By Selphaware--The Property of Mistresss Sayako
I had raced home from work. I had scurried about my apartment, heart thumping in my chest as I prepared for my appointed call with Her...with ravishing Mistress Sayako. She was a Goddess, a Divinity who had appeared in my world with a Presence larger than the sky, to teach me my true place in the scheme of things: accepting Her will as my Law, living my life - if I proved worthy enough and fortunate enough - as Her constant slave, Her eternally owned sissy slave property, worshipping Her and serving Her for all the moments of all my days...
And now I was ready. The call. I trembled. I had gathered all of my things, my clothes and my implements, the phone and a towel, and the cold, cold glass.
The glass was cold because it had been in the refrigerator since the night before...since Mistress Sayako had ended Our/our previous conversation with the order that I cum into a wineglass when She counted to three, and then to cover the glass with cling-wrap and store it until this next call. I had of course done so - how could I even imagine disobeying Her? - And here it was with me now--the cold, cold glass with its humiliating milky, white contents. I looked at it, and I could hear echoes of Her laughter in my head, peals of rich and wicked amusement as crystal clear and timeless as the transparency of my glass.
I stood in my taut black garter belt straps and lustfully sensual stockings, my high stiletto heels forcing me into unabashedly sexy feminine gait and posture, leaving me breathless with this sissy ecstasy of altitude, and reminded of Her pleasure in informing me that as Her slave, I would always be required to wear heels of at least five inches for Her unless given express permission to do otherwise...my rich wig tresses whispered soothing sweet nothings to me as they brushed the sensitive and vulnerable expanse of my back, the chain joining my cruel nipple clamps jingling across my smooth chest...the whorishly red lipstick I wore coated even the air that I breathed with the unmistakable blush of lewd cock-sucking intent...and the butt-plug I had inexorably forced into myself to show Her my acceptance of Her right to penetrate me, drove me on and on, making me want to buck my hips to some rhythm that I knew only She and I would be able to hear...
I was as ready as I was going to be; still trembling...curtsying to Her photos, those astonishing documents of true Beauty and Sex Appeal...trembling and whimpering...I called Her...
She announced Herself as always, and then in Her manner of stern and instinctive assurance, demanded to know to whom She was speaking.
I stammered out something, perhaps a quavering "good evening, M-M-Mistress Sayako..." and She laughed, and called me by name, recognizing my voice, flattering me beyond all measure that such a Goddess and Regality should have become aware of me in my small and desperate existence.
"So, you have your glass?" She asked of me, as if no time had passed at all since We/we last hung up the phone, Her retention of information absolute, photographic.
I looked at the glass, and at my blazing shame and embarrassment floating there at the bottom, pooled in chill. "Yes, Mistress," I whispered. I nodded though She could not see - and I believe She heard that as well.
"Good!" She said happily, and I could feel Her smile at my discomfort, and the joy in Her voice was enough to gladden my heart, though I knew what was coming next.
She surprised me with method, if not totally with aim: "dip your finger in it and eat it," She said, still laughing a bit with delighted - and delightful - amusement. I obeyed, doing nothing to disguise the sounds I made, the wet sounds as I shivered but still submitted to Her wishes, tasting my cum, licking it from my finger - I knew She would want to hear the sounds, would perhaps punish me if I deprived Her of them. She wanted more. "Again," She instructed. "Go on, keep eating it." I had expected to be told to simply drink the glassful, to tip it up through my rouged whore lips, so as to better get used to the sensation She viewed as inevitable for me (and which, therefore, was...): that of iridescent cum sliding glossily over the paint that slicked my lips, as I made involuntary but lustful-sounding smacking noises. Instead, she had me feed it to myself from my dripping finger-- long and stiff, hard like a thin and cum-covered phallus. I shivered again, and She laughed again.
"Now," She said, when I had succeeded in completely cleaning out the bottom of the wineglass, "take the chain that connects your nipple clamps, and pull it taut." I moaned before I actually even obeyed, my soft and delicate nipples already feeling phantom foreshadowing of the sensations that were soon to be. "Not so taut that the clamps come off your nipples...but enough so that it hurts. You should feel it..."
