Date: Tue, 30 Oct 2007 15:00:23 -0700 (PDT)
From: ben albrecht <orpfynmakyr@yahoo.com>
Subject: Humbling, pt 4

"Humbling, Part 4"

by GrandMoff

	This is a fictional story, intended as entertainment.  It involves
sex between women, i.e. (F/F...)  There's also domination in this
story--though it will take a form you probably aren't used to seeing.  If
this offends you, or you can't legally view this, please don't read the
story.  Any resemblance between these characters and anyone is
coincidental.

	My body and mind were just as disciplined as I'd thought.  I woke
and my clock said 0844; my slave was sleeping.  She stirred when I got out
of bed, so I put on my mint-green robe and watched her awaken.  She
stretched her fantastic body slowly and thoroughly, with a sexiness only
unawareness can grant.  She realized that this wasn't her apartment and
remembered where she was, with whom, on what terms.  She smiled placidly,
and rose, her elegant, sleek body getting used to the cool of the room.
She noticed me watching her and her smile became shy.
	"Good morning," I said, approaching her and draping my white robe
around her shoulders.
	"Good morning, Mistess," she replied, a yawn at the end drawing out
my title cutely.
	"We're going to make breakfast.  Put on a bra and come with me."
	"Yes, Mistress."  She did as I ordered and followed me to the
kitchen.
	She looked very nice in bra, apron, and short white robe while she
prepared the bagels and tea and I made omelettes.  My mint-green robe
reaches to mid-thigh and I'd left it only loosely belted.  It had the
desired effect, she kept sneaking glances at my body and trying to get a
glimpse of my breasts.  I was happy that she had so much interest in my
body, even though it was nowhere near as spectacular as hers.  We didn't
take long to make the morning meal and once we started eating, I ran my
bare foot along my slave's legs, enjoying her slight but noticeable
trembling.
	"Today Mistress will instruct her slave," I said.  "Once breakfast
is finished and the dishes are washed, Mistress will teach her slave how to
shower."
	She was blushing faintly, but she answered, "Thank you, Mistress."
	"How did you sleep?"
	"A slave slept better than a slave has in years, Mistress."
	"That's good."
	"May a slave ask how Mistress slept?"
	"Not now, no.  I don't tend to allow any questions about myself by
a mere slave."
	She looked dejected--there was a hint of that pout again.  "A slave
is sorry about prying, Mistress," she said quietly.  She was torn between
hurt feelings at my refusal and my command to obey and accept whatever I
told her.
	"No need to be sorry about that.  And now it's time for you to
talk.  Tell me about your first real crush: the one who convinced you were
only interested in girls.  The one who made you understand your desire to
have a female lover."
	"A slave was in 11th grade, Mistress.  A slave had a teacher named
Ms. Swimming-Otter.  She taught economics.  She was harsh but fair--"
	"--Get to the attraction.  What was so hot about her?"
	"Ms. Swimming-Otter had lustrous long black hair, usually with
beads in it.  A slave loved to come to her desk to ask questions, because
she smelled so good--like sage and other spices.  She treated the class
with impatience, but a slave learned very well from her, Mistress."
	"And fantasized about her."
	"Yes, Mistress," she admitted.
	"Go on."
	"A slave imagined Ms. Swimming-Otter bending a slave over the desk
and slowly pushing her laser pointer into a slave's pussy...letting a slave
suck her large, high-set breasts and her sweet, creamy clitoris.  A slave
frigged many times thinking of that, Mistress."
	"She never showed any interest in you?"
	"A slave was disappointed, Mistress.  A lot of students said she
was just mean."
	My bitch-in-training probably wondered why I was smiling so widely.
She'd dealt me all trump, not that she knew it.  I was worried that she
would have mentioned a student or some stranger she never actually met.
But not only was the first real crush an instructor at her high school (the
name of which I knew, thanks to the diplomas displayed at her flat,) my
slave had also told me her field and that she had a Native American name.
Finding this teacher would be one of the easiest things I'd ever done.  And
from the way my slave had described her, I thought we would find a lot to
talk about.
	"Well, that's enough for now.  We're going to do the dishes, then
shower."
	In ten minutes, we were in the largest bathroom, the one on the
ground floor.  "Slave, we can do this one of two ways.  I can put on a
bathing suit and wash you.  Or you can promise me that you will not look at
me or touch me and I can get naked and wash you, which will feel much
better."
	"A slave promises, Mistress!"
	I was more surprised that I hadn't won the lottery than I was with
her choice.  "If my slave breaks her word, Mistress will not be able to
trust her anymore."
	"Yes, Mistress," she replied soberly.  She took off her bra and
stepped into the huge tub, moving to the shower end immediately.
