Mistress Whip Atlanta
03-19-2007, 09:17 PM
[size=5]Penchant for Trouble (Part 1)[/font]]
Who would have imagined how a passing interest in History would have such dire consequences? The radio commentator had just mentioned the date was March 13th, when it dawned on me that it was just two days until March 15th. (I’m good at math.) March 15th … the Ides of March … as in the oracle telling Julius Caesar to, “Beware the Ides of March.â€
The anniversary of the merciless assassination of Caesar, pierced by the daggers of those who feared his ambition, would be the ideal day for a session with the beautiful and merciless Mistress Whip. So I asked her for a four-hour session (I was feeling very brave.) on the Ides of March, and to my delight the response was “yes.â€
Upon arrival, I was directed to the dungeon and told that Mistress Whip would be with me shortly. I performed my usual preparatory activities of stripping bare, assuming my kneeling slave position with my ass presented for whatever fate that might await it, and patiently waiting for the arrival of my tormentor.
Mistress Whip entered and inspected me. As she had on past visits, she asked me if I had been doing anything to my anus. I answered “no†(discounting the annual encounter with my physician’s prostate-seeking digit). The nature of her interest would be revealed all too soon.
She seated herself and bade me to crawl over to her. Only now when I was able to raise my eyes from the floor, could I see how she was attired … a shapely corselet, enticing fishnet stockings, and wicked high heel boots (all items in black, of course). It was a good thing I was already on my knees because the vision she presented demanded worship.
I was introduced to a new (to me) aspect of foot fetish. She commanded me to kiss her boots. So I kissed her boots … all over each boot … toes, ankles, and instep … and to my further humiliation … the soles of the boots also.
I was, as the expression goes, less than the dust beneath her feet.
Satisfied that I knew my place (a boot-sole-licking whore), she had me crawl to the base of the cross and assume my ass-presentation slave position again. Then came the cane. I fear the cane. I fear the way Mistress Whip wields the cane. The pain of each lash wracks my body. The deep, deep burning cut into my buttocks and coursed through me. Over and over the cane tortured my flesh. Time passed very slowly before she paused.
Now came the hot wax torture. Mistress Whip tells me that the candles she uses have wax that melts at a lower temperature than conventional candles so the pain should be at a level a good slave could tolerate. I guess I am not a good slave. Each drop felt like it was burning through my skin and burrowing into the tissue beneath. My fists were clenched in pain as I strove to survive the slow drip of the hot wax. She said her goal was to fill my ass with hot wax and to cover my balls with it also.
Mistress Whip began inflicting her mental torture techniques. She posed the false mercy of her “either/or†test. “Which is worse,†she purred, “the cane or the wax?â€
She no doubt realized from my struggles that both tortures were unbearable. The cruelty of her words betrayed the “mercy†she offered.
I said the cane hurt worse, so she began the hot wax torture once more. The slow dripping of hot wax tortured my anus, my buttocks, and my testicles. My fists were clenched so tightly that had I not trimmed my fingernails the night before I would certainly have cut my palms.
When the wax stopped dripping on me, I thought there might be a moment of respite for my anus, but now Mistress Whip revealed why she had expressed interest in it in the first place. She told me she was going to have me place a candle in my anus. She would then light the candle and watch the hot wax flow over my anus and balls. I was instructed to lubricate myself and insert the candle (with a condom over the base) into myself. This presented a level of humiliation that I had never experienced before. This was far beyond a little boot kissing.
Well it was soon apparent that I am not skilled with the insertion of a candle (or anything else for that matter) into my anus. I was too impatient (nervously wanting to please), I could not manage effective penetration, and I broke the candle. In spite of my failure, Mistress Whip showed amazing patience with me since she perceived I was making a real effort to obey and please her.
I was given instructions to practice the act of self-sodomy at home so that she could humiliate me at some future session.
