Ricks First Strapping From Mistress Tish

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.

Mistress Tish

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.

Tawse

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.

01 A Naked Slave Kneels Waiting

A Naked Slave Kneels Waiting

She knows a naked man kneels in the dungeon, waiting to call her ‘Mistress’. She smiles at the thought. What an ideal way to start the working day.

The sky high stilettos putting her height at nearly six and a half feet make a deliciously loud clacking sound echoing beautifully down the corridor as she walks to the main dungeon. Getting heels to make a sound like that is not by chance. Nothing is by chance here. She manages it all, she is Mistress. The Mistress.

Her long legs in form fitting leather trousers, the wide belt, the leather bra above the strappy corset then a spike collar complete the ensemble perfectly. Her razor sharp and severe makeup adds to the effect, making it a certainty for who and what she is.

There is absolutely no ambiguity. She is a dominatrix. She is ‘Mistress’ to all in the dungeon.

Mistress Tish

As she walks, her slight smile is subdued, barely hinting at her pleasure. This has become something she likes, the certainty of the dungeon. It promises, she delivers. There is honesty without ambiguity or false promises in the dungeon.

Mother Daughter Discipline for Slave Darryl

This client likes the strict leather mistress look with all the trimmings. He likes all the major fetishes happening, but it is the corporal that he comes for. Does he need or want corporal? Does it matter? He comes for heavy corporal punishment which the cane she carries swishing through the air suggests. That and his love of a good looking woman dressed in leather fetish which she dresses for. She enjoys the theater of it all.

Oh, and he comes for Angel. He certainly comes for Angel the full service submissive, and in every way too.

Taking her time, stepping forcefully, she knows the echoes of her footsteps will be ramping up his anticipation. He knows how she sounds in heels. He knows she is approaching. Why have a concrete corridor but for the echoes?

She puts her hand firmly on the door handle and keeps it there for a trio of seconds, making it rattle just once. Then she rattles it again, taking all the time in the world. She turns it slowly.

She owns time. How could Mistress not own time?

Anticipation for slave is everything as after all, a great session works the head space and anticipation is key to that. She controls everything the slave experiences, and her control of time is central.

On entering the dungeon she finds the naked and recently showered slave kneeling on the floor with the backs of his hands on his knees. Just as he should. He is subservient. His head is down. His hair is still a little damp from the shower he’s just taken. He knows his place in the dungeon.

This is how he’s been taught he must present himself for Mistress.

Sometimes she marvels at just how she’s come to be a dominatrix. It is a huge leap from her early life. She feels the smile at that thought then subdues it. She should not smile without good reason, other than for the obvious, the smile of Mistress disciplining her slave. A smile must be earned. For slave to earn that smile, there is a price to be paid.

She is now always The Mistress. At first it had only been when she was in the dungeon working that her personality flared up into this dimension, into this dominatrix persona. She went from geeky physics and mathematics student to dominatrix Mistress by crossing the threshold.

That was a revelation to her. Just being in the dungeon changed her personality, like flicking a switch.

Then it had been as soon as she put on her working clothes that she felt the change occur. The association between her fetish outfits and her role becoming so strong it was irresistible. Quickly fetish became normal and what was once ‘out there’ became her working clothes.

Now, after a few years in the dungeon and countless sessions, it’s morphed into a personality trait she mostly keeps under control. It has become a side of her that only occasionally peeks out unless she is at work.

She’s thought about it at times and she knows what it is.

She’s reasoned, you can only play act at being something for so long before you became it. If there was a little predilection toward it in the first place then so much the better, and so much more predictable and irresistible the change in personality. It has become one of her more surprising pleasures to become the dominatrix in public when it’s required.

A server forgetting her order? Well, the sharp look with the quiet almost whispered commands demanding respect and attention does the trick. They never ever forget again, and when she revisits some weeks or months later, they remember her. Especially the men.

She’s mastered the soul piercing stare giving infinite reproach, the whole visage screaming dominatrix coming to bear on the luckless incompetent. And they know. There is something in most people that understands what dominance is, what a dominatrix demands even when she’s not in the dungeon.

Telemarketers are now an undiluted pleasure. When they call SatisfactionX where she works they get put through to her, the reception staff knowing the pleasure they bring. She has so much fun with them. As soon as they ask her name, and she volunteers one if they don’t, she tells them Mistress Tish. She tells them what she is; “I am a dominatrix.” Then she tells them what she is wearing and what she does. Few can continue a call after that, their script and mental processes hopelessly derailed. For those who can, the mention of some corporal and then pegging play with her strap on and maybe getting Angel involved scares the remainder off.

She has it in her mind that one day she’ll win a client from one of these phone calls, but they are usually from another country. But it doesn’t stop her from trying. And smiling. A girl has to get he pleasure from wherever she can.

But being a dominatrix has rewards all its own. And also its pitfalls.

What Makes a Great Dominatrix?

She’s wondered at this at times. She knows she is intelligent, her PhD tells her that, and she enjoys her work here in the dungeon. Those are big pluses in any profession, not just in the dungeon.

She knows any fool can get dressed in fetish, put someone into bondage and give them a whipping. She’s seen that with apprentices coming and going, lasting only a week or two before they realize it’s not for them. It takes some modicum of talent and aptitude to keep clients coming back for more.

Focus and concentration are her greatest assets. She listens to her clients with her ears, certainly, but she uses all her senses to understand their need. She must know their desires, and sound gives only so much away. She must know their fears as well as their desired and most importantly, how they are to be catered for.

For a client afraid of being caned, does she need to avoid that or is the fear part of the deal? Does he need to be strapped down onto the caning bench, teased, then given mild strokes to make his emotions surge? Or is that a session breaker? Will Angel working her magic on that same client require the client to be caned hard to slow down the inevitable cathartic release? Then the most difficult question of all, does the client know what he or she wants? How can they know without some experience?

