User Tools

Site Tools



In all my years visiting professional mistresses, rather ironically, by far the most explosive, mind shattering episode I ever experienced and from which I never fully recovered, occurred during a visit to an absolute beginner and a complete novice at that profession. The following account is I believe an accurate record of the session as I still remember most details quite vividly, but there were some occasions where I believe I may have had moments of blackout or was not fully compos mentis for short periods.
The female involved hadn’t long left University after a post graduate course and had become aware of the S/M scene at some fetish rubber-wear parties she attended to model the outfits. From there she started visiting some BDSM functions where she became fascinated with and attracted to the Fem/Dom and male slave scene. Observing various mistresses in action, she figured she could perform as well as any she’d seen. She felt she certainly had the temperament and decided that operating as a professional dominatrix was likely be more lucrative than any job she’d sought for so far. \
However, having very little capital to get started, she was obliged to rent a large room from the nominal ‘owner’ of a communal squat. Buying some bare essentials, she placed an advert and her picture in one of the few mistress contact magazines around at that period, (pre-internet era) sat back and waited for some clients.
I received that particular magazine very early as I had a subscription to it and, taking one look at the photo, I wrote off right away. The reply came back remarkably quickly, considering my letter was sent to her via the magazine’s address.
I was delighted to discover this particular mistress’s base of operations was not that far away from me on the Underground. (Subway) And so by pure chance, it came to pass that I became her very first ‘client.’ (Those sketchy details were gleaned from my preliminary chat with her before the session got under way.)
Initially I couldn’t believe I had the right address. A row of old, dilapidated houses, many unoccupied. In fact, the whole area seemed ready for demolition. When the door opened and I saw newspapers and dust on the floor and up the stairs, I was inclined to turn heel and swiftly depart; but it was the appearance of the dominatrix herself that changed my mind.
She led me up the stairs and along a passageway and motioned me into one of the rooms. It was very large, reflecting the size of the property and had obviously once been a bedroom and I settled myself on one of the threadbare chairs, reflecting that this was the most unappealing mistress’s ‘workplace’ I’d ever visited.
Long experience had taught me to take along some of my own equipment visiting a new mistress, despite having to hump along quite a heavy weight.
For instance, I’ve had some fairly useless gags shoved in my mouth at times, often so inadequate that I could hold a conversation while wearing them.
And although it’s quite understandable why mistresses favor thick padded leather cuffs and straps and similar items in a session, I never cared for being bound in them.
If a session is sometimes not going very well, I’d often request to be left alone in front of a mirror for a period to let my imagination run wild and it seems far more realistic and ‘authentic’ in my eyes that I’m manacled and chained up the old fashioned way and effectively silenced.
Therefore I carry along a foolproof gag, wrist and leg manacles and quite a lot of assorted lengths of chain, with plenty of handy small padlocks and chain connectors.
It turned out to be an especially good idea for this particular session and it was lucky that I’d packed quite a lot, as she appeared to have very little equipment of her own. Indeed, she seemed quite vague as how to get the session under way.
When it became obvious she’d 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 one of the many disappointing ones I’ve experienced.
Still, I felt I’d be a lot more cheerful about wasted hours in the company of this particular mistress than any other I’d ever been dissatisfied with.
But I did begin to wonder how I’d use up the whole three hours I’d booked on the basis of her photo alone.
At least, thank goodness, she or someone had screwed a large, very secure hook into the center of 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. I stripped off until I was naked, dumped my clothes on a chair and walked to the middle of the room, directly under the hook.


I bent down and snapped my steel leg manacles tight around my ankles. These had a short chain connection, making movement very restricted. Then using one of my longer lengths of chain, I bound the tops of my knees together very tightly using several turns and secured the links with a small padlock. I tightened that chain further with another one pulled around it between my pinioned legs, that chain also pulled tight and padlocked.
Next, I forced my large penis shaped rubber gag into my mouth and buckled the strap tightly behind my neck. Additional straps that buckled over the head and under the chin made this, my favourite gag, immovable and incredibly effective as communication was impossible and the loudest screams were barely audible.
I had arranged with the mistress at this point to chain my elbows nearly together, but sufficiently far apart that I could just get my arms up over my head, which she did very competently. Almost too competently as she chained them really tight and the chain bit into my elbows when I raised them up.
Finally, I had already connected my wrist manacles onto a short chain hanging from the hook, so stretching up, almost up on my toes, managed to lock my wrists into them.
I then found I’d bound myself a bit tighter than normal, especially with the chains biting now quite deep into the flesh of my elbows and knees, but it was obviously now too late to start all over again.
At least, if nothing else much happened in this session, I was now conscious of the blissful and exciting sensation of being utterly helpless in that position and the knowledge that I couldn’t possibly escape.
Even if the torture turned out to be more ticklish than severe, at least the thrilling awareness that I’d placed myself in a position giving her total control and the pain of struggling in this tight bondage must produce a reasonable orgasm.
The scene I’d devised with her was that I had been arrested while visiting a country run by an evil totalitarian regime and they had simply refused to believe my pleas that it must be a case of mistaken identity and I just had no idea what the information was they were seeking from me.
Now, at this moment, I’d just been dragged up from the cells below and fixed in this position to await whatever torments the evil regimes top ‘extractor of information’ was about to inflict on me to get me to reveal what I was supposed to know.
This person 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 indulge herself and 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 a male body.
I now began to very much regret my somewhat light-hearted advice just before I gagged myself: ‘Just throw all your inhibitions away and imagine how this terrible female would act.’
Well, she’d certainly didn’t appear to have any inhibitions at all. In fact, she was instantly, authentically realistic in her role and very early on in the session, I began to realize that this lovely creature had a cruel, sadistic streak in her nature and appeared to get a great deal of pleasure inflicting pain on a captive male.
It seemed beyond belief that this previously apparently rather serene and self-effacing young lady could become so realistic in a role where cruelty and torture were the main components.
I also began to realize with mounting alarm that I, for the first time ever, having not imagined it to be especially important under these unusual circumstances – had not discussed exactly what I meant by ‘torture’.
I just didn’t want to confuse and possibly inhibit her with a long list of all my likes and dislikes.
I remember being a bit surprised that she hadn’t asked just what sort of torture my fantasy tormentor would employ, just nodding her head when I went through the scene I wanted – and so I was rather anticipating a sort of gentle, compassionate torture being practiced on me. And, of course, it also hadn’t occurred to me to set up my usual system of special signals to indicate what was happening was too severe – and now it was too late.
I had unwisely given her absolute control and described that in her eyes, I was just an utterly worthless, insignificant victim of no consequence, strung up for her to perform on me as she imagined a sadistic and utterly heartless female top secret police official in a totalitarian state would.
As I’d also ensured my total helplessness by the bondage I’d chosen, and by gagging myself so effectively that intelligible communication was impossible, quite quickly, the whole scene had alarmingly got out of my control.


