Mistress Brighton – aka Dark Overlordess of Shenanigans – could not believe another year had gone by. Last year’s spring break party at the pavilion, ended with her waking to a hangover and some very memorable scenes going on in each of the themed rooms of her palace. Most of which she didn’t remember the next day. This year was no different, there were new faces, but the theme was the same.
Masturbation Story – The Morning After
Brighton yawned and stretched languidly across the bed, when her foot hit something – or someone. Opening one eye and lifting her head, she smiled. One of her male sex slaves was sleeping soundly, ball gag still in his mouth, wrists chained to the bed post, wearing a slight smile on his face. Perhaps the ball gag grin was due to the fact that she’d ridden him until he passed out from exhaustion, and several orgasms. She giggled at the memory of inserting the vibrating butt plug, ordering him to stroke repeteadly until he climaxed… and then couldn’t stop. His erection looking so inviting that Miss Brighton decided to take advantage of the situation and help herself to several of her own orgasms. Even as his muffled screams and begging persisted.
But there were other matters to attend to, and other pets to check on. Putting on her red peacock print silk kimono, she made her way down the hallway. Peeking into one of the bedrooms, she saw the tiny frame of a now very short Brian, slumbering peacefully between two pillows. Then she realized they were not – in fact pillows – but a Mistresses breasts. Chuckling, Brighton closed the door and continued toward the kitchen. Opening yet another door, she was alarmed by what she saw: French Fry strapped to a wooden wheel, with now obliterated balloons in the spaces between her head, arms, and neck, and a knife sticking out of the wood, dangerously close to Fry’s left ear.
Then she noticed the helmet and body armor.
“Fry… what the hell are you doing?” she asked, eyes wide yet still barely awake.
Fry lifted her head and jumped when she heard Mistress’ voice. “Oh… hi Miss Brighton! I was helping one of the other mistresses practice her knife throwing and I.. uhmm well…”
Brighton raised an eyebrow, “knife…. throwing????”
Fry swallowed hard, “yes Mistress! Miss Willow got a knife throwing wheel as a gift, and before I could protest such, she volunteered me for a target.”
Shaking her head, she came closer, “do I need to call a Doctor?” she asked, only half joking, looking over Fry’s body armor.
“No Miss B. The armor was also a gift.. although I think I have a paper cut on my pinky that might need looking at.”
Rolling her eyes and waving a hand, Brighton turned to leave. “Later, Fry. When you get down from there, be sure to clean up the mess in here and tidy up all the other rooms,” she flippantly replied before the door slammed shut.
Just as she turned to cross the hallway, church mouse came prancing out of Brighton’s “sploshing” room, wearing a blonde wig, cherry pink lip gloss and body glitter, and naked except for the chocolate pudding that covered him and the cleaning brush handle that was hanging out of his ass. He waved a jizz covered bible at her, and she smiled. “Good morning, slut bunny.”
“Good morning Lordess!” he beamed, “I just finished my devotions and licking my seed off the pages of my bible!”
She winked at him, patting him on the head, “you’re such a good boy, slut bunny.” She waved him away, watching him scamping off with the cleaning brush bobbing up and down hanging out of his butthole.
She passed yet another room, opening the door and hearing the sound of Jizzelle slobbering hungrily on one of her big black cock dildos. Surely practicing for her future cocksucking endeavors. “Good morning, Jizzelle, you fucking whore you,” Miss Brighton quipped.
Jizzelle turning slightly to give her a full mouthed, muffled response, then remembering her manners. After all you don’t talk with your mouth full.
No Party Like A Mistress Party
She briefly remembered some of what happened last night. One of the mistresses riding around on the back of one of the subs wielding a bullwhip. Another sub screaming “fire in the hole!” over and over as he was strapon gang banged by the Domme’s in attendance. There had been music, dancing, Brian hopping from one Giantess Mistress lap to another, and surely enjoying his view. Several of the subs were ordered to strip and work the poles and dance cages. Brighton also remembered “riding” several of the slaves as her personal chariot, and one rather peculiar subject wearing a red tshirt, who just kept repeating the same thing over and over in a high pitched voice that sounded like the chipmunks on acid that no one could seem to understand, so they’d just nod and smile. Occasionally the red shirt would also babble on about egg beaters. Wandering through the pavilion, Brighton thoughtfully mused all that transpired – and laughing at the vision of one sub in particular, covered in Carvel ice cream, until her reverie was interrupted by a sound she was very familiar with. The sound of fapping.
