My laugh died on my lips and I froze, one hand on the lapel of the dinner jacket that covered the broad chest of the guy I’d been flirting with for the last twenty minutes. He glanced over my shoulder, whistled quietly, then after patting my hand for a brief second, he walked away.
I didn’t dare turn around. It had been painfully obvious in the saccharine tone of Astrid’s voice that I’d angered her, and I couldn’t bear to let her see my face. Not because I didn’t want her to see my shame. I felt none of that, nor did I feel contrite.
Maybe it was the five Peppermint Kiss champagne cocktails I’d drank talking, but I felt victorious. Batting my eyelashes at some douche who reeked of old money had irritated my mistress to the point where her calm composure had slipped to reveal the green-eyed monster only I knew her to be.
Tonight was the neighbourhood Christmas party, and it was being held in our home. I’d promised I wouldn’t misbehave, but even as Astrid had fastened the string of pearls around my throat I’d known I was lying. She’d stroked my collarbones, fanned my chocolate brown hair out around my shoulders and muttered a short sentence that had sealed her fate.
“You want to hope you do,” she’d said.
I’d taken it as a challenge, and now I was breathing in my lover’s musky perfume, knowing I was about to face the consequences of my brattish actions.
Astrid’s long, cool fingers brushed over the thin chain I wore around my wrist. I shivered, feeling the tug that said she had pushed the tip of her finger through the diamond encrusted lockable O that held the chain closed. The O was engraved on the inside with the words, property of A. It was my slave bracelet. Astrid’s version of a day collar that I had to wear whenever my thin crocodile skin collar was unsuitable.
She didn’t speak to me. Not immediately. She didn’t even step forward so I could see her. Staying to my right and just out of my peripheral vision, she softly tapped her finger off my wrist, letting me breathe in her signature scent of jasmine, freesia, and rose.
Almost five minutes passed as we stood there in silence, letting the party carry on around us. Few people approached, and the ones who did were repelled by the tension that had built up around us. They got within six feet of us, stammered out apologies, then walked away just like old money man had before.
Astrid took a breath, and mine hitched in my throat. I wanted to hear her speak, but she waited for ten heartbeats before letting me.
“Take yourself to the big room,” she said. Her fingers were skimming up and down my arm now, making me stiffen. “Take off your dress and wait by the Christmas tree. When I walk in to that room I want to see you facing the fire, Candy. I want to see you ready and waiting. Don’t disappoint me.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I said softly.
Keeping my shoulders pulled back and my head held high, I walked through the room, taking my leave of anyone who tried to get me to stop for a chat with a polite ‘goodnight’.
Silence roared into my ears once I was outside in the hall, and only when I’d made sure I was alone did I let my shoulders slump. This isn’t what I’d wanted at all. I’d expected Astrid to take me to the kitchen, to kiss me and promise me that, once bedtime rolled around, I was in trouble.
Of all the possibilities my mind had toyed with all night, that she might expel me from the party hadn’t even occurred to me. But that’s what she’d done, and now I’d have to wait until the last guest left before she came to me.
Hosting a party this size was hard work even when you had someone to help you shoulder the burden, so doing it alone would exhaust her. I knew that, when she finally came to me, she’d be too tired to give me what I’d so desperately wanted; her undivided attention.
My heels clicked across the tiled floor as I slowly made my way to the big room. The door was heavy, but I pushed it open, letting its weight swing it closed again. Though we called it the big room, this part of the house wasn’t really all that big. There was room enough for the three red velvet sofas, the two matching wingback chairs, and the table that sat in the middle of the rug that connected them. It usually held magazines and Astrid’s sketch pads, but right now it was dominated by a golden glass bowl that was filled with glittering glass beads and sparkly fairy lights.
Crossing over to the fireplace, I gazed at the ten foot tree that stood proud to its left. It was a real tree, adorned with red velvet bows, gold baubles, and warm twinkling lights. Beneath it sat a stack of gifts wrapped in red glitter paper, bags from high-end boutiques and jewellery stores, and boxes topped with big red ribbons.
The fire was burning bright, crackling and popping. A loud snap was followed by a piece of coal breaking free and bouncing off the fireguard that protected the rug in front of the hearth. I laughed at myself, pressing my hand over my heart. I’d thought it was the door opening, Astrid arriving before I was ready.
Reaching one arm over my shoulder and one behind my back, I lowered the zip of my dress. The shimmery fabric skimmed my legs as it fluttered to the floor, pooling around the red stilettoed heels of my black shoes. I crouched to retrieve it, striding to the edge of the rug, away from the tree, and dropping it there.
Back in front of the fire, I tried to catch my reflection in the polished tiles behind it. My hair didn’t look too bad, even though the dining room had been hot and humid, but I had no chance of seeing the status of my carefully applied make-up.
