A submissive imagines all kinds of wonderful possibilities for his next session with his Mistress, but not the one thing that actually happens.
* * * * *
He was so excited that he was tempted to dance around the apartment. Normally when he applied for another session with his mistress, the email exchange was cordial but functional. But this time, Mistress had sent him into a little spin of anticipation when she emailed her response:
Slave, I have been happy with your progress. So this time you will have a treat. During some of your session there will be a young slavegirl present. She is still learning the scene and has asked to see how I treat a male slave. As she has also pleased me, this is a way of giving you both a reward. I know what a slutty exhibitionist you are. Normal fees will apply. I look forward to seeing you next Thursday.
Slave, immediately place your cock in the chastity cage and send me a vid of you placing the key in the timer safe box. Set it for next Friday. I will use the other key at this end.
Mistress
His mind spun with the possibilities. Was Mistress saying there would be contact between them? Would perhaps they would be restrained together and wriggle against each other’s’ bodies while enduring impact play? Or perhaps he would be lucky enough to give oral service, which Mistress knew he loved. God, his imagination was dizzy! He could hardly concentrate on tidying the kitchen, which he needed to do today, constantly darting back to his screen as if hoping to gain some extra insight from the words and sentences.
Despite his anticipatory inebriation over the next few days, he knew also that he had to just be patient. But the anticipation was driving him mentally randy, and he kept waking in agony as the cage kept him imprisoned. Even at work he could not stop thinking about the session, reminded constantly by the pressure and discomfort in his groin.
Finally the day arrived. Nervous about sleeping through his alarm, as if going for an early flight, he had slept badly and had woken startled by its insistent chirping. In the shower, he made sure he was clean-shaven everywhere that Mistress would expect, and clean inside and out. It was a struggle to manoeuvre the cage in order to shave as best he could, but he thought he had managed quite well. He arrived somewhat early at the large mansion on the outskirts of the city centre, one of the oldest and most prestigious quarters, and waited down the street at a bus stop. Mistress expected the doorbell to ring on time and not early or late.
Finally the time was exact and he pushed the metal gate and advanced towards the flight of stone steps that ascended to its grand front door. As usual her maid greeted him at the door, dressed from head to toe in latex but wearing a lacy maid’s dress, with a face coloured and made up in natural colours, so a passer-by or passing vehicle would just catch glimpse of a normal maid for a well-to-do but traditional household. He had never worked out if the maid was female or male, or somewhere in between. Somehow its torso didn’t look so feminine, and the pupils looking through the eyeholes in the latex also looked a little off. But down at her groin, peeking under her too-short maid’s skirt, the latex created an obscenely deep camel toe, so either the girl had a very large pudenda, or there was something else going on, involving split balls and tucking. The latex legs were also flesh-coloured, and her shoes were black and functional, just like a normal maid would wear. The whole effect seemed like dollification taken to a high degree, and the sight of her had always fascinated him. He followed the metronome clomping of her shoes on the chequered tiles as she led him without ceremony away from the entrance and then down carpeted stairs to the basement dungeon, where she left him to strip in the bathroom complex.
When he emerged, wearing only his chastity cage, Mistress was waiting for him on the carpeted area. It faced the entrance lobby at the bottom of the oak banisters from street level, and behind it was a timber framework at right-angles, where the St Andrew’s cross faced into the main play area to the right.
The lights were dimmed and techno music was now playing in the background — her favourite setting for sessions. She was a mature woman, but still very fit-looking, with long muscular legs and a flat stomach. She was standing magnificently in high red leather boots with acute tips. Other than a tight matching leather corset she wore nothing, flaunting her firm breasts and deep cleft.
He knew the protocol, dropping to his knees before her and touching his lips to each of her leather high-heeled boots in obeyance, before settling back into kneeling with knees wide, his groin exposed and his arms crossed behind his back, looking down towards the floor, and waiting for her first move. They always started this way, but today he had no idea how the session was going to proceed. He was full of excited anticipation.
“I’m going to give you a good flogging first, slave. On your front. You will be facing the girl, lucky you, and I want her to see what I am capable of. So, plenty of marks. You will be OK with that, won’t you.”
It was more a statement than a question, but he knew she was giving him a last chance to back out, He didn’t want it. Now he was finally here, he felt reckless, committed to seeing this out just to know what would happen.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“OK, then. Stand over there against the cross.”
He stood obediently while Mistress fixed firstly his wrists, then widened his stance and fastened his ankles. He was a little surprised when she returned to each corner and tightened the cords more. He wasn’t even going to be able to wriggle. His apprehension rose again when she leant around his torso and strapped a wide leather belt around his midriff, tightening it so that it felt like a corset, holding his hips pinned to the timbers behind. Then she crossed the room and came back with a massive shaped posture collar that he’d never experienced before. It opened at the front and she spent several minutes buckling it tightly. It rested on his shoulders and pushed his chin high, keeping him looking straight ahead. Then she stood back and regarded her handiwork. Not quite satisfied, she brought a ballgag to his lips and strapped it tightly behind him. With the collar lifting his jaw from beneath, the gag was jammed tightly between his teeth.
“I like that. Let’s just take a photo for the record and then we’ll start.”
As Mistress aimed the camera at her artistic display, he realised that his cock was straining in its cage. He had been so absorbed with what was being done to him that he had not registered the discomfort that was now evident. Mistress seemed to have noticed it also, and now fetched the key and a leather lace.
“I’m freeing this for several reasons, slave. Firstly, your cock and balls are going to be no less a target area than your torso, where you must realise is where I shall be placing most of my marks. Secondly, I have other plans for your cock, so it may as well be freed while we can still get the ring off you.”
