From Work To Play, Part 4 - Whipping Boys

Original draft 2008; posted January 2011

Maria punishes her slave

Just after midday on the Wednesday of the second week after I finished work, a powerful sports hatchback drove up to my house. I looked out of an upstairs window and saw a man in his late twenties get out of the car and walk up to the front door. He was wearing a business suit, but on such a warm day he had taken off his jacket and was holding it casually over his arm. Then the doorbell rang.

I unhurriedly walked downstairs and opened the door. The man smiled at me sheepishly. "Hi," he said.

"Hello Peter," I returned. "Come on in."

He walked inside and I closed the door. "Follow me," I said.

I turned and walked towards the main lounge. I knew his eyes would be riveted to the tiny rear-zipped black rubber miniskirt I was wearing. Apart from some seven-inch heeled sandals and a very tight black latex bra, that's all I had on. It was too hot for anything more.

We walked all the way through the lounge to the open double doors, then out into the garden. There was a freshness in the air from the rain earlier that morning, but now the clouds had cleared and the patio was bathed in sunlight. I led Peter to the table where I had already laid out a chicken salad and some iced water, and gestured him to take a seat.

"Are you okay to eat now?" I asked.

"Er, okay, yeah, that'll be great," he replied.

I served out the food and poured him some water. "Would you like a beer as well?" I asked him.

"Um, no thanks," he said. "I've got to go back to work later."

He was looking around the garden and also up at the eaves of the house.

"This is a fabulous place you've got here," he said. "I wondered whether I'd got the right address when I came up the driveway, it's so long."

"Thanks," I said, starting to pick at my food. "Fortunately with all the trees it's not that hard to maintain. Martin usually cuts the lawns on a Sunday and we have some professional guys who come twice a year to cut the hedges and do all the pruning. As you can probably imagine, I like to keep things very private when I'm dressed like this."

"You look fantastic," he said, drinking me in.

"I know," I laughed. "Have you been thinking of me?"

"All the time."

"Good," I said with a smile.

I took a sip of the water.

"So how are things with Becky?" I asked as I put down my glass.

The smile that had been on his face ever since he arrived quickly faded.

"Not so brilliant," he said.

"Oh, why?"

"I don't know," he mused, "I just find it hard work with her now. I went up to see her last weekend and we went out on the Saturday with a couple of her friends, and... well, I kept looking at her and then thinking of you. I mean, she tries, and she does look pretty, but she hasn't got what you've got – she's not as tall and... I don't know, she just isn't as sexy. And as for the clothes... hers just seem plain in comparison."

"I'm an exception," I said. "There just aren't many women like me around. You can't really expect her to do what I do."

"I know that," he agreed, "but the trouble is I've now had a taste of what it's like to be with someone like you. You're... just mind-blowing. I can't believe I'm sitting out here with you now, with you dressed like that. I never think of being with Becky any more either. I only think of you."

Wonderful, I thought.

"Well, I don't want you becoming too obsessed with me," I lied. "You know I only want to see you for a couple of hours a week, nothing more. And it was never my intention to drive a wedge between you and Becky."

"No, no," he protested, "honestly I'm not letting this get out of hand. It's great how it is at the moment, and I know I'm very, very lucky."

"Well, I hope in about twenty minutes you're going to prove to me that you deserve your luck," I said.

"Oh yeah, don't worry," he said confidently.

I changed the subject then, and for a while we just chit-chatted about Peter's work and various current events. Later we moved on to my own situation.

"Aren't you missing it?" he asked.

"No, not in the least," I replied honestly. "I've got plenty of things I want to do, and the hours go by very quickly. Anyway, I can always go back to work if I get bored."

I didn't see any chance of me getting bored, but I wasn't going to tell Peter much about my lifestyle or ambitions. He knew he wasn't the only person I was seeing outside my marriage, but he wasn't yet aware of just how far my exotic tastes extended.

I picked up the plates and walked towards the kitchen patio doors. "Fantastic," I heard him say, and as I turned to smile at him I saw his arm had reached beneath the table and he was rubbing himself.

"Stand up and get it out," I ordered. "When I return I want to see you wanking as you look at me."

A couple of minutes later I came back out again and he didn't disappoint. He was standing there with his fly unzipped and he was holding his erect cock out in front of him, openly masturbating. He had gone a little red in the face, and as he saw me he went: "Oh yes, yes, incredible." It was beautifully pathetic.

I sauntered up to him, gently tapping my black riding crop against my leg. When I was within reach I stroked the tip against his prick a couple of times.

"You haven't seen my riding crop before, have you?" I teased.

"No," he gasped breathlessly.

I threw the A4 envelope I was carrying in my left hand on to the table and moved round to the side of him, reaching my arm down to take over with the masturbation, bending at the knees to make up for the five inch difference in height. Then I put my head towards his ear and began talking softly.

"I see you're still a bad boy," I said.

"Yes," he acknowledged, "I am."

"Tell me why you're a bad boy then," I continued. "I want to hear you say it."

"Because my prick's not big enough for you," he confessed.

"That's right, it's not. Now say it again."

"My prick's not big enough for you."

"Good, that's very good," I commended as I steadily wanked him. "It's big enough for Becky, of course; in fact it's probably big enough for most girls. But it's not big enough for me, is it? It needs to be much bigger than yours to satisfy me, doesn't it? Do you think I deserve to have big pricks?"

"Oh yes, yes, you do," Peter blurted. "Only the biggest."

"And so what happens to a bad boy who can't give me a good fucking because his prick is too small, hmm?"

As I said this I began tapping the whip on his backside.

"He gets punished," he answered. Beads of perspiration were forming on his forehead now and he began to move his body back and forth, trying to increase the intensity of the masturbation.

"Do you think you deserve to be punished, Peter?" I asked him.

"Oh yes, yes I do. Please punish me Maria."

"You know, I think I'm going to have to," I goaded, "but first I want to have some relaxation in the sunshine. I'm going to lie on my sun bed over there, and you're going to get on your hands and knees and service me with the dildo gag we used a few weeks ago, okay? Remember that one? You thought the rubber cock was really big and I told you it was just ordinary, maybe on the small side?"

"Yes, I remember. Thank you, thank you for letting me do it."

"Well, you're going to have to do it for longer than you did last time, and I'm going to be very annoyed if you show any signs of slacking," I warned. "When you push forward I want you to make sure every inch of the cock goes inside me, and on the way out I want to be able to feel the head almost come out of me... but not totally. You're going to have to work very hard, and be very careful."

"I will, don't worry, I will."

"You're going to make me come with it – out here, out in the open air. No one can see us, but I want you to make me so excited that someone might hear us. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand."

"And after that I'm going to punish you," I said. "You're going to lie over this table and I'm going to whip you with this crop."

"Oh thank you, thank you."

"You won't be thanking me by the time I've finished," I cautioned, "but if you take it without complaint, then we'll go upstairs, I'll put my thigh boots and dildo briefs on, and you can have a special boot wank after I've given you a good fucking. I'll let you come all over my boots too."

"Oh God, yes please."

I let go of his cock.

"Okay, I'm just going to get the stuff we need. While I'm gone I want you to take all your clothes off, and then you can look at the pictures of me in the envelope there. Don't forget to take them with you when you leave, because each night until you see me next I want you to wank yourself while you look at a picture, and then spray cum all over it. Next time you're here you're going to show me what you've done."

He grabbed his prick again, closed his eyes and threw his head back. "Oh, this is just too much! Incredible!"

"Be a good boy and do as you're told, and you'll always be able to visit me," I said as I turned to re-enter the house, "and you'll get to find out what 'incredible' really means."

I first met Peter in March of that year. One of my clients was involved in a business deal, and trying to keep this suitably vague without resorting to outright fabrication, I required Peter's presence at a meeting with the other party's advisors. I arranged to pick him up from his work offices and we would drive to the meeting together, giving us a chance to finalise our tactics on the way. I had never met him in person before, but I had spoken to him over the phone in the past.

