Betsy is a remarkable woman. Five foot three inches tall with a very attractive 36-24-35 figure, shoulder-length auburn hair, and emerald green eyes, she is quite fetching. But beneath those looks lies the heart of a true submissive. And that is what I find most attractive in her.

Betsy has been my slutslave for about two and a half years now and she is wonderful. She came to me because her husband is as vanilla as they come and wouldn’t even entertain the idea of any kind of sex except the standard missionary position. He won’t allow any kind of foreplay except for kissing and a little high school-like petting ... the man won’t even allow her to suck his cock, because he views it as sick and perverted that she should put something he pisses through in her mouth!

And so, with a fire burning in her soul, she set out to find something she lacked. She loved her husband and still does, but a woman with needs is a hard force to reckon with! There was something she lacked – an unseen hunger that she needed to fill before it drove her crazy. She didn’t know what it was she was missing, only that she didn’t feel complete ... like a jigsaw puzzle with a couple pieces gone.

Recently, an event occured in Betsy’s life that gave an added spark to our relationship as well. Betsy and her husband recently became parents for the first time and during her pregnancy, I took care not to do anything that might cause problems with her pregnancy or the baby.

At first it was not a problem, but as she got further along, we had to curtail some of her responsibilities and activities until finally she just came over to talk and discuss BDSM matters.

She would apologize profusely about not being able to serve me properly, but I always brushed it aside, telling her that it is okay and that she would make up for it when she was able to serve me again.

The baby came and Betsy was so happy to be a mommy. I understood that she didn’t come by for a month or so after the baby – she had responsibilities that needed her attention. But then one evening she stopped by the house. It was good to see her and she was happy to see me. But she had a problem that she hoped I could help her with.

“Hello Master,” she said, as I opened the door.

“Well, hello Betsy! What a nice surprise. Come on in,” I said. She came in and I took her into the living room so we could be more comfortable. “Would you like a drink?”

“Yes, Master, but please let me get it!” she said, getting up. Before I could stop her, she had rushed off to the kitchen to get us our drinks. She came back only a moment or so later with a drink in each hand. Setting her drink down as she passed the couch, she came over in front of me and knelt between my legs.

“Here you are Master, a Jack Daniels and Coke, just like you like it,” she said, smiling and offering it up to me. “I am having just straight Coke, obviously.” I took the drink and sipped it to taste it. It was perfect and I smiled back at her.

“Thank you. It is delicious,” I said.

“I’m so glad. Master, I am so sorry I have not been more attentive lately. I will make it up to you, Master. I will be the best submissive you have ever seen!” she said, looking up at me. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I could see the glint of a tear welling up in her eye.

“Come up here,” I said, patting my thigh. She rose and climbed onto my lap as I indicated, straddling my legs and facing me.

“My sweet little slut, I am not worried about your lack of service. I understand that you have had other duties and responsibilities to concern yourself over. I knew that as soon as you could, you would come back to me. I had no doubts about that,” I explained.

“Thank you, Master. For waiting for me and for believing in me,” she said, laying her head on my shoulder.

I let her sit there for a few minutes. Truth be told, I was happy to have her back with me as well. I enjoyed feeling her soft warmth close to me and the sweet smell of her perfumed hair. But having her squatting on my lap was making my cock anxious, knowing that within just a few thin layers of clothing, heaven awaited. And he was ready to play!

“So my little slut, was that all you came here for? Just to say that you miss me and apologize?” I asked.

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to...” she started to say.

“And why wouldn’t I want you to serve me?” I finished her sentence.

“I don’t know, Master. I thought you might be mad at me,” she said, lowering her eyes.

“Well my slut, now you know better. I am not mad at you at all. I am glad that you came by to see me,” I said.

“I am too Master,” she said.

“Now get up and let’s see if we can find something for you to do,” I said. Betsy rose and got up off my lap standing with her hands behind her back.

“Master if it’s all right with you, please can you not play with my breasts today? They are very sore,” she said.

