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In all
my years visiting professional dominatrixes, rather ironically, the most
explosive, mind shattering orgasm I ever experienced occurred during a visit
to an absolute newcomer and complete novice at the game.
She had just left University and had become
vaguely aware of the S/M scene at some Skin Two parties. (An English
rubber and fetish magazine) Correctly surmising that playing at a
mistress would earn her more than any job she was likely to get – and having
very little capital, she set up shop by renting a room in a squat! After
fitting it up with some bare essentials, she placed an advert and her
picture in the relevant contact magazines, sat back and waited for some
clients. I received one of the magazines early as I had a subscription
to it and I wrote off right away. And so it came to pass that I was one of
her first ‘customers’.
Initially I
couldn’t believe I had the right address. A row of dilapidated houses,
obviously ready for demolition? When the door opened, newspapers and dust
on the floor and up the stairs? I almost turned and left. It was the
appearance of the ‘dominatrix’ herself that changed my mind.
Long experience had taught me to take
along some of my own equipment to a session; for instance, I’ve had some
fairly grubby and ineffective gags shoved in my mouth at times, and it was
lucky in this case that I’d brought quite a bit as she appeared to have very
little equipment of her own. Indeed, she seemed quite vague as to what to
do at all! When apart from other shortcomings, it was obvious she had
never even seen anything like the pair of old fashioned wrist and ankle
manacles I produced and was uncertain even as to how to secure them , I
really began to think the whole session was going to be a total disaster.
For some, in retrospect lucky, reason I decided to persevere.
At least, thank
goodness, someone had screwed a large very secure hook into the ceiling – so
I hastily devised what I thought would be an understandable and undemanding
fantasy scenario with her. To save time and frustration, I decided to bind
myself up. Stripping off until I was naked, I stood in the middle of the
room, directly under the hook, and then snapped my steel leg manacles tight
around my ankles; these were connected by a chain of just three links.
Then using a very long thick leather strap, I bound the tops of my knees
together really securely using several tight turns. Next, I forced my
giant, penis shaped rubber gag into my mouth and buckled the strap behind my
neck. Additional straps that buckled over the head and under the chin made
his particular gag immovable and incredibly effective as communication was
impossible and screams were barely audible, muffled squeals. Finally, I
padlocked my manacles to the ceiling hook and stretching up, managed to lock
my wrists into them, a bit too tight for comfort, but it was too late to
alter that. At least now, if nothing else in this session, I was utterly
helpless in that position and there was no way I could escape.
The scene I’d
devised with her was that I’d just been dragged up from the cells below and
fixed in this position to await the torments of an evil regimes top
‘extractor of information’. This happened to be a female so sadistic
that, having had her ‘pleasure’ curtailed several times by the victims
blurting out information before she could fully demonstrate the full range
of her skills, she now had them tightly gagged to prolong their agony and
not spoil her depraved enjoyment.
As the session got
under way, I began to realize that I’d completely misread the character of
this seeming innocent and inexperienced young miss. She may have been a
novice mistress, but it soon became clear that she had no problem whatever
inflicting pain on the male body. In fact, she was instantly unerringly
realistic and uninhibited in her role and as the session progressed, I began
to realize that this lovely creature had a cruel, vicious streak in her
nature and could get real sensual pleasure tormenting submissive male
flesh. It seemed unbelievable that this previously apparently hopeless
young lady was actually becoming just like the remorseless tormentor of my
fantasy.
I also began to realize with
mounting alarm , that I, not imagining it to be especially important under
the circumstances, had not discussed with her what I meant by ‘torture’, any
limits or even simple special signals to indicate what was happening was
‘over the top’ – and now it was too late. I had submitted myself to her as
an utterly powerless bound frail victim to do with me as she pleased and
ensured my total helplessness by gagging myself silent, ensuring the whole
scene was now out of my control. Quite naturally, she would consider any
desperate struggles and any amount of muffled screams as a valid, indeed
necessary part of the scenario I had demanded.
This wasn’t turning out at all
as I’d plColletted it and now, what I’d never imagined could possibly happen,
I’d lost control and I really was starting to experience to dread and terror
a genuine victim would in similar circumstances.