No, this is not a job for any fool off the street. It takes keen observation, empathy, and an understanding of human  nature.

She knows she isn’t psychic but she tries very hard to be exactly that. She watches a client’s reaction, noting the way they move, their cries, the way their eyes move and react, the way their body stiffens and which parts stiffen. She looks for every nuance and builds them into the session, adjusting to suit. If they are gagged it is a particular challenge but her study of them, her close connection to them is indispensable. When the whip strikes, how do they move? Those are telling moments she must not miss.

She knows every slave, every client, is different and they all have their quirks. My goodness, do they ever. Sometimes she smiles when she thinks of Robyn and her peculiar reaction in bondage when she’s disciplined. How one woman can scream such abuse at an employer without repeating herself is a mystery. Then again, Robyn is clearly suffering in her life and only the heavy corporal, bondage and the expert ministrations of Angel make her life bearable.

Later, days and weeks and months later, she knows her clients will relive all the special moments in the dungeon over and over, always thinking about Mistress. She is under no illusion, she knows how they will be using those memories.

Sometimes in the night when she is alone in bed, lonely, she thinks of Angel and Robyn, then her own special memories and thoughts intrude. She’s been strictly hetero to this time in her life but she could maybe change for either of them. That repeated thought when it comes in her loneliness lingers till she finds relief from her mechanical friends.

Angel has a raw unabashed sexuality that exudes from every pore of her body. She knows how to bring pleasure to any man or woman, but more importantly, she knows how to prolong it. She knows how to make it linger and last so the recipient is both drained and shaken from the experience, left limp and gasping. She could do with a little of that shaken and released feelings at times. And gasping. A little gasping would go a long way as it’s been a while since she had a good gasp.

Then Robyn. What a partner she’d make. Volatile, intelligent, witty and with all the looks and curves in the right places. Life would not be dull with Robyn. She thinks of herself on an outing with Robyn, both in fetish, and how they’d turn heads. Maybe she could put a collar on Robyn, and a gag, then take her to a fetish party on the end of a leash, her hands cuffed, then occasionally she’d reveal something of Robyn’s. She’d reach around and pop a breast out, then the other, then remove a skirt, till Robyn was on display. That thought always brings a smile. Or substitute Angel for Robyn and let the games begin.

So what makes a great dominatrix? In the end it is empathy, a connection to her clients. She can put herself in her client’s place, she can get into their head spaces and really push them into where they need to go.

After all, she has her own sessions and Mistress Magenta does exactly that to herself.

But she is working now. Focus!

Darryl Needs Attention

While she’s been thinking of herself and her own needs, save Darryl kneels submissively and correctly at her feet. Naked. Head down. The backs of his hands on knees. Just so.

Standing in front of him then using the cane she lifts his head up till he is looking at her.

She sees the deep appreciation as his eyes roam over her leather clad legs then up her body, slowly savoring the closeness to his fetish, his dream come true. She sees the adoration and the nervousness which are the norm for a slave; he had most likely been thinking of this moment for days. And now it is happening. Now it is his world. When his eyes find hers, she sees the instant of surprise turn and bloom into fear, just as they should, just as she causes.

She gives him the slightest of smiles, a slightly feral smile, just enough to increase his fear, then she drops the smile. The red contact lenses she wears seldom fail to produce that reaction in a client. They may expect it in subsequent sessions, however the expectation and the reality don’t mitigate against surprise then fear. It is something that gets into the slave, gets into their soul and pushes them deeper into the session. The unexpected is always powerful.

Putting the cane down on the bondage bench, after giving it’s leather top a crisp stroke that echoes round the room, she takes a wide leather collar from the wall of equipment. Holding it between her hands so he can see it, stroking the leather, then moving behind him, she straps it round his neck. Firmly. Not a word need be spoken, not a word is needed. The whole time his eyes in the mirror never leave her leather clad form for an instant as she arranges the collar, moves it, has her hands on it as she adjusts it so it sits just right.

She put a finger through the ring at the front. She jerked it from side to side for a moment. She made him aware of it, letting him feel her arm reaching round in front to jerk the collar, to know that Mistress controls him. Her scent will be strong in his nostrils, along with the leather, adding another dimension to his senses lighting off and enveloping him.

She returned to the wall then turned the handle on the suspension winch, lowering the bar till it is just above his kneeling head.

Taking up a pair of wide thick leather cuffs she strapped them firmly onto his wrists. Using clips, she attached the D rings on the cuffs onto the ends of the suspension bar.

Slave Darryl is now bound and at her mercy.

Taking her time, adjusting the cuffs the same as she’s done with the collar, she runs her hands over the cuffs and adjusts them till they are tight. It is all part of the process, the inspection, the adjustment, the movement and the touching. She can put on a collar or wrist cuff in a few seconds, any idiot can do that. It takes skill to string it out, to make it an art form in itself, to increase the tension, to increase the anticipation and without doubt to feed the fetish of the slave.

Wasting time in the dungeon is a an unprofessional sin, she feels. Her clients pay her handsomely for the privilege of being in her presence. She makes sure she uses the time productively, engaging their fetishes, their senses, making the experience complete. That’s the secret to building up the large stable of clients she has.

She works every moment in the dungeon into the session to make sure it fits together so the client takes each of those moments and makes them their own. She owns time, she gives time to the slave.

She cranks the winch to pull him upright till he’s standing tall, just short of having to stand on tip-toe with the floor to ceiling mirror in front of him. This is the moment when he becomes fully exposed and opened to her. For the new slave, this is the most challenging moment.

Now Darryl knows Mistress can do as she pleases. Now his head is working overtime. Kneeling he had been ‘coiled up’ hunched over on the floor and almost hiding in the dungeon. Strung up by the winch and exposed he is open and available for whatever she wants to do. Now his submission to the Strict Leather Mistress has become very real.

