When a slave asks to be tortured – seriously put through the pain
barrier – he has come to the right place. A new slave asked for me for
a serious session of torment and of course I was happy to oblige.
Actually I had a partner in pain – Mistress Lash. We make a devilish
pair and you won’t find a more willing sisterhood of sadists.
Lash and I looked pretty awesome in our domination outfits and were
ready to give the miserable wretch what he so craved – unrelenting
torture; pain that crossed his (dis)comfort zone.
After ordering him to strip naked, we roughly took his limbs and
strapped him to our St. Andrews Cross. Mistress Lash covered his eyes
with a blindfold and I whispered in his ear, “We are about to take you
into a new dimension – a world of pain and suffering that you crave.
We who inflict this on you have few limits. The more we make you
suffer – the better it is, for us. We are going to abuse your body,
immerse you in a deep pool of pain. Are you ready?” The creature
gulped, made a slight nod to the head, his mouth was too dry to utter
His body already quivering in fear (or anticipation), we introduced
him to the world of electrics – those shuddering currents of agony
(ecstasy for us).
I donned my electric glove and stroked his body. Electric currents ran
through his skin. As I turned up the strength, his torso began to
writhe and judder in pain. But this was only the beginning.
I whispered into his ear: “Are you scared? Just a bit? This is only
the start.” I turned up the volume of electricity a little more and he
let out what was first a moan but one that turned rapidly into a deep
groan. His lips tightened as the current went through his body like an
Mistress Lash and I then got to work with our electric pinwheel
devices. This delivers vicious little shocks of pain – sharp one
moment, fizzing with pain the next. I used a four-wheel model on his
cock and balls. His groans were turning to the beginning of a scream.
We knew that we were making our mark.
The noises he made encouraged us to further acts of cruelty. I found
my electric rake – imagine a witch’s broomstick with electrified prods
on the end. I scraped it over his useless body until the screams
became louder and more agonized.
“Keep the noise down, bitch,” I bellowed. Mistress Lash and I laughed
at his predicament. She took a ball gag and stuffed his mouth to
dampen the noise this human animal was making.
After more electro-torments, we let him down and ordered him on all
fours. “You are a dog, a filthy little cur,” barked Mistress Lash. She
has got a tongue on her when she hots up – and she was getting off on
the sadistic scene in my dark dungeon. We took off his gag and told
him to kiss our boots, to heel and sniff our arses like the dog that
he is. He did as he was told but sounded a bit cocky.
Mistress Lash hates men to be disrespectful to superior women, so she
gave the brute a good kick.
Trapping his head between my thighs, I shouted at him, “Say that women
rule”. He seemed to be uncertain about this but a savage lash from a
handy whip made him think again. “Say that women rule!”, I ordered. He
said it but not in any convincing way so we got to work on his cock.
Twisting, beating and use of the electro pinwheel soon convinced him.
“Women rule, women rule,” he uttered.
Mistress Lash was unappeased. “Say it five times!”
He did so but not to our satisfaction. It is one thing to say but
another to truly believe. And we thought he did not sound convincing
enough. It was time to take him to yet another level of pain.
I am an expert in Japanese rope bondage and decided to truss him up
like a doomed chicken. We secured him to the hoist and raised him off
the ground. My rope work created a wonderful spider’s web. But this
was no ordinary rope. It was electrified cord. Caught in a web of
pain, arms outstretched as if crucified, the slave let out his loudest
cry of pain yet. Mistress Lash added to his tortured body with an
electric whip and I beat him with an electro cane. It seemed all too
much as the slave shouted out the safe word.
Funnily enough, we didn’t seem to hear that safe word. We just carried
on. As we inflicted more beatings with our electrified instruments of
torture, he cried out as if to the gods, “Women rule, women
We took him down from the hoist, and I unwrapped him from bondage. But
his ordeal was not over. Not by a long chalk.
We ordered him on to the torture bed. Mistress Lash, now dripping with
sadistic excitement, tied him incredibly tightly. We put savage metal
clamps on his bollocks and nipples. These were connected to the bed’s
winch which meant we could tighten the screws on the most sensitive
parts of his body.
As we turned the rack on his balls and nipples, he screamed out the
mantra we wanted to hear, “Women rule, women rule”.
My appetite to hurt men was now in full flow. I took my electric cane
and beat the hell out the soles of his feet. The pain must have been
nigh on unbearable as he begged for mercy and shouted out the safe
word over and over.
He was covered in sweat and we were dripping in feminine juices. We
decided to be merciful and let him out of his agony.
As he stood up, very shakily, Mistress Lash gave him one of her
signature slaps across the face. I spat into his eyes and asked him
what he had learnt from the session in my dungeon. He could barely
speak but what he said was music to our ears: “women rule, women