Brighton glared angrily as she stomped down the hallway. She knew exactly who was behind the noise. Everyone knew the rules. NO FAPPING WITHOUT PERMISSION. And certainly no fucking cumming. And everyone except one troublemaker in particular would dare disobey those orders.
Pushing the heavy double doors open, she slipped quietly into the room. The culprit was so fervently hammering away with his fist, that he didn’t even hear her enter the room. Grunting and panting he mumbled, “Ohhhhh yes…. oh maybe just one cummie…. no one will know…. Ohhhhhh… oohhhhhhhh!”
His feverish stroking and edging was brought to an abrupt halt, when Miss Brighton’s hand came down across the back of his head with a loud smack.
“Aaaarrghhhouucch!!” he yelped, falling backwards off the chaise lounge and tumbling to the carpet, Ms. Brighton’s red lace panties down around his ankles.
“Nacho….. what the fuck do you think you’re doing???!!!!!” she yelled.
Joseph scurried backwards trying to cover himself and shield from the beating he knew he was about to get, “N-nothing mistress! I was just ah… practicing Tai Chi!”
“That didn’t look like any tai chi I’ve ever seen, and why are you wearing my panties??” she snapped, pulling out her extra large electric fly swatter and turning it on.
“Mistress please don’t! I can explain! I know you said I’m not allowed cummies but I was edging and the urge got so strong I didn’t think you would notice if I just-”
*SMACK* The sound of electricity crackling through the air and the scent of Nacho’s singed butt hairs filled the air.
She was about to open her mouth to tell him to go get the peppers for his punishment, when she looked down and saw what he’d been stroking to. There spread out in front of him were pictures of all the mistresses in various stages of undress – and one rather random picture of Alice wearing a duck suit with Wd standing next to him holding a distressed looking chicken. Mistress was fuming.
“Where did you get these?”
“Mistress I swear I didn’t take those, it was that new guy Ken.”
“Who the hell is Ken??”
Brighton grumbled, reaching down and grabbing nacho’s ear, and dragging him back down the hall. The whole time as she stomped back down the hall, nacho begged and pleaded not to be punished, for he knew what that punishment meant.
Swinging the door open to where Fry had been strapped to the wheel, she found the room cleaned and empty, save for cross in the corner, and a now empty, polished spinning wheel. Nacho pleaded and protested as she shackled him to the cross, gagging and binding him, spreading his legs wide. The sound of his agonizing shrieks – as she slipped in the peppers – could be heard echoing off the walls. And then high pitched laughter, as Mistress attached “the tickler” to his body.
“Aaaaahhhhhhhh!! Nooo! Mistress please I- Aaahhahahahaha no please stop! Hahahahaha Mistress no don’t lea- hahahahaha please no not th- ahahahahahaha please someone help me ahahahahahahaaha!”
Brighton chuckled, watching nacho writhe, shrieking and laughing uncontrollably. “That will teach you not to tell me where your tickle spots are….”
Locking the door and heading back toward the kitchen, Brighton heard the sound of music playing, and there were other voices. As she got closer she realized that someone – several someones – were having a sing along to Monty Python’s “sit on my face.” She pushed the swinging doors in, to find fry guzzling a large bottle of lavender fabuloso and slurring the lyrics to the song and dancing on the kitchen table, Wd dangling from the ceiling twirling round and round on the fan snacking on a box of peek freans, and belting out the words to the lewd classic, with unrelenting passion, and a much much tinier voice, coming from on top of the kitchen faucet, hopping back and forth as he crooned happily hugging a pretzel nugget.
The tiny man squeaked with alarm as Brighton entered the kitchen, with her hands on her hips. All but Fry had fallen quiet. She continued to swing her hips and giggle, dancing to the song and taking another swig of fabuloso to the head. That is until Brighton reached down, sliding a hand under her dress and pinching just hard enough to snap the frisky tater tot out of her purple cleaning fluid induced haze.
Fry squealed and jumped, whirling around and dropping the bottle, “Oh! Miss Brighton you’re back!”
