Mistress Saves Her Slave’s Skin ~ Ignite Story

Note: This post involves a mutually agreed upon female-dominated sexual relationship.

Mistress Saves Her Slave’s Skin (Literally): Our Jamaican Vacation, Day Two

I woke up on Day two of our mistress/slave vacation with the pungent smell of hibiscus flowers wafting through my bungalow at Firefly Resort in Negril, Jamaica. And if that wasn’t enough to start my day off right, there was a tongue working its magic on my clit and cunt. Somehow my slave husband, Corey, had managed to pull the sheets off me, his mistress—using only his teeth since his hands were still cuffed behind his back just the way I left him last night to sleep on the floor.  What adoration and devotion. I thought I may yet reward him with an early ejaculation. But no, I needed to keep him on the edge of extreme horniness until our last day in Negril. Then I would empty his balls for his pleasure and my own.

I am Mistress S., and I am sharing memories of the mistress/slave vacation that I took with my husband Corey on one of our milestone anniversaries. It was his suggestion we explore what it might feel like to live out our daily mistress/slave lifestyle on a vacation where no one would recognize us, and not because we feel our lifestyle is wrong, but because it is not currently understood by most of our friends—and certainly Corey’s work associates would not be accepting of it either. Negril, Jamaica was such a place, and Firefly Resort was the perfect location to do just that. On Day One of our trip, I had already explicitly told the female manager that the handsome and muscular dude with me at the office was my slave husband.  That remark didn’t seem to faze her in the least. Evidently, she was privy to customers who revealed many different sexual twists, and ours was just one more. His slavery was also hinted at to the two twenty-something females sunbathing next to us in the nude yesterday when they overheard me giving mistress-type demands to slave Corey. No doubt, on Day Two, they would put two and two together.  They looked very astute.

But, more than any other revealing encounter was when our bungalow neighbors walked past our windows at the exact moment Corey and my Yarosi vibrator teamed up to give me an over-the-top orgasm. Although my eyes were partially closed, so I didn’t really see if they lingered to observe us or not, my vocal cords were definitely not closed, so there really was no way for them not to know what we were doing. And if they looked, they would have seen Corey’s tongue buried in my cunt and his cock begging for release while his hands were bound at the wrist behind his back.   That meant that on Day One, I had exposed slave’s status to the cute manager, the two beautiful sunbathers next to us, and the uninhibited neighbors next door. Oh, I forgot. The beautiful waitress at the restaurant made it number four when she saw that I ordered slave’s dinner in a way that was totally contrary to normal custom, especially in Jamaica.  I was having a ton of fun, enjoying every minute of my delegated sexual authority.

As much as I enjoyed feeding Corey his daily breakfast of cunt juices, his oral servitude wasn’t feeding my hungry stomach its breakfast, so I put a stop to slave’s oral duties and ordered him to put on his black spandex workout shorts.  I had previously taken out the liner of the shorts that would have partially hidden the contours of his cock; but now, nothing was left to the imagination.  After he stuffed his cock inside the shorts, I could easily see the head, corona and all, as well as the clear outline of his penis as it snaked its way down the side of his thigh. It was like I had shrink-wrapped my slave to make “my” cock as visible as possible.  I handed him his skin-hugging see-through tank top that matched his shorts, and Corey pulled it on. I knew that slave would have real problems getting his erection to go away, especially with his cock collar still locked on.  Inspecting my slave’s attire, I nodded my approval.

He had his instructions to take the scooter we rented for the week and go to the local market to get fresh pastries and fruit, using the backpack and the cargo box on the scooter to carry the merchandise. I could get my coffee at the beach bar and planned on having breakfast as soon as Corey returned, which hopefully would be soon.  I instructed him to serve me my breakfast on the beach, wearing whatever he felt would please me.  I put on my red thong bikini and top and a cover-up and headed to the beach bar to order my coffee.  My lounge chair was exactly where I left it the previous day, and to my pleasure, I noticed that the beach and sand near my chair had been manicured with a sand rake. My coffee was served immediately; taking it to my chair, I settled in to start reading a sexy novel I picked up just for the trip.

