Little Black Dress

Part 8 of 9

A woman squatted in front of me — short, slender body, naked except for a pair of black, thigh-high boots. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she silently cried, her sobbing muted by the ballgag filling her mouth. She squatted there, her eyes laser-focused on Mistress Taylor when we stopped and paused near the long bar that dominated one side of the room. I watched the girl shudder, her body betraying her as she balanced on the stiletto tips of the boots while a heavy book atop her head quivered with every micro-quake of her sobbing.

Her hair was black as the night, shorn on each side so close that I could see her scalp, but with a thick mane of jet-black curls atop her head and trailing down her back. I stared at her, watched the subtle balancing act, and wondered when the heavy bound book perched atop her head would fall. It wobbled precariously with each suppressed sob, and all I could think of in that moment was that I’d never seen a woman so afraid, so petrified, so obedient.

“This is Pony,” said Mistress Taylor, pulling me forward by the black cord wrapped around my wrists, the one so recently had been wrapped around my throat, around my face and mouth like a gag.

I didn’t hesitate, resist. Mistress had said I would spend the rest of my night bound and at the mercy of her and her guests. I’d swallowed, nodded, and replied in the only way I knew how. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Pony,” she continued, “is a pretty little thing that came to me five years ago. Spirited, exhausting, a mustang among girls, a young woman who saw herself as having some means, agency, and will of her own, as many would say. She was going places. She was climbing the corporate ladder, a brilliant young mind with talent and skill, a COO in the making if I ever saw one,” she declared, turning to me, her fingers tracing up my belly, lingering on my breast, and then pausing at my neck, just behind the ear. I felt the squeeze of her fingers there, my eyes still on Pony but feeling the intensity of her gaze.

“Pony was brought in by one of the men at the party. I spoke with him myself tonight. He valued her such a prize, only he misread who she was.” Mistress Taylor’s fingers trailed across my collarbone, and I felt my nipples harden again in anticipation of her touch. “Her Sir didn’t understand her at all. But I did. I saw what she was. I asked her the very questions I will ask you tonight. She revealed herself to me that very first night, and a month later, she was back and on her knees.”

Her fingers lingered over my left breast, fingertips drifting across my flesh, teasing my nipple as I braced for the inevitable, that brutal twisting that had shocked me out of my fear, pulled my head back into the space between us and presented me with the beautiful woman that stood before me now — me, naked and bound and knowing that whatever she would demand I would oblige; her, glamorous and glorious, looming over me in her white stiletto sandals, a beautiful mountain that countless men had broken themselves against.

“Do you see her?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Do you see the tears in her eyes? The way she struggles to maintain her balance? How she exists in fear right here and now in front of you?”

I swallowed and nodded, afraid to hear the rest, my own fear of this woman creeping back. Pony, this girl who seemed to be on the verge of a breakdown, so terrified of the woman who held my hands bound in her black cord, had maintained her position, barely moving a muscle, the book shifting every so subtly, ever ready to crash to the floor and bring about the wrath of the woman my own sir had bowed his head to. How could he let her take me, I wondered? How could he let her pull me through the party, across that crowded floor in front of everyone like an animal, like a…pet? To give me to this cruel woman, this woman who was clearly so intimidating that the beautiful girl in front of us trembled in fear?

Before I could even register it, before I realized my eyes had betrayed me, lingering on the young woman in question, her suffering, her terror, Mistress Taylor spun me round, pulling the cord and my wrists up over my head, then down, the thin black cord running through my legs, between the folds of my cunt until it rested against my clit. She was around me before my initial cry of surprise and fear, winding the cord around my waist and synching it tightly, before securing it behind my back.

“On your knees, Pet,” she growled, and I dropped to my knees, ignoring the jolt, only feeling the sudden helplessness, the shame, the fear, the way my arms were pulled over my head, stretching me, the way the two lines of cords caught my clit between them. I tried to move my arms, and the movement shifted the rough cords, and the pain shot through my clit and echoed throughout every inch of my body.

“Please,” I cried out. “Please, Mistress. I - I,” and yet I couldn’t find the words. I didn’t know what to do, what I’d done, what to say. And then it didn’t matter because before I could form another word, she pulled the ballgag out of Pony’s mouth and buckled it into mine.

I knelt there, trying to manage the moment, the stress in my shoulders, the pain in my cunt, but I couldn’t move. I shifted my arms and groaned as the cords rubbed and squeezed my clit. Each subtle shift sent sharp jolts of pain cascading out from my pussy. More groans, more shifting, more pain. Tears clouded my eyes, sobs filling my throat as I struggled in an endless loop of action/reaction until I was sobbing uncontrollably, my whole body trembling, trying to escape the moment, her bonds, her will, her world.

Minutes passed and the tears fell, but even the sobs faded as my body began to grow still, a calm coming over me. I blinked away the tears, the slightest shake of my head lest I shift too much and feel the wrath of Mistress Taylor’s tie again. Long deep breaths through my nose. Drool dribbling down my chin from the gag. I felt it dripping onto my breasts. Another deep breath and my gaze drifted up, and for the first time, I saw Pony for what she was.

