A slave sent me this account of a recent session

They say ‘be careful what you wish for’. That’s often true but with Mistress Paris, you always get more than you bargained for. Just ask my punished balls. Their purple bruising tells the full story. 

I asked the mistress for a CP and humiliation session. Little did I expect that in the hands of this sadistic goddess, CP hardly describes it. I was led into the mistress’ dark dungeon in Sandy – the oubliette, a place of forgetting. But what happened that pain-wracked afternoon was a session I will never forget. 

It started in bondage. Mine. Mistress Paris is a magician of the rope. I was tied in knots that formed beautiful patterns around my naked body. Though I may have looked like a spider’s web of rope, I felt more like a crushed bug. She put me into so many stress positions that ached my joints but not half as much as her riding crop on my most sensitive bits. Foot soles, arse hole, all were vulnerable to her brutal beauty. 

Flicking her whip on my tender feet, her bastinado was best in show. Then she turned to my balls. She firmly tied a thin elastic round my poor testes and then hitched my two poor rounded friends to a metal pulley. Thus she yanked and cranked up the pulley so that my balls were stretched to the limit  – and beyond. Not content with this painful lift and carry, but she then attached a cast iron bucket to the aching testicles. You’ve heard of water torture? Well this was her next devilish move. She started to fill the bucket with water; the vessel got heavier and heavier and my balls felt like some giant magnet was drawing them towards the centre of the earth. I begged for mercy but to no avail. The swinging leather found its target between my sore legs. All the time, mistress giggled and kept tormenting me about the size of my cock. Just when I thought I was ready to utter the safe word, I was released from the bucket. But this was not the end of my tortured travails. She clamped a vicious wooden humbler on my throbbing nuts, ordered me on my knees to display the miniscule size of my by-now purple member. 

Mistress then had one more surprise. At the clap of her gloved hands, a naked slave entered the dungeon. With legs apart and prick akimbo, I was ordered to suck him off. Any hesitation was ‘rewarded’ with a blow of her cane or hard slap on the face. I clearly wasn’t doing a good job even though my cock sucking was reaching Dyson levels of suction. Mistress Paris waved a cattle prod at me and chuckled as its electrifying power sent shock waves through my buttocks and nipples. Needless to say, I sucked on his cock like a ravenous calf on the udder. 

Only when my fellow slave shot his load was the session brought to an end. Every bit of me ached, I had been tortured black and blue but I loved every moment. And so did she. 

My slaves account of our session

They say ‘be careful what you wish for’. That’s often true but with Mistress Paris, you always get more than you bargained for. Just ask my punished balls. Their purple bruising tells the full story. 

I asked the mistress for a CP and humiliation session. Little did I expect that in the hands of this sadistic goddess, CP hardly describes it. I was led into the mistress’ dark dungeon in Sandy – the oubliette, a place of forgetting. But what happened that pain-wracked afternoon was a session I will never forget. 

It started in bondage. Mine. Mistress Paris is a magician of the rope. I was tied in knots that formed beautiful patterns around my naked body. Though I may have looked like a spider’s web of rope, I felt more like a crushed bug. She put me into so many stress positions that ached my joints but not half as much as her riding crop on my most sensitive bits. Foot soles, arse hole, all were vulnerable to her brutal beauty. 

Flicking her whip on my tender feet, her bastinado was best in show. Then she turned to my balls. She firmly tied a thin elastic round my poor testes and then hitched my two poor rounded friends to a metal pulley. Thus she yanked and cranked up the pulley so that my balls were stretched to the limit  – and beyond. Not content with this painful lift and carry, but she then attached a cast iron bucket to the aching testicles. You’ve heard of water torture? Well this was her next devilish move. She started to fill the bucket with water; the vessel got heavier and heavier and my balls felt like some giant magnet was drawing them towards the centre of the earth. I begged for mercy but to no avail. The swinging leather found its target between my sore legs. All the time, mistress giggled and kept tormenting me about the size of my cock. Just when I thought I was ready to utter the safe word, I was released from the bucket. But this was not the end of my tortured travails. She clamped a vicious wooden humbler on my throbbing nuts, ordered me on my knees to display the miniscule size of my by-now purple member. 

