She likes Her slave controlled. She likes it when he won't stand or sit or kneel without asking permission first. She loves it when he calls or sends email asking for bathroom privileges during the day.

She don't always grant them. Well, not exactly when he wants them.

A long time ago, She learned that it's good for him to learn to control himself alongside learning how to accept Her control and then crave it; to feel empty and directionless without it; to know that when Her control isn't enveloping him, that he feels lonely and almost purposeless. She taught him that, little by little, and he learned the lesson well.

From the time he woke up in the morning and situated himself on all fours, with his head down and his ass up and spread, he was under Her control. When he felt his empty and naked balls searching vainly for the ring that only She could give him, Her control washed over him like gentle rain on a hot summer day. Her heat seared his skin and he welcomed the comfort Her control gave him.

There were only a precious few other women who understood how to treat a slave and what was best for them. There were, of course, plenty of women who played at it, but very few who truly understood the heart of a slave. It was time, She decided, to take him to meet them. When he was allowed to grow as Her slave was always her decision. Her rules, Her timing, Her decisions created the control he so desperately wanted and hated at the same time. It tortured him when She controlled him; it tortured him when She did not.

One morning, after he brought her coffee and nestled himself between Her legs to awaken her properly, She felt his stiff tongue working diligently and she spoke mostly to the air because the only visible part of him was his upraised and nicely spread ass.

"We're going for a little drive this morning, My toy." Her words were clear and precise and his ears, embedded between Her legs, struggled to listen while never ceasing his tongue's requisite work.

"There's a little get together for brunch," She continued without care as to whether or not he could make out her words. "It's time that I showed you off," she finished both verbally and physically. His tongue was good, well-trained and agile. He had learned well how to please Her this way. What he didn't yet realize is that her hunger to train him knew few limits. Boundaries weren't her style.

She allowed him to hand her soap and Her sponge in the shower and he knelt on the ceramic to shave Her legs and touch up Her omnipresent decorating. Exquisitely careful not to nick Her skin, he lathered each leg and worked the razor elegantly to perform the task. Rubbing his face against Her skin, he checked to ensure his work was perfect.

After he dried Her, she dressed in a favorite black suit with the accessories that felt good to Her. Then she stared at him.

"Get your belt," she ordered and he scurried to retrieve the custom leather belt she had made for him -- the one with the special harness for the plug and the extra-large ring she specified for his large genitals to squeeze through and stay available to Her, even under his slacks. Whenever She wanted to feel him, all She had to do was pat the front of his pants and within seconds, his erect penis dripped for Her continued touch. She was his trainer, his Owner and master; his task was to respond to Her spoken and unspoken needs. If She touched him, She knew he would become hard and wet and She used his Pavlovian response to control him just a bit more.

He loved it too much to complain. But he wore his fear of new situations outside his skin where She could touch, tease, and use it.

Belting him in the black leather device and patting his penis both to make sure it was firmly through the ring as well as to watch it begin to rise at the mere closeness of Her fingers to his skin, She nodded approval and flipped a finger toward his black slacks with an almost disinterested order for him to dress only enough to drive Her to brunch. By the time she reached the bottom step, he was starting down the staircase. He had learned well to dress quickly and never keep Her waiting.

After a 40-minute drive, they arrived where She wanted to go. He rang the doorbell and stood behind Her so Her friends could greet her appropriately. Then they stepped inside.

After pleasantries were exchanged, a single look made him strip his black slacks and shirt and stand naked, save for his belt, a single step behind Her. No matter where she walked, that was his unleashed position and he knew it well. After coffee, the Women walked down the spiral staircase with their slaves following in a silent procession. The naked males were led to one side of the large room while the women seated themselves comfortably at the other.

"Put Mine in a neck lock," one said and a pair of hands began securing a male's neck and wrists in a heavy wooden block. With his hands raised to ear level, his range of motion was absolutely limited.

