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Miss Reyna, Lifestyle Switch at Chicago Illusions

Miss Reyna Switch domestic

A Lifestyle Switch Lives BDSM at Chicago Illusions…

The life of a Chicago Lifestyle Switch can be a tricky one to refine, and I frequently battle to balance my own desires with what I know is expected of me.

My Master being in his hometown of Washington D.C. on business, I felt I could relax a little. He would be so busy and distracted with no way of checking up on me to make sure I was completing my duties (which include, but are not limited to: the maintenance of the dungeon’s domestic space, keeping myself groomed and dressed to his specifications, and of course… my remaining disciplined and chaste in his absence).

But then in walked Mistress.

Reclining on the couch in front of the toasty fireplace, one leg dangling over the edge and the other curled up under me, I jumped up when I heard a key in the lock of the front door. My heart beat uncontrollably and my stomach sank—I was suddenly sure he had just caught me being lazy, un-groomed, barefoot, and inattentive. But it wasn’t my Master at the door. It was Mistress, who my Master occasionally has check up on me (though always at random intervals so that I never know she’s coming). I sighed with relief, put my hand to my chest and smiled at her. “Oh, my God, you scared me! I had no idea you had a key, but I’m happy it’s you.”

Mistress smiled back, but strangely said nothing as she walked into the house, tossed her keys on the kitchen counter and began helping herself to a bottle of wine from the wine rack. My training kicked in instantly, “Let me help you with that, ma’am,” I said eagerly as I hurried over to get her a glass and began serving her the wine.

“Thank you,” Mistress smiled and took the glass from my hand. She had a deep, sultry voice that I hadn’t remembered from the one or two times we’d run into each other in the hallways of the dungeon. I was now all too aware of this woman—her deep, commanding voice, her confident stature (almost my Master’s height in her black, patent leather heels), the curves of her body displayed exquisitely by the tight, red dress she was wearing. Oh, no… I thought. I know myself well—and this is the struggle of a Chicago Switch—and this woman was an incredible temptation to me. Already I could feel my body tighten with the anticipation of contact with Mistress. And I didn’t realize it, but my lips had parted and I was staring at her as she smiled knowingly—wickedly—at me.

My own desires were bubbling up, starting to overflow and overpower my submissive training. Thoughts of my Master began to slip away, and I knelt at Mistress’ feet, looked up at her and began sliding my hand up the length of her leg to her strong, shapely thighs and in between them…

The door again. I heard a key in the lock but not in time to move or do anything but freeze in place. My head turned and I saw my Master walk swiftly through the doorway, eyes locked on mine, immediately understanding the situation. He was furious. But only I, who know him so intimately, could see it. His calm, assertive demeanor as he approached me hid the anger very well. Before he even reached me, I knew a punishment was coming. Unwisely, I spoke to him, “I thought you were in D.C…” I stammered.

“So you thought you could shirk your responsibilities? Disobey my rules? Forget your training completely? And show me disrespect by touching another in such an intimate way?”

These were questions that weren’t meant to be answered. I stared at him silently, until I couldn’t bare the shame I felt looking at him anymore. I lowered my eyes and turned to him, still kneeling on the floor and awaited my punishment.

My Master grabbed a large handful of my hair and began to drag me forcefully across the floor toward the cleaning rag and bucket in the corner of the room. “It looks like I’ll have to remind you what my expectations are when I’m away, naughty girl,” he said.

His arms surrounded me, his hand covering mine as he forced it into the bucket (full of filthy, cold water that I had neglected to dispose of the night before), making me grab the rag and begin scrubbing the floor. He stood up, and I continued scrubbing. My Master walked away and then returned immediately with a paddle in his hand. As I scrubbed, hurriedly, trying to do well even with a filthy rag instead of a fresh one, he brought the paddle down hard on my backside. Wearing a short, white lace dress and no stockings (another rule broken…), I was left exposed to his spanking. Again and again he spanked me with the paddle. I was too afraid to make a sound, but my hips jolted involuntarily every time I felt the impossibly hard wood of the paddle make contact with my tender skin. My eyes closed briefly, and my body tensed with the knowledge that my punishment was only just beginning…

Mistress, for her part, stood watching from the kitchen. Arms crossed over her chest, that same, wicked, knowing smile on her face… The pleasure she appeared to take in my punishment was too genuine and too calm and knowing to have been spontaneous. I was left almost to wonder if my Master had planned this with her…

By Miss Reyna

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