	"Face the shower and do not look back until your mistress gives you
permission."  She did.  I turned on the room's heat lamp system so neither
of us would get chilled even if we left the flow of water for a few
minutes.  I shed my robe and panties and stepped into the tub, getting
right behind her.  "Turn on the water."
	She flinched a little when the water first struck her and adjusted
the temperature.  When I could tell she was satisfied with it, I began the
lesson.  "Put your hands on those rails, close your eyes, bow your head a
bit, and stand still."  She complied.  I got the shampoo and massaged it
into her hair and scalp.
	"This smells like the shampoo a slave normally uses, Mistress,"
Aurora said.
	"I've been to your flat; I noted what was in the bathroom," I
reminded her.
	I rinsed and conditioned and rinsed her hair.  Now the fun would
begin.  Pouring a nice large glob of papaya body-wash, I started working on
my slave's neck, moving slowly down her back and sides, not missing a
single mm of her gorgeous, increasingly sensitive skin.  I reached her
lower buttocks soon.  "Spread your legs a bit and bend forward slightly," I
ordered.
	I rested most of the weight of my body on hers for a moment, and
slowly slid lower, keeping my chest and arms in contact with her body as
much as possible.  She shivered, one powerful tremor.  My nipples grew hard
as I dragged them along her slippery back.  Then I was squatting behind
her, gazing at her lovely hindquarters.  My slick fingers washed her bum,
getting closer and closer to her anus.  She was breathing heavily.  She
inhaled sharply as my index finger pressed against the rosebud and began to
wiggle its way inside.  My fingers were coated with the body wash, so
penetration was easy despite the tightness of her muscular backside.  She
was purposely relaxing, allowing me to add my middle finger with almost as
much ease.  She didn't seem like she felt any pain when I inserted, either.
"Washing this pretty hole is important," I told my slave.  "You will
occasionally have enemas too, but in the shower, you must always pay
attention to it.  There will be a lot more entering and exiting through
this opening than you're used to."
	"As Mistress wishes," she purred.
	After I'd thoroughly washed and rinsed her back door, I lathered my
hands with the body wash again and worked gently on all the external parts
of her pussy, including her slightly protruding inner lips.  "As for
douching, it should rarely be necessary.  I will let you know if I ever
want you to do it."
	"Yes, Mistress," she answered, her voice fainter.  Even with the
water and the scented body wash, shampoo, and conditioner, her special
lubricant's scent was strong enough to be noticeable.
	"Damn, slut!  When you get wet, you really get wet!"
	"A slave is b-being...skillfully mani-pulat-ed, Mistress," she
panted.
	"Excuses, excuses," I snickered.  "Try not to be so randy."
	"Mistress, a slave...is going to...f-fall!" she desperately stated.
	"No, she is not, because I told her to hold the handles and not
move.  She will not cum, either."
	"Mistress!"
	Her pleading voice was such a turn-on!  I stroked her cruelly,
taking her to the edge, letting her retreat just a bit, then taking her
right back.  Her knuckles were white.  Despite the generous stream of cool
water, she had begun to sweat.
	I honestly did want her clean, so I decided to tone down my
stimulation, once she'd gotten the message I was sending.  "You'd better
think of something.  You know you're close to orgasm."
	And she did understand, just then.  "Mistress...may a
s-slave...cum?
	"Use the magic word," I teased, pushing two fingers into her and
slowly fucking.
	"Please, M-mistress," she whimpered.  "Please...a slave...begs to
cum."
	"Sure."
	"Oh!  Thank you...Mistress!  Ah!" she mumbled.  Her cunt contracted
hard, pumping my fingers farther into her and letting more juice drip out
of her.  She really was a wonderful experience: her sound and smell and
look and raw desire--so powerful I felt I could reach out and grab
it--combined to make her a goddess of ecstasy, for those long seconds of
her sexual bliss.
	As she gasped and panted, I had to remind her: "You're supposed to
be getting clean, not sweating and squirting pussy juice all over us.  Now
you have to calm down, cool down, and be ready for me to start again in two
minutes.  Stand still, now."
	I turned down the water temperature significantly.  "Ah!" she
shrieked.
	"We've got to get you to stop sweating," I explained.  "I didn't
think washing you would be so difficult; I haven't even started on the
front of your slutty body."
	She'd been somewhat embarrassed, but this latest statement turned
her ears red.
	There was a lot to do today, so I washed her fairly gently but as
non-seductively as I could after she'd recovered from her climax.  I kept
speaking to her the whole time, telling her to keep her eyes closed when I
washed the front of her body, reminding her that she needed to pay
attention to her toes, and so on.  Of course, I teased her about the mole
on her ass as well.  The shower probably took more than half an hour, but I
knew it wouldn't take as long next time, now that she'd been instructed.
