Fire Hose bysoppingwetpanties©

 

 

 

 

 

 

 This story is dedicated to Scott. He belongs to me. He is my slut.

Warning: This story contains watersports.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.

I like to think of myself as a "normal" person.

Actually, that was a lie. I'm a sex addict. I'm also a Domme. There is nothing "normal" about me or what I want.

For the casual observer, I'm just another forty something divorcee, long ash blonde hair typically clipped up in a French twist, held together with a distinctive heirloom barrette, You can't miss the barrette. It's encrusted with rubies, real ones. It used to belong to my great grandmother. It's probably worth a fair amount, but I don't care. I wear it every day.

Maybe that's not entirely true either. I don't wear it on days when I'm with my subs. I like to use my hair as part of the seduction. It's always been one of my better features, and it works best if it's down. Mmmm ... I'm picturing a sub naked and standing in front of me. I get on my knees and tilt my head and pull the long strands of straight blonde hair across his cock. It bobs in appreciation.

I digress.

I told you I was a sex addict.

I know you want to know more about me. I'm a bit taller than average, and curvy. By curvy, I mean that my tits are big enough to get a person to look twice and there's enough meat on my hips to get a decent grip when you're fucking me (dream on Scott -- it'll never happen). I'm not one of those skinny things that grace the cover of a fashion magazine. I look more like the woman you get when you pop "MILF sexy blonde femdom" into the search bar of your favorite porn site. That woman is me.

I want to tell you about Scott. How I met him and all that. He's a very bad boy and that's good for me. He is a willing participant in every deviant act I can dream up and we both end up happy ... very happy. He'll tell you what I'm telling you. He's a slut.

I own him now. He's my slut. He does anything I ask of him and accepts anything I want to do to him. We trust each other. I know his limits and I respect them. He's knows I'll never hurt him. Well at least not permanently. He's gotten a few welts and bruises, but it's all part of our gig.

We're not exclusive. I have another sub, Marta, who is a typical suburban housewife with some really fucked-up notions of good sex. We fit together like hand and glove. She's a submissive little minx that has a curvier body than mine. You'll hear about Marta because I "introduced" her to Scott. Although Scott will probably never fuck me, I did let him fuck Marta, and that made them (and me) very happy. Marta lives close, so she's my on call slut, particularly when Scott's unavailable.

So now the story of how I met Scott.

* * *

I was living in a typical suburban four bedroom house on a quiet cul-de-sac in an upscale neighborhood in the Queen City, an apt name for Charlotte, North Carolina, my hometown. I liked walking my dog, Brutus, a dappled black and white Great Dane, enjoying an occasional round of tennis on the weekends, and sharing drinks on Wednesday afternoons with my girlfriends. Who would have suspected that I had turned my little corner of the suburban dream into a hotbed of perversion and depravity?

I was recently retired. A woman of leisure. I left my job as the head of marketing for an international hotel chain, even though I was in the prime of my career. I was good at my job, and as glamourous as you might think it might be, it wasn't. My subordinates got to do all the fun stuff, like travelling to our overseas properties. I spent most of my time in budget meetings and dealing with major HR crises. After getting a seven figure divorce settlement from my scumbag investment banker (is that redundant?) ex-husband, I told my employer that I was leaving for good. I had enough money to live in the lifestyle you're about to hear about, so why ruin a perfectly good life with meaningless work?

I liked to walk Brutus. We would go out every day, even when it rained. Usually around mid-afternoon. He liked the bright sunshine and the heat. I would have preferred early morning for his daily walk, but he wouldn't have any of that and for dog owners, you know who wins that fight.

There was a fire station down the road from my house, not more than a few blocks away. Brutus liked to go that way. The bay door to the station house was often open, and the guys were always happy to offer tummy rubs and sometimes treats. In the summer, it wouldn't be uncommon to see the hunky firemen lounging in their beach chairs, sunning themselves during their downtime like lizards on a hot rock. I'd become friendly with a few, usually sharing gossip about the goings on in our neighborhood.

I flirted with them shamelessly, and they did nothing to discourage me. It was harmless entertainment -- until it wasn't.

On one particularly hot, sunny day last summer, I was walking Brutus, sashaying in a short white summer dress with red polka dots and high heeled sandals. Even though it was uncomfortably hot, I wore nylons with the seam that ran up the back -- old school and sexy. I was carrying a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, intending to give them to the boys at the fire house as my way of saying thank you for being there for the neighborhood -- and me.

Scott was one of my favorites, and he was outside finishing the rinse of their bright yellow Class A Pumper. I don't know a lot about fire fighting apparatus, and it was Scott who educated me on the types of equipment they had at the fire house. I just liked the name -- Class A Pumper. Sounded sexy to me.

Scott spotted me and put down his hose. I watched his eyes and caught him admiring my hose. I could swear I saw his pants bulge as he took a gander at my seamed stockings.

It always felt good to get male attention, and having a twenty something dark haired blue eyed stud giving me the once over gave me a charge.

"Cookies for me?" he asked playfully.

"For the entire crew," I corrected him.

"Why thank you."

His eyes met mine, but they again wandered lower, past my ample cleavage to my nylon encased legs.

"Eyes forward," I admonished him, not intending to but using the tone of voice I use when scolding my subs. Even though we didn't really know each other I already had an inkling what floated his boat. I handed him the plate of cookies, our eyes meeting each other again for an instant. His eyes lowered to the ground liked those of a whipped puppy. I suspected then that fireman Scott had a little submissive streak ... and a hosiery fetish.

"Wait here," he told me, sprinting to the safety of the fire house. He took a cookie off the plate and held it in his mouth as he rushed into the brick building. Brutus sat down, knowing we were settling there for a few minutes. I dropped his leash on the ground. He was well trained, and wouldn't go anywhere. I wondered how long Scott would keep me waiting in the hot sun.

Scott came back a minute later. I admired his toned pecs, on display through his wet t-shirt. I excused the indiscretion of leaving me untended.

"Gotta treat for my buddy," he said, breathless.

Brutus reacted well to the word "treat." He was still sitting, but now on full alert with his tail swishing across the pavement. Scott held out a Milk Bone, which was gratefully received by my puppy. It was gone in two bites.

"Love your outfit Franny," he told me.

My eyes wandered down to his crotch. "I can see that."

He smiled, and the dimples on his cheeks appeared. Adorable.

"Maybe it's the stockings," I teased him.

"More than you know."

I was generally a quick study, and he signaled his fetish with red flares. He was staring at my legs and he had a raging boner. Go figure.

I was always looking for new talent, and I never thought a fire house would be a likely hunting ground, but here he was, practically begging me to exploit his fetish. Who was I to refuse such a generous offer, especially from a stud like him? I'd never pegged a fireman, even in my dreams.

Brutus had decided to go into full attention mode, rolling on his back and allowing Scott to give him a satisfying rub of his adorable mottled pink and white belly. I took the opportunity to open a dialog with him to confirm my suspicions. He was on one knee so he could see the tops of my nylons. I made sure I was close enough so he had a clear view.

"What do you do in your spare time Scott?"

There was sex dripping from my voice. He made some sort of croaking noise before he attempted to speak.

"Oh ... a little of this ... a little of that."

I knew he was being coy with me. He was probably too embarrassed to come right out and tell me that he wanted to worship my stocking clad legs. He wasn't ready quite yet to admit his jones to himself or to me. I was willing to be patient.

