If you aren’t caught up, start here first….
Part 1: http://dominasdiary.com/index.php/2017/11/02/blog-post-part-1-pumped-drained-milked-and-abused-in-captivity/
Part 2: http://dominasdiary.com/index.php/2017/11/04/blog-post-part-2-pumped-drained-milked-and-abused-in-captivity/
Part 3: http://dominasdiary.com/index.php/2017/11/07/blog-post-part-3-pumped-drained-milked-and-abused-in-captivity/
Claudette and I sat back, smiling at each other as our prisoner began struggling violently against his bonds. Having finished with explosive force several times already, just the gentle, steady rubber suck of the Venus on his well used cock was clearly, quickly bringing him to the very limit of his pain threshold.
The collection bowl beneath him was finally beginning to fill up a bit at the bottom, still it was only a small pool of opaque white, but it was a definite step closer to his goal. She pulled the dildo from his mouth, so we could better hear his exasperation. He seemed desperate this time, truly and genuinely desperate. “I can’t take anymore Mistress, please take the Venus off me!’ He nearly commanded. I have NEVER heard such a tone in his voice, and it was not something I intended to let slide.
Claudette could see the look in my eyes in hearing such an odd inflection pour out of his lips, she slapped him across the face hard with the dildo in quick correction, I couldn’t help but nearly laugh myself off the table. She gently turned off the machine and begin to untie him… I could hear her whispering vague silent threats as she wistfully detached him piece by piece. Normally, I would say my sweet assistant does not have a dominant bone in her body, but I think when it comes to amusing me and bringing me pleasure, she can do just about anything with Olympic style precision.
I picked up the dog bowl and weighed it, “nearly another full ounce”, I exclaimed from across the room! I was actually quite surprised how much I’ve pulled out of him… I know, he would soon begin shooting nothing but blanks no matter how much effort he began to exude. A man can only handle so much and he was drastically near his breaking point. It is the only reason I gave him an easy “out” of consuming his 8 climaxes instead of reaching a requisite 16; it would be a physically impossible task, but along the way I could enjoy his confidence fade into a deep humiliation.
We helped him down off the cross, ignoring his gratitude and shaky steps as we led him toward the fucking bench. He was just glad to be able to kneel and not have to carry his own weight, leaning fully onto the bench for absolute support. This is normally the point where I’d help him shower, offer him a drink and sit back and bask in the chemical release of hormones with him, but not today…. I cuffed him into the iron restraints, the kneeling position of the bench offered each limb for fastidious restraint. Only his neck was able to move, should he so choose to look up, he’d be greeted by his ever present predicament reflecting back in the glass of a full length mirror ahead.
He slumped his head, Claudette immediately grabbed him by the hair, forcing him up so I could shove the cum filled dog bowl in his face. “This will count as two more”, I smiled. “But do be sure to catch every drop if you want it to be added to your total count. You’re still a very long way off from making either goal, your best hope now it’s just simply catch your rest while we allow it and hope that we’ve come up with some clever tactics to “help “ you.
He lapped up his cum like a willing and very defeated captive, the situation of helplessness was really starting to grow on him. There’s so much less to ‘worry’ about when another is in charge. No deadlines matter, no annoying texts or voicemails were prioritized – nothing in his vanilla life would invade this predicament to help or disturb him; it was just him in the moment – and us.
He nodded off for a quietly, the dog blow long placed back out of sight with Claudette and I casually lounging in my foyer, chatting away and enjoying the moment of silence. It was disturbingly peaceful, fortunately it wouldn’t last long. A very quiet knock on the door roused him from his sleep. His back being towards the door, our little slut couldn’t see who exactly we were letting in despite his straining to catch a glimpse in the mirror. It was Claudette’s husband, my bull, Devon.
Now Devon, how do I describe him? Tall, dark and handsome, an Alpha male with a naughty side and a cock nearly the size of Claudette’s arm. The first time I forced them to fuck in front of me, I was absolutely fascinated; truly they were perfect for each other – just the sight of him undressed caused her to be stunningly distracted. It was almost like an Aphroditic scene, his pants came undone and she was fixated. I loved that sexual power he had over her, often wanting to weaponize that sort of lust and use it on another. I left them to it as strolled up to my kneeling hostage, grabbing a cane on my way.
“I’ll tell you what” I whispered, “I won’t MAKE that big stud in the corner fuck you if you don’t want him to”…I tapped my cane against his ass lightly. “But….should you beg me to make him, I’ll obviously have to stop reddening your ass so I can get out of his way”, I emphasized that last statement with a firm lash across his unprotected ass. He bit his lips, calculating how many I would deliver, would I even stop or would I perhaps just wait him out? Another white hot stroke inches from the last broke his train of thought. “Oh Mistress, please” he whimpered. “Please what?” another crack against both upturned cheeks.
He remained silent, clearly not yet provoked to his breaking point. I lined up my cane and began issuing a flurry of perfectly placed strokes. Instant welts, bright red strips and the flailing of desperate limbs under firm and unflinching restraints. I always thought he loved the cane, though I doubt he’d ever admit it. Being bent over, exposed and punished, it was hot no matter how you look at it, though the pain was inescapable. Still, he raised his hips as much as the bonds allowed, offering me more of his striped backside for abuse. Devon and Claudette slowly came into view, her smile frozen in crimson red lipstick as Devon reached out to feel my hostage’s textured ass. “Mmmm, he’s so warm”, Devon mocked. He lifted his hips higher into his hand.
