A Saturday Off: Evening

The boy kneeling before me whimpers under his breath, soapy water cooling quickly on his skin. I take no mercy on him, the sadistic beast inside of me hungry for those desperate little sounds. I reach down and grip my hand around his throat, digging the expensive tips of my manicured nails into his skin and toppling him over. Mark cries out in pain when he lands on his already crushed balls. He tries and fails to adjust his weight on the slippery floor, and watching him struggle gives good sport to the cackling cacophony of my friends.

“Get nice and wet,” Valkyrie says with a curled lip, climbing to her feet. “It’s the only lube you’re going to get.” Already she is peeling off her form-fitting, high-waist slacks to reveal a leather thong. She crosses the dungeon, going for her bag, and I have a good idea what she is about to pluck from its depths.

“Paul,” I call.

“Yes, Headmistress,” Paul replies with a smile, ever dutifully going to his knees as I address him.

“Retrieve the bench.”

Paul nods and scurries off, and I turn back to Mark. He’s finally managed to get his knees underneath him, and he watches me with a wary look. I arch an eyebrow.

“How long did you hold that tray?” I ask.

“S-seven minutes and twelve seconds,” he replies. My hand moves, and he notices it. “Headmistress,” he adds hastily.

“And how long did we agree you would hold the tray for?” I continue.

“Ten minutes, Headmistress,” Mark answers, dropping his gaze to the floor, “ten minutes.”

“So—correct me if I’m wrong—we agreed to a punishment for holding the tray incorrectly. Ten minutes of corrective training. Am I wrong?”

Mark keeps his eyes down, so I grab a handful of his hair and jerk his head back.

Am I wrong?” I repeat harshly. 

“No, Headmistress!”

Paul returns, dragging my spanking bench along with him. He hastily begins to set up the piece in the middle of the room. I look behind me at my friends. Valkyrie is once again wearing her heels, towering over everyone in the room like the mythical being she’s named herself after. I’m so busy admiring her long, smooth legs that I nearly miss the massive black cock that hangs heavily between her legs. She strokes it lavishly, not bothering to give a fleeting look to the many houseboys around her stealing glances in her direction. Mistress Fae is still in her chair, though sitting in her lap is her favorite dragon-tail whip. Claire is also on her feet, tightening the straps of a harness at her hip. Her cock is rainbow colored and matches her brightly patterned tights. 

I shake the distraction of my beautiful friends from my mind, remembering the task at hand. And that hand is still tightly tangled in Mark’s hair. I twist it even harder, causing the boy to wince and cry out. I relish the sound of his pain and lean in closer.

“So if you can’t follow directions and you can’t even make it through a correction, what good are you as a house slave?” I ask, my voice low and my eyes dancing over the long, exposed column of his neck, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he gulps and sputters out a nonanswer. I interrupt him before he can even fully form a word. “No use as a slave.”

I wrap my hand around that beautiful neck and haul him backward toward the bench.

“Get up there,” I direct, and Mark does as I say, taking his time on account of his crushed testicles. Too slow for Fae’s taste, and she makes that known with the crack of her dragon tail. On her feet preternaturally fast, and one flick of Fae’s slender wrist is all it takes. One perfectly aimed crack of soft leather leaves a sizeable welt on the delicate skin of Mark’s inner thigh. The boy moves a bit quicker after that.

I step forward, shoving Mark’s face into the deep-red leather of the spanking bench. He struggles for a moment, and when he goes still, I yank his face back up again. I crouch down. Mark’s eyes move slowly, unfocused. He’s struggling to keep track of the events unfolding, the sensory overload dragging him toward sub space. I lick my lips.

“So if you’re of no use as a slave, what good are you to us?” I ask, smacking him lightly on the cheek to clear the haziness from his eyes.

I-I-I . . . ,” he stutters, face red.

I-I-I!” I mock, rolling my eyes. I look up at my Sisters to see if they have any answer. “Ladies? What use do we have for it?”   

