bdsm

Office Bullies: A Modern Slave Training (Part 3)

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Starry-eyed with tears, he gathered cleaning supplies from a cupboard in the corridor. As he scurried back with his head down, he collided straight on with a woman carrying an enormous stack of papers which flew into the air in a blizzard of invoices and receipts. He dropped to the floor and frantically grasped at the pages.

A slender, freckled hand touched his shoulder, he looked up from his hands and knees at an achingly beautiful woman, her eyes large with concern. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll do it together.” She knelt down beside him. “Here, it’s no trouble, we’ll get it all neat and ordered soon.” He flinched away from her and grabbed at another dozen muddled pages. She touched him again. Her lips parted and she smiled gently. “Really,” she insisted, “it’s alright. It didn’t even take that long to get straightened out the first time.”

“Helena, what are you doing?” Miss Hart called out from her office.

“Miss Hart I’ll have this all cleaned up in a moment, sorry.”

The CEO stood above Nick. “Why are you helping that boy? He made a mess, it’s his job to clean up messes he makes.”

A small crowd of employees had started to form near them, gleeful spectators hoping for a scuffle.

“Helena, get up. Remember our chat? Protocol is vital.”

Helena blushed. She stood slowly and deliberately adjusted her shirt.

“Marvellous. Now, lots of us are going out for lunch in a moment, and it would be wonderful if you joined us. It’ll give you a chance to meet everyone properly.”

They ignored Nick as he crouched at their polished shoes, the entire staff crowding in, all of them laughing and chatting, their legs around him like bars in a cell. There was no way he could finish his task without pushing against their warm silk-enrobed flesh, squeezing through to grasp at the last wisps of paper fluttering across the floor. Moira’s velvet thigh pressed against his arm, Miss Hart’s sharp heels nearly pierced his finger, and everywhere hemlines shifted and stocking tops showed.

In the din of the conversation, Miss Hart’s mouth was hot at his ear, her fingers sliding down his collar. “Now, you’ve done nothing to deserve this, but you’re coming with us to lunch. After all, we can’t leave you here without supervision.” She didn’t need to see his face to feel his yearning. Her hand closed around the back of his neck and he sank towards the floor, the paper stack slumped in his arms.

Audra drove the SUV, leading the convoy to the restaurant. Nick was strapped in the middle front seat between her and Moira, who was engrossed in slowly uncrossing and recrossing her legs and feeling her tights. He could glance into the rearview mirror to see five other women squashed into the back seats, talking business while loosening their shirts after a long morning at work.

They pulled into an alleyway. A door in the wall opened out and they all slipped inside to a long dingy corridor. Echoes of whispers and footsteps as they filed through, descending twisting stairs and confusing corners. Nick was flanked by Audra on one side and Moira on the other, armlocked. At last, a seam of light outlining a door came into view.

The room: a polished floor and sliding wooden doors flush with the deep red walls, a heavy marble slab for the table, thick benches on the long sides and a tall chair at the head. A row of silent male servants lined up against the far wall, standing straight and still.

The women poured in, and Nick was sat next to Helena, with Audra as a looming bodyguard on his other side. It was a tight fit to get the whole company round the table, twenty women in all, with Miss Hart at the head, reclining back in the leather-backed chair.

The servants filled water glasses, which were quickly drained. As they reached to refill glasses, light glinted off metal bands around their wrists and beneath their shirt collars. The meals were served quickly, and Nick’s place was bare.

Audra threw her head back and laughed when his stomach growled loudly, elbowing his ribs.“Skinny boy, you haven’t eaten today, have you. Hungry now? And you sweat so much, so nervous.” She gestured to her plate. He started to reach over but she rapped his knuckles with the flat of her knife. “Dirty hands don’t touch anything of mine. Filth.” She went back to eating, and Nick squashed his hands between his knees.

Then Helena’s fork fell from her place and clattered under the table. The company quietened and eyes bore down on him. “Helena dropped her fork, Nick.” Miss Hart said, languidly dripping lemon juice onto an oyster and slipping it down her throat. “Floor, now. Pick it up.”

He squirmed off the bench and under the table, dark and cramped. He crawled to retrieve the fork, and a foot touched his back. A heel pressed into his shoulder and then a kick landed square on his arse and a tumult of shoves, pushes and jabs all over his body. He covered his face to make it to where it lay, grabbed it and fought his way out on his knees and elbows, dodging blows from stiletto heels on all sides in the dark. Helena’s face beamed down at him and he polished the fork with a corner of his shirt. He offered it up to her and she grabbed it, clutching his hand.

