Month: August 2015

Wet And Messy (and satirical) Dairy Humiliation Torture

I open the door to the accessible toilet at the cheap and cheerful Canadian coffee shop on the corner and to my fiendish delight, you are still there where I left you, tied up with plastic string to the baby changing table, spider gag installed keeping your mouth forced open, your dribble pooling into an already rolled-up rim cardboard cup. It’s stifling and hot in this tiny room. You look up at me as best as your head will allow, bound in a web of packaging sting as you are, and inhale sharply when you catch sight of my pure white blouse, my starched cap, my braided hair shimmering under the fluorescent light. It is as though my splendid milky purity dazzles the linoleum tiles, and you must stop from swooning.

Without a word, I plop a package on my lap and slowly unwrap this first item. A heavy, warm wheel of brie, as big as my hand, thick and quivering with calcium and fat. You gargle piteously. I take it to mean, “please, sweet maid, all of it!” As you wish, little goose. I push the soft, squishy cheese into your mouth, liquid enough to simply open your throat and allow it to slip down.

Gravity takes its time, and so I get to unwrapping individual CheeseWhizzes from the bulk packet I found on the street. With great care I move the Cheeze sticks into your nostrils, your ears, and lovingly roll the remainder into your body hair.

Humming to myself, I set to work on filing a lump of aged parmesan into a butt plug. I dip it into your spit cup and apply a stiff twisting technique to fit it into your cavity.

You are quite a sight. I take out a sketch pad and pencil, and fuss over a smudgy little drawing for the time it takes all the cheeses to acclimatize to your body heat. Poor goose, restrained and force fed, plugged up and helpless. But that look on your bulging, sweating face tells me that you can’t get enough of being a dairy slut. I’ve captured the expression in my sketch; I’m rather pleased with how it turned out.

I open the door and prop it open. Your thick moans of embarrassment and alarm are drowned out by a restless crowd of men who burst in carrying buckets spilling over with yogurt, cheesecake, pavlova, and scrambled egg. They rush you, surrounding you in the clamour of dairy products. You gurgle and shriek; your brie gag bubbles. They are banging their buckets, waiting for my call. The mob of dairy men are consumed with feverish lust for the finale. You try to look away but I pull your eyes back, and I shout, “Pour!”

And the buckets flow. On your face, all down your neck and chest, your belly, on top of your head, trickling down the gutters of your body, pooling in your dips, seeping into the folds of your flesh. The entire coffee shop is watching, since there was so much noise.

The deed is done. The men discard their buckets and file out, an air of subdued satisfaction around them. I am the last one out, and before I turn the light out and shut the door I take a look back. Dripping with milkiness, chunks of dairy-rich edibles running rivulets down your body, your eyes meet mine. You look pathetic, abused, and absolutely dazzling.

Doctor! Doctor! Medical Fetish

I am your doctor, white coat, snap on the latex gloves, kind eyes and a sweet smile. this won’t hurt but it may be embarrassing. Just kneel up here and pull your trousers down behind the sheet. Try to relax, patient, you may feel a little pressure on your spot there. It says here on your report that you’ve just had a rather large enema, with lube and cold water. Very brave. Well I can assure you that none of this will be such an ordeal as that.

This is a small tube, and it’s going to inflate just a bit so you’ll feet a bit more pressure inside. What I’m looking for is any sign of malfunction, and so train your body to respond to certain stimuli. It begins with holding cold objects of increasing size inside the anal canal to minimize swelling and pain. Please, patient, keep your voice down while we go through this procedure, as there are other patients being seen in the surrounding rooms. Now if you continue to moan like that I will have to take this further to isolate the disruption. Very well. This mouth harness has a firm, hollow silicone sphere that fits between your teeth. I will put a pan on the floor so that your drool doesn’t make a mess. There there now, this won’t take long.

Just a little push and there…ahh. Very good. You’ve taken a very big plug, I do hope you can feel that stretch. Sorry patient, I can’t understand a word you’re saying with your mouth forced open like that. I suppose since I’ve got you here, and you being tied down and gagged and all, I can do what I like with you. I do have some experiments in mind, and your body is the perfect specimen. By my measurements your heart is at an elevated pace so do try to calm down and breathe normally.

