CAMELOT FANTASIES

FEMDOM  PARTY


By Defiant
 
 
 
 
Michelle and John were at the kitchen table over supper, in heated discussion
about a masquerade party they were to attend that night.
 
"Honey," he said placatingly, "We're both to blame. We knew the damn party was
coming up and neither one of us took enough interest to think about renting
costumes. Is there any way we can fake it with the stuff we have around here?"
"What did you have in mind?" she asked sarcastically. "Do you want to do the old
oil sheik trick again using one of the bed sheets?"
"Nah. I guess we can't pull that stunt two years in a row."
"No," she said affirmatively. "You as the oil sheik and me as the tart isn't
going to cut it."
"Maybe not," he said, "But you sure caused quite a stir last year dressed the
way you were. Maybe you can improve on that theme."
Brightening, she responded, "You're right. They ate it up, didn't they? There's
nothing like a little eroticism to turn a room on its collective ear. I suppose
I could do that with what I have, but what are we going to do about you?"
An idea flashed in John's mind. It was outrageous, he knew, but their friends
thought of the couple as being racy and, he admitted, he liked the reputation.
"Suppose I just wear my underwear and go as your love slave?"
Michelle laughed, then stopped and thought about it. Actually, she considered,
that really could be a good idea. Their friends wouldn't be disappointed and,
besides, they'd probably have a lot of fun.
"That's not half bad," she said. "I'll wear my leather mini, seamed stockings
and I'll make sure my garters show from time to time. The patent leather black
spikes would fit right in, too. And, to really make them stand up and take
notice, I'll wear only a black bra; no blouse, just the push-up bra. Okay so
far?"
"Yeah, but you've gotta add those shoulder-length gloves of yours, and lots of
make-up, costume jewelry...you know, the whole nine yards."
A couple of hours later, Michelle was erotically, mind-bendingly in costume.
Here five-feet-seven inches, made taller by the four-inch spikes, clad in the
black garments and only the black bra, put a bulge in John's undershorts, his
only apparel.
Michelle struck a provocative pose and said, "Well, I see my love slave is
behaving and reacting in the proper manner for his mistress. This outfit turns
you on, huh?"
He fingered his **** and respond, "Yeah. But how do I handle this at the
party? Outrageous is one thing, this is something else. I can't be walking
behind you all night with a hard-on."
"You're right," she said, "you can't. But the idea of you going in just your
underwear is still a good one. How about changing out of those bikinis and into
a pair of boxers? I can tie your **** down with a scarf so it snuggles neatly
against your leg."
John had a curious look on his face as he approved her plan. "Okay, it's worth a
try. I suppose the bulkiness of the boxers will allow for it."
Michelle selected a scarf from the dresser drawer at that point, took John's
**** in her hand, and wrapped the scarf around it once before bringing the
loose ends around his thigh and tying it. She pulled up his boxers to see how it
looked and was pleased. There was only a hint of his rigid **** outline,
tantalyzing but not too provocative.
Playfully, she slapped his shorts over the **** and said, "There you go, love
slave. Your hard-on will be a secret only we two will share."
"Great. But now that you've got it all tied up, I want you more than ever. Let's
fool around a bit before we go."
"Not on a bet," she said. "I've just spent a lot of time putting together this
look and I won't have it ruined that quickly. But", she teased, "If you obey me
tonight, I might let you have your way later on."
 
 
John and Michelle made their way downstairs. At the kitchen door, Michelle
observed that the mistress and love slave act, to go over properly, needed
refinement. His following her in his underwear didn't quite cut it.
John had the answer right away. He hurried down to the basement, rummaged around
a bit, then returned with the collar and leash they'd used for their old dog. He
also brought Michelle's riding crop, the one she'd bought when the equestrian
bit was the in-thing with their crowd. He handed her all three.
"Perfect!" she exclaimed. "Here, let me put the collar around your neck. Ooooh,
it fits beautifully. And now I'll just clip the leash onto it. There. Now you're
leashed like the slave you are and if you misbehave, I'll use this whip on you."
 