"Enjoy the cookies Scott."

I made sure when I walked away that I gave him a perfect view of the back of my long legs. That would certainly straighten up his fire hose.

* * *

It must have been a few weeks later when I decided to give the fire house a visit, hoping to see Scott. This time it was oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, my favorite. The cookies were still warm when I leashed Brutus and went out the door. I had a little something for Scott as well.

It was the height of summer weather, hot and muggy. Brutus didn't care. He was in his element sniffing the sidewalk and every telephone pole and fire hydrant along the way. We strolled by typical suburban houses that lined our way to the fire house -- well manicured lawns, late model cars in the driveway, and barking dogs behind high fences.

When I arrived at the station, there were two men sitting on their low rise beach chairs enjoying a soft drink and ogling me as I approached. I recognized them, but didn't know their names. Even though I was wearing nylons with a dot pattern on them, their eyes were trained higher, to the cleavage I casually displayed in the deep V-shaped gap in my sheer white blouse.

"Hey boys ... here's some cookies for you to enjoy." The man sitting on the left of me stood up and accepted the foil wrapped paper plate.

"Thank you Miss ..."

"Franny."

"I'm Cub1 and he's Cub2," he said, pointing to his mate who was still seated. Cub2 raised his can of Coke as a salute to me.

"Interesting names ..." Cub1 was cute and Cub2 was cuter. They were both sporting buzz cuts and hard ons.

"We're not allowed to use our real names. We're probies," Cub1 said proudly.

"Probies?"

"Probationary firemen. We'll get our real names when we've finished our probationary period."

"Ahhh," I said, welcoming the clarification. "Now can one of you cubs get Scott for me?"

Cub2 got up out of his seat. Cub1 was busy eating a cookie. "Yes ma'am."

He walked smartly into the fire house. About a minute later he came back with Scott in tow.

"Looking for me?" Scott asked. He was wearing a white t-shirt, flimsy gym shorts and flip flops. His dark wavy hair was wet.

"Just get out of the shower?" I asked, demonstrating my superior powers of perception.

"Yes ma'am."

"Well I have a little something for you." I handed him a thin paper bag with something in it that was about the size of a sheet of paper. "You open it up inside when you get a free moment."

I winked.

I think the two cubs were too busy staring at my tits to notice the wink.

* * *

I'm sure Scott took a private moment, maybe sitting on the can, to open my present. I wish I could have seen his eyes when he took the thin plastic wrapped package out of the bag. It was a pair of Victoria's Secret Angelwear Very Fine Fishnet Tights. I guessed at his size. I taped a 3 by 5 card to the package.

Scott, I'd love to see you model them for me. Text me.



Mistress Franny



I wrote my cell phone number on the bottom of the card and put a lipstick kiss on it so as to leave no doubt as to my intentions.

It brought a smile to my face when I pictured the raging boner he had when he opened the package and tried them on.

* * *

I dropped off the fishnet hose for the sissy fireman in the late afternoon. It was the cocktail hour by the time I got home. My throat was parched. I let Brutus off the lead in the back yard, and he was immediately off chasing a squirrel that had been tormenting him for months. I watched the squirrel run across the top railing of the wooden fence, taunting Brutus and driving him wild. If I wasn't mistaken, I think Brutus had a hard-on. I chuckled to myself. The squirrel. That was me. Brutus was that hunk of a man at the fire station -- eager, excited, and ultimately frustrated.

Scott ... Scott. He was a stereotype, but a good one. Masculine name. Macho profession. A man's body. That's why it was so delicious to think about him on his knees, with me fucking him up the ass while he was sucking a fake cock. Mmm . . . maybe I'd substitute a real cock for a fake one.

I fixed a Manhattan to smooth out my emerging horniness. I backed off the vermouth. I loved the taste of whiskey, and a well made Manhattan was the closest thing I'd come up to emulate the taste of sex. Liquid sex. I finished my drink and then used my fingers to retrieve the cherry from the bottom.

It was delicious in its own right, but a cherry soaked the finest booze? Nirvana. I pinched that cherry between my teeth like a woman's nipple, and let the juice trickle into my mouth, thinking about the taste of a woman's pussy.

I was thinking about my boy toy fireman, wearing his sexy stockings, sporting a massive hard on, and fantasizing that it me with my slender fingers around his cock. I was fixing a second Manhattan when my phone chirped. Whoever it was, I'd make them wait.

The phone dinged again and it was starting to piss me off. I didn't hold the vermouth bottle steady and splashed too much into my drink. I cursed out loud, which I don't like to do in my private moments. I added another measure of whiskey to balance out the extra vermouth and rewarded myself for my dirty thoughts about Scott with two cherries.

I sat down in my favorite dark brown leather club chair to enjoy my second drink. The chair had the proper patina of age. Its cowhide was supple, but mottled, with each variation in color a contribution from the body oils that came in contact with it. It was a living historical document for furniture. The chair hugged me as I took another long draw off my drink.

Scott ... fucking sissy fireman slut Scott. What kind of fucking name was that? It was like "Barbie" for a girl's name. I'm sure he never had a hair out of place and had a system for folding and storing his socks and underwear in his dresser drawer. I was determined to break him of those anal retentive habits.

I scrunched down lower in the chair, cradling my drink. My chair was part of history. My ex-husband's family history. This chair was an heirloom, having been in his family for over a hundred years. It was passed down from my ex's great grandfather to grandfather to father and then to him. He pampered it, using the "right" leather cleaners and polishes to keeping the chair looking perfect

You know where I'm going with this. I caught my husband cheating on me with his best friend's wife. In the ensuing divorce, I got the house and the money and he basically got nothing. He only wanted the chair. But I got the chair too. I watched him cry the last time he saw it.

I was getting in good mood. The drinks were making me glow. It gave me pleasure to think about the chair. It gave me even more pleasure to know that I was fucking his best friend at the same time as he was fucking his best friend's wife. My ex never found out. Then the image of Scott's bare pecs floated through my mind. Would he let me squat over him and pee on those gorgeous pecs? Mmm. I'd even consider licking it off him. I was also a very naughty girl.

Fucking Scott. Fucking needy Scott. I could see it in his eyes. Scott's eyes looked like a puppy dog's when I gave him his present. I saw the bulge in his pants when he was with me. I think I had a harder time reading Brutus. I was looking forward to his text. I was sure it was one of the two messages that hit my phone. Sure of it.

When I finished the second cherry, it was time to check my messages. The first message was from Marta. Talk about a needy bitch. She sent me a picture of her finger. She cut it on a knife and there were two stiches in it. She sent a heartfelt apology that she had hurt the body that belonged to me. I sent her back a reply that said "5." That meant that I was going to lash her bottom five times (each cheek of course) for the infraction. She needed to be more careful. My guess was she was intentionally careless because she liked it when I whipped her butt. We both knew it made her cum harder after I striped her ass.

Ummm ... Marta. I loved her ass.

I checked the second message. Bingo. From Scott. I checked the timestamp. I left that station around 3:30. It was 5:30. It took him two hours to open his present, beat off wearing the stockings, and then get the courage to text me. I bet it took a lot of his man courage to send that text, knowing I would make him do things that were degrading and worse, and that he would enjoy it and I would too.

He must have spent a good part of the two hours trying to figure out the exact right thing to say to me. He knew I would analyze each word. He was right.

