Come Over for a Bite
Mistress Morrigan

I suppose you could say that one of my fetishes is helping others experience what they have only fantasized about.  There’s a feeling of power in knowing that without me they may have never known what it felt like to fulfill their particular fetish or kink.  It’s heady stuff.  But that’s not the be all and end all of it for me.  I have a few really personal kinks that do it for me every time.  When it comes to these I have a few very select friends who share them.  Last night I spent several hours with one of them.  He just came over for a bite…

The biting fetish…

I won’t bore you with the details of his arrival; there was no idle polite chit chat.  We both knew why he was there.  I led him straight to the room I reserve for more private play and within moments we were both stripped bare and he was bound to a frame that left him immobile and completely exposed.  I could walk all the way around him, touch every inch of his body, he was completely at my mercy…within the boundaries we had negotiated long before; no visible marks and no blood.  The only words I spoke to him were to ask for his safeword.  Other than that I didn’t want him to speak, I only wanted him to scream.

Sometimes I start out gently, but tonight I felt the savage in me raging just below the surface.  I stepped up to him, my bare skin pressed against his, and without warning or warm up I bent my head and sank my teeth into the flesh just above his right nipple.  I wasn’t joking when I said I wanted him to scream.  He didn’t disappoint me.  I held shook my head slightly, like a dog playing with a toy, and released him.  The perfect imprint of my teeth was white at first, then quickly turned to pink and then red.  He would have a lovely bruise to remember me by, but it wouldn’t be the only one.

I circled him, planning the placement of my next marks.  His shoulder, his thigh, his stomach and very close to his groin, all of these places received similar treatment; a quick strike, teeth clamping down to the point of almost breaking skin.

Over and over I gave in to my need to feel flesh between my teeth, to hear his scream of pain and surprise, but there was another sound as well.  There was the sound of pleasure.  With each bite and each scream that I drew from him there were also the moans and the sighs and the gasping breaths that told of his excitement.  I marked him nearly everywhere I could easily reach and a few places I had to twist a bit to get to.  Each ass cheek had several sets of imprints, the backs and fronts of his thighs had them like links in a chain.  I bit along his collar bones and I bit across his chest and down his stomach and abdomen.  When I felt my frenzy finally begin to ease I stepped back and admired my work, the beauty of the reddish purple imprints left by my teeth, and committed the sight to memory.

His body was my work of art and he would bear the reminders of this night for days to come.

The evening was warm with just a hint of a breeze from time to time.  The trees and shrubbery lining the garden walls were trimmed with tiny fairy lights and there were even lights in the softly bubbling fountain in the back corner.  The guests were seated in two rows of chairs curved slightly toward each other leaving an aisle between them.  Each guest held a flickering votive candle in a frosted glass cup.  No one spoke, the only sounds were the occasional rustle of movement and the music playing softly in the background.  At the end of the aisle, seated on an ornate wood and leather chair sat a man I have known since my early years exploring this lifestyle.  I considered him one of my closest friends. That was why I stood in a position of respect to his left holding a small velvet covered tray.

I’ve never been an overly sentimental person.  I don’t get all gooey over puppies and I don’t cry at weddings.  In fact, I’ve never really cared for weddings.  I can’t remember ever wanting to be a bride in white walking down the aisle.   I’ve had friends and family who have gotten married and I have wished the happy couples all the best, but I’ve pretty much always known that wasn’t for me.  I’m wired differently.  At least I always thought so.

I observed my friend as he sat, letting the anticipation of the guests build.  He was a definite showman.  He’d chosen silk and leather for his attire, pants of soft black and a poet shirt of deep purple.  He was almost regal sitting there on his throne.  If I hadn’t been watching him I would have missed the signal he gave; a slight nod of the head.  It was time.

At first there was no indication that anything was happening, but then came the soft tinkling of bells.  Not tinny bells, but delicate musical bells like fairies dancing.  His eyes were fixed on the shadows at the other end of the aisle so I know he saw her first.

She walked with her shoulders back, her head held high but her eyes demurely lowered.  Shining steel cuffs graced her wrists and with each step she took was accompanied by the sound of the bells.  She wore a simple sheath dress of sheer silvery silk so that as she paced up the aisle the flickering light of the candles and the will of the evening breeze gave hints at what lay beneath.

