milagros317
Wielder of 500 Feathers
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This is an F/m story, which contains tickle-torture, spanking, and foot worship. If that is not to your taste, don't read it. The two characters in this story are over 21 years old.
The Session
by Milagros
I am naked, on my hands and knees, waiting for my Mistress to enter the room. I am nervous in anticipation. I hear approaching footsteps. The door opens, and I keep my gaze downward at the floor as Mistress Zara enters the room.
I can see her lovely feet in platform sandals, the nails painted in a glossy polish, the color of cabernet sauvignon. She addresses me firmly.
"Eyes closed, slave. Stand."
I obey. She takes me by the hand, and leads me to the bondage table.
"Lie down. Arms overhead."
I obey. She puts padded leather cuffs on my wrists, and attaches them to rings at one end of table, above my head. As her flowing red hair brushes my eyelids, they flicker.
"I told you to keep your eyes closed! Now I'll have to blindfold you. And that adds 50 spanks to your punishment, later."
She applies a full blindfold, strapping it around my head. She puts a small pillow under my head, and begins tying a rope around my left arm, just below the elbow. The rope is tied off to a ring on the side of the bondage table. My right arm gets the same treatment.
She pokes her fingers into my armpits for just a few seconds, and I shriek in surprise. Usually she waits until I am completely bound before any tickling.
"Just wanted to make sure you don't fall asleep, slave."
She moves to the foot of the bondage table, and fastens thick leather cuffs, padded with fake fur, around my ankles. The cuffs are, one at a time, pulled outward, stretching my legs wide apart, and they are attached to rings at the bottom corners of the table. Ropes now go around each of my legs, just above the knees, and are tied off to rings on the sided of the table.
"Feeling helpless yet?"
"Yes, Mistress, very helpless. As I should be."
But she is not done immobilizing me yet. I feel twine being tied around each of my big toes, and the twine is tied to D-rings in the ankle cuffs. More twine is wrapped around the other toes, and they, too, are bent back and tied to the ankle cuffs. She begins with a soft brush, intended to be used for basting.
Mistress Zara strokes my arches with the brush, and this is enough to make me squirm, but not laugh out loud. She switches to a toothbrush, and now I begin to giggle. She drops the toothbrush, I can hear it hit the floor, as she now digs her fingernails into the balls of my feet. This makes me laugh and laugh. I can't control my squirming, but the bonds are strong, and my movement is just enough to amuse my Mistress, not enough to get my feet away from her.
She keeps up the scrabbling of her nails, and it is driving me crazy. She knows the best spot, the most sensitive spot on my feet, is towards the top of the ball, near the base of the middle toes. One hand holds my foot steady as the other digs in, and just when one foot is getting accustomed to the sensation, she switches to the other foot.
After about five minutes of this, I am gasping for air, and gurgling. She taunts me as she continues.
"Such a ticklish little baby! And there's nothing you can do--nothing at all. You can't get away from me, and you can't make me stop. I've hardly begun. You're in for a long session, very long. Maybe several hours, if it pleases me, if it amuses me. Tickle, tickle, tickle. And now I'll start on your delicious toes."
She begins scratching the pads of my toes with her nails. This lets me breathe a little more easily, but keeps me laughing. My toes are wriggling too much to suit her, and she grabs all five strands of twine with one hand, further reducing their range of motion, as she continues tickling with her other hand.
Finally, she decides that I've had enough on my feet. She lightly tickles my calves with a toothbrush, and this is a much needed rest for me; it only makes me giggle. I shriek with laughter again when she moves up to my knees. The toothbrush on the hollow behind my knee is making me insane again. The ropes tighten as I try to lift away from her attentions. I am able to rise maybe half an inch, but this is a mistake, a bad mistake.
"Trying to get away? That will add fifty more spanks to your punishment later."
I collapse the half inch back to the table, and surrender to the tickling. She continues tormenting the flesh behind my knees for a minute of two, and then moves up to the thighs. This both tickles and arouses; I soon have a large erection.
"So, you're enjoying this. I'll have to take your mind off that," she says, giving my member one stroke with the toothbrush, "so that you don't enjoy it too much."
I can hear her kick off her sandals. She climbs onto the table. She is sitting between my thighs, and begins the assault on my ribs. She digs into my ribs with her thumbs on both sides. I am shrieking now, howling with laughter. She taunts me again.
