I Asked My Mistress to Let the Wives Put Me in My Place

My name is Lara, and I suppose I should start by saying I’ve been training with Marta for two years. I’m blonde, I’m five foot seven, I’m over forty, and I still stand in front of the mirror feeling good about myself. I live alone, I make better than average money, and when the street allows it, I dress to show it.

My walk was always the same. I’d go out with Mora, my toy poodle, at a quarter to eight, just when the school parents were dropping their kids off at the door. The park is across the street, with long benches and a sparse line of trees. I’d show up in a short skirt, low heels, and the pink sunglasses that suit me so well. The husbands looked at me. The wives noticed and hated me for it.

At first I was curious. Then it started to amuse me. I began to bend down in front of them to adjust Mora’s harness, knowing the skirt would ride up to the edge of my ass and the lace of my thong would be on display for anyone within three meters. I started asking the baker for directions to the kiosk even though I knew them by heart, biting my lip and arching my back so my tits would press against my thin top. One February morning, one of the women bumped my shoulder as she passed and whispered, “Someday we’re going to put you in your place, bitch.” I smiled with all my teeth and kept walking, my cunt already soaking through my panties.

When I got to my evening session I told Marta about it. Marta has been my mistress for two years. She’s a fifty-two-year-old retired lawyer, with a house in Olivos and a basement she calls “the workshop.” I tell her everything: what I think about while I touch myself, what I dream, the stupid things I do in the street. That night, sitting at her feet with the mark of the belt still hot on my thighs, I confessed that the woman’s words hadn’t scared me. They’d made me wet. So wet that I’d had to shove two fingers into my cunt as soon as I turned the corner, pressed against the school wall, with Mora tugging at the leash while I came in silence, mouth open.

“You want them to punish you,” Marta said, without making it a question.

I nodded. I didn’t look at her.

“All of them. All at once. And I want it to be really ugly.”

Marta took my chin and made me lift my gaze.

“I’ll take care of that.”

***

Three weeks later she summoned me on a Saturday at six in the evening to an address in Vicente López. I arrived in a black dress and the lingerie she’d chosen for me: a red lace set, thong with an open crotch, and an underwire bra that lifted my tits nearly spilling them out of the neckline. From the outside, the house looked like any ordinary house: gray gate, wisteria. Inside, after the hallway, there was a staircase leading down to a play space Marta rented with a friendly couple.

The basement had been decorated to look like something else. They’d installed synthetic turf panels on the floor, a low wooden fence, and a large decorative dog-show cage with the door open. At the back there was a bondage pole, a padded bench, and a panel with ropes, paddles, and gags. The lights were bright white, like noon. There was a recorded park noise track playing in the morning: birds, distant engines, a school bell.

Marta was waiting for me seated in a director’s chair. Beside her were four women wearing Venetian masks, dressed as if they’d just come back from the market: jeans, T-shirts, fanny packs. She introduced them as Verónica, Patricia, Silvia, and Dora. Four fake names, I assumed. I didn’t care.

“We agreed on the limits. Do you confirm everything?” Marta asked, contract in hand.

“I confirm.”

“Safeword.”

“Infinity.”

“Nonverbal signal if you have something in your mouth.”

“Three clicks with my left hand.”

Marta looked at me a second longer. Then she gave Verónica a two-finger gesture. The scene started there.

Verónica grabbed me by the neck from behind, not hard, but with an authority that made my knees weaken. Patricia took off my pink sunglasses and set them on a little table, slowly, like she was storing evidence. Silvia yanked my dress up over my head. Dora tied my wrists with a white cotton rope, no bows, firm loops that left my hands behind my back.

“Look at the little slut,” Verónica said, shoving me until my knees hit the synthetic grass. “She used to act like a goddess with our husbands. Look at her now, naked, her cunt wet before we’ve even touched her.”

Patricia slipped two fingers between my legs without warning, parting the open fabric of the thong. She pulled them out glossy and ran them over my lips.

“Suck them. Feel how slutty you are.”

I opened my mouth and licked her fingers with my whole tongue, tasting myself, while the others laughed.

“Show the cameras how it’s done now,” Silvia added.

The cameras. Three tripods around me, all pointed at me. Marta and I had discussed the limit: the material was for me, one copy only, encrypted, and we’d destroy it together if I asked. Knowing that didn’t take the heat off my face. It was one thing to know it and another to be there, naked, with four strangers filming me from three angles, with my mouth still full of the taste of my own cunt.

