The Contest

Next step – skirt. It opened at the side with five hooks so that, unhooked, it unfolded to a single sheet of black and red leather, which is why I was able to take it off without having to mess with the shackles or, more brutally, cut the dress open. She wore no panties but her fishnets reached almost all the way up to her neatly trimmed pussy – only a slight lock of hair above her slit had been left untouched.

I just had to take a closer look at this pussy I had just eaten with such vigor and lust. It was, like the rest of this Amazon, muscular in its appearance as several veins were meandering over her bare mound. The impression was experience, maturity, decisiveness – amazing. Again, I found that I was looking at something quite familiar, yet totally new and I was astonished by the incredible impact it had on me. The sensation of utmost arousal increased even further when I witnessed her cunt twitch as I inhaled its sweet scent, quite expressively, so that Mary would know exactly what I was up to despite the blindfold. Her breath was rapid and shallow.

Finally, I pulled each stocking down to her ankles, curling them by her feet. They were not exactly in the way and she looked magnificently erotic exactly as she were – secured by the cross, dressed in nothing by her long gloves, her blindfold and her fishnets. But I could not resist the temptation of feeling her muscular legs first hand. They were firm and each muscle, including ones I did not even know existed, were terrifically outlined, as if they had been carefully chiseled out by a master craftsman. I ran my fingers slowly along each leg, from her ankles to the very highest part of her inner thighs. Let my palms stroke the soft skin, felt her muscles ripple beneath as she was trembling. I noticed erogenous zones of hers – the ankles, back of her knees, inner thighs – as she no longer held back her moans when I touched her. She sensually wringed her shackled body. It was apparent that she found my touch pleasurable although I also noticed her increasing frustration. Each time my hands ventured high on her thighs, close to her mound, she lowered her body with shaking anticipation; it was obvious that she wanted more from my touch than having her legs caressed. Her lower lips had opened and I took great joy in watching how her moist cunt undulated, twitched, when my hands were near, almost as if it was a living creature and wanted to suck my fingers into its depths. Excited, aroused, horny; the words do not even begin to describe the sensation I was feeling.

The temptation was almost overwhelming; to enter her right away and do away with my built-up frustration. But I forced myself to back away and let my jolting erection remain unsatisfied and do nothing but to watch Mary panting before me, uncertain as to my whereabouts, anxious about the next step, desperately anticipating her orgasm. I was determined to let her wait.

Ostrich feathers.

I don't know if there is anything that feels quite like high-quality ostrich feathers. The softness can create an almost unreal sensation if you carefully move your hand towards its fringes; it is as if it does not have any surface at all. Suddenly you realize that you are touching the feathers because your fingers are entangled in the soft brushes but you cannot recollect the exact moment that you first touched its tips. A close approximation might be a soft and warm summer breeze; you will know that it is there only after it has embraced your body to the full whereas you will never feel its first or even its last touch.

I was pretty certain that Mary had not used these feathers when she had tickled me. However soft, the she had used instrument had been coarser than that; more like a soft paint brush. Nevertheless, I planned to pay back her services by means of the ostrich feather. I had a hunch that she would be quite ticklish.

"Feathers!"

I watched her reaction to my exclamation. She held her breath and stiffened. A bit perplexed perhaps as neither question nor command had sprung from my lips.

"You have quite a collection of fine feathers."

She dragged on her answer, trying to grasp the situation.

"Thank you, Master."

There was a slight touch of pleading in her voice but I could not decide if it was a plea for mercy or a plea for me to give her my best shot.

"Do you like the touch of an ostrich feather?"

It was a plea for mercy.

I witnessed how every muscle in her body stiffened and she started to shiver. Not the slight trembling of pleasure that I had seen before but rather an uncontrolled shaking of fear. I had hit a nerve. I let the cane smack against her hip to hurry up the answer.

"Do you like the touch of an ostrich feather?"

She really was in anguish. Her pride would not let her say no whereas her heart couldn't bear to invite me. As if she ever had a choice.

"No, Master. I find it intolerable to be tickled."

She spoke mutedly but continued with some desperation in her voice.

"Please, Master. I beg you not to tickle me."

I tried to speak with chill in my voice.

