Mistress Kiki of Bristol - The Summer of 2006
The hot summer of 2006. Longest ever daily average hours of sunshine, highest temperatures measured in this country, drought, hosepipe bans, great white sharks off the Cornish coast, whales in the Thames and, incredibly, not one recorded case of trench foot at Glastonbury. Sounds like an idyllic time? It may well have been, I didn't really notice...
I felt homesick, yet hadn't travelled. I was in mourning, but had no funeral to attend. Lonely, with no room to move. Empty, although coffee had already been served.
That first e-mail had been like the first squally, leaf-filled chills of October; this latest reply, the deep, unforgiving onset of winter. Life was akin to four-thirty on a November evening, and yes, it was cold, wet, windy and the bus was late.
To say I was depressed was an understatement of immense magnitude. Why?
Not why was I depressed - no. Why had She 'retired'? As the e-mail had, in my mind anyway, so callously announced. Seemingly uncaring that my life had now been so irrevocably altered.
She had been the best. I had visited Her, in Her realm, every other Thursday for a twelvemonth. What was I supposed to do now? I felt lost. I now know how Wimbledon fans must have felt about the move to Milton Keynes. I still had the season ticket. The stadium was still there. My fanaticism hadn't waned. However, the star of, if not the team, had fucked off.
I visited the 'stadium' again. All of the Mistresses I have encountered and submitted to at The House duCroix have more than sufficed; however, She just had something special. Something that set Her apart. I hope this will not be seen as an affront to the aforementioned Ladies. It's just...
Pretty? Well, I think so. Figure? I'm not supposed to look, but the odd, unnoticed, disobedient glance has been rewarded adequately enough to justify the risk taken. But it's so much more than that.
She's an actress. She can read people. She can walk into the room and command respect. In Her dungeon, She is untouchable. A true Dominatrix, Mistress loves Her art and it shows. You kneel before Her and suddenly realise this really is your natural place.
Mistress belittles, humiliates, dominates, incarcerates or disciplines any male creatures courageous enough to attend Her realm with exuberance. She beats you with a smile. The more severe, the broader the grin.
However, She can also be tender. 'Tied and Teased' very much a speciality. A light tickle with a feather, or fingertip, from Her skilled hands can feel as diverse as a soothing, cooling cream or a branding iron. It's all about Her judgement of touch, time and occasion.
Novices, too, were mesmerised by Her persona, and they soon returned to become loyal devotees. You made sure you rang early to request an audience with Her. You prayed She had the time and inclination to remind you of, and put you in, your place. Now it was all a rapidly-receding happy memory. I was on board a 747 climbing out of Utopia International Airport.
Apparently, Mistress had retired from play due to personal and family commitments. What about professional commitments? I know Her family needed Her, but as Her slave, so did I!
That second e-mail arrived in late August. It came as response to mine which had optimistically enquired of news of the Great Lady. The information enclosed was grim. It spoke of no chance of Mistress returning. It deepened the gloom and despondency which had enveloped me like the clouds of Kilimanjaro.
As I have previously mentioned I began my ultimately hopeless task of finding a suitable substitute. Hercules looked like he had a part-time job in comparison. The House duCroix was revisited, as were various other establishments as geographically spread as Cardiff, Plymouth, Birmingham and London. Many of the Mistresses had great skills and attitude, however, none pushed my buttons as dextrously as This One.
Then, one cold January morning (the ninth actually), I sat down in front of my PC; coffee placed a safe distance away, I logged into my e-mails. Inbox said 'one'. But what an important one!!!
The black of the unread e-mail at the top of my inbox boldly proclaimed 'The Return of Mistress ----- and The House duCroix Open Day'. Quickly I read the joyous epistle and reached for the phone.
Brightly painted, almost gaudy, purple front door, cast iron gate and inner door negotiated, Mistress held a letter in one hand as She held back the curtain and welcomed me into the new-look 'meet and greet' room.
An extensive library of fetish magazines lay casually strewn on the mantle covering an area as wide as their topics. Interspersed, equally as designer-casual, business cards of the House Mistresses.
There was no need for Mistress to pass me a House form to fill in. She knew exactly what I needed. I'd visited Her on many an occasion in the past and She knew how to deal with me.
'Would you like a drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?' She enquired wiping Her beautifully manicured finger along the edge of the table that separated me from Her as effectively as the Berlin Wall had separated Germans for half a century. My longing to reach out and touch Her as great as a longing to swap my Wartsburg for a BMW. However, you do not touch a Mistress. That is one of the five House rules.