As she reached the end of the aisle and stopped before his chair she reached up to her shoulders and with a small shrug the silk of her dress dropped to the ground at her feet.  She stood for a moment wearing only the cuffs at her wrists, the string of slave bells around each ankle and then gracefully lowered herself to her knees.  Her head bowed and she raised her hands to chest height, palms upward in supplication.  When she spoke her words came softly yet strong, she wasn’t a bit nervous.

She spoke of her devotion, of her wish to belong to him in all ways, to please him and honor him. She spoke of the joy she had found under his guidance and control and asked that he accept her submission now and for always.  When she had finished speaking he simply sat and watched her for several long moments, as if considering.

Finally he rose and stepped toward her, standing so close that the toes of his boots touched her knees.  He laid a hand on her head and vowed to take into his keeping all that she was and to help her become all that she could be.  He promised to treasure the gift of her submission and guide her with a firm and loving hand.

Knowing my cue I stepped forward and offered the tray I was holding.  Lying on the bed of black velvet was a gleaming silver circlet and a tiny padlock with a single diamond embedded in its side.  At a word from him she raised her head and looked him in the eye.  I had never seen a woman look so radiantly beautiful and confident in herself.  He took the circlet and placed it around her slender neck and secured it with the padlock.  He then looked out at the guests and declared that as she had freely offered herself and he had accepted she was now his.  He had staked his claim.  He lifted her to her feet and turned to walk into the house, she followed leaving her gown there in the grass.

When they had disappeared inside I turned back to the guests and informed them that they were invited inside to celebrate in the best way we knew how.

The dungeon was open.

“Appointment with the CEO”
by Domme Morrigan

I love the sound my heels make when I’m walking across a tiled foyer.  There’s something about the steady clicking rhythm that gives me an added sense of power.  Wearing heels I am more aware of how my body moves, the sensual workings of my thigh and ass muscles.  I am also aware of the way people around me watch as I walk past.  It’s not my imagination or my ego that makes me think I am the center of attention.  I know that I am, because I catch them looking.

At a recent appointment in one of the high rises downtown I knew I was the object of more than casual interest by the security guards in the lobby.  The building is full of offices and suites and different businesses but everyone entering has to go through the same security check point to get to the bank of elevators.  I had to remove my shiny black shoes with the silver tipped four inch heels and send them along the belt and through the x-ray machine along with my bag and cell phone.  As I sat on an uncomfortable chair to put my shoes back on I glanced up and caught one uniformed guard staring intently at my feet as I buckled the straps.  I couldn’t help myself, I slowly ran my hands up along the length of my lower leg as if settling the fit of my stocking.  The man licked his lips and I knew what he was thinking of doing.  Sometimes it’s so easy to read people.

I stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for my floor.  As the doors closed I made eye contact with the guard and gave him a slow wink.  I like to think I gave him something to dream about.

The elevator took me all the way to the top floor.  My appointment was with the CEO of a fairly large company.  We’d been introduced by a mutual friend.  I was disappointed that carpet dulled the sound of my heels when I left the elevator, but that changed when I passed through the double doors of the business offices.  There wasn’t a bit of carpet to be seen.  I smiled at the click and clack of my heels as I walked to the receptionist’s desk and gave her my name.  She told me that her boss was running a bit late and asked me to take a seat.  I checked my watch.

I was five minutes early for my appointment; I would be gracious and allow him another five on top of that before I became annoyed.  I sat on the edge of a nicely upholstered chair and let my eyes wander. It didn’t take me long to spot the cameras discretely positioned in the corners of the waiting area.  I am sure they were there for security reasons, but I was also sure that someone was also watching them for his own pleasure.

I sat back and slowly crossed one leg over the other. I let my foot swing slightly for a moment and then uncrossed my legs again.  I straightened one leg, pointed my toes and moved my foot in a small circle admiring the way the light glinted off the shiny leather of my shoe.  I knew I wasn’t the only one.  I continued to put on a subtle show and before I knew it the ten minutes I was prepared to wait had passed. Another minute and then another went by and my patience began to tire.  I walked back to the receptionist’s desk and leaned down to speak with her quietly.  I told her to inform her boss that if he kept me waiting any longer he wouldn’t like the consequences.