"I do recollect that I asked you if you like the touch of feathers. I do not think that I asked of you to tell me what to do. Am I correct?"

Her answer was a bit bewildered.

"Yes, Master."

I stroked her with the tip of the cane under her breasts.

"And what happens when the slut speaks without permission?"

Whisper.

"She must be punished, Master..."

"And what, does the slut believe, is the appropriate punishment for this very offense?"

Dear God, let her be intelligent enough to answer the question correctly.

"...fthrs..."

Her words were hardly audible.

"Speak up! What is the appropriate punishment for this very offense?"

I whacked the crop violently against the back of the wooden cross, level with her shoulders. The cracking sound made her jump and shout out of fear.

"The ostrich feathers, Master. The slut needs to be punished... punished with the ostrich feathers, Master."

Thank you, God. Let the fun begin.

Feathers do not make a sound when they swan through the air, their pink fringes quivering.

Mary, nevertheless, did. Long before I even touched her with the soft tips of my instrument of torture.

Her first scream echoed when I leaned forward, towards her chest and blew gently at her breast. She had been so tense in anticipation of the upcoming tickling torment that the sudden sensation must have been immediately translated by her mind into a brush by the feathers. A spasm rippled through her body and she hollered. After a short while, nevertheless, when her conscious mind realized the false alarm, she immediately shut up and regained her tense posture.

I repeated the procedure several times. Blowing gently at her neck, her ears, the sensitive back of her knees, her mound. The effect never reached the same level as the first time, but she twitched exaggeratedly each time. Nevertheless, after having tricked her senses to cry wolf enough many times, I proceed to the next phase. Again, I concentrated on teasing her breasts; alternating blowing and wetting her nipples with my tongue. Tense at first, she soon learnt to appreciate the soft touch. What she did not notice, nevertheless, was that I had started to let the ostrich feather brush ever so slightly against her thigh. The result was astonishing: Whereas her conscious mind focused entirely on my salacious treatment of her breasts and nipples, her legs started to shiver uncontrollably. Within seconds, she became aware of the intensive tickling the feathers were letting her limbs undergo. Again, she cried; laughter, growls of frustration and screams of pure terror filled the air as I let the gracious feather swathe her legs. Indeed, the back of her knees and her inner thighs were sensitive spots. Her whole body quaked – the entire wooden cross shook – when I tickled those areas.

I let her catch her breath. She was panting. Her screaming had made her drool, saliva trickling down her chin. I wiped her with my fingertip but quickly retracted my hand when her teeth snapped at my fingers.

"Is the slut enjoying herself?"

She merely snarled, which gave me good excuse to swat her breasts with the cane. She yelped and writhed in her shackles.

"I asked if the slut is enjoying herself!"

"Yes... Master..."

The words came slowly and were uttered in contempt. Her face was directed right at me and for a while I could almost feel her gleaming eyes burning me, through blindfold and all. A tiny movement to the side broke the spell, nevertheless. She was completely helpless, aiming her blind glares of defiance randomly. She was not broken yet, despite the recent high-pitched cries. It was time to elaborate a bit further; short-circuit her senses to intensify our mutual experience.

In the corner of my eye, I had noticed a light blue; I all but abandoned the idea due to the horrific color; suede flogger. Its tails were amazingly soft and I decided that it would suit my purpose. Armed with feather in my left hand, flogger in my right, I once again stepped close to my victim. I repeated my routine of licking and blowing at her nipples for a little while. Remembering my past treachery, her body was stiff with tension but after a minute or so, she relaxed and indulged in my caress.

I swiftly stepped back and swung the flogger over her chest. She jumped in surprise and yelled. I twitched my hand rhythmically and let the flogger wipe her breasts again and again. Mary grinded her teeth and moaned; I could not really tell if it was from pain or pleasure. But I did not stop to think too long about it, but changed hands; ended the flogging and started brushing the fluffy feather right beneath her breasts. She seemed not to notice at first, but her response did not wait long. At first, she giggled – almost heartily – and she seemed honestly happy. But the laughter soon gained a nervous undertone and started to sound increasingly frustrated. Soon she went hysterical and the laughter turned into wild screams and she moved her body frantically to avoid the tickling feather. In vain, of course.