Scott: Should I call you Mistress? I was so honored by your gift. I feel I know you. Your humble servant, Scott



Me: Yes.



I hit send. He'd be tied up in knots wondering if he should text me again. He wouldn't. He'd be too afraid to. I fixed a third drink. I wanted to be feeling no pain when I texted Scott again. That was part of the fun. Being chased, but knowing the person chasing you was really the prey.

I snuggled deeper into the chair. It took me about twenty minutes to take down my third and last drink for the night. It took me forever to type a message on my iPhone. I hated the fucking keyboard as it was, and I was a bit tipsy when I composed the message.

Me: You mentioned that your shift ends at 5 p.m. tomorrow. I want you standing at my door at precisely 5:10 p.m. You will wear gym shorts, your gift, and your fireman boots and nothing else.



I added my address.

I bet he wouldn't sleep that night. He would be thinking that it would take a miracle for him to sign out at 5:00 and be standing on my porch at 5:10. I was thinking about him with that bare chest and the flimsy shorts so I could see his erect cock, those stockings to tell me he was my slut, and those boots to tell me he was my fireman stud.

The alcohol was making me feel good. I sent Marta a text. I told her to be at my place in fifteen minutes. She lived down the block, so it was easy trip for her. My youngest (who's now in college) was best friends with Marta's daughter. We got to know each other that way, and even better since. Marta was going to be my fill in slut until Scott showed up.

Precisely fifteen minutes later Marta rang the doorbell. She always followed my standing instructions -- she was wearing a studded dog collar and holding a matching leather leash in her hand. She was about my age, a short brunette with an oversized ass and tits. She was practically busting out of her white tube top. Her skirt was so short I could see the tops of her black thigh highs. She was sexy and horny, an unbeatable combination.

 "Get in. It's cold outside," I admonished her. She got inside and allowed the leash to fall to her side. I pulled her skirt down to her knees, exposing her bare ass. She also had standing instructions to never wear panties in my presence.

I let her stand there in the vestibule while I went to get my favorite whip, the one with a small knot of leather on the end. That made it sting a little bit more. Marta liked it that way.

She was still in the same position when I got there. Bent over at the waist, bottom inviting me to whip it. I obliged, trying to land a blow on her right cheek and missing, hitting the inside of her thigh. Must have been the three drinks. She jumped up as her toes curled, then she relaxed right before I hit the left cheek, this time squarely.

"Ohhh!!" she cried out. I could see that she was resisting the urge to rub the spot that I hit. She was snorting through her nose. I fed off her energy.

She got five on each cheek. Each one elicited a gasp, but Marta didn't cry. There were parallel lines on her butt, red candy stripes on a snow white background. Lovely.

I reached down to touch her. Her cunt was dripping wet. So was mine. She was marinating in her pain, her nerve endings raw and exposed.

I didn't let her touch me. I rarely did. I slid my finger across her wet slit, causing her to coo as the sweet friction was magnified by the pulses of pain from her ass. She pushed her butt at me, as if begging for more. I took my wet finger and pushed it against her anus, stretching the opening until it gave way and allowed safe passage into her butt. Her anal ring winked in sync with her flashes of pain. Each wink squeezed my finger and gave me a little charge.

I knew she wanted to touch herself but didn't dare try. Instead, she started begging.

"Please ... please ... Mistress ... please," she implored me. Her plea fell on deaf ears. I used my finger to give a harder fucking to her ass. I was making pussy juice trickle down the inside of her thigh. I shoved in a second finger, stretching her asshole wider. Her thighs were trembling and the finger fucking was making a sucking noise.

"Oh God ... please .... PLLLLEEEASE."

I loved to hear my subs beg. It meant I was giving them the right amount of attention. She was loving it. I couldn't help but start fingering myself. I waited to say anything until I was close. She was practically in tears, making incoherent sobbing noises.

"Cum ... slut," I finally told her. I came with her ... hard. She milked it, cumming more than once, her back arched and her ass with a death grip on my fingers.

Finally, her hips relaxed and she let out a contented sigh. I took my fingers out of her ass and held them under her nose.

"Suck on these slut."

She eagerly captured my fingers in her mouth, swirling her tongue around them. Her eyes were glazed, almost closed. I was feeding off her submission. I felt as euphoric as she did. I was drunk, and I had a great orgasm.

I tugged on her leash.

"Time to go home Marta."

Her eyes were sad, but playtime was over. I needed to get to bed.

* * *

The next day flew by. I don't even remember what I did that day. But I bet it wasn't fast for Scott. I'm sure the minutes dragged by as he waited for 5 p.m., and the chance to prove he was worthy of my attention. I loved this part of the relationship. The first time. It never got old.

I didn't drink that day. I wanted to be cold sober when I took control of Scott. He would go away that day having submitted to me. I wanted him to beg me to own him.

It was 5 p.m., and I was imagining that he had already set out neatly the clothes he was going to wear for me, and maybe sweats to cover up until he got to my porch. Every movement would need to be carefully orchestrated for him to be at my door at precisely 5:10. Scott would prove to me that he was of singular purpose when it came to pleasing me.

I looked at my phone. At precisely 5:10 my doorbell rang. I never promised him I'd answer it right away. I thought of him with his bare upper body, those silly gym shorts, and then of course the fishnet stockings and his high boots. I'm sure he was praying no one would see him.

I broke my promise to myself and fixed a Manhattan. I gave it barely a whiff of vermouth. I took my time savoring each sip of my drink and then relishing the cherry at the end. It put me in the right frame of mind to receive him.

I wanted him to want me. I chose my favorite cocktail dress slit all the way up the side, low cut enough to show him all of my cleavage, and my bright red designer pumps that lifted me up to his height. I completed the outfit with black thigh highs with red lace tops and a red back seam.

I opened the door. He was dressed exactly as ordered. That was good.

"Come in slut."

I wanted to establish our respective roles at the outset. He seemed like he was clear on it. He stood in the small vestibule to my house with his eyes trained on the floor. He was clearly nervous. How cute.

"Tell me slut ... have you been owned before?"

"No Mistress," he mumbled. His eyes were still looking at the floor.

"Do you know what you're doing here?"

He shook his head. "You asked me here. But no, I'm not exactly sure."

Honesty. That was refreshing.

"You just listen to me and everything will be fine. Is that clear?"

"Yes Mistress."

His face showed relief. His body relaxed.

I lifted my leg and dangled my foot in front of his downturned eyes.

"Hold my foot, slut."

He cradled my foot with his left hand, as if he were holding an object d'art, caressing the shiny red leather. He ran a finger on his free hand down my stiletto heel.

"No touching without permission," I barked at him.

He was startled by the reprimand, and pulled his finger away as if my heel was white hot.

"I'm so ... so sorry about that Mistress."

"So you know now, don't you slut?"

"Yes Mistress. I know that I'm not supposed to touch you without permission."

"That's right. You have my permission to continue what you were doing."

He ran my heel between his fingers like a small cock, running them back and forth. While still holding my foot, he enthusiastically started licking the heel, then the sole. He was going to make the bottom of my shoe as shiny as his fire truck.

"Look at me slut," I told him. I wanted to see his eyes.

He tilted his head so he could see me, but his tongue never wavered from the sole of my shiny leather pump.

I could see his tortured soul swirling in his eyes. It was clear to me that no one had ever mined the depths of his submissive tendencies. He was going to willingly fall into a bottomless pit of his own perversions. I was going to help him over the edge and into that great void he both wished for and feared.