Mistress then had one more surprise. At the clap of her gloved hands, a naked slave entered the dungeon. With legs apart and prick akimbo, I was ordered to suck him off. Any hesitation was ‘rewarded’ with a blow of her cane or hard slap on the face. I clearly wasn’t doing a good job even though my cock sucking was reaching Dyson levels of suction. Mistress Paris waved a cattle prod at me and chuckled as its electrifying power sent shock waves through my buttocks and nipples. Needless to say, I sucked on his cock like a ravenous calf on the udder. 

Only when my fellow slave shot his load was the session brought to an end. Every bit of me ached, I had been tortured black and blue but I loved every moment. And so did she. 

A Dogs Life

As you know, I run an animal shelter for unfortunate canines left to starve – beaten and abused. They are kept in large cages on my land in Spain and it’s part of my job to clean out their straw beds. I look after ‘my’ dogs well but then as you know I am a kind hearted cruel lady. But never cruel to animals of any kind. The only creature I am prepared to abuse is one with a three-letter name: M-E-N

Well, the other day, one of my slaves asked, yes asked, if he could be treated a one of my dogs – presumably a bitch. I was more than happy to oblige. I told him to come to my place early in the morning, before the sun gets up and heats the valleys and hills of Spain. He did as he was told and spent a whole day locked in one of the empty cages that still needed a good clean out. He was only allowed out for a brief walk – on a collar and chain of course. He had to be on all fours and only bark when told to. Any errant barking would be treated with a harsh kick or brief swish of my horse whip. And as for his ‘tail’ ..a cat o nine tails whip shoved up his arse gave a very good impression of a doggy’s rear end. 

Of course he had to clean out the dirty cage when he got back – no dog naps for him. I supervised of course wearing my riding britches and leather boots. If he was caught slacking  or eyeing up the other dogs in the surrounding cages, he got a firm boot up the backside. Naturally my boots got a bit dirty what with all the straw and dog mess around. So my little ‘best friend’ was ordered to use his mutt’s tongue to give my black boots a good licking. I wanted to see a reflection of his slavering mouth in the boots. He was good and must have layered a litre of spit on my waiting nut crushers. 

When the day was ending, it was time to give doggie a treat – a bowl of tepid water and a bag of dog biscuits which he had to devour in under 2 minutes. 

The session ending with letting Fido out of the cage and sending him on his way. But next day – guess what? I got a letter from him. Did you know that mongrels like him could write? Anyway here’s what he said; 

‘Dear Mistress Paris, 

Thank you so much for letting me serve you as your pet poodle. Although it was hot and smelly in that cage, although I felt really uncomfortable on my all fours, it was such a pleasure to serve you. I am so awe inspired by you. The more you abuse me with your whip, the more you kick me with your riding boots, the more you give me dry dog food – the more I adore you. Your attention to my kinky needs is amazing..you seem to know exactly when I want mistress to whip my hide, kick my arse or whack me with my neck chain. And I love it. I am totally in your power. You could lock me up forever. I am yours to command. I would live in that dog cage for you. I would obey every command. Sit when told. Howl when kicked. Bark at strangers and nuzzle my face on your dirty boots. I am and will always be – your pet, your ‘best friend’ 

 

The Real Thing …..

