A Kinky Maso Slut's A to Z

A Kinky Maso Slut’s A to Z

This is the alphabet, as imagined by a lesbian extreme masochist.

A Kinky Maso Slut’s A to Z

A is for Anus: A is for anus, that my beloved and cruel Mistress likes to fuck with her too-large strap-ons. She likes to watch me suffer as she fucks me. It is about her desire, not my pleasure, and her desire is for me to suffer. My arsehole can now take larger objects than when I became my beloved Mistress’s maso slut, but she likes to use strap-ons which she knows that I have problems with. Her latest is a twelve inch long black strap on, with rounded ,etal studs along its length. The studs are not sharp, but it is still very uncomfortable when she fucks me with this dildo. It also has a considerable girth, far more than any of her other dildos. It is as thick as her wrist.

With the big, greased up glans at my anus my Mistress will push, until my anal ring slowly parts, and the head is inside me. I will grunt in pain – and the various sounds which I make are a big turn on for Mistress. She will use her hips to push a little more, so that another inch is accommodated by my arsehole, and she reaches the first studs.

“Ugh!” I moan, as the first metal studs enter me. I cannot help moaning. But Mistress likes my moans. They make her carry on, slowly working her hips back and forth, until the dildo is as deep as it will go, completely buried inside me, none of the studs now visible.

B is for Buttocks: B is for buttocks, that my Mistress likes to paddle. She does not seem to be happy unless my butt is a shade of deep pink. Mistress goes through the entire colour chart with her paddles, from flesh-coloured to deep red, and the only thing that I can do is scream – which, of course, spurs my Mistress on to hit me even harder. She is a true sadist (and what more could a masochist like me desire?). The sounds and sights of me in pain arouses her.

C is for Clitoris: C is for clitoris, which has become a source of pain for me, rather than pleasure.

But that is the way that it should be, for a kinky maso slut. My clit is for pain; my Mistress’s clit is for pleasure.

I no longer have a clitoral hood. One of the first things which Mistress did, after I moved in with her, was to cut my clitoral hood off with a scalpel. Apparently the hood was getting in the way, and my Mistress wanted my clit available all of the time. She wanted it available, and in pain. To that end my clit has been crushed by sharp-toothed clamps; stretched by weighted clamps; pricked by sharp needles; frozen by ice cubes; abraded by sandpaper; and hit by the tassel at the end of a leather riding crop. My clit is often in pain; and what pleasure it receives, from a vibe or my Mistress’s fingers, rarely ends in an orgasm (see Orgasms, below).

My Mistress is on a quest to increase the size of my clit. My clit, even when I came to Mistress, was not small, being more like a button mushroom than a pea. But that is not enough for Mistress. She has said that, ideally, she wants it to be as big as the last section of my thumb. To that end, every day, my clit suffers being pumped into a vacuum tube, over and over again. It is very painful. My Mistress says that the vast majority of a clit is hidden inside a woman’s body, and she wants to draw it out. Very slowly, it appears to be working, as my clit certainly looks bigger than when I came to be Mistress’s slave.

Mistress says that, when my clit is finally big enough, the will be one final pumping, to pull as much out as possible. And then the very base of my clit will be pierced by a metal bar, all of the way through, so that it cannot retreat back into my body.

Mistress says that she would like to see my clit aroused one hundred percent of the time. There is nothing better than a swollen clit. But my clit gets so sensitive that I’m not sure that I could stand my clit being permanently turned on. But what my Mistress wants she gets…

D is for Domination: D is for domination, the name of the game. It is what I have signed up for, a total exchange of power – although exchange of power suggests that I get something back. All that I get is pain.

TPE, 24/7, 365 days a year. That is what I have, if you want to use some of the terms found in personals. Ones which my Mistress does not use, though, are Safe, Sane and Consensual (see Safe Word, below). There will eventually be things done to me which are not safe. Consensual? I have consented not to have consent. And sane? Is not such masochistic desire that I feel not a sign of madness?

My only desire is for my Mistress to continue to dominate me, in whatever way pleases her. Other terms, used in personals, in which we play now – or Mistress says that we will play in the future – include body modification, body worship, bondage, branding, breast and nipple torture, caging, caning, electro-torture, fisting, foot worship, genital torture, hot wax, knife play, needle play, paddling, piercing, piss drinking, sensory deprivation, slapping tm face, spanking, suspension, and whipping.

To some people it might sound like Hell. But, for me, it is Heaven!

E is for Electricity: E is for electricity, which Mistress likes to see surging through my defenceless body. My Mistress, at the moment, has two sources of electrical torture. One is a TENS unit, of the sort which anybody can purchase. The other is a hand-cranked generator, which I fear greatly, which was actually used to torture people and which Mistress obtained at great cost. Thankfully she only uses the hand-cranked generator for interrogation scenes (and more on those later).

Mistress is of the belief that a slave’s punishments should not be reduced, but that they should gradually become more intense. Thus, each time that the TENS unit is used on me, it is always at the previous setting or higher; and Mistress will shock me for a longer period of time.

