eenslaved: “Puss,” she batted her eyelashes innocently at me, “You’ve drunk
eenslaved: “Puss,” she batted her eyelashes innocently at me, “You’ve drunk quite a bit of water tonight. Why don’t you go use the bathroom?”Yes, yes, yes. She was finally giving me permission to use the bathroom. My bladder had kept me squirming in my chair all night. Then she said, “Wait for me there. Find a nice clean stall, and kneel facing the door. Leave it unlocked.” My mind panicked. She hadn’t given me explicit permission to use the toilet, that was no accident. She was ordering me to humiliate myself further. It was an order, but I still protested. “Please, not here!”Her eyes narrowed. “Do I need to repeat myself?” Her hand touched my naked thigh, digging her fingernails in a little. I trembled, bowed my head. No, she didn’t.I took myself to the bathroom. I stared at my reflection. What was this but one more humiliation on top of the others? I was wearing a short black dress, skimpy and clingy. My heels had thin straps to match. My face was heavily made up with dark make-up. On the other hand, Mistress was wearing a flouncy, frilly dress, girlish sandals. The dress was also half a size too small, and her breasts swelled obscenely against the fabric. Her hair was in two plaits, the ends festooned with pink ribbons. She wore no makeup except for lip gloss. Her lips were very pink and shiny. She had been giving me orders in public all night. We were of the same age, but she had made herself look years younger than me tonight. The sophisticated adult deferring to the fresh-faced girl just out of her teens. Remaining silent while the girl ordered off the menu for the two of us. Asking the younger girl for permission to drink wine. Waiting for her to cut up my food into bite sized portions. I took stock of my needs. I needed to cum. I needed to pee. I expected to have to humiliate myself even more before maybe, maybe being allowed to do either. At least this restaurant had nice bathrooms. I went into the first stall near the wall, closed the door, and knelt facing it. Please don’t let anyone come in. The door to the bathroom opened. I sighed in relief when I saw her girlish sandals skip into view. I wondered where she got them. The stall door opened slowly and she surveyed me gleefully. “Feeling uncomfortable, Jilly?” My name was Jillian. No one called me Jilly, which sounded like the name of a horse. I said humbly, “Miss, I’m sorry. May I pee, please?” “Later. Sit down,” she said. “Take off your panties.” Once I sat on the toilet, it grew near impossible not to let go. I spread my legs promptly because she had taught me to do so. She closed the stall door. I noticed she didn’t lock it and my heart pounded harder. She knelt on the floor in front of me, moving between my legs. “Hold your dress up higher,” she said impatiently. Wanting to cry, I drew the hem up to my chin. She took it from me, gathered it in a bunched up fistful, and tucked it into my neckline like a bib. She leaned in and blew on my clit. “My little Jilly puss-puss,” she cooed in that sickening girlish voice, sugary and playful. “Look what I stole. When it’s your turn, you’ll have to remember to punish me.” She took from her pocket one of the warm yellow table candles, long and tapered. I gulped in a loud breath. “Put your hands on the stall, and don’t move them,” she said, looking up at me and frowning. “Yes, Miss,” I whispered. I flattened my palms to either side of the stall. I watched her draw the blunt end of the decorative candle along my thigh. She circled it around my clit and then drew it lower, probing between my folds until it was shiny and wet. An incredible pressure built up inside of me. She tapped the candle on my cunt, tap, tap. Then a hard smack that had me moaning aloud. “Shush!” She pinched the inside of my thigh in punishment. Then she took out the lighter. “Oh—S—Miss,” I wailed. “Another sound out of you and you won’t come for a week. And I’ll have you piss yourself and finish eating dinner soaked in your own urine,” she said meanly. I clamped my mouth shut around a whimper. She lit the candle. Yellow wax puddled, threatened to spill. She brought it close to me, that little flame. “I would ask you to beg me to spill this on you but I’m so enjoying your quiet,” she told me. “Here we go.” Droplets of sunshine yellow pinned my quivering thighs. She had me tilt my groin up. A drop above my clit. She brought the heat of the candle closer until she speared my clit with wax. At the same time, her voice gave me permission at last: “Release.” -- source link