My slave name, and the Woman who gave it to me
When I was twenty four i moved to Minneapolis, and because i was lazy i got a job at an ice cream shop, figuring that it was cold enough that no one would want to eat ice cream. That turned out not to be true, since people in Minneapolis basically just act like it isn't cold all the time.
The manager of the ice cream shop was a middle aged woman who was a little on the heavy side. i won't tell you her name but call her Barbra instead. She had a name like that, and she went by the shortened version of it that sounded too girly for her age. So, Barbie.
Barbie was average looking with a few extra pounds. She had straight thick brown hair that she wore in a bob. She had a big ass and thick legs as well as big tits and a bit of a belly. Her skin was prone to freckle and she was pale. She was 43.
Barbie was gregarious but no nonsense. She fired the assistant manager the week i started working for her, and she never replaced her the whole time I was working there.
We got a long fine, Barbie and I. At least as well as a 24 year old college dropout and a middle aged manager could.
Anyway, there was a lady who came in twice a week to get the custom ice cream cake orders. She was the cake decorator. She was pretty obnoxious, and she was probably about Barbie's age too, although i don't know what her exact age was. Her other gig was decorating x-rated cakes and she used to tell me about them, i think to wind me up. One night, she told me about a cake she made for a gay s and m couple in the shape of a toothbrush with a turd on the bristles that said "Happy Birthday Bitch, don't forget to floss." i was obviously turned on, which she assumed was because I was secretly gay. She loved to gossip and she told my manager. And everybody else att he ice cream store. i complained to Barbie about being talked about behind my back. We had a phone conversation about it. i was at home. Barbie thought i was gay too, and was telling me that it was okay if i was and not to be ashamed of it.
Somehow we wound up talking about the cake again and i confessed to her that i wasn't gay, that i was straight, and that the thing that had turned me on about the cake was the Dominant/submissive relationship. And that i was a submissive and i craved being punished and humiliated by sadistic women.
This clearly shocked her. She didn't say anything for an uncomfortable amount of time.
Then she reassured me that she wasn't going to tell anyone my shameful secret.
i nervously thanked her. She was only the second person i had ever told this to, and i was still under the delusion that maybe someday i would will myself normal.
After i finished clumsily thanking her, she gave me her address and hung up.
i was so confused and agitated and i had an erection so stiff against the front of my jeans that it hurt.
i assumed that she wanted me to come over, but she hadn't explicitly said to. And she hadn't said when. i fretted about if for a few minutes before deciding to go.
i didn't have a car at this time in my life. So i took the bus. It's probably pretty telling how wound up i was that the frigid air at the bus stop didn't make my erection go down.
It takes a little time to get across town on the bus, and about forty five minutes later it deposited me seven blocks from Barbie's place. i walked it in the cold. i wasn't actually running, but only barely.
She lived in an apartment that had a little lobby space like an airlock, inside of which were a row of buttons for each apartment. i found and pressed the one with Barbie's las name next to it. She buzzed me in without talking.
When i got down the ha;; her door was ajar. i knocked on it anyway. Then it flung itself fully open and there was Barbie. She was fully dressed in a red polo shirt and jeans. She was holding a beer in one hand and she was barefoot, which made my foot fetish kick in really hard.
"you came."
i nodded.
"Don't worry. We're only going to talk right now. Do you want a beer?"
i did.
We settled in on her couch and had a beer. She told me that she found me attractive. She told me that she had had a relationship with a woman once and that it had involved an element of BDSM, but that she had never done anything like that with a boy. Her word, "boy."
And she told me that she wanted to make me her boy. But that it would have to be a secret because she shouldn't fool around with employees.
There is a crazy strength to these fetishes when you try to deny them as I had been doing, and i almost jumped out of my skin, i was so turned on, and in that crazy perverse 'this is so wrong and that makes it 10 times as hot,' way.
iit started that night with me taking my clothes off and kneeling at her feet and the dirt off the soles of her feet.
She told me that she wanted to hurt me. My stiff naked dick twitched, t was so tight. It bobbed up and down like it was nodding.
She bent me over her kitchen table and told me to stay. She left me for a while and when she came back she had some rope, which i later learned was left over from the lesbian relationship she had previously. She tied my hands behind my back and then wrapped rope around my torso and then looped it under the table and tied it there. Then she tied each of my legs to a table leg.
Then she stood in front of me while she took off her belt, so that i could see her do it. It was a wide white leather belt, the kind with evenly spaced holes running the entire length, and decorative stiches all the way around. It was wide and the leather was thick, but it was well worn and there were cracks in it. i know all this and still have a very strong and clear image of it in my head because she showed to me with great care to detail, pointing out every detail. She wanted me to be well acquainted with it because she was going to use it on me a lot. She made me kiss it and thank it for the beating i was about to receive, and then she made me run my tongue all over the edge of it so it would be wet and hurt more.
