Femdom Stories — August 19, 2012 5:59 am

Femdom Stories – Two memories of Mistress

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Humiliation

I have been thinking about humiliation. A lot of my slaves ask for it.

And of course I love giving it. But what is IT exactly?  The dictionary defines ‘humiliate’ as “making someone feel ashamed and foolish by injuring their dignity.” Now I like that definition because when it comes to making someone feel foolish and injuring dignity, then I am your girl. Oh yes. Let’s take shame.  When my slave gets to be humiliated, I want him bollock  naked for a start. I want him naked in my kitchen,  my living room or out in the garden; I want him naked in front of my partner Mistress Lash or a group of female friends.

I want him ready for close and jeering inspection. Many mistresses begin by offering harsh judgements on a man’s cock.  In most cases, it is a pathetic little thing worthy only of derision. We will point at it, handle and examine the tiny specimen and ask the slave to account for such a small rod. I may order the slave to rub the cock to full erection. That gives me another opportunity for pouring shame on the wretch.  Rarely, if ever, is a cock stiff or long enough for my taste and even if it is, it won’t stay the course I set.

I demand a slave’s dick to be hard at all times – even when the owner is standing shivering in a cold garden or drenched head to toe in icy water.  If it’s snowing, I like nothing more than packing his dick with fresh snow and watching it subside in the freezing cold.  Making someone feel ashamed of himself is not just about pointing or jeering. I have a very harsh tongue and a fine collection of swear words – and I am apt to laugh uncontrollably at the sight of a tiny penis  trying against the odds to stiffen itself on command of its mistress.

Humiliation is not just about cock size. I can humiliate a slave by forcing him to dress in women’s clothes,  painting his face with the crude makeup of a cheap slut, ordering him to drink a chamber pot of piss contributed by Mistress Lash and I. We may, if the mood takes us, pour the contents over his head, make him stand to attention as the pee runs down his body. We may injure a slave’s dignity by tying a lead round his balls and leading him like a dray horse around the room. We may dent that dignity by demanding he barks like a dog and goes around on all fours with a bushy tail stuck up his arse.

Oh yes, when it comes to injuring dignity, I am your woman.

Give us a break

I had a fantastic session last night – well I should say ‘we’ because Miss Lash was my aider and abetter. The slave wanted to see how far he could be pushed before he said the safe word. That is the kind of challenge me and Lash just adore. We can push slaves up to and  far beyond what they think are their limits. For us, and we are mean bitches, we don’t know the meaning of ‘limits’ – well, not when it comes to hurting miserable slaves.

Anyway the wretch arrived on time (pity because I was going to get really mad if he was late – the madder I am, the more angry, the more vicious and you know I like that). Anyway I knew he wanted his limits pushed and so we offered him a deal; something he just couldn’t refuse. I asked him to hide his valuable watch somewhere in my dungeon. Then we would submit him to torture and try to extract where he had hidden it. If he cracks – then I keep the watch (well offer it to my favourite charity shop), if he doesn’t crack, then he gets to keep it.

So far, so good. Would he break? Could we force the location of the watch out of him? Well Lash and I had a cunning plan. We didn’t even ask him for the watch for the first 30 minutes. That was a terrible tease which softened him up for the last half hour of pain.
Lash and I began by ordering him to strip bollock naked. Then we made fun of his pathetic cock. When we’d finished laughing, we put him over our laps for a good spanking. I tell you, I am hard but Lash is getting to be an expert spanker. You could hear the smack on his arse nearly down the street. First he bent over Lash’s stockinged legs and she gave him a beating and a half, Then it was my turn and I slapped him mercilessly for five minutes. My hands never get sore.
Still nothing about the watch.

Next he was ordered up and told to put his hands behind his back. That exposed his naked cock – just the right position for some agonising cock whipping. He found this so painful that he fell to his knees several times. But each time he was ordered up.

Still nothing about the watch. He was clearly waiting for us to ask him about its whereabouts but no, we hadn’t finished softening him up. We took him by the arms and dragged him to my bench box. Then making him bend over, I fucked his arse with a spikey new strapon I’ve just bought. As I did this, Miss Lash was fucking his dirty mouth with her rubber strapon.

Still nothing about the watch. We tied him to the bed. He was exhausted and wondering what the hell we were doing. If we haven’t even started to ask about the watch, when will we? Then I got out a little silver box. I call it my little box of precious gifts. When Lash saw the box, she gave out a cruel laugh, and I joined in. Slave clearly didn’t have a clue what was inside. But still nothing about the watch. I opened the box and Lash said, ‘Oo mistress, you clearly mean business.’ I heard the slave gulp, a dry swallow. But then we blindfolded him. He shook with fear, or excitement, I can’t tell which. Maybe both. He must have been thinking: when are they going to ask about the fucking watch? But we didn’t. Psyschological torture can be as bad as the physical thing.

What was in the box? A nice selection of clips for the balls and cock, and a variety of elastic bands.
Still nothing about the watch but he soon forgot about that: we clamped his cock and nipples so that he screamed out in pain. Then came the elastic bands
We used them like a catapult to flick on his cock, the bits not covered by clamps. The best bit was the very tip of the penis. Miss Lash has a very good aim especially with the thick elastic which delivers a very intense burst of pain.

Still nothing about the watch but we set up the electro box. And then I asked for the first time: ‘right little dickhead, where is the watch?’ He shook his head as if to say, I am not telling you.

That was good news. It gave us the chance to stretch the elastic bands even harder – ‘Are you going to tell me little man? IF not, Lash will release the band right on to your cock head’. He muttered ‘no’ and so we let go. The screams still ring in my ears. Then it was time to use my  electro pin wheel on his cock and under his balls where the pain is more intense. ‘Tell me where the watch is’ I ordered as the current was switched even higher and Miss Lash flicked the end of his cock with the fattest bands. As the current went higher and higher, his screams turned to low grunts. I whispered into his ear in a gentle caring way, ‘I know you want to stop the pain. But we are merciless. Tell me where is your fucking watch?’

He stuttered (worse than the King’s Speech) and finally got out the words: ‘Under the whipping bench’. That was the right answer. We took off his blindfold, pulled out the clamps (more pig-like screeches) and ordered him to his knees. ‘Fetch the watch moron – with your teeth’. He did as he was ordered and brought me the watch. He had miserably failed to keep his secret (I knew he would of course) and told him as per agreement, the watch was now mine and would soon be on sale in my local charity shop. He agreed the bet was lost. Got dressed and left.
Lash and I laughed out loud – we can break any man.