Four days a week, I work in the West Park gardens. This section of the Compound is especially beautiful, I think, in that at first glance it looks like a huge jungle. Seemingly dense and easy to get lost in. But once you begin following any of the many slate paths through it, you’ll find that it is, in fact, a well-designed, highly organized tropical paradise.
My job is to literally do anything that needs to be done here. Pruning, weeding, mowing, propagating, mulching. I’m extremely lucky. Being out of doors, working with my hands in this beautiful place is sheer heaven for me. Naked and barefoot . . . and as close to freedom as a slave can get here.
Around every few bends in the path, there’s a small grassy area, completely hidden until just before you turn that last corner. Quiet, peaceful, the only sounds you’ll hear are the singing of the birds and the trickling of the water in the creek that flows throughout this jungle.
A perfect place for lovemaking. Or for disciplining.
Often, I’ll come upon a Mistress and her entourage who are enjoying the mixture of privacy and great outdoors that West Park affords them. Sometimes, they will see me and send me on my way. Sometimes —— though it seldom happens —— a Mistress will order me to stay and perform some intimate service for her. But mostly, they’re too engrossed in their play to even notice me.
And that’s when I hide behind the lush greenery to secretly watch them.
I can’t help myself. I love to watch. I always have.
And even though, as a slave, I’m often watching as one or two of our group services the Mistress we’re assigned to that day, there’s something completely different about it when no one knows I’m there. Just watching. It gives me a thrill that I can’t describe.
Masturbation is strictly forbidden, of course. A simple rule that is inordinately difficult for me to adhere to. And my hobby of watching makes it even harder for me to keep my hands at my sides. Many times I’m successful, and simply knowing that I didn’t succumb —— even with no Mistress there to supervise me —— gives me a second thrill . . . on top of my watching.
But there are also times when, despite my best efforts, my hands itch to touch myself. To wrap my fingers around my throbbing dick and . . . .
I know that if I’m caught, the consequences will be terrible. A punishment that I’m told is so severe that I dread even thinking about it. Not only am I watching a Mistress —— without her knowledge and express permission, mind you —— but I’m also touching myself.
But does this fear stop me?
Earlier this afternoon, as I was returning to the greenhouse after delivering several vases of cut flowers to the main house, I saw Mistress Bonnie alone with her new slave Eric. They had obviously been there for some time before I got there, because next to them on the grass was an assortment of whips and belts and canes —— all strewn about in complete disarray.
Since they were deeply engrossed in the Moment, and I was my usual sneaky self, they didn’t notice my arrival. So I quickly hid myself in a spot where I could see and hear everything.
The slave Eric was in the basic tripod position. Hands and feet flat on the ground, equal distance apart, elbows and knees straight, butt in the air.
Mistress Bonnie was on her feet, standing there —— completely naked! —— her breasts heaving, her fingers clutching the handle of a wooden paddle. And every ten seconds she would swing her arm and smack the paddle against his ass with all her might.
I could see that, by now, Eric was very close to breaking. His face was almost as red as his butt, and although the tears were streaming down his cheeks, he was clearly striving to hold on to his independence —— something not allowed in a slave here at the Compound. I’m probably the only slave who still thinks for himself. Yes, he was doing an amazing job holding his position throughout his ordeal, and all without any ties or ropes to hold him.
But I’ve been in his position myself, and I knew Mistress Bonnie would not stop until he broke down and fell into a slobbering heap at her feet. Part of me pitied him, but a bigger part of me relished his situation. Watching it from afar, that is.
Mistress dropped the paddle and bent to pick up the cat-o’-nine-tails. This was going to be good!
She returned to her position behind him, lifted her arm and swung, as hard as she could. One tail landed on his back, a couple landed on the backs of his thighs, two struck him between his open legs, one clearly stung his asshole, and the rest smacked across his butt cheeks. Eric let out a high-pitched scream, wobbled on his weakened arms and legs and finally collapsed on the ground, crying his heart out.
Mistress sat down and gathered him in her arms, rocking him and cooing to him, as he went on sobbing uncontrollably.
Mistress Bonnie was running her hands up and down over his body. After a while, hiccupping and sighing in her arms, he calmed down. I couldn’t hear what she was whispering to him, but he nodded and got up on his elbows and knees in front of her, lowing his forehead onto his crossed arms. Waiting for . . . what?
She, too, got on her knees, crawled close behind him, and stared at his ass for a minute, inspecting her handiwork. Then she leaned forward and rested her naked breasts against his burning cheeks, her nipples gently tracing the welts on his ass, before pressing against him fully.
Then she pulled away, bent forward and ran her tongue over those welts. Her hands began to slide up his inner thighs, pausing a moment to cup his balls and then continue on between his legs until they grasped his dick. Eric let out a groan that ended in a long sigh.
She only held on to his dick for a couple of moments before letting go. Then she placed her palms against his ass and used her thumbs to spread his cheeks some more. I could see her lips pucker up as she gently blew a long breath against his asshole, leaning her face closer and closer until her lips met his most private place. From the way her jaw moved, I knew her mouth was open and her tongue was working on him, licking around and around his asshole . . . before plundering inside him.
By this time, I was using both of my hands to frantically bring myself off. What Mistress Bonnie was doing to Eric was more than I could bear. My breathing was becoming harsher and harsher and although I tried to keep quiet, my panting was clearly audible. But at this point, I didn’t care. I was going to come. I desperately needed to come!
And I did. With a groan and a heaving shudder that ran through my body. Then I collapsed on the ground.
When I finally opened my eyes again, I saw booted feet directly in front of me. Two mistresses were standing over me, clearly angry at what they found. Sweet Mistress Amy I always thought I could “handle.” But the other woman was Headmistress Princesca. And I suddenly realized I was in very deep trouble!
(End of Part 1)
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