I was naked at Mistress’ feet, kneeling in Nadu: gazing at the floor, knees spread wide, palms up on my thighs, waiting for her command. I had been in this position since she had brought me to the edge of orgasm, then stopped. Accordingly, I was still trembling, desperate to cum, and would do almost anything she asked.

She had brought me to the verge of cumming four times in the last twenty-four hours, once waking me out of a sound sleep to do so, but each time, when I was trembling, and just about to cum, she had stopped. I wanted to scream and beg and plead, but she had forbidden me even to do that. I was forced to endure this agony in total silence, which was almost harder than not cumming.

“Mouse,” she finally said, while continuing to look at the magazine she was reading.

“Mistress?”

“Go get your rain coat.”

“Mistress? It’s not raining out.”

She looked at me over the magazine, and I quailed. She was not pleased. “I said, go get your rain coat.”

This time I leapt up, ran to get my coat from the downstairs closet, ran back with it, and held it out to her.

“Put it on.”

Quickly, I put it on.

She looked at me, annoyed. “And fasten it closed.”

I hastily buttoned all the buttons, and wrapped and fixed the belt closed around me. It was a warm, sunny day, and it felt hot, but there was no way I was going to ask her why I was wearing this on a bright, Summer’s day.

“Go get your high heels, the red ones.”

I turned and ran upstairs to get my heels, and brought them back to her.

“And put them on.” Again, she looked annoyed with me.

I bent down a quickly strapped them on, then straightened up.

“Let’s go.” And she walked towards the front door.

“Like this, Mistress?”

She stopped with her back to me, then slowly turned to face me, and said, “That’s twice you’ve questioned my orders.” Then she turned towards the door, opened it, and went out without looking to see if I followed her.

I hurried to catch up to her, closing the front door behind me, and running down the stairs as quickly as I could in heels.

When I burst from the front door, she was already 10 meters ahead of me. She’s much taller than I am, and takes long, confident strides. I always struggle to stay up with her when we walk together, and now she was walking quickly, and had a head start.

By the time I caught up with her, I was starting to sweat, and wondering why I was walking along the street wearing a coat, high heels, and nothing else, but knew it would be a mistake to ask.

We went several blocks, with me hurrying to stay up with her, and her ignoring me. We turned a corner, crossed over into a park and were about half way through it when she suddenly stopped. I jerked to a halt next to her.

“Take off your coat.”

I gawked at her. We were in the middle of a public park on a weekend, with people all around us. If I took off my coat…

“Take off my coat, Mistress?” My voice sounded squeaky to me.

“That’s three times. Yes, take off your coat, and drop it on the ground.”

Slowly I unfastened the belt, undid the buttons, then shrugged the coat off my shoulders and let it fall to the ground. I was now standing naked in a public park, in broad daylight. I put my arms across my chest, and hunched into myself.

I was used to taking my clothes off in front of people. But this…this was…somehow very different. I wasn’t just unclothed. I was naked!

Then Miriam turned and resumed walking without waiting to see if I would follow.

I glanced back at the coat, then hurried to catch up, blushing furiously as people either turned and stared at me, or studiously looked somewhere, anywhere else, other than at me.

“Stand up straight.” Miriam snapped, “And put your hands at your sides. You’re not a hunchback.”

Haltingly, I put my hands down, and straightened up, exposing myself completely.

After walking for several agonizing minutes, we came to a bar. Miriam pushed the door open, and held it for me. I walked through and stopped. It was full of people, enjoying the weekend, having lunch and a drink, and chatting.

Miriam stood there, with me next to her, waiting. After a while, people gradually noticed us, and stopped talking. Her imperious manner prevented anyone from saying anything, so when all talking had ceased, and all eyes were on us, she walked slowly along the bar to the end, and signalled for me to stand in front of her, facing the room.

The bartender quickly came over, and started to speak. She interrupted him, “Two glasses of Chablis, please.” And handed him a fifty Euro note. He looked flustered, looked at me, started to talk again, stopped, then shrugged, took the note, and very quickly came back with the wine.

We stood at the bar for about ten minutes while Miriam sipped her wine. I didn’t touch mine, but waited, miserably aware that people were continuing to look at me, either openly or surreptitiously. I wasn’t sure which was worse.

When she was done with her wine, she looked at me, and said, “Not thirsty?”

I shook my head.

She gave me her frigid look, then said, “Then why did I waste my money on you?”