Soon my two sunbathing neighbors from yesterday came out of their bungalow and placed their towels on chairs that they relocated to within a couple of feet from mine. It was obvious by that action alone they wanted to get better acquainted.  They were wearing G-strings and bikini tops under their cover-ups that I figured would be coming off as soon as the sun rose a bit higher, so they most likely would be sunbathing nude just like the day before. They initiated a conversation by extending pleasantries and introductions.  I was glad to hear they were from another state from ours and would have no connections to me or Corey that I knew of.  I did not offer them any personal information except my first name, Samantha, or as most people call me Sam.

A few minutes later, slave Corey appeared wearing his blue Y-backed G-string and carrying six muffins and an assortment of fresh fruit on a tray he fetched from the bar.  Looking at his cock to ensure he had left his collar on, I was pleased to see slave’s beautiful prick pushing outward against the small amount of fabric. Being the queen of hospitality and seeing the volume of breakfast food Corey brought, it was natural to invite the ladies to this bounty.  At first, they declined, but I insisted that they enjoy breakfast with me.  When they said yes, slave presented the tray to them to serve them some fruit and muffins.  Of course, I can’t read minds, but it was a sure bet this had never happened to them before, and they seemed to be enjoying the food as well as the server. After asking them if they were coffee drinkers, I ordered Corey to place the tray on the beach table next to them and get two more coffees for the ladies.  In obedience, he took his bare ass and headed for the beach bar to retrieve two more coffees.

In just seconds, Corey returned with two more mugs and a thermos of coffee on another tray.  He dutifully handed the steaming cups of Jamaican coffee to my two neighbors and promptly refilled my cup from the thermos without being told to do so.  When he was finished, I pointed to the sand between the ladies and me, and Corey knew it meant for him to sit down between us, which he did cross-legged. The two women noticed that slave wasn’t eating, and they asked me directly if I was going to allow him something to eat.  That made it clear that they  Corey’s status since they knew not to ask him but to ask me.  I told them he would be eating and drinking our leftovers and not to worry that I made him wait.

When one of the gals started to reach for the thermos for a refill, I quickly asked her to let slave do it for her.  “He needs the practice,” I commented, and that was very true. Serving others as he was asked to do just then was indeed practice since he had never done anything like this before.

Corey was good—he did exactly as told.  He got up and took the thermos of coffee and topped off their cups and my cup. Standing as he did to serve us, we all could see his G-string was failing to keep his cock contained. The demonstration of my authority over him was a powerful aphrodisiac that I knew he found impossible to counteract, no matter what unsexy thought he tried to concentrate on.

When it seemed that the ladies had all they could eat, I instructed slave to fetch their plates, which still had a few pieces of muffin and some leftover fruit on them. He was to start clearing them by collecting their leftovers and mine on one plate. I then instructed Corey to sit between us and finish our breakfasts.  I took a muffin, divided it in two, and gave him one half to add to his meager portions.  Slave washed it down with the leftover coffee while my two new friends and I chatted girl talk. I could tell they were really anxious to find out how I came to have so much authority over this stud and perhaps how they could eventually do the same with their own potential future mates.  If that conversation came up during our stay, I would be happy to inform them.

I then ordered Corey to return the thermos of coffee to the bar and carry the leftover muffins and fruit back to the bungalow, which he promptly did.  While he was doing his chores, my two new friends took off their cover-ups, and so did I.  The sun was high enough now to start adding to our tans and getting a year’s supply of vitamin D.  Unlike me, who stopped disrobing after taking off my cover-up, they stripped off everything, including their G-strings, to get an all-over tan.  It was easy for me to see, as I did yesterday, that they had cleanly shaven pussies, a look that I knew would be even more difficult for my husband slave to ignore.

Since slave was wearing his blue G-string, it would be clear to my sunbathing friends that Corey’s cock was as cleanly shaven as their pussies. For me, his clean-shaven cock and absence of any pubic hair reveals my slave’s equipment so much better because there is no bushy hair to hide it.  I love the look.  In fact, I demand that Corey shave his cock and balls every day, as well as any stray hairs that might be popping up anywhere on his chest or underarms.  I really like the smooth look, and with Corey’s Nordic heritage, that is not much of a problem. For as masculine as he is in terms of his well-built body, it doesn’t sprout much in the way of chest hair.  Maybe some women like hairy chests, and that’s a matter of preference, but I like my man to be as hair-free as possible from his neck to his groin.