She moves in front of him with her hands on her hips showing disapproval, her face showing no hint of a smile or softness. She inspects his body from his toes up to his eyes taking her time and owning the moment.

Locking his eyes with hers, she puffs her lips up and shakes her head slightly, slowly, from side to side. she shows disdain, she shows disapproval, she shows slave he is due for punishment.

Silence like this is definitely a head-space thing. Slave will be worrying what Mistress is thinking, what she is going to do. Silence increases the tension significantly.

Walking with her head held high, she takes three bondage belts from the equipment on the wall. Moving in front of him she runs them through her hands, fondling the leather. She puts two over her shoulder. Standing in front of him, belts over a shoulder, and a belt in her hands, running it through her hands it is all theater.

After showing him her appreciation for the belt, she bends and wraps the third round his legs just above his knees then buckles it firmly. She tugs on the free end of the strap making sure it is tight, then runs the end through the keeper to keep it tidy, all the while pushing and pulling him slightly by it.

Standing, she takes a belt off her shoulder then runs it through her hands as she looks at him suggestively. Belt. Mistress. Thrashing. Bondage. Those are the only words going round in his mind.

Standing straight legged so he gets a perfect view of her leather covered rear, she bends then wraps the belt round his legs just below his knees and tugs on it firmly so he knows it’s there, knows she is strapping him up tight. He is in tight bondage.

She stands again. She takes the last belt off her shoulder then folds it over, taking her time as she knows he’s watching and mesmerized by the sight of her with the belt. Gripping it by the buckle and free end she wraps it round her hand shortening it to a manageable length. She runs it down over his forehead, down his nose, over his lips and neck then onto his chest. She pulls it back then raps him firmly on the chest with it, once, twice, a third time then she runs it down his chest and over his slowly inflating penis. She looks down at it, small but building, then she runs the belt along its length and finally taps the head with it. Gently. Just a tap to let him know what was coming.

Straight legged again, she bent right over knowing he can’t resist looking at her leather clad back and bum, the leather pants tight now and revealing every inch of her form through the tight leather. He knows she knows what he is doing, and he knows he will be punished for it. That is what Mistress does. She punishes.

She wrapped this last belt round his ankles and in the same way completed his belt bondage.

Taking her time she slowly stood in front of him, again with her hands on her hips, she looked at his feet then ran her gaze slowly, taking her time, moving her eyes over the full length of his body up to his face. She shook her head slowly, using the time, owning the time, owning him.

“You need to be thrashed soundly,” she said quietly, the first words she’d spoken to him. Then making her voice hiss with disapproval and intended malice. In a whisper she added, “You shall be thrashed soundly.”

Getting Darryl Ready For Punishment

Walking to the wall of equipment, her back hiding what she was selecting, his gaze is no doubt fixed on her rear. She lifts and touches a few items, lifts them so he will hear the implements moving. If he watches her closely and she is sure he will, then he will see something in her hand and his imagination will run riot.

Anticipation is everything. Repeated anticipation is better.

She selects the wood handled strap from the wall and holds it in both hands as she returns to stand in front of him again. Looking in his eyes she runs the strap through her hands, showing him, promising him with a look that said it was going to be used and used hard. She runs the strap down his front to tap on his penis again, then moves it up till it is in his face. She holds it against his lips just under his nose so he will be smelling the deep rich scent of leather. And feeling it too.

The scent of the punishing leather will be infusing him. This is not his first session of course, every session he has smelt the leather and known what was to happen so now he is absolutely sure what is coming. Smelling the leather so close, touching it, it all builds the anticipation. Her goal is to engage all his senses. Totally.

Looking into his eyes, she pulls the strap back, then returns it to touch his lips again. “When I return you will be in big trouble slave,” she whispers, making him strain to hear the words. She turns then puts the strap onto the bondage bench beside the cane where he couldn’t fail to see them both.

Taking her time, standing tall and trying to look as ‘regal’ as she can, she walks out of the dungeon then slams the door hard. His penis had been at half mast, which wasn’t bad for start of session and not really doing much other than the bondage and some tease.

She hides the smile as she leaves the dungeon.

The Naughty Angel

Walking across the corridor to the staff area, she entered the key code on the pad then opened the staff room door. She crossed the room to the woman sitting on the sofa.

She was a sweetie, one of her favorites. Dressed in a school uniform, hair in a pair of high pig tails she looked like she was just out of school and on her way to the mall. She was in fact older than herself and close to thirty years old. Clever makeup and lots of skin care made her look cheer leader fresh and fabulous. The customers loved her and for double sessions like this, she was perfect.

“Christ Angel, I feel like a total bitch some days but he gets off on it something wicked, he’s half primed already. He’s in suspension and quivering. Give him a few minutes then do your stuff. I’ll give you five minutes with him then come storming in.”

Angel grinned, “Tish, you’re smoking hot. Those red contacts scared the crap out of me the first time I saw them.”

She laughed, “The optometrist wondered why I wanted them and the black ones. I told him it was for a costume party. Told the truth I suppose. One thing, make sure he doesn’t pop off. He’s wound up like a spring in there and it won’t take much.”

Angel grinned, “Don’t worry. I’ll time it so he blasts his brains out right on time. Just give me the nod and the Angel Of Passion will do her magic.”

She went back to the kitchenette and got a long glass of water, took a lemon from the fridge and cut it in half then squeezed the juice into her water. As she drank, Angel got up, gave her a nod with a huge smile, then left for the dungeon.

Darryl was in for a pleasant but frustrating five minutes.

Taking her time, letting herself relax for a while she drank and thought about how on earth she could get a job using her PhD. That felt like light years away as she sat dressed in fetish.

