In all my years visiting professional dominatrixes, rather ironically, the most explosive, mind shattering orgasm 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) Correctly 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 one of her first ‘customers’.
Initially I couldn’t believe I had the right address. A row of dilapidated houses, obviously 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. For some, in retrospect lucky, reason I decided to persevere.
At least, thank goodness, 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, then snapped my steel leg manacles tight around my ankles, these were connected by a chain of just three links. Then using a very long thick leather strap, I bound the tops of my knees together really securely using several tight turns. Next, I forced my giant, penis shaped rubber gag into my mouth and buckled the strap 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, 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 the torments of an evil regimes top ‘extractor of information’. This 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 as the session progressed, 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 unbelievable that this previously apparently hopeless young lady was actually becoming just like the remorseless tormentor of my fantasy.
I also began to realize with mounting alarm, that I, not imagining it to be especially important under the circumstances, had not discussed with her what I meant by ‘torture’, any limits or even simple special signals to indicate what was happening was ‘over the top’ – and now it was too late. I had submitted myself to her as an utterly powerless bound frail victim to do with me as she pleased and ensured my total helplessness by gagging myself silent, ensuring the whole scene was now 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, I’d lost control and I really was starting to experience to dread and terror a genuine victim would in similar circumstances.
Now I normally just play around quite moderately in sessions with professional mistresses, I’m not into real pain, just 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 bondage, humiliation, sometimes enforced TV. My usual fantasy is being viciously, brutally bound and gagged by a powerful dominatrix, humiliated and mildly ‘tortured’. She then leaves me, describing in detail the ‘real’ torture she will inflict on me on her return. My vivid imagination then takes over as I struggle in terror awaiting her return – and that’s usually enough for an adequate orgasm. Of course, I have many different scenarios, often depending on the appearance or the attitude of the dominatrix, but I’d never chosen this exact fantasy with any. I’d never dared to. It was one of my favorite masturbation fantasies however and I’d chosen it this time because I was expecting a very gentle, fairly hopeless session.
However, this novice had taken my instructions 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 callous and indifferent to my agony, she relentlessly upped the pain level. She started with burning wax, 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 was getting 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, watching my pleading eyes with cold, amused callousness as she drew deeply on the cigarettes ensuring they were red hot before carefully pressing them into the desired spot.
In between these tortures, after much flaunting it before me, she had also been giving my back and backside a series of vicious thrashes with a thick rubber flexible, whip like switch 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. Come on now, make my day, let me hear some really loud screams – I’m going to get real pissed off if I don’t hear some soon, it means I’m not trying hard enough.” God, I was trying hard enough to scream out loud, I had early on tried to, fairly hopelessly, 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.
Now in any situation I’ve ever been in with a professional mistress, obviously most of the components that made up this unique session would be missing and I know all I would be feeling in the exact same situation would be just horrendous pain – no possibility of ‘pleasure’ whatsoever. But now, the very unusual elements in this session, unbelievably, slowly started to combine into an unexpected and very exciting chemistry.
Unlike in normal circumstances, in this situation, I had lost control very early on and was now really at the mercy (or total lack of it) of a dominatrix who not only really got sensual pleasure inflicting pain, she was also totally indifferent to any pain and torment I must obviously be suffering now and furthermore, had no concept of client/mistress arrangements. I was completely bewildered and disorientated by the total transformation of our roles. Early on, I’d been somewhat condescending and superior to this apparently inept young mistress. Now 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, 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.
The next vital element in the mix was the young lady herself. 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 a lovely face that even when she turned mean during the torture, still managed to look incredibly attractive and desirable. She also had a sensational body, long curvaceous legs and 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 combination was electrifying. 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. I also dimly realized 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 – so she couldn’t really be other than perfect. Another ‘bonus’ was that being a novice she had yet to adapt to that false and artificial ‘mistress speak and talk’ that the professionals employ.
Through a mist of tortuous pain and hopeless screams, some part of my brain was beginning to register the fact that the appearance, character and actions of this gorgeous creature was starting to stir up some deep, very powerful erotic sensations. I had dredged up this scene from a fantasy area that I’d only dared contemplate in private and certainly never expect 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 so expertly by this beautiful creature, who by all appearances shouldn’t conceivably be putting me through such agony, but who now terrified me so much that every time she approached me, I started muted, impotent and hopeless screaming and shrieking in anticipation of the pain about to be inflicted – very slowly, but with increasing excitement – I was undergoing a wonderful transformation.