Valkyrie is quick to answer, prowling toward the bench predatorily, heavy black cock in hand.

“As a cock-hungry, willing, slutty set of holes,” she answers, arousal tingeing her already low voice.

“Sounds good to me,” Claire agrees, giggling madly.

I look down at Mark. His gaze is again unfocused, aimed somewhere at the wall. Valkyrie steps forward, slapping the heavy silicone of her cock against Mark’s cheek.

Say it,” she directs harshly.

Mark glances up at me. The mixture of shame and arousal on his flushed face makes my pussy throb. I merely grin down at him devilishly, offering him no quarter.

“A c-cock-hungry,” he begins, face turning even redder. He closes his eyes, unable to look at me as he continues, "Willing . . .” I don’t let him look away though, grabbing his hair again and wrenching until he opens his eyes once more. I’m barely able to breathe as he meets my hungry gaze and resumes, “S-slutty . . . set of holes.”

The primal part of myself rears hungrily. I need to fuck this boy.

Valkyrie is beating me to it. She presses her black cock against his cheek roughly and looks up at me with puppy-dog eyes.

“Oh, please can I throat fuck him?” she asks, out of respect for my position as Headmistress. The barely hidden look of ravenous appetite on her face makes me question if she would restrain herself if I told her no. But it’s her insatiably sadistic nature that I love about Valkyrie, and I know that she wants only to see this boy turned inside out the way I do. I can only acquiesce. I’m surprised when she doesn’t begin immediately, instead looking down at Mark and cocking her head. “Say it again.”

“I’m a cock-hungry—” Mark begins, but Valkyrie interrupts him.

Louder, so all the Ladies can hear you,” she corrects harshly.

“I’m a cock-hungry, willing, slutty set of h—” Again, Valkyrie doesn’t let him finish, though this time she stops him by thrusting her cock down his throat as he opens his mouth to make the o sound of holes. Mark gags on it immediately, but Valkyrie is relentless, the Devil’s grin painted on her vivacious face.

Mark struggles to stay balanced on the bench as Valkyrie begins to fuck his throat. Fae has descended upon the boy as well, a new toy in hand. The wooden switch hisses as it cuts through the air, and Mark screams around the cock in his mouth as the thin wood makes contact with his ass and legs.

“Don’t go easy on him,” I comment, my voice low and my panties soaked.

Valkyrie laughs gleefully and looks down at Mark.

He . . . needs . . . to . . . learn his lesson,” she agrees, punctuating each of her words with a sharp thrust of her hips.

The next time the switch meets Mark’s skin, he seizes so violently that he nearly topples off the bench. Only Valkyrie’s quick hand prevents him from hitting the ground. He struggles to readjust, pulling away from the cock down his throat and attempting to catch his breath. Drool and sweat run down his face. He’s panting, shaking a little, and when Valkyrie grabs his hair and resumes her throat fucking, he makes a low, muffled sound of protest. Fae whips him once more, and I can see him beginning to break. The prospect makes my skin burn with arousal.

I make my way to a black chest against the wall and return a moment later with several lengths of jute rope, dyed black and smooth from years of use. They smell faintly of the lavender fiber oil my slaves apply, and I can’t help but press a hank to my face and breathe it in, the lavender mixing with the jute’s naturally musky scent. The result is something pleasant and heavily tied in my mind to many diabolical memories. Shaking myself from my thoughts, I look back to the bench to find both Fae and Claire whipping Mark enthusiastically. The sounds he bellows out around the cock in his mouth are broken and pained.

As I approach again, I see that there are tears on Mark’s cheeks. His eyes are screwed shut. Spittle runs down his chin and smears across the red leather beneath him. I hold up a hand and step toward Valkyrie. My friends stop their onslaught and look at me expectantly. I crouch down so that I am eye level with Mark, but I don’t make a sound. Instead, I wait for him to open his eyes. It takes moment; he’s already slipped so far away that coming back is a struggle. When he finally opens his eyes, they’re glassy, pupils blown.