As she worked the metal pieces off, she continued, “…..and lastly, I want your cock to be nicely purple by the time our guest arrives, for visual impact, and that takes time as well as preparation. Aren’t you thankful, slave, for all the care and inspiration I bring to you for these sessions?”
He needed no encouragement. “Yes, Mistress, yes indeed. I am truly in your debt!”
And indeed he was lost in thankfulness for the next few moments as she handled him.
“Good,” she finally said, as she wrapped the leather lace several times tightly around the base of his genitals, then around his balls, widely separating them, before returning the strictures to the base of his belly and tying a bow as if finishing packaging a gift, after giving the cords a final wrench tighter. There was no further comment.
The first flogging was brief. “This the minimum of warm-up, slave. We have to keep moving. My dragon’s tail is going to do most of the work. I like the way your skin responds to it.” The heavy flogger continued to thump against his chest and ribs, knocking breath from him with each blow.
The whip she used next was a short, slim, and made of supple pale hide. With each stroke of her arm, with each assault on his skin, it made a sound that was both sharp slap and a loud explosive crackle. He knew what to expect with the dragon’s tail, but even so, it would be an ordeal. What he did not know was how often – if indeed her comment had been literal rather than designed to make him tremble – would she visit his cock, which was already engorged and angry from Mistress’s recent vigorous handling of him. She had worked his cock to full hardness before her leather cords throttled it.
He soon found out how often.
Mistress worked athletically back and forth in front of him, left to right and back. Every few strokes she was dropping her aim and stepping back slightly so the narrow tip of his leather tormenter laid a stripe across his belly without wrapping around. Her aim was looser here, so even within the first minute a couple of passes had slashed across the base of his cock. Another, fortunately, rapped against the windings and just gave him a jolt.
As usual, he soon lost track of time, phasing into an internal kinesthetic world of sensations and inputs and responses. While he was no pain bunny, being helplessly restrained with impact play triggered his submissiveness more than anything except obedience protocols; being on the ground before her, punished with a long tawse for each mistake or short-coming.
Each stroke of her thick arm brought an answering moan from him, followed by a helpless writhing in his bonds as his nerve-endings struggled to process their overload. He zoned out eventually, responding only occasionally with a muffled scream and jerk of his bonds each time the leather found the shaft of his cock. Normally when he received the dragon tail from Mistress, it was a punishment with a finite number to reach, to endure. Today he had no idea how long this was going to last, and that felt quite different. Longer than his strictest punishment, he sluggishly realised, just as another stripe cruelly abused his nipple and caused him to scream and spasm. Right now he had no capability to compute how long that might be, nor how long Mistress had already been going.
Then abruptly she was finished, her skin glowing with the exertion. She had paused and stepped back a couple of times before this point to look at her progress, but now she turned and lost the whip on a bench, then glanced at the clock on the wall.
“Now, the next bit gets much more interesting. Did you notice what was behind me?” His eyes flickered nervously over a stout wooden post on a dais which stood on the floor behind her. It seemed to have a lot of attachment points. “It’s my brand-new toy. Generously given to me by one of my fans in the community. You will be my first slave to enjoy it!” She chuckled to herself.
The posture collar was unbuckled, then a slimmer but no less hardcore collar was attached. His wrists were released one by one and attached to the front D-ring of the collar. Then his ankles were freed and he stabilised his standing before the wide waist strap was finally unbuckled. Mistress took him firmly by one forearm, led him across to the post and turned him to face the cross he had just been prepared on.
The small platform surrounding the thick wooden post was covered with a cushioned leatherette pad, he now realised. There were metal rings up each face of the post, and more lining the edge of the platform. At the front base of the post, fixed into a slot but sitting on the platform, was another vertical length of solid wood of equal girth as the post, like a small ledge. As he stood patiently where she had led him, his buttocks were level with the top of the post, and he wondered how he was going to be positioned. Was he going to be bent over it? But then her pressure was firmly guiding him down into kneeling. First Mistress clipped the rear D-ring of the collar directly to the post, effectively tethering him with just that connection. His wrists were unclipped and reattached to the same low metal ring behind the post so that they crossed. Mistress bent over and looked between his legs.
“I think you can take it slightly higher. These risers come in a set — what a cool idea! Let’s change this one for another 25mm higher.”
When she returned, she had not only a longer piece of wood, but also her fearsome bright-red silicone cone plug. He had seen it in photos with other clients, but never had it been employed on him. Gradually he perceived what she might have in store for him, and his apprehension rose. The higher ledge installed, she lubed up the cone liberally, then worked her slippery fingers up and down his crease, insinuating them repeatedly into his arsehole.
The first pressure of the cone’s tip was quite pleasant, opening his pucker easily. But he knew it was only going to get harder. “Lift up now,” her voice commanded and he obeyed as if in a trance, straining up until his collar tightened from its attachment. She was totally in charge now; he was a passive recipient. Then it seemed the plug was centred on the ledge below his buttocks; she moved away, and he tentatively tried lowering, finding that his stretch limit was only just below that point. Was he going to be able to discretely edge himself on the cone while he watched?
That possibility was quickly taken away when Mistress placed a leather belt across his lap and drew it down around behind him. He could imagine it being hooked under one of the rings on the rear of the post, he felt the nearness of her hands so it may have passed under the point where his wrists were held, and as she tugged it tight and buckled it up across his thighs, his rear hole was stretched into pain as his body was forced down. There would be no moving up and down, unless he was struggling in agony.
That was not the end of his torment. Mistress’s last touch of creativity, before taking another photo, was to slick lube over his shaft and tease his knob until his whole groin area felt as if it would explode. He could just see part of his shaft, and it looked apoplectic and deep crimson.
As if on cue, the front doorbell rang, and he started in his bonds. It was going to happen for real!