Journey to His Lair: The Tale of Elizabeth’s Debasement

By SlaveWithOwner

 Chapter 1:

 

I had a clear list of rules when I first approached Him, the man who subsequently fucked my mind and broke my barriers and made me His; the one to make me surrender 'my' cunt to cock. The man I now call My Master with all the pride and passion I once called myself a lesbian feminist. The man I need to serve daily to satisfy cunt's insatiable craving for cummings. It drips always, cunt. Always needs cummings. Frustratingly always simmering and edging me to the point of - "Passport please Ma'am" – I am snatched from my thoughts as my place in the queue finally reaches its end point. I can feel my heart slam into my throat at my forced return to reality and the the journey I have just made. The contrast of fear and excitement colliding inside is leaving me feeling neither in full. Any hope of sensible thought lost again as I look at the pretty airline attendant, her full round breasts fighting their own bindings, and wince as cunt emits another painful throb. She looks at me quizzically, quickly followed by a moment of fret as she must sense my fear and see the heat in my face. Worse, she can see the soft muted red bands of skin around my wrist from my nightly bindings as I hand her my passport. We stare at each other in suspended time and I am spinning fast on images of airport security men coming to ask their interrogating questions, delaying me, making me late - a delicious bedtime fantasy any other time but not today, not this weekend - the spin only halts when the warmest smile I can throw her seems to appease her and she is returning to the monotony of her task. I take the moment to still myself and admire her quietly.... She looks nice. Clean and wholesome kind of nice, doing an honest day of work to then return at the end of her shift to the warmth of a wholesome family too no doubt. That vision alone makes me want to tear my passport from her smooth unblemished skin and return to my life: my once wholesome life too. 

 

Only I know I will not do that. My thoughts and 'decisions' are a secondary predictor of my behaviour since My Master took ownership and His game begun. I replay his final voicemail instructions for today whilst I curse myself for exposing my mind to the auditory stimulation of My Master's voice, knowing its effect on cunt will last much longer than the momentary lapse of concentration. I focus instead on the deep familiar colour of the passport sleeve and long to feel the same sense of pride and security I usually feel to be protected by one’s Queen when venturing into new territories. Only this time, my purpose for travel carried no outward pride but a fierce blush and deep shame, all tightly bound in fear and apprehension. Despite this, my cunt still drips in anticipation and my heart racing to my destination faster than the plane flew here. Racing to meet My Master and surrender all that I am to His control and make my training complete. Finally our weekend is here. I leave the airport on legs that can still walk freely, clutching my belongings with wet hands, and run the sentence in a loop through my mind as though it is my life’s only heuristic... "Stand outside the airport main entrance, dressed as instructed, and wait until you are collected Pet". Defying all reason and logic, ignoring all my own wise cautionary rules to self, I followed His instructions and I am standing waiting to be collected from outside the airport and taken to a nameless place that bears only one relevant fact: it is His chosen destination.

 

 Time passes slowly but it is unlikely I am showing any outward sign of this as the usual nuances of poised anticipation are long lost by the practised wait in my bedroom many times before. I simply stand here for My Master whilst internally fighting and winning the insane urge to play with 'my' clit as He often likes me to do whilst waiting for Him. I'm acutely aware of the dripping. So mind occupying. I look up and let the sun splash on my face, close my eyes and try to recall long summer days lying on beaches at nice hotels with nice food, polite waiters eager to serve me, look after my needs. I suspect not this time. I look around at the other travellers, their purpose and direction clear to all and enviably known to themselves too. The clothing I am wearing for this trip reveals little outward clue as to my purpose, it is simply a well fitted short pinstripe grey work dress. To any passer-by, I am probably just another professional woman waiting momentarily for her pre-arranged transport to take her to some tedious conference or non-descript meeting. Only a wandering eye would note no visible bra or panty line. Only a prying hand would feel no soft clean panties or fuzzy mesh of hair welding the slit closed and sealing the juices in. Only probing fingers would reach a bare wet opening before the tips had realised they had already reached their intended spot. The wet thighs along the way instantly explainable, whilst the contrast between what appears on the surface and what simmers below remains to be explained. 