“Mark,” I coo sweetly. He struggles to move his gaze to mine. “Are you ever going to put a thumb on my tray again?”

A full-body spasm racks Mark, and his eyes fall shut again. He shakes his head, whimpering.

“No, Headmistress, no, no, never. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Headmistress. I’ll never do it again, I promise. Please, please, I’m so sorry . . . ,” he babbles on and on, a string of promises and pleas for forgiveness. I shush him to make him stop.

“I know, darling,” I say earnestly, nodding and gently caressing his face. He sighs, grateful for my kind touch, and leans into my palm. “I need you to listen to me,” I add, my tone turning stern. He opens his eyes again and stares up at me. “What is going to happen next is not a punishment. What we’re going to do to you, we don’t do in retribution. What we’re going to do to you next, we do because we want to, and because we can. We do it because we love to see you suffer.” The softness leaves my voice, and my eyes turn cold. “We do it because all you are is a cock-hungry, willing, slutty set of holes.”

I stare hard into Mark’s eyes. The betrayal there, the helplessness, the battle between outrage and acceptance that twists his features, is beautiful. His eyes brim with tears. I see his own demise from behind those eyes. A defeated, miserable sound escapes his lips, and his eyes squeeze shut once more, the tears falling freely. The victory of the moment makes my lust turn to a blazing fire, burning and ready to consume every weak thing in its path. I relish it, my breath catching as I witness this poor boy’s mind breaking.

“Yes, Headmistress,” he whispers, not daring to open his eyes again.

I straighten immediately, smiling wolfishly at my friends. The manic gleam in their eyes is probably reflected in my own. The other houseboys in the room stare on. Some look terrified that they might be next; others are enraptured, hoping that they will be. I unravel a length of jute.

I begin at Mark’s ankle, looping around it several times with the bight and tying it off loosely before wrenching his leg upward toward his ass. The sudden movement yanks his crushed balls backward, causing Mark to cry out. I pay his complaints no mind as he struggles to regain his balance. He grips the red leather tightly, and I continue my futomomo tie, pulling the rope as tight as I can. The jute sinks into the boy’s flesh, his muscular thighs and calves bulging as he strains against the tight bonds. I secure his leg to the bench, folding it painfully underneath him in a way that forces him to present. The next leg follows in similar suit, and when I’m finished with his bottom half, he almost appears to be in child’s pose on the bench, legs bound tightly and folded up underneath him, battered balls still gripped tightly by the humbler, affording me perfect access to his firm ass.

I move to his arms next, drawing them behind his back as far as they can go and tying them in a tight box knot. Wrapping the jute around his center, I again secure him to the bench. I unravel my final length of rope and begin to wrap it roughly around Mark’s eyes. He sputters and writhes, but already he is far too tightly bound to the bench to move a muscle. Once I think he is sufficiently blinded by the jute digging into his eye sockets, I move the working ends behind his head and tug hard. Mark’s head is extended back, neck at a sharp angle. Satisfied with the position, I secure the ends of my rope to the box tie and step back to admire my work.

Mark is panting hard, struggling to breathe against the constriction around his chest, which is exacerbated by the way his arms and head are positioned. Occasionally, he squirms against the binds, seeking a more comfortable position, one he will never find. Not with his legs bound and folded under him, not with his arms pulled back and his body tightly secured against the bench, not with his neck bent back. I look him over, his smooth, muscular body contorted into agonizing angles. I run a hand down his back, watching the goose bumps trailing in the wake of my fingers. My touch dances down his lower back, over his ass cheeks. I dig my nails into the fresh welts left by the switches, savoring the way he spasms uselessly against my rope. His flesh is angry, inflamed along his ass and thighs. Already, bruises are blossoming bright purple beneath his skin.

My examination continues. I take my time, running my sharp nails over Mark’s sensitized skin. I make patterns on his flesh, and my nail runs toward the cleft of his ass. Mark shivers when my finger ghosts over his tight hole, and a gasping, guttural sound escapes his lips. A mad grin breaks across my face.

