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From: Art_Fish@hotmail.com (Dr. Fish)
Subject: REPOSTS (I am not the author); - HEEL.TXT [01/01]
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Date: 02-24-94 15:46
From: An44493@anon.penet.fi
"Brought to Heel"
.not much plot or character. Just a fantasy of a scene.
He knew he was in for it as soon as Sarah got him home. Her
usually pale face had been flushed with anger. His steps were
reluctant, and he lagged somewhat further back than the requisite
five paces he was required to stay behind his Mistress, his eyes
humbly fixed on her feet.
She was a rather short girl of 20, a little over five feet,
and at about 150 pounds somewhat wider than favoured by
_Playboy_, but her many lovers appreciated her wide buttocks,
currently outlined by tight denim cutoffs, and her strong legs,
which were caressed tightly by a pair of shiny black leather
boots running up to her thighs. Her lush figure was further
accented by a white blouse of silk trimmed with lace, and a black
leather vest. Her hair was straight and black, and reached to her
sweet behind. Taken all together, Sarah positively radiated
sexual heat.
With her slave trailing despondently behind her, Mistress
Sarah climbed the steps to her second-floor apartment and
unlocked the door. When they were both inside, the slave locked
the door again, and fell to his knees.
Sarah loomed over him. "What do you have to say for
yourself?"
He bent forward and kissed the shiny hot leather of her
instep. "I'm very sorry, Mistress, it won't happen again."
She put her boot in the centre of his chest and pushed hard,
knocking the slave onto his back. Slowly, smiling cruelly down at
him, she wiped the muddy sole of one boot roughly on his crotch,
making him twitch and gasp. Any protest he might have made were
silenced by the sole of the other thigh-boot being placed on his
face.
"Lick it clean," Mistress Sarah commanded. Pinned as he was,
he didn't dare disobey. He licked ardently. Of course, with her
other foot in his crotch, she could feel excitement rise in him.
She put the boot in more firmly, which only made him harder.
Teasing him with the boot, which she'd worn to turn the poor
slave on, she ground his face a little harder, being careful not
to push too hard and damage him. Such a cute face he had, even
covered in mud.
At length, Sarah's slave finished licking his Mistress' boot
clean. (Of course, she herself was the judge of that!) She
removed it from his face and then stood over him, staring down.
"Now, dear boy, there's the little matter of your punishment to
be taken care of," she mused, her sultry voice edged with cold
steel.
The very wise slave said nothing.
"Do you remember my birthday present from Miss Cynthia?"
The slave remained silent. This wasn't so wise. Mistress
Sarah kicked the side of his head. "Speak when you're spoken to,
boy!" she hissed.
"Yes, Mistress, I remember it."
"And what is it?"
"A cat-o'-nine-tails, Mistress," he said softly.
"So it is," she said in mock surprise. "Let's go into the
bedroom and have a look at it."
She strode in that direction, and the slave followed her,
crawling on his hands and knees.
The bedroom contained few hints of the nature of their
relationship. Many people own iron-frame beds, and have pets who
sleep on a mat at the foot of that bed. Many women wear silk
scarves in cool weather. The cat was kept in the bottom drawer,
its leather thongs resting oddly against the white silk and
cotton of Sarah's underclothes.
The slave made to kneel face down on the bed, but a sharp
"Stop right there!" cracked out from his Mistress.
"You're filthy," Mistress Sarah informed him curtly. "Crawl
to the bathroom, strip, and wait for me."
He went, removed his somewhat soiled clothes, and knelt on
the cool tiles, awaiting her. She wasn't long.
"That's most of it," she said appraisingly, "but we still
need to rinse that mud off your face."
Sarah unbuckled her belt, unbuttoned the tight cutoffs, and
pulled them along with her lacy panties down about her ankles.
Her black crotch hair smelled of musk and sweat, mixed with
leather and perfume. Finally, she removed her shorts altogether.
As she stood over him, the slave raised his face, closing
his eyes and mouth firmly against what he knew was coming.
Mistress Sarah's hot, tangy piss spilled out over his face and
hair, rinsing away the last of the mud. Mercifully, she only
continued until he was clean, but that was still enough to drench
his hair and soak his face. The smell was intense in his nostrils
and some piss trickled into his mouth despite his best efforts.
Sarah laughed as he gagged on it.
She threw him a towel, and commanded him to first towel the
drops of piss off her cunt and boots, then to wipe himself off.
While he was wiping himself, she left him to finish and returned
to the bedroom.
Almost crazy with anticipation of his delayed punishment,
the slave crawled slowly back into the bedroom from the ensuite
bathroom.
Mistress Sarah had the whip out, and was trailing the thongs
through her slender fingers. Some of them were black, some red;
and each had a little plastic bead knotted into the end, to add
to the sting. Cynthia claimed that a dozen lashes with it were
enough to make a strong man scream. Since Cynthia's principal
hobby was reducing strong men to tears, Sarah was inclined to
trust her. Indeed, she was a little envious of her best friend's
harem of former football heroes, now French maids in five-inch
spikes, cowering under the demure, bespectacled girl's many
whips.
On the other hand, thought Sarah, surveying the naked back
of her own slave, I seem to be doing well with this one...
"Are you ready to be punished?," she asked, trailing the
cat's thongs over his back gently.
"Yes, Mistress Sarah."
"I haven't decided on the number of lashes yet, slave, so
I'd advise you to keep excellent count."
"Yes, Mistress."
She raised the whip high over her head, and it sang as it
flew through the air, to land with full force on the slave's
back. He yelped. "One!"
The skin where the leather had struck was only a little
redder, but there were little dots of bright red where the beads
had landed. Mistress Sarah smiled. What a wonderful toy.
Whish - slap! "Two!"
Whish - SLAP! "Agh - three!"
Already his voice showed the signs of a struggle with tears.
"Don't cry so soon, dear slave-boy," she said softly. "It won't
be bitter enough."
But by the eighth lash, his back was glowing, and speckled
with the marks of the beads, and he was sobbing into her
bedsheets. "Does it hurt, slave?", Sarah murmured. "Should I
stop?" and on "stop" lashed him full force again.
"Niiiine!" was torn from him.
"I'll stop when you get what you deserve!", and brought down
the whip again.
Ten lashes. She paused from the flogging for a moment to
wipe the sweat from her brow.
He didn't scream from a dozen strokes. Perhaps, thought
Mistress Sarah with disappointment, Cynthia has a stronger arm
than I do. Certainly she gets much more practice!
All told, he received twenty-five lashes as punishment. As
the slave, weeping uncontrollably, his tormented back raw and
burning, fell on his face and kissed her boots repeatedly, Sarah
decided that the cat-o'-nine-tails had a very salutary effect on
the boy, and that she definitely had to use it more often.
Realizing how hot she was, Sarah shed the black leather vest
and white blouse, and lay them on the bed. She sat in the low
chair at her dressing-table, and called to her slave.
"Come over her and lick the sweat from my shoulders," she
commanded. Still crying a little, he knelt beside her and bent to
obey.
"I love you, Mistress Sarah," whispered the chastised slave.
"And you amuse me, slave-boy," she said, not even turning to
look at him. She debated allowing him to eat her out, but decided
he was still in disgrace. Let him suffer. That's what I keep him
for, Mistress Sarah muses, and smiles.
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