Posted on

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


Master had been bringing me to the gatherings for quite awhile before I became the monthly star.

We dressed in the attire that Master preferred. He, in his jet black jeans and shirt, would lead me with the leash attached to my collar. Silver links fell from the collar in adornment, jingling lightly as I walked quietly near him. Compared to many of the others in this place I was dressed quite modestly. Master allowed a robe sheer enough to please his eyes but yet thick enough to maintain a bit of modesty. He’s quite a proper man, and although he can enjoy a bit of display, he generally prefers to remain silent and largely observant of the actions of others. This contributed to my great surprise at the turn of events and his obvious delight in my center stage position.

The day that it started, Master sat comfortably in the chair he normally used, which was about three spots away from the door. I sat at a pillow by his feet, my body heavily leaning into his leg and my head resting on his thigh. He slid his fingers into my hair as usual, and we quietly watched as the others came in and situated themselves.

As well as a variety of attire, there was also a difference of position amongst the couples gathered. Some submissives knelt beside their Masters, others were immediately set on display in a variety of positions, sometimes bound, sometimes gagged, and sometimes attached to torturous or erotic devices. I’m nearly ashamed to admit that there were times I envied them, as I sat resting on my comfortable pillow nestled under Master’s fingers. There were others like me, as well, usually the quieter segment; couples or groups quietly watching, sometimes with widening eyes, and sometimes with winces and hidden faces.

I could sometimes feel his eyes on me, or hear a whisper in my ear.

“I see my lady is drawn to the blonde one, perhaps later you will touch her.”

Master never suggested I would perform such as they did, but there were times that he would walk to one of the Dominants and speak quietly. At times I was summoned, and would set to her with my fingers and mouth silently, his appraising eyes on me all the while. Otherwise, we never spoke, or socialized with any member of the group, but kept to ourselves, with his fingers trailing my hair and neck, and my growing anticipation for more private moments at home when our evening out was done.

On this particular evening a rather flamboyant Dominant addressed the group. He was bald, tall, and clad in black leather, complete with a riding crop attached to his belt. On a leash and collar at his feet was a young brunette, naked and obviously bruised. He walked quickly, tugging at her leash and using harsh tones. She gasped and whimpered, struggling to keep up with him as she crawled on all fours.

He turned on her fiercely, raising his voice to the gathering, his boot firmly placed on her neck as she managed to move into the position he must have expected. I could only imagine the girl repeating this act in their basement dungeon a hundred times a night until she found the right coordination to realize his turn, stop crawling, and get her head on the floor before his boot found its way somewhere besides her neck.

“This slut begs for my collar, don’t you, bitch?”

She yelped an unintelligble reply, her bruised ass high in the air and her face pressed into the floor. I was aware of the unmistakable sound of Master’s tongue clicking, feeling an increase of pressure as his hands stroked my neck.

“There is much she needs to learn. I permit her now to beg you for help so that she may gain experience enough to be worthy of my collar.” He lifted his foot from her neck, and touched the tip of his boot to her chin. I noticed that he did this very gently, barely touching her, the lightest touch of both command and encouragement. He reached down to unclasp the leash, then walked back to his chair, leaving her naked in the center of the room, with all eyes on her. She pulled herself up into a kneeling position, shaking and breathing erratically. It took her several moments to speak.

“I… I offer you…” her hands fluttered toward her face, and her breath hitched. I was sure she was going to burst into tears and run from the floor then, as she struggled to bring her hands downward. They hesitated midway, as if to cross over her breasts. This action was followed by a look of horror, and a very fast glance in the direction of her Master.

My heart pounded for her at this point. She was frightened and nervous. I, too, glanced in the direction of her Master, who sat watching her with an impassive expression. I had no doubt he was memorizing her every move to aid in her training later. Master’s fingers tightened in my hair, reacting to the girl’s continued speech. I turned my eyes back to her.

With hands now resting on her thighs she parted her legs, wide enough to display her sex.

She was struggling through every sentence, each one ending with the final word reaching upwards in pitch, a half gasp, a half question.