'Prunella! Come here!' Mistress commanded, raising Her voice a couple of octaves to make Herself audible to the maid that appeared almost instantly at the curtain. 'Coffee, white, two sugars. And bring My wine and cane with you when you return.'
Mistress made no acknowledgement as the six-foot-four, beer-bellied, bald, bearded, fifty-year-old maid curtseyed as exaggeratedly as it had done upon arrival. Skirt pulled wide with hands either side, the bob was so low that its frilly white knickers brushed its flat, black, patent leather, Ladies' shoes, before scurrying off.
Catching up on six wasted months passed the time until 'Prunella' returned. My time of course. I didn't dare enquire as to Mistress's business, just Her health and welfare. 'Comfortable, thanks to financial servitude.' I was pleased to learn.
Returning, again curtseying carefully but as full due to the refreshments and cane, 'Prunella' hesitated, as placing the letter on the table, Mistress rose and held out Her finger enquiring as to 'what the hell' coated it?
Standing sheepishly in a black satin maid's dress, complete with white starched cap and pinafore, 'Prunella' was lost for words. 'It's dirt! You lazy bastard. You've already cleaned in here, haven't you?' Mistress asked rhetorically. 'Pull that skirt up and bend over. Hurry up! Assume the position.'
Placing the tray on the table, 'Prunella' handed Mistress the cane. Handle first. Before lifting its skirt and flopping over, fingertips touching patent leather shoes, frilly knickers on show. 'Prunella' knew what was coming. 'Prunella' knew how Mistress dealt with disobedience or carelessness.
Mistress stepped forward, slipped a finger into the knicker elastic at each hip and pulled them down to 'Prunella's stocking-clad knees. A large, spotty and white posterior awaited Mistress's correction.
As She lay on the dozen hard strokes She chided it, telling it that it was an imbecile, lazy, useless and damned lucky to be allowed to serve Her and the other Ladies of the House. She also expressed Her understanding of why it had been sent to Her to be trained and put it all down to the fact it was male.
'Thank you, Milady,' and another deep bob its only response to the thrashing, insults and criticism before being dismissed with a warning that it had better have done a better job in the kitchen.
No, I didn't grab my hat, make my excuses and leave. I reached in my back pocket and handed Mistress Her tribute. This is how I wished to be treated. I wanted to be humiliated, belittled and disciplined by this pretty and petite young Lady. Just as She had that giant in a dress, and I was in just the right place.
As soon as you enter the House duCroix, if you are Female you are revered. Male? Then you are little more than that which the Ladies bring into the House on the soles of their boots. You are a lower species.
Mistress then dismissed me up the stairs to the dungeon, telling me to await Her, naked, in my place. She soon joined me, praising me like a dog upon finding me in my correct position - kneeling, nose to the floor, arms at my side and hands unclenched.
Having recited the House Rules and licked Mistress's boots, She ordered me to do a handstand against the St. Andrew's Cross. Kicking my legs up, I flopped, inverted, against the wall-mounted wooden X. Mistress grabbed each manacled ankle and secured them, with bulldog clips, to the usual wrist rings of the cross. I was now secured, upside-down and naked, my weight supported by my arms.
Legs spread, Mistress now had free access to my most private and sensitive parts. Casually She began Her inspection. Parting my buttocks, examining my penis and counting, squeezing and weighing my testicles, Mistress continued Her fingertip search.
I knew what She was looking for as Her finger traced the valley between my buttocks, splayed apart by Her soft hands, Her eyes following closely and hesitating at my anal opening, before a playful slap of my testicles signalled the end of the humiliating inspection.
I prayed my pre-visit preparations had been thorough enough. I had spent over half an hour in the shower earlier that day washing and shaving as I knew of Mistress's dislike of body hair and odour.
Maybe it's not possible for all visitors to remove their body hair for Mistress because of certain criteria in their private lives. However, everyone should have the decency and respect to at least make sure they are clean.
Thankfully, I passed Mistress's close scrutiny and as I remained spread in that humiliating 'stress' position, erect, yet pointing down, from Her touch, Mistress again summoned 'Prunella' as She relaxed with a glass of French red on a nearby stool. Reopening the envelope, She perused the enclosed hand-written note.
After accepting yet another exaggerated curtsey with a smirk of amused disdain, Mistress dismissed 'Prunella' back from whence it had been to return with Miss Emily, a young Lady who happened to be celebrating Her nineteenth birthday next day and who, although not a Mistress, was apparently a regular visitor to the House. Miss Emily engaged the stool adjacent to Mistress's. 'Show your respect to a Lady!' Mistress barked.
