Dandyland Diaries (2 page)

So, again the question, “Would it please my Goddess?” The answer was a resounding yes!

“Yes, slut. It would. You will have a countdown from ten. Understand?”

“Yes, Goddess.” He hoarsely
replied, his breath jagged from the stimulation he was inflicting on himself.

“Or maybe I will just leave you hanging with a cock up your ass," I teased. "What do you think about that?”

“That is up to you, Goddess.” Damn it! He was too good. I wanted him to beg me to cum.

“Maybe I will make you watch me cum instead.” I started to rub myself for him to see.

“If that pleases you, Goddess. I will watch and wish it was me that was there and making you cum,” he whispered and he stopped handling himself.

“Did
I say to stop rubbing your clit, slut!” I scolded. “On the countdown from ten… nine… eight…”

His face was clearly concentrating on that spot we all go to when nearing our orgasm. He
licked his lips over and over, his eyes shut. He listened to my count down, trying to stay on task.

“Seven… Six… Five… You want to cum for me, slut?” I teased.

“Yes, Goddess.” His voice was ragged.

“Whose balls are those?” I pushed a little longer.

“Your balls, Goddess.” He gasped between words.

“That’s right, slut. I own those
balls. Four… Three… Two…”

His hips begin to shudder and his hand stopped its pumping.

“Not yet, slut. I haven’t given the final word,” I hissed.

“Oh God, please, Goddess,” he cried.

“Ask for it, bitch.” I laughed.

“May I cum, Goddess. Please!” He begged…
There it was… the moment I'd been waiting for. He was mine.

“One.”

He arched his back and released the most glorious spurts of spunk I'd seen in quite some time. He convulsed in pleasure and writhed around on top of his pink dick. Squirming to savor every last wave. He opened his eyes and looked to see if I was pleased with his performance.

“Now eat it, bitch.” I snapped.

He eagerly went to work cleaning up his own mess with his hands and licked them clean with his tongue. Some may feel disgusted by this, but it was how a slut paid for the privilege of not being denied orgasm. It further degrades them and reminds them that they are nothing more than a used whore. This notion makes subs very, very happy. It’s like a child getting a spanking after doing something wrong. Their guilt for having the pleasure was satisfied by the demeaning act. But in actuality, they all really enjoyed it.

I clicked off of our chat without saying good-bye, further sending home the message that I was done using him and he was of
no value to me anymore. My phone chirped with an incoming text. It simply read:
Thank you, Goddess.

Of course I was now so turned on and sexually charged that I needed to go take a few moments for myself. I thought about his eyes and how they rolled back s
lightly in his head when I gave him the final count. I thought about his huge load that washed over his stomach. I thought about crushing his balls… Okay, I know. But it seriously did it for me. Insert smiley face.

Over the next few days, Gavin and I excha
nged multitudes of sexy messages and naughty voicemails. I would demand him to bow at any given moment and insisted on photographic proof that he had done so. I had decided to buy a chastity device for his cock since I intended to fully own him. He was happy to hear that and felt extremely honored. He felt on the way to being a fully owned slut by a much sought-after Goddess, and this was his ultimate wish.

The day the device arrived in the mail was the last day I heard from him. I texted him a picture of
his new cage, expecting an excited, I
can’t wait to be at your heels wearing this.
But instead, I got nothing.

The next day, I texted Gavin again.
Where are you, slut? Everything okay?
No word back. I tried once more the next day and then gave up, deciding that if he wanted to talk more, he would. Even if I was feeling something for him, the true state of the relationship was still just based on fantasy and nothing so far on reality. We had never even met. So I was not about to start chasing after him. But secretly, I was very crushed.

Chapter 2

I moved on. I found some other pets to play with very quickly. I became interested in one little slave named Sam. He was little, about 5’8”, cute, very physically fit, and very nearly covered in tattoos. I had my doubts about how attractive he was, but not everyone can be a Gavin. Those kinds of sluts only come along once in a blue moon. But Sam was very eager to be an owned slave and very nearly begged me to consider him.

He told me that he had been a liv
e-in slave for a couple in Florida for nearly two years. He ran their errands, did their housekeeping, and was there for any of their sexual desires. He told me that the Mistress was more or less the one he pampered with massages and pedicures, but the Master was the one that required him sexually. His Master would order Sam to take his cock both in his ass and in his mouth. He would hang a sign on the doorknob letting the Mistress know that Sam was “in use” and to not disturb them. Sam claimed that being a slave was not about his wants or preferences.

Sam had also told me that they held him in chastity and that he was milked once a week at a special time each week to keep his prostate
healthy. He said the longest he had been in chastity without release was three months.

Hmmmmmm…. I love me some good chastity. SOLD! I was so happy that I may have found a good, albeit subpar, slut to replace Gavin that I was extra eager to meet. However, something told me to hold off. I had found a very in-depth slave application that was n
early thirty pages long and went into extreme detail about expectations, experiences, fantasies, limits, and fears. So I decided, if this bitch wanted to play ball, he could go ahead and do this hideous application. Let’s see just how bad he really wanted this.