Then she gave me a serious beating.
i had never had a serious beating before. She brought me right up to the point of using the safe word she had given me, but not quite there over and over again. Each time she would back off and get gentler and then build up again. And when she built up again she would get to a further pint than she had been before. It felt like it took hours and i felt like i had gone into some sort of fugue state. At some point she started having me thank her for each stroke, and after a while i started crying, which i didn't realize i was doing until i could hear it in my own voice.
When it was over i had welts on my ass and was sobbing. But i hadn't used the safe word, and i think it was all because of the finesse with which she handled the beating.
She untied my torso and my legs and i basically fell to my knees and kissed her feet. My legs were jelly and i was still crying.
She said,"i will not tell anyone about what a perverted young man you are, slave. But as long as you live in this town you ill be my bitch, understand me?"
"Yes Mistress."
"The only exception is if you try to break things off. Then i will make sure that everyone you know hears every last detail. I will be strict with you but fair. But i have to have that control over you or this will not work. Tell me you understand that, slave."
i told her i did. But i have to admit i was scared. She told me that was an appropriate emotion and that i should be scared.
Then she gave me my slave name.
"Asslicker."
i was on my knees with my face down by her feet, and i say her jeans drop down and bunch around her ankles.
"Time to earn your name."
Then i saw her pink cotton panties join them. i distantly remember there was a tear just below the waistline.
She sort of reached down with her foot and hooked her toes under my chin to make me look up at her.
She was still wearing the red polo shirt.
"Do a good job or your next beating won't be so gentle."
Then she turned around and bento over the table, reached behind and pulled her massive ass cheeks apart.
i went to work. i had never eaten ass before and i found it profoundly and sublimely degrading. She talked me through it, with threats and encouragement. i think i was down there for over an hour before she reached between her legs and got herself off.
i served her for the whole time i lived in Minneapolis and she broke my slave cherry in a lot of different ways. When i moved back home to go to back to school, her price for not outing me was to make me suck her neighbor's dick in front of a select group of her girlfriends, including the woman who decorated the cakes, who said, "See? I told you he was gay,"
This all happened in 1994 and 1995. i haven't spoken to her in twenty years. We lost touch ages ago. i don't have her info at all. She may have married or changed her name, because i cannot locate her on any social media.
Sometimes i wonder if she's on here.
If you are her and you're reading this, i have the same thing to say to you that i said on that first night over and over again.
"Thank you, Mistress."
The manager of the ice cream shop was a middle aged woman who was a little on the heavy side. i won't tell you her name but call her Barbra instead. She had a name like that, and she went by the shortened version of it that sounded too girly for her age. So, Barbie.
Barbie was average looking with a few extra pounds. She had straight thick brown hair that she wore in a bob. She had a big ass and thick legs as well as big tits and a bit of a belly. Her skin was prone to freckle and she was pale. She was 43.
Barbie was gregarious but no nonsense. She fired the assistant manager the week i started working for her, and she never replaced her the whole time I was working there.
We got a long fine, Barbie and I. At least as well as a 24 year old college dropout and a middle aged manager could.
Anyway, there was a lady who came in twice a week to get the custom ice cream cake orders. She was the cake decorator. She was pretty obnoxious, and she was probably about Barbie's age too, although i don't know what her exact age was. Her other gig was decorating x-rated cakes and she used to tell me about them, i think to wind me up. One night, she told me about a cake she made for a gay s and m couple in the shape of a toothbrush with a turd on the bristles that said "Happy Birthday Bitch, don't forget to floss." i was obviously turned on, which she assumed was because I was secretly gay. She loved to gossip and she told my manager. And everybody else att he ice cream store. i complained to Barbie about being talked about behind my back. We had a phone conversation about it. i was at home. Barbie thought i was gay too, and was telling me that it was okay if i was and not to be ashamed of it.
Somehow we wound up talking about the cake again and i confessed to her that i wasn't gay, that i was straight, and that the thing that had turned me on about the cake was the Dominant/submissive relationship. And that i was a submissive and i craved being punished and humiliated by sadistic women.
This clearly shocked her. She didn't say anything for an uncomfortable amount of time.
Then she reassured me that she wasn't going to tell anyone my shameful secret.
i nervously thanked her. She was only the second person i had ever told this to, and i was still under the delusion that maybe someday i would will myself normal.
After i finished clumsily thanking her, she gave me her address and hung up.
i was so confused and agitated and i had an erection so stiff against the front of my jeans that it hurt.
i assumed that she wanted me to come over, but she hadn't explicitly said to. And she hadn't said when. i fretted about if for a few minutes before deciding to go.
i didn't have a car at this time in my life. So i took the bus. It's probably pretty telling how wound up i was that the frigid air at the bus stop didn't make my erection go down.