He seemed a nice enough guy: personable, intelligent, but maybe a little brash and lacking in depth. He reminded me of many of the juniors I had worked with at my own firm over the years, and it's probably fair to say that I have always felt more comfortable in the company of men older than me, no doubt because of my husband's relative age.

I was dressed quite soberly that day. I didn't use my provocative look for a meeting like this because there was little mileage in it. Sure, maybe there was a chance that one of the opposing team would be distracted by me and be eager to ingratiate himself, but there was also the danger of appearing to lack gravitas and also alienating any female members present. This was hard business, and I kept my other interests out of it.

As we journeyed down I began to wish that I had been able to wear to something a little more daring, because Peter was typical of the sort of younger man that I had always enjoyed teasing at the office. There's nothing like having a guy sitting next to you in a car when you're in a tight, short skirt, and I would very much have liked to test his reaction to the sight of my stockinged legs and protruding suspender straps as I drove. There was also the appealing thought of him discussing what he had seen with his colleagues when he got back to work.

The meeting went well and I got what I wanted, and before returning home we went for a bite to eat in one of the city's lounge bars. Both of us had a soft drink and a sandwich, and with the business aspect of the day essentially resolved, the conversation turned to more personal matters: family, relationships, past and future career plans etc. I discovered that Peter had a girlfriend, Becky, and after five years together things had become quite serious, with the very real prospect of marriage at some point. They weren't living together, but that was only because they worked over a hundred miles apart. Peter wanted Becky to move in with him, but she wanted to be near her mother and had been encouraging Peter to move jobs so he could be with her. At some point one of them was going to have to budge, he said, and it would probably be him.

As we chatted away I became increasingly aware of Peter's attention. I maybe wasn't sporting my best prick-teasing business look that day, but I still had the face, the make-up, the hair and the jewellery, and Peter was clearly captivated by it all, even though he must have thought that he was disguising his interest well. He didn't eye me up and down, didn't give me any lingering looks, didn't stare at my mouth or breasts – that is until he felt sure that I couldn't see what he was doing. But when I apparently had my focus elsewhere, he didn't look at anything else but me. Only me. Even when we went outside and I made a call on my mobile, I could see he was standing there watching me rather than looking in the shop windows or at other people in the street.

Naturally I loved this, but there wasn't a great deal I could do about it. Within an hour or so we would be parting company and it was unlikely I would be seeing him again. It would have been fun to have been able to tease him, but that's all it would be. He was sort of cute, but primarily because of his chirpy personality, not his looks. I was taller than him and, if you'll excuse the immodesty, in a completely different class. That's where the fun would lie – getting him to drool over the sexy business babe who was way out of his league.

On the journey back we got on to the subject of his relationship with Becky, and based on a comment he made I said it sounded as though he was stalling on making a more permanent commitment.

"Hmm, well, I've seen what's happened with a couple of mates over the past few years. Once people get married the girl just seems to give up. It's even worse when they have kids. It's like she just can't be bothered to make an effort any more. She's got what she wants and doesn't care what she looks like."

I actually had some sympathy with this view, but I felt it incumbent on me to defend the sisterhood.

"I think that's a bit unfair," I responded. "Maybe she doesn't bother so much because her husband isn't making an effort either. I mean, look how many men seem to put on lots of weight once they get married. And also if they've got kids, it's often the wife doing most of the work and she's got too much on her mind to worry about her personal appearance."

"Yeah, maybe there's a bit of that," he conceded, "but I hear the comments from friends about how they're... you know... not getting as much anymore, if you get what I mean. I don't think it's just joking either. I know it probably sounds sexist, but it seems like they get you in their sights, get the ring on their finger, and then wham! - up goes the drawbridge."

I started giggling. "Nice metaphor," I said.

"Mind you," he went on, "if you don't mind me saying, you look like you make an effort. You've been married for what... over ten years?... and you look great. Maybe there's hope for us after all."

Oh yeah, keep those compliments coming, sweetie.

"Thanks," I said. "My husband is ten years older than me though, and when I was younger he really pushed me hard to dress well and look my best. I was very resistant at first, although in the end I was glad that he'd pressured me. Once I had the confidence to wear the things he wanted in public I began to enjoy the attention I was getting."

"Exactly!" he said. "I don't get why a girl wouldn't want to make the effort. Becky likes to look good for me when we go out, and I can see she likes being eyed up by other guys too. So why do they give up on it?"

This conversation had roamed into an area that had so many possibilities for me to tease. I didn't know where we were going to end up, but I certainly gave one huge great shove.

"I don't really know," I said, "but in my case it was slightly different. My husband didn't so much want me to look good for him, he wanted me to look good for other men. He actually got a kick out of other guys ogling me, and so he pushed me into wearing some very suggestive outfits."

That didn't seem to faze him at all. He came straight back at me.

"Yeah, well, I can understand that. You want your girlfriend or wife to look good to other guys. It sort of makes her look better to you. It's kind of showing off I guess."

Okay, let's try again, shall we? See if you can handle this one.

"So would you encourage Becky to go out in a leather miniskirt with stockings, suspenders and high heels? Would you be happy to sit in a corner watching while other men buy her drinks and chat her up?"

Boom. Jackpot.

"Er, well, I'm not sure that... is that what happened to you then?"

"That's what happened to me."

There was silence for a moment, but I was ready to say more had he not pursued it himself. In retrospect it became clear that he was rewinding the conversation in his head. He was even brighter than I'd given him credit for.

"So, you're saying that once you found the confidence, you actually started enjoying it?"

Yep, I sure did. And now the one that will have you wanking in your bed tonight, my darling.

"Absolutely," I said with sincerity. "In time I got a huge buzz out of it. And that hasn't changed. When I go to a nightclub in a leather miniskirt or rubber dress these days I love all the attention I get, and most times Martin isn't even with me."

He tried to play it cool. I had said it so matter-of-factly, and there was certainly no hint of the inner excitement that I received from saying the words. My eyes were on the road and my head movements suggested I was more interested in the surrounding traffic than the revelatory nature of our discussion.

"Hmm, that's interesting," he said thoughtfully, and I inwardly laughed as I imagined what had really gone through his mind.

There was another pause, and as far as I was concerned that was it. I had planted the thought in his head and it didn't need any more, but he couldn't give it up so easily.

"So, are you saying that..." he began, but stopped himself.

"Yes?" I prompted.

"No, it doesn't matter," he said.

"No, come on, what were you going to say?" I pressed, perhaps a little too eagerly.

"Erm, I was just wondering whether... um..."

He had my sympathy. There's no easy way to phrase "Do you fuck other men?" to a woman you barely know.

"...whether it's just a bit of fun for you? You know, nothing serious."

I was so tempted to take this to an extreme because it was such a turn-on for me, but common sense prevailed. It was definitely time to close this one down, but in a non-committal way. I had to leave him wondering.

I waited for a moment so I could find the right words.

"Let's just say that there are some very attractive guys out there, and I'm married to someone who hasn't always got my energy," I said. "It inevitably leads to temptations... but you can read into that what you like, because it's all I'm saying."

I looked over at him when I said those last few words, and I'm sure he got the message. I think that's far enough, Peter.

We were both fairly quiet for the remainder of the journey. At times we tried to bring up new topics but they didn't go far. I knew he was thinking about what I had said, and I'm well aware of what the male imagination is capable of cooking up given the most meagre of ingredients.

I only found out how deeply I'd got to him when I stopped at his offices and he was about to get out of the car. We were unlikely to see each other again, so I guess he felt he had nothing to lose. Why not go for it?

"Maria," he began, looking highly embarrassed, "I know this might sound a bit daft, but I was just wondering..."

He hesitated then and for a moment I thought he was going to back off.

"Yes?" I said expectantly.

He finally found the courage to say the words.

"...erm, I don't suppose you fancy going out for a drink sometime, do you?"

I most certainly didn't fancy going out for a drink with Peter, but I managed to disguise just how preposterous I considered the offer and I diplomatically told him that I would think about it. He knew the reality though and I could see him squirming with regret for even having the temerity to ask.