The brunette beauty maintained her squat, her mouth still open, drooling on her own breasts. There wasn’t a rope present, nor a cord. She wore nothing that seemed to hold her in place, and for a moment I wondered if her hands were even tied or bound in some way, or was she just holding them behind her back the way Sir had taught me to do? She stared at me, unmoving, the slightest tremble of her body the only motion present, as if she was at one with her predicament. As if…but no, no, I wasn’t ready to believe that.

I don’t know how much time passed before Mistress Taylor reappeared. Naked now, her approach was as silent as the room. Even my breathing masked her footfalls. Gone was the silver dress. Gone the white stilettos. Even the necklace and ring. She was as naked as I was, and yet, as I saw her stand there between us, her perfect body, unblemished, athletic, pert breasts with nipples pierced by delicate silver rings, she seemed superior, in charge, the most important person at any occasion. She turned her gaze my way, and I had no doubt then and there that she could walk out into the party as vulnerable and open as she was now, and she would still dominate the crowd.

Our eyes locked, and what she didn’t say in that moment reminded me of that first kiss, of the way her voice reverberated through my body, of that moment in the hall when she first named me “Pet,” and I realized I would kneel and obey her commands if only she would command me.

“What you don’t know about Pony, Pet,” she said as she descended before me and took her place on her knees there. It was a site to see, and I felt my heart skip a beat when she leaned in, her face so close, those piercing blue eyes drilling into mine. She paused as if she was measuring her words. I could see her thinking, or was it something else? “What you don’t know about Pony, my darling Pet,” she said again, her fingers playing over my breasts, drifting south over my belly, “is that nothing she does now - do you see her? Nothing she does now is because of me, and yet,” and just then her fingertips found my swollen nub and I moaned into the gag, my whole body shuddering, “everything is. Do you see her? Do you?”

I nodded, trying to look past the beauty and power that filled my vision. She was so close, her fingers teasing my clit now, her lips hovering over mine. I could feel her breath on my face, smell the bourbon, and all I wanted to do then was kiss her.

“You see her there in her position, a position I put her in, and you think me cruel. A cruel mistress. I saw it in your eyes. I saw the moment you laid eyes on her. I saw the fear, the revulsion, the desire to flee when you saw this beautiful little Pony sobbing, the book balanced as it is now. This is not my doing, Pet. Not at all. See her? See how she maintains. See how her mouth lays open for me, how even now she doesn’t plead, doesn’t cry out, doesn’t say a word. If I remove the book, her mouth will fall on my clit, and she will squat there while I cum, then I will walk away and leave her there, the book right back in its place. Why? How can this be? My darling, Pony,, has not been there squatting since I went to fetch you because it pleases me. It’s because,” and just at that moment, her fingers began to stroke my clit, applying pressure; I shuddered, feeling the shift of my shoulders, the pain of the cords mixing with the pleasure of her lite touch. “It’s because this is who she wants to be. What you see before you, my darling, is a girl who came to me and surrendered herself, begged to be free, free to serve, free to submit, free to surrender herself to me. She suffers there because she desires to suffer above all else. She serves me because that’s what she’s chosen for herself, and I’m honored by that choice, by her service, by her surrender.”

It was in that moment that I understood that look in Pony’s eyes. The fear, the pain, the tears — all real, none of it an illusion. She was bound by nothing beyond the words of a woman who was naked on her knees in front of me, a woman who was as vulnerable as any of us. Yet Pony persisted, unmoving, the sorrow and pain in her eyes as real as the growing need between my legs. Pony suffered while Mistress Taylor stroked my need, the pleasure mixing with the agony in my shoulders, the bite from the rough cords, the helplessness I felt. The sudden — I didn’t know what it was — a shift, a change I hadn’t expected.

Just then, I felt the gag fall away, Mistress Taylor’s hand pulling it from my mouth, the gag replaced by her lips, her tongue, her kiss, which I accepted eagerly, leaning into her, wishing my hands were free and yet suddenly content that I was helpless and vulnerable. For her. Our tongues danced as her fingers worked my clit. I moaned, feeling the slow build, the brutally strict tie leaving me altogether at her mercy.

“Pony is who she wants to be because she is honest with herself. She asked me to free her to be who she is now, my slave, my assistant, my pretty little Pony. Oh, I torture her. I punish her. I push her to the very limit of her being time and time again, sometimes past those limits. But she comes willingly. She craves it. She needs it. She begs for it. And I give it to her.”

She pressed her lips to mine again, then pulled back and left me with something to think about.

“And I want you to consider this, too. Not for my sake. Not for my benefit, but for your own. If you wish to give yourself to someone, my darling Pet, you first must know who you want to be and how you want to live. Tell me your fantasies, Pet. When it’s quiet and dark, and you dream of being something, what do you dream about?”