I turned to face one of the cameras as she relayed my message, hands on hips, the toe of one foot tapping impatiently.  I heard her say “Yes, sir” and the next thing I knew she was leading me to a large wooden door and apologizing for my wait.  You see, I always get my way.

As she closed the door behind me I faced the man I had come to see and we sized each other up.  I let him see my displeasure and he was the one to drop his gaze…straight to my high heel clad feet.  I walked to him and got right into his personal space.  I had to look up because even with the height of my heels he was taller than me.  That didn’t matter.  I took hold of his tie, twisted it round my hand once and jerked his head down so we were face to face and informed him I did not like being kept waiting.

I jerked his tie again and he dropped to his knees.  His eyes never left my shoes.  I raised one foot and placed it in the center of his chest and pushed. He fell onto his back and I walked around him to lean against his desk. I watched him for a few seconds, saw how his breathing had increased and a sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.

I told him that my shoes had gotten dusty walking on the ugly carpet in the hall outside his offices and that he had better do something about it immediately.  He nearly whimpered as he crawled to me and in a shaky voice asked permission to clean my shoes.  I gave it and then watched as he slowly and lovingly began to lick every centimeter of my shoes clean.

It was just as our mutual friend had said, he had it bad for a nice pair of feet in sexy heels.

Babysitting My Little Friend – Part 3
Mistress Morrigan

I love a nice bubble bath.  Most of the women I am associated with love a good bubble bath.  I figured that a woman, who is playing the role of a six year old little girl, would also enjoy a tub full of bubbles.  The squeal of delight she made when I suggested it told me I was right.  I left the mess she had made of dinner on the kitchen table to deal with later and headed for the bathroom to draw her highness a bath with extra bubbles.

As I started the water and added the bubbles I was thinking that perhaps I would get a domestic submissive I know to come and do it for me.  The sound of clapping had me looking over my shoulder to find a totally naked little girl bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement.  I leaned to one side to get a look down the hall and saw a trail of spaghetti covered clothing from the kitchen to the bathroom.

Was this the kind of thing that children put their parents through on a nightly basis?  My mind struggled to understand what needs this could satisfy for my friends.  I waved our little girl into the bath and told her to start washing while I went to pick up her discarded clothing.  I hadn’t even made it all the way to the kitchen when she let out a shriek that nearly caused my hair to stand on end.  I raced back into the bathroom thinking she had seriously injured herself only to discover that she had somehow managed to empty half a bottle of shampoo onto her head and get it in her eyes.  How had she moved so quickly?

I rinsed her face and hair with clear water, all the time crooning comforting words as one would a distressed child.  To be truthful I don’t think she actually got any in her eyes, she just wanted the attention.  I decided that picking up her clothes could wait and perched on the edge of the tub to keep an eye on her while she bathed.

We had a test of wills when it came time to getting her out of the tub, but I proved the strength of mine and won.  We rinsed away the bubbles and I wrapped her in the fluffiest towel I had and told her to sit and wait for me to get her bag so she could put on clean clothes.  I should have learned the first time I left her alone.  I should have remembered how fast the girl could get into trouble.  I came back into the bathroom and she was gone.

The sound of giggles coming from my bedroom came at the same time as the doorbell rang.  I called out for whoever was at the door to enter; hoping that is was her daddy returning to take her home, and hurried to my room.

There she stood, once again naked, this time with her face covered in slashes of brightly colored eye shadow and a painted on grin that would have made a clown proud.  I heard the voice of my mother using the little’s first, middle and last name and was shocked to realize it had come from my own mouth.  I set that aside to think about another time.

She turned to me with a very naughty grin but that was quickly wiped from her face.  I could feel someone standing behind me and I knew from her expression that daddy was very displeased with his little girl.

Babysitting My Little Friend – Part 2
Mistress Morrigan

My bemusement with my role of playing “Auntie” to a grown woman with and age play fetish lasted about halfway through dinner.  My friend has what is called a “little” age of around six. Meaning that when she is in her “little” role she acts much the way a six year old child will.  Apparently this includes being a very messy eater, getting into things she shouldn’t, and throwing a few temper tantrums.  But I get ahead of myself.

