Cock twitching, aching, and throbbing between your thighs, you stagger towards me.

Still blushing, lips glazed with cum and eyes glazed with lust from the encounter with Ms. Rita’s Bull, you wonder just how much more of this relentless cockteasing Cocktoberfest carnival you can take. As you make your hobbling, blue-balled progress towards me, something about the wicked curve of my candy-apple red smile sends a shiver down your spine, all the way through to the tip of your dick.

Kissing Booth

The large, flirtatious script hung in a banner over my head seems to act like a beacon across the fairgrounds–you can see others making a similarly lust addled waddle towards me, and a crowd of supplicants spread around me. You manage to make your way through to the front lines, stepping around a pile of kindling, and stand before me. Strangely, the people closest to my booth appear to be preoccupied with any number of odd pursuits—stripping shoe laces from shoes, belts from slacks, begging for kitchen spoons from passing food carts, or costumes or juggling pins from passing entertainers.

“Come closer, sweetie.”

You see my eyes twinkling merrily, the red and gold color color of my hair accented by a crown of autumn leaves, and a Grecian style gown’s translucent folds highlight every curve of my body–the fabric is so thin you can see the shadow of my belly button,  while orate embroidery around the bodice and a bronze velvet sash trimmed with bells and topped with a glossy leather girdle is slung low over my hips, the ends slither musically between my legs; obscuring a view that would have been absolutely scandalous in their absence. You come closer—staring, hoping that maybe with this breath, or the next, perhaps that sweet tease of a costume might allow you a peek at the forbidden.

“Choose your prize, darling—the best rewards come with the highest sacrifice.”

Prize? Reward? Sacrifice? That last word has you swallowing nervously, and you follow the graceful wave of my arm all the way down to my fingertips, gazing blankly at a small sign, before realizing there are words on it:

Kissing Booth Rules

Mistress Chooses Kiss

• 10Min shoelace CBT, or  10min Sissy dance in full costume= 1 Mistress Kiss
• 50 OTK spankings with a belt, or kitchen spoon = 2 Mistress Kisses
• All of the above + 15 ball smacks with a juggling pin = 3 Mistress Kisses

subbie Chooses Kiss

• 10 Minutes of Mistress Playtime = 1 Mistress Kiss of sub’s choosing

You stare at the people grappling with shoelaces, belts, and juggling pins around you with newly opened eyes; including two slender men rolling around in the dust–the scraps of a harem girl costume clutched in their scrabbling hands. Another sissy is gamely burlesquing on top of a picnic table in full drag. You wince as you see several more drape themselves over cheering Mistress’ laps, and hear their grunts, whimpers, and shrieks as belts or kitchen spoons come whistling down.

As you watch, a man slowly levers himself up—

His backside is riddled with pink and red welts from his Mistress’ enthusiastic paddling, his movements are stiff and slow. You see him make his wincing, staggering, tormented way to my side to claim his reward, and see my warm smile.

“Well done, sweetheart–I see you’ve been working on your pain tolerance.” You see him grin, practically glowing—then watch in disbelief as I pat him on the head, leaning past him to kiss the Mistress who’d followed her little swat subbie up to the booth. “I know I can always count on you to give the guys a proper paddling.” I kiss her again, then wave happily as the slap happy couple walk away–the sub still glowing with pride over being commended for his performance.

I see your shocked expression and giggle. “What? It says clear as day that I choose the kiss for spankings–and that includes Who.” I idly trace my fingers along the sign, then look up at you hopefully–

“Did you want to choose?”

“Well…..kinda….yeah.”

Something about the sudden blaze of my smile chills you to the bone. “Wonderful! I’ve been waiting alllllll day for someone to willing to play with me.” You see me flick a glance towards the pile of kindling and woodchips. “….It’s so hard to find good playmates these days.”

You see me pick up a thick branch from behind the booth, and hand it to you. “Remember: the deal is for 10minutes; no more—no less. All you have to do is hold the stick.”   You see me glance towards another Mistress, and a tiny hourglass is flipped.  “The clock starts now.”

Next, you watch as my nimble fingers begin working on the leather girdle—-and realize that it’s not a girdle at all, it’s a bull whip. The bells on my sash still chime sweetly, but the bullwhip rustling as I begin moving it along the ground sounds almost like the hissing of vipers.  I give a few practice swings, and the sharp CRACK! as the whip slashes through the air makes you flinch.

“That cracking sound is actually a controlled sonic boom.” You hear me say lightly, turning to face you. “Bullwhips are one of my favorite toys….but I so rarely get to use them. Probably because they can break bone if the person wielding it doesn’t know how to use it.

Now remember–all you have to do is hold on to the stick, there’s only 9 minutes to go.”

Before you have time to do more than nod, you hear the whip crack again—and watch in disbelief as a wood chip topples down from the top of the branch to land on the pile by your feet.

 “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” You see me smile, hear the whip rustling, and hear me giggling over the tide of horror and terror sweeping over you. “Just hold still—and don’t drop the stick.”

CRACK!

Another wood chip falls down to join the pile.

CRACK!

And another.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The wood chips sound like a cross between playing cards and dominoes falling—and you realize each swing of the whip is whittling more and more of the branch away.

“Only 8 minutes to go.” You hear me announce cheerfully.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Each crack is bringing that bullwhip closer to your white-knuckled grip, closer to your body, closer to you.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Every inch of your body is breaking out in a cold sweat–sheer terror has you frozen in place.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

You can feel the breeze kicked up from the swing of the whip, hear its shrill whistle through the air, feel the vibrations in the branch as it’s being systematically cut down to size.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Without even realizing it at first—the branch falls out of your clammy grip. You hear its heavy thud as it falls onto the woodpile, the sound of the whip falling silent, and then my disappointed sigh.

“Well, you tried, sweetie. Better luck next time.”

You see me nod towards another Mistress watching from the sidelines. “—Why not try your luck with Ms. Christine? I’m sure she’ll have quite a few naughty surprises in store for you.” I blow you a kiss, then turn with an angelic, eager smile to face the crowd, “Next?”