A TOY FOR MISTRESS

I lie in bed trembling with fear and excitement, awaiting and dreading her arrival. I try to relax, not to think about her, but my efforts are futile. For, indeed, the very air I breath is filled with the scents of her leather, her silk, her perfume, and the aroma of her sweat. It is a strange, intoxicating mixture of perfumes, almost overpowering in its intensity. It is the first thing I notice when I wake up in the morning, the last thing I'm aware of before I fall asleep. I feel the coldness of the metal ring around my ankle, which is connected by a gold chain to a similar ring set into the 'bed'. Was there ever a time when I did not wear that ring? Yes, once, a long time ago. But such thoughts are of no consequence. I am her possession, her slave, her little 'toy' to do with as she pleases, to caress or crush at her slightest whim... I hear the click of the door opening, and am flooded with terror - along with just the slightest trace of arousal. The door, mind you, is not the door to my bedroom, but the door to the big room - her 'playroom', the one where I am kept. She always enters this little bedroom through the window, unless that is, she decides to just remove the entire side of my house. That isn't hard, at least not for her, since my entire house is less than twenty four inches long and eighteen high. I shudder as I feel the muffled tremors of her footsteps approaching the table upon which her dollhouse" sits. Her vast shadow falls across my bedroom window. "Good morning", she says cheerfully, in a voice which, to my ears, is at once both thunderous and melodious, "and how is my little pet." Before I can so much as gasp, the window slides open. Her hand glides into the room, a hand big enough to wrap me in its fist, and -- without the slightest effort -- crush me into a bloody pulp. Like so much else about her, it inspires in me a dual reaction. It is terrifying in its strength and hugeness, and yet it is so delicate of form and graceful in motion, that I cannot help but feel a twinge of admiration mingle with my fear as I watch it move toward me. I move back -- deeper into the recesses of the worn old ballet slipper that serves as my 'bed' -- but my struggles are to no avail. Like huge snakes, her fingers wrap themselves around my naked, squirming little body; steadily, they tighten their grip, until I am firmly, almost painfully imprisoned in a soft, warm wall of flesh. I clench my eyes shut, feel a jolt, and am carried upward higher and higher.

When I open my eyes, I find myself staring into another eye -- one whose iris is larger than my head. It is truly the eye of a Goddess; green and depthless, beautiful as it is huge, flashing with a cold, mischievous cruelty. She lowers me, so that now I am mere inches away from her mouth. Her luscious, moist lips twist themselves into a smirk. Her mouth opens slightly, exposing her perfect, pearl white teeth; she licks her lips as though she were preparing to devour a tasty morsel. I squirm and struggle in her grasp, horrified of being tossed into the wet, dark cavern of her mouth, of being eaten alive. "What's the matter, baby", she coos with mock concern, "afraid mammas going to bite you. Maybe I will nibble on you maybe I'll nip off that naughty little thing of yours." She laughs again, her breath washing over me like a warm, minty wind. "P ... please" I whimper, "Please don't hurt me. I'm sorry I was naughty. I'll be good..." She glares down at me; the smile leaves her face. "YOU LITTLE LIAR!", she thunders, "how dare you tell me that you'll be good when I can still feel how hard you are!"

Suddenly, she opens her fingers, releasing me from her grasp. I scream, fall like a plumb into the palm of her other hand. With the thumb and forefinger of her free hand, she grasps me about the waist, sits me upright, as though I were a puppet or a rag doll. She slips the nail of her index finger between my thighs, rotates her finger so as to force my legs apart. The fingertip strokes my inner thighs, brushes ever so lightly against my half erect member, bringing it instantly to full erection; I let out a moan of mingled fear and pleasure. The smile returns to her face. "Look at that prick of yours", she whispers, continuing to tickle me, "look at how stiff it is, even though I haven't given my permission for it to become erect. " There is a softness, a maternal tenderness, in her voice, but I know from previous experience that her gentle teasing and scolding is merely the prelude to something far less pleasant. The hand in which I sit folds inward to form a bowl; its fingers curl around to enclose me. The fingers close tighter and tighter, press my knees into my chest, shutting out light and air; trapped once again in her grasp. I feel the motion of her footsteps. Then, with gut wrenching suddenness, the hand lowers itself, abruptly stops. Her fist opens, the hand tilts, and I slide from her warm, slightly moist palm onto the hard, cold surface of a tabletop. I hear the ominous music of her laughter, turn towards its source, gasp. For just beyond the edge of the table is a towering wall I of sheer black fabric silk or nylon, beneath which the vast, white, gently rounded 'columns' of her upper thighs are plainly visible. My gaze tilts still higher; I see a dense, black forest of pubic hair, then the gentle swell of her belly, the underside of her petite, perfect breasts, (their brown nipples standing fully erect), and finally, far away - the features of her exquisite, feline face. With its slightly upturned nose, high cheekbones, milky - almost translucent - skin, it is the perfect setting for the jewels that are her eyes. Those eyes which stare down at me now wicked, gleaming, intensely alert, like the eyes of a Tigress. "Like what you see?", the Tigress purrs. The seductive power of her voice sends shivers up my spine. The shivers only intensify when I once again lower my gaze to dark folds of the negligee. Never has she permitted me to see so much of her, and to see it in such detail. And, as though all of this were not sufficient to drive me insane with passion, my little nose detects -- along with the heavenly scent of her cologne - the faint, unmistakable 'musk' of her vagina. My response to her sights, sounds, and smells is as immediate as it is uncontrollable: my penis stands as stiff as ever, naked and throbbing, burning under her gaze, aching for the softness of her touch.