Real slavery was no joke and a terrible part of our history. I often think that my ‘slaves’ don’t really know the true meaning of the word. So while in my gorgeous pad in Spain I decided to play the part of the cruel slave mistress. One of my worms – a Brit who lives in a town nearby – asked if he could be a slave for a day. Of course I wanted to oblige. So I told him to turn up at my villa at 4 30 am and make sure he hadsome heavy chains around his legs. I also told him to wait by the gate of the villa until opened by me. Of course I wasn’t going to get up that early so left a note ‘Slave – wait here for your mistress to come. Do not move from this spot. I have cameras on you.’ As dawn broke, I heard the faint rattle of chains. It meant that my slave had done as he was told (how could he do anything else?)And so I slowly got dressed – a long white sun dress, figure hugging of course, this is Spain in early summer – and a broad brimmed hat. I carried a flicky horse whip of course. On feet were two Doc Martin boots as my estate can get a bit stony. Having got the slave to wait in the rising sun for two hours, I finally emerged. His first reaction was totally wrong. No bow. No going on his knees. So I bawled at him ‘Get on your knees worthless slave’ and struck him with my whip The first of many blows. I then kicked him up the arse and told him to follow me to the extensive land that I own down there in the Andalucia. He faced dropped when he saw a very dry, stony part of the gardens, and a rusty old garden fork. It was overrun with nettles and wild bushes. I told him there may even be snakes in there. His job was simple – to clear the ground ready for mistress to plant a herb garden. He didn’t seem to understand his task but was reminded with a swift kick in the nuts and a whip blow across his miserable backside. I pulled up a deckchair and with a nice cool drink (it was already very hot) watch the slave get to work. Of course he was rarely fast enough and often deserved a few well aimed blows. I enjoyed verbally abusing him and occasionally reminding him who is the boss lady by shoving him over and placing my boots on his hands. I could see he was part terrified of me, and part of any snakes lurking nearby. I knew of course there was a possibility, but properly not any but that was part of my fun.After several hours of this, it was lunchtime. I decided to reward his ‘hard’ work with a few dry bikkies and a litre bottle of cold water – half of which I poured over his sweating forehead. It was clear that this arrogant bastard didn’t know the meaning of hard work. Didn’t know the meaning of slavery. But you know what? Now he does!

SpanishBull (shit) fighter part 2

I couldn’t wait for my Spanish victim to visit the villa complete with the very chains and tools that I would use to make him suffer for being such a macho moron. At the appointed time, the doorbell rang. it was him. I opened the door of the villa wearing my tightest fitting black catsuit adorned by my best pair of thigh-length boots. With my long hair tied tightly back I say it myself, i did look very stunning and overpoweringly sexy. It was sex that the sexist senor thought he was coming for. I led the excited man into my main play room which is adorned with all manner of soft and hard toys. He gulped and I noticed a distinct swelling in his pants. He was ripe for the plucking and soon would be under my control. I told the guy to hand me the chains and tools I’d bought and he nervously gave me them but all the while looking ready to pounce. If only he knew! ‘So senora, what you do with this things?’ he croaked in his broken English. I told him to be patient but the stiffy in his pantaloons showed me he was ready to to burst. ‘Let;’s begin with a little fun’, I said giggling girlishly. He smiled. He continued to smile as a fix a nice pair of leather cuffs on him. He continued to smile as I connected the cuffs to my St Andrews Cross. The smiles went on as I looped the chains around his legs. Strangely though, the smiling ended as I produced a cat o’ nine tails. The grins disappeared as I swung the whip against his torso, ‘Stop! You can’t do this!!’ I just laughed at that. ‘OK I said, you don’t like this game. Let’s try another.’He nodded but not before I had freed him from the cross, still cuffed and bound, and kicked him on to all fours. With the heel of my left boot on his back, I proceeded to rip off his teeshirt and pants. Butt naked and in doggie position I went on to my next phase of torment. But first i tied a chain around his neck and secured it to a fixing in the floor. He wasn’t going anywhere. ‘We are going to play a little game you and I. A game you have grown up with. Let’s call it Ballfighting.’He gulped. ‘You mean BULL fighting’ I shook my head. ‘I know what I mean. I am a Spain’s greatest Matadortrix and you my little friend are my quarry. I am here to fight your balls!’ With that i put on the appropriate Spanish music, donned a red cape (went so well against my black suit) and proceeded to charge at his balls with the blunt end of my whip. He yelped in pain as my ‘sword’ – the whip made contact with his Spanish sacks. There was no escaping this fighter, Spain’s number one BallFighter. When I had done with bruising his balls, I told him it was time for a little Ole! Or more precisely HOLE-Y. This mean giving my bull a little tail. I yanked his legs apart to reveal a nice juciy target arsehole. Without hesitation, I shoved the whip end up him leaving the leather cords of the whip as a bushy tail. ‘We are now going to have more fun.’ I released his chain from the floor. But this was only for my benefit. With bullring music blazing out, i chased my sissy male bull all around the room until he was so tired he fell over sideways. It was time to place my right boot on his prone body. I had conquered this man-bull. As the music built to a climax, I had only one thing to say – ‘Ole!