After her drink, she walked on tip toes as quietly as she could out of the staff room, listening carefully. She crossed the corridor then stood outside the dungeon. She put her ear to the door to listen to Angel get Darryl’s mind and libido well and truly spinning into overdrive.

Darryl, I’m Angel. Mistress sent me in to make sure you’re a good boy and don’t get into any trouble.‘ There was silence then she heard a deep groan. Angel had most likely spent time circling Darryl, looking round the dungeon and touching things as if it was her first time in there and made Darryl wonder what was happening. From the reaction, she guessed Angel had put her hand exactly where Darryl most wanted it. ‘Good boys don’t let their thingies get all hard and expose themselves to nice girls like me. What is Mistress going to say.‘ She heard another groan. ‘What is Mistress going to do.’

Poor Darryl was well in her grip which brought a grin to her face. This was more fun than she imagined, and every single time too.

Thinking up scenarios, going over them with Angel and setting it all up was hugely pleasing. She’d worked up dozens of different scenarios, most just for herself, and some like this one with an assistant who may be a submissive or a working girl for an extra special happy ending.

Sometimes at night when she’d worked on these she thought she would make a good screen play writer. These were scripts and she and Angel the actors for this special private theater. She’d printed them out then put them into a slip jacket folder and put dividers between each. Then, when she used one on a client, she put a note in his file and looked for improvement or change for any next time the scenario was used. This was the third time she and Angel had done this one, ‘Mistress And Daughter’ it was called, but the first time for Darryl. Maybe next time he’d be sent to the woodshed. That one was always fun.

She was a highly organized mistress and also the most in demand now. She took it as a compliment that she’d come from nothing to having a regularly fully booked shift in just a few years. It was pleasing to be in demand and even to have to turn down some clients because she was fully booked or they were pigs. When she, in person on the phone told them ‘Your behavior was completely unacceptable last time. Call back in two months if you want another session and you will bring a written description of what you did wrong, and apology, and two boxes of chocolates. Lindt.‘ Amusingly she’d never lost a client by doing this and the other staff had enjoyed the chocolates. She never ate them.

Darryl.’ Angel made it sound do sexy with a husky voice making all his dreams come true. ‘Mistress left the strap and the cane there. I can see them Darryl. Is Mistress going to c-a-n-e you? Is she going to s-t-r-a-p you? Really hard Darryl. Is she going to punish you Darryl? If she catches me like this Mistress might c-a-n-e ME and she might s-t-r-a-p ME. She might bend me over that bondage bench. She might use some straps to hold me in place then swish, swish, swish and crack, crack, crack, the c-a-n-e and the s-t-r-a-p will come down on my soft little bottom. Would you like that Darryl? What would you do? Would you save me Darryl? Would you save my soft little bottom from the c-a-n-e and the s-t-r-a-p Darryl, would you? I’d be ever so grateful.’

Angel was perfect for this type of session. She was cheeky, young looking and she oozed raw sex appeal in her school uniform and her perfume would be going up his nose, into his brain then throbbing in his erection in no time flat. No doubt she’d be squeezing him in just the right place to make his eyes cross and befuddle his brain.

Yes miss, of course miss, I’d do anything for you miss.‘ Darryl was well and truly sent. Time for the real fun to begin.

She put her hand on the door handle, silently, not moving it a fraction. Then she turned it quickly while she brought the flat of her other hand down hard on the door making a huge bang as she stormed inside. For Darryl it would have scared the daylights out of him.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” she thundered, knowing full well as it was in the script for the session.

Angel was kneeling in front of Darryl, his fully erect cock in her right hand, his balls in her left and she was bending down close to taking him in her mouth. Darryl was looking totally sent, lost and deeply in lust too by the looks.

She’d timed it perfectly to interrupt Angel and her ministrations. Then again, she was probably five minutes early if Daryl had any say in the matter. Telling Angel to not let Darryl pop off had been good advice by the looks of what was happening.

Angel squealed, “Sorry Mistress, really sorry Mistress.” She was panting, doing a brilliant job of it but not letting go of Darryl for a moment. “Darryl’s been a very naughty boy getting me all excited.” She panted some more, “Please don’t punish me Mistress.”

It was hard not to smile, seeing as Angel still had her hands full of Darryl.

An Angel In Trouble

“RIGHT,” she thundered as she picked up the wood handled strap off the bondage bench and held it between her hands. She moved the leather between her hands for a few seconds, showing it off to Darryl. She slapped a hand with it to get their attention, then she cracked it down loudly on the bench putting some effort it into.

Darryl hadn’t taken his eyes off her or the strap for an instant. “Oh no, please Mistress,” he gasped. He’d had his buns warmed by that strap before, many times, and knew exactly how it felt.

For that matter, she’d had also felt it many times when her own special needs took her to Magenta for a sub session. But that was another story.

“BEND, YOU NAUGHT GIRL.” She pointed the strap at the bondage bench only a few feet in front of Darryl.

Angel released Darryl’s naughty bits then stood shakily, “I’m sorry Mistress, you’re not going to s-t-r-a-p me are you?” She worked the word strap making sure Darryl was focusing on it, making the harshness of the word sharp and painful sounding. For Darryl it made him even more excited.

She pointed at the bench and shook the strap, she looked fierce, she put her other hand on her hip with her elbow out and waited with the strap pointing at the bench.

Angel made a performance of looking sad, upset, then fearful. She squealed a little as she bent, her chest flat on the leather of the bench, her arms pushed forward and gripping the other side.

She moved behind Angel then extended her arm with the strap and tapped Angel’s bottom over her skirt and whatever underwear she had on. She brought her arm back and in slow motion tested how the strap would fly through the air then land making a show of it. She shook her head, “NO. Not Happy Angel. Skirt up, knickers down,” she snapped waving the strap at her, making it look all very theatrical.

Angel gasped, “Oh no Mistress please, please no, not the strap on my bare bottom. It hurts far too much more on the bare.”

