Which is best? A master? A mistress? A pliant young woman’s question is answered when she yields to a dominant couple offering her the best of both worlds

Oh, dear, which do I prefer — a master or a mistress? I honestly can’t say. A mistress can be just as demanding and cruel as a man, but she usually has a much better understanding of my needs and passions. That’s not too surprising, I suppose. On the other hand, there’s a great deal to be said for a huge, throbbing erection. It personifies masculinity and domination. It’s the living, pulsing scepter of authority, and I adore worshiping it in every imaginable way.

But I’ve never been able to make a definitive choice between a master and a mistress. I’m much too shy to offer myself and so, consequently, I am always chosen. I’m told that I exude an almost tangible aura of submission. My blue eyes are large and wide apart, giving me an air of perpetual awe. I have blonde, shoulder-length hair which frames my face. I’m short and slender, almost fragile, but with a well-rounded rump and breasts that jut out invitingly. But whether it’s my facial expression or my petite figure, dominant men and women apparently just sense that I can be taken. Of course, their assumptions are correct.

That’s certainly the way it turned out one recent Saturday evening when I was invited to an art exhibit at a small private gallery. A friend who had a number of pieces on display took me to admire his work, and then I was on my own to explore the rest of the exhibit. After a time, I felt the need to escape from the jostling throngs and catch a breath of fresh air on the balcony.

I’d been there only a few minutes, enjoying the breeze and the night lights on the streets below, when I was joined by a tall, dark-haired woman in her early thirties. She had a regal appearance, feline grace and haughty eyes. Without a word she stood directly in front of me and looked me over appraisingly, a slight, knowing smile playing on her lips.

“Why are you standing with your hands clasped behind your back?” she finally asked me in a low, vibrant voice.

“I… I don’t know,” I whispered, lowering my eyes.

She laughed and raised my chin, forcing me to face her directly. “You look as if your wrists were shackled behind you — as if you liked having them that way.” I blushed at how accurately she’d read my mind, but she continued. “You really are an exquisite little creature,” she said, caressing my cheek. “You’re so shy, demure. And those eyes seem so innocent and naive, yet I imagine they’ve witnessed moments wildly erotic, yes?” I didn’t know how to answer her, so I simply nodded as my cheeks blushed crimson again at the admission. Oh, yes, I thought silently, I have many bizarre memories to arouse my passions.

“I guessed as much,” she laughed. “Someday you’ll have to tell me all about your naughty little debaucheries. But in the meantime, I need to get to know you better. Get your wrap and meet me out front in five minutes. I’ll be in a tan Mercedes.” She smiled and left without waiting for a reply. I went to get my coat. She was so authoritative that I never dreamed of refusing, and I shivered with anticipation as I went to meet her.

No sooner had I gotten into her car than she said, “Put your hands behind your back, my dear. I prefer them that way.” It was somewhat awkward riding like that, but it made me feel deliciously captive. I answered her questions: What was my name, where did I live, what did l do, and so forth. Soon her questions became more personal, but I answered willingly enough, even admitting that I was physically attracted to both sexes. And I learned a few things about her: Her name was Martha, she was an advertising account executive and she shared my taste for both sexes — men and girls, as she called them.

Her taste became obvious as soon as we reached her home in the fashionable suburbs. She tossed our coats aside and took me in her arms, kissing me deeply, searching my mouth with her darting tongue. When she finally released me, she sank into an easy chair and brought a cigarette to within an inch of her lips, looking at me expectantly. I quickly realized that I was supposed to light it, and, on sudden impulse, l dropped to my knees before her as I held out the flaming match.

She nodded approvingly, then told me to get up and walk slowly back and forth. I’d made only one circuit of the room, though, when she declared impatiently that my dress was far too loose-fitting for her to judge my figure. “Take it off,” she said tersely. It wasn’t the order itself that flustered me, but the suddenness of it, only moments after I’d arrived. “But… but I have practically nothing on under it,” I stammered.

“All the better,” she retorted. “And don’t you ever talk back to me when I tell you to do something. Now — take — off — that — dress!”

Although a little frightened, I was comforted by her voice. It left no doubt that she was in complete command, which made it easy and natural for me to obey. I took off my dress, blushing as I stood before her in my garter belt, hose and shoes. She came over to inspect me more closely; as she circled me, she cupped my breasts, pinched my nipples and patted my fanny. She ran a finger back and forth along my already dampened slit, chuckling possessively as I gasped and squirmed with arousal.

She finally completed her inspection and declared that I was ideal for the starring role in her favorite little pastime. I was going to be displayed before a friend of hers and then given to him “as a little amusement.” I’d been shared by others before, and I’d always found it thrilling beyond description. I loved the feeling of being owned as I casually passed from the arms of one to the embrace of another. I begged her to tell me more, but she’d only say that he was a man of baroque interests and bizarre tastes. “Of course, I’ll have to train you on how to present yourself,” she said cryptically. “We can start that tomorrow, but in the meantime, I want to enjoy you for myself.”