For example, I am tied spread-eagled, my slut body entirely vulnerable. Fear is racing through my heart, for I know what is coming, and the electricity passed my limits some sessions before. For me each time that I am shocked it is torture, a pain which I am no longer able to subsume into pleasure. It is sheer torture. So why is my cunt juicing up at the prospect of sheer pain coursing through my nerves?

Mistress smiles, as she stares cruelly down at me. There will be no mercy, no matter how hard I beg. Not that I can say anything, as there is a red plastic gag filling my mouth. Mistress likes to see gags in my mouth. The room is sound-proofed. But, occasionally, there will be no gag, so that I will beg for mercy denied. I am sure that Mistress can smell my arousal.

“We are reaching the limits of the TENS unit.” Mistress informs me. “Soon you will be on the maximum setting, and I could only increase the length of the torture. That is not good enough, as far as I am concerned. So I am looking around for a more powerful machine, one which can deliver more volts without endangering your slut life. It is amazing what you can find on the dark web. China is a big producer of such devices of real torture, using them in Tibet and other such places. They are completely programmable. At the last session I was merciful, only torturing your slut body for a mere thirty minutes. Today will be longer. But I will not tell you how long. But if I get a more powerful shock machine I could set it up so that it tortures you for a full twenty four hours. That is our eventual target.”

As Mistress talks, describing all of the terrible things which I will one day suffer, she attaches the probes to me. She no longer attaches anything to my nipples, as the electricity would be too near to my heart and she has no desire to have to explain away a dead maso slut. For this session there are but two probes: both of them large and metallic, both of them slathered with a conductive gel which helps them slide into my body.

One goes into my arsehole, the other is shoved up my slave cunt. They are then taped in place so that they cannot slip out. I can see a red and a black wire snaking along to the TENS unit.

At least Mistress has not used the two attachments which I most fear: a crocodile clamp which crushes my whore clit in its sharp metal teeth, and a metal sound which goes up my urethra. I hate those two.

As soon as the metal probes are taped in place Mistress begins the torture. The setting is on nine of ten. Mistress sits down next to my head so that she can look at my face. She likes to see my face in pain. No, that is not true, Mistress likes to see my face in AGONY.

Mistress holds down the button on a hand controller, and it feels as though my insides are being fried.

“Mmmmmmgh!” I scream around the plastic gag. My body becomes a solid coil of pain, listing up from the table to which I have been bound at wrist and ankles. Only my head, heels and wrists still have contact with the surface, as I suffer the torments of the damned. On and on the agony continues, as Mistress laughs to see such fun. She holds down the button for what seems like an aeon. Only eventually, when I have suffered, I believe, more than ever before, does she deign to release it.

I am hyperventilating. I draw in air through my nostrils. My body slumps back down on the bondage table. Mistress still has her finger near that nasty red button.

“Again!” she laughs, and holds down the button for even longer, this time. And my torture continues…

F is for Fisting: F is for fisting, which my Mistress likes to do a lot, stretching me out. At first she only used to fist my cunt. But now she likes to fist my arsehole as well, now that it has been stretched by her strap-ons. Mistress says that she wants to stretch my holes so much that she will be able to get both arms inside me, in my cunt and arse, as far as her elbows. Is that even possible? But Mistress seems determined to make me that loose. And I cannot deny her.

G is for Gags: G is for gags, on which I must bite. My Mistresses home has been soundproofed, in her bedroom and the other rooms where we play, so there is no real need for any gags, as my Mistress likes to make me scream. She likes to hear me scream, and to hear me beg for a mercy which will not be granted. My screams turn her on. She says that there is nothing as erotic as the sound of a woman in agony.

But she also likes to see a shiny red plastic gag between my lips, now and then, one which is almost too big for my mouth.

H is for Hoods: H is for hoods, that she puts on my head. I had never worn a hood until becoming a slave of Mistress. Now I am happy to wear one whenever it pleases Mistress that I should do so. When we play our games of lust and pain I will usually wear a shiny black latex hood, one which takes away my features while leaving my mouth free, so that I can use my tongue to adore the beautiful body of my perfect Mistress. And I can see the wonderful body of Mistress.

But she also has a thick, leather hood which I hate. If I am to wear that hood then Mistress usually stuffs that red, plastic ball gag in my mouth first. Then the leather hood goes over my head. It has no eyeholes, and no mouth hole so I cannot lick Mistress while I wear the leather hood. I can hardly hear what Mistress says, through the thick leather. I lose hearing and sight and speech. And it is very hot inside that hood. When Mistress takes it off me my hair is usually full of sweat. Mistress says that, eventually, she will arrange for laser removal of the hair on my head, so that I will be bald forever. I fear such a day. Yet such a humiliating loss of hair is also arousing. It means that I will be a slave forever. And, when that day comes, Mistress says that she may have me tattooed on my forehead, with either the word “Slave” or Pussylicker” or “Painslut.”

I think that the only reason why my head has not been denuded of its hair yet is because Mistress can’t yet decide what word to have tattooed on my forehead!