She brooked no dissent. Winding up she gave Angel a huge stroke of the strap over the back of her bare thighs, right in the middle of her thighs, the strap sounding gunshot sharp and painful as it echoed down the corridor outside.

Angel squealed. She jumped in the air and rubbed her thighs, the red band showing vividly, dancing from foot to foot squealing, “Eeeaggghhh, Mistress, not on my thighs Mistress, it hurts too much Mistress,” as she jumped from foot to foot and shook her legs.

Angel had a ‘too hard word’ of bananas which she seldom used. Her mercy word. Thigh strapping and red welts was all par for the course for Angel.

She almost smiled, Angel could take a strapping like that all damn afternoon, the theater of her getting the strap and dancing around was for Darryl’s benefit and, with a sly glance, she saw his ardor barometer hadn’t drooped at all. The flesh compass needle was pointing up nicely, standing tall and proud and if anything, looking a little painful in its intensity. It wouldn’t take much to make him pop off but that wasn’t going to happen for another frustrating half hour at least.

If she and Angel had any say in it, Darryl was in real danger of getting a muscle strain where a splint would make getting dressed difficult, and rubbing liniment into it would make his eyes cross.

Angel pulled her knickers down then stepped out of them. Then she bent back over the bondage bench and flicked up the short skirt she was wearing so her as yet unblemished bottom was facing into the room, the only mark on Angel the angry red band across her mid-thighs.

“Now you need a strapping my girl,” she said as she measured up and tapped the bottom in front of her with the wood handled strap, flicking it up, letting it fall, then repeating it all for Darryl’s benefit.

She wound up then brought her arm forward at speed making the strap swish slightly as it moved through the air. It wasn’t the hardest stroke she could give by any means, about half power, but the sound of leather strap on bent feminine bare bottom was a delightfully loud crack. With that crack a faint red band was instantly painted across the center of Angels bottom. She knew it would be painful but Angel was a true masochist, loving the out of body feeling and the whole sub-space thing that strict corporal gave. Bent over the leather bondage bench, in the dungeon, her face against the leather, this was something Angel would otherwise probably be paying for if didn’t work here

Angel squealed and shook her hips, her bottom going from side to side, then it jerked up and down for a moment as she lifted and raised. All the while her pussy appeared between her legs, winking at Darryl, sometimes gaping, sometimes hidden as she shook her hips and legs. For Darryl it was like a view of heaven.

She delayed only a few moments till Angel stabilized. Then she struck again, the strap landing slightly lower. Waiting a dozen seconds between each stroke, she worked the strap down, overlapping strokes and taking her time. Angel danced and squirmed giving Darryl a wonderfully erotic show for his money as the loud cracks of the strap barked and the red band on her bottom grew wider and turned a deeper shade of red.

After only a half dozen strokes the strap cracked across the tops of her thighs and Angel screamed, “Oh Mistress, oh Mistress, not my thighs, I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again. Please go easy Mistress, you’ve s-t-r-a-p-p-e-d me so hard. I won’t be able to sit for days.”

Darryl picked up on that cue just as he should have, “Mistress Tish, it was all my fault. Please spare Angel, please give her strokes to me.”

She stopped for a moment, then she ran the strap through her hand enjoying the feel of the leather.

She snap-cracked another hard stroke across the same place on the top of Angel’s thighs making Angel jump and squeal even more.

She looked at the bottom in front of her, and she looked at the slave standing tall in bondage with his erection sticking straight out looking painful. “Slave, I think she needs more strap, much more of the strap, she can’t get off this lightly.”

Then she repeated the stroke making it three to the same place and the red band was bright red now. Angel reacted predictably, jumping and waving her butt in the air, showing off her charms time and again as she squealed and shook herself.

“Slave!. Naughty girl Angel must learn first hand that when she misbehaves she gets the s-t-r-a-p,” she said sharply emphasizing the implement of punishment at the same time as she ran it though her hands.

Then she aimed a little higher and cracked the strap down on the lower portion of Angels bottom. It too wobbled and Angel squealed again. “But slave Darryl, Mistress enjoys using her strap. She enjoys it so much.”

She gave Angel another stroke over the top of the previous one and Angel wailed. “Mistress needs naughty girls to know what the s-t-r-a-p feels like slave Darryl.”

Again she cracked the strap over the middle of Angels bottom lifting Angel onto her toes as she hissed loudly. “This s-t-r-a-p is so good at teaching naughty girls,” she said as she ran it through her hands.

Another stroke cracked over the top of Angels bottom bringing the same squeal and a little dance from her feet making her legs shake and move open and closed as the sting worked its way into Angel. “Slave Darryl, if Mistress stops s-t-r-a-p-p-i-n-g a naughty girls bottom, who will she strap then? Who should Mistress s-t-r-a-p on then slave Darryl?”

She lifted the strap and gave Angel another huge stroke over the top of her bottom cheeks where the previous one had landed. Angel leaped into the air and shook her hips. “Well slave Darryl? Who should Mistress s-t-r-a-p?” she asked as she ran the wood handled strap through her hands between strokes.

Darryl’s gaze was alternating between the strap in her hand, herself in her dominatrix gear and the bent over form of Angel. Angel was hard to resist with her hugely red striped rear on display and the charms between her legs occasionally visible in her gyrations. Darryl did like Angel, it was hard not to.

He whispered, “Me Mistress. Can I please save Angel from the strap, please Mistress?”

She walked in front of Darryl, his erection pointing straight at her. He did get a thrill from watching her, all her clients did, and seeing Angel punished like that was an added turn on.

Men could be so predictable sometimes.

She rubbed the strap on his chest, then tapped him with it. “Certainly slave but Angel does need more. Lots more. She’s not had anywhere near enough. You can have them.” She tapped his chest again then she walked behind him, she measured up by tapping his bottom with the strap and she looked in the mirror. Then she added, “With interest, of course.”

