Here is an except from “Rick’s First Session” (published on Amazon) where he gets to meet Mistress Tish in all her leather finery in the dungeon.
Rick has a fine collection of gear and has had many sessions, but his previous mistress has moved overseas. So now after much research he is having his first session with Mistress Tish.
This is an ideal story for those with a leather fetish, a wide belt fetish and are into hand strapping and tawsing and corporal punishment in a dungeon setting. The full story of course goes a lot further.
Perhaps strangely, much of this is taken from real life. The names, the locations and the height of Mistress Tish have been changed to protect the kinky.
Mistress Tish - The physicist dominatrix
Being a gangling tall nerdy geeky girl in high school then winning a scholarship to university to study mathematics and physics was an easy transition for her.
The only problem was that while her tuition was paid for, her living expenses were not. Suddenly she found how expensive eating was which was when poverty and an empty tummy found her working as a receptionist at the Satisfaction-X adult venue.
Reception work in an adult venue work was easy and mildly amusing but she was drawn to the BDSM side. After trying a sub session she decided to try being an Apprentice Mistress and from there, Mistress Tish was born.
Over the years she became a top flight dominatrix with a large stable of regular and adoring clients.
Mistress Tish used her scientific background to craft superior BDSM sessions. She found herself drawn to the leather dominatrix look and really quite enjoyed bondage and corporal punishment sessions.
Then as time passed her earnings made life easy, paid for an apartment and an enviable lifestyle as she worked for her PhD’s.
Rick
For years Rick has been having regular BDSM sessions. It is part of his life and not something he can dismiss or evade, it is who he is.
The last mistress he’s had sessions with decided to go back to Europe leaving him high and dry, and this was not the first time it had happened.
Choosing a new mistress was his least favorite thing as he had to read profiles then hope like hell he could find someone who had all the attributes he wanted.
Rick enjoyed the whole leather dominatrix with bondage and corporal punishment thing and liked his sessions to go a particular way.
Rick was strongly drawn to hand strapping and tawsing. He had an extensive gear collection with many of each.
After reading many profiles then booking a session, he found himself waiting in a small room for Mistress Tish to arrive.
Mistress Tish in her leather outfit was all he could have asked for. They had a great pre-session discussion about what he wanted in the session then Mistress Tish took him to the dungeon where he pulled out his gear and arranged it on a folded towel.
Mistress Tish took his two widest and favourite leather belts out with her as she left him to get ready.
So Now The Session Begins
For Rick, getting ready for a session was the ultimate in anticipation. After Mistress Tish led him into the dungeon, and he got to look at her from behind which was a pleasure all in it own, the dungeon was very similar to many he had been in. It had a shower in one corner, a suspension winch, a wall of gear and a bench with wide black leather straps hanging down looking ideal for some bondage.
After Mistress left and now being in the dungeon with all his gear laid out for use was delicious. He only had a few minutes to get ready before the Mistress returned, so he had to prepare quickly. It was the ultimate thrill of anticipation.
He stripped off, put his clothes in the lock box then had a quick shower. Sure, he’d showered in the morning but now at the end of the day it was a nice feeling to put his face into the water stream, to close his eyes and push his face into it, to soap up and wash his cares away. Not only that, it was all part of the ritual, the accepted start of the session, and knowing Mistress would soon return made it exciting.
After drying off, he sat on the floor beside all his laid out gear. He quickly put on the collar, then the cuffs, strapping each on firmly. Shaking his wrists he smiled slightly as he felt the leather circling them move and chafe slightly, then he rolled his head and shoulders a little and felt the collar also. It was all part of the experience, feeling the leather, being in the dungeon, knowing that the session was about to begin.
With every movement of the collar and cuffs he felt relief seeping into him. All his cares and stresses were departing. He was enjoying this so much and nothing else in the world existed.
Taking up a belt he wrapped it round one ankle, then round the other, then round both and buckled it firmly. He loved the feeling of the leather circling the limb then round both, holding them firmly. Bondage had been a love of his since his teenage years and now in the dungeon it just felt so right.
