It'd been weeks since she'd taken control of me. In the back of my mind was a sense of need (yeah the need manifested itself elsewhere, what a dirty mind you have reader). Sometimes I could seduce her into it, though it might seem odd that you'd slyly adjust your voice and behavior to see if you could get yourself slapped silly. And given my generally attentive nature it took lots of finesse to try to evoke that side of her. I flat out had no luck with any of my gambits. Nor did I really feel that deprived, the love of a good woman, in any fashion, should be enough for any man.

That day I was relaxing in chair doing nothing with my eyes closed, an art at which I was a master. I felt her nails gently move through my hair and shivered. Opening my eyes I saw she had my collar in he hand. Another hand's finger was on her lips telling me to not say a single word.

"Do you remember my little toy man the hoops I used to make you jump through."

Sure did. Fairly early on when she would don the role of owner she decided to set up protocols that defined my every movement and act. Partly she did it because it clearly separated my times as property. Partly it gave her an excuse to punish me. Not that she really need an excuse to play the Devil Woman. At times she relished giving me a lecture and letting me know it was all my 'fault.' I'd wilt and blush before her sternness but I'd also sink ever deeper into an erotic space that thrilled me.

"Full protocol tonight, bet you can't remember. But I'll give you a good remedial education." She left the room. I stripped, put my collar on and crawled to where I knew she'd be.

Finding her feet I brushed me cheek against each one, then kissed it. Then still on my knees I bowed, arms extended forward holding me up. And said: "This slave awaits the command of [sorry you don't get to know what I called her]."

We eventually grew tired of this. But it had been long enough that I was feeling as subdued by it as I first had. I just knelt there, waiting. Waiting was sometimes the worst part. Would I be there a minute or five? Had I don't it to her specifications or made an error. What would she do to me when she chose to acknowledge my presence?

"Grovel!" She was using a curt tone of pure command. Thankfully I knew exactly what she wished. I licked her shoes and between each stroke I thanked her. This is tougher than it sounds. In this kind of worship I could easily forget to thank her and would feel a whap across my backside.

She didn't hold me there long before I heard her say "Present!"

I hated this one. I knelt upright before her. My hands on my knees my palms out and looked her straight in the face. She made it terrible. She was wearing the silver glasses again. Do you know what it is like to see yourself naked and humbled? Unable to read her I had no way to know if I'd done it right. The usually sardonic smile was replaced with tightly compressed lips. Part of me wanted to ask if she were pleased but experience had taught me to never speak without permission when she was like this.

"On your back!"

I was there too often to forget; besides there weren't any trick words like kowtow. She stood over me and pressed one shoe, then the other into my face wiping the bottoms against my cheerk.

"Extend!"

I stretched my arms and legs out. She pulled her chair to my side the back of it facing me.

Then one shoe pressed into my thigh. Another shoe into the other thigh. One of her hands was one the chair.

One of the shoes moved to my belly and ground in a bit. I raised a hand. I stopped it from reaching out to her but …

She slapped it down with a cane.

"You forgot your protocol. Yes, I know I've consented to tie you up. But you know the rules, slave man. Tonight if you raise an arm or leg you'll pay for it. And not just being corrected with my cane. That useless bit of pink meat I see between your legs will remind you of the rules. I'll remember your every infraction and then will stroll across you and … you know what happens to a bad slave's cock don't you?"

She bent down and slapped me.

"I've stepped on you twice, what did you forget." I had. With each step I was to thank her. As much as she liked walking on me I knew I'd need to be very thankful this night.

You know, she is always a goddess to me. Reading, puttering about, whatever she does she is the sole focus of my affections and worship. Knowing that no matter what happens she'll be there gets me through the days I'd just as soon lie down and forget about it all.

Worship has at least two connotations. Back in the days of courtly loved the men loved their 'maiden faire.' And while maidenhood is a quaint idea in the 21st century at best she'll always be that for me. Since you are reading this blog you know there's another kind. When you surrender to her as a divinity.

I enjoy both sides and don't much worry about where one begins and the other ends. She is much more alive to the distinctions but I happily let her decide the emotional space for me. As a masculine man and a surrendered man I'm happy.

Let me put it in terms of feet. In bed on her back I may sit riveted by the shape of her ankles. (It could be the curve of her shoulders but won't work for this example.) Or having given myself to her on one of those (for me too) rare evening when she wants that I discern every detail of each toe. Man or slave I'm a silly romantic and I'd shoot you if you tried to take it away from me.

When her mood is just so she lets me treat her as Goddess. The Goddess if you will. I only worship one.

Usually I find a note. What it says I shan't share with you. But I understand.

On those nights I switch to a white t-shirt and shorts. Opening the door of the room I know she will be in I fall quietly to my hands and knees and crawl in. She is resting stretched out, relaxed.

I crawl over and light sticks of incense on each side of her, over to the stereo and press the play button to start the music she wishes to hear.

Then I crawl in front of her and bend until my forehead touches the floor and thank her for setting aside time for me to worship her. I hold myself there for a bit but if she says nothing I bend back up on my knees.

Her feet rest on a low cushioned stool. I caress, then lick each one in turn. In each action I strive to be slow and silent but not linger too long.

Taking an aromatic oil of her selection I gingerly massage it into her feet, between her toes and along her legs.

That done I put my head on the cushion between her feet to await her pleasure. This is the most intense period. I never know how long she will rest. Only a few minutes some time. Others long enough for my body to ache to move.

But it is the best of times. She may arise to be a sweet lover or a cruel owner. The uncertainty excites me, ministering to her satisfies me.

It is hard to explain how she talks to me when she owns me. To see her words typed here it looks like ordinary conversation. To hear her tone of artic irony mixed with distant affection always reaches deep into my heart and mind squeezing it into something she can mold to her desire.

When I discovered that I needed to worship a woman I read lots of Femdom and female supremacist stories on the web. Reluctantly I had to stop. The dialogue was often something like a bad old historical novel, worse even than a cheap movie.

I think maybe it was spitting that shaped the way things worked out for us.

I'll never forget the first time she spat on me. I'd only been on my knees before her a few times. I'd just become able to serve her without shivering.

She told me that when the spit hit my face she could almost visibly see my mind move into slave space. My memory is so hard to share. I know my body flushed hotly, I shook so deeply humiliated that I wanted to crawl inside myself. Humiliation, yes it sounds awful to you perhaps. It did feel awful but at the same time I felt there was nothing more important in my life than to be hers.

A much worse day came. She spit on me and it just felt like moist goo on my face. Nothing more. So she stopped.

And it made her think. Mostly she had addressed me with contempt, called me dirty names.

Over time her contempt became subtler. Rarely explicitly stated. As did the worst epithets.

She came to mock me almost lovingly. Or even openly sweetly. Feeling both her power and her love at the same moments made me worship her more, ever more willing to suffer to please her.

She still spits on my face on rare occasions. No longer used to it I cringe within myself again.

And there are plenty of nights when she's curt or cuttingly nasty. But not every night. On those nights those words alone are enough to make me need to beg and crawl. Being not always heard they lash into my brain.