As I drove back to my own office that afternoon I began to dwell on this a little more. Even though I didn't find Peter attractive and I definitely wouldn't contemplate going out in public with him, it was nevertheless extremely exciting to have witnessed how easily he had succumbed to my charms. I wasn't even wearing any hot gear, and yet he had still fallen under my spell. He didn't strike me at all as the sort of guy who would as a matter of course ask a married woman out on a date, and he perhaps hadn't even considered how such a proposition would reflect on his loyalty to his girlfriend. I could only conclude that desire had overcome reason and good judgement, and that told me a great deal about the sorts of images that had been going through his head on our return journey.

Over the next few days my mind kept returning to that exchange, and the idea of exploiting it in some way for my own gratification grew on me. I didn't want to get involved with Peter but at the same time I felt a strong urge to tease him further, and if I'm honest about it there was an element of mischief too – I wondered how he might view Becky after being given a glimpse of just how hot Maria could look.

The following Monday I called him and told him that I would be returning late from a meeting in London on the Thursday. I would be passing near to where he lived on the way home, I said, and I could stop at his place for a quick coffee and a chat. He sounded very surprised, but he obviously hadn't lost any of his keenness to see me despite having had time to reconsider his earlier impulsive offer. Yes, he would be in that night, he said, and yes he'd be delighted if I stopped by. He gave me his address and I told him that I would be arriving some time around 7:30. I don't know what he was expecting, but I tried to dampen any ideas that this was anything other than an informal friendly visit. Even though his input had ended, I would let him know off-the-record how the business deal was progressing, I told him, and what outstanding issues still remained.

I genuinely did have a meeting that Thursday, but the client I saw didn't experience the thrill of seeing me in the thigh boots I was wearing when I knocked on Peter's door later that night. I had my coat undone and Peter found it almost impossible to avoid looking at my leather-sheathed legs as I walked into his living room. I was playing the slightly breathless businesswoman who had obviously had a fairly hectic day, unceremoniously dumping my laptop and another bag on the floor beside me as I finally got a chance to relax.

"Phew, what a day," I said as I collapsed into one of the chairs. "I'm sorry I'm so late."

No problem, said Peter, and he briefly left the room to get me a cup of coffee. Before I arrived I had lengthened my suspender straps so that my stocking tops would be easily visible when I sat down in my short business skirt, and I carefully posed myself so that my coat initially covered up the eyeful I gradually wanted to reveal. When Peter came back he sat down opposite me, and it was amusing to watch him as he tried to keep eye contact and not allow his gaze to move lower.

"Don't you want to take your coat off?" he asked.

"No, I'm okay," I said, "I shan't be here long."

I really meant that when I said it, but it was over two hours before I finally departed that night and my skirt and stockings were still wet with Peter's cum when I walked into the lounge at home to say hello to Martin. I honestly hadn't entertained any notion of masturbating him before I arrived, but when I removed my coat under the pretext of being too warm, Peter couldn't resist making a highly complimentary comment about my boots, and almost reflexively I decided to increase the prick-teasing pressure on him.

"My client likes me to wear them. Do you want to see what else he likes me to wear for him?"

Peter swallowed hard and said yes he would, and as I unbuttoned my top to show him the rubber bra I was wearing, I got the same deer-in-headlights look that I had received from Simon the year before. I immediately knew I wanted to exercise that same power over a man again, and although it hadn't ended well with Simon, that wasn't a consideration for me that night.

I was so much more experienced too, and Peter didn't end up ejaculating after only a few minutes of frenzied stimulation as Simon had. Instead I took it slowly, massaging him for some considerable time before I even unzipped him. His hands were roaming all over my legs, skirt and breasts, and I just let him get on with it, adding words of encouragement along the way. And when I finally did get his prick out he got a great deal more than a cursory jerk off. Poor young Becky didn't stand a chance.

He was sucking my breasts and had his hand up my skirt when he eventually couldn't hold it any longer and ejaculated all over me. He tried to pull away at the last moment, but I stopped him and directed the cum spray exactly where I wanted it. I even wiped his cock head clean on my nylons when it was over. I then moved his hand from me, pulled up my sperm-soaked skirt and told him to watch as I demonstrated how a girl gives herself a good fingering. I wish I'd brought one of my big dildos, I told him.

"My client likes me to wear them. Do you want to see what else he likes me to wear for him?"
Maria shows off her latex bra

I tend to regard my ownership of Peter as starting that Thursday night. Before then he could have backed away, but once he set eyes on me in my full glory when I undid my top he was effectively enslaved. It's interesting reading the thoughts I put down at the time in my offline diary, because at that point I had no idea how things would progress. Here's part of what I said:

"His prick's not that big - so disappointing when I felt it for the first time. Still got very excited when he groped me, and got off on wanking him, but the thought of intercourse leaves me cold. Will still allow him to fuck me just so I can tell Martin that another guy's been up me, but that's the only reason. He's not tall enough, not good-looking enough, and not man enough. As soon as I took out that crappy little cock all I could think about was whipping him."

The most interesting aspect of my relationship with Peter is that I don't believe he was innately submissive before he met me. He may have had some latent tendencies before then, but I think that's true of most men. You only have to look at the imagery that's directed towards adolescent boys in computer games and music videos to see the same voluptuous, dominant, fetish-clad stereotypes that Ward and others have used in their more explicit BDSM artwork. Some sort of predisposition is presumably already ingrained in the male psyche.

Initially it wasn't so much domination-by-design as domination-by-circumstance. As I mentioned earlier, Peter wasn't in my league – he knew it and I knew it, and that immediately gave him an inferiority complex that he was never able to surmount. And then there's the natural way I speak to men when I'm seducing them – the 'good boy', 'bad boy' dialogue, which can so easily create a teacher/pupil or mother/son dominance. I tend to take charge and lead a man in any sexual encounter because I very much know what I want, and I know what he wants. Guys are more than happy to let me take control because the games I play are so unexpected and kinky, but in allowing me to direct events I naturally take an assertive role.

Then there's the sex itself. I did have intercourse with Peter at his home fairly early on in the relationship, but it was a disaster for him. He clearly couldn't bring me to orgasm, and despite my assurance that it didn't matter, this affected his own enjoyment and he lost his erection well before he could climax himself. This immediately created angst and feelings of deficiency in him, and the simple way for me to solve this was to encourage him to use his mouth to excite me. And excite me he did, first with straight oral sex and later with a dildo strapped to his mouth. All a man like Peter wants is to make Maria climax, to make her happy, and he is in seventh heaven when he sees her writhing around in lust as he mouth fucks her with a stick of hard rubber.

But the subordinate posture promotes servility. Soon Maria is kicking the heels of her high boots into his back as he services her. Before long he is licking those same boots, kissing them, adoring them. And then she sits down on the edge of the sofa and lets him kneel before her and put his cock between them, the most dangerous position any man can take with a domina if he wishes to avoid her siren call. He appears to have some control, holding the boots and pressing them together to create the perfect amount of pressure on his cock as he moves his body back and forth. But she reaches underneath her thighs and takes the head of his erect penis in her skilled hands and gives him stimulus that lies beyond description, transports him to heaven itself. Lowering her hands like this bends her forward, pulling her face close to his, and her soft kisses are intertwined with words that spell his ruin. You're so good, you excite me so much, you're so brilliant with your mouth, but you must understand that I need to punish you for not being able to make me come with your prick. You do understand, don't you? And you want me to do it, yes? You know how much it excites me, and it will make up for your failure. Yes? You can't help being a lesser man, you can't help not being good enough for me. A woman like me needs very special men, and those others who are allowed to be with me must accept my need to humiliate them and discipline them. Yes? That's right, I'm so glad you understand, you're a very good boy, now spunk all over my boots and then lick your cum up while I watch...

