Looking back, I see that I walked straight into the trap she had set for me. It must have amused her to observe how easily I could be enticed, how blindly I would take her bait. She is like that, Madame C, devious and manipulative, playing on what she sees as my weaknesses for her own satisfaction – and cruel. I should have known – and I must never forget – that she is cruel. My mistress enjoys my pain.
This is how it happened.
She is toying idly with my naked body, her mind, it seems, occupied elsewhere. I am on my back, my wrists bound above my head, and my knees tied up towards my chest and outwards, so that the most private parts of my body are displayed before her, the way she likes it.
With one hand, slick with oil, she is gripping the base of my cock, pulling the skin hard down, its head shiny and tight, and the swollen veins of the shaft engorged with blood, trapped by her vice-like grip. With her other hand she is rhythmically thrusting a thick, ribbed rubber cock deep into my anus, each time withdrawing it to the tip, then plunging it in again, inflaming the sensitive nerves that ring my hole, and with each thrust bearing hard down on my prostate sending waves of pleasure through the core of my body.
I am just seconds from an explosive ejaculatory release.
Then suddenly she stops, releases my cock, and yanks out the dildo. She turns her head away and stands, then walks into the deep dark shadows of her dungeon. My body shakes uncontrollably, my hips thrusting into the empty air as if somehow I could find something there that would take me that fraction further and allow me to come. But to no avail, and I subside, shuddering, my skin rapidly cooling.
I raise my head to see what she is doing, and I can just discern her outline, dim in the shadow, standing still, watching me.
‘Please’, I beg her.
‘What do you want?’ There is irritation in her voice.
‘Let me come, Madame C. Please let me come.’
She emerges from the shadows. She stands over me looking down at my body.
‘Shut up. And pay attention.’
She stands right in front of me. She is wearing that outfit – of soft black leather and chain – its thinnest of straps stretched tight over her sex and revealing its most intimate contours (I wish I was that delicate bluebird tattooed just a tongue’s length from her soft lips). Her outfit exposes the voluptuous curvature of her rounded breasts, and her erect nipples are clearly visible through the thin pliable fabric.
Slowly she raises her hands to her breasts, and squeezes them. She presses them, lifts them, parts them. Her eyes close, and her lips parts as her heads leans back. Then she slips her fingers below the strapping and pinches her nipples. Her breath is heavy now, and I can hear a low murmur in her throat.
She looks at me again, through heavy-lidded eyes. She passes her left hand, with fingers splayed, up across her chest and neck until it covers her mouth. The fingers massage her ruby lips, which she widens, two fingers dipping deep into her mouth. Her tongue licks them, coating them with a stream of saliva, which runs down her chin and drips into the deep cleavage between her breasts.
At the same time her right hand slides down over the gentle curve of her stomach, to that secret heaven between her thighs. She adjust her stance, slightly parting her feet, then presses her fingers hard against the soft leather that covers her sex, so that the thin strip of black which covers it slips in between the moist lips of her shaved pussy. Her middle finger follows, curving deep inside her.
Now her gaze is fixed on mine. She is breathing hard now, as making no effort to conceal her mounting arousal, or to stifle her ever-more insistent moans of pleasure.
She is standing just inches from my body. She takes her hands, one dripping with saliva, the other slick with the fragrant juices of her cunt, and leaning over me smears them across my face. Frantically I lick at them and try to draw them into my mouth, overwhelmed that she has graced me with such physical intimacy.
She stands again.
‘What do you want?’ she asks.
A minute ago I just wanted to come, to find release. But now she has inflamed a far stronger urge, and one I know that is always forbidden to me.
I should have known. I didn’t see it. She had set the trap. Only now, looking back, when I remember the look on her face, do I see the cruel amusement in her eyes, and the heartless satisfaction in her smile.
‘I want to fuck you.’ I couldn’t help it. The words just came out.
In an almost girly voice, she says ‘You want to fuck me?’, its innocence of tone misread by me as suggesting a familiar fantasy, but in fact concealing, I only now recognise, a hard sarcasm and contempt.
‘Oh, yes please, Madame C’.
‘Where do you want to fuck me?’, she ask, fingering her sex again, leading me like a lamb to the slaughter.
‘I want to fuck your pussy, Madame C. Really hard.’
Then she slides her hands behind her, turning so that I see them cupping her buttocks. Slowly she pulls them apart, the thin leather strap barely covering the tight hidden opening to her body. I am overwhelmed by this unparalleled revelation of her jewel-like anus, and what I take to be her invitation to the most uninhibited intimacy.
