slave

Explaining My Harvest and Extraction Scene

Many of you have contacted me asking what my seed harvest session is. You just don’t get subtlety, do you.

Scenario 1: I am a sadistic villianess, the power-mad keeper of the key to your cage. You are bound and hooked up to my ingenious machine, and you are helpless against my milking machines. I taunt you as the rope bonds grows tighter, as the sensations intensify till you feel like you will burst…

Test alpha and you will be an exalted slave in my ranks. Test beta and I will still find a job for you, perhaps cleaning grime off my stiletto.

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Scenario 2: I am in the bath, waiting to be cleaned and pampered by my servant. I am to be treated as a Goddess, pure yet decadent. You ache in chastity as you lather up and polish my body. I may humiliate you further by dressing you in slutty silky frills and laugh as you fumble for your clit, desperate to impress.

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The theme has room to include bondage, CBT, punishment enema and sissification, catheter play, and so on. Essentially, it’s about edging. This is done with prostate massage, JOI, and/or a machine. As to whether or not there is a release, that depends on how sweet and compliant you are with my evil plan. The gooey result is then recycled into you through any of your holes, or turned into a frozen popsicle for the next victim.

Book Your Seed Extraction Today

 

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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

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.

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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.

The Ultimate Sissy Slut Training: Part 2 of 4

This is a fantasy of a male  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 1 of this story ended with you shivering and exposed under my scrutiny, awaiting assesment for full surgical sissification.

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We left off with me pulling at your underwear, exposing you and then pushing the material right up tight against your cock so you could get your kicks from the pressure of the fabric, get you off with a square of cotton. You’re so easy to get wet. All I have to do is press your boy panties onto your hard-on with the tiniest firmness, and you’re moaning and panting like a college virgin.

“Clothes off. Everything off. Quickly, boy. Not just thrown over the chair like that, *fold* them.” You scurry to neaten up and then I lift your chin up with my satin-gloved hands, “Have some respect for yourself. Show me that you think you’re worth my attention,” I say smugly, since we both know that you aren’t really. I like you like this, naked, nervous, in my hands.

But we have a lot of work to do to get you ready for the assfucking I’m going to give you. I only fuck pretty girls. lucky for you there’s not a lot of hair on you or else somebody would need a full-body shave. So we’d better get you dressed up, hadn’t we.

My closet is as big as a banquet hall. Dresses on hangers bulge out wall-to-wall of silk, lace, tulle, leather, velvet, brocade, and all the luxurious fabrics from the exquisite hidden corners of the world. A princess would sweat with envy. A vast library of high-heeled shoes dominates the opposite wall, from tiny satin pumps to generously sized PVC thigh-highs. I wonder which ones you’ll get to choose. A gleaming makeup station shimmers with powders, creams and tinctures, and a neat row of wigs on mannequins runs above the vanity mirror.

You kneel naked and shy-boyish at the entrance, and I nudge you forward with the tip of my leather boot. You crawl to the middle of this decadent lounge, up to the transformation platform.

“Put your feet on the markers. Hands through the loops. Good boy. What we’re about to do will feel a touch prickly, maybe a little pinchy, but I think you’ll like it in the end.” I press a button and metal restraints slide over your wrists and ankles, so you’re standing up straight with your arms and legs spread wide, no movement allowed. All at once, several sharp mechanical arms descend on your butt, chest, and face. They inject, implant, and remove bits and pieces at furious speed. Then you are sewn up and spray-tanned.

After what seems like a flash, the whole ordeal is over, and you are left clean, polished, and absolutely feminine. Your cock still dangles between your thighs, but now those thighs are shapely, curved, dainty. Only then do you notice a pair of beautiful breasts floating on your chest, the nipples soft pink and perky. You lick your lips with lust for yourself, and find them to be plump and firm. You blink in disbelief, and your lids are heavy with long natural lashes. Looking straight ahead, a full-length mirror shows what you have become. A girl. A hot, horny slut with a cock, pure and perfect, begging to be fucked.

I’m standing next to the mirror, taking pleasure in watching you meeting yourself. “Are you cold, Alice?” I purr.

“Pardon, Mistress?” You choke on your words when you hear your voice. How did it get so suddenly high? How long were you out under those machines? Such an extreme transformation must have taken a long time. Or maybe this is who you’ve been all along. Alice the girly cum slut, built for one purpose: taking cock.

“I said,” I breathe languidly, “Are you cold? Do you need some clothes to cover you up?”

“Ohhh yes please, Mistress, please dress me.”

I press a button, the restraints slide away, and you are free. You walk on your new, slender legs, your hard dick swaying with your strides, somehow not out of place.

A panel slides open and a clothes rack of underwear spills out. You stand in awe as I run my finger along the impressive selection of lace, leather, and latex, of full bloomers, teeny weeny thongs, crotchless teasing ones, frilly gartered ones, sensible ones, pink, black, red, purest white….. which one will suit my Alice? My gloved finger stops on a black latex bra and panties, designed to look like lace around the edges. I chose it not only because I love rubber, but because there is a delightful hole placed just so that your butt will be fully accessible to me when the time comes. Because this whole thing is for my benefit, making you fit to fuck.

I pull the bra around your body and it holds your breasts so nicely, that gorgeous cleavage so tempting and teasing. Next the underwear, which miraculously holds your cock in place while exposing the little slit of your bum. It’s rather fetching actually. And shiny.

I pull you by the wrist over to the dress rack, bypassing the ballgowns, the flimsy frocks, and over to the clubwear. You are getting excited about this, feeling the rubber slide over your perfect flesh, restricting but moveable, like a second skin. I have the perfect dress. Pastel pink rubber, short as short can be, very fitted and revealing on top, and a little bit flared on the bottom so you can twirl sweetly. You’ll look like the girliest slut in town. Arms through the front, I zip you up the back and it sucks everything in. I can’t even tell you have a dick unless I graze my nails over that place and feel it jump. You wiggle over to the shoe gallery and pick out the most whoreish stiletto boots you can get your greedy hands on. Black leather that hugs your legs all the way up, with a long up the back.

Now you’re dressed like a very good girl. This is how you’ve always meant to look.

“You’re very sexy, Alice. You’d better be careful looking like that, someone might want to take advantage.”

“yes Mistress,” you say meekly.

As we walk you over to the makeup table, you trip over your heels and fall over on your face on the carpet. It’s difficult not to laugh while I watch you struggle to get up. Wriggling on the ground like that, you’re quite irresistable. I place one knee on your back to pin you down to the ground, and flip your dress up. Your bum is so cute I can’t resist giving it a slap, and a few more to make you squeak. It’s blushing a little. You raise your hips, inviting me in again, begging for my pinky to nudge into your hole, but I don’t fuck ladyboys who have no make up on. Don’t worry, my vanity chair has straps to hold you down while I do my work on you. Lube up little whore, the more you look like a girl, the less say you’ll have in matters of my desire. Is your hole ready?