I is for Interrogations: I is for Interrogations, a favourite scene. Mistress has a couple of uniforms for such scenes. One is tan coloured, and is supposed to be some South American interrogator. She likes to wear that one when she has been reading some of the old torture tales, of people such as Cortes or Electrosadist. The other uniform is black, and is a pretty accurate Nazi SS officer’s uniform. Mistress is not a racist or anti-Semite. But she finds something sexy in the Nazis, simply because they were so nasty. It is the eroticism of evil.

Sometimes, when Mistress enacts an interrogation scene, I will get to wear clothes (although not for long). Mistress likes a little verisimilitude. It helps feed her sadistic fantasies. So, for example, if we are playing Nazi interrogator and French resistance agent, Mistress will have me dress the part, only to have the clothes torn from my body.

She has spent a lot of money, in the past, getting hold of antique clothing, of the sort worn by French women in the 1940s, including the underwear. It feels odd to wear clothing, when I am nude the rest of the time. But it is Mistress’s fantasy, so I am happy to go along with it.

It starts the same way. I get dressed in the clothing, and I walk into the living room, to see Mistress dressed in her Nazi finery. I must admit that she looks very sexy, dressed up as a Nazi, in black with a red swastika on an armband. In one hand she holds a genuine Luger (which has had its firing pin removed).

“So, I have finally caught the Resistance slut.” Mistress says, pointing the handgun at me. She does not attempt a German accent. The first time she did say “Ve haff vays of making you talk.” but the accent was so ridiculous that we both burst out in laughter, which pretty much killed that scenario. So neither of us attempt an accent now.

“This way.” Mistress the Nazi says, taking me to a small room, formerly used for storage, but now the interrogation chamber, different from the play room. The room will either look like a room from some 1970s South American torture facility, or a place in Nazi Germany, depending on the scenario. For this session it is a Nazi chamber.

There is a small wooden desk in the room, with a chair behind it, a large, comfortable thing. Facing it is a sturdy but less comfortable wooden chair, on which I will be bound. There is a lamp on the desk, angled so that the light will shine in my face. And, on the desk, are the items that Mistress intends to threaten me with in the torture, the most feared of which is that hand-cranked generator.

Mistress does not tell me to strip, but pulls the clothing off my body, or cutting it away with one of her knives, until I stand there, entirely nude, and feeling very defenceless. I am forced down into the chair. Rough sisal rope is used to ties me to the wooden chair. I am tied with my butt right on the edge of the chair, so that my legs can be spread wide, and my Nazi torturer will have accent to my cunt. I am tied so tightly that I cannot move anything but my head. I always end up with marks from the rope, where it has bound me. And then the interrogation begins.

An interrogation is an extraction of information and, in earlier interrogations, Mistress used such sessions to find out all of my secret fears (creepy crawlies and rats, among others) and my sexual history. But now the torture will continue until Mistress decides that I have suffered enough. She will ask questions to which I have no answer. We do not arrange things beforehand, because if I had a list of things not to reveal, and I revealed them, ending the need for interrogation, that would be tantamount to having a safeword, and Mistress likes her fun.

“Tell me who is your Resistance contact in Paris.” Mistress says, beginning this game of torture. If I give her a name it will not be the right one. We will keep going for a long time, until Mistress judges me to be broken. I play the game.

“I am not in the Resistance.” I say. Mistress reaches onto the desk, and picks up a riding crop. She swishes it through the air. Then she brings it down on one of my fat tits. Mistress does not hold back, as an SS officer would not have held back. Mistress believes in verisimilitude, and hits me with all of the strength in her arm. I scream in agony as the whip sinks into the flesh of my breast, leaving a reddening mark, and a tiny drop of blood where the skin has been cut.

“Tell me who is your Resistance contact in Paris.” Mistress repeats, in a level tone of voice.

“I am not in the Resistance.” I say, although my voice is faltering a little. I like pain. But that was agony.

Mistress strikes my other breast with the riding crop, again using all of the force in her arm. This is no play whipping. I scream again, knowing that there is nothing that I can do but suffer. And the thought that I am completely at the mercy of a sadist, who intends to show no mercy until she has had her fun, begins to turn me on. My pussy begins to juice, despite the pain from my breasts.

The whipping only ends for an increase in the torture. I struggle in the chair as Mistress lights a Bunsen burner on the desk. She has never used anything like this on me before. I make up all manner of names of my supposed contact. But my Nazi Mistress decides that this French Resistance fighter has not yet suffered enough. Mistress picks up a long hatpin, with some sort of plastic end so that she can hold it without burning her fingers. She holds the hatpin in the flame of the Bunsen burner. I watch as she holds it in the flame for a long time. Then, when the metal end is glowing red, she brings it over to my body. She is giggling as the red hot needle nears my ample breasts.

I had feared that Mistress was going to force the entire needle inside my breast, doing major damage. But we have not yet reached that particular sadistic excess. Instead she only pricks the surface of the skin with the end of the needle, rather than driving it in. It is still very painful, though. But it is something which she can do over and over again, a hundred pin pricks of my big, milky breasts. By the time that Mistress decides my breasts have suffered enough tears are flowing from my eyes, and the needle is no longer glowing.