“you tedious cunt, get on your feet.” The shape of Miss Hart loomed behind Helena, her finger stabbing at his face. “You’re off-task and slow. So tiresome and dull. Hurry up.”

He stumbled over the chair and brushed his knees off briskly. Miss Hart grabbed him by the tie and frogmarched him into a room through a door that had silently opened.

It snicked shut behind him and they were cloaked in pitch darkness. Her heels slowly pacing around him echoed in the shapeless space.

“Nick.” A fingernail lightly dragged from his ear down his neck. “Let’s talk about your work ethic.”

“Yes Miss Hart, thank you.” A sharp heavy slap landed on his face that burst silver stars in his eyes, spit flying out of his mouth.

“Don’t interrupt me with your snivelling niceties. You speak only when you are explicitly invited. Do you understand?”

He was silent. A sharp kick landed just missing his balls. “Do. You. Understand?”

“Yes Miss Hart,” he squeaked.

“You worked hard this morning.” She circled him still, her hands crawling up his body, unbuttoning, unzipping, peeling his clothes slowly away. “There were quite a few tests for you. I’m telling the agency that you’ve done well, and that we’re going to keep you for a while longer. And I think you want that, telling by those goosebumps.”

He stood naked in front of her, feeling her heat, the softness of her clothing. His body vibrated. She raked her fingers through his hair. “I can’t imagine you’ve ever been treated so appallingly in your life, actually, with how flustered you got. But my gang of mean, powerful women stirs something deeply curious in you, doesn’t it?” Her grip tightened on his hair and she wrenched his head back. “Doesn’t it, Nick?” she growled in his ear.

“Yes Miss. Thank you for saying I’ve done well, Miss.”

“You’re welcome.”

“May I speak freely, Miss?”

“Quickly, then.” Her fist pulled his head back further and he gasped.

“Only that, and sorry, but that I’m happy you want to keep me on. And, ow, that I hope I have pleased you and your colleagues, Miss.”

“Are you done?” Her nails grazed his throat again and his head stretched back even further.

“Ah, yes Miss.” She released her hold and he stumbled forward. She pulled his neck down and he fell onto his hands and knees, and still she pressed his head further to the floor so his bare ass was up and his ear touched her shoe. She swiftly fastened a buckled leather strip around his neck, and the tinkle of a small lock danced at the front.

“We need to make sure you are true to your word. Your contract states the terms of your employment, but what does paper promise? Words can be broken, but bodies show true loyalty.”

Something cold and hard nudged at his hole, and suddenly his body opened up and swallowed a gigantic steel ball. Miss Hart swiftly attached the end of the anal hook to the ring at his collar. His face bore a look of pure bewilderment, her favourite expression on a man.

She entered into a focussed trance as she dressed him, fitting his legs into snug leggings with kneepads and straps for the ankle to connect to the thigh. When she clipped them, his legs drew up so he was forced to rest uncertainly on his knees. Wrists clamped to shoulders, a meagre padding at the elbows. Snaking twin belts from the tips of his toes, under his body and crossing at his ribs, to come up under the shoulder and clip with perfect tension onto the collar. Stuck. A creature born from leather and metal, forced to walk painfully on elbows and knees. She shoved his head down to the ground and he yelped, the hook yanking his guts.

“I want your mind completely gone. I want you to disappear. Here.” A hood slid over his head, laces and straps strained tight.  Gagged, bound, hooked and disfigured.

She unzipped the hole for his mouth. “What a pretty predicament you’re in, you funny pet. How are you feeling?”

He opened his mouth to answer and she pushed a gigantic rubber ball in, stretching his jaw past its flexibility. “You only need to nod or shake your head to answer. So, how are you feeling?”

He nodded his head slowly, whimpering with each tug of the hook.

“Good, wonderful. You’re starting to look like you finally fit in here.” She lifted his chin to meet her eyes and smiled at him with genuine kindness.

“Let’s go for a little walk, shall we?”

He dribbled.

“Good boy.”

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Read the final instalment HERE

*The final part of this story is password-protected. Send a request to unlock it misstressisobelhart@gmail.com

My Predilections

Remember when I did an elegant, hot, weird photo shoot with Maron de Sade? And how they held difficult poses for a long time while I adjusted strands of their hair and made sure their frills were ruffled just enough? Oh you don’t? I should think this will remind you.

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It’s all becoming clear now, isn’t it. Memories of your own desires are pushing their way into the light.

This shot stirs something in me, the sinuous lines of our bodies not touching but shaped to connect. They’re bending back to move away from my cane but thrusting forward in helpless submission to the pleasure that comes from this whole game.

Take in the staggering beauty before you.

