Serving Devine Part 3: Smut Stroll Addition.

18+ British Mistress. Puppy

I am surrounded by a symphony of noises, of sounds.

They make My Mistress soul sing.

And sights that fire My heart.

I see slaps on bare skin.

I hear whimpers into gags.

The sound of chains being tied.

Commands, clear, precise, spoken with feminine authority.

The salon has become a living, breathing temple of POWER.

Puppies are scattered across every surface and floor space in different stages of use.

I have demanded they are all gagged and locked tonight. The only pleasure allowed is the women’s. The only voices I want to hear are commands.

One puppy is bent over the play table, wrists locked in heavy cuffs, back arched. A woman new to her own POWER lands another measured strike with a flogger. Mistress X stands behind her, adjusting her grip, correcting the angle of her wrist with a single, precise touch.

“Again,” X says, voice low and edged. “Let the leather kiss him. Then bite.”

The woman obeys. The next stroke lands with a sharp crack. His masked head drops forward, a low, muffled whimper escaping through the gag.

She pauses, staring at her own hand as if surprised by how natural the POWEr feels. She giggles a little, I see her nervousness. Nervous for wanting this, craving it, loving it. Then she strikes again, harder. As the flogger leaves a blooming red stripe across his ass the giggles die and I see her hunger awake.

His caged cock twitches uselessly against the cold steel. Mistress X beams at her little protégée, eyes gleaming with quiet sadistic approval.

Across the room, Goddess Nyra claims her space without a single wasted word. She has selected a tall, broad-shouldered puppy and forced him onto his back on the thick rug. His ankles and wrists are chained tightly to the floor rings, body stretched open, cock locked in a squashing device and already leaking, pathetic I think to Myself. Nyra stands over him in silence, one sharp heel pressed firmly against the sensitive underside of his balls. She increases the pressure by the smallest degree. He gasps behind his gag, hips jerking, eyes wide with that perfect mix of pain and desperate need. She does not speak. She simply watches him become undone, one slow, controlled breath at a time, while the woman she is guiding watches with hungry fascination, coming to understand that true POWER can be in the silence.

Near the chaise, Mistress Yasmin works her particular magic, and I get wet at the sight of her. She has a puppy kneeling between her spread thighs, face pressed firmly against the lace of her panties, nose forced deep. Her voice is soft, almost tender, yet every word is a blade.

“Breathe me in,” she murmurs. “You do not get to think. You do not get to exist outside of this. Your mind belongs to the scent of me now. Deeper.”

He whimpers, muffled, cock straining uselessly in its cage as she rolls her hips against his face. The woman kneeling beside her watches, lips parted.

I move slowly through the room, champagne in hand, watching it all unfold. My inner dragon purrs.

Some of the women are still cautious. They stand a little apart, eyes wide, lips parted, taking it in. One of them keeps glancing at the array of toys, then back at the nearest puppy, as if deciding whether she is truly allowed to reach for either. The air is thick with desires becoming alive.

Another has already claimed a servant and is learning the language of the click, testing it, watching him scramble to obey, she laughs and taunts him. I like her.

Others have stepped fully into the current.

They move with growing certainty. They give orders without looking for permission. They touch, they take, they correct. The nervous energy that filled the room when they first arrived is burning away, replaced by something sharper, hungrier, more deliberate.

I stop beside one of the newer women. She is holding a short leather strap as though it might bite her. In front of her, a puppy waits on his knees, head bowed, breathing carefully through his gag.

I lean in close enough that only she can hear Me.

“You don’t have to be gentle,” I tell her. “He is not here for gentle. Use him. Claim your deepest, darkest wants against his skin, his mind. Hurt him if it feeds you. Swallow the sound he makes when you do.”

She looks at Me. Then at him. Then back at the strap in her hand.

Let me show you. I do not ask for a 1-10, all of My puppies consent to Me unleashing a holy hell on their bodies, and I do just that. My full weight. My full lust. My full rage behind every single hit. He takes every single one exactly as he should. With gratitude that I even grace him with My touch.

I hand her back the strap. Her eyes wide. A moment later the first slap lands, a little timid.

The second is stronger.

The third awakens something in her that will not leave her when she walks out of this house tonight. It is hers now. His skin blooms red under her hand and mine. She does it again, harder, and I see the exact moment the hesitation in her eyes is replaced by hunger and greed.

I move on, My symphony rising around Me.

Slaps on bare skin.

Whimpers into gags.

Chains being secured.

Commands spoken with growing authority.

And underneath it all, the quiet, unmistakable sound of women remembering what it feels like to claim their POWER.

..and as you all know Me as a woman of greed. I click My fingers puppy 1 is there in a flash.

“Get Me My strap. Let’s show these women what POWER looks like when I ruin a puppy”

yours in POWER,

Mistress Devine 😈