She puts the hatpin down, and pick up a pair of cables. The cables end in big, metal clamps, with sharp, nasty teeth. These are the sort of clamps which you might attach to a car battery. But they get attached to me – one at the top of my labia, and one at the bottom, making sure that they do not touch. This is always the final act of the interrogation scene. But that does not make me fear it any the less. I can almost hear the crunch as the strong clamps bite into my soft skin. I know, from experience, that the marks on my labia will last hours after the session is over.

Mistress stands next to the hand-cranked generator. She flexes her fingers, making them crack. Then she begins turning the crank, slowly at first, sending volts into my poor pussy. The pain is still tolerable. But I fear what it will become.

“Tell me the name of your contact!” Mistress shouts.

“Pierre Lebrun!” I shout back, not wanting the inevitable increase in pain.

“Liar!” Mistress shouts, speeding up how fast she turns the crank. Then she pauses, but only to put a leather bit in my mouth, so that I cannot involuntarily bit my tongue. I bite down on the leather, tasting it.

“I think that I will only ask you when you are totally broken.” Mistress says, her eyes glistening with sadistic passion. I know that she will not stop until she is satisfied.

She turns the clamp, again, very slowly. She increases the speed, bit by bit, until I am screaming into the gag, fearful of the electricity going through me. But faster and faster Mistress turns the clamp. I glimpse her arm becoming a blur, as I feel more pain than ever before. I scream around the gag, and faint.

When I recover I am unbound, in her bed, being tended to by Mistress. The session is over – at least until the next time.

J is for Japan: J is for Japan, for my Mistress is a Nipponophile. She loves anything connected with Japan. She reads Japanese authors such as Haruki Murakami and Yukio Mishima. She likes Japanese food, which is very healthy. She drinks sake. She watches Japanese movies, including the occasional Japanese erotic movie featuring lesbians.

Mistress says that, one day, she wants to visit Japan. But she has not yet worked out how to get me to Japan without having to dress me, and have me travel normally in the vanilla world. I think that she would like to put me in a crate and post me to Japan. But if you tried that in the real world it would not go so well, so there is no Japan trip on the horizon.

I am glad that there is no prospect of going to Japan at the moment as Mistress has said that, if she ever gets tired of me, I will be smuggled illegally into Japan, to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

“Anybody might buy you.” Mistress muses, about such a scenario. We are in a play room, and Mistress is sitting in a chair with her legs spread. I am kneeling, naked (of course) between her spread legs, using my tongue on her clit and labia. My hands are handcuffed behind my back, in shiny steel. I think that Mistress likes this position, as she knows that I can hear everything that she says, and she likes to talk. Often, when she is highly aroused, she will tell me of all of the horrific plans which she has for me in the future, such as branding me, or putting skewers through my breasts. But on this day her subject is me in Japan.

“It might be some lesbian mistress.” Mistress continues, as I lap up the juice flowing from between her labia. “But some of those Japanese lesbians are really cruel, not like me. Oh, yes, that’s the spot. Their play begins where mine ends…”

Mistress breathes heavily, and I know that she is not far from another orgasm. I am also very turned on, my clit rock hard. But I, of course, cannot touch my clit, and I know that I will not be allowed to cum. So I must take pleasure in pleasing Mistress. I know that she is holding off cumming, not wanting to cum until she reaches the crescendo of what she is saying.

Then there is also shibari rope bondage, which Mistress knows, and which she finds artistic. She likes to practice on my body, putting the knots in unusual places. I must admit that it looks nice. But I still prefer the feel of leather.

K is for Knives: K is for knives, which my Mistress likes to play with. She likes sharp, shiny things. Her eyes glitter, reflecting in the polished steel of whatever knife she is playing with – she has more than one. She has a Swiss army penknife; a so-called zombie knife, a genuine US Army Rangers knife; a kukri; a medical scalpel; a Japanese tanto from the seventeenth century; a Bowie knife; a Turkish yataghan; and many others. They are all displayed on one wall of our play room.

My Mistress likes to take a knife, often the tanto, and trail the blade across my skin, making me hold my breath, as I fear to get cut.

“One of these days I am going to peel the skin off your big, slutty nipples.” Mistress says, as I feel the cool metal trail around my fat breasts. “I think that the skin will grow back, given enough time. Then I can skin your nipples all over again. Won’t that be fun? Oh, I would like to take my skinning knife and spend all day taking the skin off your entire body, starting with your breasts, and finishing with your face. But I don’t think that you would survive that. So maybe not yet. Maybe not until I have got bored of you and need a new slave…”

I would think that Mistress is joking, or just trying to scare me, if not for the fact that she has cut my clitoral hood away…

L is for Leather: L is for leather, which my Mistress loves to wear. She loves the look and feel of leather – as do I. She wears leather when she goes out into the world beyond her home – a world which I have not seen since I became her live in slave. She has a pair of tight black leather clothing, and the sort of leather jacket which some rock chick might wear. She likes the feel of leather next to her skin so, unless she knows that she might have to take the jacket off, she will war nothing under the jacket or leather trousers. The only other item of clothing will be knee-high leather boots.