“Oh god, oh god” my victim now resorting only to panicked and erotic pleading once again.
“Mistress, I think I want him to fuck me…’oh god”!!! Claudette’s jaw dropped, “I didn’t think it would be THAT easy”
He looked up to the mirror just long enough to catch the 3 of us grinning back at him like wolves; condoms and lube already in Claudette’s hand. I unzipped Devons pants, his throbbing erection instantly spilling out, landing with a thump against our boy’s hot flesh.
Everyone in the room, seemed absolutely frozen in anticipation, though Claudette’s eager hands were already wrapped around her husbands huge cock readying it for the tight opening in front of him. There was no way he’d be able to take that off the bat, we’d have to warm him up….
Devon took a seat in front of the bench, directly in view of our pet. He stroked himself lowly and methodically, up and down like a pointed erotic threat. It was memorizing, so much so that the gloves Claudette and I were putting on went entirely unnoticed. We slipped our fingers in gently, one at a time, then both of us, gradually increasing the size, adding fingers until we could both fit two inside him together side by side. He loved this, he was doing all he could to hold still and take it despite wanting to sit back and ride our hands. Devon sat up abruptly, noticing his struggle and brought the tip of his shaft to our prisoners lips. No instruction was needed, he took him deep into his warm inviting mouth – as much as he could, trying to leverage his neck so he could be properly throat fucked. We pounded away on his tight little hole behind in the same rhythm, opening him up like the little whore he was. “Finally a proper fuck toy”, I smirked
….to be continued.
Note: photos during this scenario were declined by some parties, images from this blog have been used from other approved sources.
I post today’s blog with the permission… well, really encouragement, of one of my closest friends.
A small bit of backstory: a lovely local lady and I were indulging in a very erotic duo with one of her beloved long-term clients.
I can’t begin to tell you how much fun we had, spending several hours putting him in every imaginable pose and violating him in every conceivable way, it was such a wonderful memory, I think I will treasure that session for the rest of my life. When all was said and done, he and I remained on the floor medical room as my lady friend ventured off to the bathroom for shower.
He smiled, watching her slink into the darkness before laying back and turning to me… “She’s so wonderful, I don’t know why she won’t let me take her for a REAL date “… I chuckled a bit, taking it as just a playful joke. I mean, a LOT of visitors often joke about wanting their mistresses to be a larger part of their lives, even if their reality doesn’t quite bend that way; it’s harmless optimism. He looked me dead in the eyes again and asked “do you know if it’s because she has someone in her life already? “
I was a bit shocked, but hearing this inquiry many times before, both aimed at myself and others, the only suitable response was, “perhaps she feels your relationship was perfect as it is.”
I don’t know if he was content with my answer, but it didn’t seem to diminish the smile from his face as we shook off the adrenaline and endorphins.
This scenario, like I said, happens so often, it’s worth mentioning in a more broad spectrum… Consider it just a little refreshing dose of reality about the world of kink, clients and reasonable proximity.
On my own – and very recently, I had a long term client who I enjoy a wonderful rapport with, turn from gleeful to sad when I, in jest, mentioned having a husband. In reality, I don’t have a husband, I had to assure her several times, but the obvious pouts stuck out to me. She herself, married 45 years to a lovely man that she spoke about repeatedly, had often admitted that she was glad to have this safe place to come to for her fantasies, separate from her private vanilla world, and yet – though totally innocent, she was obviously disappointed at the thought that I might be unavailable.
It is human nature to want the person you’re seeing to be available, to be their favorite, to stand out above all others, to be adored, cherished and remembered, but as I reflect back to my friends client, it is important to remember never to press the issue of proximity beyond what your provider allows. It forces us to walk a tightrope of keeping you physically and emotionally happy with us, while not leading you on or hurting your feelings, and protecting anyone we might have in our personal world. What should be a simply, mutually beneficial arrangement, becomes onesidedly complex.
You have to admit, what we do is extraordinarily intimate! For a lot of us, myself included, a little compartmentalization is needed to be so open, day in and day out, with both strangers and kinksters I’ve known for years. Fortunately, most of us overcome over-emotional attachments by simply enjoying the moment and always honoring that we are professionals. We love what we do, but it is an offering. We do not want to invade your personal lives, we are safely in the background, your secret respite – and nothing more. The ‘want’ for more is where it begins to get tricky for everyone involved, but staying respectful of that line becomes easier with time, when the realization settles in that just because you are a client, doesn’t mean you’re not special, we choose to have you in our orbit!
Most of us understand that sometimes, we can by nature, become very attached to the ones we indulge with. But as life can force clients to move, move on, or otherwise fall off our radar – we respect that a deep connection can be terminated any time and for any reason. It’s happened several times to me, and each instance, I know it’s not my place to reach out and find out ‘why’ or if my client is okay when I suddenly stopped hearing from them. By extension, it’s not simply a desire to keep our visitors out of our private lives, there is a reality to be had here and often, it’s a method to protect our hearts.