I don’t want to wait anymore. I can’t wait anymore. I hurry to my armoire, pulling out my harness and purple cock. I shimmy into the well-worn, black leather of the harness, pulling the straps tight at my hips. This particular harness was custom made for me by an ex-lover. After my fifth store-bought harness had broken—tearing after a particularly brutal face fucking—this one had been crafted with double-reinforced stitching and metal studs to prevent my . . . enthusiasm from destroying yet another harness. I slot my purple dildo into the ring, pressing the thing back hard against my throbbing clitoris, seeking any amount of relief. I bite my lip to keep from moaning out loud at the pressure.

When I turn back around, I am something different. That primal hunger no longer simply gnaws at my insides; instead it has consumed me and transformed me. The room feels electric as I prowl forward. I’m driven by something beyond thought; perhaps instinct. I meet my friends’ gazes one by one, licking my teeth as I round the bench and finally glance back down at the boy. He’s a whimpering, writhing mess. At first I think it’s fear that causes him to squirm, but when I see that he’s actually rolling his hips forward in an attempt to grind the forgotten cock trapped beneath his body against the bench, I realize that it’s arousal. I can’t help myself; I strike my palm hard against the boy’s bruised ass. He cries out in pain but goes still.

I feel almost feverish. My every molecule seems to be humming, pulsing with primal need. With both hands, I grip Mark’s ass cheeks and spread them apart. I drop a warm splash of saliva against his exposed hole, and Mark shivers violently. It’s all the lube he’s going to get, I think. As I straighten, I reach between the boy’s legs and grab the humbler for balance before pressing the head of my cock against the boy’s quivering hole. Mark has gone entirely still, entirely silent. My body moves of its own volition, and I begin to press my hips forward, breaching the boy. I realize that I’m holding my breath, and when I exhale, it feels like the world exhales with me. With a smooth, fluid movement, I drive my cock deeper into the boy’s deliciously tight hole. I grind my clit hard against the resistance it provides, and this time I can’t help but moan with pleasure. My hips cant back, and I slowly draw out before driving back in, watching my purple cock disappear inch by wicked inch. Mark is making stunted, breathy sounds punctuated by stuttered groans when the head of my cock drags against his prostate.

My pace begins to quicken. I grab Mark by his hips and begin to drive into him in earnest. The bench begins to screech forward across the floor with the force. A cool hand reaches over my shoulder and runs down my heated chest, dipping below my bra line and cupping my right breast. I sigh as soft fingers begin to tweak my nipple carefully, and I lean back against Valkyrie’s frame.

“Let me face fuck him again,” she breathes into my ear, arousal making her voice rough.

I can’t even fully process the request, my mind too far gone. As the hand withdraws from my shirt, I huff at the loss of contact. I’m promptly distracted by the wrecked whimpering of the trapped boy beneath me. I realize he’s saying something, whispering the same words over and over again.

Thank you, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress . . .

I hoist my leg up and brace it against the bench so I can get better leverage and pick a punishing pace. With the new angle, I can grind myself against the base of the dildo in earnest, and the relief nearly makes me scream. When Valkyrie rounds on the boy and shoves her cock into his unprepared, sobbing mouth, I think that I won’t be able to last much longer. Reality is getting hazy at the edges; it pulsates all around me, keeping time with my racing heart. Coherent thought barely seems possible. I readjust my angle, moving my foot even higher, and when I do, the sounds that the boy begins to make around Valkyrie’s cock almost undo me.

The boy bounces between our cocks, no semblance of control left. I lean forward to grab his shoulders, and I use my entire body to drive as deep into his body as I can. The muffled keening the boy makes continues to push me closer and closer to the edge. My nails dig so hard into his flesh that I’m certain I must be drawing blood. I chase my orgasm desperately.

