The rules. The rules were the outline, the foundation for all our activities. Lynn took her cues from the rules, which kept us on the right path. She could freelance as she went along, of course, as was her right as the Mistress. But the rules set down the basic plan and our ultimate goal.

The first time we tried to perform as Mistress and submissive, the results had been OK, but not as good as I'd imagined. I'd spent much of my time making suggestions as to how she should treat me. She accused me of "topping from the bottom." Lynn isn't completely unaware of the domination scene. She was right. I'd been trying to direct the action. I had certain things I wanted to accomplish, and I needed a way to communicate those to her. So before our next session, I presented her with my suggestions for the rules.

Rule #1: The slave, me, must always appear totally naked before the Mistress, to demonstrate his vulnerability. She could, of course, order him to wear any clothing she desired, male or female.

Rule #2: The slave must often kiss or lick the feet or other designated body part of the Mistress, to demonstrate his complete devotion to serving her needs.

Rule #3: The slave will often be spanked or otherwise painfully punished, for real or imagined misdeeds, to show his willingness to learn.

Rule #4: The slave's body can be used as a sexual or functional play thing by the Mistress, to give her any pleasure, physical or mental, that she might desire.

Rule #5: The slave should be in pain or humiliated often, as a reminder of his submissive and degrading standing.

So far, not so bad, right? But there's more to the list.

After moving the coffee table away, I quickly knelt down in front of Lynn. Then, bending way over, I deposited a light kiss on the top of my wife's foot. Then another. And another. Soon I was ravishing kisses all over both her feet, panting as I strove to cover every inch of the tops with my warm lips. Just as I'd started to work up towards her ankles, she imperiously lifted one foot and pressed it right in my face. I took the obvious cue and began licking the sole of her foot, cleaning it, worshipping it. I could feel myself changing with every moment. I wasn't just submissive. I was a dog, unworthy of licking even this lowly portion of my Mistress. Yet it was at the moment the only way I could show her how much I was willing to serve her.

Soon enough she swung her other foot to me, and I licked and kissed it as thoroughly as possible. To some it might seem gross, but this wasn't particularly bad. In the past, she'd made me lick her feet clean after running through the dirt, and once after walking in the mud. She knew that the more I got into this, the more compliant I would be later in the evening.

As I worked on one foot, lavishly licking her sole and toes, I could feel her other foot sliding steadily up my leg. Even though I was expecting it, the touch of her foot on my cock caused me to groan in pleasure. Soon, she and I were licking and rubbing in tandem, going faster and slower as her mood dictated. Abruptly, she pulled away her foot from my mouth and presented me with the other one, which now had a goodly amount of my pre-cum on it. I told you I liked to be subservient.

I didn't flinch a bit as I moved to tongue it off. I'd do that, and more, for the thrill of being rewarded later by my Mistress. And that was what she was now. My Mistress. Once I began kissing her feet, we went from husband and wife to slave and Mistress. She was now totally in control, governed only by a few rules, which she also had the right to throw by the wayside.

"That's enough, dog," my Mistress said, pulling me back to her by my hair. "Go and get your toy box. Now!"

"Yes, Mistress," I replied, scampering to get the locked box from the depths of our closet. That she hadn't asked for anything in specific either meant that she didn't have a plan in mind, or that she might be experimenting with any number of toys. I returned packing a medium-sized plastic overnight case with an expensive and complicated combination lock on it. Our kids or their friends wouldn't be discovering my secret side anytime soon.

I stood passively as my Mistress opened the box and checked inside. She didn't make a move toward the double-locked compartment inside. But it was much too early for that, anyway.

"Kneel here!" Lynn barked at me, pushing the box to the side. She revels in making me wait for my pleasures and pains, in taking abrupt right turns when I expect her to go left. I dropped to my knees like a rock, my hands behind my back and my eyes lowered, as I'd been taught. In truth I want to grovel before her, to writhe on the ground like a worm, to lick her feet endlessly and hope she favors me with some punishment.

Despite being braced for it, I still cried out when she suddenly reached out and pinched my nipples, pulling and twisting them harshly. With intent to inflict pain, she then pulled them taut and dug her fingernails into the soft skin. I moaned, giving myself into the pain, then struggled to answer as she asked, "What are you?"

"I'm a dog, Mistress. A dog."

"And what do you want to become?"

"I want to become your bitch, Mistress. Your filthy, fucking bitch! Ooooooh," I moaned, "Use me Mistress. Use me and abuse me."

She released one nipple and went to work on the other. Her fingernails raked across my skin, leaving ugly red marks. The next day was Saturday. She could mark me without any qualms that the damage would be spotted. She leaned forward suddenly and bit the nipple, making me cry inwardly but sending a jolt directly to my cock. I know I'll spend much of the night in this frenzied, half-erect state, wanting to cum but wanting something else even more.

After a few minutes of sharp, short and delicious pain, My Mistress gave up on torturing my nipples and instead bent and wrapped her hand around my cock. Her intent wasn't to bring me off, though. Her intent was to make me hurt.

"Stand slave!" she ordered, tugging roughly on my meat. Placing both hands on the shaft, she twisted and pulled on it, yanking it around and around. Then, with one hand pressing it against my body, she used her other hand to spank my balls, winding up and slapping them with a vengeance. Again and again she whacked them, as my moans of pleasure turned into gasps of pain. Then, when she noticed that her hands were slick with my pre-cum, she held them out and I immediately bent to lick them off. I must keep my Mistress as clean of my bodily fluids as possible.

She still hadn't humiliated me enough, though, so she ordered me to lay face up on the floor with my legs spread as far as possible, and my hand continuously stroking my cock. Reaching behind her, she brought out a camera to take pictures of me jacking myself off, completely in her power. Our collection includes over 500 images. Each one has the power to get me hard or get me off.

"Tell me how many ways you serve me, you filthy dog," she said, taking another long sip of her wine. I noticed that the bottle only had another two glasses left in it. Would her need to dominate me end when the wine ended? That worry swiftly left as I concentrated on the answer.

"I'm your lap dog, Mistress. I'm your fuck toy. I'm your play doll. I'm your ball boy. I'm your cum slut. And if I'm very, very good, I'm your bitch."