Do I honor her with a title? It was her own wise decision that in our times of power exchange I address her (rarely, mostly she prefers me silent when not whimpering) with an honorific. What is it you may ask. I'm not going to cheapen it by publishing it here.

"You! Come here now!" Damn she sounded mad.

"I don't have time to put your collar on. Kowtow!"

That was maybe the third time she used that word. I wished she'd never read it. I dropped to my knees and bowed extending my hands in front of me crossing them at the wrist, not allowing them to touch the floor. I could hold the posture for thirty seconds if I was lucky.

It was probably less than fifteen before I fell on my hands. She stomped on them.

"You incompetent slave! Can't obey a simple instruction. Bend up and look at me."

Kneeling upright I did. What I saw through me. I saw a funny reflection of myself. She was wearing mirrored glasses. For the first time ever I couldn't get feedback from her eyes. I froze without seeing her eyes I didn't know what to do. All I saw was myself on my knees looking pathetic.

"Tell me you worthless piece of shit is there something wrong with the way I look?" She kicked my knees.

"I - " More kicks.

"Aren't you satisfied with me? Don't I do enough for you?"

I didn't try to say anything. Lost and confused I started to tremble.

"Don't try that trick with me you unfaithful little worm!"

I was actually getting dizzy. She was the only star in my galaxy, I wouldn't know how to be unfaithful. I just looked up at her hurt and silent.

"Look what I found on your computer."

Oh. It was a photo of a Playboy centerfold I once fancied. In an idle moment of recollection I'd found it. Maybe I'd spent five seconds looking at it. An expensive five seconds it seemed.

"But I just … "

"Shut up!" her voice was so loud and harsh it cut into me like a whip. I had no idea she'd care. She knew other women had become invisible to me after I found her.

"You're just a worm aren't you? Get on your belly and look like one."

She lashed my arms and legs together tightly. From where she stood I probably did like a worm.

"Since you are just a worm I'm going to teach you the worm game."

"I have my cat o nine tails in my hand. Being a worm you'll try to squirm away when it hits you. By the time my arm gets tired you won't think about naked women anymore will you."

I wished I really was a worm and could burrow out of site. With her cat and angry I had no idea what she might do to me.

Just barely I heard her snicker softly to herself. She wasn't mad. But she had played me like a worm on a hook.

I might've relaxed but given what she had in her hand I knew that I'd deeply hate the 'worm game.'

I was reading the paper when she got home.

"Hiya honey there are a couple of heavy things in the car would you go get them for me?"

They proved to be two large triangular blocks of wood. There was a unfamiliar wooden plank as well I lugged them all it.

I looked up to see my collar. What devilment could the bit of wood mean? Well mine wasn't to ask why but to lie down and let her put straps around me. The triangles went to my sides and the plank across them.

She went back out. She returned with a bright purple skateboard in her arms. Everything was explained. Once again she'd found a way to make me a poor little grape at the bottom of a wine press (thankfully she'd never managed to find one of those).

"An old hobby I thought I'd pick back up. You've been such a good doormat, carpet, mattress and pillow I knew you'd be happy to be my skating platform. You wait right there, I'll be right back."

She was so fetching when she returned - black halter and shorts - that I could almost feel it was worth it. But I knew shortly I wouldn't quite be able to keep my admiring eyes on her.

There wasn't much distance for her to go but she made the most of it as she hurtled at and over me. The board squashed into me knocking my breath out.

She looked at me over her shoulder and dismounted.

"Already out of breath? We can't have that. Let me move it." As she slid the wood down to cover my crotch I was sure the first placement hadn't be an accident. Some things you only do once, a man's crotch is a Domme's joy forever.

I winced as the wood crushed into my cock.

This is an early female domination fantasy I once had. Just remembered it. Not very practical but thought I'd share it with you.

She'd already collared me. On my hands and knees I looked up at her.

"Foot treat day for you, I know you'll be so happy. Look at my ankle."

There was a bracelet around one of them. She bent and locked a chain in place then stretched over to me and locked it on me. Now I had a hint why I was wearing a choke collar today.

"I move you follow, wherever I go. You get slow and you may find yourself short of breath."

A polite way to say choking, not that I was in any position to argue.

"If I stop you are to crawl up and lick my boots. When I move away you will follow silently. If the boots slam into your teeth you will learn to pay more attention."

I guess I'd certainly try. What was I going to do, call the slaves union and report unfair practices?

She moved away, the choke collar yanked me and I scrambled after her hoping I could keep up.

What might it be like after, say, a year together? How would we have bonded, what mistakes made and deep satisfactions achieved? A visit to an imaginary future.

Her knees pinioned my shoulders while her butt pressed against my face. The air that passed through the fabric of her dress (sadly you can't breathe through PVC) was rich with the scent of her. A scent I'd come to cherish.

"Oh my little pillow when you wrote all those little sketches for me you had no idea how many of them you'd come to live."

True enough and there were some of them I came to wish I'd never written.

Tonight her fingernails were gently moving across my upper body. Even though I knew at a pace only she knew they'd become progressively less gentle I tingled with pleasure.

"Now I can manipulate every part of you, shape and finesse you."

While slaves shouldn't have pride I took great pride in how she was both Mistress and Master Artist. With a cunning eye she'd cataloged my every response. Whether motivated by sadism or whim she could play me to perfection. Sometimes with quick savagery, others - and perhaps more cruelly - lingeringly, weaving complex patterns of emotional and physical response.

Her nails were pressing more deeply, lines of light sharp pain traced themselves along my torso.

"You were a willing little beggar from the beginning. Very timid and shy for such a big man."

I'll never forget those first few times she allowed me to lick her boots and feet. I had so much raw helpless need that just being on my knees before her made me shake. After we'd been together for a while she admitted that she found herself holding back at first. Not out of kindness. It seemed a waste to press my confessed hot buttons until I became more habituated - then they'd give her a more gratifying response.

Two nails cut into a nipple, I flinched.

"Though not as cooperative as I'd expected."

A fair evaluation. Some of her needs scared me. However much my conscious mind strove to please her I'd still retreat and my exaggerated response, the terrified looks made it nearly impossible for her to gauge things.

Loving me she with more patience than she really wanted to give she brought me along. Greatly irked when she felt blocked she was a bit bloodthirsty in punishing me for my reluctance. And she'd taunt me that many of the punishments had been suggested by me in my blog.

With time trust overcame many fears.

All ten nails bit into me and yanked. My scream was muffled by her body.

She stood up and turned around.

"Having you yell into my butt feels just plain weird."

She knelt back down sitting on my chest and lit a joint.

"Ashtray."

When she brought the joint down to flick the ash I opened my mouth to swallow it.

"I used to be peeved with you when you'd order things without asking me first."

For a time I'd been addicted to ordering S&M toys. Embarrassed I wouldn't always show them to her but she'd eventually ask what I'd bought or find something in a drawer. Many of them she dismissed as gimmicks.