She left some money for a tip, then walked back to the door. I could only follow. She stopped when we got to the door, and waited, facing the door. I was very much aware that I was on show, and shivered, despite the warm weather.

Finally, she turned slowly to me, drew a little circle with her finger, and said, “Twirl, all the way around.”

I did, moving my feet clumsily, putting myself on show, which was plainly what she wanted. When I was done, she opened the door, held it for me. I walked through.

She turned to the room, nodded like a Queen to her subjects, then followed me through the door.

We walked towards home. When we got to the place where I had dropped my coat, we found it folded neatly over a nearby bench. “Pick it up,” she said.

I retrieved the coat and started to put it on.

“That’s four. I did not tell you to put it on. Hand it to me.”

I did, then followed her home as she resumed walking quickly back the way we had come.

When we got back home, she led me into the living room. “Put away the coat, and remove your shoes.”

I raced to do so, then returned.

“Obeisance.”

I dropped to the floor on my belly, hands at my side, and kissed her feet, one after the other.

“You displeased me, even disobeyed me, four times in the last 45 minutes. Yet, you tell me you want to be my slave. What would you do to a disobedient slave?”

I was silent for a moment, then said, “Punish her.”

“And how would you do that?”

I knew the answer, “The crop.”

“Go and get it.”

When I returned, she gave me a command for a Gor slave position, “Hair.”

I jumped up, put my feet together, and bent forward at the waist with my hair cascading before me, and my hands behind my back, presenting my ass to her.

She began caning me.

~~~~~

Occasionally, I tell people that I carry a straight razor in a flip case when I’m not working. If they ask why, I usually tell them the truth: I use it to cut people who try to attack me. I’m a small Mouse, and need claws to protect myself.

One night, as I was leaving Club Exotisch after work, a guy intercepted me from the shadows. By this time, I normally went home with Miriam, but tonight I had things I needed at my place, including bills that needed to be paid, so I was going home.

“You little slut!” he slurred at me. “My money wasn’t good enough for you, was it?”

I tried to push him away. I remembered him. He had had me a couple of weeks earlier, but tried to get rough, so I had called Bram, the bouncer, and had the guy thrown out. He came back a week later, and apologized, said it would never happen again, that he wasn’t really like that.

I accepted his apology, but cautiously because I had heard lines like that from abusive men before, especially when they’d been drinking.

So, when he asked for me later that night, I asked Bram if he’d been drinking. When Bram told me that he had, I said no. Which led to this confrontation – and proved that I’d made the right choice.

“So how abouts we go back to my place and have a real party, wadda ya say?”

I slapped him, then used his momentary shock to push him away. He grew angry, and started to lurch for me. But I was ready, and had my razor out.

“Sure, let’s find someplace private where I can carve you a new asshole, aside from that one in the middle of your face!” I held the razor up to his nose so he couldn’t miss it.

He blinked at me, then straightened up, and said, “Oh, fuck, I’ve done it again. I’m so sorry…I’m such a stupid shit…”

And he turned and wandered off.

I ducked back into the Club to tell Bram about the guy, to make sure he wouldn’t be admitted again, then went home.

I will never understand jerks like that, but I know they’re out there, and I'm ready for them if I have to be.

~~~~~

One morning, a couple of weeks earlier, when I awoke, Mistress was stroking my hair.

“Nika, we need to talk.”

This is never a good way for a conversation to begin. I turned my face up to her and began to beg, “Please, Mistress, please don’t throw me out! I’ll do better, I’ll work harder, I promise…”

“Hush. I have no intention of throwing you out. What a thought! You are my beautiful girl, and I am lucky to have you.”

I settled down again, and snuggled into her, tears in my eyes, but much relieved.

“You know, when I first met you, that afternoon you came to the club for instruction, I thought you would not last in the sex trade. You were too small, too delicate. Too beautiful.” She continued to stroke my hair.

“You surprised me. You are gifted, you love sex, and your clients know it. And you are as beautiful inside as you are out.” She kissed my hair.

“But we need to think about your future.”

“I want to be with you. I want to be yours,” I said.

She smiled down at me. “And I want you to be. But we need to think in practical terms.

“To start, I think you should move in with me.”

“I would love that, Mistress!”

She looked at me for a long time, then said, “Yes, but what will you be to me? My lover, my friend, my…slave?”

I was quiet, then said, “Are you asking me to choose?”

“I want to know your thoughts.”