When slave returned, I handed him the SPF4 lotion I wanted him today, and Corey knelt to promptly start massaging it onto my skin. He faced away from the ladies, giving them a nice view of his tight ass, which I affectionately fondled in front of them while he made sure every inch of my skin was protected.

While he was lathering my skin, I felt the need to whisper into his ear these thoughts: “When you lay down next to these two naked and gorgeous friends of mine, you may look, and you may admire their bodies, but you may not lust.  You know that already.  There is nothing wrong with you as a slave admiring and enjoying the view, but the only person you will ever enjoy sexual activity with is me, your mistress.”  Corey nodded his acknowledgment of this absolute rule that was law in our home.  Nudity was fine, and enjoying other people’s nude bodies was fine, but fantasizing about having sex with them was out of the question, and it was also degrading to the ones he might be fantasizing about.  I would have none of it!

When Corey was finished applying lotion to my body, I placed him again between the two women sunbathing next to us and me.  I should have instructed slave to lotion his own body with sunscreen, but I didn’t, and that oversight would lead to another sexual situation, depending on how one looks at what happened.

After another couple of hours of sunbathing, reading my novel, occasionally chatting with my two female friends, and making Corey rotate every so often, I decided it was time for a walk on the beach. Looking at my slave, however, it was apparent he was getting far too much sun—especially his naked buns!  We had worked at getting an underlayer of color prior to our trip, but Corey’s work schedule did not allow him to get away and spend time in a tanning bed.  It was obvious now that he was getting fried, and it had to hurt. So I instructed slave to return to the bungalow, get my keys, unlock his cock collar, and put on his Rio-style bikini for a walk.  At least that would give his ass a minor degree of protection while we enjoyed the shade of the many booths along the beach where the Jamaican ladies were selling their beautiful handmade items.

At every booth, I gave Corey orders to stand and wait while I leisurely strolled and examined the items for sale.  That action was not lost on any of the women selling their wares.  To tell a man to stand and wait while his lover lazily shopped was unheard of in their culture. It got me a lot of looks and smiles. In one booth, however, the middle-aged woman selling her jewelry approached me and suggested I take slave (I think she called him “your friend”) to the tent next door where her daughter was setting up a tent gazebo and portable massage table. There we would both, but especially my “friend,” enjoy an hour-long aloe vera massage. She whispered that my “friend’s” skin would probably blister very quickly if I didn’t do that.

I took her up on the offer, and we headed to her daughter’s beach-side massage tent.  I instructed the dark Jamaican beauty to give my slave husband an hour-long aloe vera massage without even asking what it would cost. She had set up comfy folding lawn chairs adjacent to her table where I could sit and watch while awaiting my turn.

The masseuse instructed Corey to get up on her covered portable table and lay face down; he obeyed.  Without asking either of us for permission, she took the sides of his bikini and pulled them down off his waist carefully, then completely off, and handed them to me. This was a first for me and slave.  I had never watched Corey get a massage before, and even if I had, the massage therapist always kept his buttocks and genitals covered.  Evidently, that was of no concern here in Jamaica.  If his skin were to get an aloe vera massage’s healing properties, she needed access to every part that was burned, and cloth coverings would only get in the way.

All I could do was smile.  This would be fun.  What was slave going to do when she needed to apply her magic to his front?  Again, not my problem, but I relished the thought of trying to read Corey’s mind.  I knew him well enough to know he was already struggling to keep his beautiful cock from growing full but was having difficulty doing so. A female massage therapist’s massage would make it so much harder for slave to shrink his already partially aroused prick.

To my surprise and delight, my two sunbathing partners came strolling down the beach and saw me sitting and observing Corey’s massage. They had put back on their G-strings and left their tops at the beach, sporting only with their semi-sheer cover-ups.  I invited them to pull up some chairs and to join me, which they did. They asked for details about what was happening.

