“Y-yes, Mistress,” he stammered, instantly hard again despite the thought that she might not have finished tormenting him. Perhaps she’d only come to check on him before going back to her dominatrix friends, so they could all laugh at his frustrating predicament over more drinks.
“And will we be giving anything other than the finest quality chocolate as a present in future?”
“N-no, Mistress.”
With that, she began to untie the ribbon that adorned his cock. Just the feeling of her long, cool fingers against his overheated shaft was enough to have the come spurting from him to puddle at his feet.
“And you’ll have to lick that up, won’t you?”
“Yes, Mistress.” His heart beat fast as she loosened the knot that held him in place, his body recovering from the force of his unexpected orgasm. Without pulling up his shorts, he dropped to his hands and knees, hearing the click and complaint of joints held immobile for so long. Under his mistress’s watchful gaze, he obediently lapped up every creamy drop.
She ordered him to his feet once more and told him to make himself look respectable.
“Come on,” she said, as he tucked his wilting cock back into his shorts, “let’s go home. I’m sure Sir Nigel can carry on the party without us, and I have my own needs to attend to.”
“So, I take it you’ll be getting rid of the pashmina now, Mistress?” he said, as she stuffed it back into her shoulder bag, already thinking ahead to the moment when she would peel off the catsuit and order him to worship her body with his tongue. “After all, I’d venture to suggest it’s served its purpose.”
She shook her head. “The couple Sir Nigel introduced me to run a monthly fetish market, and they’re always looking for people to run workshops and demonstrations. They’d like me—us—to attend the next event, and talk about how to enjoy bondage on a budget. Said using the pashmina was a really inspired touch. Oh, I won’t be able to go quite as far as I did tonight—sadly, they won’t allow me to expose that sissy cock of yours.” She gave his bulge an affectionate squeeze through his shorts, smiling as he groaned with reawakening arousal. “But don’t worry, my love, there are still plenty of other ways I can humiliate you with your clothes on.”
His mind racing as he tried to imagine all the delightfully shameful things she could—and would—do to him the next time she had him bound with the pashmina, he followed her out to the cloakroom.
DUAL MASTERY
Rachel Kramer Bussel
Some people I’ve met in the kinky world think that owning a sex slave is easy. They consider the mere idea equivalent to a nonstop orgy, 24/7. I hate to bust their bubble—or yours—but while I love being a master to two women, I work hard to keep them happy, and in turn, I am amply rewarded. I wouldn’t trade my life for a conventional one for millions of dollars, but a good master has to give as good as he gets—at least, that’s my philosophy.
I’m not the kind of master who thinks my job is to be the sole provider for a household of three; in fact, I admire that both women are savvy go-getters in their careers. I love overhearing my wife Tanya negotiating prices for her jewelry supplies or seeing Wendy work a room for an event she’s organized, knowing that for me and me alone (unless I’ve given permission otherwise) do they bow down, get on their knees, become women utterly unrecognizable from the powerhouse professionals they are in their respective business worlds, where they are revered and even feared by some. Where would the magic be in conquering a woman who already appears to be conquered by the world? I’ll pass on that.
With three incomes, we are more than comfortable, which allows for plenty of time off, sometimes spent in our home dungeon, sometimes simply curled up on the couch watching a movie, or with both women on their knees at my feet—you never know. So what’s hard isn’t money, or even time; I’m thankful to have plenty of those, and we take at least three major vacations a year. One of my favorite things to do is stroll through an airport on our way to some lush beach locale, an arm wrapped possessively around each of the women. I make it clear that we are not mere traveling companions, but lovers, not with obnoxious public displays of affection, but by the simple yet powerful use of body language. All it takes is a hand lightly teasing Tanya’s ass or a brush of Wendy’s lips against my cheek to display to one and all what kind of vacation this will be. Showing off my beauties is a thrill I never take for granted, and it makes even the mundane task of going through airport security an opportunity for a little bit of exhibitionism.