They put a gag on me with a silicone ball the size of a tangerine. The gag strap pulled my hair back. They made me stay on all fours with my hands tied, so my body weight came down on my forearms. Verónica clipped a leather collar on me with a long leash and started walking around the square of turf.

“Come on, puppy. Your place is here.”

I moved as best I could. My knees dug into the artificial grass, rough and abrasive, leaving red marks after ten meters. Patricia was filming my face. Silvia was filming my back and my ass raised up, with the open thong leaving everything on display. Dora walked off to the side writing something in a notebook, as if she were the judge in a courtroom.

“You have to clean the pen,” Verónica told me, pointing at four tennis balls scattered around the space. “Pick them up with your mouth and put them in the bag there. If you don’t get them all in five minutes, there’s a second round.”

The clock started. The gag wouldn’t let me speak, but the silicone had a hole in the middle just big enough for teeth to hold something. I lifted the first ball in thirty seconds. I dropped it into the cloth bag spitting it in. Verónica clapped sarcastically.

“Look, Patri, she learns fast when she wants to.”

The second ball took longer. My knees were burning and saliva was dripping from the corners of my mouth. Every time I bent down, the cameras caught everything: my ass spread open, my cunt dripping between my thighs, my hard nipples scraping across the synthetic grass. I knew the material was private. I’d signed. And even so, every flash went through my body like it was live. That was the fantasy. That was the trap I’d asked for myself.

“Three minutes, puppy.”

I grabbed the third one. The fourth had rolled under the padded bench. I had to put my cheek on the floor and stretch my neck until it hurt. With my ass lifted into the air, I suddenly felt a hand prying my cheeks apart and a hot tongue sliding from my clit to my asshole. I shuddered all over. It was Dora, crouched behind me, eating my cunt while I tried to bite the ball. She licked me twice more, long and slow, and then pulled away as if nothing had happened.

“Focus, slut. The clock’s still running.”

When I finally got the ball in my mouth, Patricia grabbed me by the hair and dragged me back a meter before letting me go.

“It fell. Start over.”

I wanted to protest and only a moan came out through the gag. Marta was watching me from the director’s chair, legs crossed, not moving. I checked with my eyes that she was there. She was. That was all I needed not to click my fingers.

I picked up the ball again. Put it in the bag. Five minutes.

“Well, you didn’t make it,” Verónica said. “Second round.”

Silvia approached carrying a harness in her hands. It was black leather, with a thick dildo at the front, the size of a real cock, with pronounced veins and a broad, glossy head. Marta’s face didn’t change. They passed it in front of my eyes so I could see it clearly.

“This is going in both holes,” Patricia said. “Your cunt and your ass. You’re going to learn to be grateful.”

They took off my gag. Silvia adjusted the harness on her hips, stood in front of me, and grabbed my hair.

“Open your mouth. Suck it like it’s your husband’s.”

I opened my mouth and she shoved it in. The head hit the back of my throat and made me gag. Silvia didn’t let up. She grabbed both my ears and started fucking my mouth, in and out, barely letting me breathe between thrusts. Saliva dripped down my chin and onto my tits. Verónica crouched beside me and sucked one nipple hard, biting it until I cried out against the rubber cock.

“Look at her take it,” Dora laughed. “She used to act like the lady in the park and look at her now, sucking cock.”

Silvia pulled out all at once and a string of spit hung from the tip of the dildo to my lip. They tied my legs to a spreader bar, with my ankles opened almost a meter apart. They laid me face-down on the padded bench and secured my wrists to the bench legs. My ass was left raised, my cunt open, everything on display. The cameras circled me again.

“Let’s see how you like being looked at now,” Patricia said.

She started spanking me with a leather paddle. The first one jolted my whole body. The second made me clench my teeth. By the fifth I’d lost count. Patricia distributed them evenly, one on each cheek, and between blows she ran her open hand over my back as if taking my temperature. Every so often she’d slide her hand down to my cunt and give my swollen lips a sharp slap, and I’d howl and push my ass back begging for more without being able to say it.

“She’s dripping, girls,” Patricia announced. “The little slut’s cumming from the spanking.”

Verónica sat in front of me, lifted my face, and made me promise out loud, looking into the camera, that I was going to stop provoking their husbands.

“I promise,” I said, my voice rough.

“Louder. And say what you are.”

“I promise. I’m a slut. I’m a slut and I deserve this.”

“Again.”

“I’m a slut. I’m a slut. I’m a slut.”

Verónica smiled and pulled her jeans down to her knees. She sat on the edge of the bench, spread her legs, and grabbed me by the nape of the neck.