"Kneel slut."

It was difficult for him, as he was still wearing his fireman's boots. He looked silly trying to get into a kneeling position in the small vestibule, his bulky body leaning against the wall for support. Once upright, he looked up at me doe-eyed.

"Slut, I've had a number of subs before you and I have a neighbor and long-time friend as a sub. Her name is Marta. You may see her here. I probably know your limits better than you do. I won't do anything to permanently hurt you or mark you, but I will cause you pain.

"You must understand that pain can be a gateway to pleasure. It has to be properly administered. I know how to do that. You understand that I'll punish you and inflict pain?"

"Yes Mistress."

"You're welcome to leave at any time. You will never want to leave but I'll make you. Arriving on time and leaving promptly are two house rules. I'll never be late and neither will you.

"I may fall in love with you, and you with me. It happens sometimes. You may think you've in love with me now, but you're not. We have to be adults and understand that great sex is not the same thing as a relationship. If we're not dating, nothing more is going to come between us. Is that clear slut?"

"Yes Mistress."

"Are you in love with me?"

Given my speech, he thought about it. "I ... I think so, Mistress."

"I expected that answer. As I told you, you're not. You don't know me. You know the nice MILF divorcee who has great tits, and in your case with very attractive legs and impeccable taste in hosiery. But you don't know me. That was for show. I'm serious about sex and you'll learn about the real me. Got that slut?"

"Yes Mistress. I've got that."

Then he added thoughtfully.

"I wish to learn, Mistress. I can't stop thinking about you."

"That's the right answer. Now I'm going to mark you as mine. Are you ready slut?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Lay on the floor."

He looked at me for a moment, bewildered, but then complied, laying flat on his back. His hairy chest was staring back at me.

"Pull down your shorts, down to your ankles."

He didn't hesitate. His cock sprang upright. There was precum flowing out of the tip. He looked at me expectantly.

I kicked off my shoe and took my foot and pinned his cock against his chest and then started to rub the sheer material of my hose against the soft underside of his erection. He closed his eyes and had a dreamy look on his face. He started the breathe with short sips of air. He put his hand on top of my foot and pressed down so the friction would bring him closer to his tipping point.

He wasn't going to get off that easy. "Don't cum slut, or I'll be displeased."

I didn't stop the foot massage. I could see his face getting redder and the veins bulging in his neck.

"Who owns you slut?" I demanded to know. He was so close he would have admitted to anything. But I knew it was coming from his heart.

"You do Mistress."

I pressed down harder with my foot. I could feel his cock pulsing. His balls tightened.

"Not yet slut. I need to know that you want this. That you really want this."

He knew that was his invitation to beg. There was true desperation in his voice. He was a hair's breadth away from disobeying me.

"Please ... Mistress Franny ... let me cum ... please ..."

I thought it was a weak first effort. "You're a worthless slut. Do you call that begging?"

He was snorting through his nose. It wouldn't be much longer, with or without my permission.

"Please ... Mistress ... I am a worthless slut ... I'll do anything for you ... please ..."

That was much better.

"OK slut ....... you may cum."

I moved my foot in front of the head of his throbbing cock. His fireman's hose was spraying cum all over my stocking. I watched as the pulses weakened and the remainder of his spend dripped out. I caught it with my toes.

I think his head was in some other place but his eyes, glazed over with lust, were still trained on me.

I dangled my foot above him. The cum was dripping off my foot and onto his face.

"Clean it up slut."

I rested my foot on his lips. He parted them, welcoming my toes in his mouth. He greedily sucked on them, making slurping noises as he tasted himself. I wanted him to prove that he was worthy of being my slut.

When my foot was adequately cleaned by his tongue, I stood over him with one foot on each side of his head. He was looking straight up my dress. I wasn't wearing panties and I have a natural bush, so I'm sure he could see the droplets of moisture clinging to the ends of the hairs. This scene was getting me as excited as he was.

"Do you want me to own you?"

"Yes. With all my heart Mistress."

I gave him a blank expression. He knew he could do better.

"Please Mistress. Please own this worthless slut and make me your personal fucktoy."

I slipped my shoes back on my feet and used the tip of my high heel to pin his deflating cock against his belly. I put pressure on the heel until he gasped.

"Who owns you bitch?"

"You do ... Mistress," he croaked.

"That's right, and that means your pathetic cock too. You think with your cock, don't you slut?"

"Yes Mistress ... I think with my cock."

"Who owns your cock?"

"You do Mistress."

I moved down so I was standing over his boots, the toes pointing up at me.

I waited until I felt the glow of the whiskey. I started to pee a steady stream. My pee dripped down his boots, puddling on the cold tile floor. I moved up to soak his fishnets, all the way to his crotch. My golden stream flowed over his now throbbing cock, then matting his chest hair.

"Open."

He opened his mouth and the last few drops fell into his mouth. He tasted me.

I looked at the studly fireman, marked with my pee. I knelt next to him and used the flat of my tongue against his pulsing cock, tasting his cum and my pee mixed together, then dragging my tongue across his chest, licking his chest hairs soaked in my pee. I kissed him. Our tongues met and he tasted submission.

My eyes were only inches from his.

"Who owns you slut?"

His bright blue eyes never wavered. "You do, Mistress. You own me."

"You're God damned right I do."

I knelt over his face. He could smell my fragrant pee soaked snatch, and see it smeared with my cum.

"Clean my cunt, bitch."

* * *

I slept great that night. Scott exceeded my expectations. I was in a great mood when I woke up. I had a new toy. I always wanted to own a toy fireman. He was sexy. Short cropped hair, strong jaw, and buffed. It was his job to be buffed. I love the image of me sitting on his clean cut face so he could lick my pee soaked pussy.

I liked sleeping in the buff. I loved the feel of fine sheets against my skin. It felt sexy. That morning I slid out of bed and into my slippers. I shuffled into my closet. Scott was going to be over at six. I wanted to make sure I had the right thing to wear (or not wear) that night. I wore "the dress" the previous night. The dress that I've used the last few times when I've met a new sub. My body is the bait and the dress is the hook. Scott took the bait. So did the others.

Yes. It came to me. He was fulfilling my fantasy so I'd fulfill his. My version of "full Domme." What young men think of in their wet dreams. I had the body for it. I only wore this outfit on special occasions. Tonight was going to be special. I marked Scott yesterday. That night would be the first night that Scott was mine, and mine alone.

The bustier was on a hanger on the double rod with my tops. It was black and sheer. It highlighted my 34E tits and was cinched in the middle to exaggerate the curve of my waist. It was cut high to accentuate the length of my legs. My favorite were the boots. I got them at a leather convention along with some other naughty toys. They were black leather calf high, with a cuff at the top, and four inch stiletto heels.

Then for Scott, I found a new pair of tan hose with a black trim top and put them aside for later.

I went downstairs and was enjoying my first cup of coffee, sitting at my dining room table in my robe and slippers, when I heard my phone ding. It was either Scott or Marta thanking me. I fixed some scrambled eggs and toast before I checked my text.

Good morning Mistress



It's your sissy fireman who wears hose and panties when I am not at fire station. I got up this morning and saw my cock start leaking but you already knew it would 😋😋.



I am off to the dentist this morning and I wish you would let me stop by and make sure I was wearing pantyhose under my jeans and hope that the lady dentist will notice the pantyhose while I'm reclined in her chair.