And she'd accused me of trying to top from the bottom in buying them. So I might find one of them being used on me with barely restrained brutality by way of a lesson.

She finished the joint and I ate the roach.

"How your skin has changed. So many tiny marks of my ownership cover it now."

The gimmicks after a time she came to see as special effects devices. As she mastered me she became a restless artist looking for new and subtle ways to lead me from one response to the next. There were long evenings as she compared the welt left by a tawse with that of a quirt. Sometimes I'd regret my purchases more than any blog entry. By then she'd given me a wish list that I slowly filled.

"And how you've learned to take it, you little pain whore." I think she'd come to take something akin to pride in the depth of my masochism, my need for her cruelty.

Helplessly I'd watch her sadistic grin as she carefully found one of my limits and patiently work me past it. It took almost a year of microscopic adjustments before she hit my nipples absolute limit.

"Poor thing, sometimes I was too rough on you in those early months."

Once I panicked so badly I fainted. That scared her. But we've always been good at talking and didn't have much trouble getting past it.

A couple of mornings my joints had been so stressed I could barely walk. She was a loving and caring nurse. And a few other unintended injuries. But you shouldn't play certain games if you don't know these things will happen. There was only one thing that I knew she still felt some guilt about. It was my fault really. I'd pressed as subtly and indirectly for hard pet play. It was one time my neediness created an appetite in her. She'd chained me in a dark corner of the yard one night. Then she went to take a shower. As bad luck would have it started raining outside. By the time she was able to rush out and bring me in I was crying uncontrollably. It took all of her kindness and empathy to rally me back to normality. We'd both learned a hard lesson. Sometimes I really didn't know my emotional limits and she'd have to protect me from myself.

And I learned that when she told me that some of my fantasies were best left as such to just agree and shut up. Overall we bonded over our mistakes with a deeper sense of who each other was.

My attention was brought back to her as she pinched my earlobes.

"My little slave's mind is wandering isn't it? Forgetting his every thought should be on me. Well I have a special treat for you."

Something warned me this wouldn't be like the time she made me beg for doggie treats that I loathed eating.

"Crawl over to the kneeler and get yourself in position."

She strapped me in.

"I bet you forgot you told me about this fantasy of yours." She held a black rubber coated clothespin in front of me. I was baffled until I felt her clamping to my butt and thighs.

"Wonder how long it'll take me to win this game?"

She'd win when she managed to remove all the pins by kicking them. There was only one possible winner in these games: her. But that was as it should be.

As God (who doesn't exist) is my witness I was sore, I was exhausted and I couldn't sleep.

This was long ago. You can't see it here but there far more to my life with the woman I love than hours as owner and property. There are really more hours where I care, tend, and help in the normal ways of man. But you wouldn't be here if you wanted to read about those would you?

But we know our special hungers and are able to talk about them frankly. When she first came to live with me I wondered if years of frustration hadn't left her needing a clear freedom to exercise her needs. She rejected it. Then not much later she took it.

My offer? To let her direct and control every minute of three days of my life. Use me, abuse me, do whatever she would with me. On her terms. No reservations. Understand I trusted her.

When I came home that day I knew that I'd be surrendering my rights, my independence to her. Promises among lovers and friends are contracts. I always honor mine. Better to beg and whine that be a liar.

That day I'd spent hours under her control, licking, hurting, whimpering. She blazed like a glorious comet. Myself, you are wondering what of this human doormat? I'd discovered pleasure, satisfaction and I'm sure it will astound you - peace - I'd only hypothetically existed.

So I found myself locked to a cold bare floor unable to sleep. Two more days would pass before I own myself again. I'd rather have been in my own comfortable bed beside her. I had doubts and fears. But on a deeper level I'd given myself to her and felt content.

I'd always wondered why she wanted that long rubber mat. I bought it but she left it in the garage for weeks. Until one day.

She asked me to haul it in and spread it across the floor. When I stood up from getting it just right I saw my collar in her hand.

I lay on the floor and she strapped my arms to my side. There was a short-lived flash of pleasure as she tucked my balls out of site but my penis above before strapping my legs together.

"The family jewels need to be protected I agree dear but the rest is fair game."

Game? When she said game I felt like someone who landed on Go to Jail every time they played Monopoly.

She pulled the rubber matt over me covering mostly my thighs but just a tiny bit of my groin. I equally damned myself for buying it and congratulated my back brain for having made sure it was thick and stiff.

I heard her cheerfully whistling in another room. Normally I'd be glad to hear her so happy. But I knew it meant I wouldn't be.

The odd noise I heard coming toward me made no sense until I realized she was on roller skates.

"You've been so useful my little man. Always ready to be my shoeshine boy. Tonight you get to be my skating ramp. And I'm even going to give you a special treat dear. Tonight I'm not wearing any underwear so keep your eyes open."

Normally that'd be quite a treat. But I suspected keeping my eyes open would be the least of my concerns.

With a giddy "Wheee … " she flashed across me crushing my thighs.

"Worthless little slave toy on his knees."

Hogtied in the corner of my room it was impossible for me stand. Though with the smelly old nylon wrapped around my head gagging me I could offer my agreement.

"Do you remember my helpless toy that you once confessed there were times you wished I would make you cry?"

I did and right now wished I could take those words back. I was very scared. I'd never seen her stand over me looking so remote and deadly. Or spoke so harshly.

"I think I need to see those tears tonight. If you can't give me what I want I might as well castrate you and toss you in a ditch."

I almost fainted. She'd never been this harsh before.

"Don't look at me like a helpless lamb being led to slaughter your rigid cock tells me how excited you are. Tonight my slave, perhaps, you will learn the truth of your words."

I was shaking.

"When I hear or see what I need I'll stop but only then."

She reached behind me and I felt my collar locked to the wall.

"And don't try to fake tears or pain. You know that I can read you like a favorite book. We'll learn your real limits for once."

One of the black stilettos I'd so admired hit my groin. A quick shift and the sharp heel followed. She had me so frightened I barely felt the pain.

"Just a warm-up. Once I get limber I'll get down to work in earnest. How long do you think it will take? Half an hour, two hours? I'm in no rush."

Her hot breath on my ear, could anything be sexier. When I turned to look she had on those lovely white stockings and frilly short dress. School girl godesss incarnate she was.

"Hey there, why don't you come follow me." No man could've refused.

She led me to the bedroom and pointed at chair, "Why don't you see down and relax." Sitting at my feet she reached up and caressed my crotch. "Feel good, handsome." It felt so good all I could do was look at her mouth and wait for an invitation to drop my pants.

She got up and walked behind me. As her soft palms rubbed the back of my neck I felt every skin cell in my body flash to battle stations ready.

She licked an ear and asked, "You ready lover?" Before I could find enough voice to say yes I felt something slip around my neck. A choke collar.

She laughed as straps locked my arms and leg into place.

"I can play you any day of the week can't I? You are one natural born sucker hoping that I am."

She unbuttoned my shirt, unzipped my pants and pulled them down.

A rarely used ball parachute encircled my scrotum.