“I offer you this cunt. That you may show me how to better please him. I beg for the men to take me. To take me in this cunt and in my ass and to use me for the slut that I am.”

Forcing out well practiced words shakily, like a child in a school play, with a much more discerning audience, she continued.

“I beg the men to take me and train me. Women. Women, I need to learn to accept female bodies. As his slut I need to care for and be cared for by my sisters.” Her plaintive eyes began to scan the room, resting on each of the girls who were visible from the room’s center. She reached me, and searched my eyes for a moment, pleading in her stares. Her fingers clenched and unclenched unconsciously on her thighs.

“I need to learn to drink and eat as sluts should do, and to clean a woman when she bleeds. I beg the girls to help me learn, as I beg the men to allow my Master the use of the girls for this.”

A light had come in her eyes, and her nervousness seemed to be abated. Her words rose in pitch still, but no longer with hitched breaths. Color had come into her cheeks and she cast a vibrant essence.

“I need to bathe in woman and succumb to men, to be worthy of his collar in my place as his slut. Please help me. It is my life. “

Her eyes closed then, and she knelt silently, while the crowd appeared to digest her pleas. A crisp sound filled the room, and I looked to see her Master tapping the edge of his chair with his crop. The dark haired girl turned and crawled quickly back to him, eyes firmly on the floor.

Master stroked my shoulder silently as the next member took to the floor. I brushed my face lightly against his thigh, and had no idea how the brunette girl was going to change my quiet position in our gatherings. It was only with hindsight that I realized how carefully he checked the calendar when we arrived home that night.

Two weeks later I was surprised by his announcement that we were attending the gathering that evening. My face must have betrayed my desire to protest, for he gave me a hard look, raising a gray eyebrow and touching a finger thoughtfully to his beard.

“I know of your condition. We will go.”

I struggled to find the words for my question without appearing to complain. Finally, I managed, “If it would please Master, it will help me to wear something beneath the robe.”

In his smile I felt the first signs of a tickling in my body. A momentary image of the young brunette came to me, and I could hear her voice in my mind.

I need to bathe in woman.

He began to laugh, in a way that was uncharacteristic of him. I saw his finger coming close to me, and then he touched my nose, playfully.

“Boop!” said he. My face flushed immediately. As if it needed to be explained, he added “my lady sees the light. Dress comfortably for the ride; it will not matter once we are there.” With that, he turned on his heel, walking towards his bedroom.

I watched his medium frame retreating, as he ran his hand through his salt and pepper hair. He seemed to be springing in his steps. My nose felt strangely numb where he touched me. I went to my room to prepare.

These days were always horrid. I’d had difficulties for my entire post-puberty life with discomfort during this monthly time. In recent years, perhaps as I was aging, the blood became heavier and the achings stronger. The first three days consisted of bleeding and heavier bleeding, clotting, and a weary ache. I could feel my insides throbbing. Master would sometimes put me face down and caress my lower back, easing the pain and helping the flow. It was difficult to dress properly, to walk, or to sit. Any move in public left me wondering if a trail of blood was behind me. I found I was constantly touching at my ass to be sure there was no leaking, checking the seat cushions when I stood, and carefully watching the reactions of those around me to see if they gave any indication of being disturbed.

And now, what was in store? Visions of being called into the circle and ordered to strip filled my head. My fingers began to tremble at the thought. I wanted to run to Master’s room, throw myself at his feet and beg to please not do this.

I selected a dark outfit.

It would do no good to beg him. If Master had decided, he had decided. He did not take well to protest. I wished briefly that he had discussed it with me, as he sometimes did, listening to my wants and fears. Of all that we have shared, I’d never told him about the seat cushion concern, or the close people watching, wondering if they knew of my heavy blood or thought less of me for it. It had never occurred to me to do so. Like maternal sighs and decade longing, there are some things that exist at the essence of a woman. Even a slave woman, even when she has been removed from her freedom and clearly marked, even when it’s accepted that her very thoughts are not her own, there are things she does not think to say to him.

Was that the lesson? That she may not hide herself, even when she did not intend to do so?

