Mistress Diabolique settled back comfortably in her sun lounger and allowed the sun's rays to warm her lush, ripe body. Although she had recently entered the “filthy 40s”, she had a figure that would have been the envy of a woman 15 or even 20 years her junior.
Full, firm, nipple-erect 34DD breasts stood out on her chest, the work of an excellent Harley Steet plastic surgeon. As one of her clients had remarked: “I don't care if they're fake, I wanna slobber all over 'em”. Sometimes Americans could be so crude, she thought.
Her waist was a slender 24 inches, and her hips blossomed to a superb 34. Her buttocks were firm and high – no cosmetic surgery was required there – and her legs were long and well-shaped. When she stood she measured a lovely 5 foot 8 inches, but in some of her high-heeled stilettos she towered over many a man – or, in her case, slave.
Mistress Diabolique had long, light brown hair, so light it was almost blonde. She had matching brown eyes, although they were darker than her head hair. Her minge hair, merely a narrow strip some five inches long which pointed to her steamy snatch, had been shaved away to a finger line of pubic fuzz. She did not depilate there, no Brazilian for her. She shaved often, enjoying the erotic feel of hand on razor as it caressed her folds.
Her latest slave, the lovely Caleb, an 18-year-old nephew, had oiled her firm body with suntan lotion, his prick rising in the front of his posing pouch as he saluted his mistress. Since his arrival from London on his annual visit to his Aunt Debbie – Mistress Diabolique's real name was Debbie Danvers – Caleb had enjoyed the morning ritual of preparing her statuesque figure for her sunbathing.
Now, wearing only the small scrap of black PVC which covered his cock and balls but left his athletic young buttocks bare, he was straining and heaving as he pushed the roller back and forth on her superbly-mowed lawn. The sun beating on his near-naked body had produced a sheen of sweat that made his almost-six-foot frame glisten in the light.
Mistress Diabolique, her head sheltered from the sun's rays by a large, floppy sun hat, sipped on her fruit cordial. She had been drinking it for an hour and it was having the desired affect. Soon she would need to employ the garment which Caleb had laid across the back of her recliner. But until such time as physics took its remorseless toll and demanded she relieve herself, Mistress Diabolique was content to leaf through her latest domination directory, or “checking out the opposition” as she referred to it.
Her own entry in the directory, which was published around the world, was a stunning advertisement. It showed her clad in a figure-hugging black leather brassiere and hot pants, with boots which came to half-way up her glorious thighs. It announced her charges, her specialities and her mobile phone number. And her website.
That had been set up by a computer “whizz”, who not only was good at creating a website that was the envy of many a professional dominatrix, but was also a devotee of the lash and minge worship. He was also rather wealthy. Mistress Diabolique realised that this last attribute was possibly the most important, now that the site was up and running.
Draining the last glass of her cordial, Mistress Diabolique called softly: “Boy!” It was not a snapped call, none of the “In your face” commands that many mistresses use to address their slaves. Mistress Diabolique preferred the more friendly, erotic manner of “gentle persuasion”.
Caleb stopped his menial, and muscle-aching task of rolling the lawn, and stepped to the side of his aunt's recliner. “You called, aunty?” he said, in an expectant tone.
Again, Mistress Diabolique did not require him to address her as “Mistress”, “Domina”, “Madam” or any other of the more theatrical forms of greeting beloved by so many ladies in the female domination business. And, after all, he was her nephew, she mused.
Smiling at the sweating stud, his pubic mound shaved bare of hair, Mistress Diabolique stretched out a hand and traced it over his lovely buns. “Be a darling, Caleb, and fetch me another jug of cordial, there's a pet,” she ordered, in a perfectly reasonable voice, even though it was a command.
The boy departed, his back gleaming, his muscles rippling, his jet-black hair shining an almost blue sheen as it fell to his muscular shoulders. Great, she thought, it's Sunday and my day of rest. Just perfect for some mild teasing and tormenting.
She had been in the domination game – although she preferred to regard it as “the theatre of sex” - for almost 10 years now, ever since she found that many men were only too glad to prostrate themselves at her feet and grovel for indignities to be heaped upon them.
Caleb, despite his youth, was simply the latest addition. He had fallen for her charms easily on his latest visit. Mistress Diabolique had left magazines devoted to the arcane art of femdom, scattered around the house and it had been a simple task to “come across” him, seated on a couch, thick, seven-inch, uncut cock in his hand as he perved all over Obey Me, Slave! or Sluts to Sadism, or whatever fanciful name the magazine enjoyed.
From there, it had been an easy progression to slavery, a slavery the boy apparently craved. He may have been only 18, she knew, but he had all the perverted desires of a 40-year-old!
Soon young Caleb was back, the jug refilled. “A glass please, my dear, and that should be enough to top my bladder up nicely,” his aunt smiled, passing him her long glass for replenishment.
