My family has something about the letter “L”. My mother, bless her soul, was named Lavinia. My sister, who at 44 is 10 years older than me, is Libby. I’m 34, of course, and I guess I must have been an afterthought on my parents’ parts, and my given name is Linda. Libby’s daughter, who is the point of this story, is Lucy. See what I mean?
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, Libby called and asked if I’d put Lucy up for a month, just till “it all dies down”.
I asked what “it” was, but Libby, who is still my “big” sister, said it was just too scandalous to talk about, but please be a pet and look after the “wayward little bitch”. Strong words for my sister.
Well, things were quite quiet at my bookshop – it’s a cosy little outfit run by myself and two lady helpers. I call it “Linda’s Library”. There’s that “L” thing again, see?
Anyway, I agreed and on the day in question drove down to the Plymouth railway station to greet the train from Paddington – no, that sounds silly – to greet my niece, Lucy, off the train from Paddington.
I’d not seen Lucy for about five years and I must confess I got quite a shock when I saw her again. She was short – I was going to say diminutive, but I guess five feet isn’t that short. She had close-cropped dark brown hair, cut in a lovely fringe, and she was extremely pretty in pouty, Louise Brooks sort of way. If you’ve never heard of Louise Brooks, type her name into your search engine and you’ll get my drift.
But that wasn’t what gave me the shock. Do you remember that Page 3 girl, Samantha Fox? At least, I think it was Fox. She was quite short but she made up for a lack of height with these superb breasts.
Well, Lucy had Sam Fox-type breasts. They thrust out stunningly from the tight black T-shirt she was wearing.
And the T-shirt gave me a bit of a shock, too. The logo emblazoned in stark white lettering read “My nipples get harder than most guys’ dicks!” Beneath the T-shirt she was poured into some jeans that looked as if they’d been applied by a spray gun. Wedge-styled red high heels were on her feet and she looked extremely, well, shall I say tarty. But tarty in the nicest possible way.
“Hi Lucy,” I said, leaning down to hug her. I’m about five eight, with long fair hair, so fair it could be taken for blonde. I’m extremely fit because I work out each day, but my breasts are nowhere near Lucy’s. Mine hit the tape at 34 inches, but because I’ve got a rather narrow back, my girl friends have never complained about not having enough to suck on. In fact, sometimes it’s been a bit of a struggle to get them to go down “there”, they like my boobs so much.
“Hi Aunty Linda,” she said, smelling of a rather cheap perfume, “glad to see me?”
“Of course,” I replied, “it’s always a pleasure to put up family.”
Lucy grinned a cheeky little grin. “Wait till I’ve been around a week or two, you may change your tune,” she laughed.
Then I looked at her T-shirt logo again. “Did you attract a lot of attention on the train?” I asked.
“Oh, this?” she said, pulling on the sides of her T-shirt and making the logo stand out even more. “A couple of filthy old men letched at me, and one foxy lady of about 40, who I could really have gone for, smiled at me. Apart from that I don’t think I started any riots.”
Of course, alarm bells should have started to ring there and then, but I honestly thought it was Lucy trying to shock her maiden aunt. Well, I may be a maiden aunt, but I’ve known some foxy ladies in my time, if you follow me.
We drove home in my lovely old Rover, Lucy saying it looked like a car that escaped from the Ark, and I showed her to her bedroom. She plonked her valise and a large suitcase on the bed, then announced: “I’m going to get changed for a really sweaty run, aunty. Three and a half hours cooped up on the train and I need to work it out of my system.”
I went down to the kitchen and made myself a cup of tea. Lucy appeared several minutes later, wearing bright red satin shorts which gleamed gloriously on her pert little buttocks. She had on white socks and brand-new Nike trainers. And she still had on that ghastly T-shirt.
Standing up and trying to sound stern but not stuffy, I said: “Now Lucy, you’re perfectly welcome to stay down here with me for a month, but I’m not having a niece of mine running around this nice neighbourhood in a T-shirt like that!”
Lucy pouted and pulled the T-shirt off. She wasn’t wearing a bra! Her large breasts hung in superb natural uplift, the nipples thick and the first thing that entered my head was “I want to suck those!” but Lucy saved the situation.
“I’ll try another top, aunty, sorry,” she said, before skipping off upstairs again.
I returned to my Earl Grey and Lucy was back in another T-shirt, still black, still with white lettering. This time the wording was an old joke, but I thought it was far preferable to the “nipples” T-shirt. This one read: “I may not be perfect, but parts of me aren’t all that bad!”
I laughed, trying to live down my earlier stuffy aunt approach. “Far more respectable, darling,” I smiled. “Now enjoy your run, only don’t get lost.”
“I’ll be 45 minutes, possibly an hour aunty,” she called, striding to the door and then she was gone.
I finished my Earl Grey, but instead of having my usual repeat cuppa, I walked up to her room and inspected it. Her suitcase was empty and had been placed in the wardrobe. Her valise lay on the dressing table. Idly, I pulled it to me and peeped into the thing.
I could hardly believe my eyes. Snuggling at the bottom was a gleaming black rubber item. I pulled it out. It was one of those things called, I believe, “a strap-on”. It had straps, an imitation scrotum and looked about seven inches long – although, due to my sexual preferences, I’m not really an expert at male penile lengths.
I peeped into the valise once more and there was something else which caught my eye. I pulled this out, too. It was a leather-handled, triple-thonged whip, the lashes no more than 18 inches long, the handle some eight inches. The tips of the three thongs were shaped like hearts. The instrument of punishment gleamed cruelly. It sent a shiver down my body, although it was a shiver of fear mixed with excitement.
I slipped out of my skirt, kicked off my shoes, pulled my blouse off and lay back on the bed, the whip by my side, the dildo in my hand. Idly I began to rub the head of the device against my pink silk panties. I began to think about Patrice.
She had been my girl friend. She was much taller than me – supermodel height, about six feet. She had long blonde hair, falling to her shoulder blades. She had a totally shaved pussy. I used to spend hours there, licking and kissing. I missed her so much.
My thoughts drifted to our wonderful love-making, her gentle hands, her insistent mouth. I could almost inhale the aroma of her slender snatch, could almost feel her labia lips grazing my mouth. The dildo was working away at my sex trench and I felt down at the gusset of my panties and pulled them to one side, allowing the rubber to insinuate itself into the folds of my sex.
I must have drifted off into a trance-like dream because the next thing I knew I jolted myself awake.
“And what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
The words cracked out like a whip – like the whip that lay beside me. My reverie of the sweet Patrice vanished in a split second and I opened my eyes to see a panting, sweating Lucy standing beside the bed.
Her hand was outstretched, her pose needed no words. Silently I passed the dildo to her. She took it by the scrotal sac and put it to her nostrils.
“It’s very moist, it’s very aromatic, aunty,” said Lucy, her voice now quiet, almost hiss-like. “So aromatic,” she added. “Smell it!”
And she put the dildo’s head to my nostrils. I inhaled, closing my eyes as my familiar pussy perfume wafted over me. I always like smelling my own perfume.
Lucy pulled it back and kissed if softly, just a brush with her lips. “So tasty, aunty,” she whispered. “Taste it!”
And once more I was offered the dildo. I tasted it, tasting the salty, familiar tanginess of my sex juices. I always like tasting myself, too.
Lucy took the dildo away again and pulled off her T-shirt, exposing those wonderful boobs, now streaked with perspiration. Then she stepped out of her running shorts, revealing a tiny little black thong, gleaming and wet.
I tried to get up, but Lucy pushed me down. I tried to speak, but Lucy’s forefinger pressed on my lips, hushing me. She bent and kicked off her shoes and socks. Then she was lying beside me.
“Thinking of your boyfriend?” she said, whispering the words in my ear, placing the dildo’s tip against my now panty-covered pussy.
“No,” I replied, speaking in a low whisper matching hers. “My girl friend.”
Lucy smiled and pressed her breasts against my upper arm and leaned over to kiss me softly, gently on the mouth. She no longer smelled of cheap perfume but honest-to-goodness sweat.
“Why did she leave you?” Lucy asked.
“She migrated to Australia, of all places,” I said, then adding, rather obviously: “And Australia is so far away, Lucy.”