I lifted her hand and kissed it. “Then I want to be your slave. I want to belong to you. I want your voice to be my law. I want to be your plaything, and to worship you. I want to live where you live, to work when and where you tell me, to have you use me as you wish, and let me serve you.

“I want to be yours, now and always, my Mistress. I love you.”

And I kissed her hand, over and over, until she stopped me.

She looked at me for a long time. “Do you know what you are asking? Do you know what it will cost you, and what it will cost me?”

I shook my head. “I’m sure I don’t, but I don’t care! Because I know you will take care of me, to treat me as your most prized possession, your Treasure, as you sometimes call me.”

She continued to look at me. “You are asking a lot.”

I bowed my head, and then said, in a small voice, “Am I asking too much?”

Then I look at her, “Then you must send me away, for I don’t know how else to be with you. You are my Mistress, whether you will have me or not.

“I love you, and I want to serve you. Nothing else matters to me. No one, other than Father, has ever loved me. No one else cares about me, no one! Only you; only you.” I stopped, horrified at what might happen next.

She looked at me for a long time, and I stared back at her, firm in my resolve, although my chin was trembling, and there were tears in my eyes.

Finally, she sighed, looked away, and said, “Let’s get dressed and have breakfast. We can talk after. No; I won’t talk about it until then. Now, you take the first shower, but be quick, my beautiful, little girl!”

We were sitting at the breakfast table, dawdling over coffee, the crumbs of a big, English breakfast on the plates in front of us. We were both wearing robes, although mine was too big for me. I hadn’t moved all my clothes here yet, and was usually naked when I was with her.

“Nika,” she began.

My head jerked up, and my heart started beating hard and fast.

“Nika, I care for you a great deal. I think I am starting to love you. I never expected that.

“When you stayed at the Club, and continued to work your magic on the crowds, I thought to use you to make money. And I thought I would use your body to please me. Because you are very beautiful, and your body excites me.”

I dropped my eyes, “I know I’m not beautiful, but it thrills me to hear you say so.”

She smiles at me, “To me, you are beautiful. You always have been. My eye was drawn to you from the first moment, and I made up my mind to have you, even if you didn’t work at the Club.

“But as we have become lovers, and as we have started working together, I have found myself being intoxicated with you, like the drugs I have stayed so far away from – and that you must promise me never to use!”

I nodded. I had heard what happens to sex workers who get hooked on drugs, and wanted no part of it.

“And yet, the relationship I have had with you is not like any that I have had before. I have had many women – and many man, too – for pleasure as well as for money. That’s part of the reason I left home, because I will not obey the rules my parents and the Church want me to. I will live my life, not theirs, so I left. My parents and I still don’t speak, and they do not approve of me.

“But I learned, and grew, and studied, and as you see, I now have money, some small influence, and a home.

“I also know that I am a Domme, a dominant woman, and belong to a society of Dominants and submissives, a BDSM club called DeCoven. It is my nature.

“I would find it difficult to live with you if you were not my slave, but I would have tried to do so. Like you, love is something that has been missing in my life.”

I started to speak, to rush my urging for her to take me as her slave, but she held up her hand.

“Becoming my slave is not something we can do lightly. It is like marriage; we commit ourselves to each other. I will show you a website with information on the relationship. I have been training you to be my submissive, but that was when I planned to use you for profit and for fun. If you are to be formally initiated as my slave, there are lots of implications that I want you to know and to understand.

“And I want you to organize your life. Now, you make money and you throw it away on a pretty blouse, some make-up, or some jewelry. You won’t buy a house if you do that, you won’t own a car, you won’t be free.

“I will teach you, as I was taught, how to control your life, your finances, and your business, rather than being their slave. And if you want to be with me, you must commit to learn. I will not have you helpless, even if I am your Mistress. I want a lioness as my slave, not a kitten.

“Do you understand me?”

We were both silent for a long time as I thought hard about what she had told me. Finally, I shook my head. “No, I know I do not understand everything you’ve told me. But I will read, and I commit to you, just as I committed to learn our dance, I will work until I do understand.

“Mistress, I will do whatever I have to do to become worthy to be your slave.

“Command me.”

And I stopped, looking down into my lap, then up into her eyes.

She stared at me for a long time while I met her gaze. Then, finally, she nodded slowly, and said, “Then we will begin.

“Nadu!”

I removed my robe so that I was naked before her, then slid off the chair to sit on my heels, knees spread wide, head up, eyes cast down, back arched, and palms face-up on my thighs.