I promise that when I get home I will text you that I will strip naked and lay spread eagle on the bed with a black silky thigh high and will stroke your cock and fondle your balls until you text me and tell me to cum for my Mistress.



😘😘😋😘😘

Mistress's pantyhose slut first



Scott



I chuckled when I read his note. I could imagine him waking up the next morning wondering if what happened the previous evening really happened. I told him to save his pee soaked fishnet stockings and gym shorts so he could smell me, and remind himself that it was real, and that he was now owned.

I typed a text to him between bites of egg. I hit send.

What kind of hose does my slut fireman wear for me?



I waited for just a few moments before three dots started blinking on my screen. A few minutes later his message flashed on my screen.

I love to wear the sheer and silky pantyhose in Black and Tan. I also love the silky thigh highs and when I read stories or watch videos I will slide the thigh high onto my right hand and stroke my cock and play with my balls.



The hose makes me horny and I think that Mistress Franny will love them when she sees me wearing them for her enjoyment and amusement and wonder if she wants me to wear sissy panties as well, only Mistress Franny will know.



😘😘😋😘😘



Mistress's pantyhose slut first



Scott



You had to give him credit for his hosiery fetish. It was ingrained deep within him. I was going to help him glorify it.

* * *

He knocked precisely at six. I didn't tell him what to wear, but when I opened the door I was pleasantly surprised to see him bare chested, black satin gym shorts, black silky thigh highs and his fireman's boots.

I had on my full Domme outfit. I could see hit jaw drop and his shorts tent. He managed to compose himself.

"Ma'am, we received a report of a fire at this premises," he said in a very fireman-like way.

"I didn't call the fire department," I told him. "Do you see a fire?"

He looked left and right.

"No ma'am."

The bustier I was wearing snapped at the crotch. My left hand unsnapped it. The flaps of the garment popped up, revealing my bush, already matted with wetness.

I took the middle finger on my right hand and ran it up my wet slit.

"Maybe the fire's down there."

He choked a bit. "Umm ... maybe I'll have to check."

I pulled him inside the door. He kicked it shut with a resounding thud.

* * *

One thing I'd confirmed at that point was that fireman Scott could eat pussy.

I was sitting at the dining room table and my slut fireman was on his hands and knees underneath it sucking on my pussy. He was being a good boy, and I had my feet resting on my back as he performed his intimate service. I think I was filing my nails while he was munching away.

After the manicure and a satisfying orgasm, it was bath time. I wanted to see if my fucktoy was a good bathroom slut.

He followed me into the master bath.

I remodeled the master bath shortly after the divorce. I replaced the conventional bath tub with a soaking tub big enough for two (even fireman Scott) and changed the tile to Carrera marble. I liked the look of it and I loved to see my subs shiver on the cold tiles. I had him shed his "uniform," so he stood behind me buck naked. I turned the tub filler on, using my hand to gauge the temperature until it was just right. I found a bottle of my favorite bath salts and threw in a generous handful (I like it because it has dried rose petals in it). The salts gave the water a bluish hue, like the ocean.

We waited a bit for the tub to fill. Then when it was close I told him ,"Undress me slut."

I held my arms over my head so he could take my bustier off. He knew better than to stare at my breasts, keeping his eyes focused down at the floor. He helped me take off the ankle high boots.

I dipped my toe in the water and then got in.

"Slut, get me my Kindle, the Aveeno and the razor that's over there on the counter."

He picked them up and came over by the tub.

"Give me the Kindle and put the razor and shaving cream on the floor for now."

 I opened my Kindle and went back to reading Fanny Hill: Memoirs for a Woman of Pleasure. It's always good to revisit the classics. I just loved the Victorian way to describe a woman's body, and sex.

"Listen, my pet, maybe you'll learn something," I told him. "This is a scene where a bawdy older woman, Phoebe, teaches our heroine Fanny, the joys of sex."

Her fingers played and strove to twine in the young tendrils of that moss which nature has contrived at once for use and ornament.

"Do you know what that means, my pet?"

Scott thought for a moment. "No Mistress."

"It means that Phoebe was twirling Fanny's pubic hair around her finger, pet."

"Thank you Mistress."

"Now be a dear and pick up that soap and washcloth and start at my feet."

"Ahh ... that's it," I encouraged him, as he had raised my foot out of the water and had washed it and then started sucking on each toe.

"That's enough pet, now go higher."

I went back to my e-reader but was getting horny with the prose of John Cleland and my boy toy now washing my legs and then using his tongue to clean them. My pussy was starting to tingle, which meant it needed attention soon.

"Higher slut."

His hands were getting close to my kitty and the warm water and the moment made me want him.

"Use one finger pet ... on my pussy."

I spread my legs under the water to accommodate the girth of his paw. His thick middle finger ran the length of my gash.

"Yes slut ... just like that ... slower ... slower ... yes ..."

I picked up the scene for boy toy fireman while he stroked me to a leisurely orgasm.

But not contented with these outer posts, she now attempts the main spot, and began to twitch, to insinuate, and at length to force an introduction of the finger into the quick itself ...



"How about this pet, what is Fanny saying?" I asked him.

"Phoebe ... Phoebe is sticking her finger inside Fanny's pussy?"

"That's right pet ... and now I want you to do that to me."

Scott's finger slipped easily inside my wet passage, warmed all around by fragrant water, and it was heaven. He achieved a rhythm that made me issue an involuntary sigh.

"Another finger now slut."

The second finger stretched me open to sweet pleasure. He pushed them inside me, his bicep flexing as he worked his hand between my legs. My orgasm was imminent. I started reading aloud Fanny's orgasm:

Lifted then to the utmost pitch of joy that human life and bear, undestroyed by excess, I touched that sweetly critical point ... breaking out into a deep drawn sigh, sent my whole sensitive soul down to that passage where escape was denied it ...



The pleasure was too great for me to continue. Instead, my words broke down to insensibility.

"Ohh ... slut ... God ... fuck ... fuck ..."

My body thrashed in the water. My head exploded. Slut boy knew how to finger a woman as well. I lay there until the water stilled and my ragged breathing became regular.

Composure regained, I told him, "Shave my legs slut, and if you do a good job maybe there'll be a treat for you."

I lifted my left foot onto the ledge of the tub. He lathered his hands and spread the foamy cream all over the leg, up to the mid-thigh. He used the utmost of care to shave me, clearly enjoying his task. Once finished with the left leg, I shifted around to the over end of the tub to allow him to shave the right. Satisfied, I let him help me out of the tub. I grabbed his cock, still erect, and squeezed it.

"Maybe he'll get a treat too."

* * *

Slut boy was in my bedroom, kneeling at the foot of my bed. I threw two new pairs of Wolford pantyhose (in black, of course) on the bed. I handed the smaller pair to him.

"Put them on me slut."

I pointed a toe at him to allow him to unroll it over my foot and partially up my leg. I then stepped into the other leg, shimmying my body as he pulled them over my hips. I modeled them for him.

"You like slut?"

"Yes Mistress, very much so."

"Do you want your treat for being a good slut?"

"Yes Mistress."

I threw him the larger pair.

"These are for you. Put them on."

They were the identical style and color to mine.

I had to keep from laughing as he struggled to get the pantyhose over all of those ridiculous muscles. He finally succeeded, the front panel barely restraining his cock.

"How does it feel slut?"

