Dominant Mistress: Two Weeks of Intense BDSM Submission (1)

Across the table, in this café, she gazes at me with a cruel amusement in her eyes. She’s elegantly in her forties, perhaps a bit overly made-up, but it suits her. She dressed for the occasion with a strict suit,

a knee length skirt, her stockings rustling as she crossed her legs sitting down in front of me. Perfectly polished stilettos, hair pulled back to emphasize the severity of her face. This Dominant Mistress immediately sets out to establish the rules.

Captivated by Her: My First Meeting with a Dominant Mistress

When I saw her photo on the Slave-Selection website, I was instantly captivated. Her dignified expression was laced with perversion, strikingly clear blue eyes, and an astonishing chest. Massive, perfectly supported by some unknown trick, but it didn’t matter. I confess to having a weakness, even an obsession, for large breasts. Plus, when she arrived, I could admire her enormous backside molded in her skirt, something I hadn’t seen until now.

Our exchanges went on for a while. Mistresses are cautious these days. I must have met her demands because here I am today. Our first face-to-face meeting.

I’m terribly intimidated. After stammering a pathetic hello, I fall silent, unsure what to say. I’m terrified. Until now, the thought of seeing her filled me with intense excitement. Since yesterday, when we finally decided to meet, I’ve been plagued by painful erections that are hard to shake off. As a challenge to myself, I decided not to masturbate for relief. God knows I want to, but I want to present myself to her service with my balls full. It keeps my excitement intact, a great way to push back the fear rising in me.

“So, we’re clear,” she begins without unnecessary politeness. “No taboos, no limits, no safe word. For two weeks, you’ll be in my service. I can use and play with your body as I please?”

A wave of cold washes over me. I nod in agreement.

“You have a tongue, I hope.”

“Yes, Madame.”

Madame’s Rules: Two Weeks as a Bound BDSM Slave

She insisted I call her that; she doesn’t like the word “Mistress.”

“So, we’re clear?”

“Yes, Madame.”

“I’d rather repeat what we discussed to avoid any misunderstanding. You’ll be my live-in slave, constantly restrained, in a chastity cage, locked up or immobilized in a straitjacket most of the time. Your tasks will include cleaning when I’m not around. Otherwise, you’ll serve as my toilet, you’ll pleasure me with your tongue for as long as I desire and I love it, so it could last hours. You’d better have stamina. And, of course, you’ll be my punching bag. I have a stressful job, you see, and I like to unwind by torturing my prey. I’m a sadist; I get intense pleasure from inflicting pain or terror on my submissive. That’s just how it is.
So it is best to accept it! I might lend you to friends if I feel like it, and some are far worse than me. You’ll have half an hour in the morning to eat and wash, half an hour at noon, and half an hour in the evening. The rest of the time, you won’t be free to move; you’ll be my thing. Did you get your blood test?”

Facing Madame’s Test: A Submissive’s BDSM Trial

I pull it out of my pocket and hand it to her, proud. She reads it, nodding.

“Good. Don’t get any ideas, though! If I asked for an STI test, it’s mostly for my friends who sometimes like to use a sub’s cock. That’s not my thing, just so you know. Still in?”

A feeble “yes” barely escapes my lips. But desire outweighs fear.

“Very well. But it’s not a done deal yet. Tonight, you’ll undergo a test. If you pass, I keep you. If you fail, I toss you out. Come on, I don’t live far.”

I pay the bill and follow her into the street, my legs like jelly, my eyes glued to her large backside swaying under her skirt.

We never talked about a test before. What could it be?

We walk a short distance to a beautiful old building. In the small elevator to the top floor, I’m pressed against her. Her perfume floods my senses, and I struggle not to stare at her chest.

“I’ve already asked, but you’re not the type to complain constantly, are you?”

“No, Madame.”

“Because if I feel like leaving you locked in a cage or a closet for an entire day, you’ll accept it without a peep. I might have other things to do!”

“Yes, Madame.”

Stripped Bare: My First Moments in Madame’s Domain

She mentioned having a stressful job. In finance, perhaps? Judging by her apartment, she must earn a lot. Spacious, elegant, expensive. It’s already thrilling to know I’ll spend the next two weeks here. I desperately want to please this woman, to measure up. My resolve strengthens. I can do this. Of course, I can.

“Get naked,” she tosses out casually. “Put your clothes in this bag.”

It’s a trash bag!

“Don’t worry,” she says with a small smile. “I’m not going to throw them out.”

Then she disappears into a room down the hall.

I undress. I took care before coming to shave my pubis and legs as she requested, as well as my chest. Also, I got a haircut to keep my hair as short as possible. So here I am, shivering in the nude in the middle of the entryway, my hands covering my crotch like a wretch.

Madame laughs when she sees me.

“Move your hands,” she says. “Are you slow or what?”

I reveal my anatomy, blushing.

“Well, I see nature’s been kind to you. Good for me—more flesh to play with.”

Her words make my heart race. What does she mean?

“Follow me!”

Bound in Her Torture Chamber: Madame’s BDSM Test Begins

She leads me to the back room, her heels clicking on the hardwood, her stockings swishing between her thighs.