When we play she likes to wear leather, of course. She likes vertiginous, thigh-high black stiletto boots, which I get to polish with my tongue. Around her waist is a tight corset. One her arms will be long leather gloves. And that will usually be it. She looks like a Goddess – a goddess of pain. She is sexy Loviatar. She is a torturing succubus.

She is divine.

M is for Mistress: M is for Mistress, who I love. Mistress is the most beautiful woman I know. She has short, black hair, so much better than my blonde mess. Her eyes are purest black, and so deep that you could get lost in them. Her lips are the most kissable I have ever seen. She has a little dimple in the centre of her chin.

Her breasts are perfect. Despite my Mistress being around forty – I do not know her exact age – they do not sag, and are still perky without the touch of a plastic surgeon. They are just right in size – not too big, not too small, unlike my own over-sized breasts. Her nipples are light brown and are easily aroused.

Mistress has hips to die for, proper womanly hips which means that she sashays as she walks. Her mound is always kept shaven, like mine – and, like me, my Mistress has had her clitoral hood removed. Mistress is very clitoral in her orgasms, and she has said that she likes to feel her erect clit rubbing against her leather trousers, with no prepuce getting in the way. Her vulva is tighter than mine, as is her anus.

I would not change a single thing about her physical form.

N is for Needles: N is for needles, which my Mistress likes to use on me. When I became a permanent slave of my beloved Mistress she pierced my nose, tongue, nipples, and labia. I have a ring hanging down from my nose, resting on my philtrum. My tongue has a stud in it. I have rings in my nipples and three down each side of my outer labia.

The nipple rings and labial rings sometimes get removed, as needle play is one of my Mistress’s favourite pursuits. At the moment she is content to force needles through the surface of my skin, rather than going deep. I feel sexy when I look down and see dozens of needles transfixing my breasts, and a handful through my shaven mound of Venus. But I know that, eventually, the needle play will not end there.

I have already described (in Interrogations) how she pricked my breasts with a red hot hatpin. My Mistress, after that session, told me that, eventually, not only will she force needles into the meat of my breasts, but that, one day. they will be reed hot. It makes her very aroused to talk of red-hot needles being forced down through the centre of my nipples, down into my breasts. But the red-hot needles will not be limited to my tits. She intends that my labia should not be denied the kiss of red hot metal.

Not just needles, but skewers too, all of the way through my tits, and then they will be electrified. Mistress tickles my clit while she tells me of such tortures to come, and I know that – even though she has not said anything – one of her thoughts is of running a red-hot needle lengthwise down through my clit into my body, perhaps destroying a lot of sensation. Of course I get no say in this, and if it happens, one day, I will not be able to do anything about it. The idea of a red-hot needle in my clit terrifies me. So why, whenever I consider that possibility, does my cunt juice up?

O is for Orgasms: O is for orgasms, which are rarely granted to me. My Mistress likes to edge me, taking me to the cusp of release, then denying me that final crescendo. Time and time again she will use vibes, her tongue and her fingers to take me to the edge, only not to allow my release. When I first came to see Mistress I was allowed any number of orgasms. But when I moved in to become her painslut it was made clear that my orgasms would be restricted. At first it was one for every three which I gave Mistress. Then Mistress decided that it would be no more than one a day for me. That continued for several weeks, until Mistress decided that she liked to see me begging for a release which would be denied. Slowly the length between my orgasms was increased. Now I am only allowed one orgasm per week. And that orgasm has become overwhelming, perhaps because it is so rare, and so anticipated, after days of edging me close.

When Mistress takes me over the edge I scream in pleasure. I have been told that my eyes roll up into my skull, and that I release a little pee. The sensation after edging is incredible. It is the little death, as the French say. Sometimes I feel almost as though I will faint.

Mistress has made clear that my orgasms will, eventually, become less frequent than one a week, although the edging will not stop. She has intimated that, soon, they will become once a month; and she has suggested that, eventually, they may only become two a year: one on my birthday, and one at Christmas. And my birthday is in February. I don’t know how I am going to be able to go ten months without an orgasm. But I will, if my Mistress commands it.

My Mistress has told me some of her fantasies, in relation to my arousal. She has said that it is her intent to have me aroused all of the time, but not let me cum. She is investigating drugs to see if there are any which will accomplish that, without having any nasty little side-effects. And she has said that she is considering taking me to a hypnotist, and having a post-hypnotic suggestion given to me, so that it will be impossible for me to cum, without her giving the command. It might seem odd, but I am looking forward to the hypnotism, albeit with a little fear, as Mistress has said that, on the first day after I see the hypnotist, she intends to try out the command, by saying it over and over gain, for an entire day. To have a whole day of orgasms is a scary thing. But if it means that I am a better save then I will be happy.

P is for Piss: P is for piss, which my Mistress likes me to drink.I was hesitant at first, but I have come to love my Mistress’s pee. When she is home she never pees in the toilet any more. I get to drink it all. The only really strong-tasting piss is her first pee of the morning.