Daddy had left a schedule of sorts that would allow the evening to flow smoothly for “Auntie Morrigan” and his little one.  At least that was the idea.  When dinner time came I sat our little miss at the kitchen table so I could keep an eye on her while I cooked.  We were having spaghetti, something simple that I had been assured she would eat.  It really was like babysitting a child.  While I put the water on for the pasta I noticed that she had begun to wriggle and squirm and bite her lip.  After a few minutes of watching her fidget I finally asked what was wrong and was informed that she needed to potty.

I have to admit I simply stared.  This wasn’t something I had even considered being part of the game.  I hadn’t been briefed about this aspect.  I told her where the bathroom was but wasn’t really surprised when she refused to go alone.  She held my hand as I led her down the hall, but when I would have left her to her business she let out a wail of fright.  She was scared to be left alone in my big, scary bathroom.  What else could I do?  I leaned against the doorframe while she sang an absolutely adorable little verse about the bodily function she was performing.  I know several people who have bathroom fetishes, but I had no idea it could be made into something cute.  When she’d finished I had to stop her as she dashed for the door and make her wash her hands.  It really was the strangest experience for me.

She took her place back at the table and kept me entertained while I finished dinner preparations by singing many other children’s songs, some I actually remembered from my own childhood.  Of course I had to sing along, much to my little friend’s delight. I thought we were getting along really well…until I sat her dinner on the table in front of her.

I guess that at home she had her own little place setting; plate, bowl, cup and silverware all with some cartoon princess or another on them.  Daddy had forgotten to pack them in the bag.

The bottom lip began to tremble, big blue eyes filled with tears and I knew that I had to come up with something quick to avoid a meltdown.  Being single and without children I couldn’t think of anything in my kitchen that could be substituted for cartoon covered dishes.  Then I remembered some paper plates left over from some get together.  They weren’t cartoon princess plates but they had bright and pretty flowers on them.  I could only hope they would work.

I made the food transfer while she sniffled and watched me with a pouty lip sticking out.  There was a tense moment while I watched her consider eating or throwing a fit.  Hunger must have won out because she gave me her megawatt smile and began to eat.  Sort of.  By the time the meal was finished I swear that she had more on her clothes and face than I had originally put on her plate.  There was sauce everywhere.  It was even in her hair. When I asked her how we were going to deal with the mess she said only one word in reply.

“Baff!”

That was definitely not in the job description.

To be continued…… see part 3

Babysitting My Little Friend – Part One
Mistress Morrigan

“Now you be a good girl for Auntie Morrigan and I’ll bring you a treat.”

I couldn’t believe that I had agreed to babysit.  I have nothing against children; I’ve just never been a particularly maternal person.  This was a different situation however.  I wasn’t babysitting someone who was a child chronologically speaking.  I was keeping an eye on a new friend of mine, an adult woman who happens to enjoy the kink of being a “little” to her husband’s “Daddy” role.

Now not every kink is for everyone.  There are whole lists of kinks that just aren’t my thing and I’d rather not participate in them.  That doesn’t mean that I won’t help someone live out an aspect of theirs.  That’s how I found myself playing the role of Auntie to my friend the little while her Daddy went out to meet some work colleagues for a drink.

With those parting words from her Daddy I turned to see big brown eyes filling with tears and a trembling bottom lip.  For a moment I was completely out of my comfort zone.  I had no idea what to do.  For all intents and purposes this was a little girl standing in front of me.  I couldn’t take out my flogger and cuffs and tie her up like a misbehaving submissive.  That wasn’t the role I agreed to play this evening.  I wasn’t Mistress Morrigan, Dominatrix.  I was Auntie Morrigan, and this little who was about to throw a tantrum in my living room had to be distracted some other way.

My eyes fell on the bag that had been left for her.  It was pink and covered with pictures of hearts and what looked like teddy bears.  I quickly snatched it up and in my most comforting voice asked her if she would like to show me what toys she brought to play with.  I was rewarded with one of the sweetest smiles I had ever seen.

We sat on the sofa side by side and she began to remove one stuffed animal after another.  In a soft lisping voice that couldn’t have belonged to anyone over the age of six she told me each animal’s name and insisted that I pat them on the head as she introduced them.  We arranged them on the coffee table facing us so they could see what else was going to be brought out of the bag.