I straightened my stocking tops, unclipped and refastened my suspender straps, and smoothed the front panel of my red satin knickers. A quick jiggle to settle my breasts in my red satin bra, and I was ready.
The flames of the fire enticed me to watch as they danced and flickered around the white hot coals. It was soothing, comforting, and it lulled me into a trance like state where my mind wandered freely.
And it wandered straight to Astrid.
She was a wonderful Mistress, truth be told. I’d been a riot of emotion when we’d first met at university. Insatiable, an unstoppable wanton whore with a deep seated desire for something I could never quite put my finger on.
Astrid had known what it was, though, and she’d shown me over the space of six wondrous months. The first thing she’d made me see was that I was never going to find what I was looking for in the arms of men. Each time I walked away from a sexual encounter with a guy from uni I’d believed there was something wrong with him, that his technique was off, or that he’d just failed to hit the right spot. It hadn’t occurred to me that the problem was what lay in his pants.
All it had taken was a fleeting, well timed kiss from Astrid to make me realise what I needed. It was a woman’s touch I craved, but not just any woman. I needed a woman who could still my anarchic mind. A woman who could overcome the destructive, willful side of my nature, bring me to heel and release me from my own overpowering personality.
Astrid was that woman. She had tamed me.
The lights on the tree changed rhythm, chasing quickly and making the wings of glittery doves on the tree come alive. I watched the pretty show, letting my mind trip around thoughts of Astrid and me together.
Her hands burrowing into the roots of my hair so she could push me down her body. The metal collar digging into my windpipe when I pulled the chain at the bottom of the bed taut in my vain efforts to watch her sleep.
Just as I was thinking about her knuckles digging into my labia, something came alive inside me. I yelped, almost falling off my shoes in shock. I’d forgotten all about the egg Astrid had pushed into my vagina as we’d dressed for the party. I’d assumed it was just another weighted thing that she’d want me to push into her palm before we had sex. But no, it wasn’t that. It was a vibrating egg, and Astrid had the controls.
The vibrations were gentle and slow, but constant. My thighs pressed together and I moved my hips in tiny movements, trying to manipulate the buzzing thing to touch something interesting. Keeping my hands off my hardening nipples took some doing, but I kept reminding myself that I was in enough trouble already. If Astrid walked in and saw me fondling my breasts she definitely wouldn’t be amused.
She liked to watch me touch myself, but only for her benefit. I wasn’t allowed to play alone.
On went the buzzing, getting stronger and stronger until my walls were quivering, and fluid was staining the front of my knickers a darker shade of red. All of a sudden, they stopped. They didn’t slow, or change to a fancy pattern, they just stopped cold. I wondered if the egg had gone flat.
No, it hadn’t. It was buzzing again, back on that first, slow speed that kept me at a simmer but prevented me from reaching a boil. The wetness was helping it travel now, though, and it was starting to feel bigger as my vagina became swollen and sensitive.
I thought of how Astrid’s fingers felt when they were inside of me. She never lost control, never threw her arm into it so she could fuck me hard. Not until I was screaming, anyway. She kept up a steady rhythm, walking the tips of two fingers over my g-spot and dipping her head to lazily tease my clitoris until I pleaded for release. And I always pleaded. Astrid would never let me come until she’d heard me beg.
When she finally decided to let me come, though. God, it was like dying every single time. She could make my eyes turn white like I was some possessed thing, and she could make me squirt like I was a fountain in the middle of a lake.
I shifted my weight, feeling wetness start to seep out of the sides of my knickers, squirming as it rolled down my thighs and cooled on my skin despite the heat of the fire. I wished she’d hurry up.
God only knows how long I waited for her. I could have turned my head and looked at the clock at the other side of the room, but I didn’t. I just pulled myself straight, digging my nails into sides of my legs when the vibrations from the egg stopped again. Oh, I wanted to come so much, but that wasn’t going to happen until I was given permission.
The door opened and I held my breath.
Silence for a few ticks of the clock, and then a deep intake of breath. “Sorry, Candace,” a gruff, masculine voice stammered.
I snapped my head around to see old money standing in the doorway. His eyes were on stalks, and I could see he had quite a cock on him. He took a step toward me, but I held out a warning hand. Disgruntled, he took another step. I narrowed my eyes.
Old money huffed out a disappointed laugh and shook his head. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Candace.” I’d never been so pleased to see that door close.
It opened again not a minute later, and Astrid strode in on her luscious long legs. I didn’t feel bad for looking, but I did lower my eyes in respect as soon as I’d ascertained it wasn’t that guy having a change of heart. The way Astrid had smirked at me, I knew she’d done it on purpose. She’d sent him in here so he could see what he was missing. He wasn’t allowed to have me, because I was hers.