“Now do something useful with that mouth. Eat my cunt until I come.”

She shoved my face between her legs. Her cunt was shaved, heavy, soaked. I started licking her the way I’d been taught, with my tongue flat and moving slowly upward, pausing on the clit, sucking it with my lips. Verónica squeezed my head and rocked her hips against my face, suffocating me. I swallowed, breathed through my nose, kept going. Meanwhile, behind me, I felt Dora step between my open legs. She adjusted the harness and rested the tip of the dildo at the entrance to my cunt.

“She’s so wet it’s going to slip right out of me,” she said, and shoved it in one hard thrust, all the way to the hilt.

I screamed against Verónica’s cunt. Dora didn’t rush. She grabbed my hips and started moving in a slow, deep rhythm, almost pulling it all the way out and then thrusting it back in until the rubber balls on the harness struck my clit. Each thrust pushed my face deeper into Verónica’s cunt, and she tugged my hair and demanded more tongue, faster, deeper. Patricia and Silvia filmed me from the sides, one framing my face buried between thighs and the other my impaled ass.

“Put a finger in her ass,” Verónica ordered. “Get her used to it.”

Dora spat on her thumb and shoved it into my asshole, up to the knuckle, without stopping fucking my cunt with the rubber cock. I arched as best I could. I felt the double pressure, my cunt full, my ass open, my face smashed against another woman’s clit. Verónica came first. She came with her mouth open, without shouting, her legs closing around my head and her hips shaking against my tongue. She smeared herself all over my face.

She let go and pulled away to one side, panting. Patricia took her place immediately, already with her pants down, and mounted my face the same way. While I licked her, Dora pulled the cock out of my cunt and set it back against me, this time at the asshole lubricated with my own juices.

“Relax, puppy. This is what you were missing.”

She pushed it in slowly, with pressure, until my ass gave way and the whole cock slid into me. That was when I really screamed, a muffled cry against Patricia’s cunt. Dora started fucking my ass with short thrusts, while Silvia ran her fingers through my abandoned cunt and rubbed my clit in circles. I was crying, sucking, moaning, all at once. Every push into my ass peeled away another layer of the woman who stood every morning in front of the school in a short skirt and an air of superiority. The mask was being stripped off me by the handful.

“She’s about to come again,” Silvia announced, her fingers buried in my cunt. “The bitch is about to come with a dick in her ass.”

Patricia pressed my head against her cunt and came into my mouth just as I came into all three mouths at the same time, shaking over the bench, my ass impaled and my cunt dripping over Silvia’s fingers. It was long, it was ugly, it was perfect. I convulsed all over and was left crying, my face stuck to Patricia’s thighs and my hips still moving on their own against Dora’s dildo.

Dora kept going a while longer until Marta stood up for the first time in the whole scene, came to one side, and said, very calmly, one word.

“Enough.”

The four of them stopped at once. Dora withdrew carefully, slowly, holding my ass with both hands so it wouldn’t hurt coming out. Patricia turned off the cameras. Silvia untied my wrists and the spreader bar. Verónica handed me a bottle of warm water. I took a long drink, my hand still trembling and my face smeared with another woman’s cunt.

“Where does it hurt?” she asked.

“My knees. My wrists. My cheeks. My ass.”

“Your head?”

“My head is perfect.”

***

Marta did the aftercare. She took me into the next room, wrapped me in a white robe, put arnica cream on the marks, brushed my hair. The other four came in to say goodbye once I was already lying on the couch under a fleece blanket. Verónica stroked my hair. Patricia left me a slip of paper with a number written on it and a message: “If you want to do it again, call me.” The four of them left by the back stairs, without masks, dressed like any neighbor in any neighborhood, and I never knew what their real names were.

Marta made me tea with honey. She sat at the foot of the couch, her hand resting on my ankle.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m better than okay.”

“I know. I watched the whole scene. You were in it.”

“Again?”

Marta smiled that half smile of hers, the one that doesn’t show her teeth and shows everything else.

“Again. But next time I’m designing it from scratch. And you won’t know a thing until I open the door.”

I closed my eyes. In the morning I was going to go back to the park, with Mora, with the short skirt, with the pink sunglasses, and the husbands were going to look at me and the wives were going to hate me and everything was going to be the same. And I was going to know, while I drank my coffee from the corner kiosk, with my ass still burning under my skirt, that somewhere in a basement in Vicente López there were four masked women who had seen me come undone and were already waiting for the next appointment.