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an_afternoon_of_torment

CHAPTER ONE

In all my years visiting professional mistresses, rather ironically, by far the most explosive, mind shattering episode I ever experienced and from which I never fully recovered, occurred during a visit to an absolute beginner and a complete novice at that profession. The following account is I believe an accurate record of the session as I still remember most details quite vividly, but there were some occasions where I believe I may have had moments of blackout or was not fully compos mentis for short periods.
The female involved hadn’t long left University after a post graduate course and had become aware of the S/M scene at some fetish rubber-wear parties she attended to model the outfits. From there she started visiting some BDSM functions where she became fascinated with and attracted to the Fem/Dom and male slave scene. Observing various mistresses in action, she figured she could perform as well as any she’d seen. She felt she certainly had the temperament and decided that operating as a professional dominatrix was likely be more lucrative than any job she’d sought for so far. \
However, having very little capital to get started, she was obliged to rent a large room from the nominal ‘owner’ of a communal squat. Buying some bare essentials, she placed an advert and her picture in one of the few mistress contact magazines around at that period, (pre-internet era) sat back and waited for some clients.
I received that particular magazine very early as I had a subscription to it and, taking one look at the photo, I wrote off right away. The reply came back remarkably quickly, considering my letter was sent to her via the magazine’s address.
I was delighted to discover this particular mistress’s base of operations was not that far away from me on the Underground. (Subway) And so by pure chance, it came to pass that I became her very first ‘client.’ (Those sketchy details were gleaned from my preliminary chat with her before the session got under way.)
Initially I couldn’t believe I had the right address. A row of old, dilapidated houses, many unoccupied. In fact, the whole area seemed ready for demolition. When the door opened and I saw newspapers and dust on the floor and up the stairs, I was inclined to turn heel and swiftly depart; but it was the appearance of the dominatrix herself that changed my mind.
She led me up the stairs and along a passageway and motioned me into one of the rooms. It was very large, reflecting the size of the property and had obviously once been a bedroom and I settled myself on one of the threadbare chairs, reflecting that this was the most unappealing mistress’s ‘workplace’ I’d ever visited.
Long experience had taught me to take along some of my own equipment visiting a new mistress, despite having to hump along quite a heavy weight.
For instance, I’ve had some fairly useless gags shoved in my mouth at times, often so inadequate that I could hold a conversation while wearing them.
And although it’s quite understandable why mistresses favor thick padded leather cuffs and straps and similar items in a session, I never cared for being bound in them.
If a session is sometimes not going very well, I’d often request to be left alone in front of a mirror for a period to let my imagination run wild and it seems far more realistic and ‘authentic’ in my eyes that I’m manacled and chained up the old fashioned way and effectively silenced.
Therefore I carry along a foolproof gag, wrist and leg manacles and quite a lot of assorted lengths of chain, with plenty of handy small padlocks and chain connectors.
It turned out to be an especially good idea for this particular session and it was lucky that I’d packed quite a lot, as she appeared to have very little equipment of her own. Indeed, she seemed quite vague as how to get the session under way.
When it became obvious she’d never even seen anything like the pair of old fashioned wrist and ankle manacles I produced and was uncertain even as to how to secure them, I really began to think the whole session was going to be one of the many disappointing ones I’ve experienced.
Still, I felt I’d be a lot more cheerful about wasted hours in the company of this particular mistress than any other I’d ever been dissatisfied with.
But I did begin to wonder how I’d use up the whole three hours I’d booked on the basis of her photo alone.
At least, thank goodness, she or someone had screwed a large, very secure hook into the center of the ceiling – so I hastily devised what I thought would be an understandable and undemanding fantasy scenario with her.
To save time and frustration, I decided to bind myself up. I stripped off until I was naked, dumped my clothes on a chair and walked to the middle of the room, directly under the hook.

CHAPTER 2: THIS WON’T HURT.