‘Is that all?’
How foolhardy and stupid and reckless could I be, my mind suffused with a heady cocktail of raging hormones overriding all caution and common sense.
‘I want to fuck you in the arse’.
‘Oooh!’, that innocence again (how could I not recognise its phony tone). ‘You want to fuck my tight little hot arse, do you?’ She puts her full smooth buttocks close to my face, wiggling them, and giggling like a girl, one wet finger just slipping in to the first knuckle.
‘Is that all?’, she asks, turning to face me again. Her tongue is working hard in her mouth, and then spits out a long thick stream of creamy saliva, which flows over her chin and drips down onto her chest where she smears it across the silky curves of her breasts. She pushes her breast together, accentuating the soft tight depth of her cleavage. Another invitation!
‘And I want fuck your tits.’ I am on a roll now, there’s no stopping me, as I career headlong (but still unaware) to disaster.
‘Mmmm!’, she murmurs, now barely concealing her cynical amusement.
And then all she has to do is bring her beautiful face right down to mine, so that I can feel her warm breath on me, and, parting her lips in a parody of sexual arousal, circles them with her dripping, flickering tongue, rolling her half-closed eyes and moaning.
I am gone. She doesn’t even have to ask.
‘And I want to come in your mouth.’
‘You want to come in my mouth. So, slave, you want to fuck my pussy, you want to fuck my arse, you want to fuck my tits and you want to come in my mouth.’
‘Yes, Madame C. Yes please.’
‘No, Madame C.’
She looks at me for a few seconds, then stands, turns and walks away.
‘All right,’ she says. ‘Come back in one month. And don’t you dare touch yourself in the meantime. Now get out.’
Even the harshness of her tone gives me know cause for concern. She is a strict mistress and I am used to the sometimes firm tone of her instructions.
The weeks pass at an agonisingly slow pace, and I endure them in a state of unbearable sexual anticipation as I imagine and re-imagine every second of what awaits me. I imagine Madame C’s beautiful naked body laid out open before me, her skin glistening in soft candle light. I imaging our foreplay, how I will please her with my tongue, caressing her lips of her sex, encircling her clitoris, probing gently into her anus, sensitising and relaxing it, then building her up to a moaning, writhing climax. Then I imaging my cock, rock hard with delayed desire, pushing into her now receptive body, her muscles closing taut around its swollen head, and drawing the skin tight down my shaft, as I thrust deep into her, right up to my balls, bursting with weeks of pent up longing. I imagine kneeling over her, my cocking between her breasts, lubricated by my oozing pre-cum, thrusting right up to her slender delicate neck. I imaging her gripping my buttocks, drawing my cock closer and closer to her mouth and her open glossy scarlet lips, her welcoming tongue flicking around my glans, inviting me in. I imaging one of her fingers probing deep inside me, pressing hard on my prostate until all my postponed longing, and all my aching, pent-up desires are released in an ecstatic explosion of cum pouring deep into her mouth, as I ram my jerking, throbbing cock far down her throat. And then, as I subside, she is sucking me dry, licking her lips in satisfaction as her fingers squeeze my balls, drawing out every last drop.
So, one month later, I knock on her door, in a state of almost delirious anticipation.
It is already open an inch, and I hear her call me in.
I enter through the heavy drapes that block out all the light, and insulate her hidden dungeon from the outside world – no sound can escape this place. I close the door behind me. A very faint red glow lights the immediate entrance, but my eyes are unaccustomed to the dark and the rest of the room seems to be in a black shadow.
‘Hello L. Please undress where you are.’ Her voice, from the shadows is soft and calming.
Hurriedly I strip off, unembarrassed my obvious arousal, my cock already hard and twitching erect.
‘Now, stand on the line’ – a faint line is visible on the floor – ‘and face the door.’ What erotic delights await me!
I do as she says.
‘Now, before we start I am sure you understand I have to examine you first…’
‘Yes Madame C’.
‘…for which I need to tie you so that you stand perfectly still.’
‘Of course, Madame C’, unquestioning, and so innocently eager to please!
‘Close your eyes’. I comply. I don’t hear her approach, but then she is next to me, slipping a blindfold over my eyes.
‘Relax’, she whispers.
