SERVING MY MASTER AND MISTRESS PART 2

  • With that, he led me over to a large wooden table, gleaming with polish and adorned with an array of BDSM toys that glinted in the candlelight. The mistress followed, her hips swaying seductively with each step. My eyes widened as I took in the display of whips, paddles, and restraints, a veritable buffet of sensory delights and torments.

  • Master secured my wrists to the table with leather cuffs, the cold metal of the buckles sending a jolt through my system. He then stepped back, allowing Mistress to take the lead. She approached with a cat-o’-nine-tails, her eyes alight with excitement. “You will learn to appreciate the beauty of pain,” she murmured, her voice a siren’s call that had me leaning into my bonds, eager for the first bite of the whip.

  • The initial strike was sharp, stinging my skin and leaving a trail of fire in its wake. I gritted my teeth, refusing to make a sound, not wanting to disappoint them. The master watched us, his eyes hooded, a slight smile playing on his lips as he assessed my reaction. With each subsequent hit, the pain grew, a crescendo of sensation that I had to ride like a stormy wave. Yet, amidst the discomfort, there was a strange sense of peace, a feeling of belonging.

  • Mistress paused, allowing me to catch my breath, her eyes searching my face for signs of distress. Finding none, she nodded to the master, who stepped forward with a bottle of oil. He began to massage it into my skin, the warmth of the liquid a stark contrast to the coolness of the leather. His touch was firm, yet gentle, as he worked the tension from my muscles. It was a tender act of dominance, a silent declaration of ownership that had me squirming with need.

  • The master’s hands moved with purpose, his fingers digging into my shoulders, kneading the knots until I was pliant beneath him. His touch was a masterclass in control, a dance of power and care that had me both craving and dreading the next phase of my training. “Mistress,” he said, his voice a gentle command, “you may proceed.”

  • The crimson-haired beauty stepped back into my line of sight, the cat-o’-nine-tails trailing behind her like a serpent’s tail. “Remember,” she said, her voice a sultry purr, “you are to remain silent unless spoken to. Your cries of pleasure or pain are music to our ears, but your voice is to be used only when we wish to hear it.”

  • With a grace that belied the power in her arm, she brought the whip down again, the thongs biting into my flesh. The pain was intense, but it was the kind of pain that sang through my body, setting my nerves alight and making my cock throb with anticipation. I could feel the tension building within me, a coil tightening with each stroke, drawing me closer to the edge of release and agony.

  • Mistress took her time, alternating between gentle caresses and harsh strikes, each one a lesson in the fine line between pleasure and pain. Her movements were a ballet of dominance, her eyes never leaving mine as she read my reactions, gauging my limits and pushing me further. The master, ever the silent observer, watched with a knowing smile, his eyes full of pride as he saw me taking to my new role so eagerly.

  • Sweat beaded on my brow, my breaths coming in ragged gasps as the pain grew more intense. Yet, I found myself craving it, my body begging for more. Each strike brought a rush of endorphins, a high that only served to fuel my desire to serve them. The room grew warmer, the scent of arousal mingling with the leather and candle wax.

  • The mistress paused, a line of saliva escaping her mouth as she took in my flushed skin and the eager expression on my face. She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. “Good boy,” she murmured, her voice dripping with approval. “You’re learning quickly.”

  • Her praise was a balm to my soul, and I felt a surge of pride swell within me. I knew that I was meant for this, that I was born to serve them. My body was theirs to command, and in doing so, I would find a freedom that I had never known before.

  • Master stepped forward, taking the whip from Mistress with a nod of appreciation. “Your dedication is commendable,” he said, his voice filled with a warmth that made my heart swell. He began to stroke the leather against my skin, the light touch a stark contrast to the previous onslaught. “But we must also train your mind, for true submission comes from within.”

  • He began to speak in a soothing tone, his words weaving a spell that calmed the storm of sensation within me. He spoke of the importance of discipline, of the mental fortitude required to submit fully to another’s will. His strokes grew firmer, the pain now a backdrop to his sermon. “You will learn to find peace in your submission,” he said, his eyes boring into mine. “To crave the structure we provide, the rules that define your existence.”
    Mistress, ever the adept, picked up the thread of his lesson. She leaned over the table, her breasts brushing against my chest, and whispered, “You will learn to read our moods, to anticipate our desires. You will become an extension of us, a living, breathing embodiment of our will.” Her hand trailed down my stomach, coming to rest on my cock, which was rock-hard from the torrent of pain and pleasure. She began to stroke me, her movements in sync with the rhythm of the whip.

