The Entirety of Sold as a Slave-Girl

I saw a new client last night for a switch session. For the most part, he would be dominant. At the end, the tables would be turned. You never know what to expect with first-timers, and there is only so much you can gather from them on the phone. He seemed nice enough. He said he had no desire to leave marks, and that it would be much more of a "tie and tease" affair.

I opened the door to a fairly small, fairly quiet, very nervous man. We sat on the bed in the room above the dungeon to discuss the session, and get better acquainted. There was nothing objectionable, nor out of the ordinary about him, but he was not the sort of man I would fantasise about. He quickly informed me that he envisaged a scenario whereby I had been bought as a slave-girl, and that he would train me for about forty minutes, at the end of which, I would be released for good behaviour. At this moment, I would trick him, restrain him, and give him a taste of his own medicine.

Despite the fact I do not fancy most of the clients I see, there are some elements of some sessions that hold appeal. Unfortunately, because there is no fancying involved, I do not get off (no matter how much I may look like it), but the theory of the thing remains with me. Tweak a bit here, substitute man there, and voila! Me, my hand, and I.

This session was a similar experience. There were elements of comedy and boredom, punctuated with a bit of wank fodder.

We went downstairs. I was ordered to strip, he sidled up alongside me and tried to disguise his nerves with special-authoritive-voice.

"I have to inform you that you have been bought as a slave girl..."

Tweak: A tall, refined man with a voice like velvet approaches behind me. He gently lifts my hair, and places a small, leather collar around my neck. He speaks in a gentle whisper, but his words are filled with menace. "You wear this because you are mine, do you understand?" He moves around to face me. His fingers brush across my lips, "These are mine," they reach down, and I feel nails graze across my nipples, "these are mine," they fall further still, inviting themselves into the cleft between my legs, "and this is mine."

But remember, you can't have it all, so back to reality.

My client has a love of shackles and chains. Real slave-girl harem stuff. Again, much potential there. Once we had found the keys (important), he locked my wrists and ankles into the metal cuffs. The ankles were attached to each other by a short chain, as were the wrists. Get the idea here. I looked at myself in the mirrored wall opposite, and noted that I should suggest them to Alistair. I looked hot.

He had me do several laps of the room, shuffling as I went.

Then he had me do several laps on tip-toes.

Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.

Mercifully, I was then released, and my wrists were winched up to the ceiling. Special lotion was applied to my nipples, or as I like to call it, bottle-of-lube-from-shelf. He then told me he could see how sensitive my nipples were becoming, and how frustrated I must be. Funny, I thought, I hadn't noticed...

After being lowered, I was then ordered to kneel across the whipping bench. I heard him disappear, presumably looking for a new toy. I found my thoughts drifting off towards the devilishly handsome man who was about to prise my buttocks apart, and thrust his cock roughly into my arse.

And then my client walked in.

Back to reality.

I felt him tie rope around my ankles, and raise them on the winch slightly. This caused my legs to be held further apart. It was another one of those moments, filled with potential, but ultimately dashed because I don't really fancy my clients. But wait, what was that? Special lotion on the vibrating device? Well, what can I say, I am not getting enough sex at the moment, and I have a good imagination. Those two of those combined, and I almost came. Sadly, the vibrator was removed from between my legs, and I had to fake it later.

Eventually, I was released for my good behaviour. Master has a penchant for massage, so I immediately set about oiling his back and rubbing away. Being the diligent slave-girl that I am, I asked him if he had seen the special massage device that targets all the pressure points on the body. Yes, I know those look like leather straps that are going to hold you prisoner and render you useless, but don't be deceived. Pressure points. Honest. What's that you say, Master? You'd like to experience this very specialised kind of massage? Well let me show you.

Hahahahahahahaaa, I am evil slave-girl, and you are now at my mercy, but there will be no mercy, hahahahahaaaaa.

I squeezed a healthy dollop of special lotion onto my finger, and my client actually said "Oh, no, not the sensitivity lotion!"

Hahahahahaaaaa, yes the sensitivity lotion, for I am bad, bad, bad slave-girl, High Priestess of the Harem of Horrid. I probably didn't say all of that.

The man did well, after all, he had to endure so much. I had no choice but to test my large purple vibrator on him. I held it against his cock, and I feel I must comment on the bucket of cum that landed at my feet. It was inhuman. A lesser woman would have needed waders.