The simplicity of what you experience with a provider should be just that; simple, erotic and unattached fun.
It can take moments or years to accept this and find security in those words, but they are words to live by. We adore those who can appreciate the beauty in what we are able to share together. Those private moments behind closed doors aren’t just for you….believe me, as someone who is currently spending her day off typing this entire blog for an audience she can’t even lay eyes on – all of this is for us as well.
Part One: http://dominasdiary.com/index.php/2017/11/02/blog-post-part-1-pumped-drained-milked-and-abused-in-captivity/
Part Two: http://dominasdiary.com/index.php/2017/11/04/blog-post-part-2-pumped-drained-milked-and-abused-in-captivity/
He exited the bathroom with unchecked enthusiasm, bounding towards me as fast as his knees could carry him. He stopped just a foot in front of me, lowering his head to the floor and raising his ass high. I gave no such instruction, but this slutty boy was always looking for a means to display himself to me, or otherwise make every orifice available for inspection and use. The open air must have felt so good on his warm skin, leaving no portion of himself unavailable to my gaze.
Without much hesitation, I began to ceremoniously wrap a thick leather collar around his neck, locking the clasp tightly behind him. I can only imagine how blissful that must feel to any submissive; to knee, expose yourself and feel a collar signifying ownership slip around you; it’s like finding your perfect place in the universe. Goosebumps were already covering him from head to toe as I gave his collar a tug, pulling him to his feet and leading him towards my tall steel cross. His back pressed firmly into the cold metal, amplifying the chills down his spine. It’s rare that I leave him free to see; hoods and blindfolds always punctuated his captivity, but today he’d need every heightened sense at his disposal.
I secured him tight, limbs spread wide apart against the crucifix as his eyes followed my every move. His feet bound with a 4 ft spreader bar between them, hands and arms securely ensnared with endless feet of heavy hemp rope; topping it off, his collar secured rigidly, forcing his chin up and eyes level to stare across the room. The only part of him that was able to budge, were his hips – strong and chiseled, he often liked to thrust and squirm, a sight I deeply enjoyed, but that would be extraordinarily purposeful in the coming moments.
I stoked his cheek, assuring him that I had every confidence in his success today, in fact, I was going to help him to achieve his next goal. The clock ticking away in the background, I fired up my laptop, setting a loop of excessively erotic milking videos. Over the past month, I’ve been saving my very favorites, editing them down to the most climatic and indulgent moments; truly a best of the best in visual stimulation. I leaned my back against him, feel him stiffen against me as we both watched my visual entertainment for just a brief moment. So many shuddering crescendos, flushed bodies and straining muscles, it was truly entrancing.
“I know that this alone won’t get you where you need to be, not without a bit of help”, I giggled.
His eyes continued to follow me to the Venus, I’ve teased him on and off with vague threats to simply leave him attached for hours, always a bluff, but he knew today was different. Even the slow setting was agony; a steady, deep suction caught the tip of his already swollen cock and sucked it deep inside the slick latex mouth. His moans were instant, but this speed – this slow tease – would never be enough. “I’ve already weighed the mouth of this device”, I smiled coyly at him, “and the dog bowl”, strategically placing it below his throbbing predicament. “Anything over the control volume will be added to your total and every climax you’re about to experience, you must ask permission for so I can keep count. Obviously any accidents will be severely and mercilessly punished, so don’t allow yourself to make that mistake.”
I stepped away to take in my work, strapped inescapably to my cross and forced to ingest a feast of visual erotic perfection, all while being endlessly sucked and drained by a tireless cock sucking machine. He was already thrusting his hips as forcefully as his bondage would allow, all with no additional satisfaction. It seemed to me that I’ve created a perfect predicament, one that didn’t need such strict oversight, he’d be fine without my supervision for a while…
A soft knock on the back door, in perfect timing, shattered the string of endless moans from my prisoner. He knows very well that I’m friends with MANY kinky people, various Dommes, a few subs, my stable of slaves and perhaps most feared of all, my parade of bulls. He was beyond relieved to see the soft bounce of dirty blonde curls in the distance as my submissive Claudette walked in…..she offered a wide smile and trademark cheerful greeting as she made her way through the dungeon for a better view.  “It’s nice to see you again Mark” she smiled, stripping off her clothes. The last time Mark and Claudette had seen each other, he was buried face first between her tan little thighs. Just the sight of her undressing was enough to increase the furious thrusts of his hips forcing over a climactic edge. The Venus continued sucking away relentlessly as he shuddered and panted.
“You didn’t ask for permission”, I chastised from the other side of the room. He was still too overwhelmed for a response, but his failure was obvious and undeniable as pearly while drips began to leak out of the suction tube into the waiting dog bowl below.