My eyes were still on the fire as she walked around the room. I heard the click of her heels, then a scuffle, then nothing more. She was still pacing, she’d just taken her shoes off.
She appeared in front of me then, her dark eyes as hot as the coals behind the grate. One painted nail scraped down the channel between my breasts making bumps rise to my skin so quickly it gave me a chill.
“Why him?” she said quietly.
I knew not to answer, because it wasn’t a question. She knew fine well why I chose him, she was just thinking out loud to help herself decide my punishment.
“Of all the people in that room, you chose the only man I’ve ever had sex with to wind me up. You know I don’t like being reminded of my mistakes, Candy.”
“I’m sorry, Mistress.” My voice was hushed, my throat dried by the heat of the fire.
Mistress disappeared for a moment. The door opened, casting a wedge of white light across the dark wooden floor. There was a pop in the hall, a chink of glasses, and when she came back, Mistress was carrying a flute of champagne.
I kept my hands by my sides, curling my lips around the sides of the glass when she lifted it to my lips, tilting my head back, feeling the bubbles tickle my nose and burn my throat as she fed me the flute’s entire contents.
To my utter shock, she pitched the glass into the fire. The sound of it shattering was like a slap to the face, and I knew then that my silly game had really shaken her. Now I felt contrite. Mistress could see that too, because she patted my arm like I was a good girl.
Stalking to the tree, she reached behind it, whipping out a three foot long, very slim present like she’d just pulled a sword from a sheath. Turning to me, she held it out.
I went to her, taking the gift from her hands. It was heavier than I’d expected it to be. Pulling off the red ribbon and bow, then the gold glittery paper, which Mistress threw on the fire, I stared in surprise at what I was holding. It was a cane. A long pale wood cane with inlaid red wood curling up around it.
Mistress took it from me. She took a few steps back then pointed it at me. “Take off your bra and knickers.”
They dropped at my feet.
I didn’t look at her, but I knew she was drinking me in. I could tell by the way her breathing had altered that she was imagining her mouth on my small, erect nipples. I was imagining it too, and I prayed silently that she would bring me to orgasm by slapping them like she had only a few weeks ago.
The cane swished back and forth in her hand, stopping once it was pointing at the closest sofa. “Bend over the arm.”
Matching my steps to the thudding rhythm of my heart, I did as instructed. Parting my legs, bending at the waist, pressing my belly into the hard arm of the sofa and my face into the soft velvety seat, I waited.
Minutes crawled by. Each one building the anticipation, making my heart beat faster, my breaths come quicker, and juices flow freely down my thighs. Her hand was on me. Stroking, tapping, her spanks getting incrementally harder until the sound of her palm connecting with my hot flesh rang in my ears.
All of a sudden, a hot flash blazed across my skin. I bit back a scream. That was the first lash, and Mistress wasn’t playing games.
Grabbing a handful of my hair, she yanked my head back. “As its Christmas,” she whispered, “We’ll get into the spirit. You’re getting twelve lashes of my cane, Candy, and I want you to say, a partridge in a pear tree with every…single…one.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I whimpered.
I was going to fuck this up. We’d done this once before, but it had been pop goes the weasel that time, and I hadn’t performed well at all. Mistress hit hard, and words were hard to say when you were in searing pain, never mind complete sentences.
The first lash – the one before didn’t count – hit my skin and I hollered my line. The egg inside me buzzed a little stronger.
Second lash, louder scream. “A partridge in a pear tree!”
I managed the third, fourth and fifth, but the sixth threw me. It was gentler than the rest, and my throbbing cheeks almost didn’t send the signal to react to my brain. My delivery of my line was weak, and I knew I’d suffer for it.
Mistress’ hand was cool on my skin. Her mouth was warm. Oh, the feel of her plump lips on my vulva, the ecstasy of her tongue bathing my pulsing clit with warm, wet licks.
The buzzing inside of me reached its highest intensity yet, and Mistress’ mouth was gone. I was so close to orgasm I knew I wasn’t even getting out the word partridge, never mind the rest. Mistress knew that too.
The last four lashes came one after the other, cruelly hard and all on the same spot. As the last one came down, Mistress reached between my legs and slapped my soaking wet pussy. Her middle finger jabbed my clit, and I screeched, my knees buckling and sending me into juddering, spasming sprawl at her feet.
Tears blinded me, pleasure incapacitated me, and pain pulsed through me. I smiled, feeling floaty, calm, more peaceful than I’d felt all week. Mistress shifted the sofa, settling into it while I curled around her legs in a worshipful ball of serenity.
As Mistress ran her gentle hand through my hair, the clock began to chime. “Merry Christmas, Candy.”