Happy Slutsgiving! Duos With Contessa Zoe

Sweet sickos,

It’s your sticky hot wet dream – to be trussed, dressed and basted to be the meaty centrepiece of the Vore feast for two greedy Goddesses.

Zoe Aspasia ( and I are buttering up the corn cobs making them nice and slick to spit-roast you. Seasonal buggery indeed. Contessa Zoe and I have a cornucopia of sadistic and humiliating activities to keep your spank bank stocked well into winter.


  • Slut Turkey bondage with all the fixin’
  • Spit-roasting
  • Harvest WAM
  • Pain Training
  • Human furniture/ candlestick
  • Sissification
  • Cannibal/ Vore Fetish
  • Juicy Basting Enema
  • JOI, CIE
  • Saran Wrap Marinade
  • Battery Farm Caging
  • Forced Oven
  • Kitchen Corporal Punishment

More than a list of things, take a look at us and just imagine basking in our fierce presence, giving in to our whims, our creatively twisted desires, sliding deep into submission as our messy little goose.


Advanced Booking and Deposit Required for all supplicants

Tribute:  1 – 3 Hrs : 500 * 700 * 900

Availability: 11am-8pm M-F with rare weekend availability.

Deposit via Bitcoin, EMT (Interac e-transfer), GC of our choice, or Snail mail ($/ MO).

corn cob sodomy * turkey trussing: stuffing/ anal, food gags, spices * cannibal-style turkey preparation with sauce, tenderizing, saran wrap marinading and Vore talk * Harvest themed WAM with gourd/ pumpkin / jack-o-lantern fucking (JOI or Anal) * human cornucopia with candles, markers + lipstick carcass colouring/ tagging * turkey role play from “humane” breathplay weakening to trussing and stuffing * Spitroasting * candlecocks * “manturkey” caging and corporal punishment * master basting class * rubber gloving * and more terrifying and delightful things *


Ballad of the Sissy Slut

I found a sissy by surprise

Trying on my best thigh highs

“You thieving bitch!” I said to him,

“Get on the floor. Obey my whims.”

So he did, his satin creased

I perked his bum up, hot and greased

I laughed to see his clit a-throbbing

Dribbling juice, the tip a-bobbing

“What a nasty slut you are

But just obey and you’ll go far.”

Cue the music, hit the lights

Disgusting fun all day all night

Rope and sounding, CBT

Ball gags, clamps, tongue on my feet

My needs first, never yours

The thief found snooping through my drawers

Silky sissy frilly slut

Clips and zips, all buttoned up

And your butt your butt your butt your butt

Dressed like that you’re going to get what…you deserve

When I’m through, and you are too,

Have an oily rag to wipe up your goo

Stumble out of my house to the harsh daylight

Panties in pocket, feeling tight

People point and laugh and stare

They know about your underwear

Wobble home on shoes too high

Lube still dribbles down your thigh

Dirty, greedy, hungry frill

You’ll be back – you know you will.

New Photos

Oh my darlings. The photos are up.

Just what on earth am I bathing in? Well, let me just say it took considerable time to harvest, and that was after going to all the trouble of kidnapping, tormenting, and teasing the “livestock”. Worth the factory farming though, and now my evil plans for global control of the male species are that much closer to completion.

collection (1).jpg

Of course you’ll like it the first dozen or so times that you are milked. But then, the longer you are left in your cage, brought out into the light to feed and harvest just twice a day, you may regret your life choice to be a donor. But by then it’ll be too late to get out of the contract, which binds you until you are pumped dry of all of your seed. At least the food isn’t bad – my studs make sure of that.




How lucky am I to have such a rich network of talented degenerates in Toronto. My fabulously skilled photographer Sydney Rose and I had a fortuitous day at the Patricia Marsh Dungeon rollicking around in the clawfoot bathtub upstairs.

Office Bullies: A Modern Slave Training (Part 3)


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.”


Read the final instalment HERE

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

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…


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.


Jon Pressick is a sex blogger and writer with 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

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.

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.

The Ultimate Sissy Slut Training: Part 3 of 4

This is a fantasy of a man undergoing complete physical transformation, dressing up, and slut training. You go on a journey where you take cock, eat cum, and get double fisted. Enjoy.

Part 2 trailed off with a good dose of sweet humiliation and invasive, penetrating surgery to transform you into what the slut always craved to be.


The sweat is trickling down your body, the closeness of rubber and the anticipation of a good fucking are a heady cocktail. I peel the latex up so that your bottom is fully exposed, the little slit in your panties winking up at me, inviting my fingers to come have a dip. You’re a tempting lay, and if I didn’t have higher standards I would gladly plunge into you until you engulfed my hand up past the wrist. I must stay on track with the task at hand. You might look pretty but you’re far off from convincing anyone. So with a light smack on your bum, I cover you up again with your itty bitty dress.

Crawl to me, wiggle those hips when you move towards the makeup chair, give me your best kitty cat impression. You are here for my amusement, let’s not forget. Every move you make is to please Me. you are my little doll; your tits, your arse, your mouth, everything you are belongs to me. Make me proud, slut.

