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Synopsis: A dominant woman sets a difficult task for her slave, and enlists a helper to see that it gets done while she’s at work. (6,026 words)
This F (Femdom) story involves:
Cum Play, Punishment, Discipline, Orgasm Control, Ruined Orgasms, Spanking, Foot Fetish, Nylon/Pantyhose Fetish, Sock Fetish, Footdom in Nylons and Socks, Trampling, Facesitting, and Strapon Play.
“I really don’t know what else to do with you,” she said, her tone sweet, as always, but severe. “If you can’t follow my instructions and do as I say while I’m gone, then you’ll require supervision and that’s all there is to it.”
“So what, you’re saying you got me a… what, a sitter?”
She smiled at the word. “You can think of Audrey however you like. But she is an extension of my discipline and I expect you to do what she says and to treat her with respect. Now look,” she said, looking at her slim wristwatch, “she’s going to be here any minute and I’ve got to finish getting ready, so why don’t you just go and make yourself presentable.”
She turned back from the closet and sat down at her vanity, slipping on her black high heels and donning a few tasteful pieces of jewelry. I couldn’t believe how strict and unrelenting Sarah was being. Ever since we had moved in together she had grown more and more demanding, imposing arbitrary rules and exacting ridiculous punishments when they were broken. I couldn’t believe it had gotten this way.
She had told me pretty clearly as things started getting serious between us that she had found she was a “dominant woman,” but I had thought… I don’t know, I guess I had thought that would mean things like holding my hands down when she rode me and pushing me around. I hadn’t known she’d be so… bossy. And now this. It was true, what she said about not following her instructions, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. There had been a couple slips and mistakes, I guess– loading the dishwasher the wrong way, incorrectly folding her laundry– but she hadn’t really been upset with me until the last couple of days.
Two mornings ago she had sat down at the breakfast table while I was having my coffee, and she produced a thick-walled shot glass that she had pulled off of the espresso machine. She let it clack to the table as she set it down, let me look at it and back to her, and then she rested her hand next to it and pointed to the thin white line above the text reading 1.5 oz.
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