Caleb gulped slightly. Even though he was a devoted slave to his aunt, he still had to reach the stage where he could drink her urine with complete ease – not that he ever protested, or cavilled at the task, he was too much a pain slut for that. Still, the bitter taste of her bladder’s champagne was still punishment for him.
“Back to work, darling, I'll call you when I need you to put the panties on me,” she said, in a reasonable tone of voice, but one which hinted that her first punishment of the day for him – one could not really count the task of rolling the lawn a “punishment” – was not far off.
Mistress Diabolique idly stroked the warm rubber of the piss panties, which Caleb had been instructed to lay across the back of her recliner before beginning his strenuous chore. Soon, she knew, they would be dragged over her calves and thighs to settle snugly around her crotch, while Caleb would take the end of the trailing hose into her mouth and await her bladder's release.
Suddenly, Mistress Diabolique sprung into action. All this thinking about it made her desire to perform one of the most exquisite dominations possible on a slave impossible to resist.
“Caleb,” she called, “come and help me into these panties. Aunty needs to go pee pee.”
Caleb walked briskly to the back of the recliner and waited for his aunt to plant her feet on the magnificently-manicured swale.
Kneeling he bent to his task of pulling the piss panties over her sun-browned legs and thighs, sliding the garment smoothly up until it formed a tight fit over her pudenda, her pubic mound standing out erotically beneath the rubber.
Caleb then took the end of the transparent hose and placed it in his mouth, being careful to “plug” the end with his tongue, as per his aunt-cum-domina's instructions. No slave was permitted to drink down her glorious golden liquid until that permission had been granted.
Mistress Diabolique then settled back in the recliner and picked up the domination directory once more. Now she was employing the age-old domination ploy of keeping the slave in suspense. She was ready to let loose the floodgates, but not until she had dragged out his awful anticipation.
“Play with yourself, darling,” she instructed him, much in a tone one would use to ask “Please pass the salt”. “You know how much I like to see you stroking that lovely stiffy.”
Caleb reached down to his straining posing pouch and flipped his cock out into the sunlight. Pre-cum oozed from its thick lips, and soon the boy's hand was pumping steadily, having quickly achieved a throbbing, pulsating erection.
“Now, this domina from Chicago, Mistress Flame, do you think you'd like her to sit on your face, darling?” she asked, chattily, presenting to Caleb's view a picture of a large-buttocked ebony domina.
“Very much, aunty,” Caleb whispered, pushing the end of the tubing to one side so he could address his dominatrix-aunt, “she looks lovely.”
His aunt laughed. “I bet she's smelly, though,” she said, grinning at his sweating face as he worked on his quivering erection.
“She's not as lovely as you, aunty,” said Caleb, but he could see his aunt was hardly listening.
Rising from the recliner, she placed a well-manicured hand on his shoulder, and whispered almost affectionately “Kneel, my pet, kneel!”
Caleb sank to his knees and his aunt towered above him, the only contact between them the rubber hose in his mouth which connected to the gleaming gusset of the piss panties.
Still he worked at his hard-on as he saw the thick stream of urine descend from the top end of the tubing and rush down to where his tongue blocked its continued progress.
“Take a suck, there's a good boy,” she whispered, in a husky, excited voice. No matter how many slaves she punished with her urine, Mistress Diabolique never tired of this ultimate form of female domination.
Caleb sucked down a mouthful, then blocked the tube again as his aunt resumed her flow. Then she ordered him to drink more. Three more times she commanded him to drink, and then her bladder was relieved.
Now came the part that she knew Caleb adored. Peeling down the tight-fitting panties, he let her step daintily out of them. Then she placed her feet a yard apart and in a still-husky voice breathed: “Clean me, Caleb, clean me.”
The 18-year-old's tongue snaked out and licked at his aunt's aromatic snatch, tasting the traces of urine still there, and also glorying in the strong aroma of female sex. Mistress Diabolique had thick, lush labia and he laved there obediently, before rising higher to her bud-like clitoris and sucking on it until she whimpered in ecstasy “Oh yes, that's it, lover boy, that's it!” as she came on his face.
Climbing languidly back onto her garden couch, the lovely domme, drained the latest glass of cool cordial and picked up her dominas' directory.
“Back to work, sweetheart,” she addressed the thick and stiff-pricked sex slave, “I want this lawn to look like you could play pool on it.”
Caleb, his cock now swinging in front of him over the top of the posing pouch, resumed his task of rolling, rolling, rolling the lawn.
Mistress Diabolique smiled to herself as she flicked through the many pages of domination advertisements.
Then she fingered her sex slit and realised that she had not completely emptied her bladder of pent-up liquid. Soon, she knew, she would desire another piss.
Ah well, that wasn't going to be a problem. It simply meant more drinkies for Caleb. There, she said to herself, never let it be said I don't let my young nephew go without a refreshing drink on a hot day.