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First Penetration

I glance at my watch again, desperate for the hands to move faster. Two more minutes and I’ll be on my lunch break.

I work in one of the many little industrial units that surround the town, picking and packing samples and branded gifts for drug reps to give to doctors. It’s dull, monotonous work, but it pays the bills and it lets me think my thoughts instead of making me think whatever my employer wants. I’ve had some great ideas while at work. I’ve earned more from ideas I’ve had in this place than I have for doing what they pay me for. It’s rather nice really.

One minute.

I call it a second job, but it’s a hobby that pays me really – painting the things I see when my mind wanders. Some artists use drugs to get to this state. I use boredom.

A bell sounds on the far side of the unit – it’s finally lunchtime. As fast as I can, I head for the stairs that lead up to the locker rooms and kitchen. I hate lunches here. The men only talk about football or breasts and the women only talk about children, arses or which celebrity has gained or lost weight. It’s all so… stereotypical. I just want to sit here and think or draw, but no-one ever lets me. No matter how often we prove we have nothing in common.

All I want to think about is my Mistress.

It’s been a little over two weeks since she last summoned me, and I’m desperate to see her, to please her. Two weeks since I’ve had a text message telling me she wants me. I’ve been desperate to cum, but I’ve been behaving myself as best I can. I mean, no-one can blame me for waking up with my hand where it shouldn’t be, can they? I’ve been so horny I even tied my right hand to the bedhead last night so it couldn’t stray.

I open my locker and fish out my phone. Six new messages. My heart rate leaps. The first three are alerts from Twitter which I automatically delete without reading. The fourth one is from Vodafone telling me my bill is ready. I have no idea what the sixth one is because the fifth one grabs my libido and pulls.

“Pet, come here tonight. I’ll be back late. Let yourself in, prepare and present yourself for me.”

Oh, she wants me. She wants me tonight. I smile a contented smile and feel like I’m twenty pounds lighter.

I pull my coat on and head downstairs and out into the loading yard. It’s cold out here but I need some privacy. I’m out by my car before I realise that I’m breaking a rule. The factory gets so cold in winter that I often wear a full thermal base layer under my clothes, a jacket, fingerless gloves and an itchy woolen hat. It’s spring now, but it’s still a long way from warm, which is why it was wonderfully mean of my Mistress to restrict me to two items of clothing. I’m getting used to feeling the rough fabric between my legs and the constant rubbing of cotton on my nipples. My nipples that seemed to spend the entire of the last two weeks erect and tantalisingly tender.

I lock my jacket in the boot of my car and dial the number for the beauty parlour on the road between my house and Mistress’s. They close at five but my Mistress knows Michelle, the owner, and she agrees to give me one of the special after-hours appointments she saves for friends.

There’s a traditional greasy spoon type cafe in one of the nearby units. I get myself some lunch, but have no recollection of eating it. I’m already fantasising about this evening. It’s not the night that’s on my mind – I’ve never been able to predict what she’ll do to me, with me – its the sight of her. It’s knowing that when it’s over I’ll get to look into her eyes and see her love for me. It’s knowing that she’ll rub cream into any bits of me that are sore and then let me climb into her bed to be protected from the world by her arms.

I spend the afternoon distracted, thinking about other times she’s summoned me. I spend way too long thinking about the time she led me around the woods wearing nothing but my collar and a blindfold, or the time she made me serve guests drinks wearing nothing but a very short french maid’s outfit. And, of course, the first time I went to Michelle’s parlour and became my Mistress’s Pet for the first time.

The evening in the woods regularly plays through my mind when she lets me masturbate. It had been a glorious hour completely naked in the summer twilight, unable to see and trusting my Mistress implicitly. I was exposed for anyone to see yet (as far as I know) no-one did, and without a single erotic touch to my body from sex hikayeleri anyone, including myself. I was a puddle by the time my Mistress got me to her bedroom.

The party had me away from public gaze, but on full display to all her guests. Mistress loves that tiny maid’s outfit, and (before I became her Pet) I’d been to several dinner parties where it had been worn by others. It’s little more than an apron with a gesture towards a frilly skirt and lacy underskirts, and it humiliates male and female pets alike. Women find themselves pulling the garment up and down at the same time, trying and failing to cover their breasts and cunt at the same time. Men generally try and hide their cock, despite it holding the fabric up like it’s inviting people to join it under the lace. I knew better than to try and be modest and spent a lot of the night with hands touching me, groping me, or slipping between my legs.

Tonight could be anything, and I spent a good part of the afternoon daydreaming.

I kept finding myself leaning on the banding machine. If I leant just so, I could send a very low but interesting vibration through my pelvis. Just there and I could make the crotch of my jeans vibrate in a very interesting way. It’s difficult staying focused. It doesn’t help that every time I lifted a loaded box, I felt the nipple piercings she got me, the smooth barbells somehow catching on my thick work shirt, teasing my nipples.

Five thirty finally arrives about 3 hours later than it should do, and I have to stop in the locker room for a few minutes to compose myself before I get ready to leave.