“Hummm, what do you think we should do with this slut, Mistress?” Claudette sweetly asked as she grabbed for her purse. “Maybe since he just can’t seem to control himself, we can show him too much of a good thing?” Her small hands clasped tightly around her favorite black dildo, a monster attachment so large that it hardly fit in her handbag. She pulled it out and began running the massive tip against his face. With instinct, his mouth opened wide to accept her offering, pumping the big fat cock in and out of his mouth at a furious pace. It silenced his painful begging as the post climatic edge began to trial off his orgasm. “Get it nice and wet for me”, she purred, casting a glance for approval in my direction. Ever the voyeur, I didn’t move, I wanted to see her use him, to just have him as her own personal toy for a moment. What I offered in cruelty, she offered in excessive and unimaginable kindness; my non response was enough permission for her, she pulled the thick black cock out of his mouth and leaned back on the medical table behind her, spreading her lovely soft legs apart, she pushed the toy into her dipping pussy. He tried to look away, but the only other vision in his path was the milking video. Closing his eyes would have been safe, except for the soft throaty gasps coming from Claudette as she pumped away.
“She never quite takes long, does she?,” I mocked. I walked up behind her, locking eyes with him I slid my hands across her firm perky tits, taking a nipple in each hand, I pinched hard, sending her over the edge. Her breaths hardly slowed before she popped off the table and jammed the dildo down Mark’s waiting throat. “It’s very heavy, she panted, make sure you hold it firm in your teeth. If that drops from your mouth, I worry how our Mistress might take such a blatant insult”….
She was always looking for an excuse to bring her toys into play….it’s partially what I love so much about having her around. “Let’s give him a few minutes to compose himself, then we will deal with that unauthorized orgasm.”
…to be continued
He hardly moved an inch all night, by contrast, I was wide awake by dawn after an excitable, sleepless evening, constantly peering back to my monitor for any sign of activity.
After an hour of eagle eye waiting, his eyes finally shot open, nature must have called loudly. I got comfortable, settling into a comfortable chair as I watched him instinctively grab for the locked door of his cage, finding it still firmly keeping him prisoner. Did he truly think I had released him in his sleep?
My note was the first thing he saw, his hopeful outstretched fingers reached as far out as the bars would permit to pull it in, allowing his eyes to pour over my cruel words. I’m sure he hoped I wouldn’t start in on him so quickly, but I only had him for one more day and I intended to enjoy every single second of his subjection. He was frantic as he scrambled for the frozen bowl….his only way out was to melt the ice down to the key. I knew this would be exciting if I could just be patient, though fortunately for him, much of it had melted away, but a thick defiant brick still remained a frozen obstacle.
I had only estimated his reach, and much to my amusement, he had to struggle quite a bit to grab hold of the bowl without tipping the water. The brick still must have been about 5 inches thick, so his pathetic attempt to knock it on the side of the cage didn’t yield the breakage he so hoped for. Soaking it back in the frigid water also didn’t make a dent in it.  He reluctantly grabbed the note again, certain I had offered guidance – and hanging his head in defeat, took note of my ‘heat’ instruction and began rubbing the brick frantically across his warm chest. It took him at least a half an hour, though time was endless in my giddy anticipation, watching him go from determined to desperate and finally shivering as he neared success. I do love my petty torments.
It looked nearly melted in half before a final crack against the cage walls snapped the remains, finally freeing the key and my boy from his enclosure. I’ve always heard a blast of cold water was the best way to wake up in the morning, I deeply hoped he would appreciated my thoughtful effort.
I didn’t ring the bell before slipping downstairs, coffee in hand, I just couldn’t bring myself to give him a warning. My dungeon seemed absolutely teaming with energy, smoothed over only by the fresh hot steam pouring out of the bathroom. His shower must have been such a pleasant relief, almost a very human moment after spending the evening like a caged tiger.
His look of surprise to see me as he crawled out of the bathroom melted to a tinge of fear, arousal and joy seeing I had two cups of coffee in hand. I’m never cruel enough to deprive someone of their morning caffeine, but oh how I hoped he knew it wouldn’t be so easy to come by.
He smiled making his way towards me, wanting to offer a greeting, but seeing my note from the corner of his eye, he knew to follow instructions and remain silent. “Your flight is 16 hours from now, I will require as many orgasms by one means or another before I let you go”, I coldly informed him. “16 hours is a very long time, but you will need a nap, eat and to get to the airport a bit in advance…… whether you miss your flight or not, is honestly not my concern. All you need to do, is complete your task and I’ll let you go. If you don’t, well…..
He smiled a bit too wide, confidence on his face, I’m sure it would fade before too long, but in this moment, he was very secure in his ability to perform. I took a deep sip of coffee, and sat his down on the fireplace. A small kitchen scale had been placed out the evening before, I weighed his cup. 14 ounces. “I know you feel like you’ll have no issue completing my task on time, but should you not….there is ONE way to buy your way out”. Instead of total number of completions, we can go by volume….volume which you will ultimately be forced to consume.” His expression finally dropped as I handed him his coffee. Let’s set the bar at four full ounces. 16 orgasms or 4 total ounces, all consumed.
I don’t think he could tell if this was his favorite game ever or something he would deeply dread, but without missing much more of a beat, he realized I was starting at him with an anticipatory gaze. Dutifully he lowered his coffee on the ground and under my watchful eye, began his first of many expulsions. “Every coffee needs cream”, I mocked as he strained to empty himself as much as he could into the hot liquid. It’s no surprise he didn’t last long, not this time…. he knew I loved to watch him.