"Please don't do that to me tonight." I was fool to plead. She only laughed again.

"Why lover man, because you are man and I'm a woman? You have needs is that it? Well honey tonight you are going to get it."

She added a couple of weights to the parachute. They barely hurt, just holding that part of me taut.

"Oh yeah, you won't forget tonight." Then a couple more of the little weights. Just enough to provoke a momentary whimper.

Her hands ran along my legs. I tried to sit still but my hormones betrayed me. When I moved the weights moved as well. I moaned helplessly.

"You need it don't you, baby." I felt like I was trapped in a bad porn movie made in hell.

"Let me help you out."

The top of her shoe rubbed across my penis. It felt good. I relaxed, enjoying it. Silly fool. She crushed it into the wooden bottom of the chair. I couldn't choke down the sob.

"You having as much fun as I am?" Er, no but I wasn't fool enough to say so.

She stood in front of me slowly weaving her hips. As I recovered my eyes fastened on those hips and the belly button above. She was like a snake charmer.

"I forgot to tell you that I added a Cialis to your handful of vitamins. Makes a man long lasting they say. I want my lover man to last a long time tonight."

From a side table she picked up a Watertenberg Pinwheel. As she gently rolled it across my chest and belly I felt more randy than ever. More so as it ran up and down my cock. Until she applied a tiny bit more pressure, then one winced merged into another. No one prick hurt that badly but cumulatively it was agonizing. Once again my mind was off in a different space, time went away and her chuckles seem to come from very far away. Then it stopped.

"What a mess and so unsanitary. You wait right there." She was gone and back quickly. "You know I've read that lemon juice is a great disinfectant." It is but I knew that wasn't why she'd brought it.

"Plaything you are getting too noisy. What will the neighbors think?" I'd often wondered why they'd never called the police. She grabbed a dirty old sock, shoved most of it into my mouth and used a bit brace to keep me from spitting it out. The stench was almost as bad as the pain.

As drops of lemon juice dripped on me from base to glans I shut my eyes. Each little bruise left by the pinwheel seemed to burst into flame.

"Oh, what a lovely purple but I'd prefer a darker shade." For a moment as I opened my eyes I thought I saw a pretty panther stalking her prey.

From a side table she picked up a tiny flogger.

"How does this strike you?" Normally that little flogger never felt like much but with every nerve sensitized it hurt as badly as her steel tipped whip.

"Tell you what, if you can take me you can have me. About a half an hour from now."

Just out of bed I walked into the kitchen, "Morning dear" I greeted the woman who made my days worth getting through.

"Hello hon." She reached behind her. "Remember you asked for this." She handed me a plain metal bracelet. Engraved was the word "Slave."

Oh my. It was to be a day when I'd be expected to stop anything I was doing at anytime and do whatever I was ordered until she was ready for bed or as she put it was "sick of having to bother" with me.

Well, I didn't think I'd asked for it. I guess I'd talked about, around it. Maybe too much for her patience. In certain parts of our lives together when I got too complicated or wishy-washy she was often ready to make up my mind for me.

Really in the selfish part of my little slavish heart I wanted a day when she used and abused me all day long. Now, could I really handle that? I don't know, thought about it more than I should. But on many days we had too many things to do and I suspected that she'd get a bigger kick out of yanking my chain at random when I least expected it.

"I made your breakfast" she picked up a frying pan. Cold scrambled eggs. She knew how little I'd enjoy them. Especially when as she did the contents were dumped on the floor. Then she pressed the front of her shoes into them.

"On your back, clean that mess off my shoes." I complied.

When I finished she stood up.

"Now that you've had your pathetic little thrill eat your breakfast, don't you dare leave a single crumb on the floor or use anything other than your tongue. Then go do something useful and don't pester me." She left the room.

Lapping and sucking up my dirty breakfast took a while.

****

"Dear" I turned. She backhanded me in the face.

"Oh this is fun" she giggled. Maybe you can't imagine a merciless giggle. I've come to know it well. Much crueler than the haughty formal stuff you'll find online.

She kissed me on the top of the head, yanked my hair and left the room.

Wondering if she'd be back in five, fifteen or fifty minutes for more 'fun' make it hard to concentrate on my work.

****

Getting ready to go out shopping she walked up to me.

"Open your shirt." Her favorite adjustable nipple clamps went on.

"I won't make them very tight for now. I don't want you to embarrass me with your wriggling."

And they only just hurt. But I knew that as I moved around I'd often get a gently wincing reminder they were there.

"Only for now, wait for later, pet. Now drop your pants."

On went the gates of hell.

"Maybe we'll stop at a magazine stand and you can look at some of those centerfold girl photos you used to download."

Whatever we did out in the world there'd be I wouldn't be able to forget who owned me.

****

We stopped to grab lunch. I'd been good about my diet and ordered some fries. She looked up at the waitress.

"No he can't have those and he knows better than to ask for them. At least he gets to eat out of plate."

With seeming fascination I fixed my eyes on a saltshaker. I could feel the blood rushing through my cheeks and ears. I've never mentioned but she is much younger than I. The waitress probably thought I was some old man out with my keeper.

She ordered little and was done well before me. Under the table I felt her shoe crush into my crotch. My appetite vanished but …

"Make sure you eat every bit of what is on your plate." Her shoe dug in again.

****

We were walking in the park, coming to a deserted part she opened her shoulder bag and brought out a leash and collar.

"Down on all fours, I'm going to take you for a little walk."

You can imagine how I felt about that part of our stroll, thankfully it didn't last long. We came to a set of stone steps and she sat down.

"Damn, look how dirty my shoes are."

Understanding the unstated command I knelt down and began cleaning them with my tongue.

****

Back at home she kissed me on the cheek as I closed the door. Then kneed me in the groin.

"To think I didn't know how much fun today would be."

Looking at my watch I saw it was only 2:00 p.m.

I was finished a weblog entry when she came in the room.

"You. Now." Looking up I saw my collar in her hand. I put it snugly around my neck in the fashion I knew she preferred.

"Follow me. Crawl." I'd never known her to be so curt before. But had learned to bend with her moods. Wasn't sure it was easier that way but it wasn't worse.

"Spread eagle board. Get." I was getting worried. She was reducing me to a mere tool more quickly than she ever had before.

I got the board and laid it on the floor. At her instruction I lay down on it and she locked me into position. Then she pulled in a shorter and narrower board I'd never seen before and lay it across me. It stretched to my crotch to just below my neck.

"I'm getting too thick in the tummy don't you think?" Even when I'm tied down and helpless I know when to keep my mouth shut.

"So I'm taking up running. Running in place is boring. Running on the streets is annoying." I had no idea what she was talking about. Soon I would.

When she jumped on the bottom end of the board it crushed into my crotch. As she traveled up various parts of myself were squashed by her weight. I probably wouldn't' have been able to breathe when she got to the top but she was instantly headed back down to the bottom again.

Back and forth she went crushing parts of me flat as she went along. Luckily she wasn't that athletic or I might not have survived the night.