Darryl was watching her closely and his erection was if anything even more pronounced now that his punishment was at hand.

She wound up and gave Darryl a hard stroke across the middle of his bottom, much harder than she’d given Angel, the sound loud and sharp with the red band appearing instantly. Darryl gasped loudly, shouting an ‘aagghh’ as the heat and sting worked their way instantly into him.

She continued to strap Darryl. She kept slamming the strap across his bottom hard, waiting just a few seconds between each stroke. She adjusted her aim so that the strokes moved over his bottom spreading and darkening the red band till the whole of his bottom was red.

After a dozen he was shouting. She knew the feeling well, a strapping like this was always painful.

She started on the second dozen, putting effort into the strokes, making them count. This wasn’t a bad upper body workout, winding up, swiveling her hips then wrenching her arm around to give the leather plenty of speed took muscle in her arms, shoulders, back and abs. If she’d been a tennis player, that would have been an advantage. Strapping took more effort than a caning but she tended to like it more. There was something about the sound of a good strapping when it was done right. A perfect stroke made such a delicious crack she usually had to suppress a smile.

And that was the case now. the strap on Darryl’s butt was making the perfect sounds; crisp, sharp, loud and from the reaction, were getting through to him.

She knew he’d have been trying to stay quiet but this was too much for him and anyway, staying quiet was a signal to her she wasn’t going hard enough. This wasn’t a warm up as such, she’d gone straight into a hard strapping ‘cold’ so it would be nicely challenging for him. The wood handled strap wasn’t all that severe but without a warm up and with some force it did work well.

After two dozen, his butt was looking red so she moved her aim lower. She cracked the strap just under his bottom onto his thighs making him shout out. This and the feel of bondage was why she used the belts to strap his legs together. With them bound he couldn’t shake his legs or try to evade the leather. she got an ideal target.

With the first hard stroke to the thighs, he shouted out loud. She wasn’t surprised, she found a strapping to the thighs damn hard to take also. “Too loud,” she said so she put the strap down then strapped a ball gag into his mouth nice and tight. She stood in front of him, put a finger on the center of the rubber ball and pressed it gently. “Mistress doesn’t like distractions when she’s strapping a naughty slave.”

Let’s start again,” she said then she strapped his thighs again, but she made it harder, much harder. She always found a gag made taking punishment easier, so she assumed all her slaves did as well.

Darryl jumped, he squirmed, he tried to shout out again but the ball gag kept him quiet. “Good,” she said then she strapped him again and again till the back of his thighs were good and red, the red from the top of his butt all the way down to the back of his knees a nice even shade of pain.

She put the wood handled strap on the bondage bench by Angel then went to the wall of gear. She moved her hand across the implements, quite sure Darryl would be watching her as best he could. She chose something nice and severe.

Carrying it back to Darryl and put it up to his face, then she rubbed it down his front and touched his straining penis with it, just tapping it. One glance made her think that if she wasn’t careful it would pop off and make an awful mess.

She walked behind Darryl then gave him a hard crack of the strap whip high up across his shoulders, the solid belt leather lashes making an agreeable crack as they landed.

As whips and floggers and cats went, this was particularly painful. The lashes were made with belt leather so they were hard and painful if applied with any force which she was of course doing. Darryl’s reaction was predictable. He jumped and tried to evade the hard stinging but in his bondage that wasn’t going to happen.

She took her time giving Darryl six firm strokes, starting across his shoulders then working them down his back. Then she cracked the whip across his butt making him jump and shake. She gave him another then another stroke till he’d taken a half dozen and his butt was showing the red stripes quite plainly.

Taking her time, letting Darryl settle and recover for a moment, she gave him a hard stroke across his thighs. This made him jump and shake even more. Clearly the strap whip across the thighs was painful, so she did it again. Like his butt and his back and shoulders, she gave him a half dozen very hard strokes across his thighs, making the leather lashes sing though the air then crack across the backs of his legs.

Darryl's Reward

Darryl was looking wasted, almost at his limit so she decided to finish him off quickly with a half dozen medium strokes of the strap whip knowing they would push him hard.

Two lashes of the strap-whip cracked across Darryl’s shoulders making him gasp into his gag, it was just about impossible not to. She gave him two to his butt then two particularly hard ones to the backs of his thighs to finish him off. The quick lashes were given only a second or two apart and assaulting him like that finished him totally, his senses overloaded in the speed of the lashing. She saw he was standing totally tensed up, looking spaced out, hardly able to move or cope with the lashing. He couldn’t take much more the way he looked. She glanced in the mirror and looked at Darryl’s front, he was completely flaccid now, the whipping had taken the ardor completely out his penis and replaced it with a visit to sub-space no doubt. Erections and sub-space seldom worked well together she’d found; it was one or the other, seldom both.

Angel was another matter though. She was laying on the bondage bench, watching in the mirror, her red butt and thighs still looking painful. She’d opened her legs slightly so Darryl would be looking at all her charms, either that or she had a red hit butt and thighs and now her pussy was over heating so she needed some air to it. Then again it was probably the last option knowing Angel the way she did.

Behave you two,” she said, “I’m going to get a quick drink. I’ll be back.” With that she put the strap whip on the bondage bench beside the wood handled strap then left the dungeon, and stepping loudly, went into the staff room.

She had her long drink of ice water, sat for a few minutes then stepping very quietly she crossed the corridor to the dungeon.

Slipping into the dungeon silently she found exactly what she expected, Angel was holding Darryl’s penis again, massaging it to full erection as she slipped a condom over it. Waiting a moment she saw Angel run her hand along its length making Darryl gasp yet again into the gag, his hips jumping as she handled him. She cupped his balls with her other hand as she stroked his penis gently. She hoped Angel was careful else he’d pop-off well before time and miss out on his special treat.