The beauty parlour is locked when I arrive, so I have to ring the bell and wait for Michelle to let me in. It’s colder now than before and my nipples are firmly erect by the time she opens the door and waves me through to the changing rooms.

I place my clothes in the locker and head towards the sauna. Half an hour in a sauna and hair waxes off so much more cleanly than if you go into it cold, so my Mistress insists I spend time in there.

I’m used to being here alone so I’m slightly surprised to see a middle aged woman already in there. Michelle knows my routine, so she must be okay with it, but the woman is clearly surprised by my brazen nakedness, and pulls her towel tighter around her like its a shield against infectious nudity. The scandinavians have this right – saunas should be done naked, regardless of one’s Mistress.

We make predictable small talk and she manages to stare intently at everything in the sauna that isn’t me. I can tell she wants to ask me why I’m naked almost as much as I want to ask her why she’s wearing that stupid towel.

I can feel myself relaxing, my muscles unwinding in the heat and my mind slowly dropping toward submission.

The sauna door opens, and Michelle enters with a ludicrously thick robe. She gestures for me to stand, wraps me in the robe, and leads me out into the relative cool of a treatment room. I always see Michelle when I come here for my ‘preparations’ and we both know the routine by heart.

We go through the formalities of agreeing that I’m in for “the usual” and she gets to work, smearing hot wax on my flesh and yanking the hairs out en-mass. I’m to be hairless from the neck down, so she has a lot of work to do in short order.

Not for the first time, I’m glad that Michelle and my Mistress have some kind of arrangement that makes this free for me. I’ve tried waxing myself in the past, before my Mistress, but I’m too much of a wimp. I keep hesitating before each peel of wax, no doubt making it worse for myself.

If I’m honest, I also get incredibly turned on by the pain – those thousands of tiny assaults doing something incredible to my mind. I end up getting so distracted that I end up missing bits. If I come here I can let myself dip into submission and keep my body under control.

Not that I don’t replay the events in my mind later on. Michelle is what people currently call “curvy” and she’s taken the opportunity to choose a uniform that emphasises her shape beautifully – much more so than any of her employees. Despite this, by the time I get to reminisce Michelle has almost always managed to lose her clothes and it forced to work naked. The pain coupled with the thought of her breasts ‘accidentally’ brushing my skin. Oh… it’s enough to drive a submissive pet mad.

I’m getting distracted again…

Anyway, when I say “hairless porno hikayeleri from the neck down”, I mean it. My mistress insists that I’m completely denuded. No hair is too soft and downy to be excused, and Michelle sets about covering every inch of me, from my fingertips to my toes. My freshly roasted sauna-pink skin is soon cherry red from her work, and I can feel pressure building inside me as her routine leads her to her final step – my crotch. I know that my body isn’t betraying my arousal, but I also know that she will take a disproportionate amount of time on such a small area, enjoying my embarrassment, touching me in intimate ways as she pulls my skin tight.

Sometimes I hate the fact that Michelle and my Mistress know each other.

When we are finally done, she rubs some soothing lotion into my skin – again spending a tiny bit longer than needed on my crotch – and leads me into a cooler room where I’m to get a manicure and pedicure.

Sat there, waiting for me, is an assistant I’ve not seen before. She’s in her early twenties and is possibly one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. She’s very similar to Michelle in appearance, but with longer hair and a slightly smaller bust. As my eyes flick from her waist back to her eyes, I catch her smile and I’m suddenly incredibly aware of my nakedness. My face goes the same colour as the rest of me as I realise that she will be doing my pedicure, kneeling at my feet. Why did I let my Mistress switch me from dominant to submissive?

The new girl keeps looking up to talk to me, her eyes stopping every so briefly on my crotch, and I can feel my arousal start to build. I try to think about anything but her red lipstick or the curves of her uniform, but it’s not working. Every time I think I’ve managed to get her back out of my mind, I catch a hint of a subtle floral citrusy perfume she’s wearing, or hear her laugh softly at something Michelle has said. And every time she laughs, I see her breasts pulling at her uniform, and wonder just how they would look if she was as naked as I am.

Eventually, the girl tidies away her tools and wishes me a good evening, brushing her leg against mine as she leaves us. Michelle raises her eyebrows at her in amusement, and returns to finishing my French manicure. It’s a look I love, but so rarely manage to pull off since neither my work nor my hobbies exactly lend themselves to good nail care. Besides, I’m a biter.

When she’s done, she sends me back off to the locker room and I have a quick, cold, shower. The urge to play with myself, to enjoy this arousal lurking just below the surface, is immense but I know that my Mistress will want to give me, or deny me, my first orgasm in days.

I dry myself quickly and pull my clothes back over my body. They feel so wonderfully different against my sore hairless skin that I can’t resist pinching and twisting the bar in my right nipple. Oh, how I want my Mistress to have me. To have me as her pet, her plaything, her cherished possession. Her thing to tease, torture, or love as she sees fit.