Time slips, speeding up and slowing down of its own accord. I’m so close, so incredibly close. My body tightens for an impossibly long moment, and then I’m coming, cascading over the edge. I might be shouting, but if I am, I can’t tell. The only sound I can hear is a high-pitched whining as my body quivers and gushes around my underwear and my harness. For a moment, the world stops turning and I am suspended here, a deep, primal satisfaction rushing through my being. With a final shudder, I collapse forward as reality slams back around me.

Body loose and exhausted, I shift upright and pull out. A high-pitched whine still screeches in my ears. I feel light, weightless. I reach down for the plug I had taken from my armoire and immediately slide it into Mark’s gaping hole in case I decide to use him later. I stumble on heavy feet toward Valkyrie, kissing her on her blood-red lips and caressing her sides. She kisses me back and grins. With my hand, I steady her hips, and we both look down at Mark.

Mouth stuffed with cock, he strains futilely against his bonds, succeeding only in digging the rope deeper into his bruised flesh.

“Have you learned your lesson today, boy?” I ask.

Mark tries to nod, stilted by the cock down his throat and the rope against his eyes.

“Remind us what you are,” Valkyrie demands.

He hesitates a moment, but eventually Mark attempts to speak around the black cock in his mouth. 

“Cuuk huggy, wi-ing, su-ee se a hoes,” Mark recites.

Satisfied, Valkyrie pulls her cock free.

“Good boy,” she praises. Then, looking around at the other houseboys, she grins wickedly. “Who’s next?”

Valkyrie, never satisfied, moves to chase down her next victim. I get to work untying Mark. As I free him, I rub his joints to encourage blood flow to his purple extremities. He’s pliant and loose limbed, nearly collapsing off the bench once he’s freed.  I catch him and guide him to the floor. When he looks at me, his face warped with rope marks, I can tell just how far gone he really is. His mouth hangs open, and his eyelids droop downward. I crouch down in front of him, brushing sweat-soaked locks from his face.

“You were a very good boy for me today, Mark,” I praise, voice low. “I can’t wait to tell your Mistress how much fun we had with you.”

“Thank you, Headmistress,” he slurs, eyes unfocused as he glances at me.

“But you did make a mistake, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Headmistress.”

“What was your mistake, Mark?” I press.

He seems to struggle with the question, memory recall no doubt difficult in sub space. Eventually, though, he nods a bit to himself and speaks.

“Thumb,” he says, “thumb on the tray, Headmistress.”

“Are you ever going to put a thumb on a tray again?” I ask, a little more harshly.

“No, Headmistress,” Mark pants in reply. “I promise.”

I take a deep breath and regard the boy. His skin is flushed, body bruised, hole plugged, limbs crisscrossed with deep rope marks. Ridden hard and put away wet.

“Well,” I say, “let’s make sure that lesson sticks, shall we?” I stand up again. “A little time alone to think about your mistakes should do the trick.” I incline my head at the low cage in the corner.

Without a second thought, Mark tips forward onto his hands and knees and begins to crawl toward the cage, humbler still preventing him from fully standing up. I stop him just before the mouth of the cage and crouch down again.

“I’d hate to damage another Mistress’s property,” I muse as I begin to loosen the humbler.

Of course, my intentions aren’t as stated at all. Instead, I enjoy watching the agony on the poor boy’s face as the blood begins to return to his abused testicles. He hisses in pain, folding in on himself as he tries to deal with the torment. I take the opportunity to jab my finger against the base of the plug buried in his ass. Mark spasms and cries out again, oversensitized and overstimulated.

“Stay loose for me,” I direct. “I might want to have fun with you later. Your Mistress doesn’t pick you up until nine tonight.”

“Yes, Headmistress,” he pants.

“Get inside,” I direct, my patience for his bruised balls running out.

Gingerly, Mark rights himself and crawls inside the cage. He collapses onto his side immediately and curls up in the fetal position. I smile as I close the door of the cage.

“Thank you, Headmistress,” Mark says faintly, closing his eyes.

The padlock locks with a click, and I turn away from the boy without another thought. 



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