Both of them had been oblivious of her, both wrapped up in what Angel had been doing and it was no surprise. Both of them with their bright red butts would not be thinking about much else other than Angel and her soft fondling hands.

“You naughty girl,” she said making Angel jump in surprise, “You need another good hard strapping for that. I haven’t forgiven you, and now you’re still playing with Darryl’s cock. Stand up, arms out in front you naughty girl,” she snapped.

Angel stood then put her wrists out in front of her. Taking up a bondage belt she wrapped each wrist then both, then buckled the belt firmly. Taking another longer belt she ran it through the belt circling Angels wrists then using it, pulled Angel forward till she was face to face with Darryl. Reaching up she flicked the end of the belt over the suspension bar, brought it back down then buckled it firmly pulling Angel up on her toes almost, her wrists pulled up by the belt to the suspension bar, her arms either side of Darryl’s face and her body against him.

She then took a much longer belt then wrapped it round both their waists. Cinching it up tight she made the two of them press together and stand face to face, touching, unable to pull apart. With Angels arms either side of Darryl’s face and making him look at her in the eyes he was pressed up against the gorgeous woman he fancied so much. No doubt her perfume would be sending him higher and higher, working with the heat from his strapping and whipping to excite him. And Angel too. She said she loved these sessions and that she’d got off more than once in them.

She slowly took her belt off, ran it through her hands once, then folded it in half. She stood behind Darryl and to his left so he had a great view of her in the mirror. Slaves liked that. She ran the folded belt through her hands then clenched it firmly making it into a fine strap for his bottom. They liked seeing that too.

She reached forward with the belt then tapped his welted bottom with it. He jumped slightly, then she pulled her arm back and winding up brought it forward and round in a perfect crisp sounding stroke. The idea was to apply the belt to the whole width of the bottom, or the thighs, so it impacted all at once. She also made sure she put every ounce of energy into the leather so that the crack was high pitched and crisp making the effect what it should be, severe.

The first belt stroke was a beauty just as she intended. Darryl’s eyes bulged and he gasped out in pain, ‘ahhgh’ he grunted into the gag. More than that, his hips surged forward from the power of the stroke making his front rub against Angel. “Oo-ohhh,” he gurgled into the gag in the pleasure of the contact. Angel gave him a little hip surge of her own, rolling her hips, rotating them to give his penis some extra attention. With his face between her arms and looking into her eyes it was extremely intimate and even more erotic.

She brought her arm back then laid another hard stroke of the belt across the same place on his bottom. This made him jerk his hips back and forward almost as if he was fucking Angel and with that Angel continued giving him extra hip surges just to spice it up.

From the way he was jerking and rotating his hips, he didn’t look like he was far away from coming. It was far too soon for that.

“Time to s-t-r-a-p my naughty girl again. Another s-t-r-a-p-p-i-n-g,” she said as she moved behind Angel.

Darryl was looking at her, face on, as she ran the belt through her hands. “The s-t-r-a-p for you my girl,” she said waving the belt, “a hard s-t-r-a-p-p-i-n-g from Mistresses belt,” she said again highlighting the words, tweaking Darryl’s fetishes as he watched her in the mirror while she waved the belt around.

She wound up then delivered a crisp stroke to the center of Angels already red bottom. Angel shrieked and rotated her hips sending Darryl into a spasm of erotic rubbing against her.

She quickly wound up then gave Angel a second stroke then decided that unless she gave Darryl another strapping right now he would blast his load against Angel within seconds. Then again, it would probably be impossible not to with Angel gyrating against him like she was. Her gasping, her face in front of his as she moved against him would be too much for any slave.

She stepped Darryl him and gave him a crisp quick six of the best. Each stroke was hard and only a few seconds from the previous and spaced out so the whole of his bottom took a licking. Each stroke cracked down across his bottom making him surge forward into Angel and rubbing him closer to climax, yet the fire in his bottom held him back. The six strokes were fast and furious and did serve to cool his ardor but the lingering heat and friction against Angel surged his desire.

Standing in front of Darryl she ran the belt through her hands as she looked him in the eyes. Darryl was now rubbing himself against Angel uncontrollably. “Another strapping for you my naughty girl then the cane!” she said loudly. “I’ll cane that naughty bottom of yours till it is smoking hot and covered in nice red cane stripes.”

She positioned herself then gave Angel a hard stroke. Like the last time, Angel reacted, jerked frantically and gasped out loudly as she tried to evade the evil sting in her bottom. Most of it was play acting, Angel took a hard strapping with ease but Darryl wasn’t to know that.

Waiting just a few seconds for Angel to stop squirming she wound up and gave her a second firm stroke. This time Darryl was gasping also, groaning and moaning as he got closer and closer. Angel was giving small shrieks as she quivered against him, her hips moving and gyrating uncontrollably.

The third stroke of the belt low on Angels bottom was the last. Angel bucked hard, shrieked loudly and then Darryl started to shake and shudder uncontrollably. She stood in front of him and watched as he climaxed, running the belt through her hands as he continued to shake, his eyes rolled back but aware of her commanding presence. As orgasms go, she thought it was a powerful one. As for Angel, she was rubbing herself sensually against Darryl, her bottom quivering and shaking, going from side to side. Poor Darryl, with the waist belt holding them close together he couldn’t escape the intimate caress of Angel’s tummy against his penis as she moved and writhed. With his flaming bottom and spent penis he was in a different world of sensation and if anything, trying to minimize that sensation now that he’d come so hard.

This was an interesting time. Should she leave them there like that? Leave them for a few minutes to recover or should she unstrap Angel and let her take care of Darryl? Then again, she could give them both a crisp six of the best with the cane. After a climax the cane was particularly difficult to take which was the whole idea. Each had its own possibilities, its own rewards.

