A Beautiful Choice
Mistress Troy's dilemma for a hard-core masochist.
- submitted by slave andrew, 2014 -
An October afternoon and a short cab ride from the hotel up-town.
My heart beating, a secret appointment offering the opportunity to suffer intense pain and degradation at the hands of Mistress Troy. I gaze out the cab window, upwards to the shuttered and curtained windows which darken many of the upper rooms in building dotted around Manhattan. Inside one, I imagine Mistress Troy donning her skin-tight outfit and pulling her tight boots over the leather legs of her cat-suit.
I visualise the first kiss I will be required to apply to these boots, as her whip delicately tickles the bare of my back.
This session is to be intense – we have agreed that, and I have requested we do away with the use of a safeword. The edgier the better, the more control she has the better. I am there to suffer, nothing else, pure and simple. I know my place.
Now, looking back I have a need to tell others how she made me suffer.
Having entered her domain, I strip naked and kneel to perform the customary Mistress / slave introductory ritual – my visualisation of the boot-kissing was surpassed by the reality – she made me lick the dirt off the undersole of her boots, and having completed this to her satisfaction, I was allowed kiss the heels and the shiny luxurious leather. Ultimately, no part was left unattended.
Mistress Troy then shows me the equipment she intends to use on me – straps, hood, gag, blindfold and most promisingly, or menacingly depend on which way you look at it, needles, nails and a hammer. My heartbeat intensifies.
Having hooded, blindfolded and gagged me, I am ordered to sit on a wooden board strategically placed beside her bondage frame. Mistress Troy then proceeds to expertly tie my arms and legs to various fixed points on the frame and she secures my head in a fixed position using nose hooks tied to an overhead frame. I am helpless and at her mercy, of which there proves to be precious little.
I am about to enter a period of the most intense predicament bondage I have experienced for a long time. Fifteen difficult minutes later, Mistress Troy has given me an impossible choice – sit down or try to stand up. Simple you might think, but not when your scrotum and cock is nailed to the board you sit on; while simultaneously there are needles driven through your nipples, and attached tautly by cord to the overhead frame to which you are secured. Sitting down sends pain searing through your nipples, while standing up brings unbearable suffering to your nailed genitals.
Due to the intense pain in both regions, I end up alternating between trying to stand to relieve my nipples, and sitting to ease the damage being done to my genitals. In this regard, my increasing erection does nothing to help, pulling as it does on the nails driven through my skin.
The truth was that in reality neither relief strategy worked for too long, and the pain escalated in both sensitive areas. Not being able to see her due to the blindfold, I imagined Mistress Troy smiling as she gazed at my futile struggles, reclining queen-like on her couch, dressed head-to-toe in beautiful leather. At intervals, she flicked her bullwhip at me to remind me of her presence.
I grunted the words “Thank you, Mistress” from behind my gag and I heard her laugh condescendingly.
I am left in this position for a long thirty minutes, while Mistress Troy alternates between relaxing and playing with her masochistic plaything. I am there for her pleasure and I am proud to be of use to her. With endorphins rushing through my body, and pain embracing me; bound and gagged and at her mercy; I have found my place.