  • The sensations grew more intense, the pain and pleasure becoming a single, overwhelming force that consumed me. The world outside the mansion, with its mundane worries and trivial concerns, faded away, leaving only the three of us in our bubble of power and desire. The master’s strokes grew harder, the mistress’s grip on my cock more insistent, and the room spun around me.

  • “You are doing well,” she murmured, her breath sweet against my neck. “But we are only just beginning.”

  • Her words sent a shiver of anticipation through me. The journey ahead was fraught with challenges, but I was ready to face them, eager to become the servant they envisioned. With each stroke of the whip, I felt a piece of my old self peeling away, revealing a new creature, one who lived for their pleasure and thrived on their dominance.

  • Mistress’s hand grew more insistent on my cock, her nails digging gently into my flesh as she increased her pace. The sensation was maddening, a sweet agony that had me straining against my restraints. “Control,” she murmured, her voice a velvet caress against my ear. “You must learn control, my pet. Your orgasm is not for you, but for us to bestow upon you.”

  • Master, seeing my desperation, laid the cat-o’-nine-tails aside and picked up a riding crop. With a flick of his wrist, he brought it down on the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, the sharp smack echoing through the chamber. I gritted my teeth, my body trembling with the effort to hold back the climax that threatened to overtake me.

  • “Look at us,” he said, his voice a gentle command that sent shivers down my spine. “Your Mistress and I are in complete control of your body, of your very essence. You exist to serve, to give us pleasure, and to find your own in doing so.”

  • The mistress’s hand on my cock grew more insistent, her strokes matching the tempo of the riding crop. The master’s eyes never left mine, his gaze a silent challenge to hold out, to push through the barrier of pain and pleasure that threatened to shatter my control. I focused on their faces, their expressions of concentration and desire, using them as an anchor in the tumultuous sea of sensation.

  • My eyes locked onto the mistress’s, her emerald orbs gleaming with the thrill of our shared dance. Her hand moved faster, her grip tightening as she watched the agony play out on my features. The master’s crop connected with my skin again, the sharp sting sending a jolt through my body. My hips bucked, my need for release becoming almost unbearable..
    “Good,” the master praised, his tone as steady as the strokes of the crop. “Your body is learning to obey.”

  • The mistress’s hand grew more insistent, her strokes matching the tempo of the riding crop. Each smack brought a fresh wave of pain, and with it, a rush of pleasure that washed over me like a tide. The pressure within me grew, a dam threatening to burst with every touch.

  • “Remember,” she cooed, her breath hot against my ear, “you are not to come until we give you permission.”

  • Her words were a cold shower, dousing the raging fire within me. I gritted my teeth, my entire being focused on the battle for control. The mistress’s hand worked my shaft with a practiced finesse, her grip alternating between feather-light and crushing, each stroke a masterful play on my senses. Meanwhile, the master’s riding crop painted a tapestry of pain across my thighs and buttocks, the sharp smacks punctuating the rhythm of my panting breaths.

  • The room grew hazy, the candlelight playing tricks on the walls as the mistress leaned in closer, her crimson lips brushing against my cheek. “Your submission is so very sweet,” she whispered, her voice a symphony of temptation and dominance. Her teeth grazed my earlobe, sending a shiver down my spine. “We will push you, break you down, and rebuild you in our image.”

  • Master stepped aside, allowing the mistress to take full control of my torment. Her strokes grew more deliberate, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she watched my struggle for control. The crop found a new target, the tender flesh of my lower back, each strike a reminder of the power dynamic that now governed my existence. I bit my lip, tasting the coppery tang of blood as I fought back a scream.

  • “Good boy,” she murmured, her voice a symphony of desire and dominance. “Your body is learning its place.”