Lucy maintained her stroking of my sex trench with her dildo, but changed the subject. “And my whip? I know you like my strap-on, do you like my whip?”
I looked at her, and her lovely big brown eyes, her lovely big brown breasts and I shook my head: “It scares me, darling. It looks cruel.”
Lucy smiled, slowly but knowingly. “Don’t be scared, aunty,” she said, in such a soft tone I almost had to strain to hear her. “It can be cruel, and you have to receive its caress because you’ve been naughty, but you will learn to love it.”
And again she kissed me on the mouth. This time it was a longer kiss. Now I know I should have snapped out of it, but my hands had a life of their own. The next thing I knew I was running my fingers all over the pert, high-slung but slippery mounds, kneading her big nipples, wanting the kiss to end so I could press my face into her fantastic flesh.
“Did you find anything else in my valise, aunty?” Lucy inquired, after we had broken and my mouth was nuzzling at her breasts, feeling the firmness that only young women or those with ludicrous implants can exhibit.
“No, darling,” I hissed, annoyed at having to stop my oral adoration of her big breasts. Now my mouth was hungrily suckling her nipples, they were like little plums in my mouth, and I loved them, I was under their twin spell already!
Lucy leaned over to the dressing table, presenting me as she did with a glorious view of two beautifully pert buttocks, divided by a slender strap of black thong. She grabbed her valise and brought it to the bed, then dipped into it and came up with a little black contact book.
She put the valise on the floor, kissed me tenderly on the mouth, then resumed stroking the dildo up and down my weeping pussy.
“Guess it’s time you found out why I’m in such disgrace,” she said, and tossed the book onto my belly. “Open it up, have a good read, Aunt Linda.” The last sentence was spoken slightly louder, more peremptory, more a command.
I sat up and flicked open the book. It fell to the “F” section. There, in small, very neat writing, was a list of names. Fiona, for example, with a day beneath it – Tuesday – and then some sort of codes. GS, WS (not the face), DM, S, W, TT.
I looked puzzled. Lucy smiled. “I’ll explain for you, you innocent old thing, you” she told me.
“This entry denotes a client named Fiona. From it I can see that she visits the ‘clinic’ where I worked every Tuesday. She liked golden showers or water sports – but not on her face. She liked digital masturbation. She also liked spanking, the whip and tit torture.”
I must have looked shocked. Then I flicked through the book, quickly, as if its pages were going to burn my fingers. Page after page was crammed with entries. I stopped at the page for “L” – that old family thing, I suppose.
There was even an entry for a “Linda”. I pointed to it with its codes: “Tell me about her, Lucy.”
Lucy smiled at me. “Aha, your namesake. A lush-buttocked 30-year-old aunty, much larger build than yours. Nowhere near as sexy.
“Now let’s see, she was into spanking – well, they’re all into spanking – she liked to be fingered in her back passage during spankings. See, there’s the notation BP, which has nothing to do with her preferred petrol company.
“She also likes golden showers and likes to lick the domina’s pussy clean after being showered. ‘LLU’ stands for ‘Likes licking urine’. She also likes being whipped but doesn’t want to be marked – ‘W(NMs)’ means whipping, no marks.
“Then there’s tit torture – ‘MTT’ means ‘mild tit torture’. And ‘VH’ means she’s into verbal humiliation, so I called her a slut, a whore, an arse-licker, stuff like that. Simple really.”
And with that Lucy shut the book and tossed it on the floor.
“And that’s what got you into trouble?” I asked, still inwardly gasping at the contents of Lucy’s little black book.
“Hardly, aunty,” she replied. “But the place I worked at – it was called Karla’s Korrectional Klinic, or KKK for short – was, of course, a place where rich ladies could indulge in their fantasies of female domination.
“Luckily, one of mum’s best friends has a husband who’s a member of the vice squad. He told his wife they were going to raid the place, she told mum and I was conveniently sick on that evening,” explained Lucy.
“So Libby knew you worked there all along?” I stuttered, hardly able to believe Libby would put up with such behaviour from her only daughter.
“Course not, silly,” said Lucy. “She thought I was working at an all hours pharmacy by the way I dressed when I left for work each afternoon – all our kinky gear was kept at the clinic.
“And when she found out what I was doing she was absolutely livid,” said Lucy. “It wasn’t so much that I was dealing to rich lesbians, she quite liked that, it was the thought of what she would tell her friends if they ever found out. So she’s packed me off to you until the heat blows over, or whatever the fuck heat does.”
And with that, the lovely thong-clad lass stood up and leaned across my body to pick up her little whip. “And now, my dearest aunty, it’s time for your punishment for being such a snooping little busybody.”
I looked at her incredulously. Then I drank in the beauty of her breasts, which were heaving slightly as she ran the triple-lashed weapon through her fingers. Her pudenda looked prominent, swollen almost, in her lovely little thong. Her thighs were bronzed and taut. I wanted to feel them around my neck and head as I worshipped her pussy. I was lost in a turmoil of thoughts, but my pussy won the battle. It wanted her, and I think she wanted it.
I reached behind me and unclipped my brassiere, allowing my large-cupped mounds to fall slightly into their natural cups. I’m extremely proud of my breasts, as I think you’re aware, and I knew the nipples would be erect. I glanced down. They were, so much so they pointed stiffly across at Lucy. Then I slipped out of my panties exposing my semi-shaved pussy, fringed by light brown pubic hair cut back almost to the roots, to her gaze.
Lucy smiled at me: “Lovely, not bad for an old 34-year-old, aunty. Now into position – kneel with your knees as wide as you can get them without being too uncomfortable. Then hands behind you and grab hold of your ankles.”
I obeyed. Lucy looked satisfied. “That’s marvellous. Proud, yet submissive,” she said. I was pleased by her remark, proud of her remark. And I knew, deep down in the churning pit of my stomach, that I was going to be submissive.
“Now this is going to sting, but that’s all,” she informed me. “I’ll be as loving as is humanely possible on your virgin flesh, aunty?”
I nodded and Lucy grinned: “I take it, that is, that it’s virgin flesh. Never been flogged, have you, aunty?”
I shook my head, making my breasts wobble slightly. “No, Lucy,” I said, my voice in an excited whisper.
My lovely young niece then raised her triple-thonged whip and brought it down sharply across my tightly-stretched belly, just above my abdomen, well below my breasts.
“Owwww,” I yelped, as three electric shocks struck me. Then the flogger came down across my right thigh. Another trio of tingling pleasure coursed through me, but far less painful than the initial blow. Then my left thigh was the target for Lucy’s unerring aim. This was a performance she had obviously acted out many, many times.
The next blow struck my abdomen, and one of the lash’s thongs came dangerously close to my pussy. I flinched, but did not cry out. I was getting accustomed to the triple tingles I felt each time as the flogger flailed down onto me.
Lucy then paused. “Now it’s time for your breasts, my darling aunty, only they’re not quite as good a target as I’d like,” she said.
“I like my breasts,” I protested, both defending their honour and reputation and their flesh, I hoped. I did not want them flogged.
“Your breasts are wonderful, I’m going to have a lot of fun with them, aunty,” Lucy assured me, “but I need them standing up a bit more.”
She looked at me, casting a professional domina’s eye over my nakedness. “Got such a thing as a quarter-cup bra, Linda?” she inquired, dropping the “aunty” term.
“Yes, in my bedroom,” I said.
“Fetch!” snapped my naughty niece, in much the same tone you’d use for a golden retriever who you’d thrown a stick for.
I scrambled away to my bedroom, produced my favourite quarter-cup creation – a lovely little thing in bright red satin – and returned to Lucy’s room.
There, she helped me put it on, adjusting the cups so my boobs were thrown out into what I thought were magnificent platforms of flesh. Lucy obviously thought so, too.
“That’s great, Linda, I’m going to enjoy making those little beauties dance a flamenco to my flogger,” she said. “Now get back up on that bed.”
I resumed my position, my knees some foot or so back from the foot of the bed. Again I leaned back and gripped my ankles. Lucy grinned down at me and bent to bestow two kisses on my globes – one on each nipple – then she straightened and held her arm out horizontally so the thongs of the whip dangled against my breasts.