Now I normally just play
around quite moderately in sessions with professional mistresses, I’m not
into real pain, just a fairly realistic threat of future certain pain and
suffering is sufficient for me. Unlike some I’ve seen, I’m not at all
extreme; I suppose I’d be considered very wimpish in some circles. I like
bondage, humiliation, sometimes enforced TV. My usual fantasy is being
viciously, brutally bound and gagged by a powerful dominatrix, humiliated
and mildly ‘tortured’. She then leaves me, describing in detail the ‘real’
torture she will inflict on me on her return. My vivid imagination then
takes over as I struggle in terror awaiting her return – and that’s usually
enough for an adequate orgasm. Of course, I have many different scenarios,
often depending on the appearance or the attitude of the dominatrix, but I’d
never chosen this exact fantasy with any. I’d never dared to. It was one
of my favorite masturbation fantasies however and I’d chosen it this time
because I was expecting a very gentle, fairly hopeless session.
However, this
novice had taken my instructions quite seriously and was gradually
increasing the intensity of the torture. Not only that, she was
diabolically inventive with her limited resources and now, totally callous
and indifferent to my agony, she relentlessly upped the pain level. She
started with burning wax, managed to inflict torment I didn’t think possible
with nipple and body clamps. I almost broke my wrists jerking about
trying to avoid the agonizing tricks she was getting up to with just a large
pair of ordinary pliers.
Exasperated by that, she undid
the thin rope tied to each corner of an old bed, knotted them together,
bound my testicles tightly with one end and then – forcing the rest of the
line through my pinioned thighs, jerked me back – and then tied the other
end to a hook on the door! Now I dare not attempt to pull away from my
tormentor as she added her gas cartridge cigarette lighter and glowing
cigarette ends to her repertoire, watching my pleading eyes with cold,
amused callousness as she drew deeply on the cigarettes ensuring they were
red hot before carefully pressing them into the desired spot.
In between these tortures,
after much flaunting it before me, she had also been giving my back and
backside a series of vicious thrashes with a thick rubber flexible, whip
like switch I hadn’t even realized she possessed.
At intervals,
she’d caress my agonized, helpless, naked body, cynically kissing the areas
she’d assaulted and taunt me with wicked contrived innocence, observing with
cruel satisfaction that my tight gag made my desperate attempts at
communication impossible. “When am I going to hear the information I’m
seeking? I can’t make head or tails of all those silly weird noises you’re
making - you’re not making sense - you’re not really trying are you? I
can see I’m going have to stop playing around and get really serious. Come
on now, make my day, let me hear some really loud screams – I’m going to get
real pissed off if I don’t hear some soon, it means I’m not trying hard
enough.” God, I was trying hard enough to scream out loud, I had early on
tried to, fairly hopelessly, work the gag out of my mouth. But, noticing
my efforts, she viciously tightened the strap even further behind my neck
ending all forlorn hopes on that score.
Now in any
situation I’ve ever been in with a professional mistress, obviously most of
the components that made up this unique session would be missing and I know
all I would be feeling in the exact same situation would be just horrendous
pain – no possibility of ‘pleasure’ whatsoever. But now, the very unusual
elements in this session, unbelievably, slowly started to combine into an
unexpected and very exciting chemistry.
Unlike in normal
circumstances, in this situation, I had lost control very early on and was
now really at the mercy (or total lack of it) of a dominatrix who not only
really got sensual pleasure inflicting pain, she was also totally
indifferent to any pain and torment I must obviously be suffering now and
furthermore, had no concept of client/mistress arrangements. I was
completely bewildered and disorientated by the total transformation of our
roles. Early on, I’d been somewhat condescending and superior to this
apparently inept young mistress. Now her instinctive and natural
expertise assuming with terrifying ease the role of my supreme cruel,
fantasy goddess in a scene I’d never previously dared to request, her
incredible aptitude at torture and the fact that I was totally in her power
– I was now frankly, more terrified of this creature than of anyone in my
life. The fantasy I’d originally devised had now become as realistic as
it was possible to imagine.
The next vital element in the
mix was the young lady herself. I previously mentioned it was the sight
of the mistress herself that stopped me from turning away from the place.
She was tall, with long dark hair and a lovely face that even when she
turned mean during the torture, still managed to look incredibly attractive
and desirable. She also had a sensational body, long curvaceous legs and
was wearing one of those incredibly sexy figure hugging black rubber outfits
from the Skin Two shop, high heels, black seamed nylons and elbow length
black satin gloves.