Before he could gather himself, I snatched the coffee and placed it back on the scale – .05 more. “I’ll keep a tally, but you have a long way to go”…I smiled, handing it back. Drink up my dear, you have a very LONG day ahead.
He begrudgingly chugged it down, a grimace spread across his face, but a deep red flush across every other inch. He drank it all too quick, just as I had hoped. “So eager to get that nasty task out of the way, you didn’t consider the ill side effects of drinking too much too fast”, did you? I smiled, grabbing a roll of package film wrap and ordering him to stand.
I moved in close enough for him to smell my perfume and feel my hot skin against his naked back. “So soft and strong, but infinitely better tied up”, I purred, beginning to mummify him in his stoic, militaristic pose.  I took my time, making sure my hair or lips grazed him often, my satin nightgown teasing parts left exposed before finding their way under the tight black plastic bondage. He was comfortable (for the moment) flat on his feet, but the securing lines around him kept him at a rigid  stance. “I’d like to give you 20 lashes of my single tail”, I smiled, “but I’d like you to beg me for them.” He giggled shaking his head….I took another sip of coffee.
“I’m going to leave you here, standing for as long as it takes. Either your posture or your bladder will give out first, but let’s be clear…. eventually, you WILL beg me”.
Grabbing my cup, I turned the monitor towards him and headed upstairs for a shower. I’d hear and see every squirm as I shaved my legs and washed my hair, by the time I got to toweling off to begin my make up, he was shifting frantically in his wrap – but not yet begging. Single tail lashes have always been his Achilles heel; he’s never been ‘broken’ in a session but had some deep desire to one day get there. Pain for him, was that path, but he was a far cry from being the sort of masochist who could request or endure such treatment. It’s such a pity…emotional satisfaction was on the other side of an obscenely painful and humiliating punishment, and no matter how hard he may have wished for it, he couldn’t have one without the other.
With my red lipstick applied, I began to hear his genuine begging, mild threats to accidentally ruin my carpet and all manner of frantic, litanous pleading, but not for the lash. I headed down to him, grabbing my favorite snake skin lash off the wall. He was fixed on it, squirming and dancing as much as his bondage allowed; I’ve never been more amused.
“Which do you find a greater humiliation, I asked…. begging for and attempting to accept the whipping you deserve, or having your bladder fail in all that plastic?” He needed to be pushed to an absolute wall, he had to have no other way around it, before finally he would cave and plead with absolute urgency for my 20 strokes. I wanted him to hear himself….to hear the tone of a defeated man asking for discipline so he could be granted such a given privilege of using the bathroom. All men eventually crack and it was hardly a minute longer before he did, asking not just for 20, but 30 hard strokes for his foolish attempt to out wait me.
I savored it as much as I could, but the lashes went all to fast for me.  I carefully paced them, after each forceful blow, I’d patiently wait for his breathing to slow before adding the next. I wanted it to last forever, for him to absorb this – not just the pain, but the slow breaking down of any semblance of control he thought he might still have. He already knew I wouldn’t stop, but he needed to accept it as well.
Fortunately his plastic bonds didn’t protect him. Lovely studded ribbons of red marked across his back with each deliberate crack of my whip. He’d whimper and shudder, then the soft sounds would be broken once again by another sharp echo of the whip against his waiting back. He would wear these trophies for a week at least…every shift of his starched shirts would graze painful welts and he’d be instantly reminded of this perfect moment.
I cut him down after the 30th, allowing him to crumble humbly on his knees to compose himself and wait for instruction; which I didn’t immediately give until he pressed his lips to my feet and thanked me for his punishment.
“You may go to the bathroom”, I said grinning from ear to ear, “but take your time. When you step foot back into the playroom, it’ll be time to begin your draining.”
Despite my warnings, he crawled as fast as his body could carry him towards the restroom, the black of my dungeon swallowing him up as he faded out of sight….
to be continued….
Let me start by saying, before I type even a single sentence that’s sure to utterly drip with anticipation and erotica; that when I write my roleplays and fantasies, I write them just as much as a lifestyle Mistress as I do a Pro Domme. Some things occasionally skirt a personal or professional line depending on who I’m playing with, but ultimately – everything is consensual.
Additionally, I have every respect for the laws of my state and county: given the grey area that BDSM can occasionally reside in, I’d be remiss to mention that everything I write is for fantasy purposes, and on some potentially boundary crossing issues; I have done privately with people who are not visiting me in a professional capacity.
He had been left alone for a while now, the deep and lovely dark of my dungeon offering him a perfect respite from the onslaught of torment, draining and temptation that had plagued him over the last 14 hours. It must have been a haze for him, long windows of silence with only the comfort of my security moniter to keep me occupied, broken by long stints hooded and tortured by the unending pulse, suction and vibration of my various toys of torture. He loved it, though often sweet and genuine please from freedom were overheard in the late evening hours.
