Tag Archives: Femdom Session

THE WHIPPING ACT

In the reign of Queen Sasha in 2142, the Whipping Act was passed, directing that disrespectful, disobedient, lazy or downright stupid slaves were to be taken to a square, market place or other public place and to be publicly whipped from the middle upwards. Whipped until the body should be bloody. The notorious Judge Victoria II, once said to the Lady Torturer: I charge you to pay particular attention to this piece of shit. Scourge him soundly, scourge him till his blood runs down! A few months ago, at Nottingham, a young slave, aged twenty, was found guilty of lying and was, by order of the Court of Quarter Sessions, tied to the tail of a cart and whipped all the way up from Maid-Marian-Road to High-Heel-Cross. There are 129 whipping-posts in the city of Nottingham alone right now. The male slaves lament their woes, but to no avail. Because men have mistreated Women over the centuries, and what goes around comes around, as the old saying goes. March 2167, Madame Ellen – The Downfall Of Men.

A LITTLE PUSH

Let Me get this straight. There is a red button on My website, saying Don’t Click Here. Correct?
Yes, Mistress Valkyrie.
So, what did you do?
I clicked on it, Mistress, I said wit a guilty voice.
Yes, you did. Then what happened?
A dialog box popped up, Mistress, prompting me to apologise for my bad behaviour.
Go on …
I closed the dialog box, I squeaked, because I panicked you see. I put my computer to sleep and went to bed with a book.
And a boner, no doubt.
I nervously giggled: Yes, Mistress Valkyrie.
Why?
Because of Your demanding words in the dialog box, Mistress. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The next morning I clicked the button again and wrote a sincere apology.
That’s right. And now we’re on the phone, talking about you behaviour. You told Me you are still a novice slave, but you disobeyed Me and you have to be punished. And I’m not talking about paying a fine, I’m talking about a punishment in the flesh. So you have to book a session with Me. That’s a direct order from Me to you, slave. I don’t care how you do it, but you will do it.
And that’s how it all started for me. If it hadn’t been for Mistress Valkyrie, I would still be a novice slave, endlessly waiting for the right moment.

A DAY IN THE LIFE (1)

03:15 – Can’t sleep. Go to the living-room to stare at nothing.
03:25 – Time is moving backwards.
05:00 – Showered & clothed and ready to go ….. but I have to wait another six hours …..
06:30 – Too nervous to eat. Who cares about breakfast. Or lunch for that matter.
08:15 – Panic sets in. I’m going to cancel the appointment. Tell Her my late mother is ill. Or that I broke my neck. And back. My neck & back. My neck, back and legs, that’s it! Or that I have a flat tire. Less dramatic and more convincing!
09:00 – Too scared to cancel the appointment. I arrive two hours early. Circle the house like a hungry shark. My heart is pounding like a hammer and I’m ready to puke.
10:20 – Another panic attack. What the hell am I doing here! I’m going home, fuck it!
11:00 – She opens the door and takes my breath away. My head is spinning and my mouth is dry.
11:15 – Heaven is here at last! I’m a slave, Her slave! Each command is like manna, each stroke a miracle. A roller-coaster ride of beauty and pain!
12:05 – Drive home on a cloud of happiness.
14:00 – Can’t think, can’t focus; drowning in happiness.
17:50 – Staring at Her pictures on the Internet. Was I really HER slave today?
22:00 – I’m exhausted and go to bed. This has been the most amazing, unbelievable and unforgettable day of my life!

ON YOUR MARKS

I will never forget my very first session, with two professional Mistresses no less. It all went remarkably smooth, like stepping into a warm bath after a long, exhausting day. In the third, and final hour, one of the Mistresses introduced me to the bullwhip. She wasn’t the squeamish type, because ten minutes earlier She had pierced my nipples with needles. Just like that. Anyways, my arms and legs were spread wide and strapped in place. The whip cracked and seemed to burn itself through my skin. I bellowed in pain.
I see you appreciate the excellent workmanship that went into making this whip, She grinned.
The lashes came in quick succession, leaving me no time to recover. My body winched in pain.
Mistress, have pity on an innocent novice, I shivered.
She laughed out loud and made a serious attempt to whip me in half. That evening I examined my back in the mirror. It looked like a battlefield, with craters and trenches criss-crossing in every direction. The Nazca lines gone wrong, so to speak. I was very proud of them and couldn’t stop looking. They were silent witnesses of one of the most memorable days of my life. Over the weeks this beautiful landscape slowly began to fade, until finally it simply disappeared altogether. As if nothing happened. As if it was all a figment of my imagination.

CRIPPLE NIPPLE

She gave me a Grand Tour of submission. Some foot worship, some doggy training, a couple of well-earned slaps to the face, a bit of whipping to warm up the skin (for the horrors that would soon follow) and some CBT to tame the beast and his great balls of fire. Well … in a manner of speaking. The pain was mild and I honestly began to believe I had special powers of some sorts (such a rookie mistake). Then She pinched my nipples with Her long, razor-sharp nails. My body twitched violently.
Aha, She grinned, found your weak spot.
And that was the start of a painful romance between my nipples on the one hand, and clamps on the other. Now, nipple clamps are not that bad during the first twenty minutes or so. You could do a summersault, if you wanted to. I wouldn’t recommend it, but you could. But then, after a while, pain sets in. The clamps start chewing through your flesh like piranha’s on the loose. The clamps restrict the blood flow and pain ripples through your body like a shockwave. But that’s nothing compared to removing these man-eating things. I fear that moment more than anything. The blood rushes back into your nipples, like barbaric herds with a silence to kill. It’s an explosion of pain, there’s no better way to describe it. The more ruthless Ladies would then grab the dying nipples and squeeze them like grapes. Loved it, hated it, feared it, but most of all: felt it.