The combination was
electrifying. The action of the tight shiny rubber covering her perfect
shape as she elegantly moved about was a sheer delight to observe and just
that in itself was incredibly arousing. I also dimly realized that as the
role I’d asked her to perform was so close to her real nature, she didn’t
have to indulge in any ‘amateur dramatics’, she was just acting naturally –
so she couldn’t really be other than perfect. Another ‘bonus’ was that
being a novice she had yet to adapt to that false and artificial ‘mistress
speak and talk’ that the professionals employ.
Through a mist of tortuous
pain and hopeless screams, some part of my brain was beginning to register
the fact that the appearance, character and actions of this gorgeous
creature was starting to stir up some deep, very powerful erotic
sensations. I had dredged up this scene from a fantasy area that I’d only
dared contemplate in private and certainly never expect to experience and
now a large proportion of that fantasy was happening for real.
Hanging in that room, secured
so effectively and gradually being emasculated so expertly by this beautiful
creature, who by all appearances shouldn’t conceivably be putting me through
such agony, but who now terrified me so much that every time she approached
me, I started muted, impotent and hopeless screaming and shrieking in
anticipation of the pain about to be inflicted – very slowly, but with
increasing excitement – I was undergoing a wonderful transformation.
Somehow the masochistic,
submissive part of my consciousness emerged to a level I never knew existed
and was signaling that the position I found myself in now was one I’d always
secretly wished would one day actually happen. The pain miraculously began
to mutate into a sort of agonized erotic ecstasy. The dread, terror and
the torment were still present but now all that just seem to add to the new
excitement.
The final overwhelming climax
came as she was leaning against the front of my hanging body to stub her
lighted cigarette end on my buttocks. I could feel the full rubber clad
curvaceous body of this angelic, pitiless sadist against mine, She was
whispering in my ear that she was still very ‘displeased’ with my lack of
cooperation so far and I was about to experience real agony. But by now
it didn’t matter what she did to me, I was in some sort of agony heaven.
Oh God - Yes! Yes! My tormenter had become in my mind an overwhelmingly
powerful, superior, cruel goddess and in my abject total helplessness in her
power, somehow it seemed proper and justified that she should be torturing
me if that was her pleasure. Please! Please! Be more cruel – mutilate me!
At this point, luckily, I
experienced the most mind shattering, euphoric, glorious prolonged orgasm I
have ever felt. I was ironic that after all that torture, it was her
rubber hips pressing against my, by now, giant erection that set me off.
Huge amounts of spunk flowed all up her rubber dress. Oh, Heaven…it went on
and on like never before, and during that period, I really was in
paradise. The moment it came at the end though, the pain came back in
waves - Jesus! I really hurt all over – how on earth had I taken such body
and mental suffering. Thank heaven, the dominatrix now had the sense,
viewing my huge climax and seeing the result on her dress, to realize the
session was over and released me from my bonds.
If the session I had just been
through was totally out of any experience I’d ever had, my actions after
were just as astonishing to me. Released, all sorts of weird unusual
thoughts spinning around in my head and my body throbbing with pain all
over, I turned to my tormentor. She stood looking at me, hands on her
hips, still exuding an incredible aura of dominance, power and menace and
despite the fact I was now free, I hadn’t nearly recovered enough to lose my
terror having experienced what she was capable of.
“Why aren’t you on your knees
before your mistress?” Oh my God – she hasn’t finished with me yet!
Incredibly, I found myself on
my knees, groveling, kissing and licking her high heel shoes, begging her
not to hurt me any more – and I really meant it! At that moment I just
knew she could have done anything she wished with me, that she had complete
control over me. For the first time in my life, I really understood the
emotions of a genuine slave. I was vaguely aware that I had become a
pitiable object groveling on my knees before her in abject fear, but I just
didn’t care. The combination of how I’d been brutally tortured, the memory
of how totally indifferent and contemptuous she had been to my anguish and
suffering, the bizarre contradiction of her beauty and her cruelty and the
sure knowledge that a terrifying ordeal would be the fate of any male she
really had in her power – all that had just blown my mind.
She toyed with me for a time,
seemingly amused and contemptuous at the craven figure I’d become as opposed
to very confident, superior figure she’d met at first. Ignoring my
whimpering, she was grinding her stiletto heels into my wounds as I
prostrated myself. She seemed to be considering how to proceed – but then
– “Damn! I’ll have to terminate this session.”
