***DISCLAIMER***
The following is a retelling of a session performed that I fought
against happening for a year. I found it cruel, inhumane, and just
incredibly disrespectful. However, it was one of the few things Holly
had ever asked for in her time serving under me and as Ariel told me
when I came to her about it; “It was either me or someone else.”
Unfortunately, with Holly, that someone else could be anyone else. So
I relented and performed the session last year around the holiday
season when all others had either gone home or went in on a vacation.
Holly and Ariel remained so while the latter stayed at my home
watching over Makayla, I brought Holly with me to the Dungeon to
perform this session. Before moving to Tampa, Holly professed an
interest in doing this again. I told her “no” so instead she
wrote it down and asked I post it for everyone to read.
I read it and I would also like to point out that I don't share
Holly's feelings about herself. I don't consider her a failure nor do
I put any ounce of blame for the ending of any relationship on her.
If anything she has kept the most important ones alive and I am
incredibly thankful to her for that. So Chris, Sasha, if either of
you are reading this please give your maid an extra cuddle and say
it's from me. :)
Katalina Star
Disgusting, vile, a slab of meat that's more suited to the floor of a
seedy motel not because I was invited but because it's the highest I
could ever hope to achieve. I failed my Mistress. I failed to serve,
love, I failed to just generally be there. This was to be the fitting
punishment to correct any and all mistakes I've ever made. Though as
I waited on hands and knees on the hardwood floor, nude save for the
slave collar wrapped snuggly around my neck, I wondered if I would
ever learn. If I would ever take my corrections seriously enough to
be a better slave for my Mistress. Not even deep down I found doubt.
I would always be a failure in the eyes of my leash holder.
My Mistress' heavy heels bellowed from the doorway as she entered
inside. I tried not to turn my head, not to instinctively greet her,
this wasn't me being her slave, this was me being her target. So I
remained still watching ahead until she came into view, or at least
her legs. From what I could tell, my Mistress was dressed casually
from a pair of jeans and simple white t-shirt resting underneath of a
dark sweater. (Holly asked that I dress normally, she didn't want
this to feel like a normal session. --Kat) Then I saw the instruments
of what would surely be the exclamation point to this. The red
leather boots that almost looked steel toed. I licked my lips just a
bit knowing I would certainly find out whether they were or not.
My
Mistress didn't speak, she just went straight to work pressing a
finger to my back as she began circling around me. When she came just
across from my left shoulder the first shot was fired. I could feel
the corners of her digits slam into my spine as I cried out but
worked to keep my composure. Hands and knees, as I always should be.
(It just goes further downhill from here, I wouldn't blame you if you
stopped reading and came at me with pitchforks and torches. --Kat)
Once I was centred, I was given the first taste of the boot as my
Mistress kicked me in the back of my thigh. Not as painful but still
surprising enough for a gasp. This was what I deserved as my Mistress
drew her nails along my rear digging them in at the end before giving
a firm, downward stroke with her fingers. I let out a sharp gasp and
wondered if maybe I should have been gagged for this. No, my mind
quickly reminded me, this was far more than a session. I failed so
this was my correcting. (For the record, I NEVER
considered this a “correcting”. --Kat)
My Mistress wasn't pleased with my placement so that needed to be
fixed. With the tip of her boot she pushed my legs further apart
exposing my swollen pedals. I tried not to be aroused by any of this,
but it was difficult. The idea of being reshaped into a proper use
for society, the fact that my Mistress was so beautiful, the fact
that I was naked in this cool room... My Mistress made work of it all
though as the steel of her boots sharply smacked in between my legs.
I let out another gasp followed by a lengthy moan when she pressed
and held her boot there before kicking again. I staggered forward and
almost apologized, but my Mistress wouldn't have listened.
My Mistress' foot steps began again as they came alongside me before
I was surprised by a punch in the back of my arm and then one
slamming down on my shoulder. I whimpered and I could feel my right
arm becoming useless. To compensate, I put more weight on my left one
just as my Mistress stepped down on my fingers. I let out a pained
moan as I could feel her hand press on my left shoulder blade as her
fist soon came down on my tail bone. It was another gasp inducing
shot as I couldn't go anywhere with her boots pressed over my
fingers. She leaned forward more pressing her hand to my back as her
legs squeezed on the sides of my head. She wanted my rear and she got
it with two firm slaps before stepping away letting me falter a
little trying to keep on hands and knees for her.
My Mistress didn't stop for long, she comes around in front of me and
soon I hear the unpopping of a cap and the coolness of a marker being
pressed repeatedly to my forehead. I follow along with the strokes
and realize she's written “Failure” on my head. I glance down as
my Mistress caps up the marker placing it aside. The word would
remain on me as a reminder for days, mainly because each morning I
would refresh it. When my Mistress took away the markers, I would
need to find a new way of telling the truth. For a while...it worked
(It worked because she kept writing it underneath her collar. I
confronted her about it when I found out so Chris, you may wish to
check to make certain she hasn't resumed. --Kat)
My Mistress had written the truth and now it was time to cement it
inside of me. I brought myself back up to my hands and knees keeping
stiff though feeling the pain lingering through my hands any time I
took the weight off of the bottom of my palms. She stalked me again,
gripping hold of my hair before jerking me up to my knees. I tried to
keep up, to keep my back straight while she brought my wrists
together in behind me squeezing them, telling me without saying a
word that I needed to keep them there. I nodded in response and soon
felt the pain of her knuckles smacking against my shoulders. From
behind, in front, and finally on top. I winced on all three when she
came in front of me and grabbed my breast pressing her fingers into
the meat until I was silently screaming. That was just the tease,
however, given that as soon as she gave that one a slap she gripped
both of them. I could feel her nails pierce into me and swore I could
feel her thumb and index finger meet alongside my breasts. I fought
to maintain composure and soon she let me go slapping my face.
My Mistress stepped back before bringing up a knee striking the tip
of her boot against my crotch twice. I shuddered and nearly fell
forward but she was there to grip hold of my jaw as she knelt down
and struck a few downward blows along the inside of my thigh. Each
one caused me to shiver again as I felt tears starting up. That was
when she pulled my arms apart and forced me back down to my hands and
knees. Before I knew what was happening, she had her foot offered and
I was down licking and kissing all around it. I had spent days in the
desert and it was my water source, my life's blood. I needed it and
showed as much with my tongue. Not just the toe but beneath as well.
When my Mistress lifted her boot up a little I ran my tongue through
the grooves of the underside making certain that it could shine as
much as the material. When she turned and stood, I realized what she
wanted and began giving the same treatment to the heels of the boots.
My tongue was going dry but I didn't stop, I needed to show my
Mistress how much this all meant to me. All of it was necessary.
I am nothing.
I will always be nothing.
Thank you, my Mistress, for showing this to me.
(For the record, I again don't follow this belief of hers and quickly
after the session ended I cuddled her. Cuddled and didn't let go for
a long time. Holly, you're something very important to me. You're
more than a slave or a maid, more than a partner or a helper. You're
a friend. --Kat)
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