 

I will do my best to explain this, my being here, and this apparent contrast between what can be seen on the surface and what simmers below, as I go along if I can but My Master could explain this better...it was His plan after all. I obediently follow without answers; the questions still asked to try and maintain some illusory sense of self but my need to either know or understand long surrendered to Him. Not readily or easily but inevitably. I do as He tells me, and I now accept that my futile pouts and protests and begging were for his amusement entirely and changed nothing of his plans; and only earned another lesson in pain and humiliation for me. He is not to be swayed or tempted. I used to be like that too, decisive. I will try to be decisive once again and summarise how I ended up standing at a foreign airport a long way from home indeed, waiting to be collected by a man, a Dom no less, that I have never met before (with no known validated profile of Him), having agreed to follow His every wish and command ...without safe-word or agreed boundaries. Most damnable... having done neither a detailed pre-scene analysis nor have a contingency plan in place. Breaking all rules so that my new rule is clearly...follow My Master's Rules. It scares me that my desperation is pushing me beyond all limits so that I too, like an observer of my Self, stand here and wonder what I will surrender to Him next just so I can touch cunt again, suck my fingers clean again, smell and taste my juices again. The memory making my mouth water conditionally and cunt throb knowingly, as though its own lunar cycle had signalled the passage of time and correctly calculated the six month wait was over this weekend. I grimace outwardly in anticipation of the painful last wait, unable to comprehend cunt's reaction to being in physical proximity to Him. Finally, I will be given the chance to earn His cum.... Taste His cum... Rub myself in His cum... Sorry, cunt makes me digress. I was trying to explain to myself if no-one else how I came to be stood here today. Only to do that, I need to go back to the day He told me I would have to wait six months until I was allowed to cum again - that day was the day that lead to today. 

 

That day was The Monday I told My Master I had cummings – again - without permission over the weekend. Long since regretted cummings I hasten to add. My actions truly regretted and still beyond my own comprehension - beyond my own control - It's the dripping. It's a constant relentless rhythmic sensation that beats in my mind also and drowns my thoughts and blurs my own notes to self. It is dripping now as I stand here waiting. I part my legs slightly so that the warm air might dry me and provide some relief from the wetness. The action bringing no relief, and only an extra flush to my face as I feel knowing eyes watching me. I close my legs tightly again and try to relish the squirming for the last time. Cunt a baited with the knowledge it will soon, so soon, be sated. I am past the point of shame sufficiently enough to say I am now desperate to cum, for His cum....whatever the cost. I thought I was six months ago but My Master has taught me the true meaning of desperation now. And I have learnt obedience, control and patience. I am grateful to Him. I have waited for Him. He has made me wait for Him. He was lenient the first time I misbehaved, and like all dirty whores, I was truly repentant the morning after.... the morning after I let a strange man lead me silently off the dance-floor, take me outside on to public street and finger my bare cunt to cummings whilst stood against a brick wall with my skirt around my waist and my wet panties around my thighs; the panties a rare treat and needed that night as I stood there - they caught my juices. He was understandably not lenient the second time I truly misbehaved. My actions in many way unforgivable and to be redeemed only by myself in person so that I can complete my training under My Master’s watchful eye: That second night, like a bitch in heat, I took a strange man home and begged him to fuck me and cum on my tits. Some sense of shame must remain as it is with reluctance that I confess I begged this man to finger my ass also...my craving to be fucked too intense to feel sated by cunt play alone, my desires to be used and practise My Master’s training in real life was pushing me further and further...

 

At that moment, like a dog that sense its owner's imminent return, I can feel cunt spill more juices in a physical protest at the pressing awareness of My Master's arrival. I can feel the slow trickle that catches on my thighs, and I stand there and let it fall freely down my leg and I’m lost in the sensation. The experience only to be replaced by another sensation... a large weighted hand moving firmly and slowly across my back coming to rest on my shoulder, my petite frame made to feel all the smaller in comparison. I know it is Him. Cunt knows it is him. My entire being knows it is Him. I cannot move. I cannot look. I cannot breathe. I can only stand here and try to still the stars that dance before my eyes as my mind is flooded by every sense demanding its resources. A task not achieved and only made harder as I feel Him press closer, feel His size behind me, feel Him looking down on me. Cunt's desire to cum driving through all rational thoughts so that when I hear Him whisper in my ear "Hello Pet" I can only whisper in reply "Please, I am begging you to please let me cum please". The unplanned words once out, un-retrievable, but simply no alternatives available. My mind thinks one thought only since My Master took control; I think about cummings. I know His reply before my bottom lip has tucked itself back in and He grins and says "No Pet, you do not have permission to cum until you have finished your training. Besides, is that any way to greet your Master?" His smiling words make me look at Him, His eyes briefly, the man I love, honour and obey in the truest sense and I know in that one look that all hope of saving any part of myself is gone. He knows it too. We stand there silently whilst He graciously allows me my final free moments to catch my breath and let the rushes of extremes still themselves. The moment has come to conclude my training. I look at Him and smile and say "Hello Master". Accepting my surrender, He says "Follow me Pet", and my reply is the same as always "Yes Master".