Nevertheless, I gave her sort of respite by ending the tickling and let the flogger speak again, all over her body this time. At first she actually seemed to relax; so tormenting was the ostrich feather that the flapping flogger against her naked skin was a relief. Nevertheless, it was evident that her resilience was withering, because her moans were more sobbing now than previously. I switched to the feather once again, and enjoyed watching her writhing body, trying to escape the relentless torture. I let the feather search her entire body for new areas of sensitivity. Sometimes she reacted with obvious pleasure; her neck, back; other times her reaction was that of agony; breasts, legs. When I let the feather brush her pussy, she exploded; there was no telling if her vibrating body and out of control shouts were evidence of unbearable anguish or heavenly pleasure.

She was getting exhausted now. Her cries were less vigorous. The shrieking hollers were often diminished into mere guttural growls from the depths of her throat. I noticed that she had lost some of her proud posture; she dropped her chin towards her chest every now and then and her muscular legs would not support her at all times but she was increasingly hanging by her shackled wrists.

I stepped back.

Gave her time.

Watched her.

She panted, still hanging in her shackles totally worn out. I did not believe that she would be able to take much more. At least not much more ostrich, devilish creatures. But I was not quite ready to let her go yet. There were hours before breakfast.

I walked to her. Touched her cheek with a finger – she twitched. Caressed her shoulders – her breath became rapid and shallow. Stroke her chest and stomach with my hand – her whole body undulated.

"Lesson learnt?"

I was amazed that I was able to keep my voice so calm because I too shivered with excitement.

She nodded slowly. Tried to speak but her voice would not allow the words to be spoken. I smiled.

"The slut did very well. Well enough to receive a reward."

I sensed her disbelief. She was still shattered and nervous as to what might come next. But she was in no need of fear, at least as far as tickling and swatting went. My self control had reached its limit – the arousal was becoming unbearable.

I stepped even closer and let my body touch hers. My hands stroked her arms from her shoulders to her shackled wrists; grasping her hands. My torso pressed against her sweaty body. I kissed her cheek; she didn't try to bite me any longer but, little by little, she calmed down; and I moved my hips, causing my erection brush over her mound. She moaned faintly – this time in unmistaken pleasure – and pushed her hips towards me. My cock found her pussy and I let the tip move and gently stroke her soaking wet lips. She trembled from arousal and grinded her mound against my crotch. There was no mistaking her desire. I had no problem finding her entrance and I found her it quite open. Her cunt invited my cock feverishly – I hardly needed to thrust but was sucked into her warmth. She gasped and dropped her head. I could feel her lips pressing against my neck. She kissed my skin eagerly as I started to jerk my hips, moving my cock rhythmically inside her while her pussy convulsed around the pounding shaft.

The contrast to her recent agony could not have been sharper. Despite her shackles, despite her recent fatigue, she now moved her hips with great agility and met my increasingly forceful thrusts. Her previous obstinacy had vanished completely and she indulged completely in our agitated fucking.

Neither of us was able to show any endurance. On the contrary, it wasn't long until I felt my groins contracting characteristically; it was sheer will that kept me going. Then I noticed that the subject of my pleasure was shaking violently and whispered through her teeth.

"Please!"

Amused, I slowed down into long deep strokes but finally halted, right outside her gaping pussy.

"How is that?"

She stuttered in desperation.

"Please, Master, please let me cum!"

I slowly entered her again; let my cock sink into her willing pussy until I was buried to the hilt.

"Yes, my dear, you may cum when you want to."

The response was immediate. She started to jerk her hips and I was not slow to follow suit. Violent pounding, powerful clashes of our sexes had the room echoing from slurping and wet clatter accompanied by our mutual groans and moans. Faster. Harder. There was no turning back. Lust took overhand and our bodies moved with exhilarated energy.

As from far away I heard her screaming out her orgasm and her body shook furiously. The cramps of her vagina was sufficient to push me over the tip as well and with a final thrust, I pushed my cock as deep as possible and exploded in a powerful ejaculation while waves of orgasm overwhelmed me. Time stood still while our bodies grinded against each other; while her trembling body twitched as echoes of her orgasm reminded her of her recent climax; while her pussy clenched my cock as if to suck out the last few drops of semen.