To tease me even more, she opens her negligee, so that I am mere inches away from the bare flesh of her thigh. On trembling legs, my hands tucked between my legs in a feeble attempt to hide my arousal, I step closer to source of my terror and desire. At last I am close enough to touch her. I place my palm on her thigh - or at least a tiny, tiny patch of it, and almost swoon with delight. It is incredibly soft -- softer and smoother even than the velvet skin of her hands -- the oily parts of her body that I have thus far been allowed to touch. My own hands roam over her, tickling here, lightly scratching there. Her leg trembles ever so slightly as she breathes more forcefully and rapidly. The scent of her musk is much stronger. Drunk with desire, I reach up toward her vagina, thrusting my hand into the wet, tangled fur at the very base of her triangle. Rising to my tiptoes, I am able to insert my hand between the slick, swollen lips of her vagina. My arm slides into her -- deeper and deeper -- burning from the heat of her body. It is as though I were touching the wall of a blast furnace. Her finger slides down into the nest of pubic hair, lightly brushes against her clitoris. Her vaginal walls clamp down upon my arm so tightly, I feel as though it's going to snap at any moment. I scream, try to pull my arm out, but this only seems to arouse her further. Her vaginal muscles clench and unclench spasmodically. She lets out a long, low moan. Then, without warning, her thigh slams against the edge of the table, hitting me like a wall of sledgehammers, knocking me flat on my back. When my vision clears, I see her face descending quickly towards me. Her long, straight, dark brown hair falls upon me, and I am drowning in a waterfall of satin strands. She brushes her hair away from me, lowers her face so that her mouth is mere inches away from my startled eyes. There are beads of sweat around her mouth. Her panting breath hits me in a series of huge gusts. "HOW DARE YOU!", she thunders, "how dare you touch me. Do you think that just because I show myself to you, I'm giving you permission to put your filthy little paws on me. You're no better than an insect, a worm! And you know what I do to worms, don't you? I step on them!"

Simultaneously, her face rises, and her hand swoops down upon me like an eagle upon a rabbit. I am once again in her grasp; she holds me tightly. Her thumb pressing into the small of my back. There is a blur, a sudden, sickening downward motion. When her hand releases me, I am lying upon an endless plain of thick, gray carpeting. I stand up, look around at huge, oddly shaped structures of wood and chrome and leather, which, after some seconds, reveal themselves to be chairs and tables and a four-poster bed. I hear the rustle of her negligee; her shadow falls over me. I stare upwards, and am shocked at how truly vast she is (or how truly small I am). on my scale, a three story house would barely rise to the height of her knees, and she could easily reach with her arms, if not stare straight at, the roofs of all but the tallest apartment buildings. Her size and massiveness are only half the story, however, for she is not some mere block or mountain of flesh, but a woman as beautiful as any I have laid eyes upon. Her hugeness does not detract from this beauty, but only adds to it. indeed, it is a beauty so dark and alluring and intense as to be almost more than human. She is a fairy tale princess and a wicked queen -- a Goddess the Greeks would have been proud to worship. She raises her knee, and I see her bare foot rising up, moving slowly towards me. I am paralyzed, as in a nightmare, as I watch the pinkish sole of her foot descending towards me. At the last moment before the sole actually touches me, I roll out from underneath it. With the desperate, mindless panic of an animal, I run from her, knowing all the while that I cannot escape her. The carpet quakes with her footsteps; I hear her laughter becoming louder as she approaches me. I trip and fall. I feel a sudden weight upon my back, a terrible coldness. Both sensations increase, and realize, without being able to see her, that her foot is upon me. The pressure eases -- but only for a moment; just long enough for her big toe to nudge me onto my back. Her toes jab into my belly, their longish, painted nails digging into me as had her fingernails only a short while before. Like her hands, her feet are soft, the skin smooth and silken to the touch. Unlike her hands, they are quite cold... which only adds to the violence of my trembling. "Oh, this is nice", she teases, "You feel so deliciously warm. You'll come in very handy on cold winter nights." She lowers her foot, so that the sole is flat against me. Her toes pressing into my face, her heel bearing down upon my own little feet. She presses down a little harder as she commands, "lick me!"