He did the same with a longer belt just under his knees, at the top of the calf, then again with his longest belt just above his knees. Taking up a coarse leather stirrup strap he looped it through the front of the ankle belt then ran it up the front of his legs, over his knees, and took it through and around the belt circling above his knees. Returning it he buckled it reasonably, not too tight. If he did that he wouldn’t be able to bend his legs to kneel. This was something he’d discovered years ago with self bondage; when he bent his legs the belt tried to wrap round the outside of his knees putting tension on the ankle and knee belts. It was simple movement restrictive bondage but it did work well.
With that done he got onto his knees and felt the belt preventing his bottom from coming down fully. He put his head down, put the back of his opened hands on his knees and knelt waiting for Mistress.
He was in the submissive slave pose.
It was a totally dreamy time, and time slowed as he regressed. He became someone new on the floor of the dungeon waiting for the mistress to enter.
Kneeling on the floor, smelling the leather, feeling the belts binding his legs tight and being in the dungeon waiting for the mistress created so many emotions.
There was nowhere else in the world he would rather be.
Yet at the same time he knew he was going to be punished so very hard and that he needed it for the escape, for the relief. It would be difficult to accept, extremely painful, yet it was right now enormously attractive.
One thing he did which heightened the whole experience was to abstain from masturbation and any other sexual activity for a week before a session. That included reading any BDSM material or even looking on the web at forums or reading BDSM stories. Experience had shown a week was his limit, he just couldn’t go any longer and with a week he got the most out of a session.
Sometimes he wondered if he’d had a wife or girlfriend what he’d do about having sessions, but since he didn’t, that particular issue wasn’t a concern. He did know that with the way he was now living, he couldn’t go without a regular session. The whole bondage and corporal thing and the way he felt about it made it impossible to deny himself.
These and more conflicting feelings were swirling round inside him and his excitement grew as he knelt on the floor with the belts strapping him into bondage.
Time was different now, neither slow nor fast. There was no real frame of reference for him in the dungeon other than any sounds coming in from outside. He was naked, kneeling, with his legs in bondage and the collar and cuffs reminding him of why he was there.
So it came as no surprise when he heard the clacking of the stilettos again, the definite stride of a dominatrix as she headed into a dungeon. His heart started to race a little more. Was it Mistress Tish coming into this dungeon?
Then the sound approached. His heart beat faster.
Then with a rattle, then a little more rattle, a small delay, then the door opened.
Now his heart raced but he kept his head down. It wasn’t the accepted thing for the slave to look up at the dominatrix when she entered as it would break the submissive pose. It was up to mistress to modulate his movements and grant permission to look at her.
With his head down all he could see was her stilettos and the bottom part of her leather trousers as she walked up and stood in front of him, her presence and the light perfume she wore filling his senses completely.
Time For Your Strapping
“Slave,” Mistress Tish whispered, then a little louder and firmer, “those hands need to feel the leather. It’s time for your strapping.”
And with that she extended a wonderfully feminine hand into his vision. Taking her time she extended a finger under his chin then lifted his head till he was looking at the three belts circling her waist, taking up most of it.
For a belt fetishist, which he was, this was a wonderful sight. For a leather fetishist which he was, it was even better as the belts circled the leather corset and above that the leather bra that struggled to keep her breasts contained. It was all he could do to not gasp and admit his admiration.
The belts looked magnificent, triggering his belt fetish to the max. Mistress Tish had her own black solid looking belt, an inch and a half wide and thick one sitting on her hips. That looked like it would give a quite acceptable belting or hand strapping and hopefully both. Above that was his brown belt, thick and two inches wide and when sued hard, had plenty of thud. Above that was his black two inch wide belt, thinner than the brown and when used hard had more sting but less thud. This collection of belts had all the bases of his belt fetish covered.
“Watch,” she said quietly as he looking fixedly at her waist. She slowly took off the two inch wide supple black belt and held it between her hands. She ran it once through her hands, his eyes riveted on it, then she draped it over her left shoulder with the buckle end hanging down over the leather bra and onto the corset below.