In some ways, my two submissive, sexy sluts are a study in contrasts. Tanya is short and curvy, with natural red hair and freckles, while Wendy is almost as tall as I am (six feet), pale with jet-black hair. Next to them I tend to look rather middle of the road, but I don’t mind; it just attracts more curiosity and attention once people realize that both women belong to me. I like to make people wonder what it is I’ve done to garner such female devotion; those who truly want to know are welcome to find out.
I’ve told them they’re allowed to dress in jeans and sneakers when we travel, but they both have enough fashionista and exhibitionist in them to want to dress to the nines while in the air. “After all, if you’re gonna go, don’t you want to look fabulous while doing it?” Tanya once joked, masking what I knew was a true fear of death by plane crash. That’s another thing I love about her: she is relentlessly optimistic, and forces that optimism to override her fears, something she’s applied to our BDSM play as well as all areas of her life. She teaches me just as much as I’ve taught her, and now that Wendy is a part of our lives, I see Tanya teaching Wendy what it truly means to submit, while I oversee their erotic education.
I’ve learned so much about women from living with two of them, seeing how they are different and how they are alike, how they behave similarly when surrendering to me, and differently. Yes, Wendy is our slave, but she’s as much a part of our family as anyone else; both Tanya and I would take a bullet for her. Her slave status is not a trapping; rather, it’s a way of life, a way of relating that makes life richer for all of us. They are both extremely eager to please, to provide, to obey, but each does so in slightly different ways. I know exactly how hard each of them can be pushed, what kinds of spankings they can take, how much they like to struggle, what naughty words push them to the edge of orgasm. It’s this ongoing process of learning, of plotting what will thrill each of them, that makes being their master a joy and, at times, a challenge, one I willingly take on with pride.
I’ve encountered plenty of men who’ve looked over at my darling Wendy, bejeweled with hoops through each nipple and one through her clit, her gleaming black hair glistening down her back, the collar around her neck, being led around by my wife, Tanya, or tethered to me, and hinted that I must be the luckiest man alive. “A gorgeous wife and a stunning slave who’ll do whatever you want? Two women completely at your bidding? You have it made, man.” They’re right, and yet not for the reasons they think.
I take owning Wendy very seriously, as does Tanya, and the truth is if it were just me, I don’t think I’d want the weight of responsibility caring for Wendy brings. Of course she’s utterly gorgeous, with her sensuous body, curves in all the right places, a beautiful face, and an endless appetite for sex, humiliation and beatings. In fact, her appetite, I daresay, exceeds mine, and mine is pretty healthy. That’s why sharing her with Tanya works perfectly. I knew when I married Tanya that if I didn’t want to lose her to a woman, I’d have to find a way to bring a woman to her; she’d told me as much when I proposed. And as I stated already, Wendy brings in her fair share of money, but it is a challenging relationship; she is constantly pushing both of us further in this dance of dominance and submission, and she brings out a side of me that even Tanya doesn’t always. I wouldn’t admit it to her, but there are moments when our exquisite exchanges stun me, awe me—scare me, even. They are so raw, so far from the trappings of collars and clamps, going straight to the heart of what makes us human.
That is why
sharing Wendy works so perfectly, giving both Tanya and me a chance to unleash all that power that coils inside us, unfurling it onto the most willing of women, for whom “victim” has never been a word in her personal vocabulary. There’s something achingly beautiful about the way Wendy stares straight at me—when she’s not blindfolded, that is—as I strike her, as I pour candle wax onto her, as I engage in all manner of torments. She likes to watch and anticipate.
We met Wendy at a party where a man had been halfheartedly flinging a flogger at her beautiful breasts, hardly even looking where it landed, certainly not noticing the disappointment she couldn’t quite keep off her face that his swats weren’t quite firm or sadistic enough. I reached beneath Tanya’s flimsy slip and pinched her nipples, twisting them until I felt the rest of her body writhe in recognition and desire. “I think you should go over there and show that man how it’s done,” I whispered. I love watching Tanya control another woman; she’s more sub than top, but on the occasions when she does top, it brings out a fierceness that makes her seem much taller than five foot four, and I know it feeds something in her soul, just as being rough with her feeds something in mine.
