“Lesbo slut,” Pristy hisses, combining the two, basically contradictory terms that she is forever applying to the girl. “I’ll bet you’ve been fucked already tonight, haven’t you? It doesn’t even matter to you—male or female is just as good.”
Mindee holds her tongue, knowing it is useless to argue.
“Put the water down,” Pristine says coldly, her tone matching the ice blue of her eyes, “and lock the door.”
Mindee trembles, knowing she is to be punished. The only question is what means at her disposal the beautiful singer will use against her soon-to-be-bare buttocks. The lock clicks shut and Mindee feels a jolt in her pussy; she is helpless now, completely at the singer’s mercy.
“Fetch me one of those,” Pristy inclines her head towards the pair of plastic bottles with the red and blue labels, the ones Mindee has brought with her and has placed on the dressing table.
Mindee presents it, her head down as humbly as possible.
“Open it,” Pristy tells her.
She does so. There’s a slight click as the plastic tab snaps. It’s the only sound in the room besides their breathing and it makes Mindee start. She’s scared, of course, because Pristine has a temper and it isn’t only paddles she has in her special trunk, but floggers as well. There’s also a dildo that Mindee has been made to take inside her posterior on a couple of prior occasions.
It really isn’t true that Mindee is a lesbian. She’s glad her boss has never made love to her, or tried to touch and grope her; it’s just that Mindee needs to be dominated and controlled, kept under tight discipline by someone whose will is stronger than hers and who is not afraid to employ corporal punishment on her sensitive, lily-white ass. So far, she hadn’t found any man to fit the bill, only this one young woman, tiny and volatile.
“Taste it,” her boss tells her.
Mindee raises the bottle to her lips. Her arm is trembling. She takes the tiniest of swallows.
“Is it properly chilled?” Pristy wants to know.
Too late Mindee realizes she’s been trapped. “B-but you never said…”
“Never said? Never said what? Give me that!” Pristy grabs the bottle back and lifts it over Mindee’s head. She has to go on tiptoes to reach that high, but she manages it with glee.
“Pris, please, don’t…”
Pristine pours the water over her assistant’s head, soaking her hair and torso. Mindee’s loose white T-shirt clings now to her abundant breasts.
“Take off the pants and shoes,” Pristy demands as she retrieves the second bottle from the make up table.
Mindee has on faded jeans and scuffed, off-white sneakers; as usual Pristy puts her to shame in her luxurious silver, her hair sparkling and combed out to the tune of a thousand strokes that Mindee herself has administered.
“Wait,” Mindee kicks off the running shoes, seeing that Pristy is taking aim again, “just give me a minute…”
Pristine splashes the second bottle of water all over Mindee’s torso. The sports bra—which Pris makes her wear to squash her breasts to nothing—is clearly outlined now, as is the tiny depression of her belly button.
“Move it, slut, or I’ll send you out like this and make you find a man to fuck your little slut hole.”
Mindee skins down the jeans, rendering herself even more helpless as she steps from the denim covering. Knowing better than to shield herself, she stands there, like a drowned rat, stripped to shirt, bra and thong, awaiting instructions.
“The rest of it, too,” Pristy orders, shattering Mindee’s hopes she’ll be left with a little dignity at least. “Today you’ll face my wrath naked…except for your little chain, of course.”
Mindee can almost feel the gold burning around her ankle. The ‘little chain’ as Pris calls it, is a potent symbol between them, a mark of her power and ownership over her nubile assistant. Pristine frowns as she sees the tits, proudly bursting from the confines of the rigorous bra. It is ironic that the very sexuality upon which Pristine’s career is built makes Mindee an object of contempt in her eyes.
“Those are whore’s tits,” declares Pristy, adding, “If it weren’t for me, you’d be out turning tricks…or begging for ass whippings from some lesbian biker gang. Wouldn’t you? Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Mindee makes eye contact, knowing better than to hide her breasts from the sadistic little star. “I-I just want to please you Pristine,” she replies honestly.
“Shut up,” Pristy snaps, “and get that underwear off.”
She hooks her fingers in the waistband of the thong. Her pussy is sopping already and her buttocks already clenching in anticipation. It’s been nearly ten hours since her last spanking and she is feeling that need, that itch in her flesh.”
“Get me the paddle, Mindee,” Pristy sniffs out her heat. “The big one.”
Mindee’s pulse quickens. The blood drains from her face. She’s only been struck once before with the device and while it hadn’t hurt too badly, she knew how much worse it could be. She wants to fall to her knees, to beg the girl to spare her, but at the same time she is aroused; her very dread and terror serving to stimulate her desire. Her emotions were complex. She feared the paddle and wanted it, too. She was afraid Pristy would hit her longer and harder with it, but then again she was afraid she wouldn’t or couldn’t, that the girl would prove once again too small, too weak to meet Mindee’s expectations.
If only it were a man taking control of her this way, Mindee thinks, then she would be in heaven…or at least the hell of her true desires. She has tried to find such a being—a devil in angel’s guise, a desperado with a noble heart, but no one male has proven worthy of the challenge. They were all boys, whom she’d run across so far, selfish and clueless, without the foggiest idea of what it might mean to possess and discipline a beautiful and eager young woman, mastering her—ass and soul alike.
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