He’d said belts and straps were his thing and it was pretty obvious from his extensive gear collection. In the pre-session discussion he’d asked the mistress to wear his belts and now here she was with his two widest around her waist and she looked fabulous. That was until she took off the the black one and let it hang down from a shoulder and that looked totally special.
She whispered, sounding strict and stern, “Present me with the school strap slave.”
He quickly turned, collected then held the school strap flat between his outstretched palms and raised it up to Mistress.
He looked at the Mistress, looked at the belts, the corset, the leather bra and felt his penis starting to stir. It was impossible not to.
Mistress reached forward, took the strap then ran it through her hands feeling the leather. “Present your left hand for the strap slave,” she said quietly as she fondled the leather, running it through her hands slowly.
He held up his left hand, level with his face, flat with his thumb in, and pointing his fingers toward the Mistress. His right he put back on his knee.
He watched as Mistress flicked the strap out onto his palm to lay there along it and down onto his fingers for a few seconds. Then it was withdrawn, put over her shoulder then after just a second of delay whilst she studied her target, the strap flashed down. It cracked loudly, pushing the palm down a little but he brought it up again quickly. The school strap was not particularly painful so he didn’t have much trouble accepting it.
Mistress then gave him another, quickly flicking the strap over her shoulder then bringing it down again. Again the sting, again he raised the palm and Mistress raised the strap and lashed the waiting palm again. After those three she stopped, looked at the palm and fingers then ran the strap through her hands.
“Three more I think, you need more strapping,” she said then she did exactly that. She lashed each stroke home along the length of his palm and down his fingers bringing it up into a light pink band of stinging pain.
“Other hand,” she said, so he dropped the left, shook it slightly and rubbed it with his right hand, then presented his right hand high and flat for the strap.
Quickly that too was awarded its six strokes. The first three lashing down, cracking loudly on the palm and fingers. Each stroke firm and crisp. Exactly the same, she raised her arm, then in lowering it she flicked her wrist down making the strap move faster through the air to crack onto the extended palm. After three she stopped, ran the strap through her hands, then “Another three of the strap of course,” she said quietly, then these she applied without delay.
After his six to each hand with the school strap she presented it to him, “Put it back,” she said quietly as she laid it on his reddened palm. He did that then turned back quickly. This mistress triggered his wide belt and leather fetish so strongly he didn’t want to miss a moment.
As he watched in rapt fascination she slowly took the black belt off her shoulder then wrapped it round her fist till only the last foot or so at the end remained. She tugged on it, ran her hand along the leather as she fondled it. Then she pulled on it tightening it, lengthening it a little, then “Left hand out for the strap, slave,” she said quietly saying each word precisely. “The end of this nice belt will work well. A nice strapping from the belt.”
In the pre session discussion he’d said he liked to hear the mistress say he was going to be strapped, to be tawsed, to be belted. He liked to hear the words ‘strap’ and all the other words. It all helped to drive the session home for him and Mistress Tish was only too happy to oblige.
He held out his left again, high and flat. He watched Mistress measure the end of the belt against his hand, pull it back, flick it over her shoulder then bring it down firmly. The belt being two inches wide struck more of his palm and fingers than the school strap and brought more heat flaming up in his hand. She repeated the stroke two more times and now his hand was shaking slightly, the tremor of a well strapped palm.
“Other hand,” she said quietly. He dropped the left, put out the right then it too was treated just the same from the end of the belt firmly applied. Three quick strokes over the palm and down the length of the fingers left it also shaking and stinging.
Slowly she wrapped the belt round her waist then she buckled it firmly. She took off the brown belt then put that over her shoulder, smoothing it down, running her hand over the leather then the buckle.
He watched as she went to his array of implements then selected the softer tawse, it was eighteen inches long and a single layer of leather split into two three quarter of an inch wide tails. The wider tails and the softer leather meant it was nowhere near as severe as the Lochgelly replica, but that was relative, it was a lot more severe than the school strap or black belt.
She walked in front of him, ran the tawse through her hands slowly, “Present for the tawse slave,” she said as she flicked it up in the air, caught it, and ran it through her hands as she stroked the leather.
He held his left hand up at eye height and supported it with his right, the correct way for a tawsing.