“Ready, Linda?” she inquired, her voice a husky hiss.
I nodded: “Yes, Lucy.”
The triple-armed implement whistled down and the three heart-shaped leather tips cracked against my breasts, sending shock waves through me. One tip struck my right breast, the other two landed on the upper curve of the left.
Lucy moved the whip to her other hand and repeated the dose. This time my right breast suffered the attentions of two tips, the left merely one. The arithmetic or placing didn’t matter – the strokes sent shockingly, stunningly, wonderful surges of pleasure mingled with pain through my body.
At last, after some 10 strokes, Lucy was done. I looked down my upper breasts, striped and lightly marked, and in one or two places the vivid red imprint shaped like a heart. I wore them proudly, like badges of honour.
Then Lucy was climbing up onto the bed and standing astride my upturned face. “You can move your hands from your ankles when I’m in position,” she instructed, dispensing both with “Aunty” and “Linda” now.
A musky, marvellous aroma descended on me as she placed her sopping wet thong onto my mouth. My hands flew for her buttocks. My mouth was hungry for her minge, my hands hot for the firm touch of her bottom. Neither my mouth, nor my hands were disappointed.
Her pussy was dripping a tangy, tasty meal of sex juice onto my mouth, her backside was strong and muscular, thrusting against me as I worshipped her snatch through the skimpy material.
“Get it off, get if off,” she hissed, and my fingers scrambled into the side straps and pulled the garment away. When it caught, at her knees, I replaced my mouth and for the first time tasted the ineffable glory of her womanhood, its musky secretions pouring over my tongue and lips, its perfumed promise making me almost dizzy with faintness as I served her graunching pussy.
Then, with an almost primal scream, Lucy announced that her climax was ascending rapidly to the pinnacle of its pleasure, and with several grunting thrusts she came on my mouth.
At the very peak of that pleasure, Lucy grunted these repeated words: “Slut bitch. Bitch slut. Slut bitch.” Back and forth, back and forth the words rang as she crashed into her Big O, then descended slowly down the mountain path to the valleys as the climax ebbed away.
She pulled away, but not before snapping: “Stay there, slut bitch!”
I remained in place, instinctively placing my hands back to my ankles as if in obedience of her barked “Stay there” command.
Lucy leant on the bed, inhaling large gasps of air, before standing and smiling down at me. Then, with a slow movement of her arm, she placed one hand gently on my semi-shaved pussy and probed me. Her finger, then fingers, slid smoothly up my sex.
My passion was obvious. She smiled: “Nice and wet, eh, slut bitch?”
I nodded: “Yes, mistress. Mistress?”
“Yes, slut bitch,” she replied.
“May I come now?”
Lucy laughed and pushed me roughly on the shoulders, then pressed her body on top of mine, our breasts mashing together, our mouths mingling, hers tasting deliciously of my sex juices.
“Of course you may. Mouth? Fingers? Or dildo?” she asked.
“May I start with your mouth?” I asked, my heart thumping away like crazy, my sex juices still seeping onto my inner thighs.
“My pleasure,” said Lucy, slithering down my body, sucking on my breasts on her way down, flicking her tongue into my navel, then tracing a path down to the strip of pubic hair at my mons.
Then I felt her tongue at my vagina, but only briefly, just a couple of flicks, then she delved deeper to my most secret part, her mouth fastening on my anus, her nose pressed into my cunt as she did so. Then I felt her tongue thrusting at my orifice. I desperately tried to relax, to allow her access to my chute, then she made it, about five or six sucking strokes, then she was back to my cunt.
Again she remained only brief moments before bring her tongue up to my labia lips, licking and kissing her way around before attacking my engorged clitoris, sucking and kissing, kissing and sucking. I knew I would soon start to climax, but this knowledge was dashed when she pulled off my minge and lay beside me.
Now it was her fingers at work, the middle finger of her probing hand slipping firmly into my back passage, massaging me for a moment, then pulling out to be placed at my mouth. I inhaled a musky odour and then sucked on her finger.
“Good slut bitch,” Lucy purred, then put the same finger back to my sex and driving it up my cunt, twirling it around in tiny little movements which drove me wild.
Her next move was to run her fingers through my labia lips, tracing across my urethra before alighting on my clitoris. Again she worked me towards climax, but when I began to display signs of an orgasm, Lucy then leant over and took her strap-on.
Stepping off the bed she looked calmly down at me as I writhed in unspent passion on the sheets, pulling the black cock and balls weaponry onto her hips. She adjusted the straps, then kneeled on the bed and put its thick head against my cunt.
“Beg me, slut bitch!” she commanded, in a cross between a whisper and a shout.
“Fuck me, mistress, oh pretty please, fuck me” I heard my pleading voice entreat her.
And Lucy grinned and slid the monstrous thing into my cunt until our pubic bones banged together. Then she bucked and heaved on me, our mouths mashing together every now and again in a panted, gasping kiss.
At last the graunching of our pussies against each other and the sliding, thrusting of the dildo began to work in erotic combination and, with a panting, yelling cry of “Fuck me, mistress, fuck me” I abandoned myself to the perfect pleasure of a climax as Lucy banged away on top of me, her breasts bashing and crashing and slipping and sliding against mine.
Lying back relaxing after our torrid session, Lucy stroked my breasts and whispered: “Now, with that misguided young woman who decided to leave your ravishing body for the wasteland of Australia, who was the top, who was the bottom?”
I looked at her with a query in my face.
“Oh, Aunt Linda, you really are naive,” laughed Lucy. “Who was the submissive, who was the mistress?”
I pondered. “I don’t know, I’m not sure there was one,” I replied, in complete honesty.
Lucy smiled at me. “Well in this relationship, that’s going to change,” she informed me. “I’m the mistress, you’re my lovely little subby, gottit?”
I nodded. “Yes, Lucy,” I told her.
“That OK with you?” she asked, nibbling on one of my nipples, bringing my bud to hardened erection – harder, I thought, than “most guys’ dicks”!
“Oh yes, Lucy,” I said, stroking her head, and feeling for her big boobs. “Yes, lovely Lucy, my lovely, lovely Lucy.”
See what I mean about the letter “L”?
The next day, Lucy laid down the law. It was quite obvious that she was going to be in charge, but she decided to tell me in no uncertain terms. I may have been 34-years-old, and she a mere 18, but she was the boss and we both knew it.
“Right, Aunty Linda,” she said, after breakfast had been cleared away, “let’s get the rules decided on now. You, my dear aunt, will make all the minor decisions. You cook breakfast, you prepare lunch, you decide what we have for dinner, you decide what TV programmes we watch.”
I nodded, warily. She was working up to something.
“I, on the other hand, will make the major decisions. I will decide what games we play. I decide what clothes – or no clothes, sometimes – you wear. I decide what adult videos we watch. And I institute the new regime you will adhere to while I’m staying, OK?”
I nodded, part of me boiling at her bossiness, part of me excited. There was a dampness in my panties I could not deny.
“Right, your clothing for starters,” said Lucy. “You will always wear high heels – even on the days you have to go naked. Understood?”
I nodded again – days when I would have to go naked?
“Right, starting from today you will wear a different slave uniform each day. Sorry about the term, dear aunty, but a slave is what you’re going to be to me, so we may as well get used to the term, right?”
I could hardly believe what my brain was hearing, or that my head was nodding in agreement. But Lucy was such a bossy little tart! “Yes dear,” I heard myself replying.
“Right, well today is going to be your nude day, so get all your gear off, but keep the high heels on,” she ordered.
“But the neighbours!” I protested.
“Be careful walking in front of windows,” she snapped.
Obediently I stripped naked, but kept my high heels on. When I was nude, Lucy snapped her fingers: “Panties!”
I passed them to her. Lucy put them to her nostrils, inhaled, then ran her tongue along the gusset. Then a broad smile beamed across her pretty little face. “Just as I thought – they’re sopping, you wicked old pervert, aunty,” she laughed.
I felt my face turn crimson with the shame. She was turning me on, she knew it, I knew it.
“Right,” said Lucy, continuing with her humiliating instructions. “Tomorrow is sexy lingerie day. Quarter-cup bras, crotchless panties, thongs, suspender belts, stockings, you get the picture. Got a good array of that sort of stuff?”