She has a gentle face, when she smiles it dazzles me. But let her dark lashes lower a little, her lips compress into a stern line the sneer makes me want to crawl under her boots and hide.

The look on her face that night all but toasted me. With her hand tightly on my leash barely a foot from my head there was no way for me to crawl away.

"Stupid little man, do you realize how lucky you are that I allow you to worship me?"

Her other hand flew swiftly from one cheek to the other.

"Do you?" another pair of slaps.

I opened my mouth trying to think of what to say.

"Don't speak, there's nothing you can say I want to hear" two more slap.

Her voice and the slaps made me flush, even my ears burned. I was just a helpless little puppet.

"You are nothing more than a doormat, a human shoeshine. Yet you dare to maintain the proper respect a slave owes its Owner." Amazing how she can talk in capital letters.

I should've known this would be coming. I'd been a bit SAMish lately. I had a streak of Smart Assed Masochist. Unlike most SAMs I wasn't trying to provoke her to get more punishment. Trust me, she never made that a desire. I'm a strongly analytical man whose entire approach to life is colored by irony. Her greatest gift to me when she takes control is shutting that down. In serving her and suffering for her my mind quiets, my detachment surrenders to pure feeling.

The irony had broken through a few times recently when serving her. It would just come out involuntarily. Mostly she'd laugh with good grace, though she always made me pay dearly for my flippancy. Either my SAMishness had come to greatly irk her or she was using it as a pretext. I knew she'd tell me later.

"Tonight a slave gets reeducated in his role in life." Four or was it six more slaps followed in rapid succession. I could feel how brightly I must be blushing. My head felt like a pink balloon ready to pop.

I didn't notice that my penis had become a pink balloon as well until she locked a cock ring around it. Already cringing from her words I shrunk a little deeper inside myself. Few things are more sensitive than a stiffly erect cock: erection play can be brutal.

"Slide your knees under my chair, you know the position."

She pulled out a 16" x 16" bit of plywood with a hold in it, my penis went through the hole. Although I couldn't steel myself for what was about to happen I tried. Equally I tried to beg with my eyes: foolish effort the look would only egg her on.

She placed a boot on my cock and shoved it down and started tapping and pressing on it. Locked into full erection it wasn't very flexible and hurt very badly. I lay there and whimpered. Slowly very deliberately she pushed down until she pinched my foreskin against the board. Few things hurt worse than that, it was a punishment she used sparingly. It would hurt for days acting almost like a built in chastity collar.

Boot firmly back on top she used it to shove herself up from the chair. I swooned.

"That was the introductory course. Now we get to your real lesson."

She moved the chair aside.

The sharp point of her boot hit my penis. It probably wasn't even that hard a blow. But erect, having been crushed it was a tiny point of pure agony. From the corner of my eye I saw the next swing begin.

The most expensive gift I've given her is a 10' fence surrounding most of our backyard. Helicopters aside nobody can see what goes on back there. I did it so she could go for pony rides. Not that we own a horse. Well, you see, she does: me.

It had taken me lots of hard work to become a good pony. We started in the house. The longer I could carry her the less I was punished when I collapsed. The formula and form of my punishments varied with her whim but as I got better she really did lessen. Even with that inducement pony training was slow and laborious.

Finally I was able to give her a complete tour of the yard as I crawled along with her sitting astride me. If my pace got too slow the sharp heels she always wore for her rides sped me back up. A quick yank on the choke collar told me when to stop. Tugs on my ears directed me left and right.

She has her cruel moods and her very cruel moods. I'd come to recognize her 'suffer for me' look. I saw it in here eyes one afternoon as she prepared me for a ride. Looking at her feet I was surprised to see a pair of athletic shoes she didn't really like and almost never wore.

It was a long ride. Every joint ached and I knew the next day I'd do little other than recover.

When we got to the shallow pit I'd dug for her sometime back and had since maintained she dismounted me. Kicking me into the pit, I fell on my back only to be shoved over onto my belly.

It had rained the night before and the red North Carolina clay was moist. Part of my face sunk in.

"A girl needs her exercise." It was only a second before her choice of soft soles became clear.

I felt the sole of a shoe slam into the side of my but. Then the other side. From the movement of her shadow and the constant hammer I realized by buttocks and thighs were being used as an aerobics platform. She didn't go at it for very long but the consistent pounding of a small area left me very sore.

When I felt her shoe slide across the back of my head I realized she was using it like you would a doormat to wipe off the mud.

Then she stood in front of me. "Now crawl over and clean my shoes."

Barely able to move, I shoved myself forward. It'd be a miserable job. Unlike her other footwear the sports shoes had a rough surface. They were harder to clean and the fabric scraped against my tongue.

I climbed the attic ladder and knelt in my assigned corner. That she'd placed a small blanket for me to kneel on gave me pause. She only did that when I would be on one position for a comparatively long time.

The attic was pitch black except for a small red light that glowed from the ceiling, a wireless camera.

Her voice came from the house intercom, "Lock your ball cage to the ring in the floor."

Feeling about I found a bit of short metal chain next to me. When the little lock clicked into place I bowed my head to show that I'd obeyed and hand rendered myself unable to rise from my knees.

"Now, slave, lock your arms behind your balls."

I looped another chain behind the first and closed two little locks. Now I could move my hands only a few inches forward. Again I bowed my head.

"Now I have you out of my way but still under my eye."

The intercom fell silent and I sat there in the dark wondering. There are times when her dominant side is ascendant but she's too tired or distracted to want to work me over. On those occasions she would often seek to expand my tolerance for bondage. That my restraints left me some freedom of movement suddenly seemed an ominous sign. It meant I wasn't in danger of becoming too cramped or straining a joint. I could be left alone in the dark for a very long time.

And she knew me too well. She knew I'd speculate about it and, given my nature, assume the worst. Several variations of worst. It was the kind of refined mental torture only an Owner who knew her slave well could practice.

She could sit downstairs watching me fidget, enjoying the various expressions that crossed my face.

It doesn't take long for your sense of time to become confused when you are alone. I relaxed as I heard her ascending footsteps.

"Would you like to come down and worship my shoes?"

My "Yes, Mistress" was emphatic. That she was going to let me be near her made me happy.

Then I saw her hands reach to a shelf pull something down that I realized was a very strict posture collar as it went around my neck. My head was locked into place pointing directly at the camera.

She followed this with a special pair of nipple clamps with a chain that fastened to the ball cage. If I started to fidget the chain would pull on my nipples. As they did when she gave my hair a yank.

"Now you sit there and be still" - as if I had much choice - "and if you're lucky I'll remember you are up here."

Bait and switch! No matter how often she did that I was never prepared. Serenely, haughtily she smiled down at my increased misery.

She left me amid the blackness wondering how long before she'd come back to release me.

Really I'm quite terrified at the idea of testicle torture but a small metal device in the Stockroom catalog inspired the second half.

For a long time she said she had no interest in testicle torture. But always fresh with energy to explore what she sometimes called 'compositions in pain' (mine) her enthusiasm tended to branch beyond her original expectations. Not that she called it torture. No, it was testicle manipulation, part of her larger body of work, male manipulation. We got to it by a complicated route.

