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In the manner of Gregory Maguire, who provided us with a version of the childhood standard The Wizard of Oz through the eyes of the “wicked” witch, I have re-written my favorite BDSM story, Both Master and Slave, written by Martin Sharpe (published in 2001 by Silver Moon Books in Great Britain), from the point of view of the submissive, rather than the Master, who was Mr. Sharpe’s narrator. I hope that fans of the original book will accept my version for the tribute that it is meant to be.

*

Although I had yet to decide whether I would consent to marry Master, I was determined to win first prize at Dave and Fuckpuppet’s December fancy dress party. As Master typically felt only first prize was worth winning, both Master and I set about ensuring a spectacular entry with a vengeance.

Master bought me a pair of white ballet slippers and a little ballerina’s tutu that sat high on my hips without obscuring the view of my buttocks or my minge hair, which at that time happened to be a neatly trimmed triangle (need I add that the trimming had been neatly done by Master with his lock-back knife?).

Master also bought me white holdup stockings by tuzla escort Jonathan Aston that had a slight silver sheen, and I made myself a pair of wings from cheesecloth and wire. My undergraduate courses in literature had brought me into the theatre, and I was always more comfortable backstage, working on props and costumes or running lights, than trying to perform for an audience. You just never know what experiences will be important in life, so it is best to plunge in fully and accumulate all the knowledge and skills possible along the way.

Master bought a brooch from Butler & Wilson that went with the tiara he had bought for me so long ago. Master attached the brooch to a slender chrome-plated pole to make a wand.

The final touch was an artificial fir tree chosen for its lightness and sturdiness. Master decorated it with tinsel, glass balls and little pieces of polystyrene foam wrapped in coloured paper to look like Christmas gifts. Then Master added a chain of blinking lights that were also very light in weight, with light-emitting diodes instead of bulbs, powered by small batteries hidden inside pendik escort the empty plastic flowerpot at the base of the trunk.

On the topmost branch of the tree, Master glued a waisted butt plug Master bought from a sex shop during one of Master’s out-of-town trips. We carried the whole thing carefully to Dave and Fuckpuppet’s party in a box.

When we got inside, Master took my coat off and stuck the wings to my back with gum arabic. Then Master sprayed glue on my tits, arse and pubic patch, which Master then liberally dusted with glitter.

Master put the tiara on my head and the wand in my hand before ordering me to bend over. Once I was in position, Master greased up the butt plug and shoved it up my arsehole. Master turned on the little twinkling lights and I entered the competition as the fairy on the top of the Christmas tree.

As I moved round the party, I was struck by a weird feeling — I felt as though, despite the fact that I was walking round naked with a Christmas tree stuck up my anus, I was moving like a dancer and acting like a lady. Of course, this introspective moment maltepe escort was lost when, to ensure our chances of winning, Master joined me and began to beat my tits with a holly branch. As distracting as the rhythmic taps of the pointy holly leaves were, making my tour around the room even more difficult, Fuckpuppet later assured me that Master’s addition of the holly to our scene was the final touch that cinched the win for us.

“What do you want for Christmas?” I asked Master in the car on the way home, with the first place prize on my knee. It was a beautiful leather harness, hand-made by Dave, and I knew I was going to look lovely wearing it.

“You know what I want,” Master replied.

I shot Master a puzzled glance as I said, “I don’t, Master, honestly. Tell me what you want for Christmas, and if I can possibly afford it I’ll give it to you.”

Master hesitated. “The only thing I really want,” Master said, “is for you to marry me.”

“OK,” I said simply. “I will do it. I will be your wife, as long as I can also be your slave. I will be everything you want in a woman. I will do anything you ask, no matter how disgusting or perverted.”

Master stopped the car at the side of the road. At this point the story gets alarmingly sentimental, so the next (and final) chapter will fast forward past Christmas itself, and past the turning of the New Year that we celebrated in Hungary an hour earlier than most of our friends, drinking schnapps rather than spanking buttocks.

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