Cumster

by DX

A man forces a high-profile dominatrix to give him a free session, but she’s thinking he might be more suited as a permanent part of her dungeon!

Copyrighted February 2019/2022, 2023, all rights reserved.  This story may not be reproduced without written permission from the author.

 Paul peered expectedly at his coffee cup as the waitress walked by, then sniffed contemptibly as she ignored him.  He eyed her as she walked away, coffee pot in hand, and refilled coffee for her other customers.  Paul murmured, quite loudly, about the poor service and went on to mention there was a sign about free re-fills, but the waitress continued to ignore him.

 Bristled, he picked up his binoculars and peered out the window of the dinner.  He watched the traffic flow, the pedestrians, the light rain spatter against the sidewalk.  He had begun to recognize faces, especially of Mistress’ clients.

 The men dressed sharply, in suits costing more than he made in a year, and the women designer shoes costing twice as much.  Each one arrived alone, glanced around nervously, then turned their heads down as if to avoid paparazzi, and slip into the darkened foyer of Mistress’ studio.

 They were movers and shakers, rich and powerful.  Most were married with normal lives.  They all came to see Mistress.  In her studio they surrendered everything and for a few, merciful hours were relieved of the burdens of being a corporate executive, a mogul, a politician, a homemaker.  They temporarily exchanged their status to that of a slave and accepted the sting of her rod and the welt of her lash.

 “Ready to order?”  The waitress asked, her voice grating.  “You’ve been here for five hours.”

 Startled, Paul looked up at the clock.  “I didn’t know I was on a timer.”  He grumbled and picked up a menu.  “I’ve not decided.”  

 “I can recommend the special.”

 He sniffed.  “I don’t like onions.”  

 “You had onions yesterday.”  

 “I DON’T LIKE OINIONS TODAY!”  He roared and caused the other patrons to look up in alarm.  He squinted as if the font of the menu was too small.  “It says, breakfast any time.”  He slapped down the menu and ignored the eyes staring at him.  “I’ll have breakfast from the Spanish Inquisition!”  He announced, regally.

 She rolled her eyes and looked back towards the kitchen.  The bulging eyes of the cook glared back at her.  “Spanish Inquisition breakfast!”  She yelled.

 His glare deepened.  “What?”

 She nodded slowly, turning back to Paul.  “No Spanish Inquisition.”

 Paul was abashed.  “Well, I’ll need more time to decide.”

 “You’ve been here for weeks.  You’re making my customers nervous.”  The waitress droned.

 “I’ll have the free coffee refill.”  He said haughtily.

 The waitress said nothing as she turned away.

 He watched the perfect sway of her ass begging to be slapped as she walked.  He watched her bend over to attend to another customer and in that moment he envisioned taking her from behind and pounding into her hot sex while she braced herself against the table as the patron in the booth watched the show approvingly with a smile entrenched on his face.

 He looked away as his cock stirred.

 He noticed she had filled his cup, nearly to the rim.  As he sipped, he was surprised to find it was from a fresh pot and not the bitter dregs she had been serving him.

 He picked up his binoculars and scanned the street.

 There she was!  Mistress moved with the hunting precision of a lioness.  Her beauty was brilliant.  Her soft lips of blood accented her porcelain doll face.  Her hair was black, and shinned like wet tar.  Her short leather jacket accentuated her magnificent breasts and tiny waist.  She wore jeans as if they were painted on her callipygian hips.

 He could hear her arch breaking stiletto shoes crash against the pavement like crackling ice.

 He watched her hungrily as she turned into the foyer of her studio.  He could only imagine the screams within as he longed to be her victim.  He would kneel at her throne and lick the grime from the soles of her magnificent feet as her whip arched over him and left red marks across his ass.  She would then reach down and pull at his cock until he came and came again, and smiled as she licked his frosting from her latex clad fingers.

 Paul sat back and sipped his coffee as the fantasy played in his mind.  He glanced around at the booth and wondered if anyone would notice if he touched himself where he sat.  He decided against it.  Instead he planned to slip into the stall of the bathroom and once again leave his mark oozing and drying on the stall wall.

 As he drank his coffee, he noticed a note sitting on the table.  The quality of the paper stock was obvious.  It was crisp, sharp and clean, unlike anything found in the diner.  He looked around, wondering where it had come from.  The brown circle of coffee stain indicated the insipid, incompetent waitress inadvertently hid it under his cup.

 He picked it up.  His name was written in a gentle and skilled cursive.  The hint of fine perfume was intoxicating.

 His heart was pounding.

 He opened it.

 “Paul,”  It began sharply and to the point.  He liked that.  She was already taking command.  No!  She had already taken command!  He read his name again, hearing her voice, her scorn, her contempt.

 “Paul, my original denial of your application to join my personal slave harem may have been premature.  Your dogged determination despite my explicit refusals has demonstrated a perseverance to serve, an essential trait in a proper, dedicated slave.  I’ve decided to give you a small test.  If you can complete these easy instructions to meet with me, then I may look upon you favorably as a possible addition to my permanent staff.”

 He left a few, small coins and a moist, crumbled single dollar bill on the table and ran out of the dinner.