 

Spanking Therapy

bum.jpgThe paddle, the spoon, and I can rattle off any implement, but it’s the intention that stings. It’s the therapy of absolvement, paying the price for the thoughts and memories that go round and round your head, feeding the guilt that festers.

A spanking shocks the system and can purge those feelings, and with a loving hand it draws it out further, that no judgement is passed and this is for your own good, truly. Because the satisfaction that I get from it is that you will feel lighter after a good, firm round of measured beatings, knowing how it will be played out, being able to mentally prepare for each set of spankings.

Whether I deliver 5 or 50 beats with my bare hand or with a copy of Forbes Handbook, it ceases to matter once you are in a headspace of receiving penance for your wrongs, however great or small, however long ago, and whether or not you wish to share the details with me.

I remain a kind and understanding authoritarian, and the reason I pay such close attention to the number, speed, and severity is because I am committed to you going through something intense and coming out the other side feeling light, feeling freed of your burdens. Over my lap with your boxer briefs somewhere around your knees squirming on my body, your bottom getting ever more red, your cheeks blushing with pain and desire for more, you reach a state where rational thought and conscious cognition ceases to be. There is only anticipation for the next round of punishment/ therapy/ erotic embarrassment. I love watching the intellect dissolve and be replaced by the deep body experience of receiving corporal training. The body becomes so malleable once it’s warmed up.

I understand and am honoured by the responsibility that comes with caring for someone who is in a state of physical ecstasy and release from a firm, loving spanking, and I do not take it lightly. I take care of those who are willing to travel down into a deep place of letting go, whether by crop, cane, paddle, or my hand. The marks and bruises that follow are medals of endurance and dedication to the purge.

Clothed Female Nude Male (CFNM) at Oasis

I’m oiling up my paddle in preparation for a public spanking demo at Oasis Aqualounge tomorrow evening. Come to the Clothed Female Nude Male (CFNM) event for 9:30, where I will be holding court in the dungeon, discussing safety and negotiation around impact play / corporal punishment, revealing why it feels good to give and to receive in a sensory and a psychological frame, and then I will be putting my lucky submissive through the paces. If I feel like it I may even allow others to come lay over my knee and have a go at getting spanked. It might hurt, but you might like it.

Mistress sobel CaneI’ve been to CFNM at Oasis a few times now and it’s always great fun.There’s nothing like savouring the power of choosing to be clothed whilst the naked, vulnerable men squirm in the corner trying to keep their dignity. Men pay $50 and women get in free, so there’s usually more Dommes in the room than subs (free access to a swimming pool, sauna, and human footrests, yes please).  The hostesses are fantastic and come up with games to get folks in the Mistress/slave mood. Men decide what level of interaction they are up for by wearing coloured ribbons on their wrists: Green – available for interactive play, Pink- verbal humiliation, White – servitude. I was at this event for my birthday, and it was my only wish to spank 29 people in one night. All the men lined up along the pool deck with their bottoms ready, and it was the first time I’ve ever spanked whilst jogging. A spank marathon.

Come along and join the sadistic fun tomorrow, it’s only one pink note ($50) to meet me and maybe even get a rosy rear.

Radio Interview: Scene-Building Workshop for Playground Conference

   

Playground Conference, an inclusive & intersectional sexuality event, is happening in Toronto November 13-15. I’m doing a workshop on Sunday afternoon about the steps to building a fantasy scene, how your environment and the tools you choose heighten a mood or sensation, and shift your inner thoughts and feelings into an altered state. Have a look here at Behind Fantasy: The Steps to Building Your Ideal Scene.

Playground ConfereSex City Radionce has your weekend sorted. Or come for a day. Or just get a session pass to see me, Sunday the 15th at 3:40. Talks, workshops, parties, and sexy people EVERYWHERE. 

Around midnight on Tuesday, I chatted on the radio show Sex City with Jon Pressick and guest co-host Stephen Biggs.

Here is a link to the audio recording of my interview, with the transcript below…

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Jon Pressick: We have one more guest to talk about what’s coming up at Playground. Here with us in the studio is Mistress Isobel, who is a Toronto Dominatrix, who is going to be telling us about her workshop Behind Fantasy: The Steps to Building your Ideal Scene. Welcome, how are you?

Mistress Isobel: Nothing but potential, thank you.

Jon Pressick: Excellent, excellent. That’s a wonderful way to lead into any conversation, and I think that’s a wonderful way to lead into thinking about your ideal sexual scene is potential, and how that potential can relate to what it is you want to achieve, and it’s a very intriguing workshop because personally speaking it’s been something I’ve been working with a lot lately is the ideas of the five senses and how they can build and how they work together and how they work individually and how you can bring those together. So where do you start with the five senses and building a scene?