I don’t know how all of the things she brought out could have fit in that one bag.  There were coloring books and crayons, three story books, two board puzzles with large pieces and even some modeling clay.  It was with these items that we hit our first snag.  As she took each item from the bag she showed them to me proudly and then promptly dropped them on the floor.  I remembered from my own childhood that this was not something that I could allow.  I told her in a gentle but firm voice to pick up her toys and stack them neatly on the table.

Well, she crossed her arms over her chest stuck out her bottom lip and told me that she didn’t want to, although it sounded something like “dun’wanna” to me.  For a second I felt my normal level of control slip, I really didn’t know how to deal with this kind of rebellion.  But I am nothing if not adaptable.  I told her that if she didn’t pick up her toys then she was going to get spinach for dinner and no dessert.  Apparently spinach is high on her yucky list because she hopped right down on the floor and picked her things up. She made two neat stacks of coloring books and story books and set the tubs of clay between them, with her row of stuffies standing guard.

Then she looked up at me from the floor and in her sweet little voice asked her “Auntie” to play.  I slipped down beside her and we spent the next twenty minutes or so coloring and making funny shapes out of clay.  I felt myself getting into my role.  I told her silly stories and tickled her to make her giggle.  It was almost as if there was a transformation and she became the tiny girl she was portraying.  I was curious to see just how far this would go.

To be continued… see part 2

The Brush Off
Mistress Morrigan

One of my closest friends, a woman who knows of my private lifestyle but has never been involved in it herself, came to me the other day with a request.  She had been watching a movie and in one of the scenes the heroine was taken over the knee of another character and given a spanking with the back of a hairbrush.  My friend couldn’t even remember the context of the spanking in the movie, what transgression had led to this form of corporal punishment of an adult woman.  All she could remember from that scene on was the sound of the brush connecting with bare skin…and the way it had made her feel as she watched.

It started out as an innocent seeming question, but I know enough about people in general and her in particular that I knew there was something more behind it.  As we sat at my kitchen table having coffee and catching up on our lives she was having trouble maintaining eye contact.  She fiddled with her cup and she toyed with the plate of cookies I had set out for us to nibble on.  Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and I asked what was on her mind.  I had never seen her turn such a lovely shade of red.  It took her several tries but she was eventually able to get it out.  She told me about the movie scene, she told me that she had been dreaming about it and thinking about it constantly for nearly two weeks and then she asked for my help.  My friend, who had never really been interested in my lifestyle as more than a curious bystander, wanted me to spank her.

Not much in my life surprises me anymore, but this did.  I won’t say that the idea didn’t appeal to me, or that I hadn’t actually thought about it before.  She has a very spankable ass.  But I had to weigh the consequences of saying yes.  On one hand I was flattered that she trusted me with this; on the other I knew that it would change the dynamics of our relationship.  Then she looked at me with her big blue eyes so full of confusion and trust and I couldn’t refuse her.  She was my friend after all.

I knew that if I took her to my playroom it would scare the curiosity right out of her.  I gave her a safe word to use in case she changed her mind at any time and then I took her to my bedroom.

She stood just inside the door, eyes on her feet, looking shy and a bit guilty and I knew exactly how to handle her.  I went to my dressing table and picked up my favorite hairbrush.  It is sturdy and has some weight to it.  It also has a long enough handle to get a firm grip on, which makes it excellent for spanking.

At the foot of my bed is a padded bench.  This is where I sat.  I didn’t say a word, I just lightly smacked the brush against the palm of my hand and watched her.  Each time the wooden brush came in contact with my skin she twitched, just a little. When I finally told her to come to me she nearly jumped out of her shoes at the sound of my voice.  I could feel the energy vibrating off of her when she stood in front of me.

I asked her if she deserved what was about to happen and when she just nodded I made her say it aloud.  I made her tell me that she had been bad and that she needed to be punished, she needed to be spanked.  I made her say please. Then I took her over my knee.

I don’t know if she had chosen to wear a skirt that day in the hopes that this would happen or if it was something unconscious, but it was a good choice.  As she lay there across my knees I flipped the back of her skirt up and exposed her panty covered bottom; cotton in the palest pink.  I think my heart actually did a flip-flop in my chest and I had to remind myself this was my friend and I was helping her.  To warm her up I left her panties in place and smacked her bottom with the back of the brush six times, three on each butt cheek.  I made her count each one.  I could feel her heart beat against my thighs and her breath was already coming in short gasps.