At this point she had me move her chair to the center of the dungeon. She sat and had me remove those seriously wicked looking boots. I was commanded to massage her feet. Since this is one of the few things activities that I perform for her pleasure, I find this one of my favorite parts of our sessions. I know I certainly strive to give a good foot massage.
I did wonder if Mistress Whip intentionally inflicting a subtle torment upon me by wearing those fishnet hose. Her legs were so sexy – encased in that black web – that it made her such a turn-on that my cock was aching with sexual desire. I don’t know if that admission will get me into trouble, but she must know how sexy and desirable she is, so my admission is simply a tribute to her sensuality.
I thought I was doing a good job with the foot massage, but evidently not good enough to distract her from some creative thoughts. She had me pause while went to a cabinet and removed some cloths pins. I watch with dismay as she tested them to see which would provide the tightest pinch. The two clips she found most satisfactory were placed on my nipples.
I was to practice my tolerance for nipple torture as the foot massage continued.
As I was massaging her feet she said she was going to whip the clips off my nipples. Silly me … I thought “whip†meant she was going to pull them off my nipples quickly. You know, I’m in the role of a torture slave with a girl named Mistress Whip … you’d think I would learn to take the term “whip†literally.
She told me to end the foot massage and to go to the cross and to lean against it facing her. Then she demonstrated her expertise with a bullwhip. She swung the bullwhip at me and, with the very tip of the whip, flicked the cloths pin off of my left nipple. The lash of the whip and the squeezing of the clip as it went flying caused my nipple to pulse with pain.
Now I don’t know if she planned this (though I would not put it past her skill), but it took five lashes to remove the other cloths pin. She never missed ... it was just that each successive lash move the clip just a little bit (squeezing that nipple even more with each tiny shift). When the cloths pin finally squeezed off with the last lash, I felt like I was in a scene from the movie Basic Instinct and that an ice pick had just been driven into my nipple.
I was still trying to recover from my nipple pain when Mistress Whip told me to straddle a two-tiered bench with my body against the higher tier and each leg on one the lower tiers. I was positioned so that my ass stuck out over the upper tier. She placed a strap around the upper tier and my chest. This was done, she announced with far too much satisfaction in her voice, so that she could cane me without worrying about me falling if I passed out under torture. (Mistress Whip is very thoughtful that way.)
I was blindfolded, and then the caning began. She seems to be able to time the foot fetish/massage pauses so that just enough time had passed so that all of my nerve endings had recovered and were ready to fire off their pain messages when the torment was renewed. And this time the renewed pain seemed even greater than before.
She also placed cloths pins on my balls, knowing that after they had pinched off circulation for a while, they would be most painful when she pulled them off. While the clips were working on my balls, she retrieved her bullwhip and began lashing my ass, my balls, and even flicking around to graze the tip of my cock. Then with a deliberate, slow and lingering pace, she pulled the cloths pins off my testicles and savored how I squirmed in pain as each one was removed.
Then the hot wax returned. Drops burning like acid fell on my ass, my anus, my thighs, and my balls. My balls were paddled to yield that dreadful, rupturing pain deep within them. The metallic spiked instrument was run over my ass, my thighs, my testicles, and even tapped against the tip of my penis.
Mistress Whip paused. She told me not to run away (as though I had any energy for an escape after the torture she had inflicted upon me). She went into the hall. I could hear but not understand voices. In a moment she returned and laid into me with the cane with no mercy. The lashes were paced so just as the agony of one lash peaked, the next lash landed. She had me screaming with the first lash.
Again she left me for a moment as I lay panting in exhaustion and pain. She quickly returned to say she wanted me to meet some of her friends. But since she had already tortured me so intensely, she wanted me to have a chance to recover a bit before I met them. So the session would end now (a bit early) and continue on Saturday … barely 48 hours away.
What does she have in mind for me? I know I am to practice with the candle. I know there may be more foot fetish work. I promised Mistress Whip I would try to be a patient slave, so I did not press her for more information. What might Saturday bring?