Mistress Isobel: Well there’s it’s quite practical I think, that you can really just line up a bunch of tools to create some really deep emotional shifts when you decide to take out a little bit of space in your life and give it some boundaries, and create something within that. And you can do that with using very accessible sort of DIY tools. What have we got, we go with sound, smell, taste, touch, and certainly hearing. So I think, smell, that’s the one that I’ve been exploring a lot recently, I’ve had a week long run of figging and..

JP: Now you will need to explain that one, sometimes, we have a wonderful audience here on Sex City but we do surprise them sometimes.

Mistress Isobel: Sure, it’s you carve up a finger of ginger into a shape of a butt plug and pop it in your friend and it gives a, develops a warmth that becomes rather overwhelming, with the heat. It’s very safe and lots of fun for endurance tests. But what I love about it is the smell that enters the room, it’s that kind of anticipation, that sharpness, you know what’s going to happen. And then when you’re cooking your Thai curry the next night you can think back to those lovely memories.

So I think that those are actually quite easy to conjure up, say you’re going to do a medical scene, why not have some you know, rubbing alcohol open, so that disinfectant smell can permeate. Or you know, the kind of typical ones of leather, rubber, latex, those heavy smells, overpowering that can transport you and remind you of a memory and trigger an emotion. It’s a subtle thing that we don’t often think about.

Next I go with sound, so, obvious one is music, right, so you can play some classical and flip it so you’re possibly conjuring up a feeling of fear, or danger in some way but there’s this very peaceful classical in the background. You can try white noise, which I feel is good for, it’s cutting out, the whole idea is that you’re cutting out familiarity, so you can, it’s better when you’re dropping other senses. So say the other person’s blindfolded, and you walk them into a room that’s full of chatter of a cafe, which you can download from your local Apple Store.

JP: Yes indeed.Toronto Dominatrix Leather Isobel

Mistress Isobel: And so there’s your public humiliation scene.

JP: That’s a very interesting, the idea of cutting out the other senses, we already know that that heightens senses,

Mistress Isobel: Exactly

JP: So doing that just brings about such amazing things. I mean, we’re going through the senses now, there’s obvious ones when it comes to sex and sexuality. Touch and sight are the ones we initially think of when we’re thinking of sex, I mean it’s, sex and touch in ways, but there are surely many different ways that you can mix those up, and not make them the obvious, well, we’re touching and having sex.

Mistress Isobel: I think by taking them away in different ways you can conjure up a feeling or a memory, and emotion, and playing with the idea of allowing you to touch, it’s like, okay well actually I’m going to put your hands in great big mittens and I’m going to put your hands all over me but you can’t feel anything. Ha ha ha. Which can feel, hmm, it’s probably a bit embarrassing, a bit desperate, you know, to be so close but so far.

You know with touch, so let’s go a bit further, you’re not just touching nipples, it’s like, what is the weight of sensation, what’s the texture, are you lying on a big plastic sheet, about to be operated on? What’s the feeling of sweating into that clinging plastic, for example? Temperature; say something suddenly cold drops onto you, it scrambles your brain. And that’s the whole idea is that it’s taking you out of the familiar.

JP: That’s all completely fascinating in so many steps beyond the way many people approach creating a scene and this is what you’re going to be talking about in the workshop,

Mistress Isobel: Oh yeah.

JP: Yup, and the idea of the senses is so intriguing because there’s just in that there’s so much to play with, and moving beyond that then you’ve got, you know, the different implements that you’re mentioning and the different scenarios the different… you’re talking directly to senses but then you’ve got psychological aspects which can be beyond senses, you’re hearing them but the discussions that come out of the psychological aspects of scenes, there’s so much there.

Mistress Isobel: And I feel that a lot of people come up to me and say I’d like to be a Domme but I don’t know what to say. Well you should get this book that’s full of things that Dominatrices say! (laughter) but you know that part of it, don’t worry about how you’re going to talk to your partner. It just comes up naturally as you’re doing it. I think that’s why role play can feel silly, it’s like “you worm, you get on the floor you, uh you loser.” I heard it in a film once, I’m not sure…. you know what I mean? So it’s just playing, it’s trying things out. You’re not going to lose an eye by making a mistake unless you poke them.

Stephen Biggs: When you describe it it sounds like the saying, the talking is such a small part, you’re really curating an experience when you add in all these other senses. It’s cinematic. It’s theatrical.

Mistress Isobel: And therapeutic as well.

Stephen Biggs: Absolutely.