On the night I'm recalling she began by making me suffer very sweetly.

Some days I come home to find her look especially fetching. It may just be how she feels like looking, a loving desire to please my fancy or, well, a very different kind of loving. On that afternoon she looked a bit of the tart. Understand, I had a weakness for her in hot pants and little too much makeup. What hopes her stunning appearance inspired were modified when she handed me my collar. Willingly I dropped into my role as property, lucky if I were merely a pet for the rest of the day or perhaps a slightly abused toy

On my knees and humble I followed the pull of my leash as she led me to a big wooden chair and strapped me into place. I shuddered slightly as the metal bands known as the Seven Gates of Hell were locked into place along what at this point could only laughingly be called my 'manhood.'

She sat in my lap and, well, wriggled. My now imprisoned manhood sought to expand as my favorite part of her body touched mine. Only to find itself crushing into the rings. And her weight crushed the rings down. My penis might've quickly surrendered but she gently caressed my cheek with her fingers. I groaned and sighed, no way to tell when one started and the other left off.

She pulled out a joint, lit it and shoved her lips against mine and exhaled. Her lips and the marijuana conspired to keep me greatly aroused. Her shifting weight made my body fight two wars, neither of which it could win. The pot left me wanting her badly but feeling as if I'd become something she'd happily smother into oblivion. Bending me with her sexual power was crueler really than lashes with a whip.

She sat on me, alternately chiding me for wanting her and laughing at my helpless need. And it was very helpless. After the combined pressure of the gates and her body even if she were to let me free and offer herself to me I wouldn't be able to do anything.

As the high faded I grew weary. I saw a quick flash of satisfaction in her eyes.

Then she brought in the small set of steel bars.

Having reduced me to impotent neediness she was ready push me down abject helplessness. That shining instrument was for my balls.

My testicles are hopelessly sensitive. She'd never been happy about that but understood. One night a swift kick had moved too low. I savagely cursed her in a way I've never done before or since. It isn't smart to curse your Owner. But the wise Owner knows when it is time to quickly put you back into freedom and protect you. She held an nursed me until I'd recovered.

After that night she'd been careful to confine herself to soft taps. They were enough to make me whimper. Ten of them were enough to make me beg.

But she wanted more.

So she made The Deal. I'd sometimes admitted I'd love to see what she'd look like as a redhead. She had no desire to color her hair.

One day she told me she'd try a bit of henna if I'd consent to six months with the little steel bars. I could pretend that I just wanted to please her. But very selfishly I wanted to see her with reddish hair. Funny isn't it what you'll do to satisfy even the most vanilla fixation?

She used the ball crusher with great care. She'd lock my testicles snug with it. Then she'd just tap lightly.

By the night I write of she'd mastered the crusher. I don't know if you could've seen the lever move each time she touched it. But I was visibly moved. Maybe each tap was only a millimeter. But each one brought a new whimper from me. Sometimes she'd tell me to "sing pretty" for her.

Caringly she'd strap me tightly in the chair so my writhings wouldn't cause me more pain. Since the tiniest adjustment would leave me begging for a few minutes she could work me for a long, long time. When my quavering "please please please" were satisfactory enough she'd stop.

On that night I she took it just one infinitesimal point further. A blend of vamp and vampire she grinned at me.

"Do you remember that this clamp came with little magnets that work as weighs? Time for us to try one, don't you think?"

I didn't. Much less as that tiny extra downward pull left me begging to do any other horrible thing she wanted if only she would let me go.

"You've wasted far too much money on these. Tonight I'll give you a chance to get your money's worth."

She was referring to the four canes I'd bought. Having watched an impatient stamp to her feet when I bought the last one I should've expected this. But she'd never once complained when a new blouse or skirt arrived.

"I'm going to give you a chance to sing about them to me."

I wasn't gagged. My arms and legs were bound to one of those very short stepladders you can buy at Home Depot. She'd tied me tightly down in front and carefully pointed my bottom upwards.

Tonight she wanted a full audio stream of my pain.

"Poor foolish toy, you've told me they are each different. Tonight you'll get a chance to prove it to me."

Cane one was very flexible. Slowly, carefully she traced a route from just above my knee to just below my kidney. With a cane like that she couldn't do more than make me "Oh" and "Ah" without breaking it.

"You liked that didn't you?" Truth be told I did. It hurt but not too much.

Cane two was only a bit less flexible. When I wasn't flinching another part of my mind was admiring her controlled technique. She didn't hit me harder because the tougher cane hurt worse. My"Ohs" were louder but not too much so.

"Now I think you'll begin to understand I'm serious."

She was right. Cane three was tough. I yelped a little more loudly with each blow.

I heard her boots trail out of the room. Then back.

"You remember that warm cream you bought? I've never seen much use for it, but may be tonight it will help you learn."

The cream wasn't much more than Vaseline with a few hot spices. As she lathered it over my wounded thighs and buttocks I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

When I quieted down the room was silent except for the deep breathing of her nostrils.

"Now little worthless man let us see how this cane strikes you."

She didn't have to hit harder than she did the first time. My wounded flesh would've flinched under anything. And this cane bent not at all and hurt as badly as the three prior canes combined.

"Hmm, I love to watch you try to wriggle away." The more cheerfully she gloated the nastier it seemed.

With each stroke I found myself promising to "do anything," saying "please," guaranteeing I'd "behave.' She loved to listen to me beg. Not that I was doing it to please here. Once you pass a certain point of pain you beg even though you know it won't help. You can't stop yourself. Once I'd shouted for 'mommie' - well it worked when I was six. I never did again. For some reason that angered her and earned me an extra ten vicious lashes with her most brutal flogger.

"That was ten."

I relaxed. When the stinging surprise of another blow slammed into my buttocks I screamed. Only three more followed. Having thought my punishment had ended and not knowing how many more were coming made them seem worse than the forty that proceeded them.

"Sometimes a girl just can't stop herself from having a good time."

She'd bound my arms and legs so snugly at that I looked like nothing more than a worm that had crawled over. Totally humbled I lifted my head to lick her shoes.

Every now and then her whip cut into my back as she urged me to "Show some speed!"

On my hands and knees hoping hopelessly to please her my tongue traveled up and down the sides of her boots. As much as I strived to pace myself I never seemed to do what she wished. The riding crop cut into my skin as I was told to "Don't rush you fool, do a good job!"

Bound helplessly before one of her crossed legs I was striving to perform what I hoped she would find a satisfactory job of polishing her boots with my tongue. But every so often she'd grab my hair, slap me in the face and tell me to stop "drooling" on her.

On my back I strived to remove and swallow every bit of filth from the bottom her flat shoes. Whether my tongue moved in circles, or in lines, it never seemed to follow the route she wished.

"Show some enthusiasm in your service," she tell me just before her flogger ground into my groin. However much I tried she never seemed satisfied.

"Toys aren't supposed to act as if they have wills of their own." For once she seemed genuinely annoyed. The shoes crushing my fingers against the floor were almost as harsh as her voice.