Mistress had given him a map.  It led him down to the corner, then three short blocks east and two long blocks north to an old, but refurbished, warehouse.  His map guided him through the gate and around the back.  There was a flight of stairs that lead to a door locked with a cipher keypad.  He used the provided code to get in, which lead him down a long, darkened hall.  There he found a freight elevator.  It too was locked with a cipher code, but following his instructions, he went right in.

 He paused for a moment as he read his instructions to go down two levels.

 The elevator rumbled and rocked and Paul struggled to keep his balance.  When the elevator stopped and the doors opened, Paul stepped out into a dark hallway.

 He looked at his note.  “Look for Old Soldier.”  It read.

 That was it.  That was the end of his instruction.

 His face was sagged in confusion as he read it again, not realizing the light faded quickly as the doors to the elevator closed.

 Panic gripped him as his eyes peered through the dim.  Something moved from up ahead, something large.  The shape of its head resembled a bear and it had large, powerful arms.  The creature lumbered forwards.  Paul turned and rapidly pushed the button for the elevator, but it only beeped at him, demanding a code.  He glanced back.  The creature was getting closer.  Paul pounded on the elevator door to let him in.  When that wasn’t working, he turned to the creature that now towered over him.  Paul, murmured in fear and slid down to the floor and cowered.

 Nothing happened.

 Paul opened one eye.

 The creature was just stood there.  As Paul’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized the creature was just a man… a large, muscular man.  He was naked from the waist up and wore tight, latex pants.  On his head he wore a neoprene mask in the shape of a dog’s head.  Paul could just about see his piercing, polar ice eyes.

 The man pointed to his chest.

 Paul squinted and read aloud the words tattooed in two-inch letters across the man’s chest.  “Old soldier.”  He pointed excitedly.  “You’re Old Soldier?”

 The man nodded.

 “I’m here for Mistress.”  Paul said proudly, assured of himself again.  “She’s expecting me.  Take me to her.  You would not want to keep her waiting.”

 Old Soldier turned and ambled down the hallway.

 Paul skipped to keep up.  “You’re not a talkative type, are you?”

 Old Soldier made no indication of hearing Paul.  At the end of the hall, Old Soldier typed in a code on a cipher lock and opened the door.  He ushered Paul in.

 It was a large room cordoned off into several cubicles.  Old Soldier led Paul to the back of the room where the space opened up to a meeting area.  Against the wall was an intricately carved throne.  On either side of the throne knelt two other ‘dogs’.  They were women, both wearing neoprene dog masks similar to Old Soldier.  One, a curvaceous blonde, had the tattoo, ‘Duchess’, on her chest.  The other was a slim, Afro-American girl with an explosion of dreadlocks spewing from the back of her head with the tattoo, ‘Medusa’.

 Both, save their masks, were naked, only adorned with numerous body piercings.

 Another dog, a well-muscled male by the look of him, walked over to Paul.  He had the tattoo of ‘Puppy’ across his chest.

 They all moved now.  Puppy picked at Paul’s shirt and guided him to remove it.  Duchess held a large paper bag and indicated for Paul to put his clothes into it.  Reluctantly, Paul complied.  Within moments he was naked and nervously covering his nads with his hands.

 Medusa walked around and inspected him.  She held up her hand.  Puppy pulled a rubber glove on her hand like a doctor preparing for surgery.  

 It was then Paul realized that Medusa had one arm.  The other was lost above the elbow.  As she resumed her prowl, Paul noticed she walked stiffly, then realized her left leg was missing below the knee and she and moved around rather adroitly on a prosthetic limb.

 She smacked away Paul’s hands and exposed him.  She reached down and gently cupped his balls as if to test their weight.  She looked up at him, her brown eye peering through her dog head.  Her eye was magic, and turned Paul instantly into stone as he fell into it entranced.  All he could see was her one eye and he could only imagine the rest of her face was a thing of utter beauty.  Paul trembled at the wonderful feel as her soft fingers splayed against his stiffening member.  He was rock hard now, turned to stone, completely under Medusa’s spell.

 He felt something else touch his cock.  He glanced down and noticed Duchess, also wearing gloves, was using a cotton swab to capture his pre-cum.  She then dropped the swab into a test tube and walked away.

 Medusa stopped.  She held out her hand and Puppy peeled off her glove and dropped it into the paper bag.  Puppy then rolled down the top of the paper bag.  He carried the paper bag over to the wall where Old Solider waited.  There was an old, iron hatch on the wall and Old Soldier pulled it open with a grunt and revealed a dark space.  Puppy put the bag in.  Old Soldier closed the door and slid the locking bar into place.

 “Hey!”  Paul protested.  “Be careful!  My watch is in there.  It’s very expensive.”  In reality he had bought the watch for ten dollars, but the dog slaves didn’t know that.  “Um, can I get a bathrobe or something?  You don’t want me to meet Mistress naked, do you?”

 They said nothing.  Medusa took a standing post to the left of the throne while Duchess took a kneeling post to the right.  Old Soldier and Puppy took kneeling positions to the left and right of Paul.  All of them had their heads down.

