I’m being beaten again. Of course I am. This time it’s with a hair-brush. Ok, a spiked hair-brush. Where one finds a spiked hair-brush should be beyond me, but let’s face it, they’re probably a dime a dozen on Amazon.

I am bent over the back of a dining room chair. My ankles are tied to the legs in back, and my arms are stretched as far as they can go so that my wrists are tied to the legs in front. I am totally naked, unless you count the black leather dog-collar around my neck, or the red ball-gag in my mouth. My African-American neighbor, the Black Mistress, is going to town on my behind with that hair-brush. Why? Because I was late. And why was I late? Because I’m always late. I always have been. That’s just Taylor. Want to know now to set your watch? Wait for Taylor to arrive, and set it back an hour. Guaranteed, you’ll hit it right on the minute.

I wonder if Black Mistress knew this before she blackmailed me. This horrendous situation certainly seems “Taylor”-made for me to fail. Black Mistress insists that I be at her back door at 8:45am sharp every Friday morning. Not a minute before or a minute after. So of course, after 8 weeks I have yet to make it once. I can’t help but suspect that this obsession with promptness is just an excuse for her to come up with new ways to punish me every week.

And by punish, I mean beat. It’s always something new every week. We went from whips and floggers through her husband’s favorite belts (studded and non-studded) to a cane and a wooden spoon. Even her bare hand, although I think that eventually hurt her as much as me (ha!). So this week it’s this spiked hair-brush. And of course it hurts. They all hurt. I’m not much for pain, or bondage for that matter. I’ve screamed and cried through every single one of these punishments, and today’s no different. I wish I wouldn’t. I wish I could control myself when I’m being punished, so as not to give Black Mistress the satisfaction. But I can’t. I’m a screamer and a crier, and the more I do of each, the more Black Mistress seems to like it, which means the more I am beaten as Black Mistress gets turned on.

Why me? Why does this shit always happen to the people who can’t appreciate it? Why couldn’t Black Mistress have ensnared Nan from down the block instead? That little freak is a total lesbo nympho. She’s always undressing us with her eyes and licking her lips. We all know it. Nan’s fooling no one but herself by staying “true” to her husband. I wouldn’t even be surprised if this bondage ‘n’ beating shit turned her on. But oh no, the woman who would like this sort of thing? She’s stuck at home in her dull life of monogamy and missionary positions. The woman who hates every second of this with a passion? She’s the one bent over the chair screaming and drooling through her ball-gag.

At least it’s a Stanton Black. The chair, that is. Black Mistress has taste, and isn’t reluctant about spending for it. That’s the kind of thing I can respect, even while I’m drooling all over it.

About that drool: I just can’t help it. I wish I could, believe me. It’s disgusting. The feel of it pooling back behind that gag and then seeping out is bad enough. Having to see it happening is even worse. But the worst part about it? Black Mistress is a stickler for cleanliness. Everything I drool I’ll have to lick up later. Anyone want to trade places with me? Even you, Nan?

The worst thing about all this is that I’m being blackmailed for nothing. Her good-for-nothing husband may be an attractive African-American doctor, but he’s also a two-bit player in my book. He made a play for me behind some hedges at an afternoon get-together at Siobhan’s place one Saturday. Sure, he looks real good if you’re into black men and cheating, but I’m into neither. But he snuck in a kiss, thinking that would do the trick. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. He got the hint, backed off, and apologized. No big deal, I figured. His success rate was probably pretty good, and he just got a little overconfident. I wasn’t wild about a kiss I never consented to, but figured by the way he dropped it, he wasn’t going to be anymore of a problem. Making something of it would be idiotic since it would just fade away on it’s own.

But of course, it didn’t fade away. Some fucking asshole was spying on us, and got a pristine photo of the kiss. That was me all right, no fucking doubt about it. The doctor’s Wife presented the photo to me in her living room, right on the couch where she fucked my asshole raw with her strap-on for the first time the very next week. She claimed a “concerned neighbor” sent her the picture. I call bullshit on that. She probably spied on us and took it herself, but what does that matter? Clearly, nothing happened between us, and her husband was the one who overstepped my boundaries. Sure, Black Mistress could swallow that. But would my husband?