My anxiety was mounting fast as I also realized too late, that 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 planned it and now, what I’d never imagined could possibly happen, her activities were such that I really was starting to sweat with nervous apprehension and experience the mounting horrified anticipation a really genuine victim would in the same circumstances.
I normally just play around in a manner, which would be considered quite tame and controlled, in sessions with professional mistresses. I’m masochistic in nature, but most certainly not into the really serious pain scene.
Just a moderate amount mild torture early on and again towards the end of the session combined with a fairly realistic threat of future certain pain and suffering is quite sufficient for me.
I like role playing, involving tight bondage, captivity and humiliation and can accept not too painful ‘torture’ when it’s appropriate for satisfying the fantasy.
If a mistress is proficient and realistic throughout the ‘performance’ and later on starts to up the pain level, that’s usually enough for at least one reasonable orgasm before I have to give the secret signal to end the session before it becomes too uncomfortable.
Of course, I have many different scenarios, often depending on the appearance or the attitude of the dominatrix.
I had used this particular fantasy before, but obviously, the mistress would have understood from our initial conversation just what my limitations were.
This scene was also one of my favourite masturbation fantasies (usually with a blond SS type female) and I’d chosen it this time because it was an easily understandable fantasy for a mistress to perform.
I had assumed I was in for a fairly disappointing session as far as authenticity was concerned.
For the first time ever, I cursed my particular passion for inescapable bondage. Had I have been one of those slaves who was satisfied just to bend over and receive a few smacks on the bum, I could have ended the session long before it started to become so frightening.
However it was not to be, as this novice had ominously decided to perform her role in the fantasy I’d devised as realistic as I’d requested and was gradually increasing the intensity of the torture.
Not only that, she was diabolically inventive with her limited resources and now, totally indifferent to my increasingly desperate attempts to register some indication that I wanted urgently to communicate, she relentlessly upped the pain level.
She had started by casually boiling wax in a saucepan on a gas ring and then pouring it over my upper body and testicles.
Then, carefully and precisely, managed to inflict torment I didn’t think possible with some diabolically evil nipple and body clamps that I’d seen in a box on the sideboard before we started.
I was a bit surprised at the time that she owned such implements, but I hadn’t even bothered to question her about them as I assumed she wouldn’t know too much about their use and were there simply for show.
It turned out, as with the wax, she must have already seen them in use somewhere, because she understood perfectly how to use them to maximum effect.
She even improvised further with them later, when she tightly connected many of them together with some strong string, ensuring they were constantly in tension and would tear into my flesh even further as my body twisted about in vain efforts to avoid the relentless torture. And though she didn’t have much conventional mistress type equipment, she could certainly improvise as I found when she produced a large pair of ordinary pliers and used them throughout adding more and more agonizing tricks to her pliers repertoire\\. Exasperated by my early jerking about in my suspended state to avoid the torture and in yet another unnerving example of her cold-blooded ingenuity, she undid the thin rope that was tied to each corner of an old heavy steel framed bed in the room and knotted them together. She bound my swollen 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 the foot of the bed. CHAPTER 4: MERCILESS.
Now my movement hanging on the hook was very much restricted and I dare not attempt to pull away too much from my tormentor as she remorselessly continued to act in the role I’d requested.
I thought I was about get some small moment of relief when she relaxed back against the old set of drawers and lit up a cigarette. But after a few deep draws, she looked at the red-hot end of the cigarette and then looked at me – and I knew what was about to happen.
She paused for quite a few smokes during the session and each time after a few relaxing puffs, she’d slowly and sensuously approach my agonized body with an exaggeratedly sexual movement, as if to taunt me with the contrast of stunning beauty and merciless cruelty.
She’d then carefully place the burning end into the chosen area, drawing deeply on the cigarette each time to ensure it was red-hot.
In between these tortures, she’d casually saunter around behind me and then quite viciously thrash my back and backside with a sort of heavy flexible riding crop.
It never even occurred to me she possessed such a brutal instrument until she suddenly produced it from a drawer. Even the few periods when she rested for short moments, eyeing me speculatively as she relaxed back in the one chair, didn’t for a moment relieve my torment. Adding to the pain of her torture was the constant agony of the tight bondage in which I’d placed myself.
In a normal situation, even without the torture, the pain of my bondage would have long since had me signaling desperately for the mistress to untie me. Now I could only hang there helplessly, with no prospect of release, as the steel and chain cut into my poor soft flesh just adding to the overall torment.
She was to add to that torment at times as she had rummaged in my bag and pulled out a length of chain and a connector. Attaching that chain to my ankle manacles, she would use it to pull my feet off the floor as the whim took her; so my raw, agonizingly sore wrists took all the weight of my hanging body.
At intervals, she’d caress my agonized and helpless body, cynically and sensuously running her fingers over the areas she’d assaulted acting as if she was really compassionate and taunt me with wicked contrived innocence, telling me the torture would stop if only I’d reveal the information she required.
Her wide, flawlessly clear brown eyes momentarily displaying feigned sympathy for the ordeal I was experiencing.
Then, still acting her phoney compassionate role, she’d perform brutally cruel acts like pulling me forward, against the testicle rope, tugging on the body clamp strings, making them bite further into and lacerate my flesh even more, cynically implying that all this was upsetting her delicate sensibilities as much as it was distressing me.
At other times she’d pretend to be genuinely perplexed as to why I stayed silent as she was thrashing me, callously ignoring the fact I was gagged and mimicking and mocking my desperate efforts to communicate.
But most of the time she instinctively reverted to acting the role of the pitiless, female monster I’d mistakenly requested.
Despite the fact that most of my mind was inflamed with agony and despair at the torment I was experiencing, some area of my mind was still following in dread every detail of her activities with a sort of terrified anticipation.
So I was also aware at these moments from her bright, elated, luminous eyes and deep breathing that she was almost certainly getting some sort of sexual stimulation during these embraces.
More especially when she’d rub her latex clad pelvis and hips up and down against the hanging, raw, mutilated flesh she now knew she could torture at will.
Later, in pure agony, I was just continuously screaming for mercy like some sort of mantra although I knew only a faint suppressed noise was escaping the gag and the scream was only echoing around in my head.
A few times, almost as if she sensed the word I was trying to form from the constant, faint, muted, piteous squeals escaping from my gag, she’d observe in an amused tone,
“Are those continual faint squeals I keep hearing – screams for mercy?”
She’d walk around behind me, “Mercy isn’t a part of the information I’m seeking, here’s my version of mercy: I-don’t-understand-the word-so-don’t-waste-my- time!” Then, she’d thrashed my backside with her thick, heavy crop on each word to emphasize the futility of my efforts to alleviate my torment.


I lost track of time, in a red mist of pure agony, all I could do was pray for the nightmare to end.
But she was relentless. I was now really at the mercy (or total lack of it) of a dominatrix who was naturally instinctively sadistic and got a great deal of sexual excitement inflicting pain. She was also totally indifferent to all the pain and torment a victim in her power must be experiencing – and furthermore, had no concept of normal client/mistress arrangements.
Very early in this session, I had quickly become completely bewildered and disorientated by the total transformation of our roles. At the start, I’d been somewhat condescending and too eager to display my huge experience almost as if to emphasize her obvious lack of expertise. I probably would have been even more patronizing to a female so green and so young, but this one’s stunning appearance and natural poise and self-assurance certainly inhibited me from taking too many liberties initially.
Now though, with her naturally authoritative self-assurance and instinctive dominance, blended with her extraordinarily cruel nature; she had assumed with terrifying ease, the role of the merciless enslaver of the fantasy.
Added to those unnerving personality traits was her incredible talent and inventiveness at inflicting torture.
With me so utterly helpless and impotent and unable in any way to influence her activities; I had now become far more frightened and terrified of this creature than of anyone I’d ever met in my life.
The fantasy I’d originally devised had now become as realistic as it was possible to imagine.
Waves of pain flooded over me.
Just when I thought she’d reached a level where I just couldn’t take any more, she’d up the torture to a new level.
Every time she approached me to savage my flesh yet again, I’d shriek and scream, trying within my very restricted range of movement, to indicate the agony I was experiencing.
But all my silent entreaties for the torture to end, which must have been obvious, just seemed to excite and stimulate her even more.
I can’t remember for certain, how long I was into the session, how much utterly real excruciating agony I’d endured—which was far more than I’d ever imagined possible to bear—when the inexplicable and magical changes started to happen.
But before I describe the change, I must finally describe the dominatrix herself.
I previously mentioned it was the sight of the mistress herself that stopped me from turning away from the place.
She was tall, about five foot, ten and with her high heels, towered over me.\
She had long luxurious, brown hair, cascading down her back and shoulders and a beautiful face to match, with a fine bone structure.
Not the girl next-door type of face, but the sort of face that could often look arrogant and scornful, like some top fashion models.\ Her wide, expressive eyes could fool one into believing you’re the object of extreme affection one moment, but then chill your blood with dread with an icy- cold, disdainful stare the next.
She had the sort of beauty that gave out warning signals that she could contemptuously snub any unwanted male overture and I certainly wouldn’t have had the confidence to approach her had I seen her sitting alone.
In addition, she also had a sensational body, with long lovely legs to match.
Her bare shoulders were quite broad making her sizable, firm breasts appear perfectly proportionate.
Her waist was very slim and the tight latex flowed on down to outline the sublime curvature of her hips and backside.
When I followed her up the stairs initially, I was so entranced, I almost decided to change all my original ideas about the sort of session I was seeking and try a body-worshipping slave type scenario with her.
But I was inexperienced as to how to proceed with that sort of scene, not being tempted that way with most mistresses and anyway, I didn’t want the awkwardness of her refusing such a scenario on the first session.
She was wearing one of those incredibly sexy, figure hugging, black, shiny latex dresses, almost knee length and with thin shoulder straps, that one sees in latex fashion magazines and with a tightly laced black waist girdle.
With her black patent leather stiletto type high-heeled shoes, black seamed nylons and elbow length black satin gloves, the whole effect was breathtaking.
The action of the tight shiny black latex moulding her perfect figure as she elegantly moved about was a sheer delight to observe and just that in itself was incredibly arousing early on when I was hanging on the hook waiting for the start.
And even had the session just comprised of me hanging there, the sight and subsequent memory of her just preparing to torture me would alone have still provided the subject matter for thousands of future masturbation fantasies.


Even those times later on in the session, as she’d lean back against the bedroom wall, coldly studying me and lighting up another cigarette and I knew she was about to increase the torment; some detached and still maybe semi-sane part of my brain was still capable of a sort of traumatized awe at the image of such perfection before me.
Even in those terrifying circumstances, through a mist of agony, I could still at moments appreciate the absolute exquisiteness of that body as the latex stretched tighter outlining even more the flawless loveliness of her breasts and hips – and the sight of those perfectly shaped nylon clad legs.
After all that had happened so far, it still just didn’t seem possible that such a vision was capable of such pitiless cruelty.
Her beauty was so disturbing and disconcerting that early on in the session, despite having made it obviously clear to her that I was a submissive male who got pleasure from being humiliated and tortured by females – I made a laughable attempt to impress her with my ‘manliness’ by showing extreme stoicism under torture.
That act didn’t last very long when she really got into her stride. But still, there’s no doubt about it, all during the session, some area of my mind was still just about capable of appreciating how realistic this real live tormentor was to the sort of female I’d usually dream up in my extreme fantasies. I also couldn’t dimly fail to appreciate early on, that as the role I’d asked her to perform was so close to her real nature, she didn’t have to indulge in the usual contrived ‘amateur dramatics’ one normally has to settle for with most mistresses.
She was just acting naturally and so she was as perfect in that role as it was possible to be.
Another unusual factor in the session was that being a novice, she had yet to adapt to that false and artificial ‘mistress tone of voice’ that many professionals employ.
Whether her voice was raised in anger or speaking with soft frightening menace up close, it was not the voice of the usual professional mistress, but of a mercilessly cruel prison wardress, albeit one with an cultured accent, going about her everyday business.
Oddly enough, that meant when she swore with words that would have seemed normal from a coarse, butch female, the same words coming from her refined voice made her anger and moments of apparent fury seem very much more alarmingly genuine and frightening.
I can’t exactly remember the point when something seemed to switch on deep in my consciousness and the session began to move into a weird, uncharted but increasingly electrifying area.
Through a mist of tortuous pain and hopeless screams, the masochistic part of my brain was beginning to register the fact that the appearance, character and actions of this gorgeous creature was really stirring up some deep, very powerful erotic sensations.
I had brought this scene to light from a fantasy area that I’d only dreamed of in private and certainly never expected to experience. But now, that very fantasy had come to life and I was being forced to experience it for real.
Hanging in that room, secured so effectively and gradually being emasculated and neutered so expertly by this beautiful creature – very slowly, but with increasing excitement, I was undergoing a wonderful transformation.
I was, after all, masochistic and with a lifelong desire to be humiliated, abused and tortured to a certain level by dominant females. And now magically, that masochistic, submissive part of my consciousness started to emerge to a level I never knew existed and wouldn’t have imagined possible in my wildest dreams.
That area of my brain responsible for my sexual submissiveness towards dominant females was totally taking over and registering the fact that I was actually experiencing the agonies of the fantasies I’d only previously dreamt up in my imagination.
The pain slowly and miraculously began to mutate into a sort of agonized erotic ecstasy.
Oh, the dread, terror, pain and the torment were still very much present, but now all these ingredients just seemed to add to the exhilarating mix of breathtaking emotion, such that I had never felt in my life.
Incredibly, my penis also began receiving the same signals from my brain and in the clearer moments in between the tears of pain clouding my sight, I could see it protruding out and becoming enlarged to an extent I’d never previously known.
It was the most exhilarating and stimulating feeling I’ve ever experienced in my life and for that period, I felt I could have hung there in joyous agony forever.
The final overwhelming climax finally came as she was leaning against the front of my hanging body to stub her lighted cigarette end on my thrashed backside.
I could smell her perfume and feel the full latex clad curvaceous body of this gorgeously seductive, pitiless sadist forcing herself against mine.


This particular time she was toying with me, 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 tormented heaven.
Oh God – Yes! Yes! This apprentice dominatrix had by now actually become in my warped and tormented mind the sadistic and supreme creature of overwhelming dominance with the power of life or death over me as I imagined in my original fantasy and I really was now just a worthless victim of no consequence.
I was no longer aware of where I was and this was a paid for session with a professional mistress.
No, I really was in some fantasyland being tortured by this stunning, unbelievably cruel female.
Now it had also actually become in my confused, ravaged brain, almost reasonable and appropriate that I should be going through this torment if I was somehow displeasing her.
Mutilate my worthless body if it gives you pleasure; I was even struggling against my tight bondage to increase the torment. The sensation this time of her latex clad hips against my giant erection was just too explosive and, luckily, before I castrated myself, I experienced the most mind shattering and glorious orgasm I have ever felt.
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 to an end though, the pain came back in waves – Jesus! I hung, suspended in such extreme distress and agony I never thought possible.
Thank heaven at this movement at least, the dominatrix, viewing my huge climax and seeing the result on her dress and also seeing me now in a state of absolute collapse came to her senses a bit and seem to realize that this must be the climax to this part of the fantasy that I’d talked about early on.
Somewhat reluctantly, she released me from my bonds.
Releasing me took an agonizingly long time as she casually took her time finding all the various keys and unlocking my shackles.
If the session I had just been through was totally removed from any experience I’d ever had, my actions after were even more bewildering and astonishing to me in retrospect.
Released, all sorts of weird unnatural thoughts were spinning around in my head and with my body almost paralysed with throbbing, searing pain, I was nowhere near a return to any sort of normal mental state and physically felt totally emasculated.
Confused and disoriented, I was hardly aware of my surroundings and was still physiologically in the role of the helpless victim in my fantasy.
I found myself babbling almost incoherently, profusely thanking her for generous act of ending her torture and releasing me.
It didn’t matter that I was now physically free; I was still in a state of extreme emotional agitation.
She stood looking at me, hands on her hips, still exuding an incredible aura of dominance, power and menace.
My eyes could see the same beautiful and desirable female I’d first encountered. The same female that I’d sat down and casually discussed my fantasies and desires with.
But that wasn’t a reality that could properly register in my anguished brain.
I still hadn’t nearly recovered enough to even begin to lose the sheer terror and dread I still emotionally felt towards this sadistic dominatrix. I was still visualizing her as the bona fide merciless tormenter of my original fantasy.
But by the same token, viewing my pitiful demeanour, extreme fear, apprehension and total servility, she couldn’t help but suppose that her activities had been incredibly successful.
I was now acting in the manner she’d observed in genuine slaves watching their extreme degradation at S & M functions.
“Why aren’t you on your knees?” She spoke quietly, but in a tone that demanded instant obedience.


Without hesitation, I dropped to my knees, grovelling and now in a sort of terrified panic knowing what this merciless enchantress was capable of, I shuffled over to her feet.
 I found myself kissing her high heel shoes, making begging noises imploring her not to hurt me any more and I wasn’t simply acting the role expected of me as with previous mistresses.
This time the total surrender and terror was completely genuine.
Despite being released from my bonds and now in theory at liberty, the reality was that at that moment my distraught mind totally accepted the fact that this female had now gained complete mastery over my mind and body and was free to do with me exactly as she pleased. For the first time in my life, I really understood what it was really like to be virtually paralysed with fear and dread before an overwhelmingly dominant female.
I was experiencing what must be the emotions of the most craven of slaves – the same slaves I used to view with a certain bemused disdain. I was beyond caring how she’d view my abject entreaties, my contemptible grovelling on my knees before her in abject fear.
I was just desperately hoping that this sort of ritual abasement and the sight of the results of her vicious cruelty on my bare flesh would soften her cold, pitiless indifference to the torment I was suffering.
As I knelt there pleading, the pain I was experiencing was a constant reminder of just how totally impotent I felt hanging there as she’d mercilessly tortured and emasculated my poor body.
Knowing now, the sort of terrifying agony this female was capable of inflicting and my own helplessness against further brutality - that awareness had just blown my mind and I no longer possessed the ability to control my actions.
I had thought I was reasonably stable person, but in that hour, hanging on her hook, she had stripped away any masculinity and pride I possessed.
I not only felt incredibly debilitated and exhausted physically, I was also close to having a nervous breakdown.
For me to take any rational steps to end the session just didn’t enter my head. I just knelt in total submission, like a cowering coward, desperately praying that I’d do or say nothing to give her an excuse to start torturing me again.
She toyed with me for a time. From her attitude and comments, it seemed she was callously amused at the sight of the cowering and obviously petrified figure grovelling at her feet and was reluctant to abandon the role I’d thoughtlessly selected.
Ignoring my whimpering protests, she was playfully stabbing her stiletto heels into my wounds as I prostrated myself.
She took her time and seemed to be considering her options.
She walked away, picked up a discarded length of chain and then went to the bed.
“Come over here on your knees!”
As she was sorting out my tiny padlocks as I shuffled over, I desperately wondered how I could influence her to end this nightmare.
As if she were dealing with an animal, she tightly wound one end of the chain around my neck, padlocked it, half dragged me to one of the bed posts of the heavy steel framed bed and chained me to the base of it, still down on my knees.
“That’ll hold you for a moment, I’ve got to spend a penny.”
I sneaked a glance to watch her walk swiftly to the door, going out and slamming it shut.
I barely had time to collect my thoughts when she came back, walked over and leaned over me.
“I’ve found the perfect little chore you can perform for me,” she announced.
She started unlocking the chain secured to the bedpost, and then paused.
“I’d better re-shackle your ankles, you might get the foolish thought in your head about a dash for freedom.” She went behind me to collect my ankle shackles from the pile of my gear still on the floor from when I was released.
I had become more and more alarmed and apprehensive at the continuation of the session I had assumed was about to end.Yet, I stayed silent, scared stiff that I might say something to provoke her.
But all my nervous fears started surfacing again as I felt her snap my ankle manacles tightly around my already raw flesh. She now released me from the bedpost and jerking me to my feet, pulling me up by the chain around my neck.
“Come along!”
She was pulling me towards the door by the chain, but I could only follow at a fast shuffle, painfully restricted by the short length of chain on my shackles and each short step agony as the steel chafed my inflamed ankles.
She half dragged me out of the door and into the passageway.
I looked around in desperation hoping someone would see a naked and fettered captive being dragged around on a chain. But the passage down to the stairs was deserted and I looked towards my only escape route in helpless despair.
She’d been far too shrewd. Had she not manacled my ankles, I might indeed have plucked up the nerve to make a mad, screaming dash down the stairs to freedom.
Now it was impossible as she continued dragging me across to another door virtually opposite.
I entered what was obviously the toilet by the horrible stinking smell. She pulled me in further and pointed to the toilet seat. It was made of white plastic and it was filthy with bits of excrement splattered on it.  In the split second before she gave her next command, the frightening reality of my predicament was enough to send a further wave of anxiety through my entire body.


She let go of my chain and sprayed the seat with an aerosol of some sorts.
“I’m not sitting on that!” she exclaimed.\
She brutally forced me to my knees by the seat and loosely wrapped my neck chain around a pipe.\ “There’s not a decent clean cloth around here, so you can actually be of some use. I want to lick it spotless enough for me to sit on – and don’t take too long about it.”
She now had such an overwhelmingly awesome and dominant presence, especially now squeezed together in the narrow confines of the toilet; disobedience or defiance simply wasn’t an option.
So, after the slightest of hesitation viewing the disgusting mess, I set about my revolting assignment.
My mental state at that point though was that I became almost gratified to be able to perform some task, however nauseating and humiliating, that avoided her inflicting any further really agonizing pain.
I was also reasoning that if I performed well, it might meet her approval; cravingly hoping to ingratiate myself, so as to lessen or sidetrack for a time her harsh, relentless cruelty.
The spray tasted of disinfectant and had loosed the harder bits. Using my teeth to scrape them off and then my tongue to lick the area clean I made steady progress. She was standing over me, supervising my efforts and derisively pointing out small areas I’d missed. After spitting one larger piece into the bowl, I looked up. I could see the tight latex straining against her perfectly formed thighs and my eyes rose up to her full breasts and to her beautiful face starring down at me.
But there was a mocking, contemptuous smile playing about her lips and I instinctively understood that she’d used the filthy toilet seat simply as an exercise to further demonstrate the power she possessed to degrade and humiliate me at will and to rub in the pitiful state I’d been reduced to.\\   It seemed that now she’d found a suitable victim, she realized she could now indulge her own incredibly cruel, perverted temperament without restraint.
But yet again, it spun around my head for about the hundredth time, despite all the agony and torment she’d put me through, it just still didn’t seem possible that this gorgeous creature towering over me was incapable of feeling just some few short moments of pity and compassion.
I fought the almost irresistible impulse, now I was on my knees and had the opportunity, to turn and grasp out and bury my head in the latex of her thighs or grovel at her legs or feet, once again begging her to show just some mercy.
Surely by now she must relent, but I only had the courage to stop licking for a moment and implore,
“Please don’t hurt me anymore.”
All I got in reply was a kick.
“Use your tongue for cleaning the seat – not snivelling!”
I was trying to concentrate on cleaning the seat, but I still couldn’t take my mind off the pain screaming out from the tortures she’d inflicted on me. My poor tormented flesh hadn’t stopped throbbing with extreme pain and I desperately needed some sort of relief.\\  The seat was finally clean to her satisfaction, but her resolve to humiliate me to the ultimate hadn’t finished.
“You can lick the bowl clean as well, as you’re down there.”
Some small area of my brain that was still capable of rational thinking at this stage was recoiling and screaming out in protest at this additional degradation and its possible further harmful consequences.
But her incredibly threatening physical presence so close and intimidating, quickly dispelled any possible thought of rebellion and I despairingly started licking the foul bowl, cleaning and moistening my tongue in between licks using the water in the bowl.
It was soon clear that the filth was too ingrained for my tongue to have any real effect and she soon got bored watching my fruitless efforts.
Unwinding the neck chain from the pipe, she jerked me to my feet and half dragged me again back into the bedroom where to my utter dismay, she chained me back on my knees to the bedpost once again, securing my neck chain almost to the base of the steel bedpost. I could see the sheen of her shapely black nylon clad legs close to my face as I sensed her appraising me.
“I’d better secure you properly right now, you might try to take advantage of my good nature and get up to some mischief,” she sneered, “or start playing with yourself while I’m away freshening up.”
She gave another cynical laugh as she moved out of my sight and I could hear her collecting up some of my gear.
Then in helpless despair, I felt her, with callous indifference, tightly bind my already raw, sore, inflamed elbows with chain.
Appalled at the thought that I would be once again be totally immobilized, I feebly tried to hinder her intentions, but she didn’t even appear to notice as she brutally forced my elbows almost together behind my back, binding them with several tight turns and securing them with padlocks.


She stood up and walked around me, viewing her handiwork and giving me a series of sharp kicks with the toes of her stilettos, obviously pleased with her newly found expertise with my own equipment.
I on the other hand, was now even more distraught and extremely alarmed by the realization I was once again in a state of virtual incapacity and the dreadful implications of that situation.
Somewhere at the back of my mind, I’d somehow been optimistically assuming that my nightmare must surely soon be reaching its conclusion.
I couldn’t begin to understand why she’d chained me up again and in sudden panic; I instinctively started blubbering and crying. I just could no longer hold back all my fear, terror and anxiety,
“Oh, please end the session,” I implored, “I beg of you, please, please end it – I’m in real pain, I can’t take any more. Please, please, I’m begging you, please don’t hurt me anymore.”
My body was shaking uncontrollably and I just couldn’t stop babbling in terror and my voice level was rising with panic.
I just couldn’t believe she wouldn’t respond and show one small act of compassion, viewing my extreme distress and agony.
She walked over and opening the dark, heavy curtains just enough to peek through, looked at the roadway outside.
“Thank goodness, there’s no one there.”
She walked swiftly back and kicked at my flailed, bleeding backside with her stilettos.
“For heaven’s sake – shut up! Someone might hear your pathetic whining!”
She looked angrily around and then picked up my saliva covered, discarded gag from the floor.
My own thick penis gag was then roughly forced into my now very sore mouth once more.
“This’ll shut you up! You really can’t think I take the slightest notice of all your bloody, pitiful bleating,” she raged as she buckled it up brutally tight.
“At least now, I, or anyone else for that matter, won’t have to listen to it anymore.”
She’d now seemed to have become very easily incensed and using any excuse to add to my torment; because she then found another length of chain and after trying different combinations, finally proceeded to chain my elbow chain to my ankle chain, viciously tightening them and pulling them closer together, using chain connectors to secure it.
This also had the effect of tightening my neck chain, so I was now virtually hog-tied to the steel framed bed.
She was now handling my equipment with devilish imagination as if she’d been handling it for years and the sight of my now inescapable helplessness seemed to humour her again.
“You can’t believe how kinkily arousing it is to see a male body on his knees, trussed up like a lamb to the slaughter. Only this particular little lamb can’t bleat out loud can he?”
She squatted down and spoke in my ear,
“Now you can quietly whimper away to your heart’s content for all the good it’ll do you – although I’m feeling so turned-on and devilishly evil right now, perhaps you’d better try praying instead.”
She rose to her feet, gave me a final savage kick and walked towards the door.
“Don’t go anywhere before I get back and oh, don’t bother calling out for help, no one’s around to rescue you.”
She must have paused at the doorway, as she couldn’t resist further ridicule.
“Of course I forgot – you can’t go anywhere or call out for help, can you?”
Then she became very much more menacing:
“I’d think about trying to escape though, if I were you, even if we both know you can’t. If I find your bloody spunk has permanently stained my dress, you’ll really suffer when I get back!”
She slammed the door shut.
Apart from all the other unforgettable periods in that afternoon, I’ll also never begin to forget what went through my mind, chained on my knees to the base of the steel bedpost, more cruelly restricted in movement and more powerless and brutally silenced than the most callously tethered dumb animal.
As time went on, my mind, free for a time from her terrifyingly intimidating presence, slowly began to recover some sort of disturbed sanity. At least I now, to a degree, realized the dreadfully serious and hopeless predicament I had got myself into.But that awareness was beginning to terrify me even more.
I’d felt after the toilet bowl humiliation, that I might be regaining enough nerve to make tentative efforts to persuade her to end or diminish my torment. But now with all my limbs brutally bound and communication impossible, I was as helpless in her presence as I had been originally.
Only this time, ominously, I’d had no choice. She was the one who decided to secure me again with such surprising and disturbing aptitude. My thoughts just ran wild, influenced by the extreme pain and throbbing agony I was experiencing all over kneeling there in total wretched despair.
My poor soft, mutilated, flogged and burnt flesh screaming out for some soothing relief.
But the heartless bitch had fixed me in an agonizingly painful and virtually immovable position. I instinctively realized that even minor movement to ease my situation could end up with me strangling myself.


All the wonderfully erotic euphoria I’d momentarily experienced as a masochistic and submissive male in this situation had long since gone. I was now feeling the same agony and terror an ordinary normal male would in these circumstances; one who’d she’d just dragged in from the street.
I simply couldn’t imagine how I’d survive any more torture and I was now almost having a hysterical, panic attack imagining what she might do to me on her return.
Just some spunk on a rubber dress was being amplified in my brainwashed mind into some serious crime I’d committed; soon I was to receive severe punishment as a consequence.
Rather like an anorexic that looks in the mirror and sees a fat person, she had become, despite her incredible beauty and appearance, or maybe because of it, magnified in my mind into a terrifying all-powerful creature.
The slightest defiance was unthinkable, no matter what sort of nightmare she had planned for me.
I kept wildly thinking I might have fallen into the clutches of a dangerously disturbed psychopath and I had to keep shutting my mind to the recurring thought that this female might have her own terrifying intentions as to my fate in this evil, filthy room.
God, how had I become such an impotently, helpless victim in such a short time?
I couldn’t have avoided the original torture as I’d chained myself up.
But now, I’d passively let a possible psychopath force me to virtually eat excrement and then effortlessly, as if dealing with a child, bind and gag me so effectively, I couldn’t possibly escape what was in store for me.
But I was forced to face the reality of my situation. I just knew categorically, that I was too terrified of her both mentally and by now far too weakened physically to attempt to defy her.
Just the thought of the possible consequences of a minor act of defiance after what she’d put me through already, was too awful to contemplate.
As time went on though, I still couldn’t stop all sorts of mad thoughts flowing in and out of my frenzied mind. Some of the more irrational parts of my feverish imagination were coming to the fore as I tried to analyse the terrifying predicament I’d got myself into. I just couldn’t stop tormenting myself with morbid conjecture.
What did I know of this creature? An advert in a magazine, that’s all. What an easy method to ensnare innocent and vulnerable victims. How overjoyed she must have been when I stripped off, to see my soft, rather flabby and obviously unfit body.
I had always been uncomfortably aware from the start of our session, because I’m a bit sensitive about such matters that in contrast to myself, her very shapely body had a gym trained firmness look about it. So with her also being taller than the average woman, it was most likely there was quite a strong and powerful female concealed beneath all that glamour.
She’d successfully concealed her true nature at the start; although her instinctive poise and natural assertiveness even then should have given me some warning signs.
But now, the ease with which she’d been physically handling me had given me some idea of just how deceptively strong many such females could be.
I was so emasculated and crippled; I could barely function at all physically. Even if I were momentarily unchained and free and had miraculously regained some nerve and spirit, I wouldn’t have any confidence at all about putting up much physical resistance against this devil-bitch holding me captive.
I flinched at the thought of her laughing derision at my feeble efforts to escape were I free of my bonds, as she subdued me with ease. God, she’d really work me over then, beat me to a bloody, half unconscious pulp and then just carry on as she pleased.
Would she somehow sense that no one knew I was visiting this place? I had brought her letter with me and showed her, so she knew that piece of evidence wasn’t left in my place.
She could even take my keys and thrash my place, destroying any evidence of any connection with the whole mistress scene. Then she could keep me here for days being agonizingly tortured and no one would have a clue where I was.
All the pain and agony I experience meant nothing at all to her. I was just an object to gratify her depraved, merciless depravity and she could easily keep me here until her appetite for torture had diminished. I visualized myself unable to resist her pitiless cruelty and having no option but to passively accept myself being tightly secured and silenced again and again. I now know she can secure me into any number of agonizingly immovable positions, now that she had my own equipment to play with. The mad thought suddenly flashed thorough my mind of myself, spread-eagled on the steel bed, chained by my wrists and ankles, tightly gagged and left here overnight, unable to escape or call for help.
She obviously didn’t live here. She’d just lock up the room and had gone home to a night’s sleep.


I couldn’t begin to comprehend the state I’d be in were I imprisoned here overnight and it’s unlikely she’d set me free me in a crippled or disabled condition. Despite her beguilingly drop-dead gorgeous appearance, every agonizing interaction I’d had with her so far proved that this female could just callously liquidate any male that became a problem for her.
Then with cool efficiency, just get rid of the body and any evidence and not give the whole affair a second thought.
She’d probably dump the body in one of those empty houses I saw on the way in and no one would connect a beautiful female with a horribly tortured body found some distance away.
And yet for all those frenzied thoughts, I couldn’t escape from the terrifying certainty that when she returned, whatever further brutality her diabolical imagination had conceived to inflict upon me; I’d still be powerless to do other than dumbly and passively endure the suffering.
I shuddered at the constant reminder both from the pain of my brutally tight bonds that I was so totally immobilized and of the utter futility of my silent pleas for compassion from a creature that was utterly merciless.
If this creature was a hard faced, heavily built, butch like bitch, somehow, that fact would have made my situation more logical and probably a slight less distressing.
But I couldn’t escape the constant reminder that my tormentor was a seductively beautiful young female.
Somehow, the constant awareness of that paradox made my whole situation even more outlandish and demeaning, added even greater mortification and mental anguish to my overall despair.
I suddenly thought of old prints I’d seen of torture being about to be inflicted on unfortunate victims in the Middle Ages. I wondered at how passive the victims looked and imagined, unlike them, I’d be struggling like crazy.
Oh, mercy, now I knew different.
And, oh my God – all those pictures of bound up tortured and murdered victims I’ve seen in magazines and on the television. Did they too lay there bound up and hoping against hope that they weren’t going to die, but too paralysed by terror to put up any resistance. They were almost always female. Like me, did they also scream with forlorn despair and dread every time their tormentor approached?
God, the boots on the other foot now, a male’s the weak, passive, helpless victim this time and I understood exactly the terror they must have experienced.
I could visualize pictures of my chained up, tortured body found dumped in a derelict house and appearing on those television programs that deal with that area of crime.
She would never be caught, because no one would ever remotely associate a stunningly beautiful female with the shocking sight of my remains. God, I had to stop thinking that way! I felt mentally unstable already. I’d go completely mad if I didn’t try to calm down.
Suddenly I could distantly hear the loud conversation of some people walking by outside and desperately wished I could attract their attention.
Of course, that was impossible now since the bitch re-gagged me.
Did she anticipate I might get the nerve up to scream out for help?
I really would right now – scream and scream out for attention.
But she seemed to be one step ahead of me all the time. Had I been unchained and free to move for this long, I might have got the nerve up to grab my clothes, or even not even bother with them, and run naked, with mad fear down the stairs and out onto the pavement seeking rescue and freedom.
Now there was no escape, she instinctively knew just how to extinguish any forlorn hope of release from this harrowing ordeal. Nonetheless, I still kept screaming out silent pleas for help. In my agitated, almost hysterical state, I somehow hoped someone passing by might sense my distress.
‘Please, Please, somebody save me! I’m alone, helpless and in the power of a sadistic monster and I can’t protect myself. Someone help me please!’
But then, all my morbid thoughts came to an abrupt halt as the door suddenly opened.
I cowered as near to the floor as I could in terror, not daring to look up at her, but I was by now virtually paralysed with numbness and pain in that position anyway.
I heard her walk over and open a drawer in the dresser.
“You’re lucky. I’ve just bought this for some kinky fun with a girlfriend.”


There was a pause for a time, and then I heard her softly deliberate to herself,
“I’d better vaseline this or I’ll never get it right up.”\
There was another pause, then her stiletto heels clattered on the bare boards as she approached me.
I closed my eyes, trying to shut out my fear.
She squatted down and I felt something hard poked into the leather of my gag.
“Open your eyes! Look at what I’ve got for you!”
I open my eyes and saw she was holding an obscenely large black rubber dildo shaped like a giant penis. Heavily greased up, it had authentic looking veins running down it and two large black balls on the end.
“You’ve come just in time to christen it!”
She shuffled behind me out of view, undid the hog-tie chain and roughly manoeuvred my backside up into a suitable posture and I felt her prod my backside with it.
“I thought when we started what a lovely soft girly-like bum you’ve got.” Then, sounding callously amused at her very obvious lying, she said, “I felt at the time, it was such a shame for you to virtually force me to thrash it into this red and bloody mess.”
I felt her long fingernails dig into my stomach fat.
“Such lovely soft white flesh as well. And with such a pretty face – a bit effeminate are we?”
Then suddenly, my backside spasmed as I felt the tip of the dildo search out the entrance to my back passage.
“I’ll bet this isn’t the first prick to enter here, is it?”
Fearful anticipation of what was about to happen almost took my mind off the pain I was experiencing being secured in such a rigid and humiliating position, and the constant throbbing agony from all areas of my body.
“I’ll take that silence as a yes.”
She relentlessly forced the obscenity up my backside until it felt as if she was splitting it in two. I had been hurting so much all over that I’d thought that I just couldn’t feel any further pain, but she’d found another area to brutalize and I was forlornly screaming with agony once again.
“Too bad you’re gagged, I’d love to make you squeal like a happy pig as I forced this up. Unfortunately someone outside might hear you.
We’re all alone in this house though – think about it, we can do as we please with no one to disturb us.”
She laughed, “One day, when I get a nice sound-proofed dungeon, I’ll be able to make you pathetic slaves scream really loud in agony anytime the mood takes me.”
Desperately trying to relax my backside as I soon discovered that trying to resist the dildo’s entry made the pain worse. I just had to endure until the loathsome object was worked in to her satisfaction.
“D’you know there’s now two big black bollocks sticking out of your arse? It just didn’t seem fair, just having one prick to suck on, without having another one pleasuring you up your arse. Aren’t I good to you? You must be in sissy-boy heaven.”
Any vain hope I’d momentarily indulged in about some small alleviation to my torment, now that she was in such good humour, was extinguished as I felt her unchain me from the bedpost and drag my pinioned body flat out on my stomach and onto the floor.
The change in position brought more futile screams from me as I could now feel the full effect of the huge abomination she’d forced up my backside.
I rested my gagged face against the floor for a moment, elbows pinioned behind my back, ankles chained and in indescribable torment when once again, I heard the faint sound of conversation as some people walked past the house.
I was now in the depths of despair and experiencing almost suicidal hopelessness.
I longed to be able to scream and scream out loud for help.
Ordinary, normal life with help and rescue were just yards away, but they would just walk past never knowing the hell a fellow human being was being put through in a room a mere stone’s throw away.
“Crawl over to me here!” the pitiless bitch ordered.
Enveloped in my own personal torment, the sudden harshness in her tone jerked me back to horrified reality. I unwillingly raised my head and saw her standing by a long chain hanging from the ceiling hook.
She was standing beside it, one of her satin-gloved hands was holding the chain, the other, holding her crop and lightly tapping her latex clad hip with it.
Alarmed by her tone and the now very intimidating aspect apparent in her attitude, I made desperate efforts to obey her command, but soon found it was virtually impossible.
Had I been able to move freely, the crawl would have still been slow and very painful.
But still chained and very restricted with movement, I found I simply couldn’t obey her.


By now, the chain had cut so much into the flesh of my elbows and ankles that mere movement was torture.
The pain in my poor torn, mutilated and burnt chest was being further intensified by my attempt to drag myself along that filthy floor.
What with the dildo and the ache from all my other wounds, I was nearly fainting with agony and I just flapped around on the floor making no forward progress.
I heard an exasperated expletive from her and she walked over and started whipping the soles of my feet with her crop.
“I’m not waiting all fucking day, you’re crawling slower than a snail!”
I’d thought my body was so racked with pain that she couldn’t add to it, but I’d never realized the soles of my feet were so sensitive. This new pain shot up my legs and body, exploding with renewed agony in my brain.
I made desperate efforts to avoid her thrashing and tried to crawl faster, but despite all this additional torture the merciless creature was inflicting upon me, I was just physically unable to comply.
I just collapsed on the floor, virtually semi-conscious with extreme pain and my body convulsing with each vicious stroke of her crop. It must have become obvious even to her that I simply wasn’t able to move, because she finally stopped thrashing me.
“Fuck! I was looking forward to watching you crawl all the way to the hook of delight.”
I was quivering on the floor, weeping animal like sobs of extreme distress.
“Perhaps all is not lost, I can still amuse myself making your movement really slow.”
Virtually de-humanized by the pain from her merciless brutality, I’d long since given up any reaction to her painful assaults on my frail flesh.
I was roughly manhandled up to a standing position, and I shrieked as I felt the full effect of the thrashing she’d given to my feet.
She chained my knees together in much the same way she’d observed me do earlier. She then walked back and stood by the hanging chain once again.
“As you can’t crawl, at least you can manage a slow hobble. Make your way over here to me!” she commanded, pointing to the chain in her hand. As soon as I started to reluctantly obey her command, I understood why she’d gone through the bother of adding further restrictive bindings to my already manacled legs.
With my knees now tightly bound, I found I could only shuffle forward a few inches at a time.
Gagged, my elbows pinioned behind my back, hobbled by my short ankle chain and my bound knees, my poor tortured body screaming in agony, a devilishly huge foreign object forced up my backside and now with the soles of my feet screaming out with pain – my progress was slow and harrowing.
My distraught mind understood I was hobbling towards certain further torture, but despite my mind screaming out I couldn’t take any more pain, it was virtually burnt into my consciousness now to instantly react to and dumbly obey her every command.
The few times I dared look down at her waiting for me, I could see from her expression of mocking amusement, why she’d deliberately restricted my movement.
She was deliberately prolonging her callous pleasure of both watching a helplessly bound, mutilated male, shuffling very slowly towards what that male knew was further agonising torment and adding  to her elation, the  total domination and control she had over that abject creature.
I finally reached the hanging chain and, as I’d anticipated, she went about coupling it to my bindings.
She almost lifted me off the floor, and by using one of my larger chain connectors as a hook on the elbow chain, she left me almost hanging, most of my weight being taken by the pinioned elbows, rather than the toes of my tortured feet.
After that, she stood back and examined me.
Still not satisfied, she forced my wrists together behind me and secured them with my manacles. The fact that she was bothering to take such deliberation and care into ensure my virtually immobility, had me sinking into an almost suicidal despair; convinced that all I could look forward to now were hours of excruciating torment.
She stood back and cold-bloodedly examined her handiwork as I hung before her; I was nearly blacking out with pain and trepidation.
“There now, I know you just love to be hanging around all chained up.”
She continued, heartlessly mocking my enforced silence, “Honestly, the trouble I take to ensure your total enjoyment – and do I hear some appreciation?”
She put her hand up to her ear and pretended to listen for a reply from me.
“I don’t hear a thank you mistress. How ungrateful, you’re clearly seeking further punishment.”
I tensed as she came to me, leaning against my suspended body and toying with the dildo.


She became more forceful playing with the dildo, laughing openly at my obvious distress as my body swung on the chain while I made despairingly feeble efforts to move my immobilized body from her increasingly vigorous thrusts.
“I’m forgetting, this is pleasure for you, not punishment.”
She let go of the dildo and flicked at my limp penis. “Not turned on yet?” She affected a dismayed sigh, then said: “I suppose it takes an enormous dick to really get you going.”
She moved away and stood directly in front of me, contemplating my tormented figure.
I only dared raise my head and take swift petrified glances at her. If it was possible to add to my extreme distress at that stage, the sight of her standing instinctively posed as if she was modelling her outfit and looking as seductively beautiful and fresh as she was at the start of our session, added to my mental torment.
For split seconds, the insane contrast between the actuality of her stunning physical loveliness and the half demented, mercilessly tortured, quivering travesty of a man she’d reduced me to in that same period flared up in my agitated mind. Then the thought kept dying as the throbbing pain and hopelessness of my position overwhelmed me again.
In those seconds though, I could also see, from the movements of her satin-gloved hands sensuously stroking her breasts and massaging the tight latex between her legs, that merely by studying my appalling condition, she was experiencing some sort of pleasurable erotic stimulation.
Her wide eyes glowed, drinking in the sight of my enfeebled body as it hung helplessly before her. Adding to her sadistic pleasure must have been the callously amusing thought of her gagged victim’s futile efforts to scream out for mercy.
She was probably further elated at the memory of how easily she had enslaved, tortured and humiliated the previously pretentious male.
Finally, after what seemed ages, she suddenly stopped fondling herself—apparently my immobility had started to irritate her.
“Don’t just hang there passively, struggle like you did early on!”
However, she’d chained and manacled my limbs so viciously tight that I was almost in a state of paralysis. I could only manage some unconvincing, very feeble movements.
She watched me derisively for some moments. “I see I’m going find something to encourage you.” She moved out of my vision and I could hear her walk towards the door. “Let’s see if I can find something down below to liven you up- a blowlamp perhaps ”
She went out the door, closing it carefully behind her and I could hear her heels clattering on the bare wooden stairs leading to the ground floor.
Once again I was alone in the grubby domestic bedroom I’d innocently entered hours before.
Unfortunately the temporary relief of her absence only transformed the focus of my wretchedness from the endless dread of the activities of my pitiless tormenter, to the full sensation of the extreme agony I was experiencing from all areas of my body.
I was almost going out of my mind in frustrated helplessness while different parts of my pain-racked frame screamed out for soothing relief. The vicious tightness of her savage bindings alone was excruciating enough, virtually paralysing me into complete immobility.
I’d lost all sense of time, but I knew I’d been a prisoner in this dreadful room for considerably longer than three hours.
The crazy speculation about my possible fate at the hands of this relentlessly merciless creature—what I’d buried in the back of my mind—came flooding back.


Trying to get some feeling back into my tightly manacled hands, I touched the black dildo protruding from my back passage.  She’d forced it up with her usual total indifference to the agony I would be experiencing, and after her recent activities with it, it now felt like a large red hot log all the way up my backside, virtually into my stomach.
Desperate to relieve just one of the many excruciating aches and pains emulating from my body, I attempted to draw part or all of it out.
But I was bound so tight and in such a position, that the dildo seemed almost welded up my backside and I was now so weak, combined with my numb fingers, the effort was hopeless.\\   With my failure to relieve just one area of pain, the confirmation of my total helplessness relapsed me into a state of wretched despair. I hurt so much that I didn’t even react with my usual terrified dread when I heard her coming back up the stairs.
The door opened, “You’re still here then?” she mocked.
Closing the door, I heard her walk over to me and before I could begin to perceive what she was up to, I felt her swiftly pulling a plastic bag over my head and then use a length of her thin rope to seal the base of it round my neck.
For a moment, I just couldn’t comprehend or even believe what she’d done, but as the sound of my breathing resonated around the bag, I instantly woke up from my exhausted stupor and started struggling desperately in a hopeless attempt to get it off.
The bag was transparent and, fighting the chains binding me, I tried by my wild eye movements staring at her, hoping that seeing my distress, she might have second thoughts about her actions. But all I could see was excitement on her face as she stood up close to me, silently studying my reactions.
I was almost going insane with terror while desperately trying to ration the small amount of air left.   But panic took over and the bag sealed itself on my face shutting off all air. Then I really struggled, ignoring the agonizing pain of the chains biting deeper into the already torn flesh of my tightly fettered body.
God, it was horrific! The pain in my lungs as they screamed for air, the terrifying conviction I was about to die a horrible death. My head felt it was about to explode.
Then suddenly, just before I became unconscious, I found myself able to suck in great nostrils full of life giving oxygen. Oh, the momentary relief!
I opened my eyes and slowly became conscious of the fact that she’d untied the rope and pulled the bag off.
“You didn’t really think I’d let you off the hook that easily, did you?   I was just fascinated to see how someone struggling in his death throes acted,” she enthused. “It was really exciting to watch. Jesus, I was wetting myself watching your desperate struggles.”
She tugged playfully on my pinioned elbows. “Was it as thrilling for you as it was to me? You didn’t seem to be enjoying it that much, struggling and jerking about like crazy. Your eyes were practically popping out of your head.”
She fingered the tight chain cutting into my elbows and marvelled almost to herself.
“I wonder what it’s really feels like to experience asphyxiation and not being able to lift even a finger to save yourself.”
She stood back and observed my still quivering body with wicked approval.
“It would have been even more exciting if I could have done it without the gag. Then I could have watched your mouth trying to scream and gasp for air at the same time.”
She examined the bag. “It only warns here about babies and children?” she feigned perplexity. “So it should be safe on a grown male, even if he’s all tied up and blubbering away like a big baby.” She waved to bag in front of me. “Shall we try again to prove these baggy people are wrong?”
The very thought made me scream and scream as I tried to show from my cruelly constrained position that I was pleading and pleading for just one small merciful act.
This seemed to be the reaction she was expecting as she watched me intently, studying my efforts to communicate my torment.
She viewed my now very debilitated and exhausted body, struggling in my bonds, my eyes bulging with my attempts to actually for mercy as if she was dispassionately observing some sort of experiment. Her wide, bright eyes were luminous with malicious, cold-hearted amusement.
After what seemed ages, she suddenly made up her mind and walked towards me.
She came up close and pressed her latex clad body against my side and teasingly kept forcing the bag against my nose as I frantically kept turning my gagged face in all direction to avoid it.
“Let’s play a game shall we? I’ll keep pulling this bag on and off your head and you’ll have to guess how many it’ll be before I get bored and just leave it tied on.”


She attempted to pull the bag over my head again, but I was still making frantic efforts to avoid it, vigorously moving head around. “Keep your head still!”
For the first time in the session, I ignored her command. The nightmare experience of my near asphyxiation momentarily overruled my terror of this relentlessly merciless dominatrix.
With an angry motion, she discarded the bag and moved out of sight for a moment\\. Then I felt her behind me, threading her thin rope through the leather straps of my gag at the back of my head.
Before I realised what she was up to, she swiftly jerked my head back and bound my gag to the hanging chain, immobilising any head movement. She came back in front of me, holding the bag again, “Now try to move your bloody head!”
She approached me with the bag open.  My eyes were bulging with horror and my desperate attempts to move my head only tightened my gag, forcing the rubber penis further into my mouth nearly choking me.
She paused, once again callously observing my extreme anguish.
“Reminds me of when I used to tie my little step-brother to his bed, amuse myself with him and then leave him tied up real tight all night.  He had the same look of terror on his face when I’d appear with my bindings as you have on your face right now.”
Slowly, as if to emphasise my utter helplessness, she pulled the plastic bag down over my head again.
She couldn’t pull it fully down because of the binding on my gag, so she forced the plastic tight against my face.
But before I began to experience the nightmare of the first asphyxiation, she let go of the bag and left it loose, enabling me to frantically suck air through my nostrils.\\    She moved back again and stood in front of me once more, gazing intently in a sort of callous fascination at the wretched, dehumanised creature her barbaric activities had fashioned.
She quietly murmured to herself almost in wonder: “Well, I’ve certainly transformed you into a genuine and fairly pitiful slave in every sense of the word.  I can’t believe how easy you made it for me. ”
Shaking her head as if to dismiss those thoughts, she came up close and, unbelievably, started running her hands up and down my body in an affectionate manner.
Then I felt her hug me and she whispered in my ear: “I’ve read that men being hanged, jerked off at the last moment swinging on the end of a rope… or was it they fouled themselves? Her satin gloved hand, fondled my penis, “Whatever… I notice though, you didn’t even get a tiny erection when you were struggling for air, or even when I simulated rape. What does one have to do to get you excited again?”
She pressed in closer, virtually caressing me, her tongue exploring my ear and I could feel the nipples of her breasts firm against my bare, lacerated chest. I realized she’d slipped the top of her latex dress down exposing them.
She whispered, “Can you feel my breasts against you? Would you love to fondle them?” Her hand strayed down to my manacled wrists as she forced her latex clad hips against my groin. “But you can’t, can you? You hands aren’t free to wander, are they?” she teased. “Shall I become very compassionate and release them so you can explore my whole body?”
She now felt down between our tightly coupled bodies and again, took my flaccid penis in her satiny-gloved hand and started gently massaging it.
“Oh my poor helpless, baby,” She was now kissing some areas she’d burnt with her cigarettes.
“Has this naughty female been mean to you? Let me kiss away the pain.”


My whole body had by now become just a complete agony zone with pain screaming out from all parts and so my throbbing brain initially couldn’t take in this new development in my torment. I faintly assumed that it was just another mocking prelude to further diabolical torment and torture.
As she continued, though it became even more unreal. I couldn’t comprehend how she wasn’t aware that in my present condition, it would be impossible to masturbate me.
My penis though, after a time and almost independently, did start responding and actually getting a sort of erection. After a period, despite the appalling physical and mental state I was in suspended on that chain—and to my bewildered surprise—some part of my fevered brain also began to react to that primitive sensation.
Despite all the extreme torment she’d inflicted upon me and all the pain racking about in my brain, just the sensation of her exquisite and seductive body pressed up against me, I became aware again of her incredible loveliness. She had the uncanny power to redirect my tormented mind into this new direction of her choosing.
Acting as if she was now madly attracted to this creature she’d so brutally maimed, she expertly seduced me as I hung in my chains. At the same time, she sensuously massaged my penis and I was unable to resist this new and unexpected assault on my senses.
My penis had a tiny ejaculation as the residue of my spunk tricked out, but I was in far too much pain to receive anywhere near a normal simultaneous sensation in my brain.
“I’m sorry, I had to hurry you along,” she said. “It’s well past the period you paid for and you never seemed to get another hard on no matter what I did.”
She had moved behind me, undone the neck chain and had started unbuckling my gag. Even in my paranoid state, the very sudden change in her voice and actions caused me to sense that she’d continue with the unexpected transition in the session.
Oh my God, please, please – could it be that I really wasn’t going to suffer continuous suffocation or torture after all?
But even as she began releasing me, cursing irritably as she tried different keys to open the padlocks and actually talking to me as a human being once again, I was still wound up as tight as a drum. I was still fearful that this was just another cruel trap and she’d suddenly revert to her sadistic activities just when I thought I was free.
Finally released, I sunk to my knees and wept tears of relief as the dildo was painfully removed, despite her efforts to ease the procedure. For a time, I knelt there virtually paralysed as the feeling came back into my limbs and the full effects of her merciless assault swept over my trembling body.
She was starting to get restless as I knelt trying to recover the ability to simply move and function.
When I finally, laboriously, got to my feet, I found I could only move and operate as if I were a disabled semi-crippled person, one very much wracked with agonizing pain.


Despite the fact she’d already long since exposed my pretence of stoical manliness, somehow instinctively, I was endeavouring to hide from the dominatrix just how much pain I was experiencing as a result of her brutally savage torture.
I started to dress myself with great difficulty in my raw, inflamed, aching and exhausted condition.
Seeing my awkward and clumsy efforts, she came over and started helping me.
As the afternoon had progressed, the apprentice mistress had, in my increasingly agitated, unstable and almost insane mind, grown to the magnitude of a sort of supreme, all-powerful, very malevolent and cruel super-woman.
So as it was out of the question that I could begin to lose both the awe and the great fear I had of her in such a short period. I found myself flinching with anxiety and nervousness at her close proximity as she helped me dress, and at times I had to keep resisting the impulse to drop down on my knees as it didn’t seem appropriate to be standing in her presence\\. She, on the other hand, was aroused and animated.
I kept hearing what a turn-on the session had been as it was, ‘Better than any sex she’d ever had – she was wet all down her legs from continuous orgasms!’
I learned how she’d prolonged our session beyond the time I’d paid for – because we were both enjoying it so much!
I must have finally got up the nerve to mutter that it had been a ‘bit over the top’, because she became silent for a moment. I could tell she’d suddenly become a bit annoyed, as she pointed out, quite correctly from her point of view I suppose, that she’d only performed exactly as I’d requested and anyway, “You obviously must have been loving it as well, I’ve never seen a prick your size grow that big and hard – or so much spunk either.”
I couldn’t have explained that bizarre anomaly had I have been mentally sound at the time.
She looked at me quizzically and then observed what was in her mind, an undeniable fact, “Anyway, if you wanted to terminate the session early, why on earth did you let me bind and gag you again when you were perfectly free?”
I couldn’t rationally answer that either; all I could think of was little else other than to get out of that room. I became instantly fearful at her change of tone and desperate not to antagonize her or give her cause to get irritated, so I quickly abandoned that issue. The thought I might give her some excuse to suddenly change her mind and enslave me again was just too dreadful to contemplate.
I changed tack completely and started babbling about how wonderful both she and the session had been and she seemed appeased and mollified.
The fear that she might have further inflicted cruel torment upon my helpless body wasn’t just a paranoid delusion either. In my disturbed state, actually only comprehending parts of her enthusiastic chatter, I began to realize that it was only the fact that her second client was due quite soon that obliged her to end the session when she did.
I think I owe that particular submissive male my sanity.
I know I’d have eventually gone stark raving mad had she continually bagged my head as she’d threatened or had thought up some even more terrifying ordeals.
Still frantically nervous, my tension only started subsiding somewhat when she was ushering me down the stairs.
I couldn’t even look at all my equipment, and I left it with her muttering something about picking it up at the next session.
When I reached the pavement and the door closed behind me, I knew for certain that she really had released me and I was now free. I staggered some steps along the road and hung on to a lamppost for support. Tears of pure relief flowed down my cheeks at the certain knowledge that my nightmare was over.
I desperately needed to pee, so I shuffled to a convenient alleyway and noticed there was blood in my urine, but I couldn’t give a damn at that stage.
I remember little about the journey home.
All my body was screaming out, but the main difficulty getting home was from just walking, as the pain in the soles of my feet made movement agonizing and of course, sitting on the train seats was out of the question.
One look at my condition in the mirror when I got home, confirmed the shocking state I’d been reduced to. It also explained why I’d been stared at most of the time during my journey. My exposed neck was red raw and still bleeding in places, and the marks from the tight straps of my gag were clearly etched across my face.
I wasn’t at all bothered; the reactions of the general public were the least of my problems at that time. I really should have been in hospital, but that was out of the question, as they would have obviously called the police.
So I ran a bath, took a lot of painkillers, and tried to sooth my wounds in tepid water.
But all my efforts had a fairly marginal effect. I’d been too brutalized both mentally and physically to find any real relief in the short term.\\
I had no rest all that night. It was impossible to find any relaxing position that wasn’t painful; even my softest chairs, cushions, pillows and mattress, felt like concrete against my wounded flesh.


Even had I got physically comfortable that night, the mental turmoil I was going through would have ensured I’d have no peace or rest. By morning, I still had not even begun to calm down. I was still extremely agitated, anxious and my nerves were constantly on edge.
Work was out of the question and I knew I had to somehow make the effort to get out to visit my doctor.  I was lucky in that respect as he was both just a short walk away and also of Middle Eastern origin.
Pretty hopeless as a doctor, but I’d found him very useful in the past as he’d write medical certificates at the drop of a hat.
He was shocked, of course, at my condition, but seemed to accept my fabricated story that I’d owed a criminal gang thousands in gambling debts and this torture was a warning message when I told them I couldn’t repay right away.
Telling me I should at least go to the police and hospital casualty, he nevertheless instantly wrote a medical certificate for a month and prescriptions for strong painkillers, sleeping pills, ointments and dressings.
It takes little imagination to understand what I went through that month as my flesh wounds slowly healed. The strong painkillers and sleeping pills were a godsend as the pain took a long time to subside.
I hardly bothered about eating in the first few days after and so my normal bowl movements were disrupted. But the first time I did manage to pass a motion, the pain in my backside felt like what it must be like to give birth.
For a long period, I was also mentally in denial. I’d keep getting visions of the dominatrix, but every time my thoughts began to drift beyond her and towards remembering the experience I’d had in that room, my brain would instantly reject them and shut down the subject. Of course, that couldn’t last for long and once the floodgates were open, I simply couldn’t stop my mind going over again and again, what had happened to me.
The constant recollection of those hours naturally produced an incredible variety of complex, contradictory, bizarre and sometimes, almost deranged emotions.
I could just about function physically by the time I went back to work—being careful to cover up all the wounds and lacerations that were still not nearly healed.
But I was still very much in mental turmoil and not really capable of concentrating on any task for long before my mind would start returning obsessively to thoughts of that afternoon. I soon realized I wasn’t capable at that time of working normally, and I left the company by mutual consent.
It was about three months later when I finally decided I simply had to visit that female again. I suppose many males, suffering what I’d been through, would have gone around sooner and confronted her.
I’d thought about it at times, especially early on when I was still in some pain. But deep down, I knew I was kidding myself about a confrontation. I’m simply not the sort of person that gets confrontational; I wouldn’t really know how to start in such a situation. I also knew I would be rather nervous at just the thought of trying to face up to that young lady in a confrontational manner.
I couldn’t actually guarantee either, so soon after, that I wouldn’t fall on my knees the moment she opened the door and what she might do to me if that happened\\. I was still in the early stages of my recovery and the thought of adding further trauma to my damaged body was unthinkable.
All in all, the reasoning behind my decision to re-visit her was far too complex to fully describe, and as I suspected at the time, that many of the reasons I used to justify a visit were false, like the absurd desire to reveal to her the ‘real’ me.
The rational part of my brain simply knew for certain that, with the marks and wounds of my first visit still barely healed, (and some are still visible now, years later) I couldn’t possibly endure her version of torture again, physically or mentally. I would have to make that clear to her at the start.
I knew that sensibly, I should also demand full control of the session.
But at the same time, I kept having to suppress an almost irresistible desire in the back of my head for her, when I entered the room, to ignore my demands, immediately place me in bondage and do as she pleased with me once again.
Even if she didn’t do that, another emotion I was trying to repress was the painful suspicion that alone with her once again, any willpower I possessed would dissolve, despite fully appreciating all the potentially very alarming consequences that would entail when she realized she could indulge herself once more.
Male slaves really are ‘over the cuckoo nest’ at times.
So I felt incredibly nervous just dialling the number, but my mood changed instantly to one of unease and alarm as I got a disengaged signal.
Hurriedly dressing, I dashed to the Underground and took a train to her workplace.
When I finally reached it, I was totally devastated.


In many ways, it was the worst, certainly the most disappointing moment of my life.
The whole road had been demolished and cleared of housing.
I stood there for hours, just staring. All sorts of thoughts were going through my mind. Eventually, I started rationalizing that perhaps all wasn’t lost. She was bound to find some new, probably better place to perform as a mistress and I’d find her again.
But she never did.
Years later, I’ve still never really come to terms with the fact that she just disappeared from the scene. And of course, I’ve lost count of the times I’ve pondered the mystery; worked out all sorts of different scenarios of what might have happened.
There are endless reasons as to why she would have suddenly left the professional mistress scene, but I know now that I’ll never find out the real reason.
Those devious magazine people kept her advert in for months after. Her photo was just too good for them to miss out on the money gained from fruitless inquiries. In fact that one photo was still being used in many S/M circles years later, especially in various magazines as an example of a perfect fantasy dominatrix.
Naturally, I also kept replying, hoping that she’d started up again somewhere new.
I even kept looking through all the newspapers, half expecting to read of a sensational trial, with her up for grievous bodily harm or worse. I also, a bit tongue in cheek, looked to see if any chained up, tortured bodies were found dumped somewhere.
Neither was ever reported.
Needless to say, all my subsequent visits to dozens of different professional mistresses over the years have been, well – pretty tame and disappointing.
How could I really expect anything different?
It’s not really the mistress’s fault. They must think I’m some sort of nut as I can never really explain, or even know myself anymore; exactly what I want the mistress to do to me.
At the first mistress I went to after that afternoon, assuming that I was now capable of enduring some serious torture, I amazed myself by panicking at the very start and signalling for her to stop!
Feeling a bit foolish, I did explain that the previous mistress had gone over the top and I hadn’t yet recovered. Indeed, the evidence was still there quite clearly all over my body.
She was professionally outraged at what had happened to me, (of course, I didn’t relate the full story) and said I should have taken some sort of action afterwards. I didn’t tell her that the only action I felt like taking now was to find her and once again, completely surrender to that beautiful sadist.
I eventually realized though, that even had I found her and we’d had another session, there was no possible way I could have relived again all the incredible and varied emotions I went through that afternoon.
I’d have loved just to be able to see her just once again and find out her subsequent thoughts on how she treated me. Did she ever wonder, in the short period she had left there, why I never revisited or even collected my gear?
What would her reaction have been, opening the door and seeing me standing there?
She must still think of me occasionally. They say women never forget their ‘first’ and she surely was never able to indulge herself so uninhibitedly at any time since.
A sobering thought is that even had I unlimited wealth and could comb the world employing the most beautiful women to torture me, I still couldn’t guarantee I’d experience any like the huge orgasm I’d had early on that afternoon.
And no matter how much I was willing to pay, I certainly could never relive the dread and terror I felt in the second half of the session, when at times, I seriously thought I was about to be tortured to death.
When I start playing with myself in bed at night, nearly always it’s that second period that my thoughts turn to and it still never fails to produce some arousing and exhilarating eruptions.
So considering all my sexual experiences in the Pro/Dom scene, the years since that fateful visit have been something of an anti-climax, to put it mildly. All in all, would I have been better off had I never seen that particular advert? I’ll let whoever reads my narrative of that afternoon make up their own minds. I’ve finally made up my own mind, but I’m keeping my conclusions on that subject strictly to myself. END.

an_afternoon_of_torment.txt · Last modified: 2015/03/05 06:48 (external edit)