SPANISH BULL (SHIT)FIGHTER

Being on lockdown in southern Spain, having to spend afternoon by my pool in the villa, it sounds like hard work, no? But there are compensations and opportunities to find new willing (and unwilling slaves) keen to serve their mistress of the Costas. The other day i was doing some shopping in the local flea market. It’s a bustling place but these days there aren’t many foreigners around among the Spanish locals. One of my favourite stalls sells all the sorts of things my wicked mind likes to use – pulleys, rope, clamps, adjustable spanners and hammers. All good fun excpt the stallholder is a dickhead of the highest order. A Spanish macho male who likes to lord it over women. And of course when he sees a beautiful English senora, what does he do? He drools and slavers eyeing up her lithe body but fixes on her blonde hair. Blonde = dumb to him and his kind. So he treats me with much disrespect. He is about to learn a lesson that will be hard to forget. I buy a rope and tackle – ‘You gonna hang up some poor man si?’ He thinks this is funny but the smile will be on the other side of his face when the man hanging will be him. i tell him I’ve got some DIY jobs to do at my villa but am going to need help to do the job. He slavers and thinks he’s on to a winner. ‘I will help you senora..when can I come round?’ I chuckle inwardly and tell him to visit me the next evening. After dark. He slavers more expecting no doubt to be inside my villla and inside my pants. Little does he suspect. The next day I make preparations with the very stuff that the randy Spaniard sold me – the pulley and rope fixed to a beam in the cellars, ropes for binding, metal chains for holding a man down, spanners for squeezing his nipples and a ragged bit of rubber tubing that can have many uses. I couldn’t wait for the next day when my battle with that Spanish bull-shitter would begin. I will hear the shouts of ‘ole!’ as i taunt him with my red cloak, needle his body with pins and clamps – I will be the toreador of torture!
Part two to come….

Who Let The Subs Out Of The Bag

You know the expression ‘two peas in a pod’? – well how about having two subs in a sack? As you can see from my movie clip, two of my slaves were ‘enjoying’ a get together in a body bag made for two. I think this is a unique form of incarceration – well I invented it so I should know. The two subs were placed in the tight fitting bag – one tied, the other not, -there was no escape. Wriggle as they might, there was no way out of this Latex sleeping bag (although it was not meant for sleep)I had a hilarious time watching the two squirm like a couple of ferrets in a sack.

One had her hands free so on command could play with the cock and balls of the other tied up rodent. It must have been hot trapped in there but that only made for more fun as their two bodies slid and slithered inside the sweaty sack. I had a good giggle watching them obey may orders and it was hard to resist (so I didn’t) giving the bag the odd kick and shove. I love my invention so much that I have plans for post lockdown fun. Maybe order two subs who dislike each other to spend a whole net tete a tete – as well as cock a cock and arse a arse!! They would have to struggle to find a comfy spot and one would come out on top – literally. Oh yes when it comes to new forms of torture – your mistress has it in the bag! 

Social distance domination.