I discover a room that makes me recoil. It’s not a classic dungeon but a genuine torture chamber. The array of instruments hanging on the walls is staggering paddles of all kinds, whips, clamps, plenty of medical equipment, ropes, and straps. In the center, there is a table with a metal frame rising from its four corners.

“Lie face down on the table,” she orders.

Is this the test she mentioned?

“If you endure as long as I demand, you’ll pass. If not, I have no use for a weakling in my service.”

I comply almost as if in a dream, lying down as this dominant Mistress instructed.

“A bit more centered, position your legs better!”

I notice slots with straps for the legs and adjust my position.

The straps quickly close around my thighs, locking me to the table. She swiftly pulls my arms behind my back, securing them in a leather sleeve that she tightens like a corset, forcing my elbows together mercilessly. Then she binds my ankles with straps, pulling each toward the front of the table and attaching them to the metal posts, forcing me into an extreme hogtie that’s instantly uncomfortable. I’m not very flexible, so the strain is painful.

Bound and Silenced: A Tale of Control

She positions herself in front of me, fitting a muzzle with a jaw spreader that forces my mouth open. She then secures the muzzle to a frame post at the back, making me tilt my head back. The position is already unbearable.

“I see fear in your eyes,” she says, smiling. “You’re not going to crack already, are you?”

I shake my head no.

“Good.”

She slips her hand under her skirt, into her panties, and pulls it out, two fingers extended toward me.

“Look how wet I am already!”

She shoves her fingers into my mouth, smearing her juices on my tongue.

“Like that?”

I nod yes.

“Then I’ll give you a treat.”

She steps away briefly and returns with a dirty pair of panties.

“Last week, I worked 48 hours straight at the office and couldn’t change my underwear. Lucky you, I haven’t washed them yet.”

She stuffs them in my mouth and wraps a tight scarf around my head to keep them in place.

Blue-Bound Desire: The Game of the Dominant Mistress

At first, I don’t taste much, but as saliva builds, a sharp, acrid flavor floods my taste buds. I don’t have time to dwell on it. Madame is relentless. She moves behind me and ties a thin cord around the base of my balls, attaching it to a post at the back and pulling hard.

Caught off guard, I let out a cry of panic and pain. This dominant Mistress doesn’t care and continues until the cord is taut in the air. My balls soon swell and harden. She prods them with her fingertip.

“They’ll turn blue and hypersensitive soon,” she says with satisfaction. “The best state to play with.”

She crouches and grabs something under the table. It is a small trapdoor beneath my cock, which she pulls through firmly.

“It’s too soft. Can you get hard on command?”

Hard in this position? Everything hurts already!

She pulls back my foreskin and massages my glans with the expert hand of a dominant Mistress. Desire overrides everything, and I feel my cock swell and harden like concrete.

“There we go. Good.”

Shocked and Bound: The Cruel Surprise of this Dominant Mistress

She’s pleased, which is good. I cling to that thought to keep from breaking. She fiddles with something, and I feel something cold and wet against my urethra. A thin rod.

A urethral plug! I’m sure of it! That tool has always terrified me. She’s lubricated it and slides it into my tiny hole, holding my cock firmly. I squirm and whimper, but nothing stops her. Soon, a rod is lodged in my dick, keeping it upright under the table.

Madame stands and gazes at me, her eyes gleaming.

“Still in?”

I nod yes, out of bravado, though I’m barely holding it together.

“And now?”

She activates a small device on the side I hadn’t noticed. A moderate shock courses through my cock, ripping a muffled scream from me. She waits for my response. I nod again. I want to succeed.

“This device sends random shocks of varying intensity. It can go for two minutes straight or do nothing for an hour, so it’s always a surprise. I’ll leave you like this for the rest of the day. I have errands to run. I’ll be back in two or three hours or maybe late if I meet friends and go to dinner. Have fun!”

Endurance Under the Dominant Mistress: A Test of Will

She kisses my forehead and leaves the room, her large backside swaying, leaving me alone in my torment.

The position quickly becomes unbearable; my muscles scream, and cramps will soon follow, not to mention my increasingly painful balls. Some shocks—three since she left—are far stronger than the first, leaving my cock burning.

Three hours? Or part of the night? Impossible! I’ll never last! This test is impossible!

After half an hour, I hear the front door slam and footsteps on the hardwood. Madame appears with a big smile, followed by a petite, prim-looking Asian woman.

“Scared, huh? I saw the terror in your eyes, but you held on. You didn’t give up. I think you’re worthy of being my slave. What do you think, Naomi?”

“He’s not very pretty.”

“That’s not what we ask of him, is it?”

Cruel Inspection: The Dominant Mistress and Her Sadistic Ally

The Asian woman circles the table, inspecting my body. I follow her with my eyes, straining my neck. My balls catch her attention immediately. She grabs them in her small hand and squeezes without mercy.

The pain is excruciating, shooting through my stomach. I moan and writhe in my bonds as much as I can, but it doesn’t faze her. She continues kneading them with delight as they’re stretched to the limit and likely blue.