As I expected, she was very demanding, very insistent that we play our little game of dalliance according to her fancies. Slowly she revealed herself to me. She was magnificent! Her breasts were high and firm despite their ample size, and her slender waist gave way to beautifully rounded hips and tapered thighs. My eyes were drawn to her inviting thatch of black curls. She smiled knowingly, then stretched out on the bed, motioning to me to come to her. “Amuse me,” she whispered in a throaty voice. “Amuse me and please me.”

I moved to her and boldly stretched out atop her, my mound pressing rhythmically against hers and my breasts brushing lightly against her nipples. I kissed her deeply. We went on like that for a long time, and she sighed as I kissed her eyelids, her earlobes and her throat with my flicking tongue. I moved lower, taking her sweet nipples between my lips, then glided a hand down over her smooth belly and probed gently in the cleft hidden there. She was already warm and moist, completely open to my touch — proof positive of a highly passionate creature.

I needed no further invitation. I wheeled about and nuzzled my face into the hollow between her thighs, momentarily pausing to savor her rich, womanly scent. Then I pressed on, probing with my tongue up and down that dampened grotto. She immediately gasped and bucked against me. She was eager and impatient. So, I took her little pleasure between my lips and planted a long, drawing kiss there. She went absolutely wild. She shrieked in her ecstasy and buffeted my face violently as I burrowed ever deeper. Soon she was coiling and writhing in complete abandon, gasping over and over, “Yes! Yes! Yes, like that! Yes, oh my God, yes!” And then she shattered like a fine crystal goblet. She simply fell apart in her rapture, thrusting, writhing and moaning.

Finally, calm was restored and she lifted my head and smiled. “My, my, you’re a very talented young lady, aren’t you?” she laughed. “But I’II have to find out if your own passions are as easily aroused. Otherwise you’ll be of absolutely no use to us.” Of course, she discovered immediately that I was already tremendously excited. And so, she played with me, teased me, toyed with me, keeping me on the very brink of my joy without letting me pass beyond.

She laughed in delight as my hips thrashed wildly and I moaned in my frustration, begging her for my release. Eventually, though, after what seemed like hours, she tired of tormenting me and descended upon my warm, moist body with dancing fingers, lips and tongue. I promptly exploded in the most violent orgasm of my life, sensations ebbing, surging, advancing and retreating as she continued to strum on the taut nerve-strings of my flesh. It was exquisite. Then, utterly exhausted, I finally fell into a happy, dreamless sleep in her arms, my head cushioned between her magnificent breasts.

But matters were entirely different the following morning and in the days that followed. Martha had decided that I needed detailed instruction in poise and grace. “Mind you.” she explained to me, “this training is merely to teach you to apply your natural poise to your role as my sex toy. So I’m going to teach you to display yourself properly and provocatively. Any man privileged to see you nude will not only know at a glance that you’ll willingly submit to him, but he’ll also desire you immediately as well.”

She schooled me in every detail of my posture, my style of walking, turning, kneeling, rising, even my facial expressions. Seated on a high stool, with a long, flexible switch in one hand, she had me parade back and forth endlessly. Every element of my behavior was drilled into me by the hour, with that cutting switch of hers lashing out at me to correct any errors.

“Always hold your shoulders back,” she told me. “Displays your breasts to best advantage.” She also insisted that I keep my chin raised as I paraded about. “But keep your eyes downcast,” she added. “You must always seem receptive and even a little frightened, so keep your lips parted as if you ’re about to cry out.”

Eventually, Martha declared that I was ready to be presented to her worldly friend, and she then told me who he was! I could scarcely believe that I was going to meet somebody so prominent! “He’s so wrapped up in his work,” Martha sighed, “that it takes a very dramatic display of a girl to catch his full attention. But we enjoy sharing a girl from time to time if she’s properly turned out, as he calls it.” I asked her if she thought I was ready to please. She smiled and nodded.

We went to his penthouse in the city late at night, and his maid led us directly to a spacious dressing room, where Martha spent ages preparing me. She dressed me in white hose held up with flowered garters and matching shoes with five-inch spike heels. White elbow-length gloves covered my arms; a wide dog collar sparkling stones circled my throat. My hair was swept up and crowned with a tiara, and a long, pendant earrings framed my neck. A huge oval rhinestone was pasted into my navel, after which she worked endlessly on my makeup — my eyes and lashes, my cheeks and lips. Even my nipples were tinted, but the coloring was all subdued, to preserve the aura of innocence to my naked display, Martha explained. As a final touch, she thumbed gold-colored musky oil into the curls between my legs. The way she fingered my mound was deliberate, and l was thoroughly aroused by the time she was finished.

She had me parade me before a mirror. I was stunned at how my few adornments accentuated my nakedness. In particular, the reddening of my nipples and my coppery mound spoke of sex and made me appear utterly exposed and vulnerable. Yes, the nude girl peering back at me from the mirror seemed enchanting beyond belief, and I prayed the signore would find her so too. But my thoughts were interrupted by Martha snapping a leash onto my collar and leading me to the drawing room, a long, slender switch clasped in her other hand.