“Yes,” I said, feeling ashamed to admit it, although I had no inkling of why I should feel shame.
“Day after lingerie day is bikini day. Got any sexy little bikinis?” asked my niece.
“No, darling,” I said, “just one-pieces, but they’re very nice.”
“Cut the fucking crap, aunty,” she almost bellowed. “It’s bikinis from now on. Sling me a couple of hundred quid and I’ll shop for some for you.”
I went to my wallet in my handbag and passed her a bundle of notes
“Right, to tonight’s viewing,” she said. “You a member of that sex shop video club down on the corner?”
“Yes, Patrice and I would sometimes watch a lesbian movie,” I said, referring to my Australia-migrating hussy of a former sex partner.
“Gimme the membership card and I’ll pick a couple for us to watch tonight,” Lucy demanded, clicking her fingers.
“Now, I have some more instructions for you to get your pretty little head around. When I appear wearing PVC or leather gear, it means we’re going to play punishment games. On seeing me like that, you will hustle your pretty little arse up to the bedroom and await my pleasure. OK?”
Lucy moved on. “When I come into a room wearing a sexy little black silk playsuit, open at the boobs and crotch, it means I’m in a mood for sex. Similarly, you’ll get your arse upstairs and wait for me. I won’t be far behind you, gottit?”
I got it.
“And when I come in naked, what do you think that’s a signal for?” she asked, quietly.
I shook my head, I had no idea.
“It’s the signal for you to get upstairs into the bathroom for water sports,” Lucy said, with an evil leer.
“Water sports?” I heard myself ask, incredulously.
“Water fucking sports, aunty,” she repeated, “but don’t worry, I won’t make you drink it all the time, sometimes it’ll be golden showers.”
I shuddered, but Lucy saw that and jeered: “What’s the matter, aunty? Scared of a little iddy bit of pee pee? Come on, the thought of my whip, my pussy and my piss is bringing you on in chunks, isn’t it?”
I lowered my eyes, avoiding her gaze. “Yes, Lucy,” I heard myself whisper.
“Right,” she said, “I’m off to shop for us. Don’t run away – and don’t dare get dressed while I’m gone because it will really, really piss me.”
It was almost 11 o’clock when Lucy walked out of the door, but I needed a drink, and poured myself a big Bombay Sapphire gin, the one with Queen Victoria’s profile on the label. Queen Victoria, I thought, would not be amused at my predicament. Bemused, certainly, amused certainly not.
I started to prepare a hearty beef stroganoff for dinner, just to pass the time, and uncorked an excellent Chilean red to go with it. I had to do something to take my mind off Lucy and her instructions, her demands, her threats.
Part of me felt shame – revulsion, even – but part of me was thrilled and excited. The sex between us had been sensational, so sensational it had driven the thought of my lovely Patrice from my mind. Lucy was more lustily sexual than Patrice had ever been.
Even the electrically-charged flogging from her triple-thonged whip had been exciting. Her dildo had been a revelation to my crotch. But golden showers? I poured myself another Bombay gin, turning the bottle around so Queen Victoria’s stern gaze would not see my turmoil.
Just after 1 o’clock, Lucy returned with two packages. One she placed on the kitchen table, the other she tossed to me. I peered inside. There were three bikinis – I say three, but I really mean two, one was simply an arrangement of strings almost as narrow as dental floss.
One was in black PVC, it looked tiny, both in the cups and in the thong section. The other was in shiny red metallic material and was equally tiny. Thank god I shave down there!
“I can’t wear these, they’re indecent,” I blustered.
My entreaty fell on decidedly deaf ears. “Bullshit, aunty,” said Lucy, “they’re very sexy and I’m going to enjoy seeing you flounce around in them for me. Wear the PVC one on your first bikini day, the red metallic one the next bikini day and the string job on the third.”
Then she passed me the other package. “See what you think about these – seen ‘em, have you?”
I looked at the first videotape. It was titled It Never Rains But It Pours and was sub-titled “Penny takes the piss – straight from the pussy”. It starred four very pretty girls I had never heard of, one of the four obviously being the “submissive”.
“I’ve not seen that one,” I said, placing it on the table with almost a shudder.
Lucy picked up on it. “Don’t worry, aunty, it’s not going to bite you!”
Then I looked at the other video, or DVD rather. It was titled Outlook: Showers, with the sub-title “Penny’s descent into degradation continues”. The same cast, the same sort of scenario, I guessed.
Lucy laughed: “The young man in the sex shop looked a little sideways at me when I plonked them down on his counter. I told him ‘Don’t worry, tiger, they’re for me and my girl friend, but be careful and don’t piss me off!’ I don’t think he saw the joke.”
Then she pointed to the kitchen. “Time for lunch, make some sandwiches, I’m starving, all this shopping has given me an appetite.”
We ate, sipping on a cold glass of white wine each, then Lucy announced she was off to change. My heart skipped a beat – what outfit would she choose? Or would it be no outfit at all, but nudity and a signal for the water sports? By now my heart was beating regularly, but with a pounding that seemed to echo through the kitchen.
Then Lucy was back, her lovely 18-year-old figure in a stunningly erotic outfit. Her breasts were thrown into wonderful uplift by a black leather, quarter-cup bra.
On her hips a black leather suspender belt gleamed black and lustrous. It held up shiny black stockings. She wore high heels, with lovely straps around her lower shins. Her pussy was naked, the little brown patch on her mons the only hair, her lush labia lips pink and gleaming with sex juice.
“Don’t just sit there gaping, aunty,” she grinned, as she saw me drink in her beauty. “Off upstairs with you, you lovely old slave, you!”
And I almost sprinted up the stairs and ran into my bedroom. I paced about, waiting for her arrival. The minutes ticked by. I was going to call out “I’m ready, Lucy”, but I didn’t know the etiquette of such a plea. Eventually, after about a quarter of an hour of heart-thumping waiting, I lay down on my belly on the bed, and buried my face in the pillows.
That was how she found me when she walked in, triple-thonged whip in hand. “Is this any way to greet your domina?” she snapped.
I turned, startled and climbed from the bed.
“Shoes on, slut!” ordered Lucy. I put them on.
“On your knees, put ‘em well apart, now clasp your ankles.”
Again I obeyed.
“That’s better,” she said, looking down at my garishly exposed position, my pussy totally open to her gaze. “Much more like a subby waiting for her mistress.”
Then the flogger whistled down and struck me midway between pussy and breasts, then again. The charges were again like electricity as the implement of punishment did its wicked work.
Lucy next targeted my outer thighs, then inner thighs. Then she threw the whip onto the bed and stood astride my upturned face. Her voice, when she spoke, was a hiss: “Thank me!”
I opened my mouth and placed my tongue on her shaven sex trench, then flicked around her lush labia, then onto her cunt, then deeper into the darker recess which was her anus. As my oral adoration continued Lucy began to move her pussy in a sort of circular motion across my face.
Her sex smelled sensational, a combination of sex juices and urine. I found the mixture a heady, intoxicating aroma. My tongue moved upwards to her engorged clitoris and soon she was moaning and hissing “Lick me, bitch, lick me” as I brought her closer and closer to her sexual gratification.
Then she was roaring words like “Tongue fuck me, bitch, tongue fuck me” and “Oooooh I’m coming, make me come, slut, make me come” and then her orgasm washed through her pussy and sent little bursts of liquid from her urinary tract to my mouth. I swallowed her thirstily down.
Lucy grunted, heaved a big sigh, then stepped back from my pussy-stained mouth. She smiled down at me, her breasts heaving in the quarter-cup bra, her nipples thick.
I wondered whether she was finished but my unspoken question was answered when, with a pat of her hand on the foot of the bed, she indicated my next position for punishment.
I bent over the bed, laying my upper body on the mattress, feeling my breasts squash down. “Arms out straight above your head, stretch ‘em,” said Lucy. I obeyed. “Now spread those feet, wide, wider,” she ordered. Again I obeyed.
Then the three-tailed whip continued it painful path of punishment, flicking across my taut buttocks, sending searing little shocks through me, stinging yet stunning. With an awful realisation, it dawned on me that I was lapping this up.