“Ko-lar!”

I raise my hands, palms forward, high above my head, with my head bowed in supplication, waiting for the collar.

She rose from the table, went to the bedroom, and returned with the collar I had worn the previous night as the corrupted Eve. With practiced ease, she fastened it about my neck, but then clicked a small padlock in the D-ring of the hasp. Now, only she could remove my collar.

Which is precisely how I want it.

~~~~~

Between the Club, our couples dances, and sex work, I had been working hard, and making good money, more than I would ever have imagined when I was living with Mother and her…boyfriend.

But what I really wanted was to live with Miriam. I was in love with her. And, looking back on it, my feelings were complicated and had lots of different dimensions.

She was the family I had never really had. She cared for me, and, now that my father was dead, there was no one else in the world who did.

She was regally beautiful, astonishingly so, and, to my eyes, the most desirable person on Earth. And she was a gifted and skilled lover who could bring me to a lightning-fast climax, or keep me smoldering and panting for hours.

She was meticulous and forced me to get my life in order. She insisted that if I was going to be with her, I would have to learn how to run my life properly, not in the sloppy, haphazard ways I had as a teenager at home. In this, she was classically German. Order and discipline were second nature to her, and she could not stand it went I did things in a slipshod manner. It made her angry, which she displayed by being icy and distant from me. She knew that scared the shit out of me.

She was an incredibly smart businesswoman. Her family had money, she had grown up with it, and had a deep appreciation of how to make it and keep it.

She told me that I reminded her of herself when she was younger and said that sex work could be very lucrative if it was managed properly, but that too many sex workers of all sexes blew the money as fast as they made it. She told me she would not allow me to do that – and meant it. And she constantly taught me about the business aspects of the work, even indirectly by talking about it as she did things without directly lecturing me.

But the undercurrent of our relationship was something I still didn’t fully understand: She was a dominant, a Domme, and I was a submissive. And for whatever reason, I was the submissive she had decided she wanted.

Much later, I asked her why she had chosen me. She was smart enough, sexy enough, beautiful enough, and I later learned, important enough that she could have had almost any sub she wanted.

She told me that at first it was because I had an aura of sexiness that she liked and that I was young and pure. When I asked her what she meant by pure, she told me that I didn’t have any bad habits, like drugs or booze, and that I was addicted to sex without a lot of emotional or religious baggage. What’s more, she thought I was someone she could mold and use.

She had intended to use me, right from the start, first for business, but also for her personal pleasure. She said she found me beautiful. I know I’m pretty, and some people tell me I have an appeal that is attractive, but I know I’m not beautiful, not as she is beautiful. 

Yet, she insisted I was beautiful, so I felt beautiful. And she liked my natural submissiveness. It appealed to her on a gut level. She once confided in me that very few people had ever aroused her as much as I did. I have always treasured that.

It was only later in our relationship where she didn’t just want to use me. But even much later in our relationship, she continued to use me. And she did it with my complete, whole-hearted cooperation…because by that time, we weren’t two individuals anymore. We were family.

But the evolution of that relationship came slowly.

~~~~~

Some mornings I woke and couldn’t think straight. Mistress was training me, but it was making me crazy, and I suspect that was deliberate.

For days now she had been bringing me to the edge of orgasm, then stopping. Not once, but repeatedly, while giving me commands. If there is the slightest hesitation, the slightest deviation from what she orders, she would chastise me, either with sharp words, or with the crop, or by denying me an orgasm.

To start, this all happened at home – her home, where I was staying most of the time now. And then gradually, she has started to exhibit me in public places, as she had that weekend in the park and the bar.

Sometimes she would take me to the Club in a cab, naked but for a collar, leash, heels, and thigh-highs.

And she kept pushing me beyond my limits, partly because she never accepted society’s limits on how she chose to behave, but also to ensure that I would obey her, blindly, instantly, and without question.

~~~~~

“Mouse.”

“Mistress?”

“I’m going to lend you to my friend, Piers.”

I’m puzzled. “Mistress? I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“I’m going to let Piers take you home tonight to use for his pleasure this weekend. Now do you understand?”

I look down at the floor, unsure what to say.

“Well?” I hear the coldness in her voice, the tone that makes me tremble.

“Yes, Mistress. What do you want me to do with him?”

“Why, whatever he wants. I told him you were an eager little slut, a true fucktoy, and he would find you delightful in every way. I suspect he will cane you. He will certainly want you to suck him, and he will certainly fuck you, possibly up the ass, as that is his usual behaviour.”

I wait, eyes downcast.

“Well?”

“Yes, Mistress…” I whisper.

“And Mouse…”

“Mistress?”

“He had better give me a good report when he’s done using you. Understand?”

I swallowed hard, “Yes, Mistress.”