	After the shower, I sent her to her room, telling her to wear
either the red short-set or the black-and- white outfit, reminding her that
the gloves were part of that one.  Meanwhile, I got dressed and looke
through my voluminous closet.  I found a couple of dresses, one blouse, and
two skirts that I thought had a good chance of fitting her (they'd be tight
and short, of course; she was bigger than me.)
	She came down the stairs in the red halter and shorts, with the red
heels on her well-formed feet.  Her legs looked so long and strong.  I'd
chosen this outfit well; it looked better on her now than it had at the
store; and it had looked damn good there.
	"Your make-up isn't quite how I want it, but we'll deal with that
later.  For now, we're getting in my car and heading toward the suburbs."
	 We had just gotten onto the freeway when her cell rang.  "Oh, hey!
What's up?" she said to whoever was making the call.  Yes, I'd figured she
would have a mobile phone.  The fact that it hadn't rung in my presence
until now meant not a lot of people had her number.  I could question her
about it right now, but I wanted her to subconsciously realize that my
control of her stemmed from her desire to be controlled, not my insecurity.
	I could tell she understood.  Once she finished talking, she gave
me a huge smile, and her eyes showed her gratitude.  "That was Yelena,
Mistress," she said, "one of a slave's best friends."
	"It's nice to get calls from friends," I answered.  "Is she
anything else to you?"
	"No, Mistress."
	"But..."
	"Mistress, a slave had one or two fantasies about Yelena, but only
before her marriage.  Yelena has been married for eight years, happily."
	"Oh well.  Who else is on your contact list?"
	She scrolled while I drove.  Her list was short, just as mine was.
"Chris Newman, my boss, Mistress.  Melanie Kaufman, a friend from school--"
	"--Tell me more about her," I prompted.
	There's no need to recount her list of phone numbers: I'm sure it's
obvious what I was after.  She knew also, and she didn't bother trying to
keep the information from me, knowing I'd get it anyway.
	"Meritt Valencia, another friend, Mistress.  Meritt is single,
despite being kind, attractive, and fun.  A slave was always too worried
that asking might damage the friendship, but Meritt might be in the
closet."
	"You know what I'm going to ask next."
	She squirmed a little.  "A slave has had the occasional fantasy
about Meritt, Mistress."
	"Tell me about her."
	"Meritt is a year older than a slave, tall, quiet, a realtor.
Meritt was married just out of high school, but the marriage lasted only
four months.  Meritt has grey eyes and very long hair, so dark it's almost
black."
	"She sounds interesting," I said.  My voice must have sounded a
little suggestive; I saw my slave shiver when I made the statement.
	We went to a large book store that had new and used merchandise.  I
smiled at Aurora.  "I want to see how you think.  Go ahead and look around
as if you were by yourself; pretend I'm not with you."
	She'd been pretty comfortable in the car, but she was freshly
discomfited by the idea of wearing the red top and shorts all day, like she
was used to it.  Yesterday it had been pretty late when I'd gotten her into
the pink outfit and we'd gone to my house shortly after she'd put it on.
This was another situation altogether.  She blushed, and looked sexy as
hell climbing out of my car.  Those shoes and shorts made her legs look
like ten km of paradise.
	Aurora looked at sewing, knitting, and related magazines first.
I'd never given them more than a glance, but it made sense that she'd be
interested.  She seemed to do as I'd asked; she was acting (almost) like
she'd forgotten I was watching her.  She hadn't forgotten other people were
watching though--and they were watching, men in particular.  I was annoyed
but I couldn't really blame them.  Aurora did her best to ignore the
attention she was attracting.
	She looked at paperback mysteries, then at some astrology and
natural magic books.  We had the mystery interest in common.  She looked at
a few scores, most of them from Beethoven, Chopin, and Vivaldi.  That
didn't surprise me at all; we'd met looking at music.
	But abruptly, I did wonder about it.  She'd never mentioned playing
an instrument.
	She went back to the magazines and picked one to buy.  In a few
minutes, we were leaving the store.
	"Do you play an instrument?" I asked, pulling out of the parking
lot.
	"No, Mistress."
	"But you look at scores."
	"A slave knows how to read them, and a slave sings...very
occasionally, Mistress."
	"You've got to sing for me when we get back to my house.  In the
meantime, I've thought of another thing.  How much time do you spend
designing and making clothes?"
	"It's a slave's main hobby, Mistress.  About 20 hours per week?"
	"You must miss it.  Would you like to go back to your flat this
afternoon?"
