Alice, Mistress of Femdom. 2. Another Encounter
Having prepared the text of the first story, I decided to discuss it with Mistress Alice. I noticed that I was already automatically calling her 'Mistress,' but I want to remind the reader that she was not my mistress, and I was not her slave.
We hadn't even agreed that she would, in any way, influence my story about her session; I was simply supposed to fulfill the requirements she had given me back then. But I was drawn to her, and this was just a pretext to see her beautiful image again, to hear her voice, to feel that invisible power of the Mistress, whom I wanted to worship, like a rabbit to a boa constrictor.
I called Alice, asked for another meeting
and explained the reason for the meeting. She listened to me emotionlessly and agreed, naming the place and time.It was the outdoor parking lot of one of our city's supermarkets. I sat behind the wheel of my SUV, waiting for her to appear. Around me flashed the faces of drivers who had parked their cars near mine and their passengers; cars were constantly changing places, so, as you understand, it was quite crowded around me. It was daytime.
SHE approached me with a quick, or perhaps more accurately, a confident stride! Mistress Alice! The Femdom Mistress! She was, as always, impeccable and irresistible. She wore a white, tight-fitting turtleneck without a bra—I realized this later when she unbuttoned her black jacket in my car and I saw her erect nipples from arousal. She also had on a black leather skirt, about mid-thigh length, sheer black stockings with a seam at the back, and high stilettos with a sharp, steel heel.
I instantly imagined her crushing me with that heel. Honestly, I kept drifting off and retreating into myself; it started back during that session. So, to avoid missing important moments this time, I decided to pretend to be writing something in a notebook, but I actually turned on a voice recorder. Firstly, to avoid getting confused, so to speak, in my testimony, and secondly, so I would have a record of her ethereal voice. Always!
So, let's continue—as I mentioned, she wore a fitted black jacket with a gold brooch inscribed 'Mistress.' Her hair was no longer red but a fiery orange, gathered into a large bun in the middle of her head—a hairstyle I later looked up, called a 'Tower.' On her open, delightful, beautiful ears were sexy gold earrings, her lips were neatly painted with scarlet lipstick, her cheekbones lightly powdered, and of course, when she got into the car, I was pleasantly struck by the aroma of her exquisite French perfume.
She sat herself in the back seat, settling in the middle. One might think I was foolish for not getting out and opening the door for her, but I did it intentionally. I wanted to emphasize that I was not her slave, and she was not my mistress. I constantly argued with myself about this, and this was my way of trying to let her know that I was, like, my own man. Although simply staying in my driver's seat and not reacting in any way to the approaching Mistress in every sense and aspect was not easy at all, but I managed.
My cock immediately sprang to life and secretly greeted her with a rock-hard erection, and I managed to adjust it from an uncomfortable position in my jeans while she was getting in.
"Hello, Alice," I said, trying not to show her my agitation and excitement.
"Hello," she answered curtly and immediately took out of her purse a metal male chastity device in the form of several rings soldered together, resembling a cage. This cage had a small padlock.
"Put it on," said Alice in a commanding tone, and I didn't even argue. Embarrassed, I turned to her and took it in my hand.
"How? Right here?" I looked at this confinement in my hand. It was like a slave's collar, which Alice was demanding I put on now without any reason. But I'm not a slave! She's not my mistress! Again, I started arguing with myself mentally.
"Yes!" she coldly cut me off. "While we talk, I want it on you. And if you're not ready, then goodbye for now!" Alice stared intently into my eyes.
"Okay," I quickly replied, understanding that she was completely serious and this condition was not up for discussion.
The erection from embarrassment sharply and noticeably subsided. Embarrassed and glancing around at the people passing by and driving past, I began to unbuckle my belt and then my jeans. Alice sat in the middle of the back seat, sprawled out languidly and proprietarily (the interior of my car allows for that). Crossing one leg over the other, she presented to my gaze her stunning, sharp little knee, which I so wanted at that moment to embrace and kiss, just kiss that little knee, so beautiful and cool, like its owner herself, who was so close and yet so distant.
I sat facing forward and looked, or rather, stared at the little knee in the rearview mirror, then shifted my gaze to Alice's eyes and met the satisfied look of a predator who was smiling without a smile.
"Do you like it?" she asked with pleased eyes.
"Very much," I replied.