As it became increasingly clear that I could manipulate Peter into becoming completely subservient to me, my ambitions changed. I no longer saw my relationship with him as merely temporary sport, but as a far more permanent project, and the potential scenarios were as breathtaking in their own way as the ones that I had begun to conceive for my video sessions with Chris and Nick. Knowing that it was only a matter of time before I could start whipping Peter was exciting enough by itself, but the thought of filming discipline and humiliation sessions with both Peter and Martin together began to torment me as I lay in bed at night. In the 'Complete Seductress' post I had given readers a glimpse of the plans I had in store for sessions with more than one submissive man, but as the reality proved ever more attainable my imaginings became far more elaborate. I was also being spurred on by Alison who was relishing the prospect of dominating two slaves alongside me.

Maria trains her slave

Maria trains her slave

Maria trains her slave

Maria trains her slave

By the time I gave up work I had gained enormous confidence in my ability to manipulate and train a man into becoming a boot-licking devotee. I'm fairly certain that without the impetus from my successful seduction of Peter I would never have contemplated the far more delicate play I made in the late summer of 2007 after I had identified a new potential whipping boy. And in this case 'boy' wasn't so very far from the truth. However I'm not prepared to publicly discuss how I first met and subsequently enslaved the impressionable young man, James, who entered my life at that time, and I even considered completely omitting mention of him in this post. I don't hold any guilt or regrets in exploiting someone who was so sexually naive, but I imagine others would question the morality of such entrapment. Certainly Martin was opposed from the very beginning, but even then it was too late. James had seen me in a very short flared cotton skirt, a strappy corset top and extremely high heels. And James was completely enthralled.

"I made him erect just from looking at me," I boasted to my husband.

"You don't think of anything else, do you? He was probably nothing of the sort."

"I'm not kidding, Martin. Two minutes of looking at me and he had a hard-on."

"Well, congratulations," he said sarcastically, "I'm sure you'll be thinking about that for some time after we've left."

"I want him here alone sometime," I said flatly.

Martin's eyes narrowed. "No, Maria, not this time. He's just a kid."

"How old is he?"

"Twenty-one I think. Or twenty-two. I can't remember."

"Well then, he's not a kid is he?"

"He is relative to you, and he's also pretty shy. I don't want you getting your claws into someone like that. He's not emotionally mature enough to cope with what you'd throw at him. For once let your head overrule your impulses."

"Or it could be the making of him..." I pressed. "Imagine what it would be like for someone his age to be with me. The experiences I could give him... fantasy brought to life for him."

"Yeah, and then you'd just break him."

I didn't break James, but I moulded him to my own design just as I had done with Peter. In many ways it was even more exciting though, because his beautiful body and attractive looks made it all the more exciting to dominate him, and Alison too experienced much the same emotions. I have forged a unique relationship with James that has allowed me to deliver a new type of cuckolding experience to Martin, one that I had never really considered in the past. My husband knows how much James excites me and he also knows that he can't compete with someone who is over twenty years his junior. On top of this he has to put up with the fact that James is given special treats by me, such as full throat fellatio, and recently I have been performing these acts in front of my spouse (and not only at home either). It's hard enough for Martin to endure the sight of a well-endowed alpha male having sex with his wife, but to witness a lowly slave being accommodated in such a manner arouses fierce jealousy within him, especially as such experiences are now denied him.

James shows his love for his Mistress

Maria disciplines James

Maria disciplines James

Even before the arrival of Peter and James I had ambitions to take on quite a number of men to satisfy my sadistic urges. Back then I had no idea how I was going to acquire them, but I often used fantasies of being worshipped by several slaves at the same time or whipping a group of tied up men to excite me when I was playing with my dildos, and I especially wanted a video sequence of leather-clad, thigh-booted Maria taking her pack of chained and collared dogs for a walk. I soon came to realise however that taking on a man for regular domination sessions at my home was not to be considered lightly. Even though I was thoroughly enjoying the process, I was discovering that it actually takes a great deal of physical and mental effort to properly train a submissive, and I had to learn to cope with the emotional demands of my new slaves too. Such men really do become completely devoted to their Mistress, and to avoid too much insecurity developing within them, she has to offer love as well as pain.

For this reason I backed off on the idea of adding to my retinue of whipping boys, at least until I felt I had Peter and James where I wanted them. It was therefore only through a chance encounter that I ended up in January 2008 taking a third new man under my whip, and if I recount how this individual, David, came into my arms I'm hoping that you'll at least be able to appreciate how enormously satisfying it is for a dominant woman to formally take a man into servitude. It also remains for me as an object lesson in the power of serendipity – how fate so often provides openings that no amount of grinding effort and planning could ever hope to surpass or even equal. If there really is someone up there moving the chess pieces of my life, then they sure have a well-developed sense of irony. Still, I'm not for a moment complaining – keep up the good work, guys.

I had known David professionally for some time and on a couple of occasions Martin and I had been seated at the same table as him at charity fund-raising dinners. His wife, Susan, accompanied him to both events, and I found her very easy to get on with – she was open, relaxed, smiling, and chatty. I remember seeing David and Susan on the dance floor together at the second function, and they seemed very happy together. It was therefore quite a surprise in early 2007 when I heard they were getting divorced. As far as I could gather there was no one else involved - they had simply decided to go their separate ways.

I bumped into David at a Christmas party that year, and later in the evening I started talking to him. He asked me why I'd given up work and what I was doing, and I gave him the same canned monologue that I had been giving everyone for several months now. I then told him that I was sorry to hear that he'd broken up with Susan and that I had been very surprised. I was hoping that he would throw more light on what had caused them to split, but it became obvious that he didn't want to dwell on it.

We were standing in a large conservatory off the main lounge, and when Martin went off to the kitchen to refill our drinks, I was left alone with David, although there were other people just inside the adjacent room. It wasn't that late but several guests had already left, and I made some comment to David on how dead it was getting.

"Yeah, well, that's the drink-driving laws for you," he said. "Especially at Christmas."

"It's not like the old days is it?" I mused. "I remember some great Christmas parties."

"What, like the one at Roger Smith's?" David offered.

Ooh, yes, I thought. I'll never forget that one. It was fancy dress and I went as a schoolmistress. I had my laced leather pencil skirt on, stockings, high heels, and my black university gown and mortarboard. I was also carrying a whippy cane. It was an awesome outfit, and the guys loved it.

"Yes, that was a good one," I said, as matter-of-factly as I could. "I went dressed as a schoolmistress."

David gave me a conspiratorial smile. "I know," he said.

I thought back to that night again. It was several years ago, but it suddenly hit me.

"I don't actually remember you being there," I said.

He didn't seem surprised and the smile hadn't left his mouth.

"Yes, well, someone took some pictures at the party – I honestly don't know who it was – and a couple of shots of you sort of... did the rounds. You know, got emailed to a few people. All light-hearted I should add. Everyone was very, er, complimentary about you. You really did look the business."

He laughed then and I gave him a bright smile in response. This was awesome. I'd heard before that pictures of me had been circulated amongst guys, particularly when I went to the Paris trade show I mentioned in the 'Green Light' post. I sometimes wonder why I bother to hide my face on my website – the clothing alone is as good as a fingerprint. Numerous men have now seen me in that laced leather skirt.

I couldn't resist having a little extra fun then, just to play with him for a moment – after all, it wasn't me who had brought up the subject of that particular fancy dress party.

"I'm trying to think what exactly I was wearing at that party," I said absently. "I know I had my uni gown and hat on, but... oh yeah, was I wearing a black leather pencil skirt?"

I looked at David and he swallowed. "Erm, yes, you were," he said. "It was very tight."

I smiled. "Yes, it was my laced one wasn't it? Could you see it from the side on the pictures? The lacing goes all the way up to the top of the thigh."

He was still smiling, but there was more to it now. I could see the excitement in his eyes.

"Yes, that's the one," he confirmed. "I think it was that skirt that caused all the fuss."

"That and the school cane I was carrying," I said jokingly.

"Yeah, and that," he laughed.

