Fiction: A Hairbrush, A Tube of Lipstick, and A Pair of Red High Heels

Master led me to the center of the room. We stepped up onto a ten by ten stage. There was a stage to the left and right of the same size.

A bright light shone down on each stage. The one to the right a woman’s wrists were shackled above her head. The thud of the suede falls along with her soft moans of ecstasy filled the room.

“Lean over. Lay your upper body on the table,” Master instructed.

I did.

“Spread your legs wide.” He tapped a finger on the inside of my thigh.

I complied.

He ran the side of his finger along my pussy lips. “Such a slut. You’re already wet.”

I didn’t bother answering. His tone indicated he was pleased. And as Master and I have been together for four years, I knew playtime I was only allowed to speak when he asked a question.

He parted my butt cheeks and probed my hole. “Spread your legs farther apart. I want everyone to see you getting plugged.

Heat flushed my entire body. The lace harness dress I’d put on before I left the house, was backless. Strips crisscrossed over my chest, leaving my breasts exposed, and came around my neck halter style. It closed in the back like a bra. I’d exchanged the silver rope stirrups on my nipple piercings to the thicker metal. Black and silver beads dangled and swayed as I moved or when Master flicked the jewelry with his finger.

Master cupped my ass cheek before smoothing his hand down the back of my leg. He grabbed my ankle, lifted my foot, and slipped it into a shoe. He did the same with the other foot. “Those red, four-inch heel sandals are sexy. The black toenail polish is pronounced. Maybe I should have made you wear your black thigh-high stockings too, but I do so love the contrast of your creamy skin to my own. I want everyone to know you’re black-owned.”

I pushed back wanting more of his touch. I broke protocol, and said, “It’s your dark skin that everyone notices, Master.”

“That’s true. Now be a good slave and keep quiet.”

I nodded.

Cool lube ran between my cheeks and then the pressure of a butt plug against my asshole. “Push back.”

I did as instructed. The pressure built but soon the tip breached my small hole, pushing it apart. My lips parted and I panted.

“Take a deep breath.”

“It’s awfully large.” Master kept trying to increase the butt plug sizes. My body didn’t want to cooperate. “Master.” I clenched up on reflex.

“Relax.” I felt the sting of his hand hit my ass.

“Yes, Master.” He held the pressure steady as I took a deep breath and willed my body to relax. He pressed harder. I breathed in and out of my nose as inch by excruciating inch, he eased the plug in.

“Put your feet together.”

“Talk about blurring the lines between pain and pleasure.” I gulped in a short breath. My eyes drifted shut as I brought my legs together.

Master laughed. If everyone wasn’t watching us, they would be now.

He made a show of pulling items from his pocket, holding them up toward the light, studying them, and returning one to his pocket. The lipstick. He moved behind me. I felt a faint touch on my left cheek then on my right. I bit my lip holding in a giggle. It tickled.

“Give me your hands.” He pulled me into his chest. Pulled the lipstick in his pocket out, and coated my parched lips. “You need to buy red to go with the new heels.”

Before I could answer, we moved two steps to the left. He cuffed my wrists to the legs of the sawhorse. First the right then the left.

“Step back until your breasts rest on the top.”

“Yes, Master.” As I lowered my chest onto the top, I realized it wasn’t a single piece of wood but two forming a larger surface. That’s when I felt the first prick against my breasts.

“Master.” I moved to stand, as best as I possibly could. “What is that?”

He didn’t speak, just pressed his hand, resting between my shoulder blades. Metal spikes, nails, razor-thin and sharp came to mind. I pushed back. My head shook from side to side.

“Calm down. Trust me.”

I bit my lip. The sting helped push away my fear.

“Rub your tits over the bristles.”

“Bristles—my brush?”

“Yes, I took the round brush off the handle cut it in half, and attached them to the table. What do you think?”

I leaned into the silicone spikes. I recalled the bristles were staggered in length, some slightly longer than others, but all tapered to a thin point, and were placed close together creating a massage effect.

“Oh, Master, I liked the way that brush massaged my scalp.”

“How about this one?”

Suddenly I felt a sting as the flat side of the other brush I’d brought hit my ass.

“I’ll buy a new brush, Master.”

“I thought so.”

“Do you want to know what I have in store for you tonight?” He stepped back and a flash of light came from my peripheral vision. He moved in and showed me the picture.

“Spank me” was written on my left butt cheek and “Fuck me” was on my left. “Every time you receive a hit or a black cock slams into my slut’s pussy, your breasts well scrape across the bristles.

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