The Bonds of Submission



When I returned home from the funeral I sat and wept.  Just a month earlier I had knelt before Mistress Helga and worshipped. She was already gaunt and barely had the strength to wield the whip. Her cancer had returned and she knew her time was short. I had been to see her the day before she died, had held her hand, kissed it tenderly as I knelt at the bedside. I said quietly,

‘I worship and adore you Mistress.’

‘You need further discipline but that must wait for the next life’ .

She smiled weakly and squeezed my hand.

I left hurriedly fighting back the tears.

Then I heard the news I had been dreading.

Mistress Helga went out in style, a pagan funeral and woodland burial. Her coffin was shiny black and she was dressed for burial in leather with her favourite whip.  She was made up and her finger- and toenails were painted jet black by another devoted slave. We queued up to prostrate ourselves before the coffin and say our last humble farewells.

Mistress had given me a pair of her boots as a parting gift. I took them out of the cupboard, wiped them with a cloth to remove the specks of dust.  I had too a pair of her panties in blood red silk, unwashed since she had worn them. I undressed and rubbed them round my face before putting them on and feeling the soft silk against my clit.

I placed the boots in the middle of the floor and left the room. I knocked, walked in head bowed and curtseyed to the boots. I knelt and approached on my knees feeling the hard wood of the parquet floor dig in. This pain was my gift to her who could no longer inflict pain on me.

I began to kiss the boots, to lick the soles, taking the heels in my mouth, imaging sucking and enormous cock, imagining myself as the whore Mistress said I should be. I writhed on the floor and began to play with myself using the left hand as I held the boot in the right, sucking the heel, then licking my way up the shaft wetting the boots just as I was becoming wet. I pressed the stilettos heels into my breast until the pain was too much. I was now highly aroused, playing with myself more and more vigorously as I arched my back and parted my legs as if to be fucked by the spirit of Mistress Helga.

After I came I lay on the sofa and slept. I dreamt of my late Mistress, dreamt of the occasion when I  confessed to  picking up a stranger and being fucked in the lift of a car park, how she ordered me never to come without permission and how she took the cat and flayed me till I begged for mercy before…………………

I woke up in the small hours but didn’t really want to. The boots were on the floor, I still had the red panties on, they were soaking wet and my animal smells were mixed with hers for ever. As I sat up I felt a burning sensation and winced. In the mirror I saw the angry red lines on my bottom. I had been given a flogging. I was in agony. I saw too that the word SLUT had been written in lipstick across my forehead.

I knew I had to visit the wood. In her boots and panties the only things I had on underneath a grey trench coat I sat and talked to her, making my confession. It rained, the wind howled and branches cracked and fell from the trees. I stayed on through the storm. I had to. Her soul was inside me, I would always be hers. The bonds of submission were too strong to be broken, even  by death.

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