When I heard that the government was going to impose a ‘lockdown’ you
can imagine how excited I got. I’ve been locking down slaves for many
years. My Oubliette dungeon has seen many a naked male locked in
chains down beneath the feet of his mistress, or if lucky, gang of
mistresses. Of course I soon realised that this lockdown meant staying
at home and operating a good few feet between people. It also means
that for the moment, visitors to the  dungeon are not allowed – but I
did have one unexpected arrival who never forgot what a real ‘lock
down’ would mean. He learnt a lot that day and has the scars to prove
it…literally!

He had come to look at a leaky gas appliance and I kept my distance
while he fiddled around with his tools. He was quite a young, muscular
specimen, just the type I like to play with. ‘I will soon be fiddling
with his tools’, I thought trying to supress an evil grin.

After he’d finished I pretended there was a leaky gas smell in the
adjoining building. Would he investigate. He nodded and I followed him
in to a room he had never expected to see- my dungeon equipped as it
was with throne, spanking bench, whips, stocks, cages and torture bed.
His face was a sight to see. His jaw almost dropped to the floor as
first he looked at the instruments of torment around the dungeon and
then back to me.

‘Any of this interest you Mr Gasman’, I said in a seductive voice. He
swallowed hard and said something like he’d been looking at femdom
porn but never seen it in real life.

‘Would you like to try it?’ I asked in my most innocent voice. He
nodded, too dry mouthed with excitement mixed with fear, to say
anything.

‘Well then, the first stage is to get undressed and  wait for me at
the other end of the chamber. Remember we will keep our two metre
distance at all times. This will be arms length domination.’

He rapidly stripped and did what he was told; stood stark naked at the
end of the room. I left him for a moment while I put on my nursey
swabs, masks and all. Rubber gloves of course. Apron and boots. He
gasped as he saw me change into the dominant nurse. A care worker who
would soon be taking care of his bare arse.

‘To keep my distance, I am going to tell you now to kneel where you
are with your back to me and your arse high in the air. I am going to
whip you with long bullwhip and you are going to count the strokes but
most importantly not move an inch. If you come even a centimetre
closer, I will lash you unmercilessly, is that clear?’

He nodded and did what he was told. He had little choice.

And so I began, gently (by my standards) at first and then with more
power and gusto. He was a good boy and counted all the strokes up to
50 including the ones past 25 when the purple stripes on his bum were
turning to oozing red.

At the last stroke, I told him to take down a pair of my thigh length
boots stored on the shelf above his head, and give them a damn good
clean with his tongue.

I watched him do this from my thrown. He could see behind my face mask
that I meant business and no slacking was allowed.

After I was satisfied that my boots were sparkling clean, I ordered
him to get dressed and get out.

He did so bowing and scraping and holding on to his sore behind. I
watched him as he left up the driveway, half limping but looking
pleased with himself. I imagine that when the lockdown is over, he’ll
be back and I’ll be locking him down good and proper.

Shock and Awe

Mistress Krush is a very good friend, but she can be really shocking.
Literally. I mean that she loves using electrics on naughty and
disgusting slaves. In one of Oubliette’s recent films we see her
working up that sadistic mind of hers to a state of cruel frenzy.
Dressed in a super sexy black bra, leather corset and black stockings,
she shows the trussed up slave, hooded and vulnerable on a St Andrew’s
Cross, what she has in that kinky mind of hers. She puts on her long
black gloves – ready for torment. They feel soft and nice but the
naked slave won’t be feeling so happy once the mistress takes charge
of her wicked electric wand. Always keen on anatomy, Mistress Krush
explores every inch of his body with Oubliette’s electro pain
dispenser. As she caresses his bollocks with her implement, he cries
out in agony especially as Krush turns up the heat on those buzzing
volts. Attaching metal claws to her right glove, the torment continues
as she scrapes and scratches all over his tender body. His screams are
almost feline, high pitched with horror. It is all good fun for
Mistress Krush who is proud of her slave for taking so much pain. It
is clear that she is enjoying every torturous minute. There is one
moment where he metal claw is placed dangerously close to his jap’s
eye. She is less pleased with his constant wriggling and squirming.
‘Stop moving!’ she orders and despite his pain (and fear of coming
pain) he does as he is told – lucky slave!