For the most part, I top both Tanya and Wendy separately, though occasionally at the same time; if you think having one woman on her knees, naked, hands shackled behind her back, staring up at you with utter adoration, desire and need is hot, try having two of them. But every once in a while, Tanya gets the urge to let her domme side out; it happens seemingly at random, and I don’t question it. She is statuesque and beautiful, and can work a whip, not to mention her voice, like the most professional of dominatrices. Seeing her wield that power on Wendy is indescribably exquisite, though I’ll try. It’s like I get to see a side of her that’s just for me—and Wendy. I know that Tanya knows exactly what she’s doing, every step of the way, and I take pride in watching her.
Joining her is a whole other level of thrill ride. When we cotop, the energy flows from me to Tanya to Wendy and back, an endless loop of sexual power and pleasure that makes me feel electrified. Another reason to like a little spark in your submissives? They manage to keep you on your toes, and surprise you with their penchant for creative kink, giving and taking in the most glorious ways. I wouldn’t trade Tanya for a girl who always said “yes” if my life depended on it, because what I get in exchange for her bursts of riotous color is priceless.
For my birthday last week, Tanya took things to a whole new level, surprising me in a huge way. We’d recently redecorated our entire house, and she’d purchased a custom-made bit of furniture, without my being any the wiser. Again, one of the bonuses of marrying a smart woman is that she’s able to pull off tricks like hiring a custom woodworker to make a St. Andrew’s cross, one fitted perfectly to either Wendy’s or Tanya’s size. She’d even found a woman to do the job, and had invited her for its unveiling—with Wendy strapped right in. Daphne didn’t look like a woman who worked with her hands, until you got up close. Instead, she looked like she didn’t work at all, but rather, oversaw other people’s work; even her smile had a commanding air, her teeth gleaming perfectly white, her lipstick ultra red.
“Honey, after dinner, I want to give you your present,” Tanya had said to me as we dined at our favorite Italian restaurant. Tanya had picked at her food, which I found odd, since I know what an appetite she has, and I love watching her eat, but I’d been more than happy to guess what the gift was, though I didn’t come close at all.
After I’d guessed vacation, new bespoke suit, even a car, she leaned over the table, allowing me and anyone else watching a very generous glimpse of her cleavage, and kissed me on the lips. “No more guesses; you’ll just have to trust me.” She raised her eyebrows at me; that’s what I’ve told her countless times during our marriage when I knew she’d wind up enjoying some sadistic act I’d cooked up but she was hesitant. And of course, she was right.
I even let her blindfold me for the very first time and lead me down the stairs, where I could hear Wendy making little moaning noises that instantly made me hard. I was thinking that maybe she had Wendy naked and dressed up just for me, which she did, but Wendy wasn’t just adorned—she was kneeling with her legs spread in front of my birthday gift, every part of her open, exposed, waiting for me—and my wife. The sight alone could have made me come, but I wouldn’t let myself climax without first fully enjoying what my women had to offer me.
Not only was Tanya at her fiercest, but we had an audience, something we’d never had before. Wendy looked perfect, dolled up for the occasion. Yes, even a naked girl can make an effort. She was on her knees, head tilted slightly back so her breasts stood up proudly. Wendy wore thick black cuffs around her wrists. Her large nipples protruded—and glittered. The effect was subtle but gorgeous, a perfect complement to the twin silver hoops through each pink, beautiful nub. Her pussy was bare, and so open, as if just waiting for us to attack it. Her long silky hair hung down her back, and while her face was bare save for some gloss, it too wore something that money couldn’t buy—bliss.
She was excited, that much was clear. Tanya beckoned me over with a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. “Isn’t she perfect?” she asked, taking a feather and trailing it from our beloved’s forehead, then down, detouring along her cheek, then her neck, then her armpit, nipple and belly. “Stand up, lean against the cross and spread your legs,” Tanya ordered, before tracing the feather along Wendy’s inner thighs, then wetting it between her legs. “She’s all ready for us to play with, and I have some new toys. I know she’s ready, too,” she said, and took my hand to her lips, kissing my fingertips lightly, before guiding them to Wendy’s waiting pussy. Our slave was soaking wet; she didn’t make a sound as I lightly stroked her, but she didn’t need to. Her pussy told me everything I needed to know. Tanya attached Wendy’s wrist cuffs to the St. Andrew’s cross.