She chose to leave them in intimate bondage. She slowly wound the belt round her waist, buckled it slowly sneaking a glance to make sure Darryl was watching, then left the room after turning out the light. In darkness, the two of them strapped together and feeling their flaming bottoms, it should be a delicious and intimate time, particularly so for Darryl after such a hard cum against Angel. She wondered if Angel would say something to Darryl, something to make him want to return soon. She wouldn’t be surprised at all. Oh. Should she have gagged them both? Now that was a thought.

She went into the staff room then got another long glass of ice water and put some squeezed lemon into it, then stirred in a teaspoon of sugar to sweeten it up and for the sugar surge. It was so refreshing after a session and she was feeling a little dehydrated. You could thrash two pair of bum cheeks for only so long before you got a thirst up. That time was long past.

She sat on the settee and relaxed. She put her head back and thought of Darryl and Angel intimately bound, strapped together and in more ways that one. That made her smile. It was a nice image, both of them with red hot tingling butts, naked, strapped together and occasionally squirming.

Darryl was a nice man, almost a ‘contender’ she thought but she never dated a client and he was quite a bit older than she was. Pity.

One other thought came, there was always Robyn. Now that was a thought, being matchmaker was an all new thought.

Robyn was mostly nice, about the right age for Darryl and they certainly shared BDSM interests. She might make a discrete inquiry with Robyn if she’d be interested and she was certain Darryl would be. Robyn was quite attractive and sensible but she really did struggle with her work stresses. Maybe they could have a dual session to break the ice. Now that could be wickedly good fun. The more she thought about it the better it felt. Should she? Would she lose both of them as clients if they got together and was that a real factor?

She looked across at Magenta, “I’ve left Darryl and Angel strapped up front to front in the dungeon. Darryl had a very happy ending and they’ve both got flaming red buns. How long should I wait and should I cane them both before I unstrap them?” She smiled at Magenta, “That is the dominatrix dilemma.”

There was laughter from Magenta and two of the working girls between clients, relaxing, “Tish you’re a shocker. Give them a few more minutes. Not sure about the cane. Maybe some tease? Tease them about next time? Set the session up early?”

She really liked Magenta, she was sensible and down to earth and didn’t take herself too seriously. She was also clever, “That’s a good idea. I think I will.”

So saying she left the bondage-love-birds for another five minutes then went into the dungeon very quietly. Opening the door silently she wasn’t immediately noticed but when the light turned on they both jumped. She imagined Darryl would be a little sensitive in the penis area after his massive release.

She took the cane off the bondage bench then moved behind Angel. Rapping her smartly, but not hard, Angel squeaked and moved back and forward playing the part perfectly. Darryl groaned loudly and shook his head. He sure was sensitive.

“I should cane you both now. At least six of the best each. Six stingers for that unseemly display. I can’t believe how naughty you were Angel. A caning is the least I should give.”

She walked behind Darryl and rapped him also, a bit harder, he jumped and jerked frantically, the endorphin rush over and so the sting got in deeply. “As for you naughty boy six would be far too few. Far too few. It should be two dozen of the absolute best onto that bottom of yours.” She rapped it again, firmly.

She circled them both, rapping a bottom, stroking a leg, poking a set of ribs with the cane. “I think I shall give them, and give them hard…,” she rapped them both firmly. She circled once more, rapped them both firmly making them jump and gasp, “Next time. Next time you naughty boy and girl be prepared for an extra hard caning.”

She put the cane down on the bench then reached up to unstrap the belt holding Angels arms up high. Then when Angel relaxed down, she unstrapped her wrists. A few seconds later the belt holding them together was released and Angel staggered backward then went to the bondage bench for support.

“Naughty girl,” she said, “take care of slave Darryl. I shall return in ten minutes. Be ready then else I really shall cane you both. Very hard.” She hesitated for a moment, “I wouldn’t mind that.”

She left, went back to the staff room then sat on the settee beside Magenta. “Done. Angel is unstrapping him. He’ll be back, probably in a hurry.”

Magenta laughed, “Tish, you’re going to have to arrange a double domme session soon. I just love working with you.” They both grinned then she had another thought.

Magenta, I have been thinking about something, maybe we can work that in.” They chatted for a while as they designed the double domme session, and Angel was absolutely a feature of it.

When she returned to the dungeon Darryl was looking totally spaced out but happy. After his shower with Angel and managing to compose himself, she saw he was a whole new man.

Most clients liked a shower after a session as it brought them back to earth, the feeling of the water on their skin returning them to the here and now.

Truth be told, she thought sending a client out on the roads driving a car with the wrong head space was not sensible or safe. For intense sessions like this one, a shower and some coming down times was even more necessary.

Darryl was a regular and paid a premium so he got more attention from Angel, and she had no doubt the shared shower had been special. Just looking at him it was plain it had been everything he wanted and the ‘happy ending’ had been good for him judging by the way he shuddered and shook as Angel did her stuff.

That was a good session. She had a half hour free then the next one of her shift was due. She had just enough time to skim the local papers and hope there was a job in physics she could apply for. Not that there have been so far.

00 Mistress Tish – Dominating Gravity

Mistress Tish - The Physicist Dominatrix

Copyright © 14 December 2019 by Trikki Watson. All rights reserved. This abridged series has been given to the SilentQuivers.com website to be released as a series of chapters.

With a PhD in advanced mathematics and quantum foam-space, Loretta can’t find a job that uses her PhD.

However, her part time job in  the dungeon is still enjoyable and gives an enviable income. She just wishes she could use her PhD and also someone to share her life with.

Physicist Dominatrix

Mistress Tish and Angel

Little does she suspect how her life will change over the coming twelve months. Not in a million years would she dream of becoming so in demand, and also so challenged in her personal and both of her professional lives.

The first chapter is coming very soon.