Vixen’s Notebook The Vanity – Part One Under copyright © to X Project Publishing I am completely naked, kneeling at the feet of My Goddess. To her left and just behind her vanity chair, exactly where she expects me as she likes to be able to flirt with me through her mirror as she applies her makeup and does her hair. In order to accentuate her teasing she needs to be able to see me clearly to asses how aroused her words are making me. As she starts on her full lips with an outline pencil, she begins to speak in an impassive voice, silky smooth, each word enunciated slowly and clearly as if she is explaining something rudimentary to a pupil, which considering my current state of arousal I was very grateful for, as my cognitive functions were severely hampered. As she performed the delicate task of outlining her lips she quickly flashed her gorgeous deep blue eyes down at my kneeling, groveling form, and snickering softly she says, "Oh baby, your tongue is sticking out, are you in heat or something?" In truth, I was in heat, like a male dog who had been starved of mating opportunities for some time, and just like a dog, my erection was an embarrassment, like something people might point and giggle at. I suspected that she loved having me in a state of constant lust for her, as this was the only possible explanation for why she was so ruthlessly persistent in the practice. Tease me? Oh yes, you had better believe it. Satisfaction? No, sadly, not for several weeks now. I mean, whenever I was not in her presence, doing my daily chores, or sleeping in my "room", a converted broom closet under her stairs, I would furiously get busy with my hand to provide me a at least some release. She was fully aware of this of course but she never seemed to mind, at least, she had never verbalized anything different to me. In response to my indiscretion, I quickly gathered my tongue back into my mouth, scampered closer to her exquisitly petite feet, and placed a respectful kiss on wet glossy pink toes, just as she liked it, and said, "Please forgive me Goddess, I forgot myself." She happily continued applying her makeup, snapping the lid on her lip liner shut, then picking up an expensive looking lipstick container, as she unwound it a very sexy shade of glossy, rich, pink appeared from the tip like a promise of more. She giggled, "That's fine baby, back to where I can see you, I am not done speaking to you." she said as she expertly began to paint her lips. She flashed her eyes down at me again, "Remind me darling, when was the last time you had a....release?" she asked. It took a minute to register that she was asking me a question, and then several moments more before I could process the meaning, and once understood, a great heat of shame blushed my face, and then I whimpered at the floor like a beaten puppy. "Yesterday, Goddess, after lunch." I said meekly. She just smiled and continued with her lips, painting them in with precision, then click, on went the lid, then placed back in its exact location. Goddess was very precise with these things, and next she selected a pencil for her well groomed eyebrows. "Oh, not so long then." is all she said, the slight smile on her now glossy pink lips betraying her sadistic streak. After a long a long moment, when she was finished penciling her brows, she selected a complex mixture of eye shadows, none of which I really understood, but I was always in awe with her skill when applying shadow, how she could make seemingly terrible color choices work their magic against her jewel like blue eyes. I vividly remembered the first time she had allowed him to watch her apply makeup, and the feeling of a dawning revelation of a brand new fetish that I never knew I had. And, I must admit, after licking and worshipping her exquisite feet, watching her fuss with her appearance was the sexiest thing I could imagine. Then, when she was ready, "Although, we really do need to work on your masturbation habits, don't think I am not aware of how often you do it, and let's face it Jonathon," she rarely used my name anymore, she stopped what she was doing and looked directly at me "this obsession with me isn't healthy, you do know that right?" I stopped ogling her feet, and sat very silent, not at all happy where this seemed to be leading. "Jonathon, look at me." She commanded. I hesitated, not certain what to do, but her instruction had been clear. Nonetheless I was deeply concerned that this could be a trap because about three weeks ago she had been very explicit that she didn't like me looking up at her, ogling her body, lusting after her, as this implied equality, and as she had also made clear that day, she didn't consider me to be a real man anymore, instead she had labelled me a beta male. A beta male is how she put it. "Since you are clearly nothing more than a beta male to me it is only fitting that you look at my shoes and feet, those you can ogle all you want", she had explained. I slowly looked up, my eyes feasting on her dainty ankle with its ever present and slender chain hanging loosely around, then up her calves, tanned and toned to perfection, the flare of her narrow waist, her toned stomach, then I took a deep breath as my eyes confronted the vision of her ample breasts, my erection leaping uncontrollably as I noticed her pointed nipples pressing against the shiny silkiness of her pink nightgown, and then further up her long graceful neck and shoulders, and finely, her visage, half made up with makeup, but already a true vision of feminine beauty, and finally, I landed on her deep, rich blue eyes and her golden blonde hair swept back into a high ponytail. I gasped. I watched as she peered down at my arousal holding her gaze there, a satisfied smirk forming at the corners of lips, she pouted then, "You see? This is what I am talking about, you just can’t help yourself...can you, Jonathon?" she asked the question that wasn't one, not really. "Y-y-yes Goddes, er, I mean, No Goddess, you are too beautiful and it as been so long..." I whimpered. She cocked her head sideways in genuine curiosity "For what?" she asked. "Since we had sex, Goddess, since we made love, I miss it so much, I miss you so much." I explained. She looked down at me, her face an impassive mask betraying nothing, then she simply turned back around to continue with her makeup routine and she said, "Well, beta males don't get sex, and you will certainly never have me like that again, not now, not ever." Her cruel sadistic words pierced my heart like a dagger, it hurt me to my core, and tears began to well up, as she began to apply a pinkish blush to her cheeks, her sapphire eyes sparkled with an inner joy. She took pleasure in this, I could see it now. I stared up at her, drinking her in, then she said "Eyes down at my feet, beta." she didn't raise her voice, then she added "In fact, get back to licking my toes while I finish my hair and makeup and explain some more things to you." she commanded in a soft, silky voice. I complied immediately, the tip of my tongue reaching out for her pretty pink toes, above me I heard her giggle, "Good beta." ...to be continued