Then Lucy stopped, laid the flogger on my back, its leather strands feeling cool and sensuous on my flesh. A finger probed my sex, which was betraying my thoughts. “God, you’re so wet, you pain slut,” Lucy whispered, then I felt her breath on my buttocks as she knelt behind me.
Her tongue flickered over my cunt, then worked up to my anus. She probed there, then started to lick and lave at my back passage. For a moment I hoped I was clean down there. I didn’t want to disgust or disappoint her, I wanted her to want me. I needn’t have worried.
“Christ, aunty,” she said, pulling back for a moment, “you taste so fucking tangy there, always taste like this for your little domina, always!” And then she resumed her oral adoration of my rosebud anus, licking, kissing, probing until I thought I would go wild with pleasure.
But at the height of my delight, Lucy stood up and took hold of the whip once more.
“Up,” she snapped.
I stood and Lucy indicated the door to my en suite shower and toilet. “Grasp the transom, hands apart, go up on tip toe, I like to see you on tip toe, get there!”
I looked at her lush, teenage beauty, her big breasts spilling from the quarter-cup bra, the suspender belt gleaming around her lovely hips, the pussy which had so recently ground to a climax on my mouth, then turned and assumed the position she demanded of me, on my toes, my feet spread wide.
Then I heard the flogger’s whistle as it announced its attack on my bare back. The three thongs cracked against my shoulder blades, three electric shocks rippled through my body, from my back to my breasts. The whistle from the leather came once more, another trio of spark-like shocks. Lucy delivered six blows like this, then I felt her hand between my thighs, stroking, fondling, caressing.
“Does my pain slut like this?” she whispered.
“She loves it, Lucy,” I told her, my voice also a whisper, as if they were words I should not have said, even though I was aching to tell her how much I now craved her whip and the ecstatic electricity-like crack as it struck me.
“On the bed and wait for me, darling aunty,” said Lucy, in a now much less harsh, strict voice, in a much more loving voice.
I fell onto the bed, then rolled over onto my back but Lucy had left. My hands strayed to my pussy, feeling the tell-tale, give away wetness which betrayed my lust for her lash, for her domination, her humiliation.
Then she was back, standing in the doorway, wearing a little black, sheer silk creation. It was cupless at her breasts, and beneath the centre of her beautiful big boobs little red bows tied the garment at her middle down to her navel, making the silk strain on her lovely body.
The playsuit then dived down to a crotchless portion, accentuated by the black strips crossing her lower belly and abdomen.
Lucy lay down beside me and placed one hand on my pussy and her mouth on mine. She kissed me lingeringly, lustily. “Does my lovely old tart want to make love now?” she whispered, her teeth nibbling against my ear lobe.
I kissed her with as much passion as I’ve ever felt for anyone and returned her whisper with a husky “Of course she does” as I thought her probing fingers would drive me insane.
Then her mouth lowered to my breasts and she was nibbling and sucking and kissing my hardened nipple. “Fuck, that’s such a great tit, you lovely old thing,” she murmured, between switching her attack from my left nipple to my equally hard right one.
And then she ran her tongue down my belly, into my navel, across my taut abdomen, then down to my mons. A kiss there and then she shuffled her body down so that she was lying between my thighs, stretched wide to accommodate her loveliness.
Now her tongue was flickering around my sex, licking at my labia, sucking on my clit, pushing slightly into my cunt, then into my anus. I hoped she wouldn’t drown, but there was no need to worry.
“Oh fuck, you lovely old whore,” she said – words which I did not object to in the slightest – “you’re so sopping wet, so juicy, so sweaty and tasty.”
Then her mouth and tongue resumed its oral adoration as I writhed and wriggled, squirming and thrusting against her mouth and face, revelling in her brilliant mouthplay on my weeping snatch.
Soon the inevitable happened and my climax started to ooze from every pore as Lucy’s wonderful mouth dragged me closer and closer to the edge of the precipice before hurling me over and into that wonderful falling, tumbling thrill that is the Big O!
After I had calmed and she had licked me slowly back to normality, Lucy rose and lay on top of me, our mounds grinding together in mutually satisfying thrusting. Then she kissed me sweetly on the mouth, my sex juice aroma and taste mingling with the kiss.
“Stay there,” she whispered, “I won’t be long.”
I did as she said, lying back with a big sigh, recalling all the wonderful things Lucy had done to me, all the sweet sucks and licks, all the whisperings, all the whistling of the lash. And then my reverie was interrupted. There, at the doorway, stood my lovely little 18-year-old niece – and she was naked!
The import of her pose, fists bunched on hips, feet spread wide, breasts thrusting just reinforced what I already knew. Water sports time!
Lucy grinned at my naked body, lying back on my bed, jolted from my comfort zone by the message her nudity spelled out to me. “I had debated whether or not to drag out your waiting with one long tease until tomorrow morning, aunty,” she informed me, “but even I’m not that cruel. And anyway, I’m just bursting for a piddle, so I thought what better time than the present.”
Lucy then stepped into my en suite and I heard the shower being turned on. Reluctantly, shivering with anticipation, but also keenly curious to find out what it was going to be like, I stood and stepped into the en suite.
As I did, my 18-year-old niece switched the shower off, Steam formed condensation on the glass door. “I do so hate stepping into a shower floor, don’t you aunty?” she said, kissing me on the mouth.
“Now, let’s get you initiated,” she said, her pert buttocks jouncing as she stepped over the threshold into the shower cubicle. I followed her, my heart beating a rumba in the tension of the moment.
“On your knees, dear aunt,” said Lucy, placing a hand on one shoulder and pressing me down. My face came level with her lovely pussy. She spread her thighs wide and I crouched so I was beneath her divine, aromatic sex trench.
“Open up, aunty,” she said, her voice tinged with excitement. “I’ll give you a little taste, then I’ll try to halt the flow, which might be difficult. Just drink what you can.”
And then she started to release a stream of gold down my mouth. I gulped it down as best I could, then, with a grunt, she halted the flow after about five seconds. Then I tasted warm, salty urine for the very first time. I swallowed and it slid down. I’ve tasted worse – Dutch Genever gin, for example.
“Shit, you’ve no idea how hard it is to stop a strong flow just after you’ve started peeing,” she said. “Now, be a dear and cup those lovely pert 34-inch Bristols for me.”
I placed my hands beneath my globes and Lucy jetted a spray of piss onto them, hot, yellow, sticky. Then, after about a 10 second burst came another grunt, as she succeeded in stemming the flow.
“Rub it all over your tits, aunty,” said Lucy. As I looked down at a pool of urine trapped between my now golden globes.
I sluiced her warm piss all over my breasts as the sickly smell rose to my nostrils. They looked as if they had been smeared with suntan lotion, sticky and sweaty.
“Stand up,” snapped Lucy and I stood. “Now rub your tits all over mine,” she told me.
I rubbed my breasts against her lovely large, lush 38-inch boobs, until we were both smeared with the recently released urine.
Then Lucy pulled my head down to her nipple-hard breasts and hissed: “Worship them, properly!”
My tongue flickered onto her nipples, then moved over the full, firm flesh of each breast. This, surprisingly, was worse than having to drink it. Drinking I could swallow gulps and ingest it without tasting it all. This was impossible with sucking and licking on her urine-smeared globes. The taste was tangy, salty, very – well, very strong.
“Back down, you lovely old licker,” said Lucy, and I slipped down to my knees. Again my breasts were given a soaking from her piss stream, this one lasting longer than any other the others, at least 20 seconds, possibly more.
“Now lick my quim, slowly!” came the awful order.
I placed my tongue to her labia lips and began to lip all over her sexual places, tasting the salt. And as I performed this task, I was rubbing my hands all over my steaming breasts, made hot and slippery by her flood of golden nectar.
“Get up,” hissed my teenage dominatrix, when I had been worshipping at her pussy for about a minute. As I did Lucy again mashed her bigger breasts against my perkier ones, then she did something which surprised me.
Hardly needing to bend, as I was a few inches taller than her, Lucy placed her sweet mouth against my breasts and began to lick and suck them all over, tasting her urine and laving it away from my mammaries as she did so.
Lucy pulled away from me with a big smile. “You’re into alliteration, aren’t you aunty?”