Somehow the masochistic, submissive part of my consciousness emerged to a level I never knew existed and was signaling that the position I found myself in now was one I’d always secretly wished would one day actually happen. The pain miraculously began to mutate into a sort of agonized erotic ecstasy. The dread, terror and the torment were still present but now all that just seem to add to the new excitement.
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 become in my mind an overwhelmingly powerful, superior, cruel goddess and in my abject total helplessness in her power, somehow it seemed proper and justified that she should be torturing me if that was her pleasure. Please! Please! Be more cruel – mutilate me!
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 to 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 the session was over 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 spinning around in my head and my body 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 terror having experienced what she was capable of.
“Why aren’t you on your knees before your mistress?” Oh my God – she hasn’t finished with me yet!
Incredibly, I found myself on my knees, groveling, kissing and licking her high heel shoes, begging her not to hurt me any more – and I really meant it! At that moment I just knew she could have done anything she wished with me, that she 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. The combination of how I’d been brutally tortured, the memory of how totally indifferent and contemptuous she had been 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.
She toyed with me for a time, seemingly amused and contemptuous at the
craven figure I’d become as opposed to very confident, superior figure
she’d met at first. Ignoring my whimpering, she was grinding her stiletto
heels into my wounds as I prostrated myself. She seemed to be considering
how to proceed – but then – “Damn! I’ll have to terminate this session.”
It turned out she had another client due in about twenty minutes. I found out later that she had become more sexually aroused during our session than she had ever been in her life before – and she was still in an elated state after my release. The sight of me prostrated before her, ‘a pathetic groveling wimp’, obviously totally incapable of resistance in any form, had set her off again and all sorts of new tricks went through her mind; starting with laying me face up on the bare springs of the old steel bed, tying me with the rope, spread-eagled to the four posts. It was touch and go, she told me later, she was seriously considering whether to carry on with me and ignore his rings on the front door bell.
As she came back down to earth and slowly reverted back to the apprentice
mistress I originally encountered and 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
“I know, I know – but it was just a one in a million freak happening – I can’t get my head around it now. We’ll have a chat about when I visit next.”
“Oh – you are coming back then?”
“If I get out of intensive care.”
I never got much 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 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.
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 taken more than I could have possibly imagined, I know that magically, it had turned out to be a sensationally erotic experience – but I’m certain I couldn’t have repeated that climax, I was crushed. Whatever she would have done to me (and she was definitely getting more and more remorselessly vicious) – it would have been pure bloody agony with no compensation whatsoever. But, (assuming I survived it!) would the memory of that extra session now be giving me a more exiting thrill than the first? Hmmmm.
Of course, when I recovered, I revisited her – many times. But now, with a bit more experience under her belt, she was a far more cautious person. And I? Well I 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. We had lots of good times though. Because she was so utterly gorgeous, I went in more for forced body-worship scenarios. I also discovered that after a short introduction, she soon became incredibly adept at applying tight and escape proof rope bondage, especially with the new ropes I gave her.
Often, helpless in painfully tight bondage, I’d be forced to lick and
tongue her most beautiful pussy as she playfully inflicted restrained torture
to encourage me – not that I needed much encouragement for that scenario!
Of course, I could have easily got her to inflict a similar form of torture
on me again as in the first, she hadn’t suddenly stopped being a sadist
- if fact I knew the word had got round and she was dealing with clients
who were taking far more severe punishment than I had received.
But oddly enough, she told me she never got quite the same intense emotion again, probably because she knew those clients were really serious masochists and in their own way, were getting equal pleasure from the session. In ours, not having had any real specific instructions from the victim and finding herself in total control, she could be herself without any inhibitions and despite my final climax, she admitted after, that she instinctively realized that most of the time, from my reactions, she really was inflicting real, genuine pain and agony on me – and what an erotic turn on my obvious suffering had been – especially as I’d been such a supercilious, patronizing ‘creep’ early on.
The end came with distressing suddenness. She had been mentioning for some time, arguments with the ‘owner’ of the squat about money. I’d been away and upon phoning her, got the disengaged signal. 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 proposed to her when I had the opportunity.