Mistress Sidonia's Femdom Blog

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A Mansion Weekend Pt2: Femdom Fiction

At 11am on the sound of the buzzer my instructions were to leave my room and go to the Mansion gardens. There I found three sweet maids, two blondes and a brunette. Dressed in formal French maid uniforms they were also distinguished by their aprons, one pink, one mauve and one cream. I noticed the immaculate straightness of the seams of their stockings and that they also wore identical shoes with surprisingly high heels for ladies in domestic service.

The maids were giggling at some private joke when I came into view but formality quickly returned and they indicated that I should sit in the large wooden armchair to their left. I quickly understood that whilst the maids approved of my dressing they did not approve of my appearance without makeup. But it seems that they were expecting that and it was they who would affect this morning’s transformation.

Mauve and cream maids disappeared for a moment leaving me alone with pink maid. Pink maid ran her fingers across my cheek and let her forefinger rest on my lips. She reached with her left hand and touched my ample but false breast. I looked into her blue eyes and she looked lustfully back. Mauve and cream reappeared carrying a table and a makeup box. I sat back and let them perform their magic.

Cream took the lead. I saw that her makeup was stronger. More sharply defined eyes, longer lashes, a little more colour to her cheeks – a deep golden brown – and fuller redder lips. Cream was the brunette. Her work on me replicated her own look, more suited to the male face but much more subtle that last night – much more appropriate to the lunchtime sunshine.

As she worked I felt hands caressing me. They started at my shoulders, kneeding and massaging but as my face took shape so they worked towards lower and more intimate places. I felt my knees being gently parted and I didn’t resist. Warm hands caressed the insides of my thighs, they took the weight of my balls and then…the unmistakably soft warm feeling as my only partly erected cock was sucked slowly and smoothly into a warm but hungry mouth. I let out a short gasp of air and Cream put her finger across my lips to signal silence. She bent forward and her lips touched mine. Her tongue entered me as I entered Pink’s mouth. I became at one with the sweet maids.

I hardened in Pink’s mouth and felt breathless. I wanted to feed her but she was skilful, controlling my urges. Cream’s embrace slackened. She rose up in front of me. The bulge in her pinafore was obvious. Her desire equally so.

I lifted her skirt and released her cock. My tongue lightly touched the tip and I tasted the sweet sticky juice. It ran along the shaft and I reached out to caress with both hands her balls as she widened her legs. She moaned as I worked ever more vigorously on her shaft. Mauve caressed my breasts and I reached out, finding the sweet spot between her legs and slipping a finger under her knickers where I gently squeezed her balls and elicited sweet sighs.

Cream was panting now, her cock hard in my mouth; and then the flood. It would be a pity, I thought, to spill her on my cheeks, and spoil her careful work. I was ready too, Pink’s soft mouth repeatedly bringing me to the edge then leading me away. As Cream moaned with her pleasure so Pink ceased. Perhaps Mauve would release me? But no, the maids had had almost all the pleasure they were prepared to give.

Cream and Pink carried away the table and their make up box. Mauve took up Cream’s place whilst they were away and kissed me deeply and passionately until they returned. Then each gave me the lightest of kisses, Cream applied a little more lipgloss to my lips and then they were gone, leaving me to sit and appreciate the sunshine, the birdsong and my unsated frustration.

It was not long before I realised that Mauve had not in fact gone. She was now standing just a few feet away, and she was holding a butt plug. I assumed it was number nine. She turned and lifted her skirt. I saw that she was wearing a plug. It was marked ‘nine’. The only words she spoke were to say that nine was her number. Then without speaking a further word she beckoned me to follow her.

As we made our way across the Mansion lawns we encountered a Mistress, one whose face I recognised from Mansion films but not one of my previous acquaintance – if you discount the induction I enjoyed the previous evening where I seemed to recall that she had been one of the participants. In an instant she ordered Mauve to give her the butt plug and to return to the Great Hall. As Mauve obeyed the Mistress ordered me to unzip my skirt. Without pulling my knickers aside she squeezed my balls and her nails bit into me. I assumed that she was the same Mistress who had inflicted similar pain yesterday but this time my cock firmed a little rather than retreated and I saw a glint in her eyes. She twisted sharply and I took a rapid intake of breath trying not to lose my balance. Releasing me she told me to bend forward and on doing so she lifted the tail of the skirt and deftly hooked away my knickers. She asked me what number it was and I answered eight Mistress. She told me to that she thought that not good enough.

She instructed me to follow and we marched to the dungeon where I was ordered to undress, to my underwear at least, and to lie on a padded bench, the sort that offers a variety of potential including access from below. Straps passed across my stomach and chest and my wrists were firmly secured. From the waist up only my head was free to move, and then only very little. The Mistress took up a remote control and there was the whirring of electric motors. She slid my ankles into stirrups and the motors whirred again pulling my legs both upwards and forwards. Open she said and I did as best as I could. The Mistress put on surgical gloves, removed the butt plug and again told me how disappointingly pathetic number eight was.