A queening session (see below) will often end with Mistress pissing in my mouth. She will draw back a little, as she likes to see her golden stream of piss going in my more than willing mouth. She will piss in short burst, so that I can swallow it all, without it overflowing. Her eyes gleam as I drink her piss. I know that it turns her on. And it turns me on, as well, to be reduced to being nothing but a toilet.

But I am very glad that Mistress isn’t into scat!

Q is for Queening: Q is for Queening, my Mistress sat on my face. I love to serve my Mistress. My correct place in life is to be beneath her, my tongue buried between her sopping wet labia. I could lie there forever, stretched out uncomfortably on the wooden floor of one of her playrooms. My Mistress ties me down spread-eagled to four metal rings set into the floor. She ties me as tightly as I can, pulling on my arms and legs, almost as though she wants to pull them off. It is perhaps lucky that she is in not possession of a rack.

When she can tighten the bands stretching me to the metal rings no more it is time for her pleasure. The only thing I can move is my head. Mistress sits on my face, positioning herself so that, initially, her anus is over my mouth. Each queening session begins with my adoration of her sweet, tight anus. I lick around her arsehole, and force as much of my tongue inside her, for as long as she desires. She is in control, and she is always clean.

For anything from a few minutes to half an hour I will worship her anus with my tongue. By then my arms and legs have begun to really ache. Only then will Mistress change position, so that her shaven cunt is over my mouth. By then her cunt will be dripping. It does not take long to make her cum, even when she is trying to hold back to savour the pleasure. My tongue, with practice, has become very talented.

Sometimes then the queening is over, with the onset of her orgasm, and she will release me from my bondage. But other times, usually when she is in a bad mood, she will leave me tied to the floor, sometimes for hours. Or she will demand orgasm after orgasm, until my tongue aches. Or, sometimes, she will thank me by kicking me hard between my spread legs.

Either way, she is my queen, and I love her. I would die under her cunt.

R is for Restraint: R is for restraint, much more than merely tying me up. My Mistress likes the restraints to have some level of discomfort, putting me in what is called stress positions. That can be anything, from tying me standing on one leg, to some back-breaking hogtie. But when I am bound in such a position I know that I will be in that position until my muscles are in agony.

One favourite position of Mistress is to put me in a hanging hogtie. Mistress ties me in a standard hogtie, with my face covered by a latex hood. Then she suspends me in the air. Ropes are tied around my arms and legs, in the hogtie, and I am suspended up into the air, at what is waist height for my Mistress. Mistress then clips weighted clamps to my nipples and my large, extended clit. The weights are allowed to dangle down below my body, causing me pain every time that they move. Mistress then gets one of her strap-ons, straps it around my waist, and then fucks me, first in my wet cunt, and then in my arsehole. Every thrust makes the weights swing below my body, causing me untold pain. Even after my Mistress finishes fucking my holes I am left there, in that suspended hog tie, although my Mistress will remove the clamps after half an hour or so.

One position that my Mistress has favoured of late is one that I think of as the strappado, although there is no dropping me from any height. My hands are bound behind my back, and then raised towards the ceiling so that I am on tiptoe. It does not take long for my shoulders to be in agony. But I am rarely left to suffer merely in that position. My Mistress says the position makes my breasts perfect for whipping, which she proceeds to do, using a riding crop to cause my breasts to swing back and forth. When she has reddened them enough toothed clamps will be attached to my nipples, and heavy weights attached, leaving my nipples in constant, agonising tension.

Mistress says that this “strappado” is only the beginning and that, eventually, the intends to completely life me off the ground by my arms tied behind the back, and then have my legs spread in a split for a severe cunr-whipping. That is something to look forward to.

S is for Safe Word: S is for safe word, which I do not possess. My Mistress made clear, at the start of our relationship, that if I ever wanted to become her permanent slave that a safe word was a no-no. She would decide what my limits were. I would have to surrender all control. And she made it clear that, as time passed, things would become more intense, as she inflicted greater and greater torments upon my helpless body. And, in the end, I acceded to her wishes to be free of restrictions, as I moved in to be her permanent kinky maso slut.

T is for Torture: T is for torture, so wonderfully intense. I am a kinky maso slut, and I like to be tortured – although I am not sure that “like” is the correct word. I have a physical and emotional need to suffer. I do not get any pleasure from the pain, while it is ongoing. But, ah, the endorphin rush afterwards, that is what I need. That feels incredible. And the more intense the pain, the more endorphins seem to be released.

I have listed some of Mistress’s favourite torments of my body: bondage, needles, electricity and whips (see Whips, below). But there are others which Mistress intends to subject me to, in the future. She talks of burning me. We already use wax, and Mistress like to drip wax on my large breasts and then whip it off with her riding crop. She has even used molten wax on the inside of my spread cunt. But she intends to go further than that. I have been pricked by hot needles in an interrogation scene. But Mistress wants that to become regular play, and to force red hot needles into my breasts – not just through the surface skin, but down into the flesh of my breasts (as I have mentioned under Needles).