"So ticklish on the ribs, are you? You do know that what comes next is worse, so enjoy this while it lasts. Tickle, tickle, tickle. I keep forgetting how many ribs you have. I'm just going to have to count them."
For the next twenty minutes, she gleefully counts my ribs, from the bottom up, then from the top down, then from the bottom up again. By the time she has done the first count, I am unable to laugh out loud any longer. My diaphragm aches from laughing so much, I have no strength to struggle, and I just lie there, quivering and trying to get some air. I am jelly in her hands. She has total and absolute power over me, and we both know it.
Finally, she is done with the third count. She can see that I am desparate for a break.
"I'll save the worst for last. Now let's see if there are any insects in the room."
I know this means that she has picked up an artist's brush, meant to be used for watercolor painting. She begins to brush inside my ear, while making buzzing noises. Then she resumes taunting.
"There's a fly crawling in your ear. Too bad you're tied up, and can't get away from it. Ooh, now it's going down onto your neck, up to your nose, in your nostril, on your moustache. Now there's a caterpillar, too."
It feels like a Q-tip in my nostril, along with the brush on my upper lip. The light tickling on my face and neck is giving me a chance to get my breath back. Unfortunately, she decides to end my break. Now come the worst.
"Well, the insects are gone. So I can turn my full attention to your most sensitive area, slave."
She moves up on the table, now straddling my waist, keeping most of her weight on her own legs, but just enough on my belly so that I feel more helpless than before. Without warning, toothbrushes attack both of my armpits.
I shriek, I howl, I pound my head on the pillow. I strain at the cuffs. I does no good. She has found the perfect spots in each armpit, and she is scrubbing and poking with the toothbrushes. I am in tickle hell, I am beyond insanity. It is unbearable, but it goes on, and on, and on.
"There will be no mercy for you, slave. No mercy today. No safe word. I've only just begun to tickle your pits. Tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle. Just begun."
I am again in the jelly state, just a mass of ticklish flesh, quivering under Mistress Zara's touch, her possession, her tickle-toy, her property. She pulls off my blindfold, and stares directly into my eyes. She resumes the merciless tickling, as her flowing hair brushes my face, and stares deep into my eyes as she exults.
"Totally helpless, and all mine. My living tickle-toy. Mine to tickle forever."
Just when I think that I might pass out, she stops. She gets off the table. She begins to untie the rope on my right arm, but then stops and re-ties it.
"How could I forget dessert?"
She moves to the head of the table, and digs her nails into my collarbone. I am extremely ticklish on the collarbones, and I laugh and laugh again, my diaphragm aching.
The epilogue on my collarbones lasts about ten minutes, until I am out of breath again, and just a mass of quivering jelly in her hands. Finally, she stops, and really does untie me. She removes the ropes, but leaves the ankle and wrist cuffs on. I resume my position on the floor, on my hands and knees, awaiting her next order.
"What do you have to say, slave?"
"Thank you ever so much for giving me a wonderful tickling, Mistress."
"And what else?"
"I know that I deserve a spanking, Mistress."
"Correct. You are very good at giving me the right answers. Now get over to the punishment horse."
I obey. The sturdy horse has four legs, which slant upward to a padded top. From the side, it looks like the letter 'A', with horizontal boards reinforcing the device.
"Bend over it, and stand still."
I obey. My belly is pressed into the padded, leather-covered top of the horse. My feet are on the ground near its front legs. She locks my ankle cuffs to rings set in those legs. She attaches ropes to my wrist cuffs, and ties them off to rings on the back legs of the horse. My naked butt is sticking up.
"Not going anywhere, are you?"
"No, Mistress, I'm qute well secured."
Mistress Zara consults an index card with a previous offense written on it, and smiles. I am required to list all of my offenses for her review, so that she may punish me for them.
"So, then, you dreamed of licking Lucy Liu's soles again. You never should have watched 'Charlie's Angels.' That will get you 600 spanks. And the 100 extra for you poor behavior during this session makes 700. Let me see, now, what implement should I use?"
I know better than to answer this rhetorical question. I am always given additional punishment for daring to suggest to her what she should do to me.
"I can't decide, so I'll use four. 175 with each. First, my hand, just to warm you up. Count each twenty."