John reacted immediately to her words. His **** was harder than ever. He didn't
quite comprehend why he was more turned-on than he thought he ever could be. But
he was. And Michelle was fabulous! The leather skirt, the high heels and the
deep-plunging bra made him weak at the knees. Did her being dressed the way she
was and having him collared have anything to do with this? Her threat to use the
riding whip on him, although in jest, caused a deep-rooted pang of sexual
longing.
And then he realized it. John wanted her to whip him! He wanted to be in bondage
to her! Now, how in the world could he tell her those thoughts? How could he
admit that what they were doing right now was the utmost in sexual excitement?
Instead, he said, "Michelle, you were right about the props. They seem to make a
world of difference. But, before we go, maybe we better practice some of the
theatrics of this thing so we look that much more convincing."
Michelle, while putting the collar around his neck and attaching the leash, felt
a shudder of pure longing rampage through her body. Dressed the way she was, she
felt like a goddess -- erotic and desired -- whose right it was to have a sex
slave, a slave like John. Just the thought of actually using her whip on him
made her flush.
"You're right," she said. "If we're going to win first prize, we not only have
to look the part, we have to play it. Let's go into the living room and
practice."
She walked ahead of him, holding her end of the leash. John followed on the
tether.
 
"My slave should never stand taller than me, his mistress. Perhaps you'd better
get down on your hands and knees and we'll practice your crawling behind me."
She imperiously pointed to the floor with her crop and John went to his knees.
Taking a firm hold on the leash, tightening the slack, Michelle led him around
the circumference of the room. When she stopped, John remained on all fours and
she sat on his back.
 
"This is good," she said. "I can use you as my chair wherever we are in the
party room. Is that good theatrics?" she asked, somewhat uncertainly.
John had difficulty answering the question. But he eventually got to it. "Yes,"
he said. "That's a perfect start. And, for the purpose of scripting, you should
probably be calling me 'slave' and I should be answering ‘Mistress'. How does
that sound, Mistress?"
"Perfect, slave. You will address me as Mistress throughout the evening."
"Yes, Mistress." She rose from his back and led him to where she sat on the
sofa, crossing her legs. "Slave, that video we saw a while ago had a woman
getting her shoes kissed and licked by a man. I want my feet worshipped, too."
John looked up at her for a moment with eyes that spoke volumes. His
thankfulness that Michelle had read him correctly and that she herself was also
affected by this game almost made him weep. He bent his head and kissed her
shoes, licking them all over and even going so far as to lick the outsides of
her heels. Still holding the leash, Michelle tilted her crossed foot, aimed her
spiked heel directly at his mouth, and said, "Suck it, slave."
 
 
John obeyed, wrapping his lips around the heel she'd aimed at him. He sucked and
licked it with enthusiasm while his **** throbbed in its bondage. The intensity
of John's worship didn't escape Michelle. She saw him getting increasingly
worked up. And it excited her, too. Perhaps, she thought, this was just the
spark the couple needed in their love life.
"Stop, slave," she said. "You're enjoying my leather too much. Besides, I just
had a great idea. Stay on your knees. I'll be right back."
Michelle seductively strolled away, aware of her hard breathing, and went up to
the bedroom. Pausing for just a moment before her make-up table, she thought
about this amazing turn and how much she liked it. She picked up an old tube of
lipstick and went back to the living room.
Showing John what she had, she said, "to really make this an effective and
believable masquerade, I thought I'd paint some welts over your thighs and lower
back with this old lipstick to simulate the marks of a whipping. What do you
think, slave?"
"Full points for inventiveness, Mistress. Welts would make a perfect addition.
But do you know what a welt from your riding whip would look like on my skin?"
"Well, I've got basic idea," she replied. "But, no, I don't really. Any
suggestions, slave?"
"Perhaps, Mistress, you might use your crop on me a few times to see what
happens. Then you can use the lipstick to trace over them and draw a few more."
Michelle had been hoping for an excuse to come along. Ever since she'd put the
collar around his neck and held the crop she'd wanted to whip him. "Very well,
slave. Crawl up to the couch and lay your chest across the cushions. Stay on the
floor and get your ass up as high as you can."
John hurried to comply. He couldn't believe how much he wanted his wife to
dominate, humiliate and punish him. All he knew was that he needed to obey and
suffer for her, right now.
 