I felt it. I made girlish sounds, pathetic mew in a high cracking voice, though I tried to contain them. I somehow heard Her smile again - I suppose She must have wanted me to.
"Push in the butt-plug," She commanded. "Deep, deeper."
I moaned, and gasped, and did as She decreed, and then I gasped and moaned some more.
"Now," She said, "you will not cum. You need to learn chastity, and how I now control your cock, and your orgasm."
My disappointment was cataclysmic. "Yes, Mistress Sayako," I whispered, purring obediently, though I was crestfallen...knowing She was right, of course, that to be granted the ultimate honor of being Her full-time favored slave, one would have to, by definition, cede over control of things like orgasms. To serve Mistress Sayako on a level that deep, to be granted that sublime and ascendant a station, would naturally warrant a surrendering of various integral functions and freedoms...but oh! how I wanted to be permitted to cum right then! I prepared for a long and orgasm-less season.
"You will cum," She told me, "when you can take it no longer...when you simply must have an orgasm. When you feel that way that you just can't go on...then you will call me. And beg me to cum...beg for my permission, but I expect you to try to hold out, at least for a while..."
A while..each second would be a long, long, long, long, very long while...but I would try. I tried to tell Her so, although my vocal cords were almost catatonic at what they were hearing. I believe She understood, regardless.
"And during this time," She went on, just to complicate the pot because it pleased Her to do so, "you will look at my pictures every night."
She knew this would drive me wild with sissy lust! She knows I am a very visual, fetishistic person, and that Her images produce an overwhelming response of sexual awe and submission and desire in me, and that to be forbidden to touch myself while forcibly shown these images would threaten to ignite my brain, and every other sensitive part of me, with a raving sense of longing. I just curtsied beneath Her dark eyes, the mystical encompassing glare that smoldered out from even a representation on a computer screen, and I agreed to Her will pouring forth over the phone. "Yes, Mistress Sayako - I promise!" I told Her I would write Her sissy love notes each night as I tried to fend off my own desires, and I would practice my oral skills while dressed, on the new and overly large and weighty dildos I had just bought that day...and I would try to hold out. Above all, I would try to hold out.
"Good! Then I will speak to you soon," She said, I think pleased overall with this installment of my ongoing humiliation and feminization at Her glorious hands.
"Yes, Mistress," I said, still tasting the cum on my lips, taunted by its redolence of now-denied climax... I shuddered in an ecstasy of submission. "Yes, Mistress Sayako..."
And then I teetered a bit on my heels, aware of my pumps, aware of my stockings and garters, and the invasive butt-plug, so aware, and the many smiles of Mistress Sayako lashing me from the monitor with crisp snaps of laughter...and I sat down to wait, pushing the butt-plug into myself even deeper, a flash of intensified sensation, and then growing into it, any pain subsiding into a comforting and familiar hum. And I waited...knowing that, to please Her, I must now wait for a period so long, that I might as well see it as an eternity of moments arrayed in an infinite line, extending beyond any horizon I could ever hope to envision...
I waited, and I waited, and I looked at Her pictures. The sleek curvaceousness of Her, so long and languid, a dance of Bliss stretched out to a divine pitch...Her legs, so riveting, somehow both slender and voluptuous at the same time, how can they be that way? So impossibly sexy, mesmerizing, slowly crossing, and the cyberspaces between Us/us resound with the rasp of silk across silk...Her astonishing hair, lush ink fall, a deluge of gorgeous black...Her smile a knowing, wicked, utterly provocative possession of all things of Desire...Her dark eyes...Her gaze through these jets of mystery and seduction embossed upon the universe wherever She chooses to look... I replayed Her voice, and I tried hard not to touch myself.
I waited about an eon...and another second passed. As a balm, I said Her name: "Mistress Sayako."
It worked...it soothed...
I waited... Mistress Sayako...