“Just imagine it.” Mistress says. “Red hot needles slowly forcing their way into your big, fat slut breasts, cooking the flesh inside, slowly destroying your tits. Imagine the needles slowly working their way from the outside of your breasts inwards, until I put a ring of needles through your areolae. And then two last needles, down through your nipples into your tits. A pair of red hot needles destroying your milk ducts, destroying the inside of your nips…

“I used to smoke, when I was younger. I am almost tempted to begin smoking again, so that I could singe your cunt with glowing cigarettes. I would start on the outside, singeing your outer cunt lips, leaving nasty black marks all over them. But then I would use your cunt rings to tie your labia open as wide as possible, tying your rings to your thighs. Your cunt would be open wider than ever before…”

As Mistress is saying this my head is between her thighs, my tongue bringing her close to orgasm. The closer she gets, the more sadistic she gets in her thoughts and fantasies.

“I would burn you on the inside of your slave cunt, totally ruining it.” Mistress continues. “I would use a rag to wipe away the cunt juice, so that you would have no defence against the burns, all over your vaginal walls, even on your cervix. And then… and then I would slowly lower the cigarette to your clit, and smoke it as the glowing tip is touching the end of your clit. Aaaargh!”

And with a scream of pleasure my Mistress orgasms, as she reaches the end of that nasty fantasy.

U is for Under the Bed: U is for under the bed, where I sleep. At first, when I moved in, my Mistress would have me sleep in various places, such as tied up in a cupboard, or in bondage on the living room floor, or under the bed (and coming out covered with dust bunnies). But in the end Mistress decided that she liked the idea of me being tied up, under the bed, as she slept at night. I think that she got it out of some story. So she bought a new, higher bed, and had a drawer constructed on castors. I go in bondage, in that drawer, and am slid under the bed at night. Mistress says that I am a sex toy, and that sex toys go under the bed when not in use.

I am not in a great deal of comfort. When I go in the drawer I am plugged up in my urethra and anus, so that no accidents can occur. Recently Mistress has begun using a metal anal robe and a metal urethral catheter, and I suspect that it is only a matter of time before they are hooked up to some TENS unit, giving me shocks all through the night, while Mistress sleeps soundly above me. It is something to look forward to, so to speak.

There will be no screams when that happens, as I am ball-gagged when I sleep. Only when I have some cold, blocking up my nose, does the ball gag not go in. Then, over my head, goes a restrictive leather hood, one with only a pair of holes for my nostrils. There are no eyeholes. Not that such things would matter, anyway, with me basically being in a box under the bed.

V is for Vibrators: V is for vibrators, of which she has many. Mistress likes to use them on herself, as she watches me suffer. The more pain that I suffer, the more that she gets turned on – and the more turned on that she gets, the more sadistic, making me suffer. Mistress likes to use the vibes on me, pressing the head on the skin near to my clit, edging me with those wonderful vibrations.

Mistress does not just have vibes, of course, but also a wide range of strap-ons and dildoes, many of which have never been used on me – yet. I hope that some of them never get used, as some are designed for pain, not pleasure. She has a dildo covered with sandpaper; one covered with sharp spikes, and even one which, when you turn a knob, will have sharp needles come out of the sides.

The longest dildo is an absurd sixteen inches long. She has one shaped like a horse cock, and a bright red one shape like a dog cock. Mistress likes to watch me as I suck on her dog cock dildo. No doubt she is imagining me sucking on a real dog’s cock.

I suspect that, one day, Mistress will return home leading a Great Dane…

W is for Whips: W is for whips, that so cruelly kiss my skin. Mistress does not only have basic paddles, that crack down on my red backside, but a whole panoply of impact instruments – some which get used, and others which have not been used on me, yet. But the prospect of using a crueller whip on me is always hanging over my head, and some of them are mediaeval in nature.

At the moment Mistress is happy to play with leather or wooden paddles, or a cane, or a riding crop. Of those whips the riding crop seems to be her favourite, possibly because she has the most control with it. And it makes a nice sound with it when she swings it through the air. By using different amounts of force she can use it almost anywhere on my body, apart from my face. Her favourite area of impact for the crop is my breasts, on which she likes to leave red lines.

WHISH!

“Aargh!” I scream in pain as the leather of the riding crop slashes down to draw a line of agony on my right breast. I am bent backwards over a gym horse – not a Spanish one – tied so that my breasts are the highest part of my body. I am utterly defenceless, the way that a maso slut should be.

It is no gentle touch of the leather. Mistress uses a lot of force, knowing that I can take it. And my screams of pain are music to her ears. And, as she steps up the tempo, turning my breasts into spheres of agony, that is the way that it should be.

X is for X-rated: X is for X-rated, which all of our activities are. But it is also for what Mistress likes to read and watch. When not playing with me she likes to read stories on the internet, to get ideas of how to torment me in cruel and interesting ways. She especially likes some of the more severe stories to be found on the FetLibrary. Of the story sites which still publish new stories, it is without doubt her favourite. Heterosexual scenes do not interest her, only tales featuring women torturing, or pleasuring, other women.