"You promised that when I wished you would submit yourself to me completely, no reservations, no second thoughts didn't you?"

Gagged all I could do was nod.

"But you demand, demand, little man, that I bind you tightly before I use you as you offered yourself for use. Is that submitting?"

Best I could I tried to look like a baffled innocent. She would have none of that.

"Don't try your 'I'm sorry' look. Not that you aren't sorry. A sorry slave. A bad slave."

Even though I knew it wouldn't do any good I bent my head to the floor, hoping to look penitent. You get scared enough and you'll always try the futile.

"You told me this pair of stilettos are the shoes you fear most. Before I'm done you'll learn to fear not just them but me. And maybe focus your mind more clearly on pleasing me."

"I'm going to kick you. You will scurry away. I will follow and kick you again and keep kicking you. But if you fail to move quickly enough my shoes will hit you harder."

"The faster you run - if you are lucky - the less you'll be hurt. Well, maybe. Be slow and you'll wish you were faster."

"Got the rules? Once you are black and blue and if you beg prettily enough I'll stop. I don't care. I'm not the one that'll be in a hurry."

I sat there frozen. Then a sharp point hit me in the rear. I ran but another followed.

I didn't mean to say "Please I'll be good, I'll do whatever you want." I just heard the words come out of my mouth.

And I heard the reply, "I'm sure you will. But we're just warming up." Her voice harshened, "By the time I'm done with you my worthless little bit of slave trash you'll be ready to jump over the house if I order you to."

A shoe pierced me sharply in the side of a thigh. As I tried to scurry out of target range another slammed into my side. I collapsed and rolled over. Looking up I saw the heartless smile of the woman I loved, her every feeling now concentrated on her toes.

When the next blow hit my stomach I'd already lost the ability to distinguish sharp front from sharp heel. I only wanted to flee but I knew that there was nowhere I could go where another wouldn't follow.

I tried to drag myself away anyway.

Not really a story but I couldn't quite get myself to make this into an email. Since you've sometimes expressed the idea that you would like to be on top I mostly wanted to contribute this bit of advice that many men get wrong in an erroneous attempt to be kind (my major mistake when I was young).

In my BDSM fantasies when I've thought of myself as an anal bottom I've normally pictured it happening what is unhappily called doggie style (which as I've later learned is supposedly the easiest: wish I'd known that when I was young). Often I've thought of the top as pulling my hair or having me on a leash. If we are facing then he slaps my face.

But what I wanted to pass along: kinky or vanilla the best way to enter a guy is by just shoving it in. The more reluctant the bottom the more important speed and force is. Being gentle or hesitant only makes it harder for the bottom to open and will often cause irritation or outright pain. Once you are inside it may take a moment or two for him to adjust but the hard part is over with. In being kind you are being unacceptably cruel (learned in real life long ago).

Sketch:

"Please me." My Master's command was clear and direct. I crawled over to his open knees. * My tongue worked his inner thighs then went on to lick and caress his scrotum and penis. Kisses alternated with the licks. * Just before he orgasmed he shoved my head down and rammed into the back of my throat.

More commonly I've thought of BDSM oral sex in terms of being fucked in the mouth. Did it once to a guy, never had it done to me.

* The portions between the asterisks are how I see non-D/s fellatio. Outside of D/s I think of myself as fellatio 'top' because I get to set the pace. Same as an anal top, whole goal is to please my partner. In the sense of old fashioned dancing you might say what I like about being a 'top' is getting to take the lead.

I've often thought my old futon frame might have interesting possibilities.

I'd had the old metal futon couch frame long before I met her. As instructed I'd brought it from the garage. Across the bottom of the frame I'd placed a thick sheet of plywood that I covered with a thick blanket. The futon mattress I'd folded across the back.

Once it was ready she came in with a handful of luggage straps. My arms were bound snugly at my side, my legs together. Taped in my hand was an emergency noisemaker.

She stepped back and surveyed her handiwork.

"Now, my plaything, you are ready to begin your life as a cushion. Into place with you."

Clumsily I had on the futon and lay down. She had that sometimes-terrifying look of sardonic glee on her face.

"You lie there and be still, if you move too much, well … you'll find yourself very sorry later." She pulled the mattress over the back and on top of me. "Goodbye, I'll try to remember you're down there."

I winced as she sat down directly above my crotch, then felt the cushion crush into me as she stretched out.

Either I made a lump bottom mattress or she was in a fidgety mood. I felt her moving around, the futon mattress shoving to different part of my body.

Then she settled in and I lay there wondering how long it would be before she released me.

She poked, I moved. She poked again and I tried to get away. Given that I had no room in which to move everything was in her favor. As she wanted it.

I never had the extra cash for a proper metal cage. Out of four by fours I'd built the wood equivalent.

It was about as tall as her knee. When I crawled in I couldn't do more than kneel.

My wrists were fastened behind me.

On her next to worst nights I'd slept in it, managing to work my way to my side.

On her worst nights I didn't get to sleep in it because I didn't stay there. My time in my wooden prison was just warm-up.

Tonight was the worst among worst. Blindfolded I couldn't see it but I knew that in her hands was what I called her "cruelty cane."

She'd warmed up with an ordinary walking stick. Poke, poke, poke: I'd retreat but it would follow. She was wearing me down.

Then she switched to the stick with a tiny bit of tack sticking out the end. With the regular sticks I'd suffer in silence.

With her cruelty cane I'd yelp and ouch. She called it singing for her.

I called it a warm-up. Maybe a softening-up gets the spirit right.

It wasn't as if she couldn't do whatever she wanted. But if she poked at me long enough I'd feel so helpless and impotent that I'd beg for anything. Even if they pain were greater.

The poking made my will crumble. An hour of it and I'd have agreed to walk across hot coals. Or eaten anything she commanded me to.

There were evenings she wanted nothing more than to see me reduced to begging and pleading for acts I'd ordinarily flinch from.

By now I was sure she knew my will had been completely trashed. But my total surrender some nights was too sweet to her to resist driving me more deeply into.

I had no idea what would follow. Perhaps she'd let me out and kick me from one side of the room to the other. I'd only thank her for releasing me from my present bondage.

Not much, meant to be more but the phone range. You'll get the idea.

"More tongue!" she yelled happily and yanked.

When she yanked my balls were squeezed mighty tightly and my tongue went more feverishly to work.

She had on a oval seat I'd carefully cushioned and built into a stool. To be honest the seat, which came from, a hardware store normally would've gone on a toilet.

Instead it was her smothering throne.

Some nights I silently serviced her and see used the handy cord as a means to ensure that should my enthusiasm flag she could rev it back up in an instant.

"Poor little thing, I know you must be sore but sometimes a girl just can't help herself."

Last night her boots had worked me over so thoroughly that it was a testimony to my will power that I'd managed to look physically able at work. Usually that was enough for a time. That I was tied and trussed like poultry meant she had the urge.

She sat beside me in a chair.