I cleaned myself thoroughly in the bathroom, despairing in that I knew it would do no good. It was a twenty minute ride to the meetinghouse. There was no doubt that I would be convered in blood again by the time we arrived. Still, I rubbed my back and my lower abdomen, trying in vain to rid myself of as much blood as possible. Soon enough, I had no more time to do this, and reluctantly finished dressing. I knelt at the bottom of the stairs awaiting Master in poorer spirits than usual, and struggled to present my best face to him when he arrived to clasp my leash.

The ride was torturous. Sitting carefully as always when in this state, my hand disappearing behind my back every few moments to assure myself that I was not bleeding on Master’s fine interior, I watched the passing streets as I have done so many times. This time, the streetsigns almost seemed to speak to me, taunting me of the ever-closening meetinghouse.

Now passing Oakland Street. Midway already. I closed my eyes and braced for the coming dip and bump on the familiar path. It came, jolting my tender insides. I stifled a small moan as the cramping pain increased for a moment, then eased as I felt a warm thickness passing from me. My hand felt again, relieved for dryness.

Read Avenue. Soon we would arrive. What was going to happen? My head turned slightly to the left, looking towards Master, but my eyes did not dare to raise up to his face. He cleared his throat, and I quickly turned my face back toward the window. My stomach had begun to knot, and my fingertips were trembling. It was a great relief to me when he closed his hand over mine, resting at my knee, and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

Abindgon Lane. One more traffic light, a bend for the road and then would be the landmark cottage. Here Master’s car would turn to the right and travel down a lesser-used street, until the parking lot for the meeting house came to view. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see us getting closer. I felt tears threatening, whether from the hormones or the situation, I could not tell. This normally calm ride for me was now a building crescendo percussion, and as cymbols clashed I spun with female pain, fear, anticipation, curiousity, a desire to please that had grown monstrous, and above all, an oozing, thickening wetness sliding between my legs.

Upon arrival, Master lead me gently with the leash. It was very strange to walk behind him on my leash without my familiar sheer robe. I felt odd in the dark pants and shirt, so unusual in its normalicy that it made me feel more naked and exposed. Instead of following our usual path, Master turned to the hall, filled with doorways that I had never explored. My eyes caught the empty spot in the main room where we would normally sit, as we hurried past the door and down the hall. I could hear his footsteps echo.

The bald Dom from the previous meeting was already in the room Master entered, the chain at my throat pulling me unrelentingly forward. At his feet was the brunette, kneeling erect with eyes closed, as if in fervent prayer. My eyes paused over her for a moment, a mixture of emotions coming to me. It was because of her that I was here. She and her speech about bathing in women, and the plaintive call of her voice. No doubt this was what intrigued Master, that he would bring me to satisfy the damsel in distress.

I was immediately ashamed of my thought, and dropped my eyes from the girl, feeling a hot flush in my cheeks. I instinctively stepped closer to Master, craving his warmth and comfort.

Two other girls were in the room, on hands and knees, seeming to tend to the brunette by mixing around their Master’s feet and brushing against her, whispering into her ear. She never opened her eyes or made any other signs of acknowledgement. One of the girls, a chestnut beauty with green eyes, looked straight into my eyes with open curiousity. I could not tell if her inquisitive look also held anything malign. Again I dropped my eyes.

“Ah, Robert – so glad you could come tonight, thank you for your call.”

“It’s not a problem, Dan.” was Master’s easy reply. His hand hovered at my back, having not yet given me any signal for action. I stood by his side with lowered eyes, holding my body still. I had to fight the urge to adjust my pants, feeling against the weight of the blood and the constant ache from within my lower body. I felt the Dominant’s eyes on me, confirmed by his strong pressence moving closer to me, within inches. Master’s hand touched my back with reassuring pressure, and silent command to take no action yet.

I could smell him, and I was surprised to find myself with tingles of arousal, even as my wetness grew more uncomfortable.

“Is it as much as you thought it would be?” he asked.

“Oh yes, certainly.” Master caressed my back lightly as he spoke. “The timing is very convenient. I think you will find her to be well suited for your purposes.”

