My Second Visit To A German Domme

My Second Visit To A German Domme

Related to Crowley by a male submissive. This is a sequel to the short story My Visit to a German Domme. Read that one first.

My Second Visit To A German Domme

“So you went back to the domme?” Crowley asked the male masochist, who was telling his tale of cock torture and suffering.

“Well, yeah, I had to. I still had that cock cage on me, and I had to get it removed. She had the key, and I didn’t fancy the other options for getting it off my cock, such as very hot flames of something which might cut through the metal. I couldn’t go back to England wearing that cock cage, as I was sure it would show up at the airport when I went through the scanner. I went to see her a week later, for another session which she was going to film.

“Of course my body had not recovered from my ordeal of the previous week. My back and buttocks were covered with scabs from the brutal whipping which I had endured. Hell, that was decades ago, and I’ve still got little white scars all over my back, that’s how bad it was. She was one of the most sadistic dommes in the world.

“When I went in her rooms she said that she was going to do all of the things which she hadn’t done on the previous visit. I was told that if I was good that I would be allowed to cum at the end of the session, a reward normally denied to her clients. Again it would be a no limits session. She said that she had considered castrating me, in this session, but that I should be thankful that she had decided against it. She preferred to torture balls, anyway, rather than cut them off, although she claimed that she had performed a castration and penectomy on one client in the past. I’m just saying that to indicate just how extreme she was.

“Again I was gagged, so that I would not complain too much. Again a full leather hood went over my head, keeping the gag in place. This hood was, if anything, thicker than the one which I had worn on the preceding week. Again the only holes in the hood were for my nostrils. I found that I could still hear perfectly well while wearing the hood, though. Maybe the leather was slightly thinner over my ears.

“Anyway, as soon as I had the hood on she turned on all of her cameras. The fist image on the video is of me standing there, with the hood on my head, and my cock still locked up in the cock cage. Next she removed the cock cage. It was a sign that she intended to engage in some cock and ball torture, one of her favourite things. That didn’t bother my cock, though. It was glad to be released, and it became semi-detumescent, although I did not achieve a full erection. I had not made the mistake, this week, of taking Viagra beforehand.

“I was told that she would be pleased if she did not have to tie me up just yet, and if I could bear the first couple of tortures just standing there. It was implied that it might have an impact on whether I did get to cum at the end of the session.

“She told me to stand with my legs spread as widely as possible. I spread my legs until I felt an ache in my thighs. I felt her attach something to my testicles. It was a plastic ball crusher. She tightened it until I screamed around the gag, my knees almost buckling. Then she tightened it some more, until my poor balls was crushed almost flat. There was an ache in my belly which would not go away and did not lessen.

“There was a ring on the ball stretcher, and Madame X – as I shall call her – added weights to the ball crusher, stretching my tormented balls away from my body. This had the effect of pulling down my hardening cock, and it was to that which she turned next. She got some rough sandpaper, and sanded up and down my defenceless shaft, removing all of the scabs from the previous week, making my cock bleed all along the shaft. I screamed with the pain. I screamed even more when she applied some menthol astringent to my bleeding cock. That made her laugh.

“She had done the shaft. But she did not neglect my cock’s head. She made sure that it was fully abraded, removing the top layer of skin, so that it was all bloody. Again the astringent was applied. It felt as though my glans was on fire. I feared that it wouldn’t be much use in the future. But I had come here voluntarily, of course.

“She removed the weights on my balls. But that was only so that she could give my balls another kicking. This did not go on for as long as the previous week. It was only so that my testicles would swell up inside my scrotum. She hung me from the ceiling by the ever-present chains, letting me swing.

“Then she got out her favourite ball-crusher. She showed it to the camera. This one looked more like a lemon squeezer. It was made of clear plastic, with two hollows for each of my balls. The hollows could be made smaller by turning metal screws. On the inside of the hollows were little metal needles, each one about half an inch long. When the ball-crusher was closed the needles would be forced through the scrotum to pierce the flesh of my testicles.

“She fitted the torture device around my balls, then turned the screws. I felt my balls crushed and pierced at the same time. She kept going until the crusher was almost completely closed. Even without the needles it would have been torture, my testicles too big for the cups which held them. But with the needles I felt as though I was in hell.

“I didn’t know that wires connected each metal needle, and that they could be electrified. That was what she did next. She attached a red wire to the left cup, and a black wire to the right. Then she turned on the power.

“It felt as though my balls were being cooked from the inside. You can see my body jerking as my balls are shocked. She left the room for around twenty minutes, running the power through my balls, letting me suffer.

“When she came back and released me from the chains and the ball-crusher I fell to the floor. I felt half-dead. I lay on the floor as she raped my arse again with her favourite strap-on. I no longer cared. I didn’t think that the torture could get worse. That was before she tied me up so that she could whip the soles of my feet, giving me a brutal bastinado, and hardly able to walk in the days ahead. With every step I took I would think of her.

“More whipping followed, as she sought out which bits of white flesh she had missed the previous week. The whipping went on and on, teaching me a new meaning for pain. I think that a lot of the time I was semi-conscious. I look at the video I have of the session, and I cannot recall a lot of the other stuff which she did to me. I’m sorry that I can’t recall any more details, Crowley, but that was the way that it was. I was utterly broken. She could have left me then, and it would have been enough. But there had been one more thing which she had promised me, and that was the branding.

“She dragged me over a sawhorse, as I couldn’t really stand, by that time. She chained me so that she couldn’t move. Then she branded an X on my left buttock. I fainted.

“When I came around I was hanging by chains with my cock lying on a wooden table. She had a hammer and nails. She said that she hadn’t wanted me to miss this. She hammered two nails through my cock shaft, right behind my glans. I watch this bit on the video again and again. She got another brand, a smaller one, and thrust it into my glans, leaving an X when it was pulled away. When I recovered from fainting she told me that, every time that I masturbate, I will think of her. And I do, every time that I cum, usually with my cock and balls in bondage.”

That concluded Crowley’s interview with this ultra-masochist. He never went back to that German domme. Crowley guessed that twice was enough for a lifetime of masochistic memories.

The End