  • The pain grew, a crescendo that seemed to have no end, each stroke of the crop and caress of her hand pushing me closer to the precipice. Yet, even as the agony mounted, there was something else—a burgeoning sense of belonging, a feeling that this was where I was meant to be. Their control was a comfort, a warm embrace that promised to keep me safe, even as it tested the very limits of my endurance.

  • “I think out slave has enough, ” the Mistress said t other Master.   “Should we allow him to cum?”

  • The Master’s gaze bore into me, a silent question that made me feel exposed and vulnerable. I bit my lip, trying to contain the overwhelming need to orgasm, my body trembling with the effort. “Not yet,” he decided, his voice firm and unyielding. “We must first ensure he understands the true meaning of denial.”
  • The mistress’s hand stilled, her grip on my cock tightening briefly before releasing me. The sudden absence of her touch was almost a relief, the pressure of her fingers replaced by the coldness of the air. “As you wish, Master,” she said, her eyes never leaving mine. “But perhaps we should give him a taste of what he’s striving for.”
    With a knowing smile, she reached for a jar of lubricant on the nearby shelf, her movements deliberate and sensual. She coated her hand before sliding her fingers down the length of my cock, the coolness of the gel a stark contrast to the heat of my arousal. She stroked me with a gentle touch, her eyes never leaving mine, as if to remind me that she was the one in control, that every sensation was a gift from her to me.
  • Master stepped closer, his eyes raking over my body with a hunger that made me feel exposed and yet, oddly powerful. He placed the riding crop aside and took the jar from her, pouring a generous amount onto his own hand. His touch was firmer, his grip unyielding as he began to pump my cock in a rhythm that matched the beating of my heart. “Feel the power in your submission,” he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. “Your pleasure is ours to give and to withhold.”
  • Mistress stepped back, allowing Master to take the lead. She watched with a smug smile, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she observed my every reaction. Her hand trailed over the collection of toys, finally settling on a pair of nipple clamps. She approached the table, her movements a study in graceful dominance. With a flick of her wrist, she attached the clamps to my sensitive nipples, twisting them just enough to make me gasp. The bite of pain was a stark contrast to the warmth of Master’s hand, sending a jolt of electricity through my body that had me arching into the restraints.
  • Master’s hand didn’t falter, his strokes becoming more deliberate as he watched my reaction to the clamps. The pain grew, a constant reminder of their power over me, yet it was a reminder that I welcomed, a symbol of the trust and bond we were forging in this sacred space. “Your body responds well,” he said, his voice a low rumble of approval. “You’re a natural submissive.”
  • Mistress leaned in, her full red lips curving into a smile that was both sweet and sinister. She whispered into my ear, “You’re doing so well, my pet. But remember, your pleasure is not the goal here. It is merely a byproduct of your service.”
  • Her words sent a shiver down my spine, even as the pain from the nipple clamps grew more intense. Yet, the strokes of the Master’s hand on my cock had me hovering on the edge of ecstasy, a delicate dance of pain and pleasure that only served to reinforce her point.
  • Master took a step back, his hand leaving my cock with a pop that made me whine with need. The sudden absence of his touch was almost unbearable, but I knew it was only a brief reprieve. With a knowing smile, he gestured for me to lie back on the table, my legs hanging over the side. I complied, my eyes never leaving his, my body trembling with anticipation.
  • He slicked his cock with the same lubricant the Mistress had used earlier, his eyes never leaving mine as he approached. The size of him was intimidating, a stark reminder of the power he wielded over me. Yet, there was a tenderness in his gaze that belied the raw, primal need that hung in the air. He positioned himself between my legs, his cock nudging against my entrance. “Breathe,” he instructed, his voice a gentle rumble. “Relax and accept my gift.”
  • With a slow, deliberate push, he entered me, filling me in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating. I could feel every inch of him, the stretch of my body around his thickness, the heat of his skin against mine. The mistress watched with a hungry gaze, her fingers playing with the chain that connected the clamps on my nipples, sending a fresh wave of pain and pleasure through me. “Good boy,” she purred, her eyes glinting with sadistic delight. “Take your master’s cock like the eager servant you are.”