She wasted no time. The tawse was flicked out, lay on his palm for a second, withdrawn and flicked over her shoulder. A second later with a flick of the wrist it was slammed down in a sharp loud crack across the length of his palm and fingers. He screwed his face us and gasped, ‘Ahh’, as he shook his hand then swapped hands and presented his right for the tawse.
Mistress strapped him with the light tawse six times, three to each hand alternating hands. She took her time strapping him, making it count, making it precise. Each stroke was hard and laid down the middle of his palm and extended along his fingers. Each stroke was measured up by flicking the tawse on his increasingly stinging palm, then the tawse was withdrawn, pulled back then raised over her shoulder and held for a moment so he could look at it, poised, then brought down hard.
The tableau was everything he could ever ask for; the attractive BDSM Mistress with a tawse raised over her shoulder, the leather corset, bra, belts and the wide black choker collar. All this combined into his perfect ideal of a leather Mistress giving a strapping. He tried to capture the image in his mind like a camera so he could replay the image later.
After the six she put the tawse down by his equipment on the towel then returned to stand in front of him. Standing close, almost touching him, she pulled the brown belt off her left shoulder letting its length fall down across his back surprising him with the slap of the leather on his skin.
She stepped back, pulling the belt slowly over his shoulder then taking her time, wrapped her right hand with it, wrapping it round tightly then when just a foot or so was left, pulled on it, tightening it. “Left hand up for the strap slave,” she said quietly. “Those hands need a lot more strapping.”
He knelt looking at her feeling the utter thrill. She was brilliant. He raised his left hand and held it out.
Taking her time she put the belt over her shoulder, waited a moment, then brought it down hard over his palm and fingers. The brown belt was thicker than the black, really quite thick, and when it landed it stung. Over the top of the palm that had so recently felt the tawse it was remarkably painful. He gasped.
Taking her time she repeated the stroke, strapping the end of the belt down along the length of his palm. Then a third stroke followed immediately and his hand was shaking more and felt like it had been burnt in a fire.
“Other hand slave,” she said quietly as she ran the belt through her hand, standing in front of him, making it impossible to take his eyes off her. He extended his right hand.
Mistress repeated the strapping. The belt was brought over her shoulder, it paused, then it flashed down to crack along his palm and fingers. Taking her time but not wasting a moment, the belt was brought up, then poised over her shoulder then taking her time the next stroke was given. After the three firm strokes each, both his hands were red hot and shaking.
Mistress Tish unwound the belt then holding it by the buckle she ran her hand along its full length, watching him as she caressed the leather. Taking her time she wrapped her waist with it, smoothed it out, pressed it down, then buckled it firmly. “Nicely belted if I do say so myself,” she said quietly, and he enjoyed the pun.
The Lochgelly Tawse
Mistress Tish went to his array of gear then picked up the replica Lochgelly tawse, the three thick tails of intense pain he sometimes regretting buying. He looked at her as she walked in front of him carrying the tawse and felt deeply nervous. A hard strapping from that tawse was damn difficult to take and Mistress Tish was certainly giving him a hard strapping.
“Left hand,” she said quietly as she stood in front of him, the tawse held between both hands.
He lifted his left, and supported it with his right, not taking his eyes off her for a moment. She stepped back, she flicked the tawse out so it landed on his palm. Then, looking intently, she pulled it back, let it fall down so it swung back slightly then she flicked it up and over her shoulder. Standing tall in all her leather gear, the tawse raised, she was everything he could imagine a Strict Leather Mistress could possibly be.
The stroke when it came devastated him. He bent over his red hot deeply stinging palm and rubbed it with his other hand trying to ease the excruciating pain, both of his palms pushed into his tummy as he rubbed them together.
He was in a world of sting, his palm shrieking out in its pain. He hunched over rubbing the palm when he heard, “Hands,” from the Mistress, the traditional command to present a palm for the tawse.
He looked up to see her swinging the tawse beside her, swinging forward and back, looking impatient, swinging the tawse.