He’d be lying if he didn’t confess to reveling in his predicament; being the very willing captive; his session ended the evening prior,  but I was finally making real on my threat to one day abduct him for myself. No calls for help, no escape – his clothes, keys and wallet all separated from him. The only promise I’d keep, would be that he’d make his flight, and that was still another 18 hours away. The sense of dread and excitement was palpable; this man who I’ve played with for over a decade, was experiencing his lifelong fantasy of being a true hostage; my hostage.
His first day went off just beautifully, he flew in for work, did his little meetings and dreamed about what would happen that evening, as men in blue and red ties droned on about spreadsheets, deadlines and synergy. He was very good at his job, perhaps that’s why he was always so bored at these mandatory check ins. They had nothing to offer him, they were reflexive – even the innovative and perfect solutions he spun were concocted off the cuff, no real effort at all. In life, in his job, he was bored…maxed out at the top of his field and no new horizons to get his pulse racing.
He’d spend the better part of these meetings writing me a list; a filthy and shameful list. I’d always hoped a peer would glance over his shoulder or ask what he was doing, but no one ever dared. It was his “Dirty Thirty”, a mandatory offering he’d place at my feet whenever he arrived at my Palace of Pleasure. He’d always have a tinge of guilt in his voice, knowing his list would derail whatever plans I may have in favor of his preferences, but this….this abduction was my exception.
After totally exhausting him with his own requests, he exited the shower to find the dungeon dark and every personal item missing. I was already upstairs, sipping wine from the comfort of my bed, laptop in place as I spoke to him over the 2 way monitor. He was shocked as I explained his situation, but an obvious smile and throbbing erection gave away any hint of genuine protest.
“I will allow you to rest for a while, my sweet’, I explained, dinner will be served to you in a couple of hours, but first you will crawl in my table cage, lock the door, sleep…. while I allow it.
Within minutes he had passed out cold within the gentle embrace of the steel bars. I’ve never seen someone come down from a scene so hard, his breathing – deep and lovely, as his soft snoring echoed through the empty dungeon. He was thousands of miles from home, no one knowing where he was, all of his professionalism, intelligence and social stature amounting to nothing in this perfect moment, and that helplessness was a freedom for him. I hoped I wouldn’t interrupt him when I brought in his meal and instructional letter; a half bottle of wine and the remains of my dinner served in a dog dish. I doubted if he’d even wake to eat this evening, but eventually – his exhaustion would lift and there he’d find my letter.
Only a small torment this evening, just something to build anticipation while I, myself slept off our playtime.
The key to the table cage was frozen in a giant bowl of ice placed just beyond his food. Having done this before, I knew for a fact that it’d take about 6 hours to thaw down to the key….but if he wanted out of the cage to use the restroom, he’d have to figure a way to accelerate the melting of the ice. Body heat should be very effective and I’m sure, depending on his level of desperation, he could get extremely clever in his tactic. I’d enjoy hearing him audibly talk out a solution, hoping for some obvious easy way out, to no avail.
My note was also kind enough to mention that as his captivity went on, I’d be coming down at my leisure to play with him. Whenever he heard a door bell chime, I intended to join him downstairs in 10 minutes, obviously he’d need to prepare for me. Hood himself, cuff hands behind his back and kneel, head down…
Last but not least, just a cautionary addition; I could see and hear everything… if I give instructions for self torture, I expect them to be completed. If I invite my friends over to play with him while I watched remotely – he would obey. Anything that came over my monitor would be taken as law….if he’d like a steady stream of food, water, sleep and release.
This would be me, at my most generous. He would otherwise be forbidden to speak outside of emergencies, eyes always lowered and fully expected to anticipate my wants and needs. I’d not be so straightforward in the coming hours and should I feel in any way unfulfilled or displeased, he’d be punished swiftly, invasively and to exhaustion.
He smiled widely in the direction of the camera, still to discover my note and predicament, as I fell into a blissful sleep.
 …to be continued
Every 6 months or so, I autopublish a version of this blog as my search continues. You see, as much as I am a Professional Dominatrix, I am also a 24/7 Lifestyle Mistress. In my off time, my heart tends to lean towards the satisfaction found in true, genuine, service and devotion. I don’t think I’d be nearly as fulfilled as a Woman if I didn’t have such a thriving stable of collared and very well cherished slaves in my orbit…it’s really just something I’ve always *needed*..
This time of year always makes me think about those varied proximities a bit more. Perhaps it’s all the impromptu family visits or the time taken to reflect on things we’re thankful for, or maybe its the influx of curious clients and certain long term regulars that begin desiring something a little ‘more’, but I see the world around me as being filled with much more ‘possibility’.
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After much thought, I’ve decided that I have the room in both my stable and heart for another full time personal slave. I have several full time devotees and one in training, but with lives outside of me, I often find myself well aware of the fact that my days simply have a little room for diversity.
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You would think a woman like me would find satisfaction simply in my profession alone, but there’s so much to be said for the depth of connection in an ongoing BDSM dynamic.
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Real life D/s relationships on the surface often look like, and typically need to function as; real relationships.