The new girl is stood at the counter when I leave. I know that to be properly ‘presented’ for my Mistress, I need to be wearing lipstick so I ask the girl to recommend one of the myriad they have on offer. She takes a strange delight in recommending the brightest pink they have. I pay her with my own money – Mistress doesn’t pay for things like that – and find myself glancing down the top of her uniform as she gets me my change.

As I drive from the parlour to my Mistress’s house, I force thoughts of Michelle and the girl from my mind and I focus more and more on my Mistress. I wonder how she will treat me. I wonder what she will be wearing, and what her clothing means. Will she be dressed normally, so she can take me out? Will she be naked but for her heels, a sign that I’m going to be worshipping her? Will she be wearing the corset that so often means that I’m going to be exploring the fine line between pleasure and pain?

As she promised, her car is missing from the driveway when I arrive. I press the garage door remote, and park the car in the large, empty, double garage. That, at least, is a hint of the evening to come. Apart from my car, the only things that ever live in this bare concrete box are a selection of large pieces of bondage furniture. There’s no wooden cross, horse, or suspension harness on show, so I’m probably not going to be seeing any of those seks hikayeleri tonight.

While the small electric motor is still lowering the garage door, I strip naked and lock my clothes in the car.

Pets aren’t allowed to have keys to Mistress’s house. Instead, I have to enter through the garage and the connecting door, making me work my way from a cluttered mud room to the utility room, to the kitchen, and finally the living room. It’s a reminder, she tells me, of my place in things.

On the coffee table are a collection of toys, and I understand that they were to be part of my presentation.

The nipple chain she has for me doesn’t pinch my nipples, but hangs from magnets that grab onto the bars through my nipples. The chain is heavy enough, but she’s also left a pair of weights to attach to them.

The collar is an old friend, old soft wide leather that fits snugly around my neck, with a pair of D-rings at the back and a single shiny ring at the front. I tighten it as much as I dare, then loosen it by a single notch to let it move around my neck. I know that my Mistress will tighten it if she needs, but she’s unlikely to loosen it without me resorting to a safe word – something I’ve never felt the need to do with her.

Next is a ball gag, so I go to the large mirror above the fireplace and watch myself inexpertly applying my lipstick. Unlike any ball gag I’ve seen before, this is a smooth stone egg shape that fills my mouth and holds my tongue down. It’s also delightfully cold in my mouth, especially when my Mistress dribbles water round the sides of it during a long play session. I have to be careful not to smudge my lipstick as I slide the gag into place, then fasten the thin leather strap behind my head.

I pause for a moment and look at myself in the mirror, enjoying what I see, and hoping my Mistress will too.

Next are thigh cuffs – wide leather straps that connect my thighs to my calves when kneeling in a suitably submissive pose. I return to the middle of the room and kneel facing the door. Toes pointing straight behind me, I use the first strap to bind my left thigh to my left calf, then the other to bind my right thigh to my right calf. I shuffle my knees apart so that my Mistress has easy access to my crotch, and try to find a position that I can hold for some time without too much discomfort.

The last two items will seal my fate.

The first is a leather blindfold with a beautifully soft padded silk back that I can bind surprisingly tightly without discomfort. The padding protects my eyes, but it also blocks out any hints of light much more completely than any other blindfold I’ve used.

The last step I have to do blind, but it’s a fiendish toy I’ve used many times before. It’s a plank of old hardwood with straps that bind my wrists to my elbows is a pose that makes me think of a toddler having a strop. The beautiful thing is that a collection of powerful magnets hold the straps tight, making it something I can do single handed. With practice, I’ve learnt to do it behind my back, so that it forces my shoulders back and my chest out.

As the last magnet closes with a soft metallic ‘chink’, I feel myself try and smile through the ball gag. The pressure on my shoulders is wonderful already, and I realise it’s all gone calm and tranquil inside my head.

I test my work. The straps are tight and ungiving on my arms – it will take my Mistress’s dexterous touch to slide the magnets against each other to make them release. My legs are tight enough that I can do little more that shuffle on the spot. My nipples ache delightfully, and the gag, collar and hood are all restricting me perfectly.

Now, I wait.

As time passes, I become aware of the clock my Mistress has on the mantlepiece. She bought it specifically for its tick – a solid mechanical noise that penetrates my bondage and reminds me of the steady progression of time. Despite this, I have no idea how long I stay kneeling there. My knees claim I’ve been here for half an hour. My shoulders swear it has been longer.

Finally I hear a key in the lock and I feel a gust of cool air blow over my smooth skin. I can sense movement in front of me.

Then silence. Stillness.

The faint smell of well looked after leather, and a delicate perfume that I half recognise.

The cold leather of a pointed shoe runs slowly up my thigh and nestles gently in my crotch. I breathe out, letting the last of my day drift away.

More silence.

I shiver in anticipation.

Finally, my Mistress speaks.

“What do you think of my Pet?”

She’s answered by a soft laugh.

Suddenly I realise where I recognise that perfume from…

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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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