“Fry I never left…. what are the three of you doing in here, and were you aware that nacho was in my private parlor fapping to stolen pictures of the mistresses?”
Fry’s mouth formed a silent o, as she shook her head. “And sorry about the fabuloso Mistress, I was cleaning and was overwhelmed with the compulsion to drink it.”
“Very well, there’s more in the garage isn’t there?”
Everyone got quiet.
“Might not wanna go in the garage right now, Miss B,” wd chimed in.
She looked up, arching an eyebrow, “oh… and why is that, Wd?”
“Cannibal’s been in there for the last 16 hours. He took some bundt cakes from the fridge and mumbled something about donuts and no one’s seen him since.”
Brighton groaned, “ugh… nevermind. Where’s bookie?”
“He’s stuck on the roof covered in honey and cotton balls. You launched him up there from the catapult after you and the other Mistresses did tequila shots.”
She smirked, “oh good, I’ll have him down later. Is my coffee ready?”
“Yes Miss B. Nacho made it before he ran off to masturbate to those stolen pictures,” said Wd.
Brighton’s mouth opened in shock, “Wd how is it that YOU know about the pictures?”
Wd shrugged, “I can see everything up here on the ceiling fan, so I just eat my peek freans and mind my own business.”
She started to say something but just laughed and shook her head, “well onto coffee then, before I check the rest of the house and see what you’ve all been up to while I was erm…. busy.”
“Miss Brighton,” said Fry, “where is Nacho now?”
She turned, grinning wickedly at the petite spud, “you won’t be seeing him for a while. He’s tied up at the moment. And that’s not even the worst of the punishment he’ll be getting.”
Just then the strange red shirt burst into the kitchen, wearing pink pantaloons and ill fitting clown shoes, tripping over itself and nearly crashing into Brighton and french fry. The unkown red began rambling at warp speed, babbling on and on in a high pitched, screechy voice that was unsettling for the Mistress, especially since she hadn’t yet inhaled her caffeine. Tiny Scot and Wd exchanged glances with Fry nervously, before Wd covered his eyes with the cookie box. Having had enough of the broken record yammering in her ear and flailing its hands nearly smacking fry in the face, Brighton growled at the annoyance as it continued waving its arms and chattering excitedly – about what, no one seemed to know. She whirled around, putting distance between her and the red shirt and pushing the Oreida legume-for-hire out of the way. Pulling her magic wand from her robe, and pointing it at the broken record, Mistress Brighton glowered at the ungodly thing that didn’t seem to know or care what happens when you piss off a caffeine deprived Domme. “It is FAR too early in the morning for your incessant, imbecilic babbling… OmChairus Permanentus!”
There was a blinding light and a puff of blue smoke, and then the sound of nails on a chalk board as the broken record was lifted off its feet and spun around as its caterwauling continued with a high pitched fervor. There was a satisfying whoosh and then the light dissipated, smoke clearing. In the broken record’s place, was a black leather chair, the back and front of the chair had the shape of a curvy, busty woman. Its face was blank, just smooth leather where the eyes, nose and mouth would have been, and its hair pulled into Princess Leia buns.
Finally… silence. Her pets emerging from their hiding places and circling around the petrified human furniture in open mouthed awe.
She smiled affectionately, green eyes flashing with pleasure at the devious act she just committed. Then the cackling built in her throat, as she turned, opening the cupboard and retrieving a coffee cup.
“Fry… I’m going to have my coffee now that it’s finally quiet, please make sure it stays that way unless you want to end up like that thing,” she said, pointing at the enchanted chair. Finally at peace, she sat back, and took her first glorious sip of coffee. Wetspot appeared out of nowhere, weeping (whether it was tears of joy or sorrow I still don’t know) and wearing a pair of Andi’s polkadot bikini panties, carrying a briefcase in one hand, and licking a Carvel ice cream cone. Upon reaching the bewitched chair, he stopped, tilted his head to one side, and then very decidedly gave the chair a swift kick, before walking out of the kitchen, sniffling and eating his ice cream.”
Everyone looked around, Brighton holding her coffee cup and looking from one person to the next in sheer bewilderment. She finally shrugged, drinking her coffee, and then looking up as if remembering something she’d forgotten. “Oh and Fry? Please have one of the boys take the chair out to the garage, and tell cannibal I have another present for him.”
To be continued….?