What happens next – especially to his tender nipples you can only
imagine but actually you don’t need to – just watch the video. Don’t
be shocked!

Beg for my Heels
When it comes to naked male slaves Mistress Krush knows how to put her
foot down. Especially true when those gorgeous feet are clad in
stockings and six-inch stiletto heels. Sitting on the Oubliette’s
leather sofa looking as gorgeous as she is cruel, Krush summons the
wretched slave into the room. He knows just what is expected – to lick
her long pointed heels squeaky clean with his willing wet tongue.
First he has to beg for them – nothing comes easy to a slave of this
Mistress. That’s an Oubliette rule.

Removed from his cage, the slave is ordered to lie flat out on the
floor before working hard on her shoes. It seems though that he needs
some encouragement. Happily Mistress Krush has her own method of slave
encouragement – a cat-o-nine tails which is expertly flicked on his
bare back and vulnerable balls. As she rests her leather soles on his
cheekbone, she continues to expect the highest standard of shoe
cleaning. He is more than a shoe-shine boy though – he is a pain slut
who deserves constant punishment. Luckily Mistress Krush knows no
bounds and has a clever knack of squeezing his knackers as she gives
him calm instructions on how each heel, each sole and each leather
upper needs careful attention from his worthless mouth.

She teases him with her stockinged toes – pretty and fragrant
providing him with some pleasure as he caresses her feet (even though
Mistress Krush continues to work her strong grip on his throbbing
testicles). He breathes in her feminine flavours – sniffing and
licking as she continues to apply her vice like grip on his aching
nether regions.

If you want to see a cruel mistress at the top of her game, don’t miss
‘Beg for my heels’.

Brochettes de scrotum

Don’t needle Mistress Krush – she knows how to use her sharp needles
to get maximum flinch from a tortured slave boy. The slave’s naked
body was tightly strapped into the torture bed as Krush dressed in
tight PVC skirt towered over the face of the tormented one and laid
down a few house rules; the main one being that she was totally in
charge and that he was there to suffer and serve.  Further anchoring
his hips and ankles she tells him not to try to close his legs
together –she wants to see tension in his lower body. Her words are
delivered with cool precision. This is a lady who knows what she
wants. And will get it.

His cock is in chastity and she ties the device to the overhead bar to
provide a wonderfully vulnerable set of genital targets. She pulls his
ball sac every which way. Donning her pair of leather gloves she
demands hand worship. She squeezes and pulls the bollocks until they
are ready to pop. He begs her to desist – she laughs – only she will
decide.

It is then that Krush shows the slave her box of 20 or so needles.
With cold-hearted precision and her sadistic running commentary, she
slowly, ever so slowly, pushes each needle into his bollocks. His
sharp intakes of breath responding to the waves of searing pain are
music to her ears. She creates a beautiful pattern using his scrotum
as a tapestry. Krush’s face is a picture – intense concentration as
each sharp sliver of metal finds its new home in his balls; her voice
soft, focused and determined. Mercy is not on her mind.

What goes in must come out and the slave’s pain-fest continues as
Mistress Krush slowly extracts each pin – her sadistic mind now in
overdrive as she twists them out.

She admires her work – enjoys the sight of the tiny crimson pearls of
blood decorating his groin. She grips his balls as the last few pins
are pulled out.

If you want to see a real professional sadist hard at work – devoted
to the production of pain, then you will do well to watch this. There
is suffering but also beauty as the red droplets contrast against
Krush’s jet black gloves. There is also reward as the slave’s tongue
is ordered into action to clean up the sweat on mistress’s body
including her armpit. Torture is hot work as you will see in
Brochettes du scrotum