I smiled back. “Our family has a thing about it, I think,” I told her.
“Well,” she said, “how about ‘Lucy licks lovely Linda’s luscious lamps’?”
I laughed and kissed her fully on her piss-stained lips.
“Lamps? I don’t know about lamps,” I told her.
Lucy pouted, prettily. “OK,” she said, “how about ‘Busty brunette bird bastes beautiful blonde’s boobs’?”
“I give in,” I told her, “let’s stick with ‘Linda’s luscious lamps’.”
“That’s fine by me,” said Lucy, and her mouth again began to lick over my smeared breasts.
That night, we cuddled together on the couch, drank too much wine, ate too many chocolates, and watched the two videos that Lucy had checked out of the local sex shop. Strangely, after my experience earlier in the day of my first “water sports” games with my 18-year-old niece I didn’t find them as offensive as I’d feared.
“Did many people at the place you worked request those?” I asked Lucy, after paying an urgent call to the toilet, thanks to the two bottles of sweet wine we’d polished off.
“A surprising number, aunty,” she said, snuggling back up to me. “For a submissive being showered on, or made to drink their mistress’s golden nectar from a doggy bowl is one of the highest forms of submission and humiliation they can go.
“Just wait – I’ll train you!”
Then she gave me a big kiss and hug, warned me “Tomorrow it’s black PVC bikini day, remember?” and skipped off to bed.
I hadn’t forgotten, I was even looking forward to it, although I knew I’d have to be careful not to let prying, snoopy, nosy neighbours catch sight of me during whatever Lucy had planned for the day. But the mere thought that she was going to continue her domination of me was exciting.
The next morning, after my shower, I pulled on the bra and bikini bottom and inspected my reflection in the wardrobe mirror. I’ve never really been a fan of PVC, it looks somehow cold, even though it gives off a sexy sheen, but I soon found that the confines of the slippery material became warm on my flesh and I was soon bathed in sweat beneath the bra and panties.
I went downstairs for breakfast, being careful to duck going past any windows which could give people outside a view of me. I just prayed that on the day I was in sexy lingerie or, worse, naked, that Lucy would allow me to draw the curtains closed. What would the neighbours think if they saw me!
Lucy was lolling around in a black bra and matching bikini briefs, both made of shiny satin. I wanted to eat her! Instead, I made do with toast and marmalade, then Lucy helped me with the washing up – what a strange sight we must have made, an aunt in a black PVC bikini, her niece in black lingerie doing the dishes!
After that, Lucy gave me a peck on the cheek, said “Put a dress on to cover that lovely little outfit, we’re going shopping” and we went upstairs and made ourselves “respectable”.
First, Lucy dropped off the two sex videos we’d watched the day before. Even that simple act was laced with humiliation for me, though.
“Thanks for those water sports movies,” Lucy told the young man behind the counter – obviously the one she’d dealt with the day before. “They gave aunty here and me lots of filthy ideas.”
The young man’s cheeks reddened appreciably, then Lucy kept up my humiliation. “Tell me, you look like a man of the world,”
she addressed the poor youngster – he could only have been 25 or 26! “Where can aunty and I shop for some bondage gear – I’m having a job keeping up with her kinky tastes!”
Two middle-aged men browsing the adult videos on display turned their heads sharply to look at us. When they saw Lucy – her black T-shirt straining against her magnificent 38-inch breasts – they both gave indecent leers. I wanted the shop floor to open up and swallow me.
The young man behind the counter took what appeared to be a deep breath and handed Lucy a small printed card. “This place might cater to your requirements, miss,” he said, in a mumbling Devon accent.
Lucy read the card out loud, only increasing my misery.
“The Bondage Shop – making your slave uncomfortable makes us feel comfortable,” she announced, so the entire shop could hear. “Terrific, I’m sure we can find something there to cater for your disgusting desires, eh aunty?” she said, far louder than was necessary.
Outside, my ears were red with embarrassment. “Lucy, really,” I protested, “that was so humiliating.”
She grinned at me, her lush young breasts bouncing as we walked along the street. “Precisely, my dear aunty,” she laughed, “and I bet you loved it!”
“Now,” she said, perusing the card, “where’s this shop.”
I inspected it and told her it was in a cobbled arcade, full of trendy eateries, wine bars and disgracefully expensive boutiques.
“We need to drive, it’s down in town,” I told her. “We’ll go and get the Rover, and Lucy? Can I please get out of this PVC bikini? I’m boiling, I can feel the sweat running down my bum.”
Her response was a loud laugh. “Shouldn’t have told me that, aunty,” she said, “now you’re definitely going to stay in it!”
We drove downtown in my old Rover, Lucy again making derogatory comments about one of the loves of my life, and parked in a building opposite the arcade.
We had both chosen high heels, not very practical for walking on the cobbles, and many men cast leering glances as Lucy, in her tiny little faux leather black mini, clip-clopped her way into the arcade.
The sex shop was on the first floor, where at last we could walk normally. It was just on 10.30 when Lucy walked in, with me in tow. The shop was, thank goodness, deserted, except for a blonde-haired woman sitting on a high stool behind the counter.
Lucy marched up to the blonde, who looked to be in her late 30s and was the spitting image of that woman who played Rose in the old BBC comedy Keeping Up Appearances, except she was much bustier.
“Hello dearie,” said the busty blonde, in a decidedly un-Devonian accent, “my name’s Brenda, only my friends and some of my customers call me Bondage Brenda, or BeeBee. How can I help?”
Lucy leant on the counter, allowing Brenda, or “BeeBee”, a great look at her weighty boobs. “We want some bondage gear, BeeBee,” she said, already going on as if she and Brenda were bosom pals – pardon the pun!
“And who’s the domme and who’s the subby?” asked Brenda, with a leer. “As if I couldn’t guess.”
Lucy grinned. “Right on, BeeBee, I’m the bossy britches, Aunty Linda here’s the slave.”
Brenda looked at me with what I can only describe as a lecherous leer. “Lucky old tart,” she sneered at me.
“Old tart?” I protested. “I bet I’m younger than you, BeeBee.” And I put a sort of sneer on the word “BeeBee”.
“I’m 38 and proud of it, you lucky younger tart,” she smiled.
Then she stood up off the stool, displaying herself to be a quite tall five foot eight, or so. “OK, bondage gear, darlings,” she said. “You want it, we’ve got it. What are you after, you bossy little domme, you,” she added, looking now at Lucy.
“Let’s start with a spreader bar,” said my niece, “something to keep her in place while I’m disciplining her.”
Brenda walked from behind her counter, displaying a pair of black leather hot pants. She may have been 38, but her buttocks wriggled and writhed in the tight confines of the gleaming black material in an extremely cheeky display. I felt an urge to kneel behind her and worship her arse – an urge I instantly felt guilty about!
From a rack of display items, she produced a gleaming chrome bar, with velcro-fastening straps at each end. “Here you go,” she said, thrusting it into Lucy’s hand, “try it out on Madam Muck here in that dressing room.”
Brenda steered us in the direction of a room in the far corner of the shop, and on the way, Lucy said: “Oh, and have you got anything to keep her hands and arms away from trying to stop me doing what I want to do when she’s in the spreader?”
“Leave it to me, dearie,” said Brenda and we entered the changing room.
“Strip,” ordered my niece, placing the spreader bar against a wall of the dingy little room. While it was an order that brought me relief from the sweat-inducing PVC, it also caused me apprehension, but soon I was standing nude in front of the 18-year-old, save for my high-heeled stilettos.
Lucy knelt, and strapped the spreader bar to my ankles, an action which caused me to stand with my feet more than a yard apart. The pose I was forced to adopt, bearing in mind the way my thighs were now splayed, made my pudenda thrust forwards in an extremely wanton display.
After getting me into the bar, Lucy stood and as she did, the curtains to the changing cubicle were thrown back and there stood Brenda, holding another chrome metal implement.
Her gaze was fixed on my crudely exposed pussy and she wasn’t backwards in coming forwards with her comments. “Shit, that’s a wet-looking minge,” she said, more to herself than to me or Lucy. “Is she hot to trot, or what?”
Lucy laughed. “Wanna taste, BeeBee?” she asked.
