Chapter 2: Six Months Later

Mistress Black always enjoyed relaxing in a warm, quiet bath like this, after her workouts in the gym. Her long, raven tresses were pinned up, tight around her head, and she wriggled around in the scented water, surrounded by candle light, as she trailed her hands up and down her smooth, muscular thighs and stomach. Massaging them. Squeezing her own nipples. Teasing herself. Planning what she was going to do with her slaves this evening. Especially the new one, the female. Oh yes, she was going to be fun to train.

Deciding her bath was done, Mistress stood carefully, and stepped out, onto the bathmat. Immediately, her male slave arose from his crouched position, with a fresh towel, and began drying her. His eyes remained downcast, as trained, staring only at the floor -- not permitted to look at Mistress, as he dried her. A perfectly choreographed dance. She lifted her left arm, and his hand was already moving toward her with the towel, to dry her arm, her armpit, down the left side. Blotting every drop of scented water from her skin. She lowered her left arm, and lifted the right one, and her slave was already blotting her forearm, her firm triceps, and down the right side. Suddenly, the towel slipped, and for a moment, his fingers touched Mistress' skin, on the flare of her hip, just below her tiny waist. She did not react, but the slave quickly recovered the towel, and continued drying. Wiping down her hips, her buttocks, the backs of her thighs, crouching again to the floor as he gently rubbed her firm calves, her slim ankles. Then she turned, and he stood again, blotting water off her face, her neck, both her breasts, down her smooth tummy. Her smooth mound -- permanently depilated, like the rest of her. Soft, satiny, almost shiny in the moist air. The slave crouched on the floor, drying between her toes, even as she stood. Then, finished, he folded the towel, held it close against his chest, and knelt, awaiting further orders.

"Stand, vomit," Mistress Black said. She rarely used his slave name, except when she was about to punish him. Of course, he knew why. "Extend your hands, fingers out." He set the towel near the bathtub, and held his hands up, elbows low and bent, wrists at a right angle, fingers outstretched. Mistress reached to the wall and retrieved the riding crop. Every room had a riding crop, hanging on the wall. Always ready. Ready for Mistress to administer discipline, punishment, whenever she chose.

Thwack! "Never," Thwack! "ever," Thwack! "EVER!" Thwack! "touch me with your hands, without permission, slave!"

vomit felt his fingertips stinging, raging with pain, and fought back tears.

"On the floor. Back against the toilet. NOW!"

He dropped to hands and knees, and scurried across the bathroom to comply. Mistress usually relieved herself after a bath, and the slave opened his mouth wide to receive her golden nectar. He closed his eyes tight, not permitted to gaze at Mistress Black's smooth, muscular beauty.

"Close your mouth, slave!" she commanded.

He obeyed, and felt himself being showered with Mistress' pee, spraying all over his face, his shaved head, down his torso. Dripping down his arms, his legs. The scent of her piss made his cock want to rise, and he had to fight hard to keep it soft, even as his gasps for breath snuffled the droplets of her pee, noisily, into his nostrils. His mouth tightened with the effort, of remaining soft... and quiet... Suppressing the need to open his mouth, and feel the long, warm stream against his tongue, down his throat, warming his insides, soothing him... All denied... Denied, and dribbling down his chin and neck, onto the floor... cooling...

"Now," Mistress said, "Clean up this mess. With your tongue, slave. Every drop. Lick it up -- but you're NOT allowed to swallow!" She chuckled. "Your punishment. Spit EVERY drop into the toilet. Then do your usual clean-up." She reached a hand into the bathwater and splashed it a couple of times. "And wash yourself up. You're disgusting! You can use TWO handfuls of my bathwater, no more!"

"Yes, Mistress," vomit answered.

"Did I say you could speak?" Mistress raised her hand, ready to deliver a blow if the slave replied. Wisely, he only shook his head. Good. She wasn't feeling kindly enough to the little slug to hurt her hand enough to punish him.

The slave leaned forward, and began licking Mistress Black's pee off the floor tiles. Getting a mouthful, crawling over to the toilet, spitting.

Of course, since he was of no use for dressing her, Mistress had to put on her bathrobe herself. He would suffer more for that... later...

She walked out the door, down the hall, to the living room. Her easy chair was properly arranged, with a glass of Chablis and a small plate of grapes and cheese. Mistress eased herself down into the chair, enjoying the soft embrace of the smooth leather surface.

"Would Mistress like this slave to brush out her hair?"

The voice came from behind Mistress Black. Her new slave, Sheila. The young auburn-haired woman didn't have a slave name, yet. She had not yet shown Mistress, what she would find to be truly demeaning.

"You will kneel in front of me, before you dare speak to me, slave," Mistress replied. "Bring the riding crop from the wall behind you."

In a moment, Sheila appeared before Mistress, in a tight French maid's uniform, made entirely of rubber. The skirt was short, not quite long enough to cover her closely shaved pussy in front, nor her smooth, round buttocks in back. She knelt in front of the chair, arms extended up and forward, holding the riding crop high and horizontal.

"Not quite level, slave," Mistress chided her. "Which end should be higher? THINK! Correct it, NOW!"

Flustered, Sheila looked up at the riding crop, trying to figure which hand needed to be raised.