She begins to smack my bottom, alternating cheeks, only medium hard. She has often told me that she loves the sound that her palm makes as it firmly smacks into me.
"Twenty."
"Forty."
"Sixty."
She ceases alternating, becoming unpredictable. Sometimes she smacks one cheek five or ten times in a row, until it stings very badly. Sometimes she smacks my upper thighs, which hurts much more than on the backside.
"Eighty."
"One hundred."
"Your cheeks are finally warming up. They're quite pink. But that's not good enough."
She never stops the spanking as she taunts me.
"Three more implements after this round. And they're all harder..."
"One twenty."
"... than my hand."
Her orders to count for her override the prohibition of never interrupting. In a previous session, I learned this the hard way, when she started from the beginning because I didn't keep an accurate and timely count.
"One forty."
Both cheeks really hurt now, and it doesn't matter if she alternates or not. Each blow stings badly.
"One sixty."
"One hundred and seventy-five!"
She continues for two or three extra spanks. "Don't sound so happy that one round is over. I'm allowed to add extras."
She walks over to the couch, where various implements are laid out. She holds the wooden spatula in front of my face. I bought it at the supermarket last year, and presented it to her with 'Mistress Zara' written on it in gold lettering that I got from a stationery store.
"Kiss it."
I kiss the spatula. She goes behind me, and begins a rapid-fire spanking with it.
"Twenty."
"Owe! Oh!"
"Is that a number? What number is 'Owe! Oh!'?"
Her mimicry is skilled. She perfectly imitates my voice and inflection.
"Not a number, Mistress. An involuntary tribute to you skill in spanking me. Forty."
She is smiling, and spanks more softly for a while, until I get to 160. The last fifteen are powerful, and hurt much more than I like.
"Owe, agghhhh, OWE! One seventy-five."
She gives just one extra spank. "Your bottom is bright red now. What do you have to say?"
"That is just as it should be, Mistress."
"It seems that you need a break from spanking." She comes close to me, and digs into my ribs, tickling me without mercy. As I shriek and struggle, she adds, "But I don't want you to fall asleep during your break."
As I laugh and laugh, the pain in my buttocks fades. By the time she is done tormenting my ribs, it is only a dull ache. She is such a smart Mistress, she knows my limits so well.
"Next is the slammer. Now count by fifties. I'm tired of hearing you talk so much."
'The Slammer' is actually an oversize ping-pong paddle, which does carry that label. It is not as bad as the wooden spatula, because it is padded. It still hurts plenty. It is not too long before I am moaing out loud again.
"Owe, oh, ow, ow, fifty."
A few smacks on the thighs have me yelling.
"OWWW!"
"That really gets to you, doesn't it?"
She goes back to the buttocks, and more softly now, giving me a break.
"One hundred."
She goes back to normal strength smacks, and I don't know if I'll be able to survive all four implements.
"One fifty."
"Your bottom is really red again, bright red. That will teach you not to dream of licking another woman's feet."
"One seventy-five."
She gives one extra spank, just to remind me that she is the boss. Then she puts the slammer back, and picks up what we call the thick wood. It was actually meant to be a board on which cheese is cut. It serves perfectly as a spanking paddle, and it is my most feared implement. If Mistress Zara ever used her full strength with the thick wood, I would be really injured.
"Do you think you can finish your punishment, slave?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Kiss it."
I kiss the thick wood. She begins. Absent new instructions, I will count by fifties. She uses medium force, and mercifully alternates cheeks.
"Fifty."
She begins to hit a little harder. The pain is now worse than before my break. I don't know if I will make it to 175.
"Ow, OW, OH, OWWW!"
"No pity for you, slave. Don't bother with the safe word, I'm going to finish." But she does ease up a bit.
"One hundred."
One smack on the thigh gets a loud yell from me. Then she goes back to the cheeks.
"One fifty."
She picks up the pace a little, and I am yelling again.
"Oh, ow, OWW!"
She must be counting herself, because there is a slight pause after 155, after 160, and after 165. The last ten are then hard, almost unbearable. If not firmly attached to the horse, I couldn't keep still for them.
"OWWWW! ARGHHH!! One seventy-five."
She gives two extra, one on each cheek. She folds her arms.
"You made it. I didn't think you would. So, now I can do this."