Embarrassed and trying to hide a bit from prying eyes in the parking lot, I still put on the chastity device and fastened my pants. It was quite uncomfortable for my cock; it was the first time I'd tried on such a device. However, as soon as my cock was in my pants and felt safe, it immediately decided to stand up, as a normal cock should in the presence of a beautiful lady. But the cage wouldn't let it straighten out and stand up. Tightness and discomfort appeared, a slight ache in the groin; my cock practically groaned. I already really wanted to get rid of this cage, and I looked at Alice, who silently and questioningly seemed to ask, 'Are you dissatisfied with something?' I, as if answering her, lowered my eyes—'No, everything's fine.'
"So, listen further," Alice began in a proprietorial tone. "Don't turn to face me! You are only allowed to look at me through the mirror! By the way, I permit you to adjust it for now, however you like. Afterwards, touching and turning the mirror is forbidden! You do not initiate conversation! You only ask questions when I allow it! Answer if you understand?"
"Yes," I answered in a subdued voice. Damn, how does she do it? How does she take power over me so quickly? Why do I obey her like her slave? After all, I'm not a slave! I'm just, like, a writer and... How did I give in to her like this? I'm already sitting in shackles! In shackles invisible to anyone, but so unpleasant! Stop! I caught myself thinking, but I actually like being in these shackles! Yes! It's so unusual to be under her power. She has the key to my cock! These thoughts carried me away again, but brought me back when I bent over slightly from the pulsation in my cock, which was, as it were, complaining about its pitiful state and being locked up in some dungeon, the dungeon of this beautiful Queen Alice.
During her story, Alice showed me her legs, crossing one over the other, demonstrating to me the absence of panties. Then she, quite frankly, spread her legs wide and, while telling her session story, began to masturbate her magnificent pussy, to which I was ready to turn and press my lips and tongue. My cock was imprisoned! But Alice had already told me several times that her pussy was only for slaves, and only they could perform cunnilingus. Specifically cunnilingus, because her pussy was unusual and her clitoris... damn, you won't believe it! But I'll just describe it:
Her vagina is quite high, small, with firm labia, a very tight and elongated clitoral hood. The clitoris itself is quite long and thin; when engorged with blood, it peeked out from under the hood and continued to grow, lifting and leaving behind the folds of the hood. I admit I had never seen anything like it, and even when I kissed Alice's pussy in the first part, I didn't notice this, probably because she wasn't aroused then and I didn't see the magnificence of this little pearl—though 'little pearl' was hard to call it. Above, on the pubic mound, was a neatly shaved hairstyle in the shape of the letter V, the same fiery orange color as the hair on her head. Her pussy glistened with lubrication, and Alice would masturbate, inserting and wetting her fingers inside, or simply, like a little cock, she would rub her aroused clitoris. My cock was jealous of it; it could stand as it pleased, but mine couldn't. The ache in my groin and cock, my swollen balls made themselves known the entire time of her story. A couple of times, Alice even moistened my lips with her wet fingers, only adding gunpowder to my blazing fire, a fire that broke and roasted me in my groin, cock, and balls. It was unpleasant and pleasant at the same time.
Alice practically went straight into her new story, not even inquiring about mine or what I wanted to discuss with her. She simply, while reminiscing, masturbated, just as erotically, now closing, now opening her inimitable eyelids. What was she doing? Showing off? Tormenting me? No. She was simply enslaving me, enslaving my thoughts, my will; she took away my erection and my orgasm! She simply owned me completely now, and I, from this and for her amusement, continued to squirm and fidget, arousing and arousing this beautiful, insolent, and lustful female who had so unceremoniously decided for the two of us who would be where.
This excited me even more, continuing to cause discomfort and a kind of already pleasant pain. I imagined how great it would be after Alice freed me, how I would go to one of my acquaintances and... However, this was not meant to be. Having climaxed to her heart's content and finished her story, Alice smeared my face with her hands covered in her juices and declared:
"I don't have the key to your device with me! It will stay on you for at least three days! Get used to it! If you want to end everything that's started, you can just break it and throw it away! Throw away and the hope for our continuation!" Without waiting for my answer, Alice got out of the car, straightened her skirt, and with the same confident, precise stride walked away, leaving me in a bewildered state with a face on which her moisture was drying, wrinkling my skin, or maybe it was just a sensation.
P.S. Mistress Alice called and asked me to supplement my story with thanks to the commentator Ivan for his kind and fair review and to send a three-letter message to the girlfriend of the 'lover' who, without even bothering to read and understand the text, made some absurd conclusion.
Quote from Mistress Alice: "Although I don't like pain and gore, I would show her what real BDSM is by twisting her arms on my stretching rack!"