If your other holes are stretched, why not go for the third? Yes, I’m looking at your dick, lying there like a frightened vole. It should be strong, proud, and upright. Easily fixed. All it takes is a little patience, a little lube, and this set of stainless steel sounds. The first couple slip down the middle of your shaft so easily, like your hole was built for taking these rods. The next one goes slower, no forcing here, just a gradual widening of your urethra. It’s strange, but it feels good to conquer this place in your body, take control of everything you feel. There we are, see? Held up with the sounding rod you’re perking up much more. Let me smooth that out for you just a touch.

What’s that? Alright, I will interpret your wordless grunts to mean that you are thirsty. Well timed, as I’m simply bursting to pee, and how could I let all of that golden nectar go to waste? One gag replaces another, this one is a tube connected to a funnel. I will tilt your head in a way so that you can get a nice long drink without wasting any. I’m standing above you so that gravity can do its job, of course. This piss is so good for you, it’s packed with nutrients. Guzzle down my golden showers, patient, and you’ll be right as rain. Don’t spill a single drop or else I’ll have to put in a bigger butt plug and I won’t be so gentle this time. I love the idea that my hot sweet golden is boiling around in your belly. I can be nurturing, by all means. I will clean your face up with a soft, sterile cloth. It’s so nice to be completely clean, isn’t it?

Overload: Sensory Deprivation

Head and shoulders knees and toes knees and toes

Head and shoulders knees and toes knees and toes

And eyes and ears and mouth and nose

Head and shoulders knees and toes knees and toes!

Whether you have one, some, or all of these things, you can engage in sensory deprivation. To deprive or take away the sense of touch, sounds, sight, smell, or taste, most folks know, enhances the other senses.

When you are blindfolded you become attuned to the squeak of my rubber dress, or the oiled groan of my leather glove, or the creak of a rope knot tightening. It also allows you to drop down into the pit of fantasy, because in the dark of your imagination, your tormentor could be a mythical queen and your cage could be dangling from a treacherous cliff.

Taking away the sense of hearing is incredibly disorienting. Sound bouncing around you tells your brain about proximity of your environment. Imagine being put in the dark, and then having your ears plugged with silence or music. My touch is a total surprise, you rely on the little hairs on your skin to tell you when my warmth is close. You may cry out when I flog you, but you can only feel the vibration of your scream.

What scent triggers your desire? The sharp spice of ginger freshly peeled into a perfect plug, the acerbic medicinal smell of alcohol swabs and the unmistakable powder of surgical gloves. When all you have to go on is your nose, everything focusses on that mode of reception.

What if you were unable to touch yourself, only to be touched? Tightly bound, mummified, unable to feel where your body ends and where it begins, how can you make sense of the world? Down we go, freeing you of the confines of all that is corporal, taking you into a higher state. But only if you are really willing, and you can find trust in me. Sealed off from the rational world, you can go anywhere. I will let you hang there, making sure that your breathing holes aren’t too obstructed, keeping you focussed and present and aware of every cell.

Taste? I’ll leave that as a surprise.

Figging Interview Featured in Vice Munchies

I’ve been approached by Vice to talk about an old fashioned favourite: figging.

I’ve included this picture because the practice can be traced back to horse shows, where a fancy perky tail could be elevate with a carved nib of ginger up the sphincter. One more twist in pony play.

Read the Vice article here

I think it’s time to start another special. I have a 2-hour old-school punishment scene that includes endurance testing, examination, strong verbal humiliation, and corporal with figging. When you apply, write “Old School” in your message to me.

Interview With A sub In Chastity

A big thing I love about kinky folks is that they look so fabulously normal on the outside, blending in with their normal people clothes. When I look around a restaurant or an airport lounge, I wonder how many of the men are wearing lacy knickers under their suits, and how many women are holding the key to their sweetie’s chastity cage.

There are more and more couples experimenting with chastity devices, and both men and women have written to me asking for advice. What I can say is the same as any new play: do it light and brief the first go, and gradually extend the time and intensity. And have at least 3 keys – one for you, one for your partner, and one kept in a safe place. Bolt cutters are a last resort.