It takes a little time to get across town on the bus, and about forty five minutes later it deposited me seven blocks from Barbie's place. i walked it in the cold. i wasn't actually running, but only barely.
She lived in an apartment that had a little lobby space like an airlock, inside of which were a row of buttons for each apartment. i found and pressed the one with Barbie's las name next to it. She buzzed me in without talking.
When i got down the ha;; her door was ajar. i knocked on it anyway. Then it flung itself fully open and there was Barbie. She was fully dressed in a red polo shirt and jeans. She was holding a beer in one hand and she was barefoot, which made my foot fetish kick in really hard.
"you came."
i nodded.
"Don't worry. We're only going to talk right now. Do you want a beer?"
i did.
We settled in on her couch and had a beer. She told me that she found me attractive. She told me that she had had a relationship with a woman once and that it had involved an element of BDSM, but that she had never done anything like that with a boy. Her word, "boy."
And she told me that she wanted to make me her boy. But that it would have to be a secret because she shouldn't fool around with employees.
There is a crazy strength to these fetishes when you try to deny them as I had been doing, and i almost jumped out of my skin, i was so turned on, and in that crazy perverse 'this is so wrong and that makes it 10 times as hot,' way.
iit started that night with me taking my clothes off and kneeling at her feet and the dirt off the soles of her feet.
She told me that she wanted to hurt me. My stiff naked dick twitched, t was so tight. It bobbed up and down like it was nodding.
She bent me over her kitchen table and told me to stay. She left me for a while and when she came back she had some rope, which i later learned was left over from the lesbian relationship she had previously. She tied my hands behind my back and then wrapped rope around my torso and then looped it under the table and tied it there. Then she tied each of my legs to a table leg.
Then she stood in front of me while she took off her belt, so that i could see her do it. It was a wide white leather belt, the kind with evenly spaced holes running the entire length, and decorative stiches all the way around. It was wide and the leather was thick, but it was well worn and there were cracks in it. i know all this and still have a very strong and clear image of it in my head because she showed to me with great care to detail, pointing out every detail. She wanted me to be well acquainted with it because she was going to use it on me a lot. She made me kiss it and thank it for the beating i was about to receive, and then she made me run my tongue all over the edge of it so it would be wet and hurt more.
Then she gave me a serious beating.
i had never had a serious beating before. She brought me right up to the point of using the safe word she had given me, but not quite there over and over again. Each time she would back off and get gentler and then build up again. And when she built up again she would get to a further pint than she had been before. It felt like it took hours and i felt like i had gone into some sort of fugue state. At some point she started having me thank her for each stroke, and after a while i started crying, which i didn't realize i was doing until i could hear it in my own voice.
When it was over i had welts on my ass and was sobbing. But i hadn't used the safe word, and i think it was all because of the finesse with which she handled the beating.
She untied my torso and my legs and i basically fell to my knees and kissed her feet. My legs were jelly and i was still crying.
She said,"i will not tell anyone about what a perverted young man you are, slave. But as long as you live in this town you ill be my bitch, understand me?"
"Yes Mistress."
"The only exception is if you try to break things off. Then i will make sure that everyone you know hears every last detail. I will be strict with you but fair. But i have to have that control over you or this will not work. Tell me you understand that, slave."
i told her i did. But i have to admit i was scared. She told me that was an appropriate emotion and that i should be scared.
Then she gave me my slave name.
"Asslicker."
i was on my knees with my face down by her feet, and i say her jeans drop down and bunch around her ankles.
"Time to earn your name."
Then i saw her pink cotton panties join them. i distantly remember there was a tear just below the waistline.
She sort of reached down with her foot and hooked her toes under my chin to make me look up at her.
She was still wearing the red polo shirt.
"Do a good job or your next beating won't be so gentle."
Then she turned around and bento over the table, reached behind and pulled her massive ass cheeks apart.
i went to work. i had never eaten ass before and i found it profoundly and sublimely degrading. She talked me through it, with threats and encouragement. i think i was down there for over an hour before she reached between her legs and got herself off.
i served her for the whole time i lived in Minneapolis and she broke my slave cherry in a lot of different ways. When i moved back home to go to back to school, her price for not outing me was to make me suck her neighbor's dick in front of a select group of her girlfriends, including the woman who decorated the cakes, who said, "See? I told you he was gay,"
This all happened in 1994 and 1995. i haven't spoken to her in twenty years. We lost touch ages ago. i don't have her info at all. She may have married or changed her name, because i cannot locate her on any social media.
Sometimes i wonder if she's on here.
If you are her and you're reading this, i have the same thing to say to you that i said on that first night over and over again.
"Thank you, Mistress."
2 tahun lalu