With the gloves well lubricated – and with more than a trace of deep-heat – she set to work on my cock and balls, massaging, squeezing, teasing, numbing. She teased me to erection and then swiftly, before it had chance to subside, bound my balls with soft rope, tying the cord tightly at the base of my cock.

Compared to number eight the bullet was smaller but was hard and cold. That didn’t prevent it slipping in easily. Mistress then attached pads to my inner thighs and inserted the final electrode into my cock. I held my breath and gritted my teeth but the Mistress was clearly experienced in such torments. As she worked she asked me what a good pass mark would be? I wasn’t certain of her meaning. We established that in school exams a pass mark was 40%, but a Grade B could be 60% and an A might be 75%. What grade would I be worth wondered the Mistress?

She started at 25 on the dial. Light pulses raced between my cock and anus and then subsided. I tensed and relaxed with the coming and going of the stimulation. 25 became 30 and 30 became 35 each increase being a marginal intensification. 50 seemed like it would be an impossible challenge as I finally achieved a basic pass.

Each pulse of the electrics caused me to take a breath, tensing and then gradually relaxing my body as the pulse subsided. Each increase in strength took longer and longer to assimilate, to come to terms with in my mind, to reach the point where I was ready for the next wave. As the afternoon wore on the Mistress came and went from the dungeon, allowing more and more time between her visits during which time all I could do was to focus on my breathing and try and come to terms with the sensations. I lost track of time and place.

The Mistress told me that I had achieved Grade B. She adjusted the dials and the pulses changed. Not in intensity but in pattern. Now they were alternating between cock and anus with much less time between pulses to come to terms with the throbbing. I wanted to twist and turn away but I couldn’t. 75 was achieved. Grade A. I ground my teeth. I couldn’t take more. I had achieved top mark. The Mistress had other opinions.

She turned the dial up another 2 notches rather than 5. She said she was being kind. Then she turned it up another 2, and another. Was it 83 or 85 or even 87? I had lost all track and the Mistress said she was bored. Suddenly everything was still and silent. The electrodes were gone, my butt was unplugged, the straps were released. Only my ankles remained fettered.

There was another voice. Where was my corset it wanted to know? Had I been out in the garden without it? I should be punished for not wearing it at all times. The electric motors sprung to life again, I thought to lower me and facilitate my release, but no, they pulled me further upwards. The bench was gone and I was hanging, my head a few inches above the floor. One of the Mistresses unhooked my suspender belt and bra and I was naked apart from my stockings and my wig. All I could think about was my wig and the fear that it would simply fall off. It didn’t, even when the Mistress set to with her whip. Each blow was hard enough to spin me, hanging free as I was from my ankles.

I felt giddy. My face flushed. The Mistress tired of the need to still me before each new stroke. The motors whirred and I was lowered to the ground. Dizzy, I leant over the whipping bench whilst the blood drained southwards. The Mistress became ever more impatient. Her whip delivered hard but precise blows. When she was finished she said she was pleased with the patterns she had created. I hoped it had made up for her disappointment about the corset. It would only be later that I realised that there had been no corset for me to wear this morning – but still, it is not for Mistress’s demands to be questioned. She dabbed the wounds. The cold fluid stung and I winced with every application. But a hard whipping is a pleasure – especially when it is over and one can reflect on the punishment that has been enjoyed and a mellow sensation of relaxed satisfaction takes over.

I knelt at the Mistress’s feet and kissed her boots with thanks. The Mistress who had brought me to this dungeon had returned and she commanded me to follow her. We returned to my room where she ordered me to take up the slave position, just as I had when I first arrived. She opened the cabinet and I wondered what she had found there. As I was to discover later, it was number ten – number nine was Mauve’s number after all and clearly Mistress had regarded the electrical bullet as one of the series. Number ten should have hurt a great deal but the numbing effect of the electrical stimulation and the relaxing effect I feel after a whipping meant that my body yielded to it without a struggle. The Mistress seemed pleased with that.

Before she left the Mistress told me that that I should now rest, eat and prepare for the party that was planned for the evening.

Number ten brought the total to seven plugs in twenty four hours. I wondered whether I had exhausted the supply, not expecting that I had. My fears were unfounded, as when I investigated, the cupboard in my room now contained eleven – fifteen. My immediate thought was that twelve would be a serious challenge – there couldn’t be many Mistresses with fists much larger than that. The final three were simply grotesque and cartoonish exaggerations, not at all within the realm of credibility.

To be continued… in the final part… coming soon

by slave sova