. The girl is captivated by Her beauty, true, but more by the totality of Her, as is evidenced by the renewed throbbing between her legs, but the sense of pleasure that fills her stems from the Lady’s own. From the way She carries herself. From the spring in her step. From the smile on her face. From the light in her eyes. She is reminded of an image from the last weekend they had spent at home. When her Lady had wished to be pampered and asked the girl to give her a facial and a massage. While they had casually chatted at first, the Lady soon fell quiet and immersed herself in the experience, and the girl quietly rubbed and stroked, willing her fingertips to convey every bit of relaxing energy and pleasure that they could to the Lady’s body. Tears formed in her eyes as the Lady slipped deeper into quiet and her body let go. As the stress melted from Her limbs and Dhe wrapped herself in a blanket of bliss. As she relished Her slave’s soft touch. Her occasional devoted kisses. The well-wishes for her pleasure conveyed in every brush of her fingertips.

“My sweet girl,” she thinks, and it raises the hunger within her. She wishes to cut, tear, and bite. She wishes to hear her little cries of agony. “Soon, soon,” she tells herself as the tiger stirs from slumber and gnaws at her belly.

She says nothing, but hands Her purchases to Her slave and walks towards the counter to pay.
The girl is careful not to allow the dresses to drag on the ground or to drop the shoes. Her purchases are carefully placed in garment bags, the shoes in an elegant gold and pink wrapping, reminiscent of the fine brocade. They are handed back to her and she follows her Lady out to the car.

Once the packages have been securely, her Lady arranges herself in the driver’s seat and her girl shuts the door behind her. She climbs into the car when instructed and quickly buckles herself in.

The road is bumpy and in need of repaving, and the girl whimpers as her stitched lips throb. She has been sewn for hours now, and the ache has only gotten worse. The sound is quiet, nearly imperceptible, but her Lady hears and smiles. Her slave, suffering for Her pleasure and at Her hand. In pain, but not complaining. Focused on her Lady’s pleasure and on Her needs.

Despite the pain, she has been on point with her service. In fact, it is almost frustrating. The Lady’s sadistic needs have been begging for release. The tiger, though quiet, is hungry and She can feel it. How She wishes to feed on her devastation. How She wishes to watch her as she struggles to control the tears that naturally form when she fails Her. She loves to torture her slave in this way, yet another form of reveling in who she is to the girl and the power she exerts over her. Oh, the ways She can play with the girl’s heartstrings. Just as the girl is Hers to build up and to teach, so she is there to be torn apart and fed on. To be the recipient of her Lady’s sadistic attention and of Her need to destroy. She is Her property, nothing but Her property, and yet it means everything to them both.

They drive in silence, neither one acknowledging the girl’s pain, though her Lady is intent on intensifying it.

“My god you are SUCH a slut,” she sighs without warning. Her Lady’s voice startles the girl from her reverie. Instantly, she is enveloped in a curtain of shame. Though she says nothing, the evidence is written in the crimson flush that now colors her cheeks.

“Seriously, the entire car smells like you,” She sneers. “I don’t know why I bother to take you anywhere. I should just leave you chained up in the basement like the little bitch in heat you are since you can’t seem to control yourself as befitting a young lady in public. May I suggest that before we sit down to lunch, you go into the bathroom and clean yourself…because if you embarrass me at the table, I assure you, you’ll regret it.”

The words hit the girl harder than a slap in the face. Harder even than the rubber strap that her Lady is so fond of. She whimpers in fear at the thought of causing her Lady even a moment’s displeasure. Her Lady is well aware that this is one of her deepest fears. She knows any consequences she would mete out pale in comparison to the actual act of disappointing her, and, yet, the threat serves as an incredibly effective way to raise that fear in the girl. She whimpers again and turns terrified eyes on her Lady, who is in the mood to destroy, and will offer no comfort to ease her suffering.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you, bitch, was that a yes Ma’am?”

Her Lady’s reply is cold and matter o’fact. She smiles, Her cat-who-ate-the-canary smile, as she watches the shiver travel from the base of the girl’s neck to her feet, leaving a trail of raised bumps on the exposed olive tapestry of her arms and legs.

“Yes, Ma’am.” she whispers, a bit louder, this time.

“Go on then,” her Lady points to the bathroom.

It is unlike Her to do so, but the girl does not even have the time to marvel at this irregularity. It’s meaning becomes instantly clear as she feels the intense throbbing begin once again. Once again, the Lady’s cruelty knows no bounds. She has been set up to fail as her Lady is so fond of doing. She begins to attempt to clean herself up, but as fast as she dries her glistening lips, so the vibration stimulates a new flow of her essence. And she is all too aware of how strong the scent of her sex is. Her Lady has informed her on more than one occasion, that it is powerful enough to fill a room. She, herself, has been left bound for hours, forced to confront this mortifying attribute first hand as her Lady’s ministrations have, in fact, filled the room with the scent of her ache for Her. Of her need. She begins to tremble as she worries, “have I cleaned up well enough…will she leave it running throughout the meal…will she permit me to go and clean up again? Will they all smell? Will I fail her…” the anxiety is far worse than the sting of the soap in her stiched lips. She takes a deep breath, squeezes her eyes shut, and bites the inside of her lip as she sprays her panties with the fine fragrance mist she keeps in her purse for emergencies.