I asked around within my community to see who might have insight into this kind of power exchange. I had the pleasure of meeting a perfectly disguised sissy service sub. Reliable dark blue suit and tie, sensible glasses, completely innocuous except for a slightly pained expression when he shifted in his seat. He and his wife have started playing with long-term chastity and I took the chance to ask about his experience.

MIH: What gets you off about this game?

SSS: The humiliation of knowing I’m not even man enough to be in charge of my own orgasms. The build up and frustration and ongoing, tingling need.

When did you first find out about chastity as an activity?

Relatively early on. Say, early 20s. Once I’d started really investigating the idea of being dominated. You visit a few dungeons, you see some things. And you ask some questions. And mine was “What’s that suspiciously cock-shaped restraint on that shelf?”

What was your first experience?

It was with a lovely redhead I dated. She was naturally quite dominant and loved to tease me. And once I saved the money up, I bought a device. And when she locked me up, my cock swelled and pulsed instantly and I felt overwhelmed. I think I may have swooned.

How did you negotiate the terms? Maybe not directly in relation to this specific activity, but was there conversation around methods of any extreme control before the big clamp?

We didn’t think it through much. It was very brief and mostly for fun. I didn’t undergo long stretches at that time.

How did it affect your daily life?

Very little, though walking around with a secret like that was, naturally, quite stimulating.

Would you have wanted to know anything that you know now before diving in?

Nah. The shock and delight were interwoven.

Can you describe the range of feelings and emotions you experience being locked up? How does it change with time? I can imagine it is quite different on day one than week three.

Well, now that I’m doing longer stretches….hmm. There’s elation at first. Then frustration. And the frustration comes in waves, commingled with ecstasy, a bratty sort of defiance, a head-down “I’m going to BEAT THIS” kind of motivation, and occasionally a weakened, shaky sort of surrender. It’s extreme on an emotional level. The further along you are, the more pliant you become. Basically you fight it until you can’t. Then you’re at the mercy of the steel, and the keeper.

How does it shape your experience with your wife when they are physically with you?

Oh, I’m instantly more obliging and servile. Anything to please.

I don’t imagine that the thrill lies simply in your useless deformity being locked away. What activities does it involve for you? Does technology play a part?

Tech, not so much, unless you count being texted filth that’s designed to make the experience more difficult. Just being teased, being penetrated, being wrapped around one’s keeper’s little finger.

What things in any part of your life do you find easier to put your mind to now you’re locked?

Oh, chores. Chores and generally being a pleasing slut. Also writing!

What models have you tried, and which work best for you?

I’ve tried the CB-6000, which I broke when I got hard once, so NO THANKS. I tried the Birdlocked, which is silicon, which chafed and led to a mild edema that eventually cleared up. The best I’ve ever had was stainless steel. Easy to clean, easy to wear for long stretches, comfortable though unyielding.

How, if at all, can this be done solo?

I suppose you’d have to be more fetishist than submissive. And if you get off on just the notion of the device, go for it, you know? Have a blast. Be your own top. I’m not so much into that. I like being directed.

Boot Worship

Oh my lucky boots! I put them on when I go walking downtown, and all the city boys drool. They should be using their tongues to polish my leather.

Spit shine, boot blacking, trampling, sniffing, I love everything to do with boot, shoe, and foot worship.

One of the best scenes I had was a full afternoon dragging a poor soul around the dungeon. Close to the end we were both sweating and happily exhausted. I sat on a comfortable chair and he took out his boot blacking kit, and cleaned the grime off of every inch of my shoes. He massaged my legs through the leather, which felt amazing and luxurious. But he leaned down to kiss my toe without permission, which earned him a kick in the chest. When you have a job to do, you must stay focussed and not allow selfish desire to fog your purpose, which is to serve. To clean, to polish, and serve.

Sometimes I will walk through mud and city filth on purpose so that a witless slave has to scrape off the crud with his mouth. What disgusting things has he done in his life to know that he deserves to eat dirt? Or maybe he’s just a compulsive grit licker.