“The therapist’s mother over there,” I said, pointing at the woman in the tent next door, “urgently suggested her daughter give slave an aloe vera massage so that his sunburn would not turn to blisters. If we waited, it might be too late for the marvelous healing properties of this amazing plant to do their magic.  That’s how we ended up here and how slave got naked on this table without my or his permission. She just took off his bikini and handed it to me because she had to.” They giggled their approval like they were still school girls.

A few beach walkers paused to watch as well, and it looked like the young lady was going to get more business after we were done. Watching this young woman work her fingers into Corey’s muscles and buttocks was a very erotic scene. I don’t know how he felt, but I am sure he had to be enjoying her ministrations.  The look on his face made it plain to my friends and me that he was entering a different zone of relaxation. This was indeed good medicine, and I was so glad I took the mother’s advice.

After half of an hour working on his back and buttocks and legs, the young woman leaned down and instructed slave in his ear to turn over.  Without hesitating, Corey did as he was told.  Of course, I immediately wondered in what condition I would find his cock.  Would it be erect and standing straight up? Would it be shriveled and trying to hide? What I and my friends and the therapist saw was his cock flopping semi-erect off to one side.  The question was, would it stay that way and behave, or would it have a mind of its own? We would wait and see.

We didn’t have to wait long. Lately, my wise MarriageHeat community friends have reminded me and others that there is nothing wrong with public erections. I kind of came to that same conclusion earlier on my own while sitting there watching Corey get his massage. A man has little control over what his cock does, and a healthy stud like mine has even less control when thoughts and physical stimuli produce a natural response.

The young Jamaican massage therapist was very professional in her therapy.  Not once did I see her touch slave’s cock.  Nevertheless, she had to get close enough to work the aloe into wherever the sun had left its burns, and since I made him wear a G-string yesterday and he chose to wear one today, that meant that the burns went right up to his balls and penis. Therefore her fingers had to go there as well without ever touching him unprofessionally.

This was not a seedy and raunchy massage where a man might seek sexual relief by having his organ stimulated in an immoral way by some back street, fake masseuse pretending to be a real therapist.  This was a young woman doing her job faithfully and carefully in front of me, the client’s wife, giving him the needed cure for what would be a painful outcome if left untreated.  Even so, Corey could not help get more aroused the closer she got to his groin.  And, again, I feel today more relaxed at allowing Corey’s anatomy to be what God intended it to be and not get all bent out of shape if, heaven forbid, some other woman (or man) sees more in a setting like this than what they expected to see. It was absolutely normal for him to get an erection—not the kind and size he has in his slave harness, but an erection, nevertheless. It was not her fault nor Corey’s; it couldn’t be helped.

Despite what we may have thought would be an offense (his erection), it seemed not to trouble this young lady at all nor her mother, who occasionally looked on from the booth next door. Oh, how I loved this “hang-loose” culture. They seemed not to have been affected by the unbiblical puritanical mores that our culture was cursed with.  If only our previous generation of pastors had been honest about how to interpret the Song of Solomon and more open with young soon-to-be-married couples about the pure beauty of sexual love and the pure beauty and holiness of our bodies in their naked glory.  If our culture had more of this freedom of healthy sexuality, I am convinced there would be far less need for pornography and far less sexual abuse—but maybe I was just hopeful.  Yet, had they (those Christian pastors) been honest and taught these things from the pulpit and in the counseling room, maybe a lot fewer Christian men would have been tempted to buy their Playboy and Penthouse magazines and would have been far less abusive of their wives. They would have been taught God’s way to treat women as treasures and not as degraded sexual objects.

When his massage was done, it was my turn on the table. Knowing my thong and top would get in her way, I quickly wiggled out of both and laid my suit in the chair I was sitting in. Corey got down, and I could tell from the look on his face that that hour on the table was just what the doctor ordered; I’m not sure what kind of doctor that would be, but it was exactly what he needed.  His burn was now under the healing properties of an aloe treatment, and he would enjoy the rest of his vacation without the painful sting that accompanies those burns.  I motioned for slave to sit cross-legged next to my friends on the sand, still naked, and wait. He could put on his small bikini later after I was finished.