It was then that I caught him. I was studying his eyes for his reaction and he wasn't able to hide his emotions. It was only a fleeting moment, but what I saw told me that he didn't just admire those pictures of me because I was a hottie in a tight leather skirt and stockings. He was attracted to the whole image – the dominant school ma'am.

I have lost count of the number of times I've had a 'tell' like that from a man when I have hinted at the subject of domination in conversation, or when I have been wearing a leather skirt or boots. That's as far as I normally get though, because there is no easy way to develop such a topic without it causing embarrassment. Much as I wanted to keep this exchange going for longer that evening, I just couldn't do so without it becoming patently obvious what I was up to. There was a time to back off, and that time had come.

I went silent for a moment as I thought of something to say to change the subject. It was David who spoke first though, and it's here that luck played its part. He probably also sensed that the conversation was going to move elsewhere, and he couldn't help asking one last question. He wanted one extra snippet of info from Maria to satisfy his curiosity. Innocuous as the words may seem, I don't think it's any overstatement to say that they were to change his whole life.

"Whose idea was it? Martin's?"

"I'm sorry?"

"To go as a schoolmistress."

It didn't actually occur to me initially what an unusual question this was and it was only later that I fully understood his reasons for asking it. I was just pleased that he had kept the discussion going, and the onus was now on him to end it.

"It was my idea... does that surprise you?"

I was genuinely interested in his answer to that question, but I asked it primarily to keep the dialogue going and also to buy myself time. I just had to think very quickly what to say. Think Maria!

"Actually, yes it does," he said. "I mean, even if it was your idea to go as a schoolmistress, did you actually choose the specific outfit yourself?"

I was beginning to see where he was going with this, and I wondered if he realised how forthright and transparent his line of questioning was becoming. Maybe he's just figuring that he's not going to see me again for months or even years, and it doesn't matter what he says. I was in the same position though, and a door had opened for me to make some of those blasι revelations that I excel at. If he decided to tell his friends and colleagues... well, great. That's exactly the sort of grapevine chatter about me that I would be more than happy to have circulating.

"I chose that specific outfit, and that leather skirt was custom made for me to my own design. I've always enjoyed dressing up like that for fancy dress parties. It used to be a sexy schoolgirl or French maid, that sort of thing, but I really like wearing leather or latex skirts with stockings and suspenders, and I like the whole dominant woman thing with canes and whips. I even wear leather and rubber underwear nowadays."

His face was a picture. I had delivered that reply in such a laid back way that I might as well have been talking about the weather outside. You have to consider for a moment what it was like for him to hear me say that.

He laughed, but it was more a release of tension than anything else. "You're winding me up," he said.

"I can assure you I'm not," I countered.

He gave me a look that said: No, you're definitely winding me up.

"You still think I'm joking," I said, "but you'd like to think I'm not, wouldn't you?"

That really put him on the spot and he gave me a searching look then. I imagine he was calculating how open he could be with me without causing embarrassment for himself.

"Yes I suppose I would," he eventually offered, and superficially he made light of it with a hint of a smile. His eyes however were very sincere, and interestingly I think he wanted me to know that.

My response to this still shocks me. Maybe it was the drink, maybe it was because I had been so successful with my aims since giving up work, or maybe I just wanted to show off. Whatever, I looked over his shoulder to make sure no one could see me, lifted my top up a few inches at the waist, and then pulled the waistband of my skirt forward and down a little.

"Bloody hell," David blurted as he set eyes on my leather suspender belt. I even pulled the top of my panties above the skirt's waistband to show him that they were made of leather too.

It was just a glimpse, a brief flash for him, and then it was gone. Even if anyone had walked into the conservatory at that point, David was largely blocking the sight of me and it would just have looked as though I was adjusting my skirt. But it was an incredibly brazen thing to do and I had no real way of judging what his reaction would be. Nevertheless I loved that moment, and the only regret I have is that out of necessity it had to be so furtive and thus lost much of the eroticism.

David reflexively turned around to see if anyone was watching us, and that's the one moment where I think someone would have wondered what was going on if they had seen his face.

"Wow," he said as he turned back to me, "that's just unbelievable."

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Still think I'm winding you up?" I asked.

"No, I don't," he replied, and the hollowness in his voice when he said it took me by surprise. For a moment I thought I'd gone too far and he was now annoyed with me, but as I studied him I saw loneliness, not ire. I had seen that look before, when my former business client Philip had turned down the opportunity to pay homage to my boots. I suddenly felt I understood a great deal about David, an awful lot more than he might realise.

I was really turned on by this time and I felt I knew exactly the sort of man I was dealing with. There was no holding me back now.

"Hang on a second," I said as David appeared momentarily lost in thought, and I took my mobile phone out and began pressing buttons on it. David couldn't see what I was looking at on the screen and he perhaps didn't realise that what I was doing was directly related to our conversation. He certainly got the message a few seconds later though when I turned the screen towards him and let him see the picture I'd chosen.

"This is what I like," I said.

It took a moment for the surprise to register on his face, but as soon as I was confident that he'd taken it all in I pulled the screen away from him and put the phone away again. I just stood there at that point and waited for his response.

It wasn't the ideal photo to show him as it was highly explicit, but I only had a few pictures of this nature on my phone and in any case I had no idea how long Martin would be. So I picked the first image that didn't show anyone's face but my own, and it certainly demonstrated the point I wanted to make and left little doubt about what I get up to behind closed doors. You see me in my thigh boots and the transparent plastic coat I've shown before, and I'm using a riding crop on a man who has prostrated himself before me (he was actually kissing my boots at the time, but you can't see this). Even though David didn't get to see the picture for long and it was on a small screen, I doubt it escaped him that my victim was anally plugged and his cock was in bondage too.

Maria dominates a slave

There was an awkward pause, and since David didn't seem able to say anything, I made a comment that Martin was taking his time getting my drink – he must have been waylaid by someone in the kitchen, I said. The words didn't even seem to register with David and he was looking at me but not seeing me, if that makes any sense. Then he suddenly jerked his head as if snapping out of a trance.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I'm just... I tell you, that's one of the most amazing things I've ever seen in my life. Seriously. Martin is a very, very lucky man."

It didn't seem to bother him in the least that with those words he had openly confirmed what I had already surmised. My reply was virtually instantaneous; I don't even remember thinking about it.

"It's not Martin in the picture," I said, looking straight into his eyes.

"Oh wow," he groaned, and then he started shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

My cryptic disclosure had so many possible interpretations and I'm sure he would have said something else then, but he heard Martin's voice in the other room. He suddenly looked embarrassed, as if he had been discovered doing something illicit with me. I didn't in any way ease his discomfort in the few seconds before my husband returned to my side.

"It's a pity there's nowhere private for us to go here, isn't it?" I lamented.

It was only five days later when he called me. I was mentally prepared for him to make contact, but I wasn't holding my breath and it didn't really matter to me either way. It had been a wonderful exchange and I was absolutely serious with my final line. I would willingly have masturbated David that night given half a chance, and I would have rubbed his cock all over my leather underwear, front and rear, before getting him to spray all over it.

He sounded very unsure and awkward.

"Um, hello Maria. I hope you don't mind me calling you. I don't know whether things got a bit out of hand on Saturday, but it's been difficult for me to stop thinking about it. If you don't want to talk about it, then..."

"No, I'm fine," I interrupted, "and I don't regret anything that happened."

He was clearly relieved, but still struggled to find the words.

"Oh good, that's good. Er, in that case I was just wondering if, um, you'd be interested in... oh damn, I don't know how to put this..."

I saved him the bother.

"What are you doing on Monday night?" I asked.

"Er, nothing. No, I've got nothing planned."

"So where are you living now?"

"In one of the new apartments next to the old Wilson building on T------- Street."

"I know where you mean. Okay, you be outside in the street on Monday night at eight o-clock and I'll pick you up. At exactly eight outside your apartment, okay?"

"Yeah... okay. So where are we going? Do I need to wear something smart?"

"You can wear what you like," I told him. "We're just going for a drive and a chat."