When I told Sam about it, he eagerly agreed. He would get home from work that night and complete it while enjoying a glass of wine. Sam asked if, while he provided answers to my questions, he would be permitted to wear his butt plug that stimulated
his prostate in just the right way. I granted him permission. Why not? He thanked me and I told him I would call him in one hour. He waited for the file to come via email, but when it did, he was less than enthusiastic.

An hour passed and I nearly forgot
to call. I am so easily distracted… What’s that shiny thing over there?!

Anyway, I called. He answered the phone and I could just tell it felt like a famous superstar were calling him. He sounded small and shy. “Hi, Goddess, I’m so honored you called. Than
k you for keeping your word.”

“Get on your knees, bitch!” I ordered.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said. “I am on my knees, Goddess. May I ask a question, Goddess?”

“Go ahead. You have thirty seconds to ask.” Where does this come from? I don’t even recognize my own vo
ice!

“Goddess, I will do this, but it seems very generic. Can’t I just come over and tell you about myself?” he whined.

“No, slut! This is the process. The very notion of an application implies generalization. Do you think you are so very much more special than another slut who takes the time to complete these pages thoughtfully?”

“No, Goddess, but it is so long. I can’t just type on the document and I’m going to have to print it out…”

“Shut up, you stupid piece of shit,” I interrupted. “This is the way I do things. I don’t give a shit about your time or your fucking printer. If you don’t complete this, you won't be considered, plain and simple. ”

“Ohhhh, please don’t make me.”

Oh my God, I am going to kick this motherfucker’s ass when I meet him. That's IF I decide to meet him.
I roared back at him, “DO the fucking application, stop wasting my fucking time, or I will take that dirty plug in your ass and jam it down your throat, slut!”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied sheepishly.

I win!

The next day the application
came via email. It was beautifully detailed, spelled correctly, and showed much thought had been put into it. The application came with a simple note.

“Thank you, Goddess. I see now why you require your subs to fill this out before consideration. It made
me look closely at myself in a much different light than before and showed me clarity where there was only darkness. Your hopeful slut, Sam.”

Again… I win.

One night a couple of days later, I was walking my dog and texting Sam, and the thought occurred t
o me to ask for some references. He said that he had previously served for that couple as well as a few other local Dommes, so I figured, why not find out what they had thought of him?

So I texted:
Before I see you, slut, I would like to see references from your former owners.

Dead silence.

About a half hour later, I got a reply that read:
Yes, Goddess. My owner in Florida has now moved to NY. She is willing to give me a reference though. She will send you an email. May I please put my toy in my ass like a good slut?

Go ahead,
I replied.

Good. This should be an interesting night. Let’s see what this woman who had kept him in chastity for nearly two years and watched as her husband fucked him has to say about good ol' Sam.

Sam claimed that he had met them at a Halloween party. He said that the couple was dressed in fetish gear from head to toe. So he approached them and told them that he liked their costumes. After having a few drinks together, the couple asked Sam, “What would you say if we told you these weren’t costumes?” Sam told them that he thought that was kind of sexy and that he’d always wanted to do some kinky stuff. So according to him, they all left together and went home, where they discussed his position as a permanent slave. And the rest is history, I guess.

Anyway, I was pretty curious about talking to a woman who had kept a young man in her house to service her and her husband
twenty-four-seven. I mean, Sam had gotten very descriptive about how she would punish him by making him sit on a bag of peas for a half hour before his weekly milking if he did something as small as forget to buy the right colored carrots.

Okay, right there I should have known there was bullshit a-brewing.

So when I got the email from the former owner, I was a little surprised at her tone. She sounded offended that I would dare ask her for information on her former slave—that it was her place to ask the questions. She said that since he was in her service for such a short time that she really didn’t feel like his actual owner. (???) She said that she would answer any questions that I had, but to be fair, she would not offer up any information. I remember she signed the letter “Mia.” No ending salutation. Just “Mia.”

What a bitch. But seriously, what had I expected?

So I wrote back thanking her for her time and asking for her pardon on questions about her slave. I told her that I just wanted to know one thing: did she own Sam for two years in Florida?

The answer I got back was… “I cannot confirm or deny that Sam was in m
y service for two years, but I will say that I have never lived in Florida and that Sam has an active imagination.”

REALLY? What a little twat!

So I texted Sam:
Hey, bitch, I would like to talk to you in five minutes.

I got a message back.
Yes, Goddess. My ass is so happy right now. I have been edging for an hour. I want to cum so badly.

So I told him to send a picture of his nasty ass with his hole plugged.

Ding!
And there it was, the picture of him with his legs up over his head and his plugged ass gleaming in the flash of the camera, just as he answered my call.