"Amazing Mistress. Thank you."

"I have one more task for you."

"Anything Mistress."

I laid back on the bed with my legs dangling over the edge. I spread my pantyhose clad legs. The material was sheer enough so boy toy could see every detail under them. There was a growing wet spot visible.

"Beat off on my pussy."

Fireman Scott took his fire hose out of his pants and started wanking it hard, his eyes transfixed on mine, then my breasts, and then my pussy. Without permission, his free hand started caressing the silky pantyhose material encasing my legs.

Within moments he grunted and pointed his hose at my pussy, covering the sheer fabric with a sheen of sticky white cum.

We both admired his handiwork.

"Lick it off slut."

He got on his knees and eagerly licked the cum off, lapping it up like the cat with the proverbial bowl of cream. Cum was smeared on his face.

I lifted my hips and pushed the pantyhose down to allow him access to my pussy.

"Use that talented tongue to take me to that special place again slut."

He did.

* * *

Scott was a regular at my house. Marta would still come over but Scott was my main companionship. With familiarity comes ... familiarity. I fell back into my well worn patterns. Scott turned out to be a more than adequate bartender, and learned how to make the perfect Manhattan. He learned to enjoy them himself.

He was a tough guy. He was trained that way. I had a little test with my subs. I'd let them worship my feet, knowing there would be punishment to follow. Most of my subs had some kind of foot fetish, so they found the enticement too irresistible. The punishment got progressively more severe, and I don't remember a sub going more than ten rounds.

Scott earned the right to take my test.

He had made me a drink, or maybe two, and then we adjourned to my bedroom. He was wearing his usual nothing and I was in a black bra and black pantyhose.

He knelt in front of me, looking up with soulful eyes, and I told him the wicked bargain.

"You can worship my feet for a minute, and then I can punish you. You can go as long as you wish, but the punishment will get more severe with each round. Is that understood slut?"

"Yes Mistress. I understand."

I extended my pantyhose clad foot under his balls, raising it to rub the silky material against the underside of his cock.

"You get to kiss this foot slut." Then showed him the whip I used for the occasion. It had a single leather fall with the end knotted. Marta's favorite.

He started kissing, licking, as quickly and feverishly as he could, slobbering over the stockinged foot.

I checked my watch. About fifty seconds had elapsed. I waited a few seconds and told him to stop. He doubled over with his head practically touching his knees, giving me a clear view of his ass. I flicked the whip and struck his right cheek with a loud snapping noise. It was meant to sting.

He winced and his body stiffened but he said nothing. I watched his nose flare. He wasn't going to give me the satisfaction of giving me a reaction.

I hit the other side ... harder. His neck snapped back and his mouth opened but nothing came out. There were two bright red spots on his ass. This was searing, fist pounding pain.

I dangled my foot in front of his wide open eyes. Pain had flooded his body, but his eyes were on my foot. I could see he wanted it.

"You may continue, if you wish," I told him. It was an offer he couldn't refuse.

He didn't hesitate. He resumed his lovemaking of my foot, sucking each toe, wetting the stocking with his saliva. He was licking the heel when I stopped him.

"Punishment time."

This time I administered two strokes to each cheek.

When I snapped my wrist and let fly on his ass his butt cheeks were tense. It's much better to be relaxed, but of course easier said than done. The knot of leather bit into his skin and surely caused a brilliant flash of pain. His back arched and ever muscle stiffened, no different than when he was in the throes of orgasm. An audible gasp escaped his clenched teeth. I had found the fucktoy's pain point.

Now it was time to see if fucktoy was going to play my game.

"How did that feel slut?"

He was still snorting through his nose. "It hurt Mistress Franny."

"You want another one, don't you slut?"

He thought only for a second. "Please Mistress. I beg you for another one." He bent over and gripped his ankles. It was a cute ass, and now it had three kisses from me.

"If you insist," I said, right before I snapped another one square on his ass. He stumbled forward a half step and caught himself before he fell. This fireman was in tip top shape. My whip hadn't come close to breaking the skin. I doubted he would even have a welt. Buns of steel. Three more followed.

I gave him a minute to recover. I didn't have to say anything. He was staring at my foot. My whip was not going to stop him from getting what he wanted. I sat and raised my foot and let him lavish love on it. He looked heartbroken when I told him his minute was up.

We went through ten rounds. His ass was pockmarked with angry red circles. No one had ever gone ten rounds. His cock was an angry purple. I think that if I had just touched him that he would have cum. He was turning into a good pain slut. I decided to give him his reward.

"Cum on my foot slut."

He knelt next to it and started pumping his thick cock. Precum had already coated his top fingers and the head of his penis was flaring with each stroke.

"Uhh ... uhhhh ... uhhhh ..." he groaned as the crescendo of pain and pleasure overwhelmed his senses. His hose spewed fireman cum all over my stockinged foot. I watched the cum drip onto the floor.

I admired his handiwork. I picked up my phone and started a video. "Lick it off my foot slut."

This was precisely the type of nasty shit that made my little man in the boat stand up. He was going to do it and he was going to love it.

His tongue started at my toes and followed the curve of my foot up to my ankle. He showed me the cum on his tongue and then swallowed it. He did that until my foot was clean. As I told you, Scott was a neat freak, even when it came to licking up his own cum.

I turned my phone around so he could see the movie I just took. He watched himself eat his cum. The slut's cock was already showing signs of life.

"I should show this video to my friends, shouldn't I slut?"

With his cum still clinging to his lips, he agreed. "If it pleases you Mistress."

"Right answer slut." I hit "send," and the video was sent to a small circle of my women friends. Scott would be the entertainment at our next gathering.

* * *

I had Scott come over early for some additional training before the party. I'd been wearing the same pair of panties for the past three days and I thought it would be good to give them to a new owner.

"Come here slut."

I draped them over his head so he could smell them.

"Tell me what you want, slut."

"I would like your fragrant panties Mistress."

I stretched them over his head, with the stained gusset over his nose.

"Smell me slut."

His eyes peered through the panties leg holes at me as I heard him inhale the scent of his submissive fantasy. I made him watch me run my hands up and down my stockings. I was wearing a pair of Christian Dior thigh highs with a floral pattern and lace tops. He was practically drooling. I sat on a footstool and extended by leg out with my toe pointed to his mouth.

"Open."

He knelt in front of me and opened his mouth and held it wide open for me. I moved my toes forward until they were inside his mouth, stretching his lips around my hosed foot.

"Lick it slut boy."

His tongue went to work on my toes, as I wiggled them inside his mouth. He was breathing hard, and the smell of the panties accelerated his burning need.

I started fucking his face with my foot. He kept his hands behind his back in a kneeling position, mouthing my foot. My leg got tired so I stopped. He was panting, but wanting more, and disappointed when I took my stockings off so I could take a shower.

"Come here slut boy."

He crawled over, his slobber running off his chin. I wadded up the wet thigh highs and stuffed them into his mouth.

"Be a good boy and chew on this while I shower."

* * *

I let slut boy dry me off after my shower. He was a bit aggressive drying my breasts so I made a mental note to increase the punishment I already had planned for him. I didn't blame him for trying, but sluts like him are always testing their limits. Scott wanted to get an unearned touch of his Mistress. His behavior would have to be corrected.

He was kneeling on the bathroom floor, awaiting direction. I liked his square jaw and dark curly hair.

"Do you want to show me how much you love me?"

"Always Mistress."