I love to drag the stiletto heel over my slave’s back and give him lovely marks and stomp marks. I love to kick him around, handle him like meat. I am happiest when I am standing on his chest, peering down at him all the way down there.

Why? I like it because I like the feeling of being touched through leather. I like the idea of remaining inaccessible and still able to receive pleasure. I enjoy being tall and strong, towering over a helpless slave. For the sub, I can imagine, and have been told, that it gives a feeling of smallness, being in the presence of power, and given permission to touch only the lowest part of Me, the part I don’t give any thought to but allow them to worship. So they want to do the best they can with what they have, make me proud of them. Being squished under a beautiful shoe can be a freeing experience, complete submission of the flesh.


Cock and ball torture. It’s the torture part of it that makes you shrivel, isn’t it? Well let me lay it out now: you are going to leave my clinic with your treasure fully intact. I may have a huge step-by-step castration poster on the wall, but really. When I show up with a peice of string, a handful of clothespegs, a metal comb, and a smile, I intend to delight you and transport you into a level of sensation that you can’t get from humping the washing machine. Give me your tender parts for an hour, I will get to work on that place you hold most dear, administering sensations ranging from tingles to tears.

At the very light end of the scale, pricks of pleasure run through you when I lightly drag a metal comb or pinwheel across you. A pleasant scratching. One level up, the string wraps around you, holding you at attention, tightly. Constricting you, so it feels as though I am gripping you at all times. Ready for more? The pegs clip on, slowly, all over. I have all sizes and strengths, and some are nice and some are nasty. Further on, I attach a tiny skirt around your sack which I can attach a range of weights to, in order to pull you down, down down down. This is a very stretchy organ, with a quick recovery time. So it may hurt now, but it’s worth it darling. How many lbs can you carry on your balls? Come to me to experiment.

My favourite new toy was given to me by a nice boy who fashioned a smother box for me, and added a humbler to the gift package. Oh what fun! This device allows the wearer to remain in an all-fours position, whether crawling on the floor or tumbled into his back, legs in the air. The balls are caught between two peices of wood, which are screwed together at the back of the thighs, so the straighter you stand, the further it pulls. It’s amazing the things that excite me nowadays. Picture a boy on his knees, collared at the neck with a chain dangling down his body attached to another loop at his prick, and decorated with a humbler, vigorously scrubbing filth off the skirting boards in my living room. My stars.

Now we slide further up the scale of torture. If needles make you uneasy, skip this paragraph. There is someting about peircing skin that is very intimate. I am managing someone’s pain, sliding small skewers through flesh like butter, sewing them up with needle and thread, changing their shape using tiny metal tools. Why?? Because you can handle it. Because you can take the pain I give you. You get a release when you scream, when you give away your right to comfort.

Can I take your further? Saline infusions, what a world of pain, confusion, and total lack of control. I feed the solution into you through a tube (I’ve been trained to administer this treatment) and inflate your bag to a hilarious size.

I haven’t even got to ball busting! There really is so much I can go on about torturing the cock and balls, that it will have to wait.

An Ode to Bottoms

As I slowly slipped my hand out of him, it hit me what a charmed life I lead. I examined my latex glove, pulled up past the elbow. Clean as a whistle. Lucky he’d had such a thorough enema, I think I filled him with over 1.5 litres of water. He wasn’t thrilled with that, but the end results were very pleasing. After he took my fist, he pleaded to have something fill him to keep him open.  It’s not often I can bring out the serious toys, the heavies. I strapped one on and used both hands to lift it up and into his willing ass. I fucked him, his ankles hooked around my back.

People come to me with a desire to be opened up, a craving to be stretched and taken. If you are open to feeling a little objectified, we will have a magnificent time. The bratty ones get cuffed to the bed post/floor ring/spanking bench/head teachers desk so you are forced to take whatever I give them. Actually, even if you are nice as pie I will tie you down and make you mine anyway.