~~~~~

At this time, she frequently took me to some of Amsterdam’s BDSM clubs, usually, but not always, when we performed there.

When she did, and when we were not performing, I was typically dressed in heels, a red thong, and nothing else. She would always lead, and I would always follow, standing erect and proud, with my eyes downcast, my hands at my side, and walking gracefully, while swaying my hips, as she had taught and commanded me.

Whenever she would stop to talk to someone, I would immediately kneel into Nadu by her feet, my knees wide-spread, back erect, eyes down, palms up on my thighs, and wait until either she started walking again, or until she said something to me.

One time, as she was talking to two men at one of the clubs about training submissives, she ordered me to strip off my thong, get up on the table they were standing by, and get into Lazy Dog position. I removed my thong and slowly got up on my knees on the table, resting on my elbows, with my head down and my ass up.

She was displeased with how slowly I had moved and swatted me with my crop.

Next, she told me to start touching myself. My breath caught, but I knew I had no choice, so spread my thighs further, reached between my legs, and started to do as she bid me. I was surprised how quickly I became excited, and how wet I was.

She continued to talk to the men, using me as an illustration, ordering me to massage my clit while they watched, massage inside and outside my pussy lips, or finger my cunt with one or more fingers. Sometimes she would punctuate her comments by swatting me with the crop. Then she invited the two men, whom I later realized were Doms, to finger me to see how wet I had become.

Once I moaned, and she caned me, hard, saying it was unseemly for a submissive to make that kind of noise without permission.

One of the Doms, when he was fingering me, reported that my cunt spasmed on his finger. When he removed his hand, she caned me viciously, twice.

As they continued to talk, I continued to masturbate, and got closer and closer to cumming. Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore, and began to lose control. I knew that I should not interrupt her, but I also knew that if I came without permission, it would be much worse. So, I begged her to let me cum, there, in a busy hall of the club, on display, with the two other Doms standing there, watching me.

She refused permission, then turned to watch as I squirmed, panting. I started to beg again, pleading with her, and telling her that if she would not give me permission, I was going to embarrass myself and cum anyway. She leaned in close to my face and said, very clearly, “You will not cum. And you will continue to touch yourself. Do you understand?”

Panting hard, I said, “Yes, Mistress.” I put my head down and tried as hard as I could to keep away from cumming, even banging my head against the table.

She swatted me with the crop again, and said, “Stop making that noise. All right, stop fucking yourself now.”

I collapsed on the table. She grabbed my hair and forced me to look at her. “I did not say you could move. Lazy Dog!”

As quickly as I could, I moved back into position, panting.

She turned back to the two men. “This one will do anything a Master or Mistress wants if they promise her that she might cum – sometime.”

Then she turned to me, “Isn’t that right, slut?”

I panted, and said, “Yes, Mistress, please!”

“No. Now shut up while I’m talking to my friends.”

I stayed still, trying desperately to remain quiet.

Finally, she turned to me, and said, “You want to cum, yes?”

“Yes, Mistress!”

“Then cum.”

And, almost like flipping a switch, I came, hard. I was loud, messy, and in full sight of a watching audience, in this humiliating posture. I knew in that moment that I no longer belonged to myself…

There's an ancient word, almost a thousand years old, from Old Norse: thrall. It means “bondsman, serf, or slave.”  In modern usage, thrall means “a state of servitude or submission”.

There's also an old English word from the 14th Century with a similar meaning: bewitch, which means “to fascinate or charm past resistance”.

Both words could be used to describe what Mistress had done to me. She had bewitched me, she held me in her thrall.

But more than either of those words, she possessed me. She owned my spirit as well as holding me in bondage. I had become helpless to do anything except what she commanded, when she commanded it, where she commanded it.

I was her fucktoy, her plaything, her cunt.

I had become her naked possession…

To be continued…

© Copyright, James Llewellyn Gainsborough and Nika S. at Lushstories.com, February, 2021.
All rights reserved. May not be reproduced in an medium without the express, written consent of the authors.