The relaxed atmosphere caused my two female friends to open a discussion about how they could get a slave (they used the word explicitly) like mine. I shared with them while getting my massage the little bit of wisdom I had about this subject. I told them, “Look for clues in a man that revealed what he is made of.  Start by looking at how he treats his mother because that will tell you how he generally treats all women. Does he treat her with respect?  Then he will likely treat you with respect.

“When you go on a date, does he defer to you?  Does he open the door of the car and the door of the restaurant, and does he seat you at the table before taking his seat?  Is he strong physically, mentally, and emotionally?  Is he a man’s man in the right sense so that he won’t back down to intimidation?  The last thing you want in a sex slave is a weak man or a mousy man.  Military men are excellent candidates for slavery; they are strong, healthy, unintimidated, yet they are used to taking orders and serving under authority.

“You can narrow your field through dating apps—then you can screen him before you set up a face-to-face.  Once you start dating, practice a little playful bondage.  See how he reacts to it.  If he gets hard quickly, visible through loose-fitting pants, you know he is into submission—as I believe most men are.

“Start slowly and use the power of seduction; know that, as a female, you have immense feminine power over a male as a result of the way God made you.  I call it the female mystique, and it is real.  Put it to use.  You can tease and deny him until he is begging for release.  You will soon learn that teasing and denying will cause him to do almost anything, hoping that you will let him jack off eventually.  I call it training.  Corey here is all of the things I described above.  He is strong and manly, considerate, respectful, caring, and above all, submissive.

“It may surprise you to know,” I told the girls, “that Corey carries a 45 caliber pistol with him at all times back home when out and about and wouldn’t hesitate to use it if my life was threatened.  I know, sitting naked at your feet like he is now, it seems hard to comprehend, but it is true.”

The girls peppered me with a lot more questions than I need bore you with now, but the last question perhaps was the most important.  They asked if slave was happy in his role. That’s when I replied, “Don’t ask him; ask his dick!” Of course, it was still hard and staying hard as a result of our conversation.  When they asked if it was that simple, I simply said, “Yes, ladies, it is that simple.”

After my massage ended, I told the girls that I was taking slave to the grocery store to pick up some items for dinner and asked if they needed anything from the store.  Immediately, one of them responded, “Yeah, one like him. Are they on sale?” They did need a few things, and I told them to enjoy their afternoon while Corey and I headed to the store before all the fresh fruit was gone. I handed slave his bikini because, at that point, we were technically not on a nude beach and had a short distance to cross before we were.

Back in our bungalow, I had Corey put his cock collar back on, and I locked it so that there might at least be a little bit of difficulty getting out of it without my keys. Then I had him put on his spandex work-out shorts and mesh matching top.  His cock snaked down the side of his shorts like before. I put on a white halter top to accent my tan and a pair of pink boxer shorts. Corey took the driver’s spot, I climbed on behind him, and off we went.

The store was a few miles away from the resort, so I had time to play with slave’s already hard cock. I had fun reaching inside his shorts, squeezing his already very hard cock, and lifting it so that it wasn’t snaking down but standing upright inside his shorts. I was having so much fun displaying him like this in public.  I wanted his cock as visible and as hard as it could be by the time we got to the store.  My fingers made sure his stiff erection was going nowhere.

Dinner was casual that night as we ate some jerk chicken from a street vendor on our way home from the grocery store. I had to admit, driving around Negril on the back of our scooter reminded me of our early days of courting when my “not-yet-slave” boyfriend would take me around on his motorcycle; we would enjoy summer days riding and picnicking and enjoying life to the full.  Our relationship was growing every day, and our love for each other was cementing our hearts together.  As our mistress/slave relationship later developed, I realized that love and slavery could co-exist.  I truly love my slave husband, and by training him sexually as I have sexually, with his express permission and blessing, I have helped him develop in so many ways—especially in the area of discipline of his time and his schedule, both on the ranch and in his career.  His wisdom has helped me develop more confidence and self-assurance, which I acknowledge and appreciate.

