Pet and Mistress Relaxing Sunday
This is part 5 of my “Pet” series. I should have named the chapters better but got carried away.
Part 1 is “Pet Needs Good Home.”
Part 2 is “Pet Has Good Home.”
Part 3 is “Pet and Friend at Home.”
Part 4 is “Pet and Mistress Sunday Morning.”
This is only 15 minutes after Part 4, about 10:00am
Feeling sexy, I saunter out of my bedroom with a sensuous rolling motion of my hips. I reflect that it is wonderful to own a slave. “How did I even manage without one before?” I wonder.
I take my time applying my makeup, even curl my hair, knowing that my slave is making my breakfast and I’m certain it will be perfect.
I chose to be comfortable while still maintaining a proper slave owner appearance. Besides my leather corset, I only wear a black satin robe, a tiny thong, and could not resist wearing my open toe sandals with four inch heels. They’re very comfy with straps over my insteps and around my ankles. Four inches is fine with me. Flats feel goofy and strange.
As I descend the stairs and turn to enter my dining room, I see my slave still turning and fluffing my omelet in a cast iron frying pan in the kitchen. Then I notice she is trembling and thrusting her hips at the counter.
I hear tiny clinking sounds and realize the vibrating egg that I shoved in her twat is rattling against her padlocked labia rings.
“Oops!” I think, “I left her vibrating egg on at 1/3rd speed.” Then I smile. I had not planned it but the chains from her nipple rings to her bracelets are too short for her to reach her crotch with her hands. “I bet she’d love her clit fingered about now,” I think and snicker a little. I mercifully turn the remote control down to its lowest setting.
My slave hears me and undoubtedly feels my change to the egg locked in her cunt. She glances over her shoulder at me, which is not easy with her ten collars. I impassively watch her slide the omelet onto a plate, pick up the coffee pot, and shuffle toward the dining room in the tiny steps that her ankle chain allows. I’m glad that I gave her more chain for her wrists. She would not have been able to carry a plate and coffee pot if her bracelets were chained close to her collars as I had them before.
There is already cutlery and a folded linen napkin at my place. She even found a little stainless steel cream cup that I forgot I had and partly filled it with my Half and Half. I am pleased she is so thorough. My slave places my plate on the table from my left as any proper waitress or slave should. Then she refills my coffee mug.
“Stop right there slave,” I command. “Squat a little. Spread your legs.” This is not easy for her since her ankles are closely chained but she squats obediently bowing her knees out as far as she can.
“I want to flavor my omelet,” I announce rather mysteriously as I pick up the plate and wedge it between her thighs just under her pussy. She obeys even if she has no idea what I have in mind. Despite being gagged, I can see a quizzical look on her face, mainly arched eyebrows and slightly furrowed brow.
I turn the remote control to full speed and place it on the table. With my other hand I grip her clit between my thumb and forefinger. I start to pinch, massage, and twist her clit.
Her eyes widen. Her bosom heaves. She quivers. She gasps around her gag. It’s not easy to hold a plate of eggs under her cunt as she cums and cums all over my breakfast.
“Gee,” I think, “that must have been four shot glasses of cum. I guess padlocking her labia lips together won’t stop that sort of thing.”
I pull my plate back and place it on the table. I casually turn the vibrator off. As an afterthought, I wipe her pussy with the napkin so she doesn’t drip on my carpet.
“Kneel slave,” I order absentmindedly, “I’ll feed you later.”
My slave unsteadily folds to her knees close to me, still breathing heavily.
I dig into my breakfast which is the most fabulous omelet I ever enjoyed…. fluffy eggs… cheddar cheese… diced ham… drenched with slave girl juice. I wish I had ordered toast to sop up the juices.
After I finish my delightful breakfast, all I have to do is point and she jumps to her feet to clear the table. My slave scurries to the kitchen carrying everything at once which amazes me. “She loves to live in chains,” I reflect, “and does it beautifully.”
Pushing away from the table I wonder how to proceed with my Sunday. “Hmmm…” I think, “I usually go grocery shopping for the week. My slave certainly can not do that! I’d do a few loads of laundry but she can do that as long as I give her enough chain. I love to goof around or shop online. I might call friends. How do I manage a slave and get everything done?”
As my slave works rather noisily in the kitchen, wiping counters, rinsing dishes before putting them in the dish washer, and so on, I walk I and grab her arm.