She’s as dry as she’lll ever be…so she takes a deep breath and returns to find her Lady has been seated. She sips a glass of water as She calmly peruses the menu. She can feel Her slave before She sees her, and makes an almost imperceptible gesture with Her hand to indicate to the girl that she should sit. The girl sees and obeys, and has to fight the urge to cry out when she feels the hard seat make contact with her aching cunt. And, of course, her Lady, still in the mood to take, instantly turns up the vibration. The girl’s world is reduced to a whirlwind of pain.

“Decide what you’d like for lunch.”

Her Lady’s order is simple, and, yet, so pregnant with her cruelty. While she often takes pleasure in ordering for them both, today, She is going to make Her tormented girl carry on a polite conversation with their server while in a state of distress and wondering whether her body will betray her.

Soon, the moment she dreads is upon them, and, the server arrives at their table. Her Lady calmly places Her order, not revealing Her satisfaction. She knows her slave like the back of her hand, and she knows she has succeeded in her mission. Raise the fear of failing Her in her, add a splash of degradation and public humiliation and the girl has come unglued juuuust enough to give her what she wants.

“And for you?”

The girl hears the dreaded words. She offers a quick, almost pleading glance at her Lady whose own steely gaze is an effective message to the girl that she should hurry and do as she’s been told.

She looks up at the server and their eyes lock. And at that moment, as if planned, she feels the buzzing grow even stronger. The girl inwardly shudders. She can hear the buzzing….everyone can…she’s certain of it. She’s going to reveal the secret. She knows it. She attempts to focus on doing as her Lady wishes, and she does not lose her composure…but she feels her cheeks flushing crimson again.

“My dear are you alright?”

The question, so well intentioned, is like a death toll. She can feel her Lady’s look burning a hole right through her. Little does she know that despite the heat of that gaze, her Lady is high as a kite and all smiles inside. Finally, she has given Her enough ammunition to let the sadist fully out to play. The girl’s devastation is total, but she wills her strength to surface and forces her mind to push all thoughts but her Lady’s order out of her head.

“Yes, Ma’am, I am fine, thank you. May I please have…”

The girl does not even process the food on the menu. A choice comes out of her mouth and her eyes are already turned towards her Lady, silently begging Her forgiveness.

The server nods and smiles and walks away, and her Lady wastes no time. “Bad girl,”

Instantly the girl’s strength flees her. Her belly is full of ice water and there is a chill she can’t recover from flowing through her veins. The pain between her legs is nothing compared to the pain tearing at her heart. She wishes she could make it up to Her, right here, right now. Anything to make it right. Anything to be her good girl once again. The thought of giving her a moment’s distress is utter torture. And now, confronted with her worst fear, she must fight to compose herself to avoid exacerbating the situation and displeasing her Lady even further.

Such a simple torture her Lady has devised. Yet so intense. The girl will be well used mind, body, heart, and soul before this day is up. A sobbing puddle of devastated slave at her feet, just the way the sadist likes it.

“Your slave is sorry, Ma’am, she’s so sorry,” the girl begins to whisper, her need to make it right evident in her voice. “She’ll do anything to make it right, Ma’am, anything.”

“You will,” her Lady states. “Later.”

The word settles on her heart like an early frost. Later. Six simple letters. Two small syllables. So innocuous. Yet, so painful. She will be forced to carry the knowledge that she has displeased Her, disobeyed Her, failed Her until such time as her Lady allows her to release the pain in a flood of cleansing tears and profuse apologies. Until the slate is cleaned and she is her Lady’s good girl once more. Until she can curl up under her Lady’s feet, at peace in her place while her Lady revels in Her headspace. But this will not be until later. When, exactly, she does not know. Her appetite, slim to begin with, becomes nonexistent. But, once granted permission to eat, she forces herself to consume her lunch. She knows better than to add insult to injury and disobey her Lady twice.

Her Lady notes the girl’s efforts, and consents to allow her to be finished when the girl presents her plate for her Lady’s approval. She has eaten enough to carry her through the evening’s activities, and, while on a normal day, She might have instructed the girl to eat more, She is anxious to return to the house and put Her carefully laid plans into action. A simple nod of the head tells the girl all she needs to know. Her Lady takes care of the check and gives a wordless command for Her slave to follow to where they will retrieve the car. No words need passing between them. She knows her Lady’s meaning as clearly as if She had spoken aloud.