One by one, the males were fastened into a variety of weighty wooden devices that prevented their movement and made them vulnerable to their Owners' touch. Some in head gear, others over wooden horses, and still others dotted the landscape in simpler but effective shackles and chains. Finally, he heard Her voice - - that clear voice he knew so well whether it was throaty, crisp, loud or a mere whisper that burned his brain with its intensity.

"Put mine on the stand," she spoke easily.

Hands lifted him ignominiously onto a two-foot high wooden block while other hands removed his belt and the plug that felt as if it were a natural part of his flesh. When it was gone, he felt empty, as if a piece of him were missing - - the piece that was Her inside him. Sighing silently, he stood naked and vulnerable atop the block and waited. Eager and trained hands re-lubricated his warm ass and he felt the rigidness of another, new type of plug invade him. Too afraid to meet his Owner's eyes, he stared at his feet and forced himself to take even breaths to maintain the composure needed for whatever would transpire next for him at Her direction.

The stiff plug invaded him more deeply and his lips wanted to cry out in surprise. He held his tongue, as he had been taught, and still dared not meet Her eyes. If he had, he would have seen two blue eyes twinkling at his plight.

She adored it when he was faced with the unknown. He wore his apprehension so well. And today, she grinned, his apprehension was well-deserved.

Without warning, the new plug pulled away from his ass and the empty feeling filled his heart again. Suddenly, it returned, wedging itself deeper inside him this time. And then it disappeared.

As he stood locked on the wooden stand to a stiff pole embedded in the thick wood, a plug entered him and exited in rapid succession as he stood there, staring at his feet, still afraid to look at Her with obvious rising terror on his face. She knew his fear; She used it. Repeatedly. The plug continued its abhorrent rhythm thrusting into his warm ass and then pulling out and he stood there, taking it for Her pleasure. How he felt didn't matter to him; he was there for Her use.

"A little faster," she spoke quietly and the plug seemed to take a new tempo on its own.

"And a little deeper," she almost cooed in a whisper that was heard clearly throughout the large room.

The device continued unabated while he stood there, the object of the plug's insertion, not a man, not a person, not even slave. Just a mere tool for Her enjoyment, to be used and abused - - to suffer when She chose.

The plug was ceaseless in its violation of his now-hot ass and he still dared not look at Her eyes across the room. Struggling to maintain any shred of composure, he was able to glean only a few of Her words.

"Next Tuesday? Sure, My slave will drive us there," She said.

And seconds later, "What kind of cheese is this? It's delicious," spilled from her lips and landed almost directly inside his brain.

And more, "Champagne and orange juice is lovely!" Her apparent joy swirled inside him. His own hunger, which was for Her control and not for food and drink, seemed almost unbearable.

The mechanical plug drove in and out of him incessantly and his ears sought only the sound of Her voice. Other slaves made other noises and lived in their own worlds, but his was a dimension he claimed as his own. Transparent but sturdy walls surrounded him and it was his Owner who held the only key. The force up his ass increased and the pressure built steadily. He felt almost unable to hold himself upright and thought about sneaking a look at Her to gain some strength from Her control . . . just enough to enable him to continue pleasing Her. But he didn't move his head an inch. He was determined to prove his strength to Her.

He stared at his feet, clenched his jaw, and suffered for Her.

Her touch was as shocking as it was welcome. As if She knew he had reached his limit, She approached Her slave and touched his hair with soft fingers of one hand, while the other held a wineglass of sparkling juice. She sipped as She patted his temple casually and laughed while resting a single finger under his chin and lifting his face to meet her eyes.

It took the last ounce of his strength to comply and the remnants of his inner reserve to meet her stare.

She was smiling and his heart was as glad as his ass - - and last shred of dignity - - ached.

"Get my flogger," she spoke in that voice that knew that someone somewhere would scurry to obtain it for Her and place it precisely, politely and perfectly in her hand.

And he breathed huge and deep to inhale both air and a drop of Her power as he readied himself to please Her even more.

Unleashing one's lifetime of fantasies, desires and needs is a powerful experience.

Saying them aloud is truly painful.

I hear your silent scream, my fucktoy, and will use you for My pleasure.

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