	"Mistress, not everything a slave makes requires sewing.  Just
getting a few supplies for a knitting project would be enough."
	"And you would make your garment while I'd work on my music at my
house.  That's a good plan, right?"
	"Yes, Mistress."
	I took the off-ramp that would give us access to her flat, but
surprised her by turning early.  She didn't say anything; this time she
realized I wasn't lost.  We went to a large shopping center; it had a very
good perfume shop--probably the best in the city.  My slut was curious but
didn't ask questions.
	When we got to the shop, she looked a little overwhelmed.  "We're
going to find one or two frangrances that smell especially good on you.  I
like what you have, but Liza is a perfume expert, and she'll pick things
that work with your unique chemistry to smell absolutely divine on you.
When she talks with you, call her Mrs.  Santana."
	"Yes, Mistress."
	Liza was the manager, and she and I had known each other for almost
ten years.  Once she was done assisting the customer she was with when we'd
entered, she came to me.  "I haven't seen you in so long, Sooki!  I was
afraid you'd decided we weren't good enough anymore."
	"Of course not," I lsaid, smiling at her.  "You're the best!
You've taken such good care of me, I haven't needed any new fragrances for
a while."
	"I need to sell you smaller quantities then," she joked.  She
turned to Aurora.  "I've only met two or three people with noses as
sensitive as Hei Sook's.  I don't know why she bothers to ask my opinion.
And you're here, presumably, to get a pleasing perfume."
	"Yes, Mrs. Santana."
	"Please call me Liza, dear."
	Aurora looked at me.  Her cheeks and ears reddened.  "Would it be
bad if--that is--"
	"--Oh!"  Liza gasped, and she wheeled to face me.  "Do you own this
young lady?  Well, you know I don't approve of that, but I'm not going to
change your mind and vice versa.  But you know..." she looked closely at
Aurora, "maybe you could change my mind at that.  She's quite a beautiful
woman."
	"Yes, and she's learning obedience," I said, enjoying my slave's
embarrassment.  "Let's find something for her to wear, shall we?"
	"Yes, of course.  Come this way, dear," Liza said, gently taking my
slave's elbow and leading her toward the back of the store.
	Once we were in the manager's office, Liza started picking out
vials and swabs.  "She's wearing Coco now, but it's not quite right on
her," the perfumier said absently.
	"It's not too far off, though," I said.  "Strip, slave, except bra
and shoes."
	Pink as a flamingo, she did as instructed.  Liza dropped a box of
cosmetic sponges.  "Hei Sook, isn't that going too far?"
	"Ask her," I said carelessly.  "I think, with her natural scent,
there needs to be at least a little lavender in the fragrance she'll wear,
don't you?"
	"She's going too far, isn't she?" Liza asked Aurora.
	"Mrs. Santana...Mistress does what's best for a slave."
	Liza didn't ask many more questions, probably to spare my slut
further humiliation.  (She's the opposite of me, so considerate!)  As for
the natural scent, it became an interesting problem.  Aurora was quite
turned on by this situation, and her sex fluids made it difficult to tell
what perfumes smelled the best for her.  One solution to this problem was
for me to wipe her, but that was very counter-productive, as I soon
learned.  By the third time, my slut's scent was stronger than ever, and
she was trembling with her need for release.  I winked at Liza, who
blushed, but smiled her assent.
	"We're not going to be able to do this if you don't stop secreting,
cunt," I said calmly.  "You need more discipline, but now's not the time.
Cum, you have permission."
	Her mouth hung open.  If possible, she grew even redder--and
wetter.
	I wiped her, slowly and lovingly.
	Her knees gave and she fell against me, gasping and shaking while a
titanic climax walloped her.  Her hips thrust against my fingers
exquisitely, and her wonderful ass smacked against my hand, giving her a
little unintended anal stimulation.  Her whole body was involved in this
orgasm, and just that fast!
	"Wow.  You may indeed change my mind," Liza whispered.  "So
responsive and so helpless..."
	She's a professional, so Liza quickly recovered, and within 15
minutes, we'd chosen two great frangrances for my mortified slave.  I
helped her get dressed and we left the store, satisfied at different
levels.
	"At least you waited for permission," I said as we walked through
the shopping center.
	"Mistress, thank you.  But a slave will die of humiliation if--"
	"--don't blame me; you're the one who loves it!  Do you feel like
lunch?"
	"Something light, Mistress?"
	"Okay.  Once we're done, we have one more stop to make."

        Part 5 will emerge if/when I get around to it.  Things are really
busy, so it likely won't be anytime soon.  But I mean it about the
emails--they might grease the wheels, so to speak.