A flare of panic arose in me. Ever since I had realized Master intended to involve me in the dark haired girl’s plea, I knew something would happen. The moment had arrived, and now it was confirmed. I could not reassure myself that I was letting my imagination get the best of me. Master had never offered to lend me to another Dominant. What would happen if I fell to my knees and begged him?

Oh, Master! Please do not let them see how much blood I shed! Please do not go from me, leaving me with this strange man and his crawling beauties! Stay with me! Master, please! I am yours, please, please, only yours. Order me to the foot of your bed. Allow me to serve you. I long for your comforting fingers on my back, which aches and longs as I bleed in this cursed day every month. Please, Master.

I trembled in my place, feeling my eyes brimming with tears, Master’s hand firmly at my back, the tall Dom with his powerful presence over me.

“I suppose we’ll see how well suited she is. My girls will tend to her carefully. Anything else, besides what we have discussed?”

“None at all. Just a moment of direction for my lady.”

The bald one laughed. “Ah, a lady. The Bleeding Lady, I think.” He stepped away, not far, but bent to speak to one of his crawling submissives.

Master stepped behind me, his arm sweeping from my back around my waist, pulling me back into him. With some surprise, I registered his hardness as he pressed in against me. His voice was hot in my ear.

“I have already discussed my parameters with this Dominant. Your instructions are simple. Do nothing but obey him. Assume his commands are mine. Do not assume any permission otherwise, or any command otherwise.”

He said that part in a voice loud enough to be overheard, and I had no doubt it had been. He now pressed his lips to my ear, and my neck, sending a light shiver through me as I stook silent beside him. His voice came strong and soft to me then, this part for my ears only.

“It’s not your show, but you are my joy and I will be watching you.”

I uttered a short, gasping whimper, my strength almost breaking, ready again to fall to my knees begging.

“Sshh..” in my ear, and then he was gone, with nothing but a final tap against my back.

My heart pounded in my chest as the bald man stepped closer. He stood directly before me, his tall frame imposing and expectant. I did not dare to raise my eyes to him. Instinctively, I felt I should fall to his feet; I could almost feel his presence commanding me to do so. As I could assume no command, I merely stood with eyes lowered, feeling my legs trembling and hearing my heart in my own ears.

His hands took me, one on my lower abdomen and one on my lower back. He pressed against my skin, slowly rubbing from either side. The pressure was relieving to my tender body, and I could feel the flow of my blood increase slightly as he rubbed. His breath was hot and strange in my ear.

“Very well, Bleeding Lady. Let’s see what you can do for us. Mira!” The blonde girl jumped to her feet before him with her eyes to the floor. He turned and walked away as he issued his command to her.

Not long after, I was alone in the meetinghouse ladies’ room. It consisted of four toilet stalls and a shower area. Mira released her firm grip on my hand and offered a reserved smile.

“Please undress and take care of your sanitary items. Then we’ll get you showered and ready.”

I hadn’t spoken a word so far, and I decided to continue that trend unless I was specifically commanded to speak. My curiousity piqued at what getting ready would entail. I was mostly feeling nervous, my insides were tender and throbbing, and I would have done anything to be in my comfortable place at home, perhaps with Master slowly massaging my pain. Even so, I felt a tinge of arousal and wonder.

In the time it took me to go from the stall to the shower area two red lines were already visible on my legs, the droplets of blood painting my skin. I raised my eyes to the blonde girl and grimaced slightly. She waved it off, placing me under the stream of water she called up from the shower’s faucet. The cleansing water was a relief, and I closed my eyes, feeling it cascading over me. She was attentive, taking care of my entire body; her fingers in my hair with a sweet smelling shampoo, protecting my eyes as she rinsed. She massaged my neck and back with gentle fingers and lifted my breasts to wash the delicate skin on the underside.

I had relaxed considerably by the time she began working on my lower body, where the relief of water mixing with dried blood to loosen and free it from my skin is an unspeakable wonder. As I often do when in the shower myself in this condition, she guided me forward to bend so that the water pounded against my lower back, then on my backside, slowly dripping forward and washing away the loose clotting pieces.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir yanıt yazın

E-posta adresiniz yayınlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir