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Stories - a slaves Rendition

Mind Blower
(written by: Sean)

In all my years visiting professional dominatrixes, rather ironically, the most explosive, mind shattering episode I ever experienced occurred during a visit to an absolute newcomer and complete novice at the game.

She had just left University and had become vaguely aware of the S/M scene at some Skin Two parties. (An English rubber and fetish magazine) Correctely surmising that playing at a mistress would earn her more than any job she was likely to get – and having very little capital, she set up shop by renting a room in a squat! After fitting it up with some bare essentials, she placed an advert and her picture in the relevant contact magazines, sat back and waited for some clients. I received one of the magazines early as I had a subscription to it and I wrote off right away. And so it came to pass that I was her first 'customer'.
Initially I couldn’t believe I had the right address. A row of dilapidated houses, apparently ready for demolition? When the door opened, newspapers and dust on the floor and up the stairs? I almost turned and left. It was the appearance of the ‘dominatrix’ herself that changed my mind.
Long experience had taught me to take along some of my own equipment to a session; for instance, I’ve had some fairly grubby and ineffective gags shoved in my mouth at times, and it was lucky in this case that I’d brought quite a bit as she appeared to have very little equipment of her own. Indeed, she seemed quite vague as to what to do at all! When apart from other shortcomings, it was obvious she had never even seen anything like the pair of old fashioned wrist and ankle manacles I produced and was uncertain even as to how to secure them , I really began to think the whole session was going to be a total disaster. Even more frustrating, just going by her photo, I'd booked three hours. Some instinct though, made me persevere.
At least, thank goodness, she or someone had screwed a large very secure hook into the ceiling – so I hastily devised what I thought would be an understandable and undemanding fantasy scenario with her. To save time and frustration, I decided to bind myself up. Stripping off until I was naked, I stood in the middle of the room, directly under the hook and snapped my steel leg manacles tight around my ankles, these were connected by a chain of just three links. Then using one of my long chains, I bound the tops of my knees together very tightly using several turns and secured the links with a small padlock. Next, I forced my giant, 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 his particular gag immovable and incredibly effective as communication was impossible and screams were barely audible, muffled squeals. Finally, I padlocked my manacles to the ceiling hook and stretching up, almost up on my toes, managed to lock my wrists into them - a bit too tight for comfort, but it was too late to alter that. At least now, if nothing else in this session, I was utterly helpless in that position and there was no way I could escape.

The scene I’d devised with her was that I’d just been dragged up from the cells below and fixed in this position to await whatever torments an evil regimes top ‘extractor of information’ was about to inflict on me. 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 demonstrate the full range of her skills, she now had them tightly gagged to prolong their agony and not spoil her depraved enjoyment.
As the session got under way, I began to realize that I’d completely misread the character of this seeming innocent and inexperienced young miss. She may have been a novice mistress, but it soon became clear that she had no problem whatever inflicting pain on the male body. In fact, she was instantly unerringly realistic and uninhibited in her role and very early on in the session, I began to realize that this lovely creature had a cruel, vicious streak in her nature and could get real sensual pleasure tormenting submissive male flesh. It seemed beyond belief that this previously apparently hopeless young lady was starting to materialize into someone closely resembling the remorseless tormentor in my fantasy.
I also began to realize with mounting alarm , that I, for the first time ever, having not imagined it to be especially important under the circumstances and not wanting to inhibit the poor girl, had not discussed exactly what I meant by 'torture'. I remember being a bit surprised that she hadn't asked, just nodding her head when I went through the scene I wanted. So of course, I also hadn't arranged simple special signals to indicate what was happening was too severe – and now it was too late. I had unwisely submitted myself to her as an utterly worthless, impotent victim strung up for her to do with me as she pleased and also ensured my total helplessness gagging myself so effectively that intelligible communication impossible - and now the whole scene was out of my control. Quite naturally, she would consider any desperate struggles and any amount of muffled screams as a valid, indeed necessary part of the scenario I had demanded.
This wasn’t turning out at all as I’d planned it and now, what I’d never imagined could possibly happen, her activities were such that I really was starting to experience the mounting dread and terror a real genuine victim would in the same circumstances.
Now I normally just play around quite moderately in sessions with professional mistresses I’m not into serious pain, just a wee bit to start, then a fairly realistic threat of future certain pain and suffering is sufficient for me. Unlike some I’ve seen, I’m not at all extreme, I suppose I’d be considered very wimpish in some circles. I like tight bondage, humiliation, sometimes enforced TV. My most usual fantasy with a new mistress is being viciously, brutally bound, gagged, mildly tortured and humiliated. She then leaves me for a time having made it clear that I'm about to suffer real pain on her return. My vivid imagination then takes over as I struggle helplessly in terror awaiting her return – and if she's realistic enough, when she does return and starts to seriously torture me, that’s usually enough for an adequate orgasm or more. Of course, I have many different scenarios, often depending on the appearance or the attitude of the dominatrix - but I’d never chosen the fantasy I was now acting with any. I’d never dared to, because I knew I couldn't take the pain involved and I'd be signaling for it to end long before I could climax.
It was though, one of my favorite masturbation fantasies and I’d chosen it this time because I assumed I was about to get a gentle, fairly unsuccessful session. However, this novice had taken her role in the fantasy I'd devised quite seriously and was gradually increasing the intensity of the torture. Not only that, she was diabolically inventive with her limited resources and now, totally indifferent to my increasingly desperate attempts to register some indication I wanted an end to this scene, she relentlessly upped the pain level.
She started with burning wax, then carefully and precisely, managed to inflict torment I didn’t think possible with nipple and body clamps. I almost broke my wrists jerking about trying to avoid the agonizing tricks she got up to with just a large pair of ordinary pliers. Exasperated by that, she undid the thin rope tied to each corner of an old bed, knotted them together, bound my testicles tightly with one end and then – forcing the rest of the line through my pinioned thighs, jerked me back – and then tied the other end to a hook on the door! Now I dare not attempt to pull away from my tormentor as she added her gas cartridge cigarette lighter and glowing cigarette ends to her repertoire, viewing my vain attempts to indicate I was pleading for it all to end with cold, amused disdain as she callously drew deeply on the cigarettes ensuring they were red hot before carefully pressing them into the desired spot.
In between these tortures, she'd casually saunter around behind me and then quite viciously thrash my backside with a sort of heavy riding crop I hadn't even realized she possessed. At intervals, she’d caress my agonized, helpless, naked body, cynically kissing the areas she’d assaulted and taunt me with wicked contrived innocence, observing with cruel satisfaction that my tight gag made my desperate attempts at communication impossible. “When am I going to hear the information I’m seeking? I can’t make head or tails of all those silly weird noises you’re making - your not making sense - you’re not really trying are you? I can see I’m going have to stop playing around and get really serious. I'm obviously being too gentle with you, aren't I?" God, I was trying hard enough to scream out loud - in desperation, I had early on, tried hopelessly, to work the gag out of my mouth. But, noticing my efforts, she viciously tightened the strap even further behind my neck ending all forlorn hopes on that score.
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 not only, I could readily see from her whole demeanor, got some sort of sexual thrill inflicting pain, she was also totally indifferent to all the pain and torment I was obviously suffering and furthermore, had no concept of client/mistress arrangements. Very early on I had become completely bewildered and disorientated by the total transformation of our roles. At the start, I’d been somewhat condescending and superior to this apparently inept young mistress. Now with her instinctive and natural expertise assuming with terrifying ease the role of my supreme cruel, fantasy goddess in a scene I’d never previously dared to request and with her incredible aptitude at torture and the fact that I was totally in her power – I was now frankly, more terrified of this creature than of anyone in my life. The fantasy I’d originally devised had now become as realistic as it was possible to imagine.

Waves of pain flooded over me. Just when I though 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 with a new instrument, I'd shriek and scream in absolute terror. But they were silent screams. Some muffled sound must have got out, I was screaming so loud and though I began to realize that all the signals of the agony I was in just seemed to spur her on, I just couldn't stop myself.
How long I was into the session when it happened, I've no idea, but before I describe the change, I must describe the mistress. I previously mentioned it was the sight of the mistress herself that stopped me from turning away from the place. She was tall, with long dark hair and had a beautiful face, the type that could look arrogant and disdainful, like some fashion models or high class hookers. The sort of beauty that one wouldn't be at all surprised to learn could also be very hard-hearted and callous. She also had a sensational body with long curvaceous legs and she was wearing one of those incredibly sexy figure hugging black rubber outfits from the Skin Two shop, high heels, black seamed nylons and elbow length black satin gloves. The action of the tight shiny rubber covering her perfect shape as she elegantly moved about was a sheer delight to observe and just that in itself was incredibly arousing early on when I was hanging on the hook waiting for the start.
Quite frankly, had I looked at pictures all day of mistresses and models, I would still have chosen the one I was with now. And, unlikely as it seems, during the session, some part of my mind was still mentally appreciating just how superior this real live tormentor was to any fantasy figure I'd ever dreamed up. I also couldn't fail to recognize throughout, that as the role I’d asked her to perform was so close to her real nature, she didn’t have to indulge in any ‘amateur dramatics’ - she was just acting naturally and so she couldn’t really be other than perfect in that role. Another difference was that being a novice, she had yet to adapt to that false and artificial ‘mistress tone of voice' that many professionals employ.
I can't remember the point when something seemed to switch on deep in my consciousness and the session began to move into an unknown, different but increasingly exciting 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 dared contemplate in private and certainly never expected to experience and now a large proportion of that fantasy was happening for real.
Hanging in that room, secured so effectively and gradually being emasculated and neutered so expertly by this beautiful creature, who by all appearances shouldn’t conceivably be putting me through such agony and was in such staggering contrast to what I'd been anticipating, very slowly, but with increasing excitement, I was undergoing a wonderful transformation.

Somehow the masochistic, submissive part of my consciousness started to emerge to a level I never knew existed and seemed to be signaling: this is the position I’d always secretly desired would one day actually happen. The pain slowly and miraculously began to mutate into a sort of agonized erotic ecstasy. The dread, terror, pain and the torment were still very much present, but now all these ingredients just seem to add to the exhilarating mix of breathtaking emotion, such that I had never experienced in my life before. Incredibly, my penis was also receiving the same signals from my brain and was becoming enlarged to an extent I'd never known.
The final overwhelming climax came as she was leaning against the front of my hanging body to stub her lighted cigarette end on my buttocks. I could feel the full rubber clad curvaceous body of this angelic, pitiless sadist against mine, She was whispering in my ear that she was still very ‘displeased’ with my lack of cooperation so far and I was about to experience real agony. But by now it didn’t matter what she did to me, I was in some sort of agony heaven. Oh God - Yes! Yes! My tormenter had by now become in my mind an overwhelmingly powerful and cruel, superior creature; that perception combined with my abject total helplessness in her power - somehow it had actually become in my confused, ravaged brain, almost reasonable and appropriate that I should be going through this agony for not cooperating with her. Please! Please! My body is yours to mutilate if that what gives you pleasure! I was even jerking on my bindings to increase my pain.
At this point, luckily, I experienced the most mind shattering, euphoric, glorious prolonged orgasm I have ever felt. I was ironic that after all that torture, it was her rubber hips pressing against my, by now, giant erection that set me off. Huge amounts of spunk flowed all up her rubber dress. Oh, Heaven…it went on and on like never before, and during that period, I really was in Paradise. The moment it came the an end though, the pain came back in waves - Jesus! I really hurt all over – how on earth had I taken such body and mental suffering. Thank heaven, the dominatrix now had the sense, viewing my huge climax and seeing the result on her dress, to realize this particular scene had climaxed for me and released me from my bonds.
If the session I had just been through was totally out of any experience I’d ever had, my actions after were just as astonishing to me. Released, all sorts of weird unusual thoughts were spinning around in my head and my body was throbbing with pain all over. I turned to my tormentor. She stood looking at me, hands on her hips, still exuding an incredible aura of dominance, power and menace and despite the fact I was now free, I hadn’t nearly recovered enough to lose my awe and fear of her.
“Why aren’t you on your knees before me?" She spoke quietly, but with an undertone of menace.
Incredibly, I instantly found myself on my knees, groveling, kissing her high heel shoes and making begging noises imploring her not to hurt me any more – and I really meant it! At that moment I just knew she could do anything she wished with me, that she still had complete control over me. For the first time in my life, I really understood the emotions of a genuine slave. I was vaguely aware that I had become a pitiable object groveling on my knees before her in abject fear, but I just didn’t care.

I can only think it was combination of how I’d been brutally emasculated and tortured, just how totally indifferent and contemptuous she is to my anguish and suffering, the bizarre contradiction of her beauty and her cruelty and the sure knowledge that a terrifying ordeal would be the fate of any male she really had in her power – all that had just blown my mind and I no longer possessed the ability to control my actions. I had thought I was reasonably strong-willed, but in about two hours, hanging on a hook, she had stripped all my defenses and I was now having close to a nervous breakdown. Taking any physical steps to end the session just didn't enter my head, I was just knelt like a craven coward, desperately praying that I'd do nothing to give her the excuse to start torturing me again. She toyed with me for a time, seemingly amused and contemptuous at the pathetic figure I’d become as opposed to very confident, superior figure she’d met at first. Ignoring my whimpering protests, she was grinding her stiletto heels into my wounds as I prostrated myself. She seemed to be considering how to proceed. She walked over and untied the rope from the door hook and came back to me. "I haven't finished with you yet. I'm going to secure you up while I clean myself up, I don't want you to even consider leaving the room. And by the way, you're really going to suffer for making a mess of my expensive dress. Look up at me!" I looked up in sheer dread. She imperiously waved the rope before me, mocking my obvious terror. "Hands behind your back!" I was horrified, I knew I couldn't stand any more pain, I just wanted to get out of the place, but the fear of her reaction, made the thought of an physical resistance impossible. I was now trembling and making feeble protests but despairingly and even as helpfully as I could so as not to annoy her, I obediently put my wrists together behind my back and she squatted down and tied them together as I was kneeling. She proceeded to tie my ankles together and then use part of the rope to tie my wrists to my ankles. I was now almost shaking with fear and apprehension and pleading with her not to hurt me any more. "For God's sake - shut up!" She opened a drawer and took out a large black dildo. She forced it into the back of my mouth. "That's all your good for - sucking cocks! Don't you dare spit it out!" She walked slowly around me a few times examining her handiwork and playfully but not too gently kicking my throbbing body with the pointed toes of her stilettos. And then she left me to go and 'clean up'.
I'll never forget my thoughts kneeling there bound up with a dildo stuffed in my mouth. My thoughts just went wild - I was almost having a panic attack imagining what she might do to me on my return. Just some spunk on a rubber dress was being amplified in my brain-washed mind into some serious crime I'd committed and now I was about to receive severe punishment as a consequence. Rather like an anorexic who looks in the mirror and sees a fat person, she had become magnified in my mind into a terrifying all powerful creature and to defy her was unthinkable, no matter what sort of nightmare she had planned for me. I even wildly thought I might have fallen into the clutches of a psychopath and I had to keep shutting my mind to the recurring thought I might not get out of this place alive. And yet I'd been free, so why on earth had I passively just let her bind me up so I couldn't escape what was in store for me. And escape right now I couldn't as to my surprise, the thin rope just bit in tighter as I tried to ease my cramped position and I don't think I could have struggled out of what I had thought were amateurishly tied knots had I tried to.

It was totally insane I knelt there thinking, Why was it that I could only passively obey her commands, no matter how terrible the consequences might be? Part of my brain screamed out to resist, but deep down I knew it just couldn't happen, I just knelt there, my pain-racked body helpless in that awkward position, terrified of what might be about to happen to me. I was gagging with that thick dildo stuffed in my mouth, but I dare not spit it out, what punishment would I receive if I did so? God, what a terrifying predicament I've got myself into - what did I know of this creature? An advert in a magazine, that's all. And, no one knew I was visiting this place, I could be here for days being agonizing tortured and no one would ever know. And yet for all that, I still knew deep down that when she came back, if she then released me just to re-tie me in a more accessible position for her cruel activities, I knew though I was free for that moment, I didn't have it in me to defy her and attempt to avoid any fate she'd planned. Please, Please, somebody save me!
After what seemed ages, I jerked up in fright as the door opened and she walked in. She squatted down in front of me and looked at me seeming very amused. I stared back now in absolute terror. She pulled out the dildo, stood up and walked around the back of me and untied me with an attitude that increasingly puzzled me as she was almost a different person, more the person I originally met. I soon found out why. She had after all realized the session was over when I ejaculated, but having a bit of time left on her hands before her next client, she'd had the time to observe what a pathetic groveling wimp I'd become as I prostrated myself before her. She saw she obviously still had total control over me and could do pretty much as she pleased. That gave her the idea to tie me up in a humiliating position to ensure my continual subjugation as she pondered her options.
She'd had been really aroused during our session and experienced unusually exhilarating orgasms unlike any she'd ever had before. She was still in a state of arousal toying with me after, but she knew another client was due fairly soon, so she now had a dilemma. Pleasure herself further with me and ignore his knocks or be more business like and let me go. It had been touch and go. As the place was empty, she'd considered using my chains and padlocks to secure me to the bed and carrying on torturing me in various ways until late in the evening. She felt justified in doing so as she had given me lots of opportunity to physically resist and put an end to my torment, but I just never made any real effort and was obviously still very much acting like a slave; so it must be okay to proceed, despite my pathetic pleading for an end to the session. Begging and screaming for mercy is just part of the scene and could be ignored. However, as she'd cleaned herself and her dress while I was parceled up awaiting my fate, she'd calmed down somewhat and began to think that maybe this was not the right time in her 'career' to be turning clients away. (I found out most of these details later) In the time left and as we both came back down to earth , I slowly reverted back to someone able to function with some sort will of his own. Despite the fact I just wasn’t in any fit state to be rational about anything – I did manage to indicate that she should be very clear as to the exact nature of her clients desires and never duplicate what she did to me unless the client specifically, in great detail, requests it.

“But you loved it – I’ve never seen so much spunk.”
“I know, I know – but it was just a one in a million freak happening – it should never have happened - I just can’t get my head around it now. We’ll have a chat about when I visit next.”
“Oh – you are coming back then?”
“When I get out of intensive care.”
I never got any sleep that night. I was in pain all over, but wasn’t just physical suffering – my brain was in total turmoil as I kept going over the events of that afternoon over and over again. The wounds she left on me did eventually virtually disappear and I could strip off in public once again – but the vivid memory of what I was reduced to that day has never left me.
The nights in bed when I want to play with myself, and I start going though all my fantasies, invariably that session will come to the fore and it still never fails to produce an explosion of some very bizarre, contradictory, intense and very exciting emotions. One thought I can seldom get out of my mind is how I'd be so emasculated by her, I passively accepted my possible fate, even when my addled brain began thinking she might be some sort of female serial killer and I wouldn't get out of that place alive. I know under normal circumstances, with anyone else, male or female, such a situation simply couldn't occur - but if something like it had, I'd have obviously fought like hell to escape. My conclusion is that it was a combination of the fact that I'd already, by sheer chance, been tortured by her into an almost mental breakdown state where I was in both in awe and dread of that exceptional creature and it became inconceivable that I could defy her. The girl herself naturally was a major factor - such an incredible mixture of beauty, cruelty and also so inherently, naturally dominant. And, of course, when it comes down to it, I am a practicing submissive who craves being enslaved in some fashion by a female. Until that point though, I just didn't realize that a female could take me down to that alarming level where not only would I be incapable of resisting, but indeed I would, against all my sane instincts, passively cooperate with her though she might be about to torture me - to death? I suppose a tiny, still rational part of my brain, was telling me that it just wouldn't make sense for her to go that far, despite the obvious evidence that she was capable of it. But would I still have just froze in terror and still offered no resistance if the door of that cupboard in the room had swung open and I'd seen the body of a mutilated, naked man in there? Or would that have just made my mental condition even worse and I'd become even more craven?
God, the state I was in, I probably still have let her do as she pleased with me and just pathetically begged for mercy despite knowing for certain now it was futile. What a terrifying thought, I had actually reached the stage where I was now so racked with the pain she'd inflicted and so 'brainwashed' by her pitiless nature that I would have been mentally incapable of physically overcoming a slim female, despite knowing what she was about to do to me. When I used to see old prints of victims about to be tortured to death in the middle ages, I was always intrigued about how passively the victims were accepting their fate. I thought they should be struggling like mad - now I know different.

I often fantasize on and visualize what she might have got up to had that chap not made an appointment or she had decided to ignore him and carry on with me. Was I lucky or not? On balance, the wimp side of my submissive character comes down on the fact I was lucky. I really had already taken more torture than I imagined was possible. I know that magically, it had turned out to be the most sensationally erotic experience of my life, but I’m certain I couldn’t have repeated that huge climax - I was totally burnt out. Whatever she would have done to me (and she was definitely getting more and more remorselessly cruel) – I'm sure I would have just felt the same pure bloody agony a 'normal' human would have, without any compensation from my masochistic inclinations. But, (assuming I survived it!) would the memory of that extra session now be giving me a more exciting masturbating thrill than the first? Hmmm…
Of course, when I recovered, I revisited her – as often as possible. But now, with a bit more experience under her belt, she was acting in a rather more professional manner. The first time I revisited her, I really wondered and worried how I would react in her presence. Would it be back to just like visiting the usual mistress and having to play act submission without seriously experiencing the sensation? It seems I just didn't understand or was in control of my emotions as I thought I was, because I instantly became mentally and physically subservient in her presence and it never occurred to me from then on to imagine that she was anything other than my superior mistress in every sense of the word. However though, I also never had the nerve to suggest we try the ‘extractor of information’ scenario again. I knew anyway, we could never really reproduce the passions of that day, that was pure accident. We had lots of good times though. Because she was so utterly gorgeous and so realistic as my fantasy merciless enslaver, (and now she was more aware of my limits) it was an incredible erotic thrill to have her abuse and torture me to a far greater extent than I'd ever requested, or would have accepted, with a mistress before. Sometimes though, she'd just do as she pleased if it suited her mood at that moment. Chained up like some animal, I’d be forced to perform depraved acts just to amuse her seemingly increasing perverted nature. With anyone else, I would have been revolted, but I was so enamoured by her by now, the humiliations inflicted were either an incredible turn on or an agony to be endured if it gave her pleasure. Of course, her control over me was now so total, that she could have easily inflicted serious torture on me again had she so wished it and I would simply had to endure it; she certainly never ceased to be a compulsive addict about inflicting pain on available male bodies. But the word had got around and she was mainly satisfying her sadistic instincts by dealing with really serious masochists queuing up, who really could take any amount of pain.

But oddly enough, she told me she never quite reproduced quite the same intense emotion she'd had during our first session, probably because she knew those extreme clients, in their own way, were getting equal pleasure from the session. In ours, not having had any real specific instructions from the victim about the form of the torture and finding herself in total control, she could be herself without any inhibitions and despite my final climax, she admitted later, that she instinctively realized that most of the time, from my reactions, she really was inflicting real, genuine pain and agony on a man for the first time in her life. And what an erotic turn on my obvious suffering had been – she now had 'this supercilious, patronizing creep’ exactly where she wanted him and she could do as she pleased. Just the very sight of a male, helplessly suspended, chained and gagged, waiting to be tortured had fulfilled one of her most intense and exciting fantasies.
The end came with distressing suddenness. She had been mentioning for some time, arguments with the so called ‘owner’ of the squat about money. I’d been away for quite a time and upon phoning her, got the disengaged sign I shot around to the place right away, but the door was answered by a fat Asian chap who, apparently irritated at all the blokes calling at the door for her, claimed he had just moved in and knew nothing at all about this woman.
I desperately searched for her in all the areas where mistresses advertise, but she never reappeared on the scene. Perhaps she went off with some rich slave who satisfied her sadistic instincts. Perhaps she gave up or even went abroad to live, I just don’t know. I do know I now wish I’d made an effort to become rather more than just another slave when I had the opportunity. All I have left now are memories of one afternoon in Paradise and about six months in Heaven.

Thanks go to Sean for submitting this story.

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