"This will be a new one for me. You've said you like long nails and that my fingers are so pretty. Aren't you just a dear?"

Yeah, I liked her nails. But they were growing rapidly longer. She was applying those attachable artificial nails that you'd assume only Dracula's daughter would really want.

All ten attached she looked over at me, smiled and sat beside my incarcerated body on the bed.

At first it was wonderful. The nails traveled gently across my flesh. I writhed in pleasure like a puppy.

It wasn't long before she pressed harder. An arousing friction became a slightly painful, then really painful scratch.

"Don't be such a sissy. I'm just getting warmed up."

She grabbed one of my nipples, twisted, tightened and I tried to scream through the gag.

"Dear, dear, I'm just getting started. Save your applause."

I'd say her progress was like a machine. But she was always so careful to vary things. Inch by inch I felt skin grabbed in tiny sharp claws, lifted up and let fall back. Sometimes quickly, others slowly. Some with a twist, some without.

She looked at me reproachfully. "If you really loved me you'd soundproof this room. I could enjoy the next step so much more if I knew no one but you and I would hear."

Five sharp forceps clenched about my penis. Really it might've been two or ten. They dug in. My foreskin stretch forward then snapped back like a rubber band. We'd have needed lots of soundproofing to keep my response from being heard down the block.

I've had heat torture fantasies for many years. Hot wax, water, oils: here's one variation.

My arms and legs were tightly bound to the arms and legs of the heavy wooden chair she'd strapped me to.

"I sometimes wondered if I treat you warmly enough" and she left the room.

She'd left behind one of those coils you use to heat up water for a glass of tea or instant coffee. As much as I was sure she wasn't planning to place it between my thighs I'd never been more frightened. It wasn't big enough but how else was she planning to 'warm up' our relationship.

Back in she came with a large black cup and a few forks. She plugged the heating coil in.

Steadily for a few minutes she looked at me like a wolf must at fresh prey

"I think we're ready, don't you?"

A bit of steam arose as she pulled a fork out of the cup. She moved so quickly to my chest I barely had time to catch what it was.

If the chair hadn't been so sturdy I'd have shoved my back into it as the hot fork touched my skin.

"What lovely delicate pink marks it leaves." You might've thought my chest was a bolt of fabric.

Another fork came out as the first one went back into the smoldering cup.

"Maybe if I place this at a different angle it'll look like a nice plaid."

I was too tightly gagged to scream as fork number two went to the exact same place as number one.

For what - thirty minutes? - ten? - how would I know the hot metal worked its patterns into my flesh as he kept up a running commentary on how it looked.

She looked at me with a simulation of sympathy. "Dear, I think you'll be needing to sit when you pee."

The fork came down straight between my legs and I really wished I could faint.

I'd long since stopped thinking. If it didn't hurt so much I'd have thought I'd left my body.

My Owner almost kindly had told me that my training had progressed far enough for me to learn about real S&M.

I suspected I looked like the image of a demon's human toy in Hell.

Blindfolded, gagged, earplugged I was deaf, dumb and blind.

The chain from my choke collar leg to the spreader bar holding my wrists in place.

Symmetrically there was a choke collar attached to a wide spreader bar between my ankles.

Finally a chain between the two spreader bars left me wholly helpless, vulnerable. I was left with just enough freedom of movement to add to my pain.

I was wishing I could keep track of the strokes of the whip. But I could barely remember I'd been promised ten sets of lashes with the whip consisting of ten blows each.

Vinegar let me know when each set hand ended. Vinegar is an antiseptic. It also makes welts sting. I never was prepared for the next set.

The pause between each round of ten might sound merciful. It wasn't. The breaks assured I'd be able to suffer longer. And as my nerves readjusted the beginning of each set hurt even worse as whip cut into fresh wounds.

I'd learned to try to not move. But involuntarily I'd flinch and as I tried hopelessly to move out of the way I'd only tighten one or both of the choke collars.

Kneeling there helplessly I wished I knew if there were twenty or forty or however many more lashes to come.

My love is an inventive woman.

You and I see attic stairs and think of hauling boxes up and down.

She saw them and well …

Once again I was on my knees. The rest of me was stretched out at an angle. Straps had made me a part of our attic stairs, my pulled pulled tightly above my head.

"Oh my little plaything, as something for me to walk on you've found your true role in life."

Walk she had, sometimes on the wooden steps, others on the pinky and squish parts. My thighs sore from her pauses just before she shoved herself up another step.

I don't know why but it hurt more when she came back down.

"Well that is just too exhausting. I need to do some aerobics to get my wind back up to par, don't you think."

Honestly I didn't. I knew what aerobics meant.

She'd blindfolded me with an old stocking. Dimly I could see a shadow move forward. Her first kick hit one of the already sore spots on my legs. I yelped. As I did with each that followed until she felt she'd had enough exercise.

"Perineum is the area of skin rich in nerve endings that is located between the anus and testicles." Like most men I didn't know the name much less give the area any thought. But I've often suspected that she that I live with has consulted anatomy textbooks, searching the indexes for "Male body, vulnerable areas of ."

When she'd locked my ankle cuffs to a wide spreader bar I'd wondered what she was up to. I was startled when she returned. Her dress was made of a few layers of white, gauzy cloth. As she walked a little bit of flesh would peek through only to vanish as her movement continued. Continually teasing the eye it was very sexy.

Never before had she dressed like this with me in bondage. I knew that sweet smile aside she was in a devilish mood. The thin board in her hand was clue enough.

"Doesn't your little man want to come out and play?"

No, my penis had grown excited by the dress but the board sent it into retreat. She bent down.

"Maybe if I kiss it'll … " she didn't need to say more. My penis is even more of a fool than coward. It flashed back up. Quickly she locked a cock ring I hadn't seen into place. My penis couldn't retreat now.

With practiced speed she put a penis collar in place and locked it down across the board now resting on my belly.

"You know dear I don't think I've left you enough room for expression at times like these."

For the first time I found myself gagged with a damaged nylon. As I'd learn she decided it was keep me from disturbing the neighbors but let her more clearly enjoy my moans and whimpers.

After a few moments if smilingly admiring her handiwork she stepped back and gave my perineum a gentle kick. After a lifetime of peace the poor body part didn't need much to discover a whole new world of sensation. At first it was mostly odd, unpleasant - worse than pain in a way I'd never known before.

It wasn't long before the discomfort became pain. Weird pain that branched out into parts of me she hadn't touched at all. I whimpered. How long it last? You lose track, unable to tell five minutes from fifteen.

Eventually she stopped and sat down. I didn't know I'd broken into a sweat until I felt it evaporate cooling me.

"Your little man likes this dress doesn't he?" Even if I hadn't been gagged it would've been hard to know what to say.

My 'little man' flattened under her shoe. She rubbed back and forward as if she were trying to scrap something off. The friction made my penis warm. For a second my mind flickered back to the evening she'd shown me what a 'hand job' using a sheet of sandpaper felt like. That she'd never repeated that (yet) might've been a comfort but I knew that soon my bruised phallus would be feeling her heels.