“Hello, slut. ”

“Hello, Goddess.”

“So, slut,” I softly spoke, “ I’ve been discussing your service with Mia, your formal owner. We’ve been having quite an interesting talk.”

“Oh really, Goddess?” He moaned in pleasure.

“Yes, slut. Sounds like you’re in need of a release.” I bided my time. I wanted to make this moment perfect.

“Oh yes, yes, I am. I want to cum so badly. Did you see the picture I sent you of my plugged ass?” he asked.

“Yes, I
did, slut. But let’s talk about your lies first.” I snapped.

“What do you mean, Goddess?” He sounded suddenly deflated and not quite so turned on
anymore. (Giggle.) He knew what I was going to say before I had to say it, but he was too far down the rabbit hole to come clean. He needed to be found out.

“You mean you don’t know?” I toyed.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” He spewed more lies.

“I’m going to give you a chance here, slut. Tell me what it is I know and maybe I will still consider seei
ng you.” I know… What?

“Yes, Goddess. I was never owned by anyone. It was all a lie. A fantasy that I had.” He whimpered.

“Still want that release so badly?” I mocked.

“No, I’m not very in the mood anymore. This couldn’t have happened at a more awkward ti
me.”

I thought what he meant by that was having his legs in the air with his ass all full and clicking pictures of himself. But who knows? Maybe he was just referring to general misfortune.

“How’s that clit of yours now, loser?” I couldn’t help but rub it some more in his face.

“Very soft, Goddess, and small.” Sam’s voice was getting smaller as well. “I’m sorry.”

“Why did you lie to me?” I demanded.

I heard him shift uncomfortably on the other end of the phone. I might have even heard the pop of the plug.
(Gross.) I wanted to hear about why he needed all of the elaborate scheming. He must have asked this woman Mia to lie for him.

Another email came in from Mia right then. “Sam is a good guy. A bit stupid at times, but he means well. I can’t recommend him as
a sub for you, but I can say he is harmless. He said he just really liked you and wanted to impress you. He is foolish, but that’s it. He only served me in a couple of sessions, but we remain friends. If you are looking for some really good subs, I do know a few that I could recommend to you. Let me know. Warmly, Mia.”

Ha! “Warmly.” I was happy with that change in tone from her. Now back to the loser at hand.

“What do you have to say for yourself, loser?” I snarled.

“Not too much, Goddess,” he said sadly.
“I would like to be allowed to get off the phone now, please.”

“You can’t help but be a loser, slut.” I comforted him. “It's in your DNA. Write me a letter of apology and I will consider another chance.”

“I’m too embarrassed to face you.” He groaned.

“Y
ou should be.” And with that, I hung up.

Damn it! What an asshole! I was so fucking pissed at myself and at him. What kind of gullible idiot am I for believing such a story? What is wrong with me? What is wrong with him? But I just so wanted to believe tha
t there was a well-trained slave out there that wanted a new owner to serve. It was so hot! It was exactly right up my alley! Okay, I’ve got to be smarter next time, but something inside me still wanted to beat his dick.

The next day, as I was bottling li
quid health at my juicing job, he sent me a text claiming how horrified he felt when he was found out and that he applauded me on how I broke the news to him. On the verge of orgasm was always a good time to humiliate someone. I was glad he appreciated my workmanship. I let him know that I would still consider having him come serve, against my better judgment.

We continued to chat via text. I had a bad habit of just texting, “
Slut,”
to him at any given moment of the day. It drove him crazy because he was afraid someone from work would see it and he would be outed as the little freak that he was. He was very paranoid. So finally, after lots of back and forth, we decided on a date. Saturday. Two days away.

I had gone a little hog wild with purchasing some key
items for my dungeon/apartment: under the bed restraints, a leather mask, sounding rods, chastity device, a crop, lots of rope, vibrators, nipple clamps, clothespins, a pinwheel (not the fun pretty ones, an actual pinwheel), and lube. I felt very prepared for my first encounter with a lying loser slut. I had even gone as far as to read a book about domination sessions, sort of the
Domination for Dummies
if you will, and had been studying other Dommes in videos online, my favorite being Mistress Gemini. God, she was a bitch but pretty funny at the same time. I could tell she had a good sense of humor about what she did.

I know… right about now you’re wondering what the hell this all has to do with Gavin. I am a strong believer that everything happens for a r
eason and all things happen in due time. At this point, though, I was convinced I would never hear from him again, and I tend to have a strong “moving on” mindset when it comes to men and romance.

So Saturday arrived as Saturdays always do. I was ready. H
e was to arrive at 2:00 p.m. exactly. My little place was all ready and organized. I lived in a cottage that had been gutted of its tiny rooms and replaced by one high vaulted area with a bedroom nook. It was small, but it had a nice patio that was completely private and lots of French windows that let in the California sunshine. It was mine and it made me happy.