 
 
Michelle took a position behind her husband, pulled his boxers down to his
knees, and raised the crop. She paused for a moment before bringing it down over
his lower thighs. John gasped, but before he had a chance to react further,
 
Michelle struck again. This time he moaned. His wife used the whip three more
times before stopping. "That's enough, slave," she said. "I've got a good idea
now of how to paint on the rest of your welts." She paused, then sounding
alluring and mysterious, said, "...Or perhaps I should forget the lipstick and
just keep on using my whip."
John turned on his knees from the chesterfield, put his head down to her shoes
and licked both before saying, "Thank you for whipping me, Mistress. If you
decide to make my welts real, that is your prerogative."
Michelle loved it. She loved putting her marks on his ass and thighs with the
whip and she adored seeing him lick her shoes in gratitude. And she was still
ecstatic knowing she'd tied his **** to his leg.
"Slave," she asked, "how would you feel about not going to the party tonight?"
"That would be wonderful, Mistress."
They understood one another.
"Then let's try for a few more of those beautiful welts, slave. And, just so
there's absolutely no confusion, I'll be using my whip and not the lipstick to
put them on you. Get back into position."
"Yes, Mistress."
Holding the leash in the palm of her let hand, she used her right to flog.
Starting on the fleshy part of his legs just above the knee, and working her way
up to the top of his ass. Michelle didn't want to use the crop on his back
because she knew it would be too cruel an instrument now for such a sensitive
portion of his anatomy.
John was squirming, trying to avoid or, at least, to soften the impact of her
blows. Michelle, in a cunning and shrewd stroke of brilliance, said, "Slave, if
you keep trying to avoid my whip, I'll never use it on you again. Do you really
understand what that means?"
He settled down, promising to remain still. She flogged longer than she'd
intended. At first, she simply enjoyed using the whip. But, as it progressed,
she began to feel physiological changes; changes that took her from being an
enthusiastic Dominatrix to being one very turned-on lady.
 
 
John's ass was welted when she stopped. Still holding his leash, she used the
crop to point to her feet. John bent his head and kissed her shoes, tears
rolling down his cheeks and onto her leather.
 
"Thank me for your punishment, slave," she softly commanded.
John went even further: "Mistress, You've brought to life my most secret sexual
fantasy. Thank you."
"Up until tonight, I hadn't thought much about domination, slave. But, I must
admit I love having you naked and on the end of my leash. And I love whipping
you. Your **** is still hard, slave, and that tells me I wasn't nearly strict
enough. But I'll make up for it next time."
"Thank you, Mistress."
Michelle reached to his groin, untying the scarf bound to his thigh. His ****
sprang to full ****. She had him stand, turn around and put his hands behind
his back. Using the leash, the new Mistress tied her slave's wrists high on his
back so they were out of the way, attached to his collar. Grasping his ****,
she used it like a handle to pull him upstairs.
 
Mistress Michelle had him lie atop the bed and, milking his **** for a moment,
said, "Keep it up for me, slave. I plan on riding both of us off at least three
times tonight."
She took off the leather skirt, pulled down her panties and, getting on the bed,
fondled his genitals before positioning herself above him and slowly sliding his
member inside her. Rocking atop him, Michelle's climax fast approached. She
reached down to his chest and twisted his nipples between her fingers. His moans
told her he was enjoying it as much as she.
They both came.
Explosively!
She lay atop him in exhaustion, his **** still within her. Soon, it lost its
**** and slipped out. Michelle, regaining her strength, moved astride him so
her knees were on either side of his face and her crotch directly atop his
mouth. "Lick me, slave. Suck and swallow our love juices." Michelle took her
crop in hand to reinforce the order.
 
Later, after he'd been released and they were having a drink downstairs, he
asked at what point she got turned on to domination. She admitted she liked the
idea from the very beginning, when he'd made the costume suggestion but that it
truly took flight when she saw her sexy leather-clad image in the bedroom
mirror. She said the feeling was confirmed when she buckled the collar around
his neck and held the whip in her hands.
Looking at hm over the edge of the glass of wine she was sipping, Michelle said,
"I'm not sorry we missed the party. It gave us a whole new understanding of one
another. But your idea for costuming and poise is still a good one. Between now
and next year, I can find, I'm sure, even more startling clothing to wear in my
role. And, for the next 12 months, we're going to be doing an awful lot of
practising on how a slave responds and reacts to his Mistress.
"Get back down on your knees."