Furiously, my tongue laps at the underside of her big toe. In a desperate attempt to placate her, I reach up, sliding my hands along the sides of her foot, tickling and caressing. She seems to like this, for she giggles and wiggles her toes. She slides her foot forward, so that the underside of her heel is mere millimeters from my nose. As I lick her heel, I reach up and scratch her exposed arch with my fingers. I do this for awhile, perhaps a full five minutes...until suddenly the foot lifts itself up. I start to sit up, when, just as suddenly, her other foot sweeps down, flattening me, knocking the wind and my senses from me. "WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING!?", the Tigress roars, "I DIDN'T GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO GET UP!". She punishes me with her foot, poking me with her icy toes, slapping and nudging me with the side of her foot. I try to crawl away from her blows, but her foot crashes down in front of me. There is something both terrifying and exquisite not only about the foot itself, but about its pose: ball and toes pressed firmly down, high arch and slender heel raised. As with so much of the Goddess, her foot radiates something menacing and catlike; it is poised to strike, to drive its clawed toes into me, or stomp upon my helpless body, crushing me into a bloody ooze beneath it. Her toes curl and she drags her toenails across the rug, displaying their power to rend my bare skin into tatters. On my belly, I crawl over to that foot. When I reach it, I pepper the tip of her big toe with kisses. I lick up the top of her big toe, between the big and second toes. Slowly, in a desperate attempt to forestall her attack, I lick across each of the tops of her long, shapely toes. To show her pleasure, (and to my great relief), she lowers her heel, allowing me to crawl over her instep, and up towards her ankle. I grow bolder, nipping and nibbling at the tender flesh of her instep. My penis hardens. I flatten myself against the velvet skin of her upper foot, put my arms around her ankle, embrace it as though it were a lover. She laughs, raises her foot again, so that I roll down the 'hill' of her instep and onto the floor. She reaches down, grasps my ankles between her fingertips. Slowly, she pulls me up, so that I am dangling -- upside down -- in mid air. I scream and squirm as she pulls me higher and higher, past the lithe, luscious curves of her legs. She stops when she reaches the level of her vagina. She holds me close to it, so that I can see the curve of her vulva, the wetness of her lips. "Since you like to feel inside me", she taunts, "maybe I'll put you all the way inside. Maybe I'll drown you in my juices!"

She laughs at the sound of my screams. her other hand comes under me, grasps me by the arms. She spreads her legs apart, then, ever so slowly, she presses me into her furry mound. I cough and gag as my face is pushed into the dense, wet nest of her pubic hair. She spreads her lips apart, exposing the swollen nub that is her clitoris. "Kiss me, here", she whispers, "kiss me very gently -- right on the tip." Helpless, dangling, imprisoned in her grasp, I have no choice but to obey. Tenderly, I place my lips upon the smooth, hard 'button' of flesh - a 'button' the size of a beach ball. At the contact of my lips, she shudders. I scream, afraid that in her passion, she will drop me.. or crush me between her trembling fingers. But she neither loosens nor tightens her grip on me. Again and again -- perhaps ten or twelve times -- she repeats the motion -- forcing me to kiss her clitoris, then pulling me away. Until, at last, with a long, low cat-moan, she allows herself to come. Gently, she lowers me into the palm of her hand. I can feel her panting as she pulls me to her face. "Sweet little mouse", she purrs, "you've made me very happy. I think you deserve a reward." She pulls me closer and closer to her smile. I shut my eyes as her lips brush against my forehead, then press themselves into my chest. She carries me over to the dollhouse, places me, ever so gently, into the folds of the silk stocking that she has stuffed into my ballet--slipper 'bed'. When I am firmly clasped to the 'bed', she strokes me one last time. "Keep my slipper nice and warm", she chuckles, "I have a dance class later, and you know how nasty I can be when I have to slip my feet into cold shoes. " I lay back in the shoe, wrap myself in the folds of the 'sheets', and soon my trembling subsides. I wonder if there is another 'mouse', who keeps her other shoe warm. Perhaps she has a little 'creature' to warm each one of her shoes. As I think about this, as I nestle in the coolness and softness of her stocking, my hand reaches down between my legs...