“Oh? Is that baby hard on your nipples?” I asked.

“Actually, Master, I am not breastfeeding. I found out that the baby is allergic to my milk. That’s the problem ... my poor breasts are so full! Normally I just pump it out, but my pump broke the other day and I haven’t been able to get a new one yet. I have an old one for backup, but it isn’t very good. I don’t know what I’m going to do if I can’t find a new pump. My breasts are already sore and I keep producing milk!” she said.

“I see. Yes you do have a problem,” I told her. “I hope you find a pump soon – your tits are one of my favorite things to play with, and having them sore and full of milk makes it difficult to enjoy them!”

“Master would you mind ... I mean since you’ve seen me naked ... would you milk them for me and take some of the pressure off of them? My husband did it the other day, but he isn’t real comfortable or real good at it and they are so very sore!” she asked.

I could tell she was serious. Betsy was always full-chested, but with her tits so full of milk, they stretched the front of her white tank top until the fabric seemed to be ready to rip apart.

“Take off your top and show me how to milk you then,” I said. Betsy quickly took off her top while I went to get something to catch the milk. I returned with a pitcher from the kitchen and I sat down in my chair. I placed one of the kitchen chairs down in front of me so she could sit down.

“Okay, how do you milk them?” I asked. Betsy took the pitcher from me and put it under one of the heavy pendulous globes and, with her free hand, showed me how to force the milk from her breast.

“See, you just gently squeeze just above the nipple and pull it a little, the milk squirts out!”

I took hold of one of Betsy’s nipples willing to give it a try and, using the same technique she had just demonstrated to me, began extracting the milk from her breast.

“Hey,” I said, “This is pretty easy, look at how much we’ve gotten already.”

Betsy leaned back in the chair and relaxed while I worked on her breasts.

Every so often as I continued milking her I would ask, “Am I hurting you?” wanting to make sure that everything was okay.

“Oh no Master,” she replied, “your fingers feel just wonderful, even better than that old breast pump!”

I kept on milking my slut, watching as her expression changed from the stressed one she came to me with, to one of relaxed pleasure ... like you would see from a woman being treated in a fine spa. I alternated from one breast to the other, giving each one a rest from the constant squeezing and pulling.

I was just about to ask her how she was feeling and how much more milk she needed to express when I heard the unmistakable sound of a woman who was sexually excited! My slut made a soft moan and unconsciously pressed her thighs together, sure indicators that she was highly aroused!

Naturally, this gave me a devilish idea...

“I want you to finger yourself, slut while I milk you,” I told her. That snapped her back to reality and she looked at me as if confirming I was talking to her. “Do it now.”

“Yes, Master,” she said, blushing a bit. She stood up and slipped off the short black skirt she had worn over to my house. She knew how I felt about her wearing panties and wasn’t wearing any. She took her place back on the chair and spread her legs wide, hooking them over the edges of the seat while I resumed my work on her tits.

Betsy began by slowly rubbing her fingers across her clit lightly. I had taught her that no matter how bad she needed to cum, she was to ask before she came unless I had given her prior permission. And it had been awhile since our last session so she didn’t want to rush things. As I tugged and teased her sensitive nipples, her hand started working her already wet pussy.

“Ohhh...” she mewled as her fingers began getting soaked and her passion fires began to flare.

“Does this feel good, slut? Do you like the way I am milking your tits while you play with that dirty slut pussy?” I asked her in a low growl. Betsy always got so turned on when I talked to her like this.

“Oh God yes, Master ... soo good...” she moaned her response. Her hand began to move faster across her throbbing clit, making small circles as she rubbed the sensitive bud a bit harder now. She closed her eyes and laid her head on the back of the chair, her mouth open and her breath coming in short panting gasps.

“Is that naughty little pussy wet for me, slut?” I asked.

“Yes, Master ... so wet...” she moaned.

