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How many times do I have to remind you to call me Mistress when we are alone??" Ivy screamed at him.She was pulling very hard on his right ear. Charles felt as if his right ear was going to come off. He cried in pain."Ouch!!" he cried in pain."I'm sorry Mistress. I was just thinking about your health. Please don't be mad at me. You said so yourself that you were not feeling great. All I said was you should drink water!!" Charles cried."Never mind Charles. Shut up and walk behind me!!" she ordered him."Yes Mistress!" he whimpered and bowed.Charles trekked behind Ivy. It was like the reverse situation between an Arab Muslim man and his wife or wives. The Arab Muslim women trekked behind their husbands, all dressed up in long black gowns that covered them from head to face, but in this case it was Charles who trekked behind Ivy.Her bedroom was as large as some school libraries. He followed her until they reached what looked like a door. Ivy opened that door. It was a bathroom door. Ivy. Like the previous night, I found myself becoming very relaxed, enjoying the ambience. After dinner (and lots more wine), we retired to the sitting room. I sat on the settee, crossing my legs very demurely. "Master Hartley" selected a cigar and lit it before sitting down next to me. "He" leaned in close, and I noticed a strong masculine aroma - a mix of cologne, musk and cigar smoke. He surprised me by suddenly kissing me very roughly, forcing "his" tongue into my mouth. I surprised myself by responding passionately to the kiss, moaning as his tongue probed my mouth.After several minutes of passionate kisses that left me breathless, Jane grabbed my hands and brought them down to her crotch. Instead of a warm, wet pussy waiting for my tongue, my hand encountered something hard and long. Jane gruffly commanded me to get on my knees in front of her, and I knew what was expected of me. I reached up, undid "his" belt, pulling down the pants to expose - a thick strap-on. It had to be a good.
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She only grinned, and playfully quipped back at me while undoing my handcuffs, “real food, for a real dog. Now, aren't you going to thank me, and beg to be allowed to eat?” “Th- thank you master.” Thanking her took some forcing, but I was somewhat used to it. Begging to be allowed to eat it was...more difficult. I knew from experience she would demand that I be specific. Being treated as an animal was one thing, but begging for it, in front of her friends, that was another. I tried to marshal all my will, to try and force myself, but it was painful and demeaning. My spirit rebelled, even as I enjoyed the swirling humiliation I felt. “Please...please may I....please may I eat it...master?” I sounded so pathetic, like less than an animal, but even as I said it, I knew it wouldn't be enough. “Eat what, dog? What would you like to eat, dog?” Each time she said 'dog', she stressed it, sending a shiver of humiliated arousal through my body. Looking up at my owner, seeing how much she was.

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