I love bottoms in a very pure way. I like all the different shapes they come in, their varying jiggle frequencies, and their capability of taking and quickly healing from severe beatings. To be clear about the range of my beatings, know this. I get off on my sub’s enjoyment. If pain is not what you enjoy, I can still give you a beating with no pain involved. I am interested in administering sensation, not just how purple I can make your behind. This is the distinction between “thuddy” and “stingy”; the thud is a deep bone and muscle feeling that reverberates through your whole body, and the sting is felt more in the flesh. You can feel both from a bare-handed spanking, a flogging, and even a caning. Whatever makes you ecstatic.

a jolly good seeing to

When did you last have any decent attention given to you?

Look upon this lucky boy’s behind, and gaze upon the possibility of your dreams coming true. This was taken hours after he left my presence. I had this one over my knee, kneeling on the detention room floor, and perching on a cold metal stool. I put him through the paddle, the strap, a series of canes, and my lovely soft hands.

I’m thrilled with the results.

The Ultimate Sissy Slut Training: Part 4 of 4

The fourth and final installment of this sweet and slutty girl’s transformation is here. I am thrilled with the positive feedback I’ve had from posting this story up, and I welcome comissions from any of you filthy-minded readers who have fantasies they want brought to life in technicolour.

When we left off last time, Alice had been trussed up in frills and splattered with make up. A little hole training got her prepped for what awaits behind the big dark door.


Your eyes can’t adjust to the darkness in the room, you can really feel your new body pressed against your new clothes. There is movement around you, a shifting of air in the undefined space. You’re not sure why you’re breathing hard; it must be because you trust that I have a very special treat in store for you. You feel my gloved hand around your slim girly wrist, tugging you further into the room. Yes there is definitely a sense of presence here, that intuition that somebody is behind you, and maybe even either side of you. The subtle noises of shifting, breathing, flexing.

Little one, you don’t know what you’re in for.

I grip your wrists behind you and pull you down, with a knee in your back. All the way down, Alice, right onto the floor. Can you smell the soap on the tiles? They’ve been well used, for unsuspecting victims such as yourself. We take hygiene very seriously, so we must wash everything thoroughly when our games are done. My knee crunches down on your spine, and you twist away. You’re not used to your body yet though, those huge boobs bouncing all over the place, your slim thighs much weaker than they used to be. And being trapped in latex doesn’t make movement very natural in any case. You can’t escape. Your senses are on red alert but the best you can do is squirm about uselessly under my weight.

Pressure on your neck. Pressure on your arse. There are hands and feet and knees pushing down on you from everywhere. The air is close. Unseen hands grope and probe you, take liberties with your flesh. Long fingernails graze your breasts, pinching the nipples hard. You go to cry out, but when you open your mouth it’s filled with something hard – yet giving – and warm. Someone’s cock is in your mouth. Yes darling, the moment you’ve feared and dreamed of, being stuffed with a thick dick, is finally here. “Suck,” I breathe into your ear.

You obey like the good whore I’d hoped you really were. You guzzle it down, and it quickly passes the tight part of your throat. A sissy little reflexive gag, that’s good, extra lube for that powerful cock sliding down your throat. You take it like it’s your favourite treat, trying to gulp as much of the meat into your drooling, greedy gob as you can handle. The sounds you’re making make it clear that he is not being gentle with you, fucking your head, using your hole for his sadistic pleasure. He grows harder and harder inside of you, his thrusting more urgent. You can hear him breathing heavily, pulling your hair like he’s on a pony ride. Three hard pushes and he blows, filling your mouth with the bitter salt boy taste. When it hits the back of your passage you choke a tiny bit and dribble the cum onto your knees. So sweet. Good girl. He wipes his softening dick on your cheek as a token of approval.

We need to save your energy for what is to come. A dozen pairs of hands take a hold of a piece of you and lift you up into the air. Rope snakes across your limbs, over your breasts, between your legs, friction burns on your lovely new flesh. The rope bites tightly, and the hands are harsh. Some slap you, scratch you, pinch you unkindly. Your limbs bend at strange angles, leaving your exposed in a predicament. You are off the ground and you spin freely through the air, prodded and pushed around. You are a piece of meat, dangling. Your arse is out, perched up so everyone can get to it, stuff it with fingers, fists, dildos, and incredible cocks. My army of gang bangers is a sight to be seen, if only you could. Highly trained for endurance and wicked creativity, and most importantly, no mercy.