“Pathetic little whore,” her Lady sneers as soon as the door closes behind the girl and they pull out of the parking lot. She smiles as the girl’s shoulders curl and her face pales. “Useless girl, I warned you, didn’t I, I specifically told you NOT to embarrass me, and you couldn’t even obey the simplest of orders. I was right, earlier. I should definitely leave you chained up with a little dog bowl while I’m out as you are clearly unfit to accompany me into polite society. You’re just a filthy dirty girl who can’t control her filthy pussy…even when her Owner stresses the importance of proper behavior.”

How badly the girl wishes she could disappear into the seats. How badly she wishes she’d be struck dead right on the spot. Instantly, she begins to sob.

“Ma’am your slave is sorry, she’s so sorry.”

“What did I say?” her Lady hisses. “I told you later. You disobey me again…shows how sorry you are.”

And with that, the girl is simply beyond speech. She cries inconsolably. Success! Her Lady is positively delighted. She says nothing more on the short drive back to the house. She simply revels in the sweet music She has produced.

They pull into the driveway and, with that, her Lady spits, “good god, you are such a fucking drama queen. For the love of god, stop your crying. you’ll only make yourself ugly and disgrace yourself further by disobeying me a third time. Bad little girl or not, I want you looking your best tonight, just as I will be. Can’t have you embarrassing me…again, now can I?”

“N…no, Ma’am.” the girl stammers and the Lady smiles at the smallness of her in that moment. She is nearly defeated. Nearly. But not quite where her Lady wants her just yet.

“That’s right,” her Lady smiles, a knowing smile and the girl instinctively whimpers as she realises that her suffering is far from over. “A lady, such as myself, deserves only the best of everything. That was all I wished for today, fine clothes, a pleasing lunch, and an obedient slave to tend to my needs as is her job. Of course I’ll have to settle for two out of three. Go on and put my things away.”

“Yes Ma’am,” the girl’s voice has shrunk to the size of a whisper, but even in her misery, she reacts instantly to her Lady’s command. To the expression of Her need. Carefully, she takes the packages and the dresses and carries them upstairs to her Lady’s bedroom. It is HER space, her own private sanctuary, and the girl, too, finds it more peaceful than anywhere else in the large house, simply because it is Hers. The soothing purples, the elegant cherrywood, the scent that reminds her that she is home, as strong as it is when she is at her Lady’s feet. The scent is oddly comforting to her, despite her state of turmoil, and the act of tending to her lady’s finery is centering. She feels herself begin to relax as she neatly stacks the shoe boxes and organizes the dresses, taking care that they don’t wrinkle or catch on the hangers.

Without warning, she gasps. The buzzing has begun again in earnest. Her swollen lips ache. Her headaches. Her heartaches. The buzzing is a cruel reminder of her earlier disobedience. And to make matters worse, with all of her tasks completed, the sensation seems oddly heightened. Though as yet unnoticed, the sexual urge has been building between her legs all day. And she cannot help but notice that the pain of stimulation seems oddly charged with the sensation of a different sort. Her heart begins to pound as she feels Her presence, the strong grip at her throat, and the hot breath on the back of her neck. She’s pushed up against the edge of the bed and lets out a startled little cry as she feels her Lady’s hands at the button of her skirt.

She is soon divested and shivers as the cool of the room meet her flushed and slightly damp skin. Her legs are kicked apart and her eyes grow wide and glaze with the pain of her stitches pulling even further. She feels the knee strategically positioned before she sees her Lady’s cold grin. She trembles at the thought of what she knows is inevitable. “No, god, please no, let me exercise some restraint. Please, god, don’t disobey Her a third time.”

But her Lady is the maestro when it comes to plucking those strings as well. There’s not an inch of Her property She doesn’t know or can’t bend to Her will. The girl begins to cry in earnest before the thrusting begins. Though she dare not beg Her to stop, indeed the thought of saying no in any iteration is like poison to her, she cannot hide the terror and dread in her face.

“Your slave doesn’t want to disobey you Mi’Lady,” she sobs and trembles as her cunt instantly responds to the Lady’s teasing. The urge builds and builds, equal to the pain of the intense vibration. Over and over the little device assaults her g-spot. The girl’s eyes begin to roll back in her head. “Oh god, please, Ma’am, your slave really, really, really doesn’t want to disobey you.”

“Then don’t,” her Lady replies. Her desperation only adds fuel to the fire. The girl will get no pity here. Her Lady wants her broken. And third disobedience will accomplish this for sure. She smiles as she presses her knee strategically against the girl’s cunt. She can feel the throb. Feel the heat. Smell the essence of her. And She has no doubt She will soon win. She always does. There’s no way the girl can stop herself. Her body is in no way hers. Every inch of it belongs to red queen. Every centimeter is owned, every molecule, claimed. She has no more control over what her body does than she would a speeding train. And stopping either would be equally impossible.

She wails, utterly defeated as she feels the release shudder through her body. And with that her devastation is complete. Her Lady removes Her knee from between the girl’s legs and smiles as her little slave crumbles to the ground.

“What on earth is wrong with you today, girl? Disobeying me three times? Have you forgotten what you are and the unquestioning obedience you owe me? Clearly you need reminding of your place.”