I looked in desperation at my niece, but Brenda’s voice rang out “Do I fucking what?” and in a flash she was on her knees in front of me and her mouth was hungrily fastened to my minge, lapping and sucking avidly on my sex juices.
At first I was appalled at what Lucy was allowing the woman to do to me, but gradually, as what was obviously a mouth well-versed in the art of cunnilingus worked along my sex trench, I began to respond to her muff-diving expertise and soon to my utter shame but increasing pleasure I ground my minge onto her mouth.
After about a minute, the sex shop worker stood and smiled at me, and I could see the glistening gleam of juice on her lips where she had enjoyed muffing me.
“Thanks, you lovely old tart,” she smiled, “you’re not so dusty after all.” And with that she gave me a slow, smoochy kiss full on my mouth, her lips tasting tangily of my juices. They tasted lovely!
“Now, dearie,” she said, again addressing my bossy britches niece, “have a look at this little number.” With that, she picked up the other chrome bar she had brought into the cubicle.
“This is a lightweight yoke,” she told Lucy, “it’s easy to transport, takes up hardly any space and is easy to attach. And it’s so much better than cuffs on her wrists attached to a throat collar. Let me show you.”
And Brenda stepped forward, gave my left nipple a saucy tweak – tight enough to make me wince, but not painful enough to make me shout – and placed the chrome bar across my shoulders.
The centre of the bar was U-shaped, and in the “U” piece it was lined with quite thick, absorbent rubber, which made it fit on me very comfortably. Brenda then took my left arm and placed it beneath the left arm of the bar and strapped my wrist to it, then my upper arm, just by the armpit. She proceeded to do the same with my right arm until I stood before her and Lucy, feet spread wide, arms attached to the yoke – and completely helpless!
Both women looked at me and Lucy, clearly, was delighted.
She planted a kiss on Brenda’s still-sex-smeared mouth and remarked: “Fucking sensational, BeeBee, we’ll take it.” Then she looked down at the bar between my feet.
“Hold on, what’s the D-ring in the middle of the spreader bar for?” asked my niece.
“Depends,” said Brenda, “on whether your slave is male or female. For males, they have to wear a tight-fitting rubber punishment pouch and a cord is then threaded through the D-ring to make it even tauter. Quite painful, I’m told, although our gay friends reckon it’s as sexy as hell. But for ladies, well, you can put clamps on their clits or labia lips and run the cord from them down to the D-ring. The clit clamp’s my personal favourite.”
“Add a clit clamp,” said Lucy, with obvious delight.
I began to feel slightly uncomfortable – which, I guess, was the entire point.
“Want nipple clamps?” asked Brenda, obviously relishing the way her “sale” was going. “We’ve got these new throbbers with batteries in ‘em and they set off irregular pulses which I’m told give the slave a lovely vibrating jolt – nothing severe, of course.”
“Add ‘em to the list, BeeBee, you smooth-talking slut you,” grinned Lucy. “Oh, and I want a pussy flogger. Got any?”
Brenda grinned an evil grin. “A superb rubber thing, lots of strands and it makes a nice splatting sound when it hits but it doesn’t tear the pussy to pieces, just makes it tingle a bit. She’ll love it.”
Finally, I was freed from my dressing room bondage, and allowed to dress. Outside, Brenda was wrapping everything up in shiny black plastic wrapping.
“Tell you what, BeeBee,” said Lucy, as the sex shop lady continued with her bundling up of the purchases. “Rather than us traipsing all the way back to the car, how about dropping round to Aunt Linda’s place later on, when you’ve finished work and dropping the stuff off. Then you can help me put her through her first bondage session. What do you say?”
“I’d say it was Christmas come early, dearie,” she said. “I’m knocking off early this afternoon, so pop your address down on this pad and I’ll be around as soon as three o’clock rolls round.”
Outside and back in the street, I told Lucy I was in urgent need of a drink, so we went into a trendy bar, I had a massive Beefeater gin and tonic, Lucy a glass of white wine.
“Really, Lucy,” I said, when we’d found a table away from prying ears, “what a performance. A woman I’ve never met and you allow her to go down on me!”
“Oh, Aunt L,” she laughed, “I saw the look on your face after your initial shock and you were lapping it up!”
“On the contrary, dear Lucy,” I replied, “she was lapping it up.”
Lucy grinned. “There you are, aunty? See, you’re making a joke about it already – a feeble joke, I know, but a joke nonetheless. You’ll lap it up even more when Brenda arrives with all your prezzies.”
“Prezzies? Prezzies?” I said. “Hardly ‘prezzies’ my dominating dearest Lucy – it’s set me back about 300 quid that little lot. Not exactly my idea of presents.”
Lucy overrode my protests. “Nonsense, aunty, you’re going to get so much fun out of that box of goodies you’ll thank me for the rest of your life. Now, take me to a decent restaurant and buy me a lovely meal. All that shopping has made me famished!”
After a nice lunch – I paid, of course – we got back home and Lucy stripped off to her black lingerie, and made me strip down to my PVC bikini and high heels. Very shortly after, the front door bell rang. “That’ll be Brenda, I guess,” said my niece. “Let her in.”
“But what if it’s a total stranger, or worse, someone I know?” I protested.
Lucy laughed: “Tell ‘em it’s so hot you’re lounging around the house in a bikini. Now, Aunt Linda, get the door.”
I walked to the door, and on opening it was partly relieved to see it was, indeed, Brenda, standing on the step with her large parcel of what Lucy had referred to as “prezzies”.
She stepped inside, kissed me on the cheek and asked: “Aren’t you hot and sticky in that PVC?”
I nodded, scared and yet incredibly excited at the sight of her.
“Don’t worry,” she laughed, “we’ll soon have you out of it! Take me to your leader.”
I led the way into the lounge where Brenda plonked the big package on the table, then kissed Lucy.
“Crikey,” exclaimed the sex shop woman, “doesn’t anyone wear any clothes around this house? I feel over-dressed.”
“Well get your gear off, then,” said Lucy, and as Brenda was doing that, Lucy introduced herself: “I don’t think I told you my name – it’s Lucy and I used to work in a domination parlour.”
Brenda stepped out of her leather hot pants and shook her long blonde hair. For a 38-year-old she was certainly well built. Her big breasts were strapped into a shiny red satin bra, the tops of her mounds gleaming – she obviously sunbathed a lot.
On her hips was a tight-fitting red satin thong, which revealed beautifully suntanned buns, and I noticed she had strong, sturdy but well-shaped legs. To my shame, I started to feel my sex juices running – she was turning me on!
“I like what I see,” said Lucy, in admiration, as the sex shop lady folded her clothes on an armchair.
“So, a domination parlour, and here I was trying to educate you about spreader bars and punishment pouches,” smiled Brenda.
“Don’t worry,” said Lucy, “in the domination business you can always pick up new tricks and, anyway, the place I worked in until it got closed by the fuzz specialised in the domination of females. I don’t do men.”
“Luvverly,” drawled Brenda, “I can’t stand ‘em either. Now, where are we going to play with this little princess?”
“Upstairs in her bedroom, it’s so much more intimate and I have a funny feeling we’re going to get intimate,” Lucy told Brenda.
“I certainly hope so, Lucy,” said the blonde, and with a snapped “Package upstairs in your bedroom, slut, come on, quick about it” my dual domme friends followed me up the stairs to my room.
Inside, Lucy shut the door, switched my bedside radio on to a non-stop pop station – “We don’t want to annoy the neighbours, do we?” – and then the pair opened up the package.
“Strip!” snapped Lucy, as if to reassert her authority over me, as she and Brenda placed the result of my expensive shopping that morning on the bed.
“Leave your high heels on,” Lucy said, after I was nude, “it makes your legs look better.”
They then proceeded to get me totally immobilised in the spreader bar and yoke, then Brenda produced a metal clamp, attached to a long piece of twine. Kneeling in front of me, she placed a kissed on my clitoris, teasing it from its hooded hiding place, then clamped the metal over it.
“Ouch,” I exclaimed as the cold metal embraced my little love nubbin.
“Keep still,” said Brenda, firmly, “and it won’t hurt so much.”