She tears the card on which I had written the offense in half, and tosses it into the trash can. She unties me from the horse, and takes off the cuffs, too.
"You may rub."
In the past, I have gotten 100 extra spanks for rubbing my bottom before being given permission.
"Thank you, Mistress." I rub, and it soothes me.
"Now lie down on the rug, hands behind your head."
I obey. The rug is in front of the couch, and she sits on the couch, looking down at me. She plants her bare feet firmly on my chest, and presses down.
"How does the rug feel against your bottom?"
"It definitely stings, Mistress."
"Good, I don't want you to forget that you were punished. Now, keep your mouth shut, and your tongue inside. Don't move at all."
She shifts her position on the couch, so that her feet can comfortably be placed on my face. Her lovely bare feet, size 6-1/2, with high arches, cute toes, and creamy pink soles. One is placed on my forehead, then right above my eyes, which I keep open, staring at the perfect sole. With the other foot, she rubs my beard, then my nose, then my beard again. I stare at her gorgeous sole, mesmerized, for minutes.
"I just had a pedicure yesterday. So they're nice and soft. So soft. So close. You can see them, you want them, but you're not allowed to move. Not allowed to kiss. Not allowed to lick. I do have a treat for you, though."
She withdraws her feet, and reaches into her bag of toys. She holds up a dirty white gym sock, stained with sweat on the bottom, and soiled with grime in the shape of her footprint.
"It's one of the socks that I wore on my morning jog, five miles, and I saved it for you, in a plastic bag. Open your mouth."
I obey. She crams the filthy sole of the sock into my mouth, and keeps shoving until only the part that covered her ankle and calf is protrouding.
"Keep it in. I'll be very upset if it slips out. And don't move, I want the other one to stay put." She places the mate to this sock over my nose, just lying there, so that every breath that I take is through the stinky sock over my nostrils.
I can't even nod in agreement; this might dislodge the second sock. She goes back to sitting with both feet on my chest, with medium pressure. She takes out a magazine, and reads, while I enjoy the taste and smell of the sweat from her sacred feet.
After about five minutes, she tosses the magazine aside. "Open."
I obey. I open my mouth, and she takes away both socks. "Bring the dice, and kneel."
I bring her the small box with four dice in it, and take a position kneeling on the rug near her feet.
"Now it's time to determine your fate. Close your eyes."
I obey. I hear dice rolling on the floor. "Open."
Her hands are now covering the two dice that she has tossed. "Pick."
I choose her right hand. She laughs. She removes it, exposing a '2' on the die below. She laughs again. "See what you could have gotten."
Her left hand now moves, to reveal a '6,' and I groan. "Twice. And make sure that you think of me, and only of me."
This means that, between this time and our next session, in two weeks, I will be permitted to masturbate only twice. It will be tough, but I will take cold showers when I need to. It would not do to cheat; the punishment is too great. And I could never lie to my beloved Mistress.
"Any requests, slave?"
She knows what I want, but I must beg for it. "I most humbly beg for permission to lick your soles, Mistress."
"I'm not sure. I don't think that you were well-behaved enough."
"Please, please, please, most kind Mistress, please allow me to lick your sacred soles. I beg most humbly."
She relents. "You may toss three dice."
I pick up three of the dice, and toss them to the floor. They read 5, 2, and 4. About average.
"You may lick. Eleven times on each sole."
I make my licks of maximum length, from the back of her heel to the tips of her toes, along the sole, with my tongue fully extended. I know, without being told, to count them individually, and thank her for each one. Like this:
"One. Thank you, Mistress."
"Two. Thank you, Mistress."
And when the left foot is done:
"Eleven. Thank you ever so much, Mistress."
And when both feet are done:
"Eleven. Thank you ever so much, Mistress. I am most grateful that I am allowed to lick your sacred feet."
"You'd better be grateful. You look as if you're going to use up one of your two permissions as soon as you get home." She laughs at me.
"Now for your homework. Ten times this." She tosses all four dice. They come up 5, 1, 6, 5. A bit unlucky.
"You will write for me, 170 times, 'I worship you, and only you, Mistress Zara.' You will write neatly, in ink, and I will not tolerate any mistakes, any crossing out, or the use of white-out."
"Yes, Mistress."