“Stop slave,” I command. She freezes.
Using the tiny key for her little padlocks, I unlock and remove poker oyna her gag. Unceremoniously, I unlock the three padlocks on her labia lip rings. The vibrating egg ploops out into my hand.
“Put that in the dish washer too slave,” I order casually.
Reaching into the cabinet under the sink, I pick up the big bag of dog food. I turn and fill her bowl which is on the floor. I also pick up her water bowl and fill it with tap water.
Being practical, I had left her chain around the post in the kitchen wall. I bend down and padlock about five feet of it to her lowest left anklet. She can no longer reach the cabinets or refrigerator.
“I permit you to feed slave,” a announce plainly.
“Thank You my Mistress,” she whispers sensuously, “Your slave is grateful.”
Then I stroll into my living room trying to look in control while wondering what in the world do I do with a bondage sex addict all day Sunday.”
I smile. I turn on all the flat screen TVs in all the rooms. I set them to stream lesbian bondage HD videos from a website where I happen to have a premium membership. I lock the setting with a password to that setting. I skip upstairs to dress, happy with my plans.
The weather has been miserable. It has rained almost all the time every day for weeks. However this is a lovely reason to wear latex and PVC! Some of my outfits are expensive. Others are cheap costumes but still look fabulous.
I slip off my satin robe, unstrap my open toe sandals and kick them into my closet. I pull out a lovely black latex dress with lots of buckles that was only $19.38 online, no tax, no shipping charges. It’s a sleeveless mini with a high Mandarin collar, cheesy laces like a corset and crappy tin buckles, but the styling is not bad at all. I slip on some patent leather Oxford pumps over short nylon socks. I find a wide brimmed floppy hat that I bought on a lark once, just black PVC. Topping off the outfit with a black PVC rain coat, I’m ready to go out in the pouring rain. As I check my look in my full length mirror, I grin understanding why my neighbors and their children never seem to be outside when I walk to my car. I look like a very modest, fully clothed fetish queen all in shiny black.
Walking down the stairs, through my living room, I approach my kitchen. My slave must have finished her dog food and water. She kneels up sensuously, sitting on her heels, breasts thrust out.
“How may Your slave serve You my Mistress?” she whispers seductively.
I say nothing but walk into the kitchen and unlock the chain from her anklet, leaving the chain for future use. Not bothering with a leash, I grab the chains from her nipple rings to her bracelets and tug her to her feet.
“UP slave, COME!” I command and drag her rather painfully up the stairs to the play room, technically her room. Following me is difficult for her. The one foot of chain padlocked between her anklets is just barely enough so she can climb stairs if she’s careful, and I’m pulling her by her nipple rings.
I lead her to my custom made sybian. Removing the chain between her anklets, I force her to straddle my favorite toy. She closes her eyes and settles onto the two dildos that are in their two inch retracted positions. I’m glad I had them coated with cheap spray Teflon designed for frying pans. No lube needed.
Since her wrists are still chained to her nipple rings, I look around for a way to restrain her ankles. I decide to chain her anklets to rings in the floor several feet away. Unfortunately for her, that means I pull both of her legs far apart, forcing her to rest all of her weight on the saddle of my sybian and the two dildos.
Seeing me pick up a ball gag, she obediently opens her mouth wide. “Damn! She’s such a total slave!” I think as I shove the gag behind her teeth, buckle and padlock the strap behind her head.
Pulling my phone from the pocket of my rain coat, I open the ap that controls my toy. I set the rectal dildo to stroke only every four seconds which means each of the inch thick bumps stretch her asshole every second. I set the clit vibrator to it’s lowest setting, only a slight tingle. I have to fuss with the vagina dildo to make it stroke only once every twenty seconds, terribly slow.
I program those settings to apply for three minutes. Then everything doubles in intensity for three minutes, then doubles again for another three minutes, and then everything goes to full throttle for two minutes. To keep her from going insane, everything stops for five minutes before the program starts again.
I extend the two dildos three inches inside her and start the program. It will continue looping endlessly until I choose to turn it off. Her hands flail around as if to reach down to her sex but of course her chains are too short. She squeals a little as she accidentally yanks her own nipple rings.
