It was Monday again. That meant vegetables for tonight. While I wasn’t altogether too wild about the “green or bust” option, she insisted. She even mentioned a way to “combine the two”, intriguing me. And what could I say, she had a particular way about her, a manner impossible for me to resist…
“Welcome home, slaveboy.”
Those sweet words greeted the slam of the door. Their force drove me to my knees, and as my unworthy lips traced the most exquisite feet, my reply came muffled,
“Your slaveboy is home and ready to serve you, Mistress.”
I could never have enough of her refined British accent – sweet as honey, flowing like a waterfall. Even as I got into her favoured outfit for me, it echoed in my head, a more dominant version of the pleasant hum of summer. Automatically obeying her ingrained commands.
“Be ready for inspection, slave.”
I stood, dressed in my humble butler’s apron, the white collar and black bow tie locked firmly in place. And nothing else. Mistress dearly loved to have a full view of her good boy after all, and I so loved to be fully exposed for her, with no barriers to her touch, or her searing gaze. My breathing quickened, signalling the rising pleasure at obeying my Mistress.
“Stand to attention for me, slave.”
A slight gasp escaped my lips as her delicious trigger, implanted ever so deeply, came to life. My enslaved manhood hardened, so erect, so proud to be Mistress’ loyal subject. In times past, the resulting fire to my sex drove me back to kneel in subservience to her power. But with her strict training, I was now able to stay in a pose which was pleasing to her.
“Yes, quite good this time, my slaveboy. So hard and ready to obey me…” She gave a nod of approval, and I shuddered in delight. Her leather clad gloves slowly etched their pattern around my cock, then my, balls, my arse…the joy was almost unbearable. “And I see that you’ve kept yourself smooth as I’ve commanded, such an obedient good boy you are…”
I could only whimper in response, focusing mind and body into maintaining my stance, to please her as much as possible. Both relief and disappointment flared in my my brain as her touch left me. She walked away from me, and entrancing me with her arse as she went, the sway so very sensual, so hypnotic. My eyes were ensnared to her eventual rest upon her throne.
“Approach me now, slave.”
I obeyed, dropping down and crawling to her as I knew she desired, and waited beneath my Mistress, awaiting my next command. Still my erection remained, even in such a position, and I was glad for it, for this show of her control over me.
“I think that today we shall advance your training further, my slave.” My ears could not help but perk up at those words. “You, after all, are here only to please me, and I believe that after your recent…advancements, you are finally to be permitted to touch your Mistress.”
Almost overwhelming lust roared through me then, but I barely held still. Imperceptible shudders betrayed the anticipation within though, as she continued, “You will have to be taught how to adequately worship your Mistress’ breasts, to deliver those delicate caresses, that deft twirling of the fingers and tongue. After all, I must have a slave fully capable in that regard, as befits my standing.”
I found myself nodding in agreement, She reached up to her shirt, sliding it down, revealing her glorious beauty, and my new duty. Leaning in to begin, I was stopped with a gentle finger.
“Not yet, my slaveboy. You know that I’ve been recommending a vegetarian diet as part of my regimen, though you haven’t been compliant enough there…no, don’t protest, I saw you at the chicken place the other day! So in order to provide some incentive for you to obey me…” What she did next did shock me a little. She took a small salad which had been on a nearby table, and spread it across her twin globes. “Now, eat your fill, my slave..”
There could have been only a twitch of her finger and I would have pounced. My lips brushed her divine skin, my nose drew in her heavenly scent, and I dove in. It was an exploration that was an explosion to my senses, an overload of touch and sound and taste. A leaf of lettuce draped over the nipple, to be devoured greedily, revealing the jewel in a culinary striptease. Dressing forming a river through the cleavage’s valley, to be lapped dry. Fingers trying out a gentle feel here and there, nervous and seeking, crushing baby tomatoes in their wake. And in the midst of it all, my Mistress let out sounds of pleasure, her moans a cacophony of desire, sweet, sweet music. Another piece of green stood in my path, I teased, then turned to bite…
And tasted flesh. My Mistress let out a small scream, and the fantasy shattered. “You incompetent slave!” A huge slap whacked the side of my head, sending me to the floor. As she stormed off in a rage to the bathroom, my stunned ears caught bits of her rant, “…it already took 2 months to make him even keep a pose, how can he not even play with my breasts properly, is he even a man…!”
I lay there in that mess, weeping silently. Truly, I was a disgraceful slave.