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Don't be shy, if you like, then drop a like ;-) Your engagement is the only way I can know what you actually like, does it make sense? Vixen’s Notebook Chastity Mistress - Part One Under copyright © to X Project Publishing I had been banished, my place was now under her bed. I had broken a rule, she had so many, but this one, as she had made very clear, was sacrosanct. No masturbation, and no lusting after Mistress. My Mistress was very strict, exacting, and diabolically cruel with her punishments. After finding me furiously jerking off to her in my assigned bathroom, my head swimming in lustful fantasies about her, I had been denied release for 5 weeks now. It was always about her and only her, she had whipped me soundly within an inch of my life, she was very adept with her sleek, freshly oiled whip, and no, she did not my spare my poor, aching balls. When she was finished and I was groveling at her stilettos, hot tears streaming down my cheeks, she smiled down at me. "You're punishment isn't done, slave." Next came my chastity cage, a beautifully crafted black stainless contraption which as she explained had been designed especially for me to be too tight. She expected all of her slaves to be under strict control, as she explained, while fitting the cruel cuff around my ball sac. And, now that the whip had done its work my flaccid penis was ready to be fitted into its new sheath. She slid it on slowly while insisting I look directly into her eyes, then she aligned the bolt holes of the cuff and the sheath and with dexterous fingers snapped a padlock shut. CLICK. "There," she said with a smirk of satisfaction "where it belongs." Then, the really cruel part came next, she produced a small ring with angry looking spikes around the inner perimeter, and explained, "These spikes will be fitted just behind the ridge of your cock head, like this." and then she showed me, on they went, inside of my sheath, no need for another lock as they clicked into place perfectly as if the chastity cage had been designed for them. "This will teach you about self-control, since you have clearly demonstrated to me that you have none." She had then ordered me onto the floor and attached a heavy chain to my collar and a much smaller one to the chastity device itself. The small chain she wrapped around my still tender ball sac a few times before locking it to the floor with a small padlock. The heavier chain attached to my collar was then attached to the bed post at the foot of her bed. "Don't go anywhere," she said, a cruel glint in her eye. I heard her heels clicking on the polished wood floor as she walked away and the door close softly behind her. The room was dark except for the sliver of light under the door, and all I could do was wait. The cold chain was a constant reminder of my predicament, and the spikes inside the cage were a dull, threatening presence against my tender flesh. I tried to shift my position, but any movement only caused the chain to tighten, sending a jolt of pain through my abused testicles. The hours passed, or maybe it was minutes. Time had lost its meaning in the suffocating darkness. The only sound was the rasp of my own breathing and the faint, rhythmic clinking of the chain as my body betrayed me with involuntary shivers. A thin sheen of sweat slicked my skin despite the chill in the room. My mind, usually a sanctuary of control, was now a riot of memories. I was left here, under her bed, for hours on end. Periodically, she would appear in her bedroom, with me only afforded a view of her exquisite feet and lower legs. I had grown to cherish these moments. Her scent, a heady mix of expensive perfume and her own unique musk, would drift down to me, an intoxication that both tormented and soothed. Sometimes she would pace, the sound of her steps a soft, hypnotic rhythm on the floorboards above. Other times, she would sit on the edge of the bed, and I would catch a glimpse of the smooth, unblemished skin of her calves. Each fleeting image was a masterpiece, seared into my memory. The chain would grow taut as I strained to see more, my ball sac pulled tightly, the spikes digging in. I would whimper, a pathetic sound lost in the vast space of the room, and she would sometimes pause, a slight tilt to her head, as if she had heard. But she never acknowledged me. My suffering was my own, a silent offering at the altar of her indifference. This was my existence now. A cycle of anticipation, fleeting glimpses, and throbbing, unending denial. The line between pleasure and pain had blurred into a single, all-consuming sensation. The cage was no longer just a prison; it was a part of me. The spikes were not just a punishment; they were a constant, intimate connection to her will. She was as creative as she was cruel, always making a point to undress tantalizingly close to me, and then as if by accident, leaving her expensive silk panties within range of my starving nostrils. The pink, she had so many, but pink were my favorite, would just lie there in a seductive puddle. I confess there were times, I had become so desperate, that I strained myself against the tight chain, extending my tongue painfully, just to try for a taste, a lick. Sadly, I could never quite get there, and of course I never dared try this when she was around to witness. But that wasn't the worst of it. Not by a long shot. The true torture, the exquisite agony that shattered my sanity, was when she brought her lovers home. The first time, the sound of the front door opening, followed by a low masculine laugh and the rustle of a coat, sent a spike of ice through my veins. I heard her laugh, that melodic, cruel sound that I worshipped, and another, deeper voice answering her. My world, which had shrunk to the space under her bed and the scent of her discarded lingerie, suddenly expanded to include another. A stranger. A rival. They entered the bedroom. ...to be continued