“I’m going shopping. I might be back in an hour or two. I give you permission to orgasm. In fact, you could not possibly avoid quite a few,” I announce canlı poker oyna as I also turn on the nanny cameras in this room so I can watch her from my phone if I want.
Her eyes dilate. Her breasts rise and fall. There’s no place she can rest her hands so she starts to caress her own boobs and finger her nipple rings. I enjoy watching my slave and this is only the slow arousal stage. I also hope the bondage sex on the flat screen in this room inspires her. At the moment a shackled girl in a tiny cage is begging to be let out of the cage to lick the imperious Mistress standing nearby. I think this is appropriate entertainment and instruction for my slave and turn up the sound a little.
I turn and leave her room, descend the stairs, pick up my purse, and leave to go shopping.
It takes longer than I planned. I usually just get simple meals but now I have a slave to cook for me. I went to a nearby farm and took my time selecting fresh vegetables. In the supermarket, I avoided the frozen lasagna I usually buy and chose ingredients so my slave could make homemade spaghetti sauce for me. I spent a lot of time at the deli selecting cheeses. The wine shop took some time too. Besides, I paused in parking lots to watch my slave on my phone every time I parked. The resolution of my cameras is quite good. I could see sweat glistening on her body, saliva dripping from her gag, lots of trembling and squirming. Now I wish I had not worn a black satin thong. I’m soaked just watching my slave.
The antique clock in my dining room chimes 2:00pm as I walk into my home with huge bags of groceries. I put the perishables in the refrigerator and think I should see how slave is doing after three hours on my toy. Still, I go to my bedroom first to take off my floppy hat and raincoat. I also realize that I should get her bowls of food and water to take upstairs.
Casually sauntering into my slave’s room, I place the food and water bowls on the floor and pause at the door to observe her. She is soaked in sweat, trembling, lurching, apparently in the most intense part of the program with everything at full throttle. Her eyes are wide. She holds her hands palms up toward me as if pleading. I can hear the piston-like dildos thumping, the clit vibrator screaming even though they are buried under her body. I watch her nipple and nose rings bounce up and down, the chains from her nipples to her wrists vibrate almost like a wave.
After about a minute, she slumps a little, her head bowed as much as her collars permit. It must be the phase of the program when everything is turned off. I use the remote control in the room to stop the program completely and withdraw the dildos. She whimpers, gasping around her ball gag.
“Slave,” I state calmly, “I promise you as many orgasms as a woman can tolerate and then some. Nod your head if you submit to this.” She nods her head up and down weakly.
Picking up a foot of chain from the supplies in her room, I unlock her bracelets from the light chain to her nipple rings, and using the big padlocks I lock her wrists close to her collar as usual. Just for fun, I unlock the tiny padlocks and connect her two nipple rings with one light chain. “Pretty,” I decide and play with it for a moment.
Leaning down, I unlock the padlock on her right anklet, leaving her left ankle still chained to a ring in the floor.
“UP slave, dismount the saddle,” I command. She struggles to obey which is difficult with one ankle still pulled far to her left and unable to use her hands to help herself up. I stand with my fists on my hips, legs spread, not assisting in any way.
Stepping behind her, I unlock and remove her gag.
“Kneel! Thank me!” I demand.
My slave crawls to my feet, kisses and licks my shoes. “Thank You my Mistress, thank You,” she murmurs between kisses. I just stare down at her sternly.
“You may drink and eat if you wish,” I offer rather kindly.
She crawls toward her bowls dragging her ankle chain behind her.
The bowls are two feet too far away. I laugh. She whimpers. She wants a drink of water badly. I pause for a count of ten for effect, snickering.
Then I push the bowls to her and leave the room.
“She has food and water,” I think as I walk to my living room, “The video stream will amuse her. I’ll clean her later before she makes my dinner.”
I forgot that there are groceries to put away. I curse silently wishing I had chosen to have my slave do this. I put tomatoes and lettuce in the crisper, jars and boxes in the cabinets.
Then I go to my laptop to check emails, shop, and goof around online as usual. I get an idea.
I set up my computer with two users. One is me, full rights, administrator. I use my photo as an icon and make the password “Sapph0Aieiw”… Aieiw being the first letters of words of the first line of Sappho’s “Ode to Aphrodite” from the English translation. “Aphrodite, immortal, enthroned in wonder” is easy for me to remember.