"I'm having friends over for our Wednesday afternoon social gathering. We've been doing this for a long time. We all share the same ... interests ... and I want to show you to them. They have considerable experience in the matters that you and I have been working on, and they may ask you to do things."

It didn't take long for Scott to realize what I was asking. He'd be agreeing to submit to people he'd never met.

"I understand Mistress."

"Good." I fully expected his agreement. "Now there's the matter of the punishment I owe you."

Scott was surprised. "Punishment, Mistress, for what if I might ask?"

"You may not ask. But I was going to tell you if you hadn't interrupted me. I was going to punish you for your impertinence yesterday in asking me a question without permission, and today when you weren't drying my breasts, you were fondling them, and just now for interrupting me."

I kept a small chest in my bedroom for my toys. I pulled out two special items for Scott's punishment. I wanted him to remember this. I had him stand in the bathroom with his hands on the counter. He looked like an Adonis. I selected a flogger with about fifty leather falls. It was good for warming him up.

I made a show of swishing the flogger so he could hear it well before I struck him. I didn't hold back, and the first one caught him a bit by surprise, as it knocked the wind out of him. His bottom was already a light pink.

He braced himself for the second, and I could see his abs harden as he heard the incoming blow. He didn't move, but I could see on his face that it hurt.

His face grimaced three more times as his bottom took on a reddish hue. I could see a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"That's the normal punishment for this type of infraction."

I tugged on his cock, erect of course.

"I see that you enjoyed it."

I picked up a rattan cane. Used for special occasions. I wanted to give him a taste.

"Get ready slut. I'm going to use a cane on you. Just one stroke. Are you ready slut?"

Speaking to the mirror, he answered "Yes Mistress."

I snapped my wrist and the cane flexed and laid a perfect horizontal welt across his bottom. Not enough to break the skin, but enough to get his attention. He yelped. He was sucking air.

"Hurt like a motherfucker, didn't it slut?"

"Oh God ... yes Mistress."

"Remember it next time you talk back to me."

* * *

I had a few hours to kill before our guests showed up. I had the slut put out the snacks and mix a pitcher of Manhattans. We finished the prep early so I thought I'd teach him a new skill.

He was in the kitchen washing dishes when I came up behind him. He was wearing an apron, and nothing else. I cradled his balls in my hand. I think he dropped the dish he was washing back into the sink. I heard it clatter.

"Ever eat ass slut?" I breathed into his ear.

"No Mistress."

"Get on your knees."

His knees were resting on the kitchen's hardwood floor. I bent over and held the back of a kitchen table chair.

"Get your tongue in there slut."

Scott got the idea right away, sluicing his tongue between my cheeks and pushing the tip against my brown pucker. His tongue was slipping and sliding against my anus as he hummed a low guttural moan. He was getting off on eating my ass.

"Slut, spread the cheeks of my ass with your hands."

His big, meaty paws pulled my cheeks apart, allowing his tongue passage deeper into my ass. It felt wonderful ... delicious ... and forbidden.

"Yessss ... slutttt."

It was feeling a bit too good. I held onto the chair with one hand and used my free hand to rub my pussy. Scott's mouth was glued to my asshole as his tongue danced inside.

"Ahhhhh ... ahhhh ... ahhhh, I moaned, over and over, until I made the slut stop.

He was ready for the party.

* * *

"Ummm ... yummy shrimp cocktail," said Noni. She was one of my pals from the old neighborhood. Back in Brooklyn. Short, dark hair, stockier than me with big tits. We were roommates, sharing a flat in Park Slope. It was the first time I was exposed to femdom, through one of Noni's acquaintances. Eventually Noni acquired the same taste as me, and we sometimes shared subs. I was dying to show her my new toy.

She held up a shrimp by the tail. "New recipe?"

"My slut made it," I replied. "Marinated and grilled. Take a bow Scott."

Scott was serving my friend Celeste a Manhattan. Holding his empty tray, he took a bow. He was wearing only a bowtie and his fireman's boots.

"Made the drinks too?" asked my former employer Celeste. She now ran a Midtown ad agency. Sleek blonde with straight shoulder length hair.

"Yep."

"Talented slut you have there," said Celeste. She picked up femdom through me, and through her connections in the modelling world she had her pick of willing subs. He would have to be a special toy to get her attention. "So, what else can he do?"

I took a sip of my delicious drink. I was finishing my third and I knew I had overdone it. I didn't care.

"I found out he can eat ass. Made me cum earlier today. I'd recommend it."

I slid my finger under his bowtie strap and jerked him over to me.

"What about it slut boy, do you like to eat my ass?"

"Yes Mistress."

"How about my beautiful blonde friend here, Celeste. Would you like to eat her ass?"

"Yes Mistress."

"Well ask her."

I let go of him so he could stand in front of Celeste. She was admiring his pecs.

"Excuse me Miss Celeste. I'm Mistress Franny's new slut fireman. May I eat your ass?"

Celeste looked carefully at my new piece of eye candy and then squeezed his biceps.

"Turn around slut."

Scott show her his bare backside. She fondled each cheek.

"Nice and tight, slut boy. Has Franny started your anal training?"

"No Miss Celeste. I haven't yet had the pleasure of Mistress Franny's anal training."

She put her finger under his chin so she could look into his eyes. "Hmm ... maybe later today. In the meantime, why don't you be a dear and fetch me a few of those delicious shrimp."

Scott made off for the kitchen. Celeste held out her drink to toast with me. Our glasses clinked.

"Congratulations on your new toy, Franny. He's a cute little stud and I bet an eager one."

I was beaming with pride. Celeste was a tough grader. "He has endurance ... and a high threshold of pain." There was no doubt about the latter.

Scott came back with a plate for Celeste. She put down her drink and tried one of the shrimp, dipping it into the garlic aioli.

"Ummm ... divine. He made these?" Celeste looked at me and ignored Scott, who was standing right next to her.

 "His idea, his recipe."

She turned to face him and let her fingers drum on the top of his rock hard cock. A drop of sticky precum was suspended from the head. She watched its slow descent to the floor.

"I think your firehose is leaking there Mr. Fireman."

"Yes Miss Celeste."

She turned around and lifted up the hem of her dress. "Let's see if you can eat ass as well as you cook."

* * *

The three of us went through the first pitcher of Manhattans and were onto our second when Noni glanced at her phone.

"Shit, it's six. I have a dinner I need to get to. I'm going to call an Uber. I'm sorry I'm going to miss playtime."

"You can take a raincheck Noni," I told her. "I have a feeling he's going to be around for a long time."

"Ummm," Celeste purred. "That means more for me."

Scott was in the laundry room folding my laundry and putting it away.

"Slut boy!" I called out.

Scott came clumping back, still wearing his fireman's boots and bowtie.

"Straighten your bowtie slut," I admonished him.

He went over to a wall mounted mirror and straightened the errant neckwear.

"That's better. Now take off those silly boots."

He sat down and slipped off the boots. Without being asked, he knelt in front of me.

Celeste and I have had many opportunities to play together. I don't normally prefer women, but Celeste always got my motor running, and with a healthy buzz on, I couldn't wait to get my hands on her.

"Playtime Celeste?"

Her eyes were a bit glassy as well. She lit up at the suggestion.