 Paul stood, shifting nervously.  Old Soldier nudged him, then gestured to the floor.  Nodding, Paul knelt on the hard, stone floor but his knees quickly protested.  Paul then shifted and sat on his butt, his legs crossed.

 They waited.  Paul shifted uncomfortably as his butt began to go numb.  He looked at the others, frozen.  “Did someone let her know we’re here and waiting for her?”  His voice sounded loud in the quiet room.  “I mean, it’s like, been a hour.”

 If Paul had his watch, and he bothered to check it, he would have realized since the time he had read the note until now had only been fifteen minutes.

 He heard the bell ring from the elevator.

 Paul quickly slipped to his knees with his head down, as if he’d been that way the whole time.

 The click of her heels on the cement sent chills down his spine.  Paul peeked, and watched her tiny feet walk casually around him.  He could feel her cold, frost eyes across his back as she inspected him.

 The shoes then walked away towards the throne.  Paul risked a glance and watched her marvelous ass.  She was divine.  

 She sat on the throne.  She threw one leg over the armrest and slouched comfortably.  She was in a full leather cat-suit and looked like a spy from a British TV show.

 “I’m a sadist.”  She announced, her voice strong and certain.  “A real sadist.  This means I get physical, sexual pleasure inflicting pain on others.  In fact, I can’t orgasm unless I’m listening to the torturous scream of another.”

 Although her voice was pure honey, Paul was rather bored hearing about her sex life.  He needed to move things along.  “You can spank me, Mistress.”  He said.

 Her brows raised in surprise.  “I can?”  She smiled.  “I have YOUR permission?”

 Paul began to panic, not knowing what to say.  “You may do as you wish, my body is yours.”

 “Oh,” She said nodding slowly.  “I MAY.  Thank you, that’s rather kind of you.”

 Stammering, Paul exclaimed.  “I am your servant!”

 “Are you my servant?”  She asked.  “You may have noticed that my dogs,” she motioned to her slaves.  “don’t speak unless ordered.”  She looked at Puppy.  “Speak!”

 “Woof!”  He said.

 She smiled deeply and then looked at Old Soldier.  “Speak!”

 “Woof!”  He grunted.

 Mistress laughed breathlessly.  “That’s all you’ll get out of them.  Old Soldier, show him.”

 Old Soldier reached behind his head, unzipped the back of his mask and pulled it off.  He was an older man, but ruggedly handsome.  His face was emotionless as he turned to Paul and opened his mouth.

 It took Paul several seconds to realize what he was looking at.

 Old Soldier had no tongue.

 Paul looked away as Mistress began to chuckle.  “See?  I don’t keep servants around for conversation.  I keep them around to serve.”  She leaned forward, eyeing Paul.  “I like beating people.  I like watching them crawl on the hard concrete while their knees turn bloody raw.  People pay me to be mean to them.  They pay me good money.  If I did not have to pay for rent and insurance and electricity and health care for my dogs for the rest of their lives, I would spend all day whipping the shit out of mother fuckers like you for free.  I would, but I can’t.  So, I charge for my time and I provide a professional service.  The problem is this now puts my clients, my slaves, in charge.  I have to respect things like, ‘Limits and Safe-words’.”  She made air quotes with her fingers.  “Get it?  The slave is the master.  They tell me how much, how hard, and how long, and if I want to keep getting paid I have to respect that.”

 Paul felt calmer hearing that.  He wanted a nice flogging, not his skin peeled off with a whip.

 Mistress leaned back and motioned to Medusa.  “Before coming to serve me, Medusa was an army medic.  A rocket-propelled grenade hit her.  The army gave her a medal, a couple hours of counseling, and kicked her to the curb.  It seems the Army somehow believes a woman’s combat injuries are different than a man’s combat injuries.  Guys get counseling shoved down their throats.  She had to beg for help.”  Mistress shook her head sadly.  “She now uses her medic skills for me, making sure my customers are safe.  She stands by so when I’m whipping the shit out of some asshole and his heart clicks, she’s right there with the defibrillator making sure he’s okay and ready to slave another day.”

 Mistress pointed to Old Soldier.  “Old Soldier here has skills.  He was a construction worker.  He built all of my bondage equipment and welded all of my custom cages together.   I named him Old Soldier because he reminded me of an Old Soldier.  He was at one time in the Army, or Navy or something.  Anyway, Old Soldier wanted to be my servant.  I told him I didn’t want a servant.  A servant had rights.  I wanted something less than a servant.  I wanted a dog and my dogs would be spayed.”

 At that, Old Soldier got to his feet, pulled down the zipper of his fly and stood in front of Paul.  Paul had never seen another man’s cock in real life and was surprised at the ridiculously tiny cock the very large man had.  It was a flabby tube at best.  Old Soldier grabbed it and lifted it up and showed just a bump of a scrotum.

 “What you’re looking at,” Mistress explained, “is an empty nut-sack.”  She smiled deeply, thrilled at the notion.  “I had Medusa cut out his balls.  They are currently sitting in a glass jar in my studio.”


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Copyrighted February 2019/2022, 2023, all rights reserved.  This story may not be reproduced without written permission from the author.