The other user I set up for my internet casino slave. I use her photo from the website as an icon. I make the password “OBEY&SERVE.” That should be easy for her to remember. That user has no rights to do anything at all.
I limit my slave to ONLY be able to access the websites that I choose. This takes time. I add websites that I permit as safe and block everything else. I let her have the website where I learned about her and add a dozen lesbian bondage websites plus quite a few for sex toys. She has a premium account at Bondxxx.com so she can contact previous owners and use that for emails. I’ll permit her to use this laptop during the week when I’m at work
Checking my email, I’m suprized there are so many. Since I took a slave yesterday I have not used my laptop at all. I’ve been too busy.
Lyle and Vera, my slave’s last owners, ask how I’m enjoying her. They also explain that they told her lawyer, CPA, Doctor, and Dentist about me and I should expect to be contacted by them. There are also the email addresses of her previous owners. “Whoa!” I think, “This is complex!” I notice that her Dentist is her first owner and I’ll have to take her to New Jersey occasionally, a two hour drive each way. I sigh.
I reply to Lyle and Vera that she’s fabulous and briefly describe the dozens of orgasms I forced her to endure. After all, that was why I was selected as her new owner. I also assure them that she has been constantly chained as she needs.
Then there’s the email from her CPA. This includes her bank account number, information about health insurance, social security, taxes, investments, etc. My eyes widen realizing that owning a slave is similar to being resonsible for a child except mine is worth over five million dollars.
Her Doctor and Dentist both mentioned she needs appoinments in the next several months. “Good heavens!” I think becoming overwhelmed but reply asking when is best.
Her lawyer simply wanted to verify my address. At least that’s easy. But I still went to his website to reply. It looks legitimate. It was listed in Yelp and other business listing websites. My antivirus software showed the website as safe. I gave my address and phone number.
“OK,” I think “Owning this slave is work! But she has great friends and plenty of support,” I reflect. “Now to just relax a little.”
I decide to shop for more bondage gear. It seems that I will need a LOT! I idly search for manacles but realize that she doesn’t need them with all the steel already on her. I find myself looking at chastity belts. Just doodling around, I also check a local website that has flyers that arrive in your mailbox like junk mail but also has free ads for anything online.It’s great for used tires, lawn services, antiques, and swing sets for your childern.
Much to my amazement, I find an ad for a Tollyboy female belt. It is not listed as a chastity belt. You have to know what “Tollyboy female belt” means or the ad is meaningless. Being from counties near me, there is an actual phone number, just like someone selling car parts or flower pots. I call without hesitation.
A soft female voice answers.There is no point in mincing words so I come right to the point. I introduce myself as Valerie and ask about the chastity belt. Her reply brings a tear to my eye. Her husband died a year ago. The belt was an important part of their love and play. It is heartbreaking for her to have it around the house. It rips her apart to consider parting with it. She could not simply throw it in the trash and she hopes someone else can enjoy it as she and her husband did. I go silent for a moment feeling the deep emotions on the other end of the phone. Her name is Marcie.
I don’t want to be a fool and collect my thoughts. The ad had no price, only “best offer.”
“What condition is it in? How old is it? Is it adjustable? What size is it?” I ask avoiding the price question for now.
“Oh! It’s perfect. It is thirty-five years old, bought in 1983 but steel does not wear out Valerie. It includes thigh straps and a chastity bra too. All of the locks work. There are two keys. The rubber linings are still on the parts that touch your body. It’s very adjustable and I’m fairly sure it will fit a woman from size 4 to 10,” she answers and sounds sincere. I like her reply.
Still avoiding any mention of price I ask, “What size are the bra cups?”
“They were listed as D cup, for looks I’m sure,” she answers and I can sense her smile through the phone as if D cups are outrageous.
“It’s time to negotiate,” I decide.
“Thanks for your time Marcie but that just won’t do,” I state as dryly as I can. “My slave has G cup breasts. I was going to offer you $50 but I just don’t think this will work.”
I smile hearing silence on the phone but imagine her digesting “slave” and “G cup.” Besides, her classic belt must be worth at least $200.
“Wait Valerie,” she says rather anxiously which is what I hoped for. “You should be able to buy a new bra. Tollyboy is still in business. G cup you say? Are you sure?” she queries.
“Yep,” I reply, “G cup, like cantaloupes. I want my slave fully covered and locked down. I believe you understand.”