It turned out she had
another client due in about twenty minutes. I found out later that she had
become more sexually aroused during our session than she had ever been in
her life before – and she was still in an elated state after my release.
The sight of me prostrated before her, ‘a pathetic groveling wimp’,
obviously totally incapable of resistance in any form, had set her off again
and all sorts of new tricks went through her mind; starting with laying me
face up on the bare springs of the old steel bed, tying me with the rope,
spread-eagled to the four posts. It was touch and go, she told me later,
she was seriously considering whether to carry on with me and ignore his
rings on the frontdoor bell.
As she came back down to earth
and slowly reverted back to the apprentice mistress I originally encountered
and despite the fact I just wasn’t in any fit state to be rational about
anything – I did manage to indicate that she should be very clear as to the
exact nature of her clients desires and never duplicate what she did to me
unless the client specifically, in great detail, requests it.
“But you loved it – I’ve never
seen so much spunk.”
“I know, I know – but it was
just a one in a million freak happening – I can’t get my head around it
now. We’ll have a chat about when I visit next.”
“Oh – you are coming back
then?”
“If I get out of intensive
care.”
I never got much sleep that
night. I was in pain all over, but wasn’t just physical suffering – my
brain was in total turmoil as I kept going over the events of that afternoon
over and over again. The wounds she left on me did eventually disappear
and I could strip off in public once again – but the vivid memory of what I
was reduced to that day has never left me.
The nights in bed when I want
to play with myself, and I start going though all my fantasies, invariably
that session will come to the fore and it still never fails to produce an
explosion of some very bizarre, contradictory, intense and very exciting
emotions.
I often fantasize on and
visualize what she might have got up to had that chap not made an
appointment or she had decided to ignore him and carry on with me.
Was I lucky or not? On
balance, the wimp side of my submissive character comes down on the fact I
was lucky. I really had taken more than I could have possibly imagined, I
know that magically, it had turned out to be a sensationally erotic
experience – but I’m certain I couldn’t have repeated that climax, I was
crushed. Whatever she would have done to me (and she was definitely
getting more and more remorselessly vicious) – it would have been pure
bloody agony with no compensation whatsoever. But, (assuming I survived
it!) Would the memory of that extra session now be giving me a more exiting
thrill than the first? Hmmmm.
Of course, when I recovered, I
revisited her – many times. But now, with a bit more experience under her
belt, she was a far more cautious person. And I? Well I never had the
nerve to suggest we try the ‘extractor of information’ scenario again – I
knew anyway, we could never really reproduce the passions of that day. We
had lots of good times though. Because she was so utterly gorgeous, I went
in more for forced body-worship scenarios. I also discovered that after a
short introduction, she soon became incredibly adapt at applying tight and
escape proof rope bondage, especially with the new ropes I gave her.
Often, helpless in painfully
tight bondage, I’d be forced to lick and tongue her most beautiful pussy as
she playfully inflicted restrained torture to encourage me – not that I
needed much encouragement for that scenario! Of course, I could have
easily got her to inflict a similar form of torture on me again as in the
first, she hadn’t suddenly stopped being a sadist - if fact I knew the word
had got round and she was dealing with clients who were taking far more
severe punishment than I had received.
But oddly enough, she told me
she never got quite the same intense emotion again, probably because she
knew those clients were really serious masochists and in their own way, were
getting equal pleasure from the session. In ours, not having had any real
specific instructions from the victim and finding herself in total control,
she could be herself without any inhibitions and despite my final climax,
she admitted after, that she instinctively realized that most of the time,
from my reactions, she really was inflicting real, genuine pain and agony on
me – and what an erotic turn on my obvious suffering had been – especially
as I’d been such a supercilious, patronizing ‘creep’ early on.
The end came with
distressing suddenness. She had been mentioning for some time, arguments
with the ‘owner’ of the squat about money. I’d been away and upon phoning
her, got the disengaged signal.
I shot
around to the place right away, but the door was answered by a fat Asian
chap who, apparently irritated at all the blokes calling at the door for
her, claimed he had just moved in and knew nothing at all about this woman.
I desperately searched for her
in all the areas where mistresses advertise, but she never reappeared on the
scene. Perhaps she went off with some rich slave who satisfied her
sadistic instincts. Perhaps she gave up or even went abroad to live, I just
don’t know. I do know I now wish I’d proposed to her when I had the
opportunity.
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