Do you think it’s a nice cock? Is it big and thick? Will it stretch my pussy if I ever let you put it in me? Or is it a tiny little thing that’s not even big enough to stir tea in a china cup with?
I was in agony. Talking about my cock being locked away forever has made me hard as iron.
Let’s take a look at him. Let’s take a look at your little man. Where are the padlock keys?
I didn’t bring them.
Ha ha ha. Your best friend is in prison. A nasty, spiteful prison, I may add, and you didn’t bring the key. You are going to be the best sub in the world.
Miranda was laughing like a drain. Oh, baby, you are priceless. I thought you were going to be good, but you are priceless. She pressed the button again, and I came down and touched the floor. Watch closely. Miranda hooked a finger into the chastity tube control ring. You know what happens if I pull the ring right.
Oh sh*t, I thought, “What’s she doing now?”
That’s called control.
Watch. She pulled the ring hard and twisted it 90 degrees. That’s called punishment. I howled in pain. I expected to see blood running down my legs. There were none. She buckled the suspension cuffs. I tried frantically to turn the ring back. It hurt more. She was in tears, laughing at me. It has to be unlocked to be reset, stupid boy. Go and bring me your keys. Stark naked apart from the belt, I ran out of the horsebox to my street door. Oh, fuck, no keys. Miranda couldn’t talk. She was in hysterics and laughing now. She held out my keys but would not let them go. People were walking by, and I was naked apart from a chastity belt. She was dressed in a corset, heels, stockings, and suspenders–decent but only just. She managed to say “ask nicely”.
Can I have my keys, please, mistress? When I got back to the van after turning my flat upside down and not finding the keys anywhere, it dawned on me that Miranda had picked them up. There was a crowd waiting. I tried the back door of the horsebox, and it was locked. I banged on it, and Miranda, who was in the front, sounded the horn. I ran around, got in the passenger door, and slid to the footwell to hide.
Still with laughter in her voice, she said, “Sit up. You are Mistress Miranda’s submissive pet. A lot of men would pay a king’s ransom to be where you are now. Sit up and be proud to be mine. You, my pet, are more fun than a new puppy at Christmas. You are definitely a keeper. How does your cock feel now?
It hurts
The crop flashed across my line of vision and landed on my thigh. I howled again. If you don’t mind your Ps and Qs, you’re going to be a very sore puppy by the end of the weekend.
“It hurts, mistress.”
“What am I going to do? The keys aren’t on the table where I left them. Miranda started laughing again. She lifted the magnetic fob key out of her cleavage. Sitting right next to it, sharing its keyring, was one of the padlock keys. Where did that come from? Well, as you didn’t seem too interested in looking after it, I thought I’d better.
That’s not fair,” I shouted. You hid them.
Miranda stood on the brake. Horns are blaring behind us.
The Glaswegian bitch hissed at me. “If you ever shout at me again, I’ll cut one of your nuts off and eat it!”
I’m sorry, mistress, this is all going a bit quick for me.
I did not, boy! You left them, and I taught you a lesson. Now you have made me as horny as a bitch in heat. We are going to stop soon, and you are going to spend a good half hour eating me out.
If you get on your knees now and beg me to tell me how beautiful I am and how unworthy you are, I may take that evil contraption off your cock while you are doing it.
Twenty minutes later, after telling her how lucky I am to be allowed in her presence and how beautiful and superior she is, Miranda pulled into a well-known doging spot just off a very main road in Surrey.
I was ordered into the back. Miranda didn’t mess around. Any notion I had about this being a horse box for four-legged ponies was soon dispelled. It was an SM dungeon on wheels, set up for my new mistresses’ tastes and pleasure. I was ordered onto what looked like a weight training bench; it had no barbell support, but it did have lots of straps and cuffs.
In no time at all, I was cuffed and strapped tight to it. Mistress took off her knickers and told me to hold them in my teeth. She presented them so that the gusset was just under my nose. She was obviously very aroused.