“So what do you have planned for our beautiful slave?” I asked Tanya, making sure to step aside so Daphne could get a proper view. “We have to make sure our guest enjoys herself after giving us this contribution to our household, don’t we?” I knew what I wanted to do—sink my entire hand into Wendy’s wet, hungry pussy, then when I was done, watch Tanya do the same. Fisting wasn’t something we did very often, which made it all the more exciting. But I wanted to let Tanya lead the show; she has just as sadistic and devious mind as I do. If I hadn’t known that already, the toys she presented to me would’ve been proof enough. One was a gigantic black dildo with a flared base, almost monstrously large, easily twice the size of my cock, which isn’t on the small side. There were two kinds of nipple clamps, a roll of duct tape, a butt plug and assorted cuffs, clamps and whips.
“How long have you been waiting for us, Wendy?” I asked, picking up the feather and tickling her cheek, then along her neck. She squirmed, making her breasts jiggle, but didn’t answer me. I reached down and rested my fingers against her pussy, feeling Tanya’s fingers join me as we both pressed her. “I think you’d better answer me,” I growled, sliding my fingers out to pinch her clit.
“About an hour,” she said, the words making her tremble. I moved my fingers and explored her inner thighs while Tanya smiled at me, then kissed Wendy forcefully before moving on to using her teeth, nipping her way along our slave’s skin, from her neck on down. Part of me longed to simply watch Tanya leave bite marks on Wendy’s inner arm, lipstick traces on her stomach, and then see her head buried between Wendy’s legs, but I wanted to participate even more. I pulled open the velvet pouch containing Tanya’s recent purchases and found a suede flogger in purple, Wendy’s favorite color. Reaching deeper, I also unearthed a red ball gag.
“Honey,” I asked when Tanya came up for air, “should we use this?” I held up the gag. “Or do you want to hear this pretty thing scream?” When Tanya didn’t give me an answer right away, I deferred to Daphne. “Daphne, as our guest, maybe you can decide this important matter.”
“I think her screams would sound lovely,” she replied with a flirta
tious lilt to her voice that left me wondering whether she most enjoyed being on the giving or receiving end of such screams.
“That decides it,” I said, smiling at Wendy as I gave her cheek a light slap. She shuddered in response, and I stared deep into her eyes. Slapping her sweet face is one of the things I enjoy most. “If you’re good, you might get more of those,” I told her.
It was Tanya’s turn to dig through her toy bag, and she came up with what I could tell was a small but powerful pink vibrator. “Can you hold this for a minute?” she asked, placing it in my hand, then lubing up the monster dildo before taking it back from me. My wife is incredibly dexterous, and I knew she could easily handle two toys at once—the question was, could Wendy? Or rather, could Wendy handle the dildo, the vibrator and me flogging her? We were about to find out.
I was a gentleman—yes, even we sadists can be gentlemen—and allowed Tanya to go first. She started by pressing the head of the dildo against Wendy’s wide-open pussy. It was so big that even though our slave was wet as could be, it would require a little effort on both their parts to get it inside. “I know you can take this, Wendy—I know you’re going to take it, because if you can’t, we’re going to have to go across the room and torture Daphne instead of you, and that would be disappointing, wouldn’t it?” Tanya used a voice that was partly teasing, partly coaxing, all vixen. It was a purr with an underlying edge that let Wendy know that to disappoint Tanya would be a very grave error. “That’s better. Give us your pussy,” Tanya said. “You know we own it anyway.” She paused and pulled the toy out, making Wendy moan with disappointment, but my wife was back in a flash, now holding the vibrator against Wendy’s clit while she manipulated the dildo against Wendy’s wetness. The noise of the toys pressing against her and Wendy’s soft moans made me rock hard. Tanya continued her stream of dirty talk. “I’ve seen Jack get his whole hand inside you, so I know this toy shouldn’t be a problem. I even told the woman at the shop about you; I said that I wanted the biggest dildo they had in stock because I had a very greedy, horny slut slave at home waiting for me to fill her up all the way. I showed her your photo—”
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