SERVING - AND SERVICING

I've written about my use of the whip during Karl's monthly slave sessions, and perhaps I've given the wrong impression that all slave sessions involve corporal methods of punishment.  That might have been the case at the beginning of our little experiment, and it certainly had its uses, but after the first few months, just the threat of  corporal methods seem to have had the effect of ensuring immediate compliance with any orders I might give.  One might say that these early "educational" lessons have been well learned by Karl, and except for those times when I just feel like using implements such as whips or crops or paddles, etc., corporal punishment is used far less than at the beginning.

In fact, as the sessions have progressed, I find myself looking forward to them quite a bit, and being a sensual woman with physical needs, I set aside part of the three (or occasionally, four) day weekends for personal sexual gratification.  Let me be clear on this point - all the slave sessions turn me on, but there are times when I just want to spend the day in orgasmic pleasure.  And since I have a slave at my disposal...well, I'd be a fool not to take advantage of the situation, wouldn't I?  Since Karl's basic slave fantasy has always been to be a SEX slave of a beautiful GODDESS,  I'm doing him quite a favor when I'm in the mood for "servicing".  Of course, slaves pay a price for everything that they may deem pleasurable, and I certainly enjoy the sexual frustration (for him) that inevitably goes with satisfying my needs.

During our latest slave session, and after a day of watching Karl sweat and strain to carry out my orders while performing many of the endless tasks I have set for him, I found my juices flowing and was, as you men like to say, one horny bitch. On day two, I outfitted the otherwise naked Karl in a very tight leather pouch which resembled a g-string and kept his cock and balls nicely constricted.  Much sexier than his chastity device.  I wanted to see that pouch bulge during the day, knowing that he was hard, yet unable to fully extend beyond the confines of the pouch.

After he had fixed and served my breakfast, I dressed myself as if I were going out for the day.  Skirt, blouse with plenty of cleavage, heels and stockings held in place by a garter belt, which of course he couldn't see at that point, and a purse on my arm.  Everything very elegant and sexy, complete with makeup, and my hair done in a French knot style.  I told Karl that I would be going out for a bit.  I tied his hands behind his back, and directed him to get on his knees in the corner to await my return.  To insure that he didn't wander, I placed one of my slippers between his forehead and the wall.  His forehead was pressed against the inside heel area of the slipper while the sole and toe loosely covered his nose and mouth so that he could have my foot's essence to contemplate while he waited. 

To keep his mind busy, I ordered him to compose a poem about the joy of worshipping my feet.  Two stanzas, four lines each, rhyming every other line.  I do this sort of thing often because it amuses me to make him compose, memorize and recite a poem many times during the day.  He knows better than to stumble over the words (there are punishments for that), and I always vary the subject matter to keep his mind on a particular subject.  I returned in about an hour, removed my slipper from his face and had him recite the poem.  Then recite it again.  And again.  And once more just to be certain that he knew it well.  He'd be reciting that poem all day, often at very inopportune times, and he was well aware that I expected him to recite it perfectly each time.

Here's the poem he came up with:

The sight of your beautiful feet
Makes me weak and filled with desire
To kiss and lick and repeat and repeat
It just sets my senses on fire.

My tongue on your toes, your sole and your heel
My lips on your arch so high
While on my knees I humbly kneel
And await your satisfied sigh.

I'm sure that Robert Frost is turning over in his grave, but I must admit that I was pleased and amused.  I was to hear that poem many times during the day, but especially each time I had Karl worshipping or caring for my feet.  Between licking, sucking and kissing, plus removing and re-doing nail polish as well as a complete pedicure, he'd have a great many chances to perfect his recital.

I had him kneeling before me, his head facing me and his forehead on the ground in front of me, my high heels resting on his back as I explained my goals for the day.  "Today, slave, I wish to be pampered and pleasured.  You will serve me all day, always available at my beck and call, ready to answer a snap of my fingers or the tinkling of this glass bell I'll be keeping near me.  You'll follow all commands quickly, efficiently and silently.  You'll do nothing without a direct order from me, and that includes eating, drinking and going to the bathroom.  You exist to please me, to obey me, and to worship me, and your sole function is to assure my pleasure, and I plan to have a great deal of pleasure.  If you have a physical emergency requiring you to use the bathroom, for instance, you will raise your hand and await permission to speak.  This sort of "interruption" to my pleasure will be punished, of course, so I expect you'll think twice before raising that hand.  Now clean my shoes with your tongue, then remove them with your mouth and take them to my closet.  Your hands will remain tied behind your back for now, and you'll stay on your knees until you return to me and resume this position.  Now get started."

And so my day of being served and serviced began.  I will continue this at a later date.