Who would have imagined how a passing interest in History would have such dire consequences? The radio commentator had just mentioned the date was March 13th, when it dawned on me that it was just two days until March 15th. (I’m good at math.) March 15th … the Ides of March … as in the oracle telling Julius Caesar to, “Beware the Ides of March.â€
The anniversary of the merciless assassination of Caesar, pierced by the daggers of those who feared his ambition, would be the ideal day for a session with the beautiful and merciless Mistress Whip. So I asked her for a four-hour session (I was feeling very brave.) on the Ides of March, and to my delight the response was “yes.â€
Upon arrival, I was directed to the dungeon and told that Mistress Whip would be with me shortly. I performed my usual preparatory activities of stripping bare, assuming my kneeling slave position with my ass presented for whatever fate that might await it, and patiently waiting for the arrival of my tormentor.
Mistress Whip entered and inspected me. As she had on past visits, she asked me if I had been doing anything to my anus. I answered “no†(discounting the annual encounter with my physician’s prostate-seeking digit). The nature of her interest would be revealed all too soon.
She seated herself and bade me to crawl over to her. Only now when I was able to raise my eyes from the floor, could I see how she was attired … a shapely corselet, enticing fishnet stockings, and wicked high heel boots (all items in black, of course). It was a good thing I was already on my knees because the vision she presented demanded worship.
I was introduced to a new (to me) aspect of foot fetish. She commanded me to kiss her boots. So I kissed her boots … all over each boot … toes, ankles, and instep … and to my further humiliation … the soles of the boots also.
I was, as the expression goes, less than the dust beneath her feet.
Satisfied that I knew my place (a boot-sole-licking whore), she had me crawl to the base of the cross and assume my ass-presentation slave position again. Then came the cane. I fear the cane. I fear the way Mistress Whip wields the cane. The pain of each lash wracks my body. The deep, deep burning cut into my buttocks and coursed through me. Over and over the cane tortured my flesh. Time passed very slowly before she paused.
Now came the hot wax torture. Mistress Whip tells me that the candles she uses have wax that melts at a lower temperature than conventional candles so the pain should be at a level a good slave could tolerate. I guess I am not a good slave. Each drop felt like it was burning through my skin and burrowing into the tissue beneath. My fists were clenched in pain as I strove to survive the slow drip of the hot wax. She said her goal was to fill my ass with hot wax and to cover my balls with it also.
Mistress Whip began inflicting her mental torture techniques. She posed the false mercy of her “either/or†test. “Which is worse,†she purred, “the cane or the wax?â€
She no doubt realized from my struggles that both tortures were unbearable. The cruelty of her words betrayed the “mercy†she offered.
I said the cane hurt worse, so she began the hot wax torture once more. The slow dripping of hot wax tortured my anus, my buttocks, and my testicles. My fists were clenched so tightly that had I not trimmed my fingernails the night before I would certainly have cut my palms.
When the wax stopped dripping on me, I thought there might be a moment of respite for my anus, but now Mistress Whip revealed why she had expressed interest in it in the first place. She told me she was going to have me place a candle in my anus. She would then light the candle and watch the hot wax flow over my anus and balls. I was instructed to lubricate myself and insert the candle (with a condom over the base) into myself. This presented a level of humiliation that I had never experienced before. This was far beyond a little boot kissing.
Well it was soon apparent that I am not skilled with the insertion of a candle (or anything else for that matter) into my anus. I was too impatient (nervously wanting to please), I could not manage effective penetration, and I broke the candle. In spite of my failure, Mistress Whip showed amazing patience with me since she perceived I was making a real effort to obey and please her.
I was given instructions to practice the act of self-sodomy at home so that she could humiliate me at some future session.
