Mistress gives me the look that says, “Sit down and shut up.” I’m already doing that but I still feel scolded when she sashays by in nothing but a pair of lacy black panties and a matching bra, holding a phone to her ear. Although her round hips and short legs look stunning as usual, she means business.
I have an itch on my knee but I dare not scratch it while she’s in view. I’ve been on my knees for 15 minutes now and she’s yet to say one word to me. When I arrived, I knocked on the door and once I saw her peek out of the curtain, I waited the mandatory 5 minutes before I entered. Then I stripped down to the spandex Speedos I always wore at her house and placed the semi-spiky collar around my neck, held the leash in my hands, and began kneeling.
She had been upstairs working out when I had gotten there but had bounced down the stairs and patted me on the head as she passed me on the floor a few minutes later. This usually meant I had done everything correctly. And thank god for that as the collar I was wearing could get painful if I had fouled up; the spikes were on the inside and with one tug of the attached leash it tightened around my neck and sent searing sensations through one’s body; a device she had created and fashioned herself. Next she had gone on finish her workout stretching right in front of me.
Each time she bent to do a toe touch her crotch was only inches from my face. I swear she held the poses for longer than the woman she was following along on the television did. She loved teasing me. After said teasing she peeled her sweaty clothes off and hopped in the shower. I knew exactly what to do once the water started. I gathered up her moist clothing, oh how I wanted to bury my face in it, but last time she caught me doing that she had me do yard work in the hot California sun until I was pouring with sweat. Then she made me ring out my shirt into a shot glass and drink what was produced. No, I wouldn’t be sniffing her workout clothes.
I put the dirty clothes in the laundry, grabbed her robe, a towel, and her moisturizer and put it in the bathroom for her and then resumed my position in the living room floor. When she exited the bathroom in the matching black bra and panties she was on a phone call, chit-chatting away. When she handed me the moisturizer and flopped down on the couch, her leg bent as if I were put on a glass slipper, I began another sometimes-step of this ritual, I rubbed the lotion all over her legs to what I thought was her satisfactory.
But, I lingered a bit too long in the upper thigh area, how could I not want to caress her soft, brown thighs?
And this is when she shot me the look and took the moisturizer from me. She ran upstairs and came back saying, “Yes, Mom, I know” into her telephone. I found it highly erotic that she was doing such mundane things but with such sexy undertones. I could barely hide my excitement as she reached over to my quickly erecting cock and snapped the CB device on in one movement. It didn’t want to close, as it often was the case when I was hard, but Mistress lifted my balls back and made me fit.
“SNAP!” was the sound of the case trying to contain my member.
She threw me a smile and motioned for me to turn over on my hands and knees. I did so without hesitation. She retreated to the kitchen and returned quickly but with what I did not see.
She pulled down the skin-tight spandex, Speedos.
“Slap! Slap!” She began spanking my now exposed ass.
She tugged at my hair tightly in between as if to keep me in perfect stance. “Oh, I’m just kneading some tough dough….yes, I bake Mother!” She said on the telephone. I heard her stifle a giggle as continued to spank me, with what I now realized was a wooden spoon.
“This is how I was taught to make it. You beat it until it molds to what you want it. If that doesn’t work, you throw it out and start on a fresh batch.”
Her Mother thought she was talking about dough but I knew she was talking about men, submissive men to be exact.
And that’s how Mistress was.
She was always one step ahead of my submissive thoughts. It’s funny this experience sticks out in my mind after 5 years because it is still the only time I’ve had a Mistress completely control me without ever talking to me. She is one of those women who can give you a look worth a thousand words, a stance that means business, or a finger wag that gives you chills. And even though that was long ago, when I was first deciding on whether I was submissive or dominant, it was very real.
Mistress helped me explore things I had never thought of, some things I have never experienced again. But, I have to admit, even in my current dominant role, with one slave-girl of my own, and many spanking sessions under my belt, she is still the only women who can give me one look and make my knees turn to putty, to the point where the buried urge to kneel before her is so great, I’m always surprised when I’m still standing.
Thank you Mistress for allowing me share just one of many wonderful adventures that we shared
– Your former bitch, Joshua
That was interesting. It's quite something to read that he explores mostly a dominant role yet said you are the only one to have a unique sort of control over him. If that aint a compliment I wonder what is. Great write up by Joshua by the way, it was a nice insight into your dealings.
I never knew that he still felt submissive to me when I asked him to write this.
He asked, "How should I write this?"
And I answered jokingly, "Handwritten."
Lo and behold, he came to me with 4 pages handwritten. He's a doll, but I still have trouble seeing him as a Dom hehe.
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