He was blown away when he got into my car, completely overwhelmed. "Oh my God," he said. "Oh Maria..."

Although I was wearing a skirt, it was micro length and made of rubber, and it had worked its way even higher up my legs by the time I picked him up. My stockings and suspenders were on open display, but I said nothing to him as we drove away, and he was silent too until we stopped at the traffic lights at the end of the street. There was plenty of illumination there and he was able to fully see what I was wearing.

"Those boots are out of this world," he moaned.

I turned and looked at him.

"Boots, leather, whips... that's what you get off on, isn't it?" I asked directly. I wasn't going to play him like Peter or James. I knew exactly what David wanted and if he were truly submissive he would enjoy me taking control.

"Yes," he admitted, still staring at my legs.

"Well you're in luck then, aren't you," I said, "because I get off on them too."

I turned on to the main road that led out of town. I started off by telling him that I was taking a big risk in letting him see me like this and he therefore needed to be open with me. I wasn't going to waste time, I said - he either answered my questions in a forthright way or I simply dropped him back at his apartment and that would be the last he ever saw of me.

The outfit I was wearing when I picked David up that night wasn't anything out of the ordinary for me. Now that I have given up work I regularly go out for a drive in my thigh boots and a super-short skirt with my suspenders on open display. I'm very often double-cocked as well, as I was that night, although David didn't know it.
Maria goes for a drive

"So, did Susan ever dress up for you?" I asked. I figured if he couldn't give me a straight response to this one then we wouldn't be going much further.

Yes, he said, before they even got married she had started wearing some PVC gear for him. She seemed to enjoy it and especially liked to see his reaction. He'd been initially attracted to Susan by her confident, authoritative personality. She was clearly someone who liked to be in control, to be in charge, and he found that highly appealing. He became even more certain that she was the one for him when they started having sex. She seemed to know exactly what she wanted, and she wasn't afraid to ask for it – even demand it.

Later he began to encourage her to dominate him. She resisted to an extent, but she agreed to wear a few of the things he bought and he really began to feel she was warming to the whole thing. She wasn't prepared to go very far on the punishment side of things, but she seemed to enjoy the control aspect.

It all fell apart when they had children. Susan effectively ended the games then, and in time she wouldn't even have the gear they had used in the house. For his part David couldn't really enjoy things without the role-play and the accessories, and sex rapidly became a thing of the past – in his mid-twenties it became a thing of the past.

They drifted apart over the following years, but although it was a major factor, he couldn't say the sex thing was the be all and end all of it. He felt increasingly frustrated, almost angry at times, and he began to resent Susan's stance on the subject. Not only did she not want to get involved in anything like that, but if he ever passed a comment, say when a girl in a film was playing a dominatrix, she would make her distaste clear. Sometimes though they were very happy together, and David satisfied his longings via other means.

"With magazines?" I asked.

"Mainly, at least initially," he confirmed. "Increasingly on the Internet though."

"Did you ever visit a professional domme?"

"No," he said firmly. "I would never pay for it."

I had been driving for about thirty minutes when he finished giving me the very frank history of his relationship with Susan. We were well out of town by then and I drove into a lay-by and stopped the car, switching the engine off. I wanted there to be silence around us when he heard what I was about to say. I turned in my seat towards him so that he could see my sincerity.

"Look, you've been very open with me David, and I'm really pleased that you felt that you could talk about this to me. I know how hard it must have been to say what you just did, so in return I'm going to be very honest with you.

"Every week, two men visit my home, usually on separate days. Martin's at work, but he knows that these men are with me. I dress up in the sort of clothes you saw in that picture I showed you and you're seeing now, and I dominate these men. I put collars on them, I tie or chain them up, and then I punish and discipline them. I spank them, paddle them, cane them and whip them. I humiliate them. I make them kneel before me and lick my boots and leather. They love me doing all of these things, but I don't do it for them, I do it for me. They don't pay me money, because that's not what it's all about. I do it because I get off on it in a very big way... a very big way."

Boy, did I love saying that. It brought back memories of that moment when I told Philip what he was going to be missing when he turned me down.

David shook his head in disbelief.

"Bloody hell, Maria... my God... if it had been just any woman who told me that, it would be sensational, but for it to be you of all people... to find out that you enjoy doing that..."

"Well, I'd like you to know that if you ever want what those two men who come to my house have got, then the door's open for you. Just give me a call. I don't know what you were expecting tonight, but you're not going to touch me, and in a moment I'm going to drive you back to your apartment and that will be it. I'd like you to think about it carefully – very carefully. You need to consider that there's no guarantee that you'd be happy seeing me. It wouldn't be like visiting a prostitute where she tailors her actions to your desires. I would dominate you in the way that I want, and that might not necessarily be what you want. I don't get involved in any really heavy stuff, but you wouldn't like everything that I make you do, I can promise you that."

"Wow, what an offer," he said, still not able to take it all in. "I'm already thinking I'm in too deep here, and then I keep looking at those damn boots."

"I've got lots of boots," I said. "You'll never get tired of my wardrobe, that's for sure. But I mean what I say – it's totally up to you, and I'm not going to try and persuade you any further. All I ask is that if you decline then you never mention this evening to anyone – ever."

I started the engine and did a U-turn out of the lay-by. We barely spoke at all on the return journey, but it wasn't an awkward silence; it was a sort of mutual contentment. David knew that he had found his dream, and I knew that my whips were going to be busier than ever in 2008.

I was feeling quite nervous when David visited my home for his very first session in early 2008. Although by now I was very experienced at guiding a domination session, this was the first time I would be conducting a formal initiation. Peter and James had submitted to me in a more spontaneous series of encounters, where it was never really understood from the start where things would lead. David on the other hand knew what he was signing up for, even if he didn't know the details.

The problem was remembering all that I wanted to say, although it wouldn't be the end of the world if I forgot various points. I suppose I could have written it all down on a list, but that would have taken away much of the intimacy and I wouldn't have been able to maintain eye contact at all times, a vital ingredient of that first exchange. I spent a great deal of time in the days leading up to the visit mentally rehearsing my words and the order of events. I wasn't going to work to some rigid script though - on the day itself it was important for me to be relaxed and natural.

My clothing essentially chose itself. I wanted to be wearing the leather pencil skirt for him for obvious reasons, but I decided against the schoolteacher outfit. The gown would hide too much, and I wasn't prepared to use a cane on him at the first meeting. I therefore went for the look you can see in my post of 15th October 2005 – rubber blouse, long leather gloves, styled latex bra, stockings and suspenders. The only difference was that I wore knee length boots rather than the 7-inch sandals.

As David's car came up the driveway I opened the main door and walked out to greet him. It wasn't a particularly bright day, but I wanted him to see the light reflecting off my highly polished leather skirt and boots. I had spent an absolute age preparing myself, and however good I'd looked when he'd seen me previously, here I was on a different level altogether. I knew there was every chance that I could capture him totally with that first vision of dominant perfection.

He got out of his car sheepishly and stood by the driver door as if unsure what to do.

"Hi," I said warmly. I don't know whether he was expecting a stern-faced martinet who would order him to kneel before her, but if so he was soon going to be disabused of any such preconceptions.

"Oh my goodness, Maria, you look absolutely unbelievable. Better than anything I had imagined, and I wouldn't have thought that possible."

I gave a light laugh. "Well, that's a good start," I said. "You're certainly saying the right things from the word go."

He smiled and visibly relaxed a little. This lessening of tension was just what was needed because I didn't want him to be stilted and tongue-tied. I wanted him on edge of course, but I had to get him into some sort of comfort zone for this to play out well. I wanted David to have an experience he would forever savour, not fail to recollect because of first-night nerves.

"Come on inside," I said, and I turned and walked slowly back into the house. I could hear him following, and this is just what I wanted. He would have several seconds eyeing up that tight leather skirt from the rear, with me sexily swaying my hips as I walked in those shiny high-heeled boots. If he wasn't already getting hard at that sight, even with the nerves, then I had misjudged him.