The session is done, and it is time for me to dress and go home. I am so grateful to her, the most beautiful, most intelligent, most wonderful, and most beloved Mistress Zara.
The End
The Session
by Milagros
I am naked, on my hands and knees, waiting for my Mistress to enter the room. I am nervous in anticipation. I hear approaching footsteps. The door opens, and I keep my gaze downward at the floor as Mistress Zara enters the room.
I can see her lovely feet in platform sandals, the nails painted in a glossy polish, the color of cabernet sauvignon. She addresses me firmly.
"Eyes closed, slave. Stand."
I obey. She takes me by the hand, and leads me to the bondage table.
"Lie down. Arms overhead."
I obey. She puts padded leather cuffs on my wrists, and attaches them to rings at one end of table, above my head. As her flowing red hair brushes my eyelids, they flicker.
"I told you to keep your eyes closed! Now I'll have to blindfold you. And that adds 50 spanks to your punishment, later."
She applies a full blindfold, strapping it around my head. She puts a small pillow under my head, and begins tying a rope around my left arm, just below the elbow. The rope is tied off to a ring on the side of the bondage table. My right arm gets the same treatment.
She pokes her fingers into my armpits for just a few seconds, and I shriek in surprise. Usually she waits until I am completely bound before any tickling.
"Just wanted to make sure you don't fall asleep, slave."
She moves to the foot of the bondage table, and fastens thick leather cuffs, padded with fake fur, around my ankles. The cuffs are, one at a time, pulled outward, stretching my legs wide apart, and they are attached to rings at the bottom corners of the table. Ropes now go around each of my legs, just above the knees, and are tied off to rings on the sided of the table.
"Feeling helpless yet?"
"Yes, Mistress, very helpless. As I should be."
But she is not done immobilizing me yet. I feel twine being tied around each of my big toes, and the twine is tied to D-rings in the ankle cuffs. More twine is wrapped around the other toes, and they, too, are bent back and tied to the ankle cuffs. She begins with a soft brush, intended to be used for basting.
Mistress Zara strokes my arches with the brush, and this is enough to make me squirm, but not laugh out loud. She switches to a toothbrush, and now I begin to giggle. She drops the toothbrush, I can hear it hit the floor, as she now digs her fingernails into the balls of my feet. This makes me laugh and laugh. I can't control my squirming, but the bonds are strong, and my movement is just enough to amuse my Mistress, not enough to get my feet away from her.
She keeps up the scrabbling of her nails, and it is driving me crazy. She knows the best spot, the most sensitive spot on my feet, is towards the top of the ball, near the base of the middle toes. One hand holds my foot steady as the other digs in, and just when one foot is getting accustomed to the sensation, she switches to the other foot.
After about five minutes of this, I am gasping for air, and gurgling. She taunts me as she continues.
"Such a ticklish little baby! And there's nothing you can do--nothing at all. You can't get away from me, and you can't make me stop. I've hardly begun. You're in for a long session, very long. Maybe several hours, if it pleases me, if it amuses me. Tickle, tickle, tickle. And now I'll start on your delicious toes."
She begins scratching the pads of my toes with her nails. This lets me breathe a little more easily, but keeps me laughing. My toes are wriggling too much to suit her, and she grabs all five strands of twine with one hand, further reducing their range of motion, as she continues tickling with her other hand.
Finally, she decides that I've had enough on my feet. She lightly tickles my calves with a toothbrush, and this is a much needed rest for me; it only makes me giggle. I shriek with laughter again when she moves up to my knees. The toothbrush on the hollow behind my knee is making me insane again. The ropes tighten as I try to lift away from her attentions. I am able to rise maybe half an inch, but this is a mistake, a bad mistake.
"Trying to get away? That will add fifty more spanks to your punishment later."
I collapse the half inch back to the table, and surrender to the tickling. She continues tormenting the flesh behind my knees for a minute of two, and then moves up to the thighs. This both tickles and arouses; I soon have a large erection.
"So, you're enjoying this. I'll have to take your mind off that," she says, giving my member one stroke with the toothbrush, "so that you don't enjoy it too much."
I can hear her kick off her sandals. She climbs onto the table. She is sitting between my thighs, and begins the assault on my ribs. She digs into my ribs with her thumbs on both sides. I am shrieking now, howling with laughter. She taunts me again.