That was the question. Would he? Would my husband take my word against our African-American neighbor, who was prepared to spin quite the yarn around that photo? I couldn’t be sure. We’d been married for 23 years now. We’d had ups and downs, good years and bad, and a little bit of marriage counseling along the way. I knew he trusted me…but I also knew if he ever saw this photo, he’d never be able to un-see it. For the rest of my life, I’d know that photo was in his head every time we had the slightest disagreement. Eventually, he’d have to start wondering. I couldn’t have that.

So here I am, bent over this gorgeous Stanton Black that’s now covered in my own drool, wishing that sadistic bitch’s arm would tire already.

It never seems to.

Eventually, after she’s covered my Ass in bruises and made me cry so much that the tears streaming down my face mix with the drool, she’ll decide she’s had enough. She only has me for so many hours a day, and there are other things she wants me for…like getting her off. Black Mistress gets seriously worked up over these punishments, and the bitch needs some release.

Believe me, Black Mistress’ release is hard on the knees, the neck, the back…and especially the mouth. No, she doesn’t make me lick her down there! Although, I kind of wish she would. What she does make me do is so much worse.

After untying me from the chair, which is no small effort, Black Mistress makes me lick it clean. Then she takes out the most evil “toy” I could ever hope to encounter in my lifetime. She calls it a double-headed dildo, and she stuffs the one end right in my mouth, and straps the black leather harness around my head, where she pulls it real tight. The other end of the dildo points out from my mouth. This means I literally have a black plastic dick hanging out of my mouth. God, it’s humiliating.

Black Mistress gets all nice and comfy on her couch (also black leather, natch. Noticing a theme here?), while I kneel between her legs. With her “help”, which means her solid grip in my hair, she guides me in to start fucking her while she uses a vibrator with her other hand. That’s right, she uses me for her personal human fuck machine.

You would not believe how uncomfortable this gets before the first minute is even up. She shoves my face in and out of her snatch while working herself up with the vibe. And when she starts getting close, she shoves me in and out pretty damn fast. I can barely keep my balance on a good day. My hands are cuffed behind me for good measure.

Oh, and if you think this sounds bad, you should know it can always get worse with Black Mistress. She has a video camera set up, and videos us doing this every week. Then she watches the previous week’s face-fuck session on her big screen TV while this week’s session is happening. It’s sick, isn’t it? I’m hearing too versions of Black Mistress getting off at the same time. Of course, the only thing I can see during this ordeal is her cunt getting closer and farther as I’m shoved in and out of it. And the closer she gets, the stronger she smells down there.

Maybe it’s my imagination, but it feels like it takes longer for her to cum every week. I’m sure she’s edging and drawing it out just to fuck with me. That moment when she finally does though, is pure heaven and sheer hell for me. I’m relieved, because I know the ordeal is finally coming to an end. But it’s just plain painful physically. She jerks my head in and out as her body spasms, and then gives me one final shove in as she really cums. My body is forced to move with hers as she spasms on her couch, and sometimes she squirts all over me just to make the experience more “magical”. It does my neck absolutely no favors. I’m seeing a chiropractor on Saturdays every week now. That is actually on Black Mistress’ dime, believe it or not. So is the masseuse I’m seeing every week. That at least, is something I can look forward to.

Black Mistress just sits there afterwards as she’s coming down from her Orgasm, with me on my knees and my face still pressed against her cunt, since the dildo hanging from my mouth is still shoved up inside her. When she finally pulls me out of her cunt, it’s only a partial relief. Any mess she made needs to be cleaned up. Guess whose tongue gets to do that? I do this as fast as I can, because then I get to go to the big dog cage in the kitchen. Black Mistress locks me inside it while she cleans up. Sometimes she even sees clients in her office during these times. I’m thoroughly used and exhausted by this point, and usually fall asleep after filling up on water from my dog dish. Can you imagine that the thing I look forward to the most on a Friday is napping in a dog cage?

Black Mistress always fetches me at 1:45, an hour before she releases me at 2:45. She starts by playing back today’s face-fuck session on her phone while she has me squat and pee into a bowl. Then she wipes me clean down there, and starts in on me. It always starts with her hands on my breasts and her tongue down my throat. Sometimes she just lays me out on her shag rug on the kitchen. Then she spoons in back of me, reaches around, and starts playing with my breasts and clit with the sound of our face-fucking going on in the background.