You clamber up onto the chair and allow me to fasten your wrists, ankles, and neck into place with leather restraints. You seem to think that if you go with the flow of my games, I will be easy on you later. Not likely. You are strapped firmly into the chair, and I bend down and open up a little hatch in the seat, positioned exactly where your asshole is. Your dress has pulled up since you’re sitting down, and that gap in your panties gives me perfect access to your little hole. I graze it lightly with my fingernail and you sigh, and the muscle twitches.

I consider my options. The lube is in the next room, and I want to fill you up now, not later. I stand up to face you. “Open that mouth,” I snap, “open up that wet gob.” I push my fingers past your lips and slide over your tongue, getting them good and soaked with your spit. You suck them greedily, desperately, like they are your boyfriend’s cock when he knows you’ve been out getting fucked by anyone with half a hard on and you want to stay in his good books. Silly whore. I slap your face hard and smear your own saliva over your face. I lift your face up delicately, and then spit forcefully in your open mouth. It dribbles down your chin. No fun in making you pretty if I can’t mess you up a little first.

In a drawer at the dresser there is a neat row of silicone buttplugs, lovingly arranged in size. I hover over them, deciding whether I want to give you an easy start or a painful challenge. I end up in the middle, picking out a plug with a very flared base that narrows sharply at the end. Perfect for holding it in place.

“Open that slut hole again. This can’t very well go in dry, can it?”

“uh-uh” you say, because that’s all you can manage with your mouth hanging open like that.

I push it into your mouth, gagging you with the size and girth of the rubber plug. Good pig, take it all. Get it dripping wet for me, get all that spit all over it. I pop it out again, and it’s shining, lubed up for your hole. You are panting with exertion, excitement, and embarrassment. I crouch down to the gap in the chair, and carefully nudge the nose into your brown flower. it gives easily. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” I muse, pushing the plug further into your ass, which is expanding with impressive speed.

“Mistress, I did some exercises before…” you pause to moan as your ass engulfs the entire toy, and it closes in on the tight end, “before I came to see You.”

“What a diligent slut you are, getting all primped and fluffed for me.” I give the plug another little push, just to hear you squeal.

Now you really are ready. I swivel your chair round to the makeup mirror, and place a metal restraint pad on each side of your head, so you won’t move in any irritating ways. Perfect, and still.

First, moisturizer, to keep you young darling. Then I brush an even layer of foundation over your whole face to even you out, because nobody’s perfect. Some natural toned eyeshadow for those peepers, contoured and shaded with my soft brushes, and a line of luscious false lashes to really make everything pop. Let’s get those new lips lined with a deep pink liner, and fill it in with a silky lipstick, and go over with a high-shine gloss. A little blush, a dash of bronzer, and a dusting of translucent powder over everything to set the look. You’re gorgeous and nearly ready to fuck.

But something is still odd, apart from your twitching, dribbling cock. Ah yes, the hair. The dyke look really doesn’t suit you, sweetheart. What shall we make you? A raven-haired beauty? A fiery redhead? A cheeky brunette? A fun blonde? Or something wild and punked out? I think I’m in the mood for a blonde to push around. Now the cut is important, because it’s got to flatter your jaw line and make you as passable as possible, despite your recent surgery. I scan the shelf above the mirror, and my eye lands on a mid length piece with soft curls and a sideswept fringe.

As I place this wig on you, Alice comes to life in front of my eyes. You smile shyly as I arrange the curls on your shoulders, a lock straying over your breast.

Tiny diamond studs in your ears, little stars for my beauty.

Restraints and cuffs come off, and it’s time for your debut. Can you walk nicely with that plug between your rosy cheeks? Hmm, a little awkward but you will receive the finest and strictest training from me. The mirror shows you your new, completely transformed self. You touch yourself in awe, your lovely body and perfect face.

“Come on Miss Alice, I’d like to show you off now.”

We walk out of the transformation chamber, down a narrow hall, and through a large heavy door, and into complete darkness.

Don’t Fear the Dungeon

It’s supposed to look scary. You should be intimidated. These feelings are normal. They don’t need to stop you from visiting one. I will not seal your eyelids shut with needles and waterboard you unless you ask me to. A dungeon is the perfect place to play and explore. There are more cleaning supplies than a hospital, more tools than your dad’s shed, and the hooks in the ceiling have been installed by trained professionals. No plaster crumbling down on your head, not today. Walking into a dungeon space allows you to leave your everyday life in the lobby. It is easier to slip deep into your imagination, and the lines of reality blur when you are chained to a desk in a classroom, getting the fingering of your life. Time stops, you’re transported back to that time when you saw your best friend’s mother in her kitchen bending over to adjust her stocking, or to that fantasy where you are a little puppy who needs to visit the vet’s. It’s not all whips and chains, darling, though it certainly can be that. The dungeon is a sandbox for grown-ups, and it’s easy to make friends at the playground. Come to the dark side. We have cookies.