Our host was seated on a high stool before a drafting table at the far end of the room, clad only in pajamas. “Darling,” Martha announced, “I’d like to present a little gift.” He glanced up with an initial look of annoyance — a look that soon changed to one of keen interest. He was a huge bear of a man, stocky, with a dense mat of hair on his chest. His face was lined and tanned, like that of a seasoned mariner, and there was a touch of gray at his temples. A formidable, powerful-looking man. Silently he nodded to Martha.

“Present yourself,” she commanded me, bringing the switch down across my bared bullocks. And so, with head tilted up, lips parted, and gloved wrists crossed behind my back, I carefully paraded into the room. He studied me intently as I minced toward him and then began to discuss me in the most objective, crude, exciting way. “I like the way the breasts quiver when you whip her,” he observed in a deep voice. “And her sparkling cunt is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. I like it.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Martha smiled. “And speaking of her cunt, you’ll notice that the oil isn’t the only thing gleaming there. She’s absolutely drenched, she’s so excited. Being paraded about naked like this excites her. Doesn’t it, my little slut?” She was right. My cleft was soaked and tingling at the mere thought of the brazen spectacle I presented. And this new master’s dark, flashing eyes scanning my body from head to toe were like caresses. Oh, yes. I was aroused, all right!

He moved to the sofa, where he could view me better, and Martha joined him. I was sent to mix them drinks and serve them. Pausing before him, I made my best low curtsy, holding the tray before me. But he made no move to take the drink. He just sat there, studying me intently, and then he whispered, “Don’t move or make a sound.” With that, he reached out and began manipulating my erect nipples. At first it was as gentle as a lover’s kiss, but he gradually increased the pressure. Soon my nipples were two aching kernels of hardened flesh sending waves of sensation throughout my entire body.

I shyly raised my eyes to meet his and slowly nodded, acknowledging his command. He smiled then, put my tray aside and led me to his high writing desk. Effortlessly, with his two hands about my waist, he lifted my body and sat me on the very edge of his high work stool. Then he stripped off his pajamas. I gasped as his erection sprang into view. It was just like the rest of him — thick and virile, dark and powerful.

He parted my knees and, with a single lunge, buried that massive shaft within me, encountering no resistance — I was moist and open to him. Then he cupped my buttocks in his hands and lifted me into the air. My hands and legs held his body tightly. With that, he began a leisurely stroll about the room. and as he walked, he’d lift me until only the tip of his cock was sheathed. Then he’d suddenly release me, and my own weight compelled me to impale myself on that rock-hard shaft of flesh — and gasp!

Never before had I been so gloriously filled and so completely possessed by a man. He toyed with me. He pinched and spanked my bottom, making me squirm uncontrollably, to his obvious delight. Soon I found myself coiling and bucking of my own free will as I whispered excited little words of encouragement in his ear. I even brushed my puckering nipples back and forth across his matted hair, doing everything I could to heighten the voluptuous sensations sweeping over me.

That was too much for my bucking steed. He suddenly cried out as I felt his cock grow to its final, proud stand, and then he went absolutely wild. He slammed into me with thrusting hips and arching pelvis. He raised and lowered me at a furious rate. Then he came, a pulsing stream of seed spurting into my welcoming grotto. His sperm filled me to over-flowing, and I could feel it, mixed with my own juices, streaming down the furrow of my parted thighs. I responded immediately, squealing ecstatically as my orgasm engulfed me.

At that instant, his knees buckled under the strain of our combined weight, and he collapsed onto the sofa without releasing me from him. I knelt there astride him, gently raising and lowering myself in order to maintain the delightful contact as we continued to gasp and quiver. And Martha joined us, encircling us both with her arms, kissing us, caressing my trembling breasts and stroking my master’s still-hardened cock whenever I lifted myself upward.

The three of us sat in a tight embrace as we gradually regained our composure, kissing and fondling each other. And a close threesome we have remained since that memorable evening. Of course, I’m not the first obedient young lady they have shared, but I think I’m among the best. I now have a complete and outrageous wardrobe that they have acquired especially for me. It includes gowns with plunging necklines and high-slit skirts, sheer blouses to be worn over rouged nipples, the briefest of miniskirts and the skimpiest of swimwear. I’m not permitted a shred of modesty when we’re out together, which I find horribly embarrassing and utterly thrilling beyond belief.

Our relationship in private is even more explicit. I am forever nude, always accessible for their carnal games. And what games we play! No feast of flesh is too outlandish for their tastes. Even when a few friends drop by for a drink or a toke, I’m still kept nude and I parade brazenly about in the bold style Martha taught me before I am casually loaned to one or several of their guests.

It’s heavenly! Not only have all my wildest, erotic slave fantasies come true, but this strange ménage a trois has completely eliminated an old dilemma of mine. I no longer have to wonder whether a master or a mistress might be better for me at any given time. I now have both.