  • Master’s movements grew stronger, more assertive, his hips pistoning into me with a force that had me seeing stars. The mistress leaned in, her breath hot against my neck as she whispered, “You’re doing so well. You’re making us both so proud.” Her hand left the clamps and found its way to my mouth, forcing her fingers past my lips. “Suck,” she ordered, her voice a sweet symphony of dominance.
  • The taste of leather and her essence filled my mouth as I obeyed, the humiliation of the act only serving to heighten my arousal. I could feel the pressure building, the need for release an almost tangible presence in the room. Yet, I knew better than to come without permission. My eyes watered with the effort of holding back, my mouth working around her fingers as she pushed deeper, stretching my jaw and invading my space.
  • Master’s thrusts grew more forceful, the sound of skin slapping against skin a rhythmic symphony that matched the pounding of my heart. His eyes never left mine, a silent conversation of power and submission passing between us with every stroke. The mistress’s grip on my nipples tightened, the clamps a constant reminder of her control over my body. “You’re so close,” she whispered, her voice a sweet torment. “But remember, your orgasm is ours to give.”
  • The room spun around me, the candlelight casting flickering shadows on the walls that seemed to dance in time with our movements. The pain from the clamps grew, a pulsing beat that melded with the pressure in my prostate. I bit down on the leather gag she had placed in my mouth earlier, the taste of the material mingling with the scent of my own arousal. The need to come was overwhelming, a white-hot heat that threatened to consume me.
  • Master’s eyes searched mine, looking for any signs of distress. Finding none, his smile grew wider, his hips moving faster. “Such a good boy,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “Squeeze your ass around me, show me how much you want to please.”
    The words were a command, and I obeyed, my muscles tightening around his cock like a vice. The sensation was exquisite, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that had me writhing against the table. The mistress watched with rapt attention, her hand playing with the chain of the nipple clamps, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of our shared experience. “That’s it,” she encouraged, her voice a seductive purr. “Take it all for us.”
  • Master’s thrusts grew more erratic, his breaths coming in harsh pants. I could feel his orgasm approaching, his cock swelling within me, demanding release. Yet, I remained on the precipice, denied the sweet oblivion of climax by their will. The mistress leaned in, her eyes locked on mine, and whispered, “You may come, my pet.”
  • The dam broke, and I was lost to the maelstrom of sensation. My body spasmed, my muscles clenching around the master’s cock as I shot my seed, the intensity of my release mirrored in the cries that were muffled by the leather gag. The mistress watched with a wicked smile, her own hand moving between her legs, stroking herself to a crescendo that matched the master’s.
  • Master pulled out, his own climax spilling onto my stomach in hot, sticky ropes. He leaned over me, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Good boy,” he murmured, planting a kiss on my forehead. “You’ve learned your first lesson well.”
  • Mistress stepped forward, her hand still working her clit, her breaths coming in shallow pants. She reached out and stroked my cheek, her eyes filled with a warmth that belied the sadistic pleasure she had just taken from my body. “Now, let’s see if you can clean up as well as you fuck,” she said, her voice a purr of challenge.

  • I nodded, eager to please, and immediately went to work. My tongue darted out, eager to taste the salty tang of the Master’s cum that coated my stomach. It was a strange, almost holy communion, to clean their bodies of the evidence of our shared passion. I licked and sucked, my eyes never leaving hers, my movements deliberate and worshipful. Her hand remained on my cheek, guiding me, her eyes never leaving mine.
  • As I served them, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride swell within me. This was my purpose, to be the vessel for their desires, to give them what they needed. My body was an instrument of their will, and I was eager to learn how to play it with perfection. The mistress’s hand grew more insistent, her breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps as she approached her own climax. Her eyes never left mine, her gaze a silent command to continue, to push her over the edge.
  • The master stepped back, watching us with a pleased smile. He was the conductor of this symphony of desire, orchestrating every move with a masterful hand. “Good,” he murmured, his voice thick with his own arousal. “You’re learning to serve us both, to find joy in our pleasure.”
  • Mistress leaned against the table, her legs still trembling from her climax. She reached out, her hand caressing my cheek, a silent praise for my unwavering obedience. “You’ve done well,” she said, her voice a soft purr. “Now, let’s move on to your next lesson.”
                 

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