I asked her how bad she had been and she stammered when she replied that she had been very bad.  At that I jerked her panties down over the curve of her ass and, telling her to count out loud, began to apply the wooden hairbrush to her bare skin with a little more force.  First one cheek and then the other until her skin began to turn a perfect rosy hue.  By the time she reached the count of twelve she was crying softly, by twenty she was sobbing and barely able to speak.  I knew it was time to stop.

I gently tugged her panties back into place and helped her to stand up.  Her hair hung around her face in messy curls and tears dripped from her chin.  I took tissues from my dressing table and led her over to the bed.  Fully dressed, shoes and all, we curled up together on top of the covers and I dried her tears.  I held her until her breathing slowed and I held her as she fell into an exhausted sleep.

Are You Gonna Be My Girl?
Submitted by sub mike

The first package was delivered to my cubicle around mid day.  There was no return address or the name of the sender anywhere to be found on or in it, but there was a note.  All it said was to take the item inside the box into the restroom and put them on.  My hands had trembled as I pushed the tissue paper aside and looked at a pair of sapphire blue panties, my favorite color, with a cute little bow front and center on the waistband.  All I could do was to stare at them; I didn’t know if I was excited or terrified…or both.  I knew what this was about, I had asked for help and it had come.

There was no way that I could say Mistress Morrigan was a friend, we barely knew each other.  She was more like a mentor, someone that I could ask any question and get an honest answer from, and help when needed.  Especially when I was having trouble pushing my own boundaries, and this was a big one.

I am quite at ease with my submissive side.  I’m proud to be a man serving under a strong woman, and I love exploring my sexuality and the extent of my kinky nature.  Lately one thing had been playing on my mind.  Dressing in women’s clothing.  No, not just dressing in them, but being made to dress in them.  It’s what I would think of when I masturbated at night, or even during the day when the need got too strong to control.  Because thinking about it could make me so hard it hurt, a feeling I love.

As I sat contemplating the big step I was being faced with a text message came through.  All it said was “Do it now.”  I wasn’t surprised that she knew the package had already been delivered.

I slipped the panties into my pocket and walked as casually as I could down the hall to the restroom.  I locked myself into the small room that held a toilet and a sink and wondered how I was going to manage my task.  I kicked off my shoes and hastily stepped out of my trousers and boxers.  It felt so strange to be standing in the office bathroom half naked.

I wasn’t even sure how to go about putting the panties on.  I mean, how difficult could it be?  But on the other hand it wasn’t like putting on a pair of boxer shorts.  The material itself made for difficulties.  In the end I had to put the lid down on the toilet, cover it with some paper towels and sit down.  Already I was starting to feel more feminine.  I put one foot after the other into the proper holes and pulled them up to my knees.

Let me tell you, I’ve felt satin on my skin before but not like this.  As I stood and pulled the panties slowly up my thighs and over my hips and ass I could barely breathe.  Then came the real problem:  How do you fit a cock into a pair of women’s panties, especially one that was harder than it had ever been before?  You can’t tuck it away, and there’s no room to dress to the left or right.  I had no choice but to let it point straight up my belly.  That’s when I discovered that panties fit snugly, at least these did.  The head peeked out over the cute little bow, but the elastic waistband held me in place nicely.

When I looked in the mirror the sound I made could have been mistaken for pain.  It was just that good.  I didn’t want to go back to my desk, I wanted to stay in the bathroom and play.  That’s when the second text came in.  I swear sometimes she’s psychic.  The text said, “Get your pants on and get back to work.”  I don’t know how I managed it, but I got back into my trousers and made it through the rest of the work day.

The second package arrived in my cubicle just before quitting time…the note said to put on the enclosed item and wear it home. It was a lovely satin bra that matched the panties I was wearing.

Lost Bet
By Mistress Morrigan

A few weeks ago I made a bet with a good friend of mine, another dominant who runs in the same social circle that I do.  We were at a gathering and there was a competition of sorts going on between two submissives.  We weren’t involved, merely spectators, but we decided to make it interesting for ourselves.  We each had our favorite between the two competitors, so all we had to do was work out the details of our bet.  I may have been a wee bit overconfident in the abilities of the submissive I chose and I went along with my friend’s suggested prize.  The loser would be the server at a social function the winner would hold.  The winner also got to choose what the loser would wear that night.  As I said, I was a bit overconfident in my chances of winning the bet… and I lost.