There has to be compatibility: both emotionally and in the dungeon, and there has to be room in your existence for it, but the pure emotional and physical release that comes from all of those things falling into alignment is positively blissful.
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Of course, in publicly noting my intentions, it’s vital that I also make sure a healthy does of reality is served along side so that I’m not bombarded by suitors looking for versions of slavery that is different from what *I* personally am seeking.
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My desire is never to build up possibility and dash anyone’s hopes to fulfill a life long fantasy, so I’ll start by painting a picture of the conditions my other slaves operate under, as I suspect any new member of my clan will fall under similar situations.
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The very basics…
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They don’t live with me: I know that’s the fantasy – a 24/7 life lived with your Dominatrix, always clad in leather and always holding a riding crop, but I’m a realist – I need space and my home is my own. I also believe my slaves need their space too. While it might sound sexy, no one would hold up to having a demanding Femme Domme breathing down their neck 24/7 and I certainly don’t intend on wearing a corset all hours of the day.
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They are all employed and all contribute to their Mistress – I say this specifically to draw a line between personal slavery and by the hour visits and dissolve the notion that being a personal slave is a free pass to fulfill your fantasies without contributing back in some way.
I don’t support my slaves financially, but rather, they offer a reliable monthly tribute to help sustain, support and contribute to my ability to practice my craft and offer them a special amount of my time outside of bookings. The time they spend with me depends more on their personal schedules then how much their tributes run with only a small correlation, but how their time is ultimately spent with me, is also decided by me.
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Not all time I spend with my slaves involves BDSM – In fairness it’s a 50/50 mix. I like enjoying the full width and breath of life with my supplicants. Sure, I’m going to need plenty of time with them in the dungeon, but I also like going out to dinner, running menial errands, going shopping, going on vacation, catching a movie, a coffee or simply making dinner with them at home. I need a rich dynamic that includes both the sugar and spice of daily living. A mental and physical relationship is just as necessary to me as compatibility in the dungeon.
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They all have lives and hobbies outside of me – I’ve never believed that when someone is a slave, their every thought should be on service and submission. Honestly, I’d find that sort of dependency a bit suffocating. One of my slaves races cars and has a boat, another writes apps and works out vigorously, another cycles and enjoys studying medicine and music and the last is has a thriving career and loves to travel. Half are married and the other half not – there’s a variety and texture to their lives that keep them balanced  and I require that sort of personal complexity in any suitor who wants to find themselves in my company. I need things to talk about with you – hobbies to enjoy with you – a life outside of me.
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They are all incredibly kind, versatile, thoughtful, generous and not the slightest bit jealous of each other – I’m a nurturer at heart, not prone to drama or conflict. I like slaves of a similar frame of mind, those who don’t feel strained to put someone else above themselves, and to not have constant expectations or demands of what their lives should be like. As individuals, I recognize they all have their own unique wants and needs, and as a Top – I strive to strike a balance so everyone is as happy, content and fulfilled as possible. That said, I couldn’t bring anyone into my fold that would disrupt that balance.
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It can be a hard thought for some, that I demand monogamy as a Mistress (as in you can have other sexual relationships or be married, but no other Mistress) while I am free to have as many partners of any form as I’d like, but there are many of you out there who would agree a Mistress is free to do as she wishes and wouldn’t think any other way.
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Now, if all of that speaks to you on a deeper level, beyond a passing fantasy or something you might grow out of once the novelty wears off – I’d encourage you to make that known to me. I am looking for life partners here and I know this will take time and patience. Talking about it doesn’t change our dynamic at all, it simply opens a door of possibility.
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Logistics being what they are, I tend to choose individuals that I’m already seeing on a professional basis, that’s not exclusive to people I’ve already met, but I wouldn’t encourage anyone to seek me out professionally ONLY because they are hoping that will come to be something *more* in the future.
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I can’t force, promise or lead anyone on that a relationship is definitely going to happen, it simply has to be genuine and thoroughly organic.
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With those thoughts lingering in the universe, and my very wide net now cast, I start my day with a cheerful optimism that before long, some deeper connections may start to form and my loving kinky family one member stronger.
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And of course, if you are drawn to this post but have a question or two, by all means – let’s talk. Perhaps an intimate conversation held in the appropriate atmosphere of my dungeon is needed to help you explore what’s on your mind.