This is why you came here, isn’t it? To get fucked until you pass out? Until you die? They don’t report the stories of the people who get gangbanged to death.

Lube drizzles down your crack. It’s cold and slippery, and you know just what it’s for. It’s a kindness bestowed upon you, because we are used to using spit as lube on our victims. It feels like there’s a pint of lube being dumped into your asshole, filling you up with all that slippery goodness. We want a nice slick hole to pry open, and we’re going to try a new game. We want to see how many people can put things in you at once. So here we go. Just remember to breathe, Alice, we don’t want you passing out when the first fist or two force into you.

A little finger wiggles in, gently, like a friendly caterpillar. It’s warm and wet inside your hole, the perfect climate for stretching. Another finger, someone else’s. Another, and then a few more, and that makes six or seven. Pulling at you from all sides so that your hole is nice and wide, and in slides the vibrator. Feels good humming in you, buzzing against your flesh. It’s so lovely to feel you relax into the sensation, give in to it. More lube, always more. There’s a tank of it in the back, so we won’t be running out of it soon. Another vibrator, so that’s two toys and a whole lot of fingers, all exploring, widening, deepening you. Your cock is drooling, pressing up against your little panties. Another dildo fits in easily. You are so wet. You buck and writhe in the rope bondage, moaning. You want that fist, it’s obvious. Let’s get all of those things out of you, make room for the big one. Vibrators fall to the floor, fingers pop out, and you hear the snapping of surgical gloves.

Three fingers slide in effortlessly, then a fourth joins, and you’re being fucked slowly with four fingers. You feel the thumb slip in, oh that makes a difference, feel that hand making circles, going in deeper with each sensual twist. There is a sucking sound as your arse engulfs the hand up to the wrist, and it can plunge in and out at leisure. Surely this is by far the largest thing you’ve had inside of you. This is your life now, Alice, a busy schedule of fucking and fisting.

You feel a second hand creeping in to join the other in a position of prayer, palms together, forcing into your gaping asshole. Gasping, squelching, impossible. Your body convulses and spasms as the invasive hands push and pull inside you, thrusting deeper and harder every time. You are crying out in pain and pleasure, a confused and potent cocktail of chemicals turning your brain to mush. It feels like it’s never going to end, then the fists finally slow and then stop. Slowly, you feel them slip out slowly like a never-ending dick, and when the last pinky has removed itself, you are lowered back onto the floor, deflated, sweat-drenched, used. The cool, clean tiles are a relief for your hot flesh. The ropes unravel and you fold into a fetal position. The warm-up is complete.

A familiar hard warmth nudges your lips, and you reflexively open. A slim strap-on, almost comforting, explores your abused mouth. Hands push your huge firm breasts together, squeezing, oiling them up, pushing them together to form a valley to be fucked. Every fold and hole in your body belongs to my army of cocks and dildos. We have not forgotten your freshly prepared asshole. You feel pressure at the entrance, like the two fists are finding their way back in. Firm, rough hands pick up your slim girlish legs and the thickest dick you’ve ever taken forces its way inside you. Your left hand holds a cock and your right is working on my pussy, sliding in and out of my wetness. Your mouth, your tits, both hands, and your asshole, all filled, airtight. The smell of sweat and cum is heavy in the air, the sound of sliding slapping flesh, hot panting breath, grunts, moans, and your gagged cries.

Cum on your belly, then suddenly on your chin, followed quickly by a huge squirt of jizz down your throat, which you can barely choke down in time. There is so much that it spills out of your mouth, trickling down into your hair. The giant in your arse lifts you up, holding your body up off the ground, slam fucking you without mercy. You are the fuckdoll. Cum lands on you from all directions – orgasms in the dark. The monster dick in your backdoor is getting harder and is moving faster, other people’s cum acting as lube. He gives a shuddering roar and explodes his load inside of you.

Hands everywhere. Water on your body. Soft towels, gentle touch. We scrub you down, Alice, clean you up, buff and polish that baptized flesh.

Get your dress zipped up, shoes fastened, collar secure.

A small door opens up, the daylight absolutely blinding. Somebody slides something small and papery into your bra, and you are pushed out into the big bright world.