It just so happened that my friend had a little get together planned with some of his other friends who are in the lifestyle.  I’ve actually attended a few of his soirees.  They weren’t BDSM play parties; they’re your average poker and drinks party.  His wife, who is also his submissive, usually plays waitress but on this night I would be fulfilling that role.

At my friend’s direction I had brought along a few items of my own to go with the costume I would be wearing.  Everything was white, from the spiked heels to the thigh high stockings with the lacy garter belt and matching bra and panties.  I looked like a bride getting ready for her wedding day.  I am vain enough to admit that the color set off my tan nicely. When the rest of the costume was brought out, however, I vowed revenge on my dear friend.  There were only two pieces.  One was just a flower to go in my hair, the other was a frilly lace apron…white of course.  It was small consolation that his wife was dressed in much the same attire, except her costume was baby pink.  I was thankful I had the white.

As the guests began to arrive it was my job to see to it that they had drinks and anything they wanted from the buffet table.  The story of our bet had gotten around so there were no startled looks or awkward questions.   Also there were rules that were already in place about just how far they were allowed to go.  So when the first hand slid up the back of my thigh I knew that it would stop at the edge of my panties.  Anywhere that cloth covered was off limits to touching.  Still, that left an awful lot of skin exposed to admiring hands.

Let it never be said that I did not live up to the spirit of the bet.  I played my part wholeheartedly.  I flirted and I pranced, I posed and I teased.  I even allowed one gentleman who had won a large pot to pull me onto his lap in the excitement of the moment.  I actually found myself getting into my role and having fun.  I gave my friend more than he counted on when he suggested the terms of our bet, but he should be careful next time.

Next time his luck may not be so good and he might find himself at my mercy.

Cyber sub
Domme Morrigan

In today’s age of technology so many aspects of our lives are dealt with in cyber space.  I do all of my banking online.  I pay my bills online.  I even have a relationship online.

It didn’t start that way.  It started as a bit of fun between myself and an adorable little sissy boy that I met at a local club.  We used to meet every other week and have a play date.  He really could take just about anything I dealt out.  But life is about change and he moved away for a better work opportunity.  I actually missed him.  He missed out times together as well because barely a month after he moved away he was knocking on the door of my computer and begging me to do something I hadn’t considered before, continue our relationship online.  I told him I would think about it, and then I made him wait for my answer.  I had to show him who was in charge, didn’t I?  Plus I always do my research before I try something new.

I like to call him my little boy, even though he’s almost the same age as I am.  It gets him excited.  I know this because our dates are conducted by webcam.  I make him show me exactly how much he enjoys all of the delicious things I make him do for my pleasure, and as odd as it sounds, I do take a great deal of pleasure in our interactions.

I think my favorite was when I had him flog himself.  I got that idea from a movie I watched.  It’s called self-flagellation and…well, let’s just say that my little boy wasn’t the only one who got excited.

For this particular session I had him strip completely naked.  Sometimes I have him wear a harness or a cute little frilly outfit I’ve sent him.  But not for this, for this I wanted to see nothing but his pale bare flesh.  He set up his camera and he started out facing me.  I counted, and with each number he swung the flogger up and over his shoulder so that the falls curled and flicked along his back.  I loved the expressions on his face as he began.  He hissed and his eyes closed and then he let out a sigh.  After a while though, the sighs became tiny little whimpers.  That’s when I had him turn around.

The red marks that had begun to form on his back were things of beauty.  They crisscrossed over his shoulders and half way down his back, but I wanted there to be more.  I had him start to swing the flogger around his sides, first one and then switching hands to do the other.  This time I could see as the falls hit his skin and watch as they left a white stripe that soon turned red.

I kept him going until he began to rise up on his tip-toes with each strike and his tiny whimpers became louder cries of pain…or were they from pleasure.  Sometimes it’s hard to tell with my little boy.  When I stopped him he stood panting, his breath coming in hitches, but he didn’t turn until I had my fill of looking at the work of art he had created just for me.

His excitement was obvious when he finally was allowed to face the camera.  On some nights I rewarded him by watching as he relieved his need, but not that night.  That night I just wanted to turn off the camera and savor the memory of red welts on his pale skin.