I bent down and snapped my steel leg manacles tight around my ankles. These had a short chain connection, making movement very restricted. Then using one of my longer lengths of chain, I bound the tops of my knees together very tightly using several turns and secured the links with a small padlock. I tightened that chain further with another one pulled around it between my pinioned legs, that chain also pulled tight and padlocked.
Next, I forced my large penis shaped rubber gag into my mouth and buckled the strap tightly behind my neck. Additional straps that buckled over the head and under the chin made this, my favourite gag, immovable and incredibly effective as communication was impossible and the loudest screams were barely audible.
I had arranged with the mistress at this point to chain my elbows nearly together, but sufficiently far apart that I could just get my arms up over my head, which she did very competently. Almost too competently as she chained them really tight and the chain bit into my elbows when I raised them up.
Finally, I had already connected my wrist manacles onto a short chain hanging from the hook, so stretching up, almost up on my toes, managed to lock my wrists into them.
I then found I’d bound myself a bit tighter than normal, especially with the chains biting now quite deep into the flesh of my elbows and knees, but it was obviously now too late to start all over again.
At least, if nothing else much happened in this session, I was now conscious of the blissful and exciting sensation of being utterly helpless in that position and the knowledge that I couldn’t possibly escape.
Even if the torture turned out to be more ticklish than severe, at least the thrilling awareness that I’d placed myself in a position giving her total control and the pain of struggling in this tight bondage must produce a reasonable orgasm.
The scene I’d devised with her was that I had been arrested while visiting a country run by an evil totalitarian regime and they had simply refused to believe my pleas that it must be a case of mistaken identity and I just had no idea what the information was they were seeking from me.
Now, at this moment, I’d just been dragged up from the cells below and fixed in this position to await whatever torments the evil regimes top ‘extractor of information’ was about to inflict on me to get me to reveal what I was supposed to know.
This person happened to be a female so sadistic that, having had her ‘pleasure’ curtailed several times by the victims blurting out information before she could fully indulge herself and demonstrate the full range of her skills, she now had them tightly gagged to prolong their agony and not spoil her depraved enjoyment.
As the session got under way, I began to realize that I’d completely misread the character of this seeming innocent and inexperienced young miss. She may have been a novice mistress, but it soon became clear that she had no problem whatever inflicting pain on a male body.
I now began to very much regret my somewhat light-hearted advice just before I gagged myself: ‘Just throw all your inhibitions away and imagine how this terrible female would act.’
Well, she’d certainly didn’t appear to have any inhibitions at all. In fact, she was instantly, authentically realistic in her role and very early on in the session, I began to realize that this lovely creature had a cruel, sadistic streak in her nature and appeared to get a great deal of pleasure inflicting pain on a captive male.
It seemed beyond belief that this previously apparently rather serene and self-effacing young lady could become so realistic in a role where cruelty and torture were the main components.
I also began to realize with mounting alarm that I, for the first time ever, having not imagined it to be especially important under these unusual circumstances – had not discussed exactly what I meant by ‘torture’.
I just didn’t want to confuse and possibly inhibit her with a long list of all my likes and dislikes.
I remember being a bit surprised that she hadn’t asked just what sort of torture my fantasy tormentor would employ, just nodding her head when I went through the scene I wanted – and so I was rather anticipating a sort of gentle, compassionate torture being practiced on me. And, of course, it also hadn’t occurred to me to set up my usual system of special signals to indicate what was happening was too severe – and now it was too late.
I had unwisely given her absolute control and described that in her eyes, I was just an utterly worthless, insignificant victim of no consequence, strung up for her to perform on me as she imagined a sadistic and utterly heartless female top secret police official in a totalitarian state would.
As I’d also ensured my total helplessness by the bondage I’d chosen, and by gagging myself so effectively that intelligible communication was impossible, quite quickly, the whole scene had alarmingly got out of my control.

CHAPTER 3: REAL TORTURE BEGINS.

My anxiety was mounting fast as I also realized too late, that quite naturally, she would consider any desperate struggles and any amount of muffled screams as a valid, indeed necessary part of the scenario I had demanded.
This wasn’t turning out at all as I’d planned it and now, what I’d never imagined could possibly happen, her activities were such that I really was starting to sweat with nervous apprehension and experience the mounting horrified anticipation a really genuine victim would in the same circumstances.
I normally just play around in a manner, which would be considered quite tame and controlled, in sessions with professional mistresses. I’m masochistic in nature, but most certainly not into the really serious pain scene.
Just a moderate amount mild torture early on and again towards the end of the session combined with a fairly realistic threat of future certain pain and suffering is quite sufficient for me.
I like role playing, involving tight bondage, captivity and humiliation and can accept not too painful ‘torture’ when it’s appropriate for satisfying the fantasy.
If a mistress is proficient and realistic throughout the ‘performance’ and later on starts to up the pain level, that’s usually enough for at least one reasonable orgasm before I have to give the secret signal to end the session before it becomes too uncomfortable.
Of course, I have many different scenarios, often depending on the appearance or the attitude of the dominatrix.
I had used this particular fantasy before, but obviously, the mistress would have understood from our initial conversation just what my limitations were.
This scene was also one of my favourite masturbation fantasies (usually with a blond SS type female) and I’d chosen it this time because it was an easily understandable fantasy for a mistress to perform.
I had assumed I was in for a fairly disappointing session as far as authenticity was concerned.
For the first time ever, I cursed my particular passion for inescapable bondage. Had I have been one of those slaves who was satisfied just to bend over and receive a few smacks on the bum, I could have ended the session long before it started to become so frightening.
However it was not to be, as this novice had ominously decided to perform her role in the fantasy I’d devised as realistic as I’d requested and was gradually increasing the intensity of the torture.
Not only that, she was diabolically inventive with her