"Just close the door after you," I said over my shoulder as we walked inside, and then I led him into the main lounge. "Take your jacket off and come and sit down just here," I told him, indicating a place on the main sofa.

He did as I requested, and I then sat down beside him. He was already breathing quite heavily and despite the house being quite cool he looked like he was sweating. He had a close range view of me now and his eyes were dancing from one part of me to another as he tried to take it all in. The top buttons of my latex blouse were undone and there was a tempting glimpse of my black rubber bra, my breasts spilling out over the top of the cups. There was that awesome view of the skirt as he looked down, the garters and clasps outlined openly through the tight leather. Then the long opera gloves... the O-ring collar... the silver whip earrings... the shiny lipstick...

David was already living a dream.

I saw that his hands were shaking a little, and I took one of them with one gloved hand and started gently stroking the back of his hand with my other. The reassurance of touch.

I looked into his eyes then, and I barely broke that contact throughout the duration of my initial talk to him. He had the undivided attention of his Mistress.

"Okay, the first thing I want to do is have a little chat about how this is all going to work – what I expect of you, and what you can expect from me. It's important that I make a number of issues and rules clear to you, and if after hearing what I've got to say you have second thoughts then I'll quite understand if you don't want this to go any further. Is that alright?"

"Yes... and thank you. I'm glad you're going to do that."

"Right, the first thing is this, and it's probably the most important point to get through to you: whatever hopes you have for where this may lead, whatever dreams develop as you get to know me better, I want it to be completely clear that to me you will always be just another guy who comes round to see me. If you've got some hope that I'll fall in love with you and we'll walk off into the sunset together, or that I'll discard the other men in my life in favour of you, then get rid of that hope right now, because it's never going to happen. Never.

"You are going to be trained to become my slave, a plaything to amuse me, and I can assure you that is precisely how I will always view you, just as I do at this very moment. You are a toy that's there to satisfy my sexual needs and urges, nothing more. It will be my aim to make you obsess about me, to think of me all of the time, but if I ever sense that such obsession is becoming dangerous or unhealthy then I'll terminate your visits immediately. Am I being quite clear on this? Do you fully understand?"

"Totally," he said firmly, and he looked me right in the eyes as he said it. "I totally understand and accept that."

"That's good," I said, and I let my face soften. "Okay, let me skip through a few ground rules. Initially I'll grant you a little leeway on some of them, but later you'll have to abide by them without fail. Okay?"


"Right, first, you will address me as 'Mistress'. I know it's a complete clichι, but it does have its point – it's a sign of respect and it emphasises your subordinate position. It's no different than calling officers 'Sir' in the forces. At the same time though I don't want to be irritated by the constant use of the word. You'll gradually learn when to say it and when not to. Understand?"

"Yes Mistress."

"Very good," I said with a smile.

"Next, you never touch me without my permission. Don't worry, you'll be touching me a great deal, but only when I say so. You are never to get overly familiar with me, even if you're just trying to be affectionate.

"You never play with yourself without my permission either. You don't massage yourself, rub yourself against anything, or do anything to stimulate yourself without my prior instruction or agreement. You never ejaculate when you're here unless I command it, and you never ejaculate in the twenty-four hours prior to coming here. At times you might be desperate to do so, but you learn to hold it, David. Climaxing without my consent is one of the worst transgressions you can make, and the retribution will be severe, I can assure you."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Right, now I'm going to be using words like 'prick', 'cock', 'cunt', 'pussy', 'wank' and 'fuck' without a second thought, and if you've got any problems with that then tough – get used to it. I won't be tip-toeing around sexual matters in any way at all, and it will annoy the hell out of me if I see you wincing every time I say such words."


"Two absolute deal breakers: first you never tell anyone about what we do here together. I think that goes without saying. Second, you never lie to me. You always tell the truth, even if you know it's going to be bad for you. Don't even think about covering up something with a lie, because if I catch you in that lie then you can wave goodbye to our relationship. A slave never deliberately misleads his Mistress. It's something that's completely intolerable."

He nodded his head solemnly.

"Alright, let me go back to what I was saying about you being here for my pleasure. What you are going to have to get used to is that my aim isn't to give you what you want, it's purely to get what I want. I get very turned on when punishing and disciplining a man, but I also get a huge kick from humiliating a man too. I am going to demean you in many different ways when you come here, and I can guarantee that you won't like some of those things. What I must be clear about though is that you don't get any choice in the matter. This isn't an equal partnership where we meet each other half way. You do what you're told when you are told, and if you don't, then your visits here end.

"I'll be moving very slowly with you on your training, so don't worry about being made to do things before I feel you're ready for them, but don't ever think you can turn round to me one day and say 'I'm not going to do that' and expect me to say 'Oh, okay, let's move on to something else.' You either do it, or I discard you. Is that clear?"

"Totally clear, Mistress."

There was a hint of a smile of his face when he said that, and if for even a moment I had thought he was laughing because he regarded my words as comical then I would have smacked him so hard across the cheek his teeth would have fallen out. I knew the smile wasn't for that reason though – it was because this was all unfolding just as he had always dreamed. Jeeze, I've hit the bloody jackpot. She really is a dominatrix.

"Well, let's see just how clear it is shall we? We'll start the demeaning right now. I want you to get up, pull down your trousers and underpants, and then show me your prick."

That jolted him and the smile vanished as his face instantly reddened, but to his credit he didn't waver in the least. He got straight up and undid his belt, then pulled both his trousers and briefs down to his knees. He stood upright, but he looked away from me across the room as if this somehow would reduce his embarrassment.

"Don't look away from me when I'm talking to you, David," I said absently as I reached with my right hand and held his prick just underneath the head and lifted it upwards. He was almost fully erect as I guessed he would be.

"Hmm, that's not too bad," I said. "Actually, it's a very nice looking prick shape-wise. It's not fully hard yet, is it? It probably needs a little attention..."

I cupped my left hand under his balls and started stroking it with my right. Then after thirty seconds or so I started lightly wanking it. There was always the danger of underestimating his arousal here and getting a premature ejaculation, but I needed to get him fully hard.

"These gloves are lovely aren't they?" I soothed. "I love masturbating cocks with these. Does that feel good?"

"Oh yes," he moaned. "It feels brilliant."

"Right, well I think that should be enough for the moment, because we don't want an accident do we? That's got it nice and hard now, hasn't it? Does that feel fully hard to you?"

"Yes, it does."

"Good. Right, I'm just going to put this cock strap on you now which will help keep you hard for me. Don't worry if you go soft again, I won't be cross. Trust me, I can soon get it back."

I took the cock and ball strap that I had waiting behind the cushion and passed it around the base of his prick.

"This will seem very tight," I warned him, "but you'll get used to it."

I clipped the press-studs together and then passed the second strap around his balls. This one I made even tighter, and he flinched at first until I had adjusted everything properly.

"There, look at that. Wow, that looks good doesn't it? Do you feel extra hard now?"

"Oh yes, it's just... I can't describe it."

"Look at your balls," I said enthusiastically. "They look twice the size when they're trussed up like that, don't they? Amazing..."

I got up, went over to the table, and pulled out a tape measure.

"Okay, I'm going to measure your cock now, David. This is just for my records so I can see how you compare."

He didn't make any comment as I came back to him and measured both the shaft length and girth. It wouldn't have surprised me in the least if he had suddenly spurted everywhere as my fingers brushed against the foreskin. He really was rock hard now. I found that very encouraging.

"Right, length is just over five inches, and girth is... just under five inches. Don't worry if the length is less than you thought it was going to be, because I always measure from on top. Personally I think most men kid themselves about the length of their dick."

I went back to the drawer and took out a notebook and started writing in it. David was still standing there with his trousers at half-mast and his cock standing at full attention.

"So, how do you think you measure up compared to most men?" I asked, not looking at him as I wrote his details down (this wasn't in any way necessary, but it all added to the effect). "Average, below-average, above-average?"

I looked up then for a response. He thought about this for a moment, probably trying to work out what answer would best please me.