It was Tuesday, and my Mistress had calmed down since. After I got home, and followed her set routine, she set up the throne again.
“I was probably too hasty yesterday, my boy, and you were obviously too nervous to perform properly. So this time I’ll put you into trance first. Look into my eyes, slave. Feel yourself dropping deeper and deeper…”
And my world vanished away.
“Open your eyes.”
In a haze, I saw my Mistress placing fruit about her body. Yes. Must obey Mistress. Must please Mistress. I vaguely processed her peeling a grape sensuously, then running it over her lips. Yes, Mistress. My desire is inflamed Mistress. Must eat fruit and pleasure Mistress. A veritable garden of delights met my eyes. Strawberry groves planted in the hills of her breasts. Pieces of apple and orange, contrasted with each other and that sexy field where they were planted. Yes. Mistress. Yes. Yes. Must obey Mistress. As I moved towards her, I thought I saw a longish shape, curved…
My feet suddenly left the floor, sending me crashing into my Mistress. My torso hit the tiles, and her elbow drop sent my face to meet them soon after. I looked up, dazed but out of trance, at her fury marred face (though still so lovely!), as she glared then stalked off to the shower. I looked around in confusion. What had happened?
The answer was the yellow thing by by right side. A banana peel. I was so ashamed. How could I be so classically clumsy?
“…I should ship that moron off to a clown college!…” sang out to me alongside the sound of running water.
Wednesday brought an even more curious sight. Laid out on the couch before me was Mistress, her chest arrayed with an armour of sushi.
“It may not be seen as truly for veggie warriors by some, but I’m willing to make this exception to get you up to speed, slave. Really now, the other dommes are starting to talk.”
I set down to sample some of Mistress’ gift – first the traditional salmon, mixed with wasabi. , Then the cool cucumber rolls, the tangy tuna, strong urchin roe, crunchy fried shrimp. It was only after my hand had instinctively reached around for the soy sauce did I notice tha lack of pleasure on my Mistress’ part. Looking up, there was a look of disbelief on her face. It was followed by a two-handed chop.
“Greedy fat bastard slave…” she murmured as she walked off, a defeated slump to her body.
Thursday was my birthday, though I was more frustrated than happy. Not only had I failed my Mistress, but she had forbidden me to come at all as punishment. I grimaced, and tried to think of smelly socks and dead kittens all day, and of how I deserved it.
So imagine my great surprise when I returned home to find that my Mistress had gotten her poor silly slave a cake. Great gobs of cream decorated the shapely bosom that I had so erroneously neglected over the week. Soft sponge was strewn around, and “Happy Birthday, slaveboy” was sketched out in chocolate. Crowning the world’s sexiest confectionary were the candles.
“Come make your wish now, my good boy,” said Mistress, a come hither look floating over her face. Needing little encouragement, I crawled to her once again, and set about trying to make up for my mistakes. Firm rubbing and pinches, punctuated with kisses and more strategic sucking and light nibbles peppering her. She stroked my head in appreciation, before saying, “Use the hot wax on yourself, my boy…but blow out the other candle too…”
I hastened to obey, extinguishing one very hard, before picked up the other. But before I could indulge in the play Mistress had commanded, a strange smell ran up my sinuses. Burning? Then I realised that I had blown sparks into Mistress’ hair, setting it alight. In my shock, I dripped hot wax all over her favourite carpet.
She held my head down the toilet for 15 minutes, then did it again before heading off to bed with a small sob.
It was Friday. And Mistress was done playing around.
“Please turn around, slave.” she had ordered. As I turned around to comply, there was a great impact to the back of my head, then darkness.
When I awoke, I found myself chained in a most uncomfortable position, arms behind me, my face level with her wondrous orbs. As she shook herself to my rapture, she forcibly turned me to the side.
“See that pot of honey, slave? It seems that you are so stupid that you will have to relearn the alphabet. Now dip in your tongue brush and get to work!”
How could I disobey? After all, a slave had to do what his Mistress commands…
It was exhilirating, though strangely tiring. But even after I had put the finishing touches to the “z”, it was obvious that Mistress was not done with me. Though her flushed look and hardened peaks were the signs of my finally successful handiwork, she only commanded,
“Now write out 1-100, as your mental faculties are so lacking, slave.”
“Now ‘the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog’…”
“Now the entire works of Shakespeare, you need the practice it seems…”
It was to be a long weekend for my straining, groaning tongue.
By A. Slave