"So ticklish on the ribs, are you? You do know that what comes next is worse, so enjoy this while it lasts. Tickle, tickle, tickle. I keep forgetting how many ribs you have. I'm just going to have to count them."
For the next twenty minutes, she gleefully counts my ribs, from the bottom up, then from the top down, then from the bottom up again. By the time she has done the first count, I am unable to laugh out loud any longer. My diaphragm aches from laughing so much, I have no strength to struggle, and I just lie there, quivering and trying to get some air. I am jelly in her hands. She has total and absolute power over me, and we both know it.
Finally, she is done with the third count. She can see that I am desparate for a break.
"I'll save the worst for last. Now let's see if there are any insects in the room."
I know this means that she has picked up an artist's brush, meant to be used for watercolor painting. She begins to brush inside my ear, while making buzzing noises. Then she resumes taunting.
"There's a fly crawling in your ear. Too bad you're tied up, and can't get away from it. Ooh, now it's going down onto your neck, up to your nose, in your nostril, on your moustache. Now there's a caterpillar, too."
It feels like a Q-tip in my nostril, along with the brush on my upper lip. The light tickling on my face and neck is giving me a chance to get my breath back. Unfortunately, she decides to end my break. Now come the worst.
"Well, the insects are gone. So I can turn my full attention to your most sensitive area, slave."
She moves up on the table, now straddling my waist, keeping most of her weight on her own legs, but just enough on my belly so that I feel more helpless than before. Without warning, toothbrushes attack both of my armpits.
I shriek, I howl, I pound my head on the pillow. I strain at the cuffs. I does no good. She has found the perfect spots in each armpit, and she is scrubbing and poking with the toothbrushes. I am in tickle hell, I am beyond insanity. It is unbearable, but it goes on, and on, and on.
"There will be no mercy for you, slave. No mercy today. No safe word. I've only just begun to tickle your pits. Tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle. Just begun."
I am again in the jelly state, just a mass of ticklish flesh, quivering under Mistress Zara's touch, her possession, her tickle-toy, her property. She pulls off my blindfold, and stares directly into my eyes. She resumes the merciless tickling, as her flowing hair brushes my face, and stares deep into my eyes as she exults.
"Totally helpless, and all mine. My living tickle-toy. Mine to tickle forever."
Just when I think that I might pass out, she stops. She gets off the table. She begins to untie the rope on my right arm, but then stops and re-ties it.
"How could I forget dessert?"
She moves to the head of the table, and digs her nails into my collarbone. I am extremely ticklish on the collarbones, and I laugh and laugh again, my diaphragm aching.
The epilogue on my collarbones lasts about ten minutes, until I am out of breath again, and just a mass of quivering jelly in her hands. Finally, she stops, and really does untie me. She removes the ropes, but leaves the ankle and wrist cuffs on. I resume my position on the floor, on my hands and knees, awaiting her next order.
"What do you have to say, slave?"
"Thank you ever so much for giving me a wonderful tickling, Mistress."
"And what else?"
"I know that I deserve a spanking, Mistress."
"Correct. You are very good at giving me the right answers. Now get over to the punishment horse."
I obey. The sturdy horse has four legs, which slant upward to a padded top. From the side, it looks like the letter 'A', with horizontal boards reinforcing the device.
"Bend over it, and stand still."
I obey. My belly is pressed into the padded, leather-covered top of the horse. My feet are on the ground near its front legs. She locks my ankle cuffs to rings set in those legs. She attaches ropes to my wrist cuffs, and ties them off to rings on the back legs of the horse. My naked butt is sticking up.
"Not going anywhere, are you?"
"No, Mistress, I'm qute well secured."
Mistress Zara consults an index card with a previous offense written on it, and smiles. I am required to list all of my offenses for her review, so that she may punish me for them.
"So, then, you dreamed of licking Lucy Liu's soles again. You never should have watched 'Charlie's Angels.' That will get you 600 spanks. And the 100 extra for you poor behavior during this session makes 700. Let me see, now, what implement should I use?"
I know better than to answer this rhetorical question. I am always given additional punishment for daring to suggest to her what she should do to me.
"I can't decide, so I'll use four. 175 with each. First, my hand, just to warm you up. Count each twenty."
She begins to smack my bottom, alternating cheeks, only medium hard. She has often told me that she loves the sound that her palm makes as it firmly smacks into me.
