The word was marked across my chest like a badge of honor instead of the negative insult it can sometimes be seen as.
I knew that night I was going to be treated like Mistress’s whore. After a day of kinky shopping, “plans” as she likes to call them had been placed in motion. Before we even got there I was feeling horny, slutty and desperate for her touch, my panties bunched in in anticipation.
I was then paraded around the dim lit club and sat at Mistress’s feet on display for all to see what a slut I was. After some time hanging out and sitting at her feet Mistress looked at me and said, “It’s time for you to be used like a good boy.”
I was taken across the room and told to hold onto a light pink cross, which was appropriate for how I felt that evening.
“Did you think Mistress forgot that you need to be punished?”
I shook my head slowly. I knew she hadn’t forgotten. She rarely forgot anything most of all my punishments.
Had Mistress deliberately tempted into my own wrongdoing just to justify the punishment? She explained carefully that the punishment was over a thousand spankings or accept that she would use me hard, without really knowing what she meant. Of course my curiosity meant I picked the latter.
Curiosity may have killed the cat but after the first slap this submissive was determined to hang on.
Mistress began by using the new slut slapper on my ass, thighs and back. For such a small item it stung like I was being slapped with a full open hand. I let the pain escape by way of moaning loudly, and screaming through the stifling stocking that had been placed over my head. Once Mistress was bored of that she turned me around and began impact play by punching my stomach, chest and even my face as I pleaded and begged for mercy which I knew wasn’t going to come.
“You don’t even deserve this attention for your disobedience,” she spat at me.
I was then thrown to the floor and kicked and trampled as Mistress powerfully stood over me in her leather boots. I curled up and waited until she dragged me back up by my hair. Then the belt choking started. Not the light kind she often does at home while we relax just to prove she can, no, this was the kind of choke that I knew meant she wasn’t playing around. She used the belt she was choking me with to beat me along my bottom and back, switching back and forth between the two until I was shaking mess, completely vulnerable to whatever Mistress wanted. I could feel my hot skin turn bright red without even seeing it.
And just when I thought she might be finished she moved swiftly behind me and grabbed me tightly in a fierce headlock, kicked the back of my knees to make me drop to the floor, and then used her weight advantage to keep me pinned there.
“Please Mistress…Mistress…,” I struggled to get the words out past her bicep.
I flailed my arms awkwardly and grabbed at what flesh of hers I could grasp. I began to see stars and my breathing slowed significantly. Only when my begging grew so weak and faint did her hold loosen. I wasn’t sure whether I was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness or wakefulness.
Once the scene ended I was spacy, sore, bruised, welted and felt like the whore, she had wanted me to be that evening. It’s times like this where I pride myself on knowing her pleasure is my priority…and she looked damned pleased.