Now, pet, as you are new, I am going to cut you a little slack. So far, you owe me 48 strokes. They could be hand spankings, or they could, on the other hand, be with my favourite cane. I assume you would prefer the hand spanking.
“Yes mistress”. I have never been caned, other than on my left hand when I was at school. Somehow I didn’t think I would get them on my hand.
I had taken crops, not like the ones Miranda had a nasty habit of producing when she wanted to emphasise a point. These were flimsy bedroom toys, as they were used in half the marital bedrooms in Britain. I have had a taste of a few floggers and paddles.
None of which were anywhere near man enough to find their way into Miranda’s collection. Neither were they applied at the same lightning speed or with the same level of expertise that Miranda displayed. After all, my local pro-dom was looking for repeat business.
I was still terrified by the thought that she would misplace the magnetic key and commit me to a life sentence in this bastard thing. I need not have worked. I have never learned that, like most of the things Miranda tells me, the permanent locking feature was something she cooked up on the spot to mess with my head. I still fall for her little white lies, as she calls them. If she edits the truth, it’s a little white lie. She has a pair of shoes, probably my favourite pair, unless she has the seemingly needle-like tip trapping my cock to the floor. I said they were red. The twelve vivid, angry welts that appeared on my arse moments later said they were vermilion.
I have learned now that if I am going to appear in front of any audience at all with her, I will do it with a well-striped arse.
The slack I was cut was that I had to ask her to give me every stroke she was considering as a sufficient punishment with the cane. This would be a considerably lower number than I had earned. It would be a considerably higher level of pain.
How I earned them is a puzzle to me, but even my puppy brain, and I am puppy brained when I’m in her thrall, knew better than to argue. Having me seen with a well-marked bum is a huge turn-on for her, and it is for me as well.
I took the cane option. I knew it was the option Mistress wanted me to take, and it would be over quicker. I was naive enough to think I might get a bit of pleasure at the end of it. I didn’t, and I still don’t, but I still hope.
Let’s have a look at my new cock,” said my mistress. She took the two keys from around her neck. Did I invest wisely, I wonder? I felt the tube move back a fraction. At the same time, the pins retracted. When pins like that are suddenly taken away from your purple babymaker, it hurts. Not as much as when they are going in, but trust me, it hurts. It hurts enough to give me a hard time. Combine that with being released from the belt, a record braking hard on.
“Oops,”said Miranda. “Oh, you poor baby!”
“What’s the matter?” I cried. “I had visions of wounds requiring amputation.”
Miranda didn’t answer. She picked up the ever-present crop. Each of her following words was punctuated with a vicious lash from the crop.
“You THWACK call THWACK me THWACK Mistress THWACK when THWACK you THWACK address THWACK me THWACK am THWACK I THWACK getting THWACK through THWACK your THWACK thick THWACK skull THWACK.”
She sat on the bench. “What am I going to do with you? You’re hopeless.
Can we talk?
Yes, but if this is going to work, I need you to conform to the etiquette of the OPC; it’s probably more important than winning.
I can do that, mistress. But you have wrongfooted me this morning. When I got up, my ambition for the day was a wank, a lunchtime pint with brunch at my local, and watching the cricket in the park this afternoon. I had no idea you were going to show up dressed up as the woman of my wildest dreams and press-gang me into my ultimate wank fantasy, because I sure as hell want to take part.
OK, I know, I have thrown you in at the deep end. I’m getting a little overexcited at the prospect of having a pony who has a good chance of getting to the finish line without me having to call in a crash team. I’ll make you a promise: If you still want to race when we get there, I’ll be the nicest mistress at the meeting!
With that, we agreed this was a one-off, and it would keep with the proviso that I was no longer Keith; I would now answer to Alad, Ponyboy Alad!
We managed to get the horse box back on the road without me invoking the wrath of my new mistress further, and we were on our way to Pembrokeshire for tomorrow’s fun and games.
Leave a Reply