The Trip

Mistress Alexia

My boi is unloading the car as I watch from the doorway.

She has been working out of town for a while and returned home two days ago to find my instructions waiting for her.

My place 11:00am Thursday. Arrive prepared.

Enclosed was an address in Warwickshire. She was to plan the route and chauffeur me there.

By Thursday afternoon we are at our destination. The unloading completeand the bags neatly stored in the bedroom I wait for my boi to take in her surroundings. Suddenly the penny drops as she realises that this is no ordinary country cottage, no ordinary weekend hideaway but a private dungeon.

We had been planning a trip to Ess & Emm since March but, for one reason and another, it just didn't happen. I recalled the look of disappointment on her face when I told her the trip was postponed but now we are here. This is it, this is something special and the expression on her face is priceless.

Welcome home boi. Think you can make the grade? Think you can cut the mustard? I taunt.

I lead her down to the dungeon and begin my inspection of her. I smile to myself as I note the effort she has made to please me.

Highly polished Doc Martens, a crisp pressed shirt, and Levi Red Tags.

This, coupled with her spiky hair, has become a uniform that never fails to elicit the attention of strangers in the street. Staring first at her, the boi beautiful, and then at me, a femme with long dark hair, ruby lips and high heels. A stark contrast! My, my, sometimes I swear I can hear the wheels turning as they realise the androgynous one might be a girl - My girl.

My girl.

Back to the inspection. My eyes graze the back of her neck where the hair is cropped army-recruit close. I move swiftly and silently to face her and she lowers her gaze in submission.

Good boi, I say in a low voice.

I unbutton her shirt and, standing behind her with one hand on the shirt-collar I yank it free from her body and toss it aside.

I trail a finger across her wide muscular shoulders, a boi's shoulders.

I trace a line along the length of her spine and stop just before that sweet place above the curve of her ass. I move in close, her smell mingling with the scent of my latex as I press against her. Her body moulds to mine and I plant light kisses on her shoulders whilst running my hand through her hair. Suddenly I grab a handful of hair and, spinning her around to face me, I yank her head back hard. She yields.

Look at me, baby girl

Almond green eyes meet my gaze through heavy half-mast eyelids. Still holding her by the hair I kiss hard and, when she responds just enough, I pull away laughing.

Fixing my gaze to her gaze I drop to my knees and slowly and deliberately begin to unlace those never-ending Doc Martens.

I watch as her cheeks colour vermilion in affirmation of her discomfort and in betrayal to her butchness, yet she stands stock still in obedience not daring to look around the dungeon.

What torment!

I stand tapping my crop against my patent leather boot as she obeys my command to remove the rest of her clothing.

Slowly now, just the way I like it - cheap and nasty.

Her gaze now struggles to remain fixed to mine and her face flushes redder still with anger and embarrassment. She removes her Levis and true to the butch in her, she reveals pristine white mens' boxer shorts. I wait until she removes them and ensure she is devoid of pubic hair.

Very good. Now tell me why you are here?

To be your boi, Mistress

Ever the optimist! I say with a laugh as I fasten the deep leather collar around her neck and snap the padlock shut.

Instantly she drops to the floor and looks up at me.

May I please, Mistress?

I nod and she extends her tongue to the tip of my boot running it firmly and slowly along to the instep. This is boot worship from the heart. Boot worship better than I have ever experienced. It is given freely and with love, silently and without expectation or the need for approval.

The outside world excluded from our intimate tableau, we lose ourselves in the moment. I dig a sharp heel into her back and relish the power that flows between us. Just me, my boi naked at my feet, the silence and the moment.

It is the order of things, the way they are meant to be and, later, when we break the silence and talk she will say.

It just is. It is where I belong.

There is a padded whipping bench at the far end of the room, I lead her to it by the heavy ring in her collar. Broad straps immobilise her around the torso, thighs, calves and ankles.

I flog her gently and rhythmically with a heavy black and purple suede flogger.

How I love that flogger! Made to match my single tails by a Californian beauty with an eye for detail and a taste for pain. Perfectly balanced, it becomes an extension of my psyche, soft and caressing one minute, heavy and unforgiving the next.

Her moans are barely audible above the sound of the music but they are corroborated by a trickle of wetness on the inside of her thigh. I slap her hard and then some more between the legs, a trick taught to me by a Daddy, it rarely fails to get a reaction, try it sometime!

She strains to meet my hand as it makes contact. I read her like a book, pull it away and smear her face with her girl moisture.

Look at you all helpless and horny as hell! I say.

Want some more baby girl?

She responds with something incoherent that I take to mean yes, I bet I say to no one in particular.

I unroll a condom over the knot of my single tail and push it deep inside her. Remarking that she looks like a rat with a tail and that she had better not drop the whip or else!

Now I don't know about you boi, but I need a drink! I say turning to leave the room.

No Mistress, please don't go Mistress, don't go she cries, her voice catching in the throat as she tries to focus on making sense.

Topping from the bottom are we? I snap.

I leave and reappear quietly some ten minutes later drink in hand. I watch from across the room as she fights to grip the whip to prevent it from slipping out from inside her and onto the floor. Inevitably, she loses the battle.

Are you having difficulty following instruction or are you deliberately disobeying me? I spit out.

Sorry Mistress, please, please, I'm sorry.

Yes, indeed a sorry sight, what now? Are you going to beg and tell me how you want to be my best boi? I say sarcastically.

Well think again I sneer.

This is a game we have played over and again. The elements of bondage, abandonment and a predicament drive her wild - perhaps this time however, I should up the ante, make it a little less comfortable emotionally.

I release the straps, she sits up and turns to kiss me. Without a word I turn, pick up the shirt from where I had dropped it earlier and hand it to her. Again her colour rises and shame-faced she is holding back tears.

I move to the winch that holds the St Andrew's cross up against the ceiling but before I get the chance to lower it she is there in front of me wearing the shirt.

I knew I would do something to ruin it, I was mad to even think I could be good enough She says softly trying not to cry.

I ignore her and continue with the task in hand. The cross in position, I break the silence.

I haven't finished with you yet and I certainly don't recall dismissing you. Lose the shirt and get over here.

It takes every ounce of self-control I can muster not to take her in my arms and remind her that I love her. I love her unconditionally, the way she loves me, the way it should be. Yet the coldness in my voice is enough to instil doubt in her mind.

I drag blood-red rope over her shoulder and across her breasts, binding them tightly.

You know how good this makes me feel boi? I have been thinking about tying you up all day.

I pull on her nipples and her breathing changes. Guiding her backwards, I attach her to the cross and reach into my bag for a black inflatable butterfly gag. Her eyes widen as I inflate the gag enough to push her out of her comfort zone.

Relax boi enjoy the trip I say smiling.

Taking the single tail from around my waist I flick her nipples and breasts for what seems an eternity. I move down between her legs. Softly whipping the inside of her thighs and catching her clit every now and then.

Her moans are muffled from behind the gag and she strains hard against the cuffs binding her to the cross. She looks at me through glazed eyes, arching her back to push herself closer to me. I step back and intensify the whipping.

Her breasts push tightly against their bonds and trickles of perspiration run down her torso. I move towards her, take a nipple in between my teeth and bite until her breathing accelerates. Abruptly I release her nipple and watch her ride the pain.

I caress her clit and with my free hand pinch her nose closing off her air supply. Taking my signals from her we play this dark game until her body tells me she is ready to come. I smile wickedly and step back as I say.

Not yet baby girl, Not yet.

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