"Twenty."
"Forty."
"Sixty."
She ceases alternating, becoming unpredictable. Sometimes she smacks one cheek five or ten times in a row, until it stings very badly. Sometimes she smacks my upper thighs, which hurts much more than on the backside.
"Eighty."
"One hundred."
"Your cheeks are finally warming up. They're quite pink. But that's not good enough."
She never stops the spanking as she taunts me.
"Three more implements after this round. And they're all harder..."
"One twenty."
"... than my hand."
Her orders to count for her override the prohibition of never interrupting. In a previous session, I learned this the hard way, when she started from the beginning because I didn't keep an accurate and timely count.
"One forty."
Both cheeks really hurt now, and it doesn't matter if she alternates or not. Each blow stings badly.
"One sixty."
"One hundred and seventy-five!"
She continues for two or three extra spanks. "Don't sound so happy that one round is over. I'm allowed to add extras."
She walks over to the couch, where various implements are laid out. She holds the wooden spatula in front of my face. I bought it at the supermarket last year, and presented it to her with 'Mistress Zara' written on it in gold lettering that I got from a stationery store.
"Kiss it."
I kiss the spatula. She goes behind me, and begins a rapid-fire spanking with it.
"Twenty."
"Owe! Oh!"
"Is that a number? What number is 'Owe! Oh!'?"
Her mimicry is skilled. She perfectly imitates my voice and inflection.
"Not a number, Mistress. An involuntary tribute to you skill in spanking me. Forty."
She is smiling, and spanks more softly for a while, until I get to 160. The last fifteen are powerful, and hurt much more than I like.
"Owe, agghhhh, OWE! One seventy-five."
She gives just one extra spank. "Your bottom is bright red now. What do you have to say?"
"That is just as it should be, Mistress."
"It seems that you need a break from spanking." She comes close to me, and digs into my ribs, tickling me without mercy. As I shriek and struggle, she adds, "But I don't want you to fall asleep during your break."
As I laugh and laugh, the pain in my buttocks fades. By the time she is done tormenting my ribs, it is only a dull ache. She is such a smart Mistress, she knows my limits so well.
"Next is the slammer. Now count by fifties. I'm tired of hearing you talk so much."
'The Slammer' is actually an oversize ping-pong paddle, which does carry that label. It is not as bad as the wooden spatula, because it is padded. It still hurts plenty. It is not too long before I am moaing out loud again.
"Owe, oh, ow, ow, fifty."
A few smacks on the thighs have me yelling.
"OWWW!"
"That really gets to you, doesn't it?"
She goes back to the buttocks, and more softly now, giving me a break.
"One hundred."
She goes back to normal strength smacks, and I don't know if I'll be able to survive all four implements.
"One fifty."
"Your bottom is really red again, bright red. That will teach you not to dream of licking another woman's feet."
"One seventy-five."
She gives one extra spank, just to remind me that she is the boss. Then she puts the slammer back, and picks up what we call the thick wood. It was actually meant to be a board on which cheese is cut. It serves perfectly as a spanking paddle, and it is my most feared implement. If Mistress Zara ever used her full strength with the thick wood, I would be really injured.
"Do you think you can finish your punishment, slave?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Kiss it."
I kiss the thick wood. She begins. Absent new instructions, I will count by fifties. She uses medium force, and mercifully alternates cheeks.
"Fifty."
She begins to hit a little harder. The pain is now worse than before my break. I don't know if I will make it to 175.
"Ow, OW, OH, OWWW!"
"No pity for you, slave. Don't bother with the safe word, I'm going to finish." But she does ease up a bit.
"One hundred."
One smack on the thigh gets a loud yell from me. Then she goes back to the cheeks.
"One fifty."
She picks up the pace a little, and I am yelling again.
"Oh, ow, OWW!"
She must be counting herself, because there is a slight pause after 155, after 160, and after 165. The last ten are then hard, almost unbearable. If not firmly attached to the horse, I couldn't keep still for them.
"OWWWW! ARGHHH!! One seventy-five."
She gives two extra, one on each cheek. She folds her arms.
"You made it. I didn't think you would. So, now I can do this."
She tears the card on which I had written the offense in half, and tosses it into the trash can. She unties me from the horse, and takes off the cuffs, too.