Koi and I met over a scene with a mutually beloved play partner. Lustful and enigmatic, the chemistry was instant; her vibrance in scene, deep penetrative sexuality and raw intensity for ‘more’ pulled me in to her immediately in a way that can be said for few people. She’s disarming, but effortlessly made my heart beat faster; I can only imagine how the two of us would make you feel while pinned to a bondage chair.

While admittedly, my crush was instant, more so, my respect for this woman left me speechless in the midst of our chaotic and enthusiastic divergence. She is passionate and in every sense of the word, a true Goddess in flesh, making each moment spent with her utterly magical and addictive.

That said, I am SO proud to say after a little flirtation and a flutter of excited emails, this lovely Goddess is now among my available duo partners!!!!

 

 

 

Go ahead and pick your jaws up off the floor.

If you don’t know about her yet (it’s because you live under a rock). A sensual chameleon, both Dominant, submissive and achingly erotic – she’s everything she needs to be as the moment strikes. I have no doubt you poor boys will be left utterly unable to remember your last name’s once she and I are done with you….and for those who are curious about switching yourselves; Koi is the perfect companion to help guide you to those more stern curiosities.

 

Personally, diverse as she is in her methods, I will always prefer the vision of her in leathers with a thick strap on belted around her perfectly sculpted  hips. In case it was somehow not abundantly clear, women in positions of power are simply what makes the world a better place.

 

 

 

Now, if you’re ready to be turned completely inside out, drop me an email. Let’s see if we can’t make the whole world melt away together.

 

Disclaimer: Koi is an independent provider, as are all of my kinky cohorts. Her rates, schedule and offerings are self set and available here on her website: https://www.illicitadventures.com/