When we arrived back at our bungalow at this very cozy yet sexy resort, it was time to take our nightly stroll along the beach. I ordered Corey to wear his blue G-string while I strolled in a pair of wide-leg pants with a tropical leaf print and a front-tie halter top. The contrast between my being a bit overdressed on the beach and my slave being very underdressed (especially at this time of the evening) was noticeable by others as we walked past them hand in hand. I found it strange how context definitely determines what clothing is appropriate.  Going topless for women on the beach was acceptable but not in the grocery store. And the context seems to change for certain times of the day.  G-strings and bikinis for men were acceptable during the day, but none was found in the evening, except for on slave.  Interesting.

On the way back to our bungalow, I saw my two sunbathing friends having drinks at the bar. They had obviously changed into evening clothes by now. I instructed Corey to go on ahead while I chatted with them for a few minutes. They invited me to join them for a few drinks, but I had better things to do at that moment. I was tempted to whisper into one of their ears, “I’m going to pleasure myself with slave’s cock tonight. But, it’s way too hot to close my shutters, so please don’t look in our room if you hear me squealing with pleasure, okay? I mean, I wouldn’t want to give you ladies a lesson on enjoying a slave’s body and using it for pleasure; that would not be good. So whatever you do, don’t turn our patio chairs inward to watch how I pleasure myself with slave’s cock.” But, I felt that would be too “over the top,” so I simply said, “Thank you for the invite, ladies, but I am going to enjoy slave’s tongue and cock for my own pleasure for a while.  And, it’s way too hot to close the shutters while doing so. See you in the morning,” I said it with a lingering smile and a look that spoke volumes of intent. They certainly had to know from my smile that it was fine for them to hang around a bit and enjoy being voyeurs if they wanted to see a little action.

Corey was waiting for me in the main room of our bungalow, and I ordered him to strip off his G-string and go to the bar naked except for his cock collar to get me a full glass of wine. I wasn’t walking in his shoes (actually, bare feet—but you get the point) to experience what it had to feel like to go naked to the beach bar wearing his cock collar and order my wine while the ladies finished theirs. But, turning the tables in my mind, as if it were me and the people waiting at the bar were men, I could imagine almost exactly what slave would be feeling as he dutifully followed my instructions to a T. Corey later told me that when he got the wine and was turning to leave, one of my friends said, “Perform well tonight.” He knew I had told them what he was expected to do next.

Once he returned to our room and placed my wine on the bedside table, I made slave sit in the straight back chair we had in our room so that he was facing the windows at an angle but could partially face me on the bed as well.  I told him to spread his legs as far apart as he could, and then I shackled his wrists behind his back with his arms hanging over the back of the chair.  His erection now was huge, and every vein in his cock was pushing out against his skin.  I then took off my strolling clothes and got out my favorite dildo, which is a hair smaller than Corey’s dick. I lubed it, got my vibrators ready, and put in my earbuds to listen to more stories—ones that get my juices and motor going.

Laying on the bed naked, I started pleasing myself, first fingering my clit to get things started. Soon my own moans were matching the erotic sounds in my ears. With my free hand, I found my breasts and started fondling them and playing with my tits to add the tingling that they seem to bring to a night of self-pleasure. Reaching for my dildo, I slipped it into my cunt to make it hit places that only its curve seems to reach, including my G-spot. When I heard it making happy slurping sounds going in and out of my cunt, even with my earbuds on, I knew my juices were oiling this phallus with plenty of my own lubrication. I was getting really turned on, especially thinking maybe my friends might be observing outside in the dark behind open shutters, taking notes, and getting a lesson. I didn’t directly invite them to watch, as you know, but they surely knew I would not be upset at all if they did. And if they did, we would be talking about it in the morning, no doubt.

Opening my eyes just a crack, I looked at slave to see what expression he had on his face.  I wish I could describe it in better detail, but I will try.  What I saw and heard was my slave in extreme sexual torment.  It was like the look on a man’s face the seconds before he shoots his load.  Corey’s cock was sticking straight up now.  It was no longer at a 45-degree angle; it had to be 90 degrees straight up. He was humping the air with his cock and trying desperately, with the limited amount of movement he was allowed in the chair, to touch something—anything—that would give him an orgasm. It’s a good thing humping the air doesn’t quite do the trick.  He was on the verge, and I knew that one touch from me under the corona of his penis, where many of his orgasmic nerves are located, would ignite the fuse that would lead to his own explosion. It wasn’t going to be.