Gently she takes my wrists and straps them up, but not tight, then she is down, spreading my feet apart and fixing my ankles too. I am aroused by this gentle bondage, almost as if we were starting up from where we had left off one month ago. I feel her place something heavier, loose around my neck.
As she ties me her hands move gently all over my skin, front and back. I am breathing hard now, my body preparing itself for the task ahead. For once this examination is over I am going to take her, and possess her, and fuck her so hard that she will never forget.
She touches my lips, and I open my mouth to her, trying to caress her fingers with my tongue.
‘Open wide, my dear’, and as I do I realise it is a large ball-gag around my neck, that she is now places in my open mouth.
I have just an instant to think, She has never used that before…
Then everything changes.
Suddenly she tightens the gag hard. I groan, but hardly a sound can escape. Then somehow, in a single move, probably by system of pulleys hidden by the darkness, the straps holding my wrists and ankles are pulled tight too, spread-eagling me, almost lifting me off the floor, totally immobilising me. I try to struggle but there is absolutely no give in my restraints.
I stop moving, and listen, try to sense what is happening, but I can’t hear a thing. But I sense her near, watching me.
This is not an examination. Something is wrong, and I feel a growing sense of alarm.
Then a very soft voice – but not sexy-soft, not friendly-soft, but angry, cruel and vengeful-soft.
‘So you want to fuck me, do you? You want to fuck your mistress – fuck her hot wet cunt, her tight little arse, her lovely breasts, her beautiful mouth?’
Has it dawned on me yet?
No, not yet. Even now, my hard dripping cock is still in control of my mind.
I wonder, now, whether, if I had shaken my head, she might have let me go. But of course, like some eager puppy I just nodded, unable to tell from the tone of her voice that this was the worst possible response I could have made. A fatal error.
Then nothing. Not a sound, not a touch, not a movement. I wait, my mind in a whirl, trying to understand, but unwilling still to contemplate the possibility that I had made an error, had calculated wrong.
Minutes pass in dark, immovable silence. And then it begins.
There are three to start with, in rapid succession, and it is not until they are over that I even begin to feel them. At first it is just sound and sensation, as her lash streaks across my chest, then my stomach and then my thighs. But the pain follows like a speeding train, on me and overwhelming me before I have time to prepare myself, spreading out across my body.
Then instantly, three more, across my shoulders, my back and my buttocks. I cry out, but all I hear is an incoherent gurgle from my throat, and although I try to struggle it is futile, there is no place for my body to hide, my head wobbling like a broken doll.
‘How…. dare… you!’
Her voice, hard, like ice, chills me to the bone. And in an instant I understand what is happening. With absolute clarity I realise the enormity of my folly, of my presumption, and my arrogance.
She removes the blindfold, and I see her for the first time. She is not wearing that erotically revealing strap and chain outfit which had so inflamed my imagination last time. Instead, she is fully clothed, in a clinging shining black dresscoat zipped up the front from below her knees, with a high collar and long sleeves, and matching stiletto-heeled boots. Her hair is tied tight back, her face severe. She is swinging the lash in her hand.
‘Am I your mistress?’
I nod frantically, as if my acknowledgement of her unquestioning dominance over me could somehow, even now, spare me from the punishment I know is to come.
‘And are you my slave?’
Again I nod.
‘My pathetic, dirty little plaything, my toy, my property?’ She spits the words.
I let my head slump forward, abject in my humiliation, knowing now that nothing can save me.
Another stinging lash – ‘Answer me, slave!’
I nod again, frantically, a loud groan in my throat the only possible verbalisation of my assent.
‘I am outraged that you could even presume to think of me, your supreme mistress, in such disgusting and perverted ways. Have you learnt nothing from me?’
Not sure whether to shake my head or to nod, my head wobbles again, as I seek to assure her of my repentance.
‘I am going to have to teach you a lesson you will never forget. You have a dirty and depraved mind, and only the most intense corrective therapy – my Perversion Aversion Therapy – has any chance of curing you, and preventing another shameful episode such as this. Are you ready for it?’
Slowly I nod.
For the hours that follow I succumb to her treatment. She lashes me frequently, whenever I begin to flag. She rakes her nails across my flesh, raising angry red weals over my skin. She binds a cord so tightly around my cock and balls it feels as if they will explode. She pits in my face, slaps it hard. She places clamps and pincers on the most sensitive parts of my body. She takes fine steel rods and inserts them deep into my cock, stretching open the narrow sensitive aperture, then selects a massive anal probe and forces it deep into me, against my body’s vain resistance, filling me. She attaches electrodes to them, and more to my shaft and my balls, to my buttocks and my nipples. Then with a tangle of wires she connects all of them to an humming electrical device covered in dials, controls and blinking red lights.