JP: And even you can try, like you say it’s play, and sometimes play doesn’t work, but then sometimes you see or feel or experience…The Joy. The appreciation or the out and out joy of sexual response that can happen and then you get encouraged and you know which way to go.

Mistress Isobel: It’s like any creative flow, once you’re in it you can really ride it and things just come naturally. Keep your kitchen drawer open because once you’re in that zone you’re going to get inspired by whatever’s around you.

JP: Fantastic. This is Mistress Isobel

Mistress Isobel: Hello.

JP: She’s going to be speaking on Behind Fantasy: The Steps To Building Your Ideal Scene that’s just a little bit of a taste, and that’s what you’ll get to experience at Playground Conference, another one of the great talks that’s going to be happening, that’s on Sunday afternoon so it’s definitely one to check out. Thank you very much for coming in and giving us this little peek into it.

Mistress Isobel: Pleasure.

JP: We are definitely intrigued as we are with Playground as a whole.

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Jon Pressick is a sex blogger and writer with sexinwords.ca and hosts the weekly radio program Sex City, Tuesday nights at 11pm ET on CIUT895FM and streaming online.This show was co-hosted with Stephen Biggs, sex educator and registered psychotherapist. It was recorded on November 3rd 2015 in Toronto, Canada.

A Caning in Detention

Mst Isobel

You? Again? Why am I not surprised? You always find a way to get yourself in the kind of trouble that lands you back here. Why do never learn? What is it that makes you so insolent? …I am really at the end of my tether with you, boy.

Well, you understand the procedure. We will both remain here, inside, on this gloriously sunny afternoon. You do realize what an enormous inconvenience this is to me, I hope. I hope that you are thinking of something other than yourself.

Because that’s the trouble, isn’t it. You’re a selfish, lazy boy, and you are always thinking with your prick. Does it shock you to hear me say that? You have been caught, several times now, despite remediation, touching yourself in unspeakable ways, publicly and provocatively. You are showing disgusting behaviour, and you are not leaving this institution until it has been thoroughly corrected. Do you know why the administration brought me in? To teach nasty little slugs like you the difference between right…and wrong. Clearly, you have no idea. My methods are, perhaps, unconventional, because the mental aspect is so very strong. I am here to re-educate you.

How are you feeling? Confused? Nervous? Anticipating? Do you know what you’ve got yourself into? I think you do, actually. I think that you do this on purpose. You sick twisted little creature, you act out deliberately so that you can end up here, in trouble with me. I’ve seen boys like you before. You don’t look at girls your own age, do you. You show off that deformity between your legs so you’ll get time with Mistress. This behaviour is pure compulsion. You’re like a dog salivating at its own bell. So simple you are, little pup. So incredibly basic. What is running through your mind right at this moment? It hardly matters, soon you will have no room for thinking. I aim to make you highly focussed on the present.

Pants down. Yes, everything off. Quick, quick, I’m not standing around for the good of my health. Hands on the desk. Bum up. I said: bum. up. Look at you. Exposed, vulnerable, bent over in front of me. What would your friends say if they saw you like this? I can only imagine the burning humiliation.

I can smell your fear you know, the sour stench of your deep shame. What are you holding onto so much shame for? We need to beat it out of you.

How many times? How many marks should we leave on you? Well, that all depends on your recent display of vulgarity. It says here on your report that you were found to have your hands down your trousers at ten to three this afternoon. If we add a zero to the three to balance the numbers, that gives us ten and thirty. Ten multiplied by thirty is? Three hundred, that’s right. So that’s three hundred strikes with the cane.

I’m still deciding if that’s 300 on each side of your bottom. And more on your belly and thighs if you even squirm an inch.

You can see that I have a splendid collection of implements, different lengths, widths, weights, and all measured to give a particular sensation. Feel this thick bamboo impact your sit spot. I see you didn’t flinch. Of course. I’m starting you off gently. It’ll bruise, but it shouldn’t sting overly much. Eyes on the floor, boy, don’t let them wander so hungrily over my body. I keep my blouse buttoned up and my belt mercilessly tight. For that, you’ll get the thin rattan cane. It feels like electricity, like hot sparks searing your behind. Are those tears in your eyes? Good. My instruction is getting through to you.

How many strikes was that? What do you mean, you weren’t counting? Luckily one of us is paying attention. I’ve struck you 50 times. It felt like more, did it? Well we’re going to have to start again, and add an extra 50 onto the regime. Oh don’t wriggle like that, you’ll only make it worse for yourself. We’re both going to stay here until we’ve reached the end of the regime, and I for one would like it to be over as quickly as possible, to be relieved of your miserable company. I’m having dinner with the Dean and I will not be made late by your inability to count in sequence.

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.

CBT

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.