Tag Archives: Mistress Valkyrie

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.

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.