"You may rub."
In the past, I have gotten 100 extra spanks for rubbing my bottom before being given permission.
"Thank you, Mistress." I rub, and it soothes me.
"Now lie down on the rug, hands behind your head."
I obey. The rug is in front of the couch, and she sits on the couch, looking down at me. She plants her bare feet firmly on my chest, and presses down.
"How does the rug feel against your bottom?"
"It definitely stings, Mistress."
"Good, I don't want you to forget that you were punished. Now, keep your mouth shut, and your tongue inside. Don't move at all."
She shifts her position on the couch, so that her feet can comfortably be placed on my face. Her lovely bare feet, size 6-1/2, with high arches, cute toes, and creamy pink soles. One is placed on my forehead, then right above my eyes, which I keep open, staring at the perfect sole. With the other foot, she rubs my beard, then my nose, then my beard again. I stare at her gorgeous sole, mesmerized, for minutes.
"I just had a pedicure yesterday. So they're nice and soft. So soft. So close. You can see them, you want them, but you're not allowed to move. Not allowed to kiss. Not allowed to lick. I do have a treat for you, though."
She withdraws her feet, and reaches into her bag of toys. She holds up a dirty white gym sock, stained with sweat on the bottom, and soiled with grime in the shape of her footprint.
"It's one of the socks that I wore on my morning jog, five miles, and I saved it for you, in a plastic bag. Open your mouth."
I obey. She crams the filthy sole of the sock into my mouth, and keeps shoving until only the part that covered her ankle and calf is protrouding.
"Keep it in. I'll be very upset if it slips out. And don't move, I want the other one to stay put." She places the mate to this sock over my nose, just lying there, so that every breath that I take is through the stinky sock over my nostrils.
I can't even nod in agreement; this might dislodge the second sock. She goes back to sitting with both feet on my chest, with medium pressure. She takes out a magazine, and reads, while I enjoy the taste and smell of the sweat from her sacred feet.
After about five minutes, she tosses the magazine aside. "Open."
I obey. I open my mouth, and she takes away both socks. "Bring the dice, and kneel."
I bring her the small box with four dice in it, and take a position kneeling on the rug near her feet.
"Now it's time to determine your fate. Close your eyes."
I obey. I hear dice rolling on the floor. "Open."
Her hands are now covering the two dice that she has tossed. "Pick."
I choose her right hand. She laughs. She removes it, exposing a '2' on the die below. She laughs again. "See what you could have gotten."
Her left hand now moves, to reveal a '6,' and I groan. "Twice. And make sure that you think of me, and only of me."
This means that, between this time and our next session, in two weeks, I will be permitted to masturbate only twice. It will be tough, but I will take cold showers when I need to. It would not do to cheat; the punishment is too great. And I could never lie to my beloved Mistress.
"Any requests, slave?"
She knows what I want, but I must beg for it. "I most humbly beg for permission to lick your soles, Mistress."
"I'm not sure. I don't think that you were well-behaved enough."
"Please, please, please, most kind Mistress, please allow me to lick your sacred soles. I beg most humbly."
She relents. "You may toss three dice."
I pick up three of the dice, and toss them to the floor. They read 5, 2, and 4. About average.
"You may lick. Eleven times on each sole."
I make my licks of maximum length, from the back of her heel to the tips of her toes, along the sole, with my tongue fully extended. I know, without being told, to count them individually, and thank her for each one. Like this:
"One. Thank you, Mistress."
"Two. Thank you, Mistress."
And when the left foot is done:
"Eleven. Thank you ever so much, Mistress."
And when both feet are done:
"Eleven. Thank you ever so much, Mistress. I am most grateful that I am allowed to lick your sacred feet."
"You'd better be grateful. You look as if you're going to use up one of your two permissions as soon as you get home." She laughs at me.
"Now for your homework. Ten times this." She tosses all four dice. They come up 5, 1, 6, 5. A bit unlucky.
"You will write for me, 170 times, 'I worship you, and only you, Mistress Zara.' You will write neatly, in ink, and I will not tolerate any mistakes, any crossing out, or the use of white-out."
"Yes, Mistress."
The session is done, and it is time for me to dress and go home. I am so grateful to her, the most beautiful, most intelligent, most wonderful, and most beloved Mistress Zara.
The End
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