"Just below average?" he said hesitantly.

I turned back to the notebook. "Actually, I think you'd be regarded by most women as fairly average," I mused. "This is where I need to make clear another point about our relationship and how you stand in my eyes, and I need to be very frank with you so you're never under any illusions."

I put the notebook in the drawer and went back over to the sofa. "Sit down again," I ordered, and we resumed the positions we'd taken at the start of my talk. This time I rested my hand on his prick and very gently rubbed it with my index finger as I spoke, just enough to keep his hard-on in place.

"I've already told you that two men come and see me each week, just as you're doing now. They're my slaves, just as I hope you're going to be. However, in addition to these two men, I also have several other guys come here as well. These men aren't submissive like you – they're quite the opposite, and so I allow them to do things with me that you will never be permitted to do. What I need you to accept is that even if I did allow you to do such things, you wouldn't be able to satisfy me in the way that they can. The fact is that you're not as physically impressive, you're not as good looking, and above all your prick doesn't measure up. These are real men I'm talking about – so-called alpha males.

"Your prick might be seen as average to ordinary women, but I'm no ordinary woman. As far as I'm concerned your cock is small, and because of this and your sexual submissiveness, I regard you as a lesser man – an inadequate, small-pricked, lesser man. If you're not able to accept that I view you like that, that you are only useful to me as an outlet for my sadistic needs, then once again there's no future for us. I need to know that you accept that, David."

His face was just perfect, and at that moment I knew for certain that I had captured another slave. He wasn't going to back off. He probably wanted to drop to his knees right then and there and lick my boots in homage to the Goddess that had allowed him into her life. Every word that came out of my mouth was music to his ears, Maria's Symphony for the Submissive.

Maria dominates her slaves

"I accept that, Mistress. I fully accept it."

He said it so passionately, with such sincere conviction, and it was such a special moment for me. My pussy was absolutely soaking with excitement as he openly humiliated himself, and I so badly wanted to whip him.

"I want to hear you say it," I said. "Tell me you're a lesser man."

"I'm a lesser man, Mistress."

"I'm an inadequate man with a small prick. Say it."

"I'm an inadequate man with a small prick."


"I'm an inadequate man with a small prick, Mistress."

"I'm a weak, pathetic man, with a pathetic little cock. Say it!"

"I'm a weak, pathetic man, with a pathetic little cock."

"Very good, David," I said warmly. "Now, there's an interesting thing... your prick actually looks as if it's got bigger and harder saying those things. That's excellent. Okay, now I want you to get down on your knees..."

He obediently did as I demanded, and I stood up in front of him.

"One of the services you'll be regularly performing when you come here is to pay homage to my clothing and footwear," I began. "You're going to have to learn to do this for long periods – we'll be starting off with just a few minutes of worship, but later you will be required to lick my boots or skirt for up to an hour. I'm not kidding – I will sometimes be doing things such as making a phone call or simply sitting in the garden outside, and I will show no interest in you whatsoever. You however will be required to constantly demonstrate your devotion to me, and you will do that with your mouth.

"Now here's the important point, and don't ever forget it. You must remember that the clothes that I wear are part of me – they are me. Consequently you must show love and adoration to them just as you would to me. When you lick and kiss my boots I want to see that love from you. I want to see a passion that burns so bright in you that it hurts. Don't ever, EVER, do a task like this in a disinterested or perfunctory manner, is that understood?"

"Yes Mistress."

"Well, show me now then. Show me how much you adore my skirt and boots. I want to see you close your eyes and lose yourself in the love of my leather."

A full ten minutes went by before I stopped him, but he didn't waver, he didn't ease off, and I could see that he was determined not to show fatigue. He licked all over my boots, kissed them and sucked the heels as I fed them to him. Then he transferred his attentions to the laced pencil skirt, all the time responding to my encouragement and direction.

"That's right, that's a good boy."

"Yes, like that, very good. It's like a French kiss isn't it? Learn to use your tongue and mouth together."

"Come on, make the leather really wet."

"Very good, now use your fingers to outline the suspender strap through the leather... that's it... now lick the strap... yes, that's right... good boy... my suspenders are a very important focal point, so make sure you give them lots of attention."

"Long, slow licks on the rear of my skirt, David. I want to feel your tongue pressing through the leather."

When I finally told him to stop, I bent down to him and lifted his chin with my hand.

"That was excellent," I praised, "really excellent. We're going to have an amazing time together."

And with that I gave him his first kiss, a full mouth bonding where he shared tongues with his Mistress. At the end of it he looked completely overcome, almost on the verge of tears.

"You've been such a good boy that I'm going to allow you a special treat on your first day," I said. "I'm going to allow you to rub your prick on my boots. Come on, do it."

"Oh thank you," he moaned, and he started massaging his cock as he rubbed the head over the leather. I hadn't given him permission to wank as well as wipe, but I was so pleased with how things were going that I didn't admonish him.

"Now, you see that mess you've made there... just there look? You've soiled my boots with pre-cum, haven't you?"

"I'm sorry Mistress."

"Well, that's understandable because you're so excited, but you need to clean up your mess. With your mouth, David. Lick your mess up."

And so it went on. The whole session lasted roughly an hour and a half, and it culminated with him getting down on all fours and his Mistress buckling a ball gag into his mouth and securing a steel leg spreader between his ankles. She then masturbated him while she spanked him, and this time David did cry, but these weren't tears of pain, for she didn't strike too hard. These were tears of joy, of release, of fulfilment. All his life he had fantasised of experiencing this moment, of being disciplined by a leather-clad, booted dominatrix, and now he had found his home.

David didn't unlace my skirt, didn't unbutton my blouse. He didn't eat my pussy or suckle on my breasts. He didn't wear a rubber penis hood and give me anal pleasure. He didn't massage a double-headed dildo in and out of me. He didn't dutifully kneel on the floor with his head zipped into my cunnilingus briefs as I calmly sat in an armchair reading a book. In time he would do all of these things, but not that first day.

He ejaculated over a leather miniskirt I had placed on the floor beneath him. He was a long way from being ready to consume his own semen from a doggy bowl as Peter and James were now regularly doing, and coming into a condom or over a towel would have lacked drama. So I let him spray over an item of his Mistress's clothing, a supreme honour for him, I said. I was cautious after he came, knowing that he might suddenly feel guilt or regret, but once I was satisfied that he was not having any second thoughts, I started taking photos of the cum-soiled skirt and told him that Martin would clean it when he arrived home. I had thus far been very vague regarding my relationship with my husband, but I think David had gleaned the truth by the time he left that day.

In the hallway I gave him another long kiss. "I hope you enjoyed today," I said when our mouths parted.

"Maria, that was just... I don't know what to say. I can't tell you..."

"Well, just remember that if you follow my rules you'll get to see me every week from now on. And I can tell you that today was only a taste – just a taste – of things to come."

He shook his head. "Oh wow, I can't wait until next week."

"Just one more thing," I said, and I went into the kitchen for a moment. Seconds later I returned and showed him the pair of lace-edged latex briefs I was holding.

"These are my panties, David, and I've worn them many times. Remember what I said about my clothing being part of me. You're to take these with you, and you're to wear them in bed every night until you see me next week. Before you put them on, you're to kiss and lick the insides, just here, where they've been against me, and I want you to think of me as you do that. When you wake in the morning I want you to jerk off, thinking about what we did today, and then ejaculate in the briefs. Don't try and clean up the mess – just bring them back next week with you, but remember, don't masturbate on the day you're coming here."

I handed the garment to him. "I want your solemn word that you'll do what I've told you," I said, and there was no mistaking the warning tone in my voice.

"I promise," he said, "I absolutely promise, and... oh God, this is beyond anything I could have imagined."

I stood on the doorstep as he got into his car and we exchanged a wave as he headed towards the gates at the bottom of the drive. If he had been looking closely in the mirror he might have spotted my hand reaching down to unlace my skirt.

By the time he reached the village, eight inches of black rubber were already inside me.

To contact me, email maria at this site