After my first guttural gasps from the orgasm that my Magic Wand so efficiently and magnificently produced (in conjunction with my slippery dildo working its magic in my vagina), I decided that slave was going to get a reward.  Maybe not one of his liking, but a reward nevertheless.  I reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out the de-sensitizer I use on Corey’s cock to keep him from feeling anything while fucking. I got up and spread a liberal coating on his penis head and made sure the nerves under the corona were well oiled with this stuff.  He would stay hard for sure—how could he not, watching me pleasure myself?—but any stimulation I gave him would have no effect whatsoever. I took my dildo, now coated with my juices, and made slave clean it off with his mouth and tongue.  I could not see if we had an audience or not, but if we did, that little bit of proper cleaning and care for my sex toys would probably have caused someone outside to go over the edge.

I then ordered Corey to get up from the chair, leaving his hands shackled behind his back, and made him lie face up on the bed.  I mounted him and took his hardened but unfeeling cock and slipped it inside my cunt for a long, long servicing. I love the feeling of his cock inside my vagina.  As I said, his cock was a hair larger than my dildo, so with its veins sticking out, it was now hitting nerve endings inside me that my dildo could not reach. I lowered myself again and again onto his beautiful cock, making it hit my cervix with its hardened head. Looking down, I could see the transfixed look on slave’s face that he often gets when servicing me.  He was in ecstasy for sure, as was I.  Up and down, I rode his cock, certain he would have no chance to explode his cum prematurely inside of me.  That reward would come at the end of the week.

Reaching for my smaller vibrator, I set it on its most intense speed and rhythm. My self-pleasuring had now gone on for at least 45 minutes, and it was time for my grand finale. Leaning down, I gave Corey my tits to nibble, and the combination of him sucking and licking my nipples, his cock in my vagina hitting parts that sent thrills to my insides, and the vibrator lighting the fuse in my clit lead to my final explosion. I gave in and let my body surrender to sexual joy.  The sounds that came from my throat almost seemed other-worldly. They were the sounds everyone of age knows are the sounds of raw, pure, uninhibited sexual release.

When the orgasmic waves stopped crashing and slowed to little ones every few seconds, I climbed off slave’s cock, which was still sticking straight up in the air. His groin and cock were coated with my juices, and it was time for him to clean me up.  I straddled Corey’s head so that his tongue could clean away all my juices.  I had a towel to clean us up but chose instead to leave Corey’s loving face coated all night with my juices.

Getting off of slave’s face, I reached for my keys to unlock Corey’s wrist cuffs, then mercifully left the cuffs off to give him a night without them. But with the padlock I used for them, I attached his cock collar to a short chain, which I attached to my bedpost.  Giving him one of the pillows from off the bed, I kissed him good-night, leaving the night light on in case I needed to pee. Standing above slave, who was now chained to my bed, I asked, “Are you happy, my love?”

His response was telling.  He said, “Don’t ask me, ask my cock.”

Looking at his still hugely erect cock sticking out from him with a will of its own, I said, “I just did.  He tells me he is delighted.”

Then Corey said, “Well, that’s your answer, Mistress.  Good night.”

___

This is Slave Corey. You may think Mistress was unkind by refusing to allow me to orgasm inside her while enjoying intercourse that night, but the truth is that she made the right call.  Keeping me on edge until the end of the week worked in both of our favor.  If she had let me come that night, all my sexual energy would have been drained and evaporated.  It would have been an emotional struggle for me to put on even my small bikini the next day had she done that, and I certainly would have resisted even more wearing the G-strings or going naked as instructed. Knowing our sexual mechanics as we do, Mistress uses that knowledge to the advantage of us both.  She can orgasm three times in a row, fall asleep, and be ready for three more in the morning and three more at night.  As for me, if I shoot my load, it will take me three days to get back the sexual energy lost in that one fleeting moment of pleasure.  So I may be denied, but it’s for very, very good reasons.  Like Mistress, I soon fell asleep on the floor, wondering what sexual adventures awaited us on Day three of our Jamaican vacation.