"I thought you'd never ask." She started unzipping the back of her dress. Both the slut and I watched as she did a little striptease for us, dropping her dress to the floor. She reached behind herself to free her girls, spritely "B" cups on her slender body. She had long legs, accentuated by her French cut panties. Mmmm ... I wanted her all to myself.

I had three packages of stockings sitting on the sideboard. They were identical pairs of Wolford satin touch thigh highs. I thought a white pair would look good on Celeste, with her fair skin and blonde hair. I handed her a package.

"Come over here dear and watch," Celeste asked Scott. He knelt right next to her legs. His eyes followed her hands as she rolled the thigh highs up her legs, His cock was bouncing. I'm sure he would have cum if she had touched him. Watching her was making me wet.

Celeste looked at Scott with her piercing blue eyes. "Like what you see Mr. Fireman slut?"

He was practically salivating. "Very much so Miss Celeste."

"Good," she said, patting him on the head. "Let go upstairs to Franny's bedroom and fetch all of her toys."

I was already heading upstairs when she said it.

* * *

We are all in my bedroom. I sat on the bed and exchanged my stockings for a pair of the Wolford thigh highs, but mine were in black. My obedient slut help me roll them on. I watched his eyes to make sure he was paying attention to his task. The touch of his broad hands made my inner thighs tingle with anticipation.

Celeste went into my toy box and pulled out a quirt, a short whip with a braided leather lash. She flicked it, and the snapping noise got my attention as well as the slut's.

Even though Celeste had the outward appearance of a cold and distant woman, with her straight, platinum blonde hair and icy blue eyes, she was hot and passionate on the inside. That's what I loved about her. Her eyes lit up when she saw Scott's bare backside presented to her. Scott was kneeling next to the bed with his hands on the edge of the mattress.

"Wait," I told her. I had a better idea. I went in the toy box to retrieve two equal lengths of rope. When I showed them to Celeste she said, "Good idea."

We each took a length and used one end to secure his wrist and the other end we tied to the posts of my four poster bed. We pulled on our ends until Scott's arms were at ninety degree angles to his body, pulled tight. His shoulders were even with the top of the mattress.

"I've never had a fireman before," Celeste remarked to me. She traced the lash against his backside, patting his ball sac and drawing a shudder from the expectant sub. "I think I'll light a fire, and there's only going to be one way to put it out."

She drew back the quirt and flicked her wrist, snapping the leather lash against the ridge of skin between his anus and his testicles. That sensitive piece of real estate made a piercing scream, and so did Scott.

Celeste put her foot down right away. "I know you're a new slut, but I expect you to be quiet when you receive your punishment. Is that clear?"

"Yes ... Miss Celeste. Very clear." His voice was wavering. She may have grazed his balls.

"Good, shall we try this again?"

She whacked the top of his right thigh. It should have been a stinging pain. He gritted his teeth but said nothing.

"That's better slut."

I admired Scott's resolve. It must have hurt at least as much as the first stroke. There was already a bright red stripe where the lash hit, and I was feeling a warm glow between my legs. I knew just what Scott wanted.

"Do you want to lick me slut?"

Scott momentarily forget the pain. "Of course, Mistress Franny."

I climbed up on the bed and put my legs over his shoulders. My pussy was practically in his face.

"What do you smell slut?"

Before he could answer, Celeste had struck his left cheek. He wheezed before saying, "You Mistress. I smell you." His face was reddening.

I wanted to tease him a bit more. "Do you want to lick me here slut?"

Of course Celeste timed her strike to his right butt cheek at the same time as my question.

"Oww ..." he started to say before stifling himself. "Please Mistress," he managed to croak.

I scooted forward a few inches so the lips of my pussy were touching his. He couldn't use his hands so he was at my mercy in terms of distance. I teased him a bit more by leaning back just far enough so the tip of his tongue couldn't reach me.

"Beg for it slut."

Celeste whipped his butt again.

"Oww ... please ... please ... Mistress ... please let his worthless pantyhose slut lick your magnificent pussy."

Another butt slap.

"Oh my God ... I'll do anything for you Mistress. Please, I beg of you to let me prove it to you."

I was impressed by his begging. I mashed my soaked pussy against his face. He eagerly licked my cunt while Celeste punished his ass. He was powering through the pain and focusing on pleasuring me with his tongue.

Celeste stopped, and retrieved a pump bottle of aloe to smear on Scott's reddened ass. He was feeling her cooling touch on his raging forest fire while he was trying to put out mine with his tongue. His boner was leaking a river of precum.

Scott was too focused on eating my pussy to realize that Celeste was quiet because she was buckling on my favorite strap-on. Fortunately for Scott, she didn't select the longest and thickest dildo, but one of average size since Scott hadn't had his anal cherry taken yet. I wanted to watch it happen.

She squeezed a generous dollop of a warming gel on the head of the fake cock and rubbed it back and forth against his asshole. He groaned into me, but didn't stop his licking. Celeste gripped his hips and flexed her hips forward, thrusting the plastic phallus past his tight anal ring. His breath left his mouth and he stopped licking.

"Oh God!" he couldn't control himself from saying as he felt the shaft push into his butt. It was certain to be a searing pain, but he was already overloaded with the throbbing pain of the whipping, so the two sensations merged into a heady euphoria. With the odor and taste of my pussy stimulating his nose and tongue, and Celeste creating a firestorm on and in his backside, Scott hit overload.

"Please ... please ... please ..." he begged over and over to me as Celeste pounded his butt, smacking her hips against his butt to make sure the full length of the cock was inside him.

His pleas became more urgent and higher pitched. "I beg of you ... please ... oh God ..."

I took pity on his tortured soul.

"Celeste," I called out.

She knew what to do. She leaned forward with her tummy on his back and reached around him to pump his cock with her fist. Her fake cock was still buried in his ass. He felt a rush as he came, feeling the glorious release as his cock spewed cum all over the bed skirt and the hardwood floor.

Celeste was panting from her exertion and I was as well from the licking. But neither of us had cum. We were saving it for last. She crawled onto the bed. Scott was still tied to the bedpost so he had a front row seat.

She knew the way I wanted it. I laid on my side with my top leg bent to expose my anus. She spit on it, then pushed her tongue against it, massaging my anal ring and coaxing it to relax. As it gaped open she thrust the tip inside me, stretching that powerful muscle and making me moan loud enough to be worthy of a porn video. I loved the feel of the soft wetness of her tongue in my ass. Her hand snaked around to find and torture my hardened nub, pinching it and flicking it with her finger until my heat level hit the boiling point.

"Yes ... Celeste .. there ..." I encouraged her. She would take me past the point of no return.

"Are you watching slut?" I asked him.

Of course he was. But having him say it made the sex even better.

"Yes Mistress."

"Tell me ... tell me what you see."

"Miss Celeste ... she's licking and tongue fucking Mistress's ass and rubbing her pussy."

"Yes slut ... she is." It was then I went over the edge ... falling ... weightless. Color swirled inside my tightly closed eyes. The roar of rushing water flooded my ears. I gripped Celeste's hair in my fists, holding her head tight against me as waves of pleasure washed through me.

"Celeste ..." I managed to utter.

I lay there blissful until the present invaded my senses. My eyes fluttered open to see Scott's head resting on the mattress, watching me in my semi-comatose condition. Scott's bottomless submission and Celeste's skillful lovemaking made me a happy woman.

"Do you love me slut?"

My slut fireman told me what I longed to hear. "Yes Mistress I do. With all of my heart."

That's when I knew he was mine.