I cum. Every single time. Should I be ashamed? I have no idea what, if anything, I should be ashamed of at this point. All I know is that I am so worked up at that point that my body needs it. So I let her milk the orgasms out of me, and totally go along with it.

On some Friday’s, Black Mistress has more energy, or just feels like using me some more. If she walks into the kitchen wearing a strap-on glistening with lube, I know what the day’s deal is. She’ll haul me back out to the couch in the living room and ream the hell out of my Ass. I was a proud Anal virgin before her. Years of not-so-subtle hints and wandering fingers from my husband had accomplished absolutely nothing for him. My Ass was off limits, exit only. If he didn’t like it, he could go fuck himself back there and see how he liked it.

But now, I know what it feels like, from experience. The first time being butt-fucked was brutal and traumatic. I was really being taken back there. But as she fucked me after working the strap-on in back there, she also reached around to work my clit. I came that first time. I don’t know how that was possible, but my first Anal Sex experience is tied up with an earth-shattering Orgasm unlike any I’d ever felt before. And, I’ve cum every time she’s fucked me back there since then, even with the knowledge that I have to lick the thing clean afterwards.

Either way, I’m a dripping, sweaty mess by the time she’s done using me for the day. Then I’m made to dress quickly and unceremoniously shoved out the door. I have just enough time to sponge off my private parts a bit at home before picking up my kids. Luckily, my kids had resigned themselves to waiting for their mother at the very back of the carline years ago. The only difference now is that I really have to hustle just to get there while there’s any cars still in the line on Fridays.

Here is the bitter irony that I cannot wrap my head around. As awful as this entire situation is, I’m worried that it’s changing me. First of all, I find that I want Sex at home more often now. I’m actually initiating it, which I never did before. I’m sure that alone is enough to confuse my poor husband. The real kicker is that I’m finding I need it a little rougher now. I’m holding my husband tighter than I used to and really pulling and sinking my teeth into him, trying to get him to reciprocate. He’s starting to, but I think he’s confused. We haven’t talked about anything yet, and I don’t want to. What would I say? But I asked him to really hold me down and pull my hair while we were fucking the other night, and I really came from that. Is this what I’m turning into now? I don’t even like being used like this. I’ve certainly never fantasized about it. But now I seem to need it. What is that woman doing to me?

What I still can’t wrap my head around is what I’m doing here in the first place. Why me? Sure, I’ve worked at staying attractive, but let’s face it. I’m a 46 year old suburban housewife with some miles on my Ass. From what I can see of it, the caboose back there is still nice and round, but it’s not getting any smaller as the years go by. Despite my best efforts, I weigh a little more every year, and feel a little heavier. I’ve been dying my hair for years, so it’s that dark mix of red and black you see in so many middle-aged women these days. My skin is pretty pale, since I’ve got Irish and English roots and don’t lay out in the sun much. So what does this black dominatrix see in me? Why does she want to whip and fuck me every week? Is it just because I was unlucky enough to be caught being kissed by her husband? Is this some sort of class/race thing with Black Mistress? Hard to believe since she and her husband are bound to make more money than my husband does. Maybe the sound of pale middle-aged flesh just makes the best sound when it’s whipped. Who knows?

Next Friday, I am not going to be late. This time, I am going to show up on Black Mistresses doorstep right on time, to the second. I’m done being beaten for tardiness. I’m taking this opportunity to turn my life around. It’s going to be a new Taylor from now on…right on time!

Black Mistress Journal Entry: Ha! Yeah, like that’s ever going to happen. Poor Taylor. Couldn’t make it on time to save her life. Well, that’s just tough shit for her big behind. Rules are rules, and any rule that gives me license to beat her Ass with whatever I can come up with is a rule that isn’t likely to change anytime soon. It’s fascinating to go from Nan to Taylor in a space of just 24 hours. Nan loves being used so much, that I need to really work to remind myself that I’m the one doing the dominating. Taylor couldn’t hate it more if she tried. Hell, at this point I could just look at her and make her cry. But she stills cums. All these white women of the suburbs do with the right touch. As much as Taylor hates what I do to her and despises me, I wonder what it’s like in her bedroom now. I’ll just bet things are changing in there, for the better. I do have an effect on people…whether they like it or now.

Next Chapter: A friend of the subs shows up for a session with the new therapist in the neighborhood. Why are all her friends are acting so strangely lately?