Some of her favourite authors include PaganWriter, denkira7 and Crowley. She will read the story aloud while sitting at her computer, her legs spread wide, my tongue on her clit, as I try to bring her to orgasm before she finishes the story. If my tongue is not good enough I will be punished.

“…the three nuns take all of their clothes off. They fold up their clothes, to stand nude. I can’t help being turned on, looking at their naked bodies. My nipples and clit harden. I am told that I will be punished for my lesbian perversions. But I can tell that they are turned on as well, by the thoughts of what they are going to do to me.

“They pick up a length of rubber tubing each. Then they proceed to beat my body. One of them beats the soles of my feet. The other two beat my stretched out arms. They carry on for a long time, until my feet are in agony, and my arms are reddened and bruised. Then they change places. One of them beats my stomach, while the other two work a leg each. Again they continue until I am red and bruised. I expect them to beat my pussy and breast. But the three of them put the length of rubber tubing aide. Instead each of them picks up specimen tweezers. These are larger than normal tweezers, and have a sharp, pronounced end for grabbing.” Mistress reads, as I work away on her divine cunt. All the time my thoughts turn to Mistress working me over with a length of rubber tubing. The thoughts are in her head, now, and it must only be a matter of time. I wonder how long the bruises will take to go down.

The nuns move on to torture their victim with tweezers. But I am concentrating on pleasing Mistress, not on the story.

“…Bunsen burner, on the table near me…” Those words get my attention, and I cannot help listening to the tale of torture, wondering if something similar will be enacted on me.

“I watch its blue flame” Mistress continues..” Then each of them picks up a test tube. I watch as Brigit goes first, heating the rounded end of the test tube until it glows red. I don’t say anything. I know that begging will do nothing. After how I have treated them I deserve this, and there will be no mercy.

“I watch, with eyes wide, as Brigit brings the glowing end of the tube to my left areolae. I feel the heat before it touches me. I try to pull away, but it is impossible. I scream my heart out as the tube burns my flesh, leaving a nasty mark.

“Carol burns my right areolae, and I scream again. I am in agony. I bang my head up and down on the table. This is what I will suffer in Hell.

Then I see that Beatrice is between my spread legs with a glowing test tube, and I am very scared, as I do not want my pussy to be mutilated by the glowing test tube.

“If you liked the pain so far you will love this.” she says, and laughs. She presses the glowing tube to my labia, burning it severely as I scream.” Mistress is very aroused, now, and I know that she is close to cumming. I would like to say that it is only because of my cunnilingual talent. But I know that it is because she is imagining doing those terrible things to me.

“They carry on burning me, one at a time, giving me time to savour the agony.” Mistress continues with the story. “I can smell my burnt areolae. I can see black marks all around the areolae of each breast, circling my nipples. I can’t see my labia, but I know that both outer and inner labia have been burned.

“Then Brigit holds her test tube in the flame of the Bunsen burner for an inordinate amount of time, until the end glows orange. My breathing is very fast, as she brings the glowing orange end up to my nipple.” And Mistress’s breathing is equally fast, my tongue buried in her sopping cunt as far as it will go, my nose rubbing at her clit.

“She presses it onto my nipple, holding it there for what seems like forever, as I scream and scream and scream. She does not remove it until my nipple is blackened and useless. Then Carol repeats the process with my other nipple, cooking it, leaving it a destroyed, blackened stub.

“Despite, or perhaps because of the pain, I am aroused. A single tongue flick on my clitoris and I would orgasm. But that is not to come, for Beatrice is heating up the test tube. Then, when it is hot enough to destroy flesh, she pulls back my clitoral hood, pressing the test tube down onto my clit until it is burned off and I can never orgasm again.”

And that is when my Mistress cums all over my tongue, and I am left wondering how long it will be before she acts out that story on me…

Y is for Yes: Y is for “Yes!”, the only choice I have now. I do not say no. “No” no longer belongs in my vocabulary. If Mistress asks me if I would like my breasts cropped then the answer is always yes, even if the marks from the last cropping have not yet completely faded away.

My consent is implied, and has been ever since I moved in to become a permanent slave. It was a total transfer of power from me to Mistress. If she decided to brand me then I would have no say in the matter, and she would brand me.

And that is the way that I like it!

Z is for Zippers: Z is for zippers, in my Mistress’s leather jacket and her leather trousers. She likes the look and feel of leather, and I like the look of it on her. The sound of the zipper of her jacket being undone has become an erotic sound for me, as it presages another session of erotic torment. I like to see her zipper slowly pulled down by her red-nailed fingers, revealing that she is not wearing anything under the leather jacket. And each time that I see that zip slide down, and the leather jacket part to reveal the milky slopes of her perfect breasts, my heart skips a beat, as arousal begins in my other heart – my groin.

I see her erect nipples, that have brushed against the inside of her jacket, and I want for nothing more than to worship them. I melt inside, and would suffer any pain, any dignity, in order to bring pleasure to my Mistress.

And this concludes this kinky maso slut’s A to Z.