I stretched fully yet I was still not able to reach the size three, tan, calf-length leather boots that lay a tantalising, but probably deliberate, inch or two from my fully extended eager tongue.
Even a firm stroke or two of Mistress's cane lashing onto my tensed thighs could not close the minute chasm. Eventually, Miss Emily effortlessly eased Her foot forward to save me from further punishment and allow Her much-deserved homage to begin.
'Prunella' was once more respectfully curtseying as, once again, it was dismissed to tread that monotonous round trip to the kitchen to fetch the two Ladies more Chateauneuf-du-Pape. Mistress already required a cigarette but would wait until it returned before mentioning the fact.
Meanwhile I remained spread-eagled, stretching, naked as I eagerly licked this young Lady's boots. Eventually, Miss Emily crossed Her long, slender, blue Armani jean-clad legs and I began my worship of Her right boot.
'Excellent! Mistress ----- I still find it amusing.' Miss Emily replaced the note in the envelope after having read the proposed ingredients of the scenario that Mistress was putting the final garnishes to in the kitchen of Her imaginative, kinky and cruel mind. 'Do you remember when I thought that you wanted me to do it?'
'Yes, I do!' Mistress replied, accepting the letter back before adding, 'Remember how you laughed with relief, and how eager you were about it after when you realised you would only have to watch if you wanted.' Both Girls giggled as they recalled the occasion. 'You almost choked it leading it upstairs. You were so keen!'
The laughter and banter was only disturbed by a curtsey, 'Thank you, Miladies,' and second curtsey as 'Prunella' returned, charged the Ladies' glasses and was dismissed, patience-stretchingly, to fetch yet again for the two mocking Females.
Upon return, and lighting the Ladies cigarettes, 'Prunella', having been ordered to its knees by a click of Mistress's fingers, was now licking the heels of Miss Emily, its chance to show its thanks for having been sent on so numerous errands by these two spoilt and arrogant young Beauties.
'So we come to your last hour, Prunella. How have you done, then?' Again it was rhetorical. Mistress did not inquire of male opinion. It was irritating, wrong, and quite frankly, irrelevant. 'Mistress ----- has scored a three for strap-on acceptance. A failure. Wouldn't maintain the requested position. Namely the lunge.'
Mistress tutted as She slid from Her stool and firmly grasped my manhood. Glancing and referring to the letter in Her left hand, She mockingly continued, 'Perhaps you can atone. Miss Catherine has stressed in Her instruction letter Her desire to earn extra pocket money out of you. Here's your chance to actually get something right, you worthless piece of shit. A chance to please your owner. What do you say?'
The 'Thankyou Milady' from 'Prunella' did not sound one hundred percent sincere to my ears, though I may have been wrong.
Mistress slowly manipulated me as She beckoned 'Prunella' forward with an enticing bend of Her extended finger. Although leather-clad, fortunately Mistress bore no resemblance to Alvin Stardust, although it was my 'coo' which was about to be 'chooed'!
The shock of Her initial grab was now giving way to a warm and intense feeling of pleasure and excitement. Intense enough to override the initial feelings of revolt and disgust I had felt as what was about to happen suddenly dawned as brightly as the purple of the dungeon walls, as they lit under the first flash of Miss Emily's camera.
Miss Emily squatted, most undignified and unLadylike, as She struggled like a member of the paparazzi to get the ultimate picture as 'Prunella' was ordered to 'Lick the cock!' whilst being told it was a good slut, and how it pleased and amused the two Girls present.
Undignified? How could I think that, in my current position; and what about 'Prunella'? It had already surrendered any remaining dignity it may have had left from the day, to the whims of Mistress.
Under Mistress's choreography, 'Prunella' continued to suck greedily. 'Deeper and harder!' She demanded even inserting Her fingers, alongside my penis, into 'Prunella's compliant mouth to check on suction and inviting Miss Emily to do the same and join Her.
Having been ordered not to ejaculate without Her permission, Mistress grabbed 'Prunella's hair and forced its head back and forth as 'Prunella' mumbled its thankyous before being admonished for talking with its mouth full - much to both Girls' amusement.
After finally requesting permission to come, it was granted. However, Mistress forbade 'Prunella' permission to swallow. It therefore had to hold my salty man-juices in its mouth and await Mistress's cruelly delayed say-so, another further indignity to be endured, before finally having to display my semen as it was made to poke out its sticky tongue and once again Miss Emily's camera flashed to capture the moment for posterity and ridicule.
With thanks to Lady Emma for her stories from slave spart. Stories or feedback from slaves would be welcomed and may be published on the site, with permission. Email info@mistresskiki.co.uk with the subject “Slave Stories”.