He straightened up then presented his right hand, supported by his hugely throbbing left. He watched as the tawse flicked out to land, be withdrawn then be raised and put over her shoulder hanging down her back just like the last stroke. He felt the near terror as he looked at the split strap, then almost too quick to see she brought it down on his palm reducing him to holding his hand against his tummy again as he bent over again and rubbed it with his left equally stinging hand.
“Hands,” was all she said. He knew where that came from, from schools in Scotland. When the tawse had been in everyday use, students considered themselves lucky to go a day without at least one dose of the belt as it was then known. The teacher would call the student out then give the single word command ‘hands’ after which the tawse would lick the unlucky recipients palms however many times was required. They must have been an uncommonly hardly lot to have put up with this kind of thing on their hands was all he thought.
With slightly shaking hands he raised his left then supported it with his right. “Keep it there, do not let it fall else it will be six of the best to each hand this time,” she said quietly. “A grown lad like you should take his hand strapping better. Keep those hands UP slave.”
She was strict. She was stern. She stood strong and tall in her leather gear in front of him with the dreaded tawse in her hands. Se was perfection personified in a dominatrix.
He summoned all his will power and made a vow to himself to keep the hand presented even after the stroke. It was feeling impossible but he’d been commanded by Mistress.
The tawse was flicked out, lay on the palm a moment, was withdrawn then he watched it as it was flicked up and over Mistresses shoulder. He commanded himself to be strong, to not drop his hand, to keep it presented.
Then the tawse cracked down and the blinding pain consumed him.
He gritted his teeth, he gasped out ‘aagghhh’ and he shook his body from side to side but he kept his hand up and presented, the dreadful red hot burning pain running down the middle of it from palm to finger tips.
“Change hands,” was the stern command. He swapped hands, raised the right hand, supported it with the left then seconds later it received its stroke. It was impossible to know which of his palms hurt more, which was burning more. Both felt red hot from that dreaded tawse. Both his hands felt like they couldn’t take any more but he knew there was more to come. She would give him six of the best at least, and these really were ‘the best.’
“Better,” she said quietly then more sharply she added quietly, “change.”
He swapped hands over presenting his left again for its stroke. He looked at the Mistress swinging the strap beside her, forward and back, forward and back then it was flicked up onto his palm and lay there for a moment.
Again he summoned all his will power and when the tawse descended and burned a path along his palm he barely managed to keep it presented, to keep it raised and submissive.
“Change,” she said and he heard through the haze of pain in his palms. It was hard to believe a simple leather strap split at the end could hurt so much, to sting so deeply into the palm so that nothing else existed in the world. Yet it did.
He swapped over his hands with his right on top, hot and shaking and throbbing in pain already. His left was worse, he could feel the heat in it on the back of his right hand.
“Let’s try something special,” Mistress said. She flicked the strap out so it landed on his palm then pulled it back. She let it swing down then raised it over her shoulder but this time she put her left hand behind herself and caught the end of the tails behind her. She tugged on them, he could see that, could see her pulling with her right hand as her left tugged down on the tails. Then when it came it was the worst yet, the worst ever. The action of putting the tawse under tension, of pulling it between her hands then pulling it harder when she delivered the stroke made it supremely painful.
He couldn’t help it. He gasped loudly, “Aagghh,” then he rubbed his hands frantically. This was one of those times when he regretting buying that tawse.
He finally collected himself enough to look at the Mistress. She had a slight smile as she looked at him, the tawse held in both hands.
“Both hands out, side by side now,” she said running the tawse through her hands again, letting it rise and then fall into her left palm. It was impossible to take his eyes off her even though concentrating on anything was difficult with his palms and fingers hurting so much. But he complied. He knelt there, both hands side by side and shaking quite markedly from the strapping with the dreaded tawse.
“Good,” she said as she leaned down and looked at his palms, “using that tawse for strapping those hands does work well,” as she ran a finger across his reddened palms and down the fingers. She walked around him then put the tawse beside his other equipment.
Standing tall when she was in front of him again, with a glance at him watching her, she took off the black belt again and draped it over her shoulder.
He saw her run her hand over it for a moment, smooth it down, run it over the leather then down over the buckle just under her breast.
For the full story, please search Amazon for Trikki Watson and Ricks First Session.