And with that, she looped the twine through the D-ring in the centre of my spreader bar and tied it, making the length of cord twangily taut. The clamp was sending little shoots of pain through my clit and pussy.
But Brenda hadn’t finished contributing to my discomfort. From the package she laid the rubber flogger on the bed and watched intently by Lucy, she placed two metal clamps on my very erect nipples. From each clamp hung a six-inch length of wire and at the ends of the wire were two little metal cylinders, like small batteries.
“Now all we do it switch them on at the base here,” she said, showing Lucy what she was up to, “and the vibrator sends irregular pulses into her nipples, which will give her quite a thrill. Watch.”
I held my breath, not daring to make a sound and them my left nipple received a jolt – not a big one, quite small, in fact, but large enough to make me stiffen. As I did so, the effect was to drag on my clit clamp, causing me some more pain there, and my breasts swayed, adding to the aching already being caused by my nipple clamps.
Then another jolt hit me, as I said, not severe, but it sent a little vibrating shock through me, Again my breasts juddered.
Then Brenda turned to Lucy, who was watching my sweet suffering with a look of fascination. “Let’s leave her for a while, darling,” said the sex shop woman, “and get better acquainted.”
And the two busty beauties tumbled onto my bed and as I stood naked before them, clit and nipple-clamped for their amusement and my discomfort, they rolled into each others arms and began a snogging session.
This soon developed into a removal of brassieres and I saw that Brenda’s were big things – she had a 40 inch bust measurement, I discovered later – and soon Lucy was licking at her large, dark brown nipples, sucking at them like there was no tomorrow.
Occasionally, they would look at me and after a vibration had run through my nipple – or nipples, sometimes the little jolts came simultaneously! – either Lucy or Brenda would inquire as to my health, then laugh and carry on with their love-making.
The next stage of their frolicking in front of me involved the removal of their panties and I saw that Brenda’s pussy was shaved, except across her mons, where a light brown thatch of pubic hair nestled. But her labia were among the largest I had ever seen – thick, lush lips, not gross, but a dark brown in colour.
Soon, Lucy had Brenda on her back and she was muff diving the 38-year-old, eagerly sucking and licking at her pussy, Lucy’s own pussy pointing back at me as I stood helplessly in front of their wanton display of sapphic sex. Then, Brenda began to gasp as Lucy’s minxish little tongue brought the blonde closer and closer to her Big O, until with a roar of approval the sex shop woman came. All I can say is, it was a good job Lucy had put the radio on!
Lucy raised herself and they smooched for a while, then my niece picked up the rubber flogger and stepped from the bed.
“Time to remove this nasty little clamp, eh aunty?” she said, unclipping the metal’s pincer-like grip from my pain-flooded clitoris.
“Thank-you, darling,” I said, in a hushed tone, fully aware of two things – the first was the pain as my blood flow resumed in my clit, the other that Lucy was soon going to start flogging my minge.
To my surprise, Lucy then climbed back on the bed and stood about two feet from the foot of the bed. “Shuffle forward, aunty,” she called, “I want you within range of this lovely flogger.”
I obeyed her instructions, panting a bit as my movements caused the chains holding the battery cylinders to sway, adding to the punishment of my nipples.
When she was satisfied that I was close enough, Lucy called: “Halt, aunty. Right, BeeBee, it’s time for my orgasm. Get to work on my minge, and there’s no rush, take it nice and slow.”
Lucy then grinned at me, as Brenda knelt in front of her lovely snatch and started her oral adoration. “Know why there’s no rush, Aunty Lindy?” my niece asked.
“No darling,” I said, fully aware that I wasn’t going to like the answer.
“That’s because I’m going to start whipping your pussy,” she said, then paused. “And I’m not going to stop until I’ve had my orgasm!”
And with that her arm was pulled back, then the many-thonged rubber whip struck me between the thighs with a strong-sounding “Splatttt”. The impact drew a sharp intake of breath from me, and while the stroke was stinging, it was not as strong as I had feared.
“Splatttt” went the flogger again, and again I was shocked by its impact, also because I received a nipple jolt at exactly the same moment from the clamp on my left nipple.
Brenda reached up with her hands for better purchase and soon her tongue was obviously flying back and forth across Lucy’s pussy because the 18-year-old start to hump and heave her minge firmly down onto the older woman’s panting mouth.
I must have received about 10 or 15 blows from the rubber flogger, when Lucy threw it to the floor, grabbed Brenda by her hair and yelled: “Flat tongue my clit, BeeBee, flat tongue it, you lovely bitch!”
And as I stood watching, occasionally being jolted by the little vibrations from my nipples clamps, Lucy came on Brenda’s mouth in a torrent of imprecations, most of which included the “f” word and all of which complimented the sex shop woman on her oral prowess.
Finally, Lucy, still standing above her cunnilinguist, calmed down and she stepped from the bed, put her high heels back on, then turned to face Brenda.
“Time for Aunty L’s fun, I think, eh BeeBee?” she asked, and the 38-year-old gave me a cheeky grin and climbed from the bed to kneel before my punished pussy.
“Give her an orgasm to remember, BeeBee,” commanded Lucy, who then removed the tit clamp from my right nipple and lowered her mouth to my nubbin.
As Brenda’s mouth worked on my sex juice-seeping pussy, Lucy’s mouth first of all drew little splinters of agony into my nipple, as the blood flow resumed, but soon it was throbbing with lust as the sex shop woman sucked and licked all the pain from my sex and began to replace it with tender, then thrusting loving.
As I felt my climax nearing, Lucy walked around to my other side and removed the last clamp. Again her mouth worked on the painful little protrusion, then I felt a flood of ecstasy coursing through my nipples, one being sucked by Lucy, the other stroked, and that flood darted down my belly to my gut, then lower to my pussy, where Brenda’s mouth was driving me faster and faster to an erotic explosion.
Finally, I could hold out no longer and a torrent of twinges which flooded through my sex was followed by a cataract of excitement as the Big O engulfed me and I screamed out in delight at the most massive, mind-numbing climax I had ever experienced.
Later, as we all relaxed on the bed, sipping flutes of Laurent Perrier champagne – which I had paid for, naturally – Lucy leaned across my body, kissed my still tender nipples, then placed a hand on my thigh.
“There, Aunty L,” she smiled. “Still complaining about the price of those prezzies, are we?”
I had to admit she had me there. I kissed her on the mouth, savouring the tang of pussy juice intermingled with the fine grape of the Champagne region.
“After an orgasm like that, I’m going to remember the quality long after I’ve forgotten the price,” I told her.
That was all some months ago. Lucy has gone back home and apparently all has been forgiven by her mother, my sister Libby. Lucy is now working privately and local female submissives – or possibly not so local – are “beating” a path to her door, apparently, for their beatings.
Brenda – I hate the diminutive “BeeBee” – and I are now an item, as it were. I realise that while I thought I loved Patrice, my ex who migrated to Australia, it was really an affair doomed to failure. Neither of us was strong enough to be the leading partner. Which is certainly not the case with Brenda!
We often go to parties at mutual friends and we make quite a pair. I’m introduced as the lady who sells a wonderful range of “straight” books at Lindy’s Library, while Brenda sells a wonderful range of “kinky” books at her shop. It’s amazing how people are so fascinated by people who run sex shops.
Brenda comes round to my place every afternoon she gets off early – that’s once a week – and every Friday I pack my spreader bar, yoke, assorted clamps and rubber flogger into the boot of the car and drive to her lovely apartment on the other side of town for the week-end.
For the drive, I have to wear the shiny black PVC bikini, even in the middle of winter, which makes me sweat like a pig and is so uncomfortable. I guess that’s why I love it so!
At Brenda’s place, I have a lovely little bowl –well, it’s not so little, actually. It’s surprising how large a bowl is needed to contain Brenda’s urine! It’s made of pink porcelain, and on opposite sides, in dark blue lettering which stands out in nice contrast to the pink porcelain, is the word “Bitchslut”.
So things have all worked out for the best, thanks to my dear niece, Lucy, who still visits from time to time, although now, of course, it’s Brenda who is firmly in charge.
Now I like to think of myself as “Lucky, Liberated Lindy: Bondage Brenda’s Bitchslut.” Oops, there goes that family fondness for alliteration again!