At this point she had me move her chair to the center of the dungeon. She sat and had me remove those seriously wicked looking boots. I was commanded to massage her feet. Since this is one of the few things activities that I perform for her pleasure, I find this one of my favorite parts of our sessions. I know I certainly strive to give a good foot massage.
I did wonder if Mistress Whip intentionally inflicting a subtle torment upon me by wearing those fishnet hose. Her legs were so sexy – encased in that black web – that it made her such a turn-on that my cock was aching with sexual desire. I don’t know if that admission will get me into trouble, but she must know how sexy and desirable she is, so my admission is simply a tribute to her sensuality.
I thought I was doing a good job with the foot massage, but evidently not good enough to distract her from some creative thoughts. She had me pause while went to a cabinet and removed some cloths pins. I watch with dismay as she tested them to see which would provide the tightest pinch. The two clips she found most satisfactory were placed on my nipples.
I was to practice my tolerance for nipple torture as the foot massage continued.
As I was massaging her feet she said she was going to whip the clips off my nipples. Silly me … I thought “whip†meant she was going to pull them off my nipples quickly. You know, I’m in the role of a torture slave with a girl named Mistress Whip … you’d think I would learn to take the term “whip†literally.
She told me to end the foot massage and to go to the cross and to lean against it facing her. Then she demonstrated her expertise with a bullwhip. She swung the bullwhip at me and, with the very tip of the whip, flicked the cloths pin off of my left nipple. The lash of the whip and the squeezing of the clip as it went flying caused my nipple to pulse with pain.
Now I don’t know if she planned this (though I would not put it past her skill), but it took five lashes to remove the other cloths pin. She never missed ... it was just that each successive lash move the clip just a little bit (squeezing that nipple even more with each tiny shift). When the cloths pin finally squeezed off with the last lash, I felt like I was in a scene from the movie Basic Instinct and that an ice pick had just been driven into my nipple.
I was still trying to recover from my nipple pain when Mistress Whip told me to straddle a two-tiered bench with my body against the higher tier and each leg on one the lower tiers. I was positioned so that my ass stuck out over the upper tier. She placed a strap around the upper tier and my chest. This was done, she announced with far too much satisfaction in her voice, so that she could cane me without worrying about me falling if I passed out under torture. (Mistress Whip is very thoughtful that way.)
I was blindfolded, and then the caning began. She seems to be able to time the foot fetish/massage pauses so that just enough time had passed so that all of my nerve endings had recovered and were ready to fire off their pain messages when the torment was renewed. And this time the renewed pain seemed even greater than before.
She also placed cloths pins on my balls, knowing that after they had pinched off circulation for a while, they would be most painful when she pulled them off. While the clips were working on my balls, she retrieved her bullwhip and began lashing my ass, my balls, and even flicking around to graze the tip of my cock. Then with a deliberate, slow and lingering pace, she pulled the cloths pins off my testicles and savored how I squirmed in pain as each one was removed.
Then the hot wax returned. Drops burning like acid fell on my ass, my anus, my thighs, and my balls. My balls were paddled to yield that dreadful, rupturing pain deep within them. The metallic spiked instrument was run over my ass, my thighs, my testicles, and even tapped against the tip of my penis.
Mistress Whip paused. She told me not to run away (as though I had any energy for an escape after the torture she had inflicted upon me). She went into the hall. I could hear but not understand voices. In a moment she returned and laid into me with the cane with no mercy. The lashes were paced so just as the agony of one lash peaked, the next lash landed. She had me screaming with the first lash.
Again she left me for a moment as I lay panting in exhaustion and pain. She quickly returned to say she wanted me to meet some of her friends. But since she had already tortured me so intensely, she wanted me to have a chance to recover a bit before I met them. So the session would end now (a bit early) and continue on Saturday … barely 48 hours away.
What does she have in mind for me? I know I am to practice with the candle. I know there may be more foot fetish work. I promised Mistress Whip I would try to be a patient slave, so I did not press her for more information. What might Saturday bring?