“Tell me, slut,” I commanded. When Betsy first came to me she was very shy because her husband thought it improper for a woman to have an opinion of her own. He felt that as the wife, she should agree with and follow her husband’s ideas and opinions. The very idea that a woman would engage in “dirty talk” or vocalize her feelings during sex was “not what nice girls do”.

Betsy’s husband was both oppressive and regressive and had created an almost Geisha-like wife in Betsy. It took considerable work and making her talk dirty to get her to use the words I wanted her to use.

And once I unleashed her and showed her the freedom that came with voicing herself, she became quite good at it! I made her tell me how she was feeling and what she wanted. I made her use the crudest language ... after all, if she was going to be a slut, she needed to sound like one!

“Oh Master, my filthy pussy is so wet ... and so hungry!” she moaned. Betsy spread her legs wider and I saw the muscles in those well-toned legs began to quiver as she got closer to her orgasm.

“Please, Master may I stick a finger inside?” she asked.

“You wish to fingerfuck yourself, slut?”

“Yes, Master, please...”

“Say it, then.”

“Master, please may I fingerfuck myself?” she whimpered.

“Yes, now you can. But remember the rule about cumming without permission!” I warned her with a extra pinch of the nipple I had in my hand.

“Yes Master!” she gasped. With permission now obtained, Betsy used her two outside fingers to hold her pussy lips open while her two middle fingers slipped inside her wet slippery hole.

“ooooh...” Betsy cooed as her fingers sank slowly into her, deeper and deeper until she couldn’t shove them in any further. She began sliding them in and out of her, rubbing her slickened fingers over her clit and then back down her warm tunnel again.

By now, I had pretty much emptied her heavy teats and couldn’t get any more milk from them. But because she was getting so turned on, I kept toying with them, pinching and pulling on the hard nubs and rolling them between my fingers.

Betsy’s hard, stiff nipples had always been a favorite plaything of mine and she enjoyed having them played with as well. They seemed as if they were wired directly to her pussy because as I would toy with them, her pussy would almost instantly get wet. I had never tried it, but I’ll bet I could make her cum just by playing with those hard, crinkled little nipples alone!

Betsy arched her back a bit as I played with her nipples. She was well on her way to an enormous orgasm, wriggling in her chair as her fingers pumped in and out of her pussy, making wet squishy noises. She complimented those wet pussy sounds with her moans and gasps as she would send small lightning bolts of pure pleasure racing up her spine.

Sitting facing her and only a couple feet away, I could smell the desire and musky aroma of her sex clearly. I knew this woman well and I knew she was getting very close. It was time to bring her to the edge...

“You smell like a slut ready to cum. Are you a slut ready to cum?” I growled.

“Oh yes, Master! Please, please may I cum?” she groaned.

“Boy, you have been away too long! That was a pitiful display of begging! Now you’d better try a lot harder than that, slut, if you expect me to say yes,” I said.

“Oh please, Master! Please may I cum. Oh god, I need to cum so much! Please, Master, please” she cried loudly. This time she sounded considerably more sincere.

“Okay then slut, Cum for me. Cum now!” I commanded.

“OHHHFFUUUCCCKKKK!” Betsy screamed as she plunged off the precipice, “Ohmygod Master!! Ohhhh!”

I sat back and watched the show as my dirty little slut was washed away in the tidal waves of her orgasm. She writhed and twisted in her chair, tossing her head back and forth as she tried to sort out the sensations firing off inside it. Finally she relaxed, slumping down in the chair. She was covered in a glistening sheen of sweat and panting rapidly as she tried to calm down.

I let her be for awhile, watching her until she was back with me. “Are you back, slut?” I asked her as I saw her eyes flutter open and focus on me.

“Yes, Master,” she said, giggling madly. “Thank you ... for helping me and for this.”

“You are welcome slut. I hope that this means you will start coming by regularly again,” I said.

“Yes, Master. I will, I promise. I just thought that ... well, that you didn’t want me anymore,” she said, lowering her eyes.