‘Do you want to fuck me?’
I shake my head, pleading with my eyes.
‘Are you sure? My pussy is tight and wet, can’t you just imagine your cock slipping into me? Go on, just imagine it.’
And I do imagine it (just as I have been for the last month) and my body, insensitive to my mind screaming silently to ignore the thought, reacts just as she knows it will. My cock, stunned into submission by the lashes of her whips, swells again, rising and hardening.
And I am rewarded with a bolt of current streaming down my cock, through my balls and deep into my groin.
‘Do you want to bugger me?’ Her use of the word shocks me, but an image of my swollen cock, balls-deep in her tightly stretched anus, makes my body react again, my cock twitching and jerking, nodding its assent while I frantically shake my head in denial.
This time the pulses of current are applied directly to my prostate, causing a power of sensation that I cannot discern if it is pleasure or pain, such is its intensity. The current courses up through my stomach and out through the dribbling head of my gaping, probe-stretched cock.
‘To you want to fuck my pretty little titties’ she sneers.
Again I shake my head, but slowly in resignation, knowing that just the image she has rekindled, of the glistening head of my cock thrusting out from between this soft rounded breasts, is causing it to visibly throb despite my efforts to prevent it.
Another lash stings across my stomach. ‘Answer me.’
I shake my head fast, an unambiguous denial – were it not that my cock is nodding in defiant disagreement.
Now the shocks start at my anus and buttocks, coursing through my balls and cock, right up to my nipples, tensing all the muscles of my abdomen, and causing a deep throaty groan to gurgle out of my gagged mouth, now dripping and bubbling with trapped saliva.
She repeats the same three questions in a seemingly endless cycle of temptation, arousal and punishment. She watches me closely, observing even the slightest sign of lingering desire, the merest twitch of my cock, the slightest increase in my heart rate, the tiniest drip of pre-cum oozing from my cock.
And when she gets no reaction, instead of relenting, she delves deeper into the recesses of my mind to drag out any lingering desire.
‘Imagine me. I am on my knees in front of you. My pussy lips are red and swollen, dripping from being fucked so hard by your cock. I reach back and smear my juices between my buttock, over my hole. I slip in a finger, then two, and fuck my own arse with them. I am groaning in pleasure, desperate for you to take me. “Fuck me slave, fuck your beautiful mistress in her tight hot arse.” Can you imagine that?’
She will do and say anything to arouse me, and each time my body reacts, I am punished again. And she touches herself, as she had a month before when she had drawn me into this fiendish trap, and though I know that the moaning and groaning, licking and caressing is a mere performance to ensnare me, I cannot stop my body responding.
And I cannot stop her punishing me.
In the end it is simple exhaustion that saves me. Red-raw and bruised, quivering, drenched in sweat and saliva, sagging in my restraints, my body stops reacting, both to her temptations and to her punishment. Her Perversion Aversion Therapy has almost run its course.
She removes the electrodes and the probes, and then the gag. She kneels before me, taking my engorged but drooping cock in her hands, stroking its full length, and in seconds her soft touch bringing it back to life, then to climax. When I come, the orgasm is of such intensity, converting every sting of pain my body has suffered into a spasm of exquisite pleasure, that I almost pass out, collapsing limp in my restraints.
But she hasn’t quite finished.
‘Do you still want to come in my mouth, slave?’
‘Open wide’, she says. I comply, and she lifts up a cupped hand to my face.
‘Then eat this’, as she puts the palm of the hand over my mouth and I feel my hot cum dripping onto my tongue.
She stands back and watches as I swallow.
‘Have you learnt your lesson, slave?’
‘So now, what do you want?’
I dare not answer.
‘What do you want, slave?’ Insistent this time.
I see the words, large and bold in my mind’s eye, and know that there is no power in me strong enough to prevent their utterance. My heart is pounding with anticipation and excitement, and fear and dread, in equal measure.
She is waiting.
‘I want to fuck you, Madame C.’
She looks at me. I detect the hint of a smile in her eyes, which soften in their contemplation of my racked body. I am her slave, her toy, her entertainment.
I have given her the right answer, the one she wanted. I have pleased my mistress, because I will need more of her patent therapy. I will have to be punished again.
I can hardly wait.