 

He walked as I always imagined. Slowly yet purposely, a light footed gait whilst He strides forward with a winning smile and eyes that can see straight into women’s panties and a tongue with words that can lick those panties off quicker than her juices have chance to dry. My first steps are awkward as it is clear from His manner that I should maintain an almost invisible distance behind Him. My position in relation to His is made clear from the start. Not a pace I am accustomed to, and much to my embarrassment the gap feels like a gulf that can be seen by all...my position suddenly feels real. And so visible to others. The sense of inferiority too acute - worryingly very hard to accept - and I catch myself pushing my mind further into the coming weekend and what else might be different or unknown in RL? The thought makes me want to stop in my tracks, the real fear felt as the pressing thought "What if I cannot do what He might ask?" turns to "What will I do when I cannot do as He demands?" With no answer to sate my fear and only the vision of Him before me, I simply surrender to cunt and follow where it takes me; to Him. After only a few minutes I find my pace and place behind Him and dutifully follow without looking, each step forward leaves behind another layer of fear as I feel shielded and protected in the shadows of My Master. I feel safe for now. My lack of knowledge of direction and purpose leaves my mind with no need to attend to anything around me but Him, obediently following Him. Needing Him to direct each step I take or fear being lost forever; and the lack of external stimulus only serves to further alert me to the fact that dripping cunt is doing every attempt possible to gain my attention; dripping juices down my thighs as I walk, rubbing together and lubricating my thighs. The image of Him between my legs too much and I truly understand fear as I nearly cum at the thought of His cock. I have never seen His cock. Too shy to ask for a picture but the desire great...the desire for His cock, His cum, mounting daily to the point of today, Day 1 of Final Modification Training.

 

Unexpectedly, despite my lack of expectations, we arrive at a taxi and it is clear we are going to travel with company for the time being. My utter disappointment at the lack of privacy with My Master clear, so much so that He leans forward at that point and tells me “Fret not my little taxi-toy, you have a task” and slips a note in my hand. My mind spins in horror as my cunt swims in delight and my heart swells to please Him. My hands shake and fumble as I open the note...“Taxi-Toy Task. Simmer 3 times, for 5 minutes, over the course of 1 hour journey: Simmer 1 must include 1 finger to cunt. Simmer 2 must include 2 fingers to cunt – and you must ensure driver is entertained by the view also. Simmer 3 must include 3 fingers to cunt. Do NOT cum. Once each simmer is done, lick your fingers clean like a good whore.” I want to say I am suitably horrified by the thought of such public display, that I am only reluctantly contemplating completing the task under direct order, but in reality my skirt is raised beyond modesty and my legs have parted and I’m pushing my finger in cunt so deeply and frantically, desperately, and almost crying with both relief and frustration at the pleasure of the finger at long last and the torture of not cumming. My need to beg and plead not lost despite my training, and the words "Please Master, I'm begging..." escape my mouth as clearly and fluidly as I drip from my lips. The words now out that are filtering their way to the driver with his probbing eyes and pricked ears and I can only sit here visibly sweating from the strain of fighting cunt's will to cum and flushed shame. Once again, in that split second, I both love and hate My Master for needing Him more. For needing Him now this instant, inside me, filling me and fucking me and cumming with me. Needing Him to feed me my fix of cum so that I am 'free' to function again, and feel the sanity of satedness again... until He decides otherwise and triggers cunt at His will and renders me entirely His once again.