Finally we floated apart and I could once again watch the incredibly sexy woman hanging in her shackles before me. Her chest was heaving due to her heavy breathing. Her whole body was gleaming from sweat. I was not slow to release her from her bondage only to find her falling into my arms, almost passed out by exhaustion. I carried her to a couch and laid her down and freed her from her blindfold.

When she came to – maybe a minute later – she looked at me; her defiant look had change into a sweet and tender smile. She looked honestly happy, which made me feel warm inside.

"You did great, Mary."

"Thank you, Master."

Again, she closed her eyes, and within seconds she was fast asleep.

I am of suspicious nature. Even though Mary had seemed completely honest. Even though she appeared tamed. And even though she looked like she would be able to sleep for several days due to her extreme fatigue, I did not quite feel comfortable in lying down beside her and sleep as well, even though the evening's exercises had taken their toll of me as well and drained my stamina. Consequently, I stayed awake. I took great joy in examining the former Mistress, now only, Mary's large collection of equipment while I strolled around in the room. I even ventured a look in the rest of the house but as expected although to a little disappointment, other rooms were quite ordinary. So I stayed in the torture chamber since I figured that it would not be half bad to keep an eye on the sleeping woman. After all, I did not want her to suddenly catch me off guard and regain command. I was perfectly fine with the current regime.

More than perfectly fine. As I cruised the room, I realized that I had already started to fantasize about how to make use of different pieces of equipment. Flashes before my inner vision showed me images of the helpless Mary kneeling before me, her mouth filled with my cock or, the next second, tied helplessly and shamefully exposed on the couch, awaiting me to enter her in any imaginable way. Before I knew it, I was again utterly aroused and casually stroked my erect cock as I walked around the room.

After a while, I heard a sigh from the couch and realized that Mary was about to wake up. When I walked over to her, still naked, still erect, she had opened her eyes. She blinked, smiled lewdly and whispered:

"Yes, Master, how may I be of service?"

The breakfast was good too.

After several marvelous hours of Mary submitting to my every whim – we worked our way through most of the ideas that had spun from my fantasies when I examined her toys – morning was late and breakfast could not be postponed any longer. Almost like old friends, we discussed our lives and past experiences as well as joked about the night's adventures. When, finally, it was time to part, we had exchanged promises to meet again every now and then. "To exchange ideas", she said.

Yes. Sure. I'll call.

Despite the sensational night, despite the newly found, unexpected, yet utterly devoted sub of mine, my mind was already wandering off in other directions. I was thinking of Magdalene. I had given up the contest and let the prize, Magdalene, slip through my fingers.

I pushed the door bell. I had changed the sweat suit that I had borrowed from Mary – I suppose other men had encountered the same predicament of no clothes – into my own clothes but not rested any longer at my home before I went to Magdalene's. I heard noise inside and expected the door to open only to let me see my brethren grin gleefully at my failure and Magdalene mockingly shake her head.

I saw nothing of the kind.

At the door was Magdalene, dressed in layers and layers of transparent silk over her otherwise naked body; with a golden tiara and a gauzy veil over her eyes, she looked like an Arabian princess. She asked me in, took my arm and led me to her living room.

The scene stupefied me. The Arabian Nights' theme continued, the living room bolstered by satin pillows, candle lights offering the only light and the air perfumed by burning incense. But what bewildered me the most was the sight of Peter and Matthew. They were kneeling on the floor, looking down, completely naked save collars around their necks. By the collars, they were both chained to the wall.

I looked at Magdalene, whose face had broken up into a wide smile.

"I have never been as excited in my whole life as I was last night. You were fantastic! The guys had to keep me restrained by force to prevent me from rushing to Mistress Mary's house and take her place."

"But... I failed? I broke the rules and refused to submit?"

"Didn't I tell you, from the very start, that I needed someone who was strong enough to fight for me? You've all shown considerable dedication. I have to give you that. But you, Mark, were the only one that truly defended your colors; that kept your back straight and turned defeat into victory – humiliation into triumph!"