As I type this I can hear his pathetic whimpers from inside the closet.
“Mistresssss…..Miss…” he trails off breathlessly.
I hate and love his whining in this moment.
I refuse to answer. Especially after I’ve specifically told him today not to call me ‘Mistress’ that I wasn’t in fact his ‘Mistress’.
“All of this is a fucking game, I’ve never wanted to be a Mistress, I’ve just wanted to use pathetic, losers with low self esteem like you,” I whispered maniacally in his ears just an hour ago.
That was when he was naked and tied on the floor, fetal position, rolling around hooded in his own tears. His small body was covered with welts the size the belt and cane I had been beating him with and foot prints in his torso from where I had kicked and stood recklessly.
Of course I didn’t mean any of those things but he didn’t know that. He didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t this week…after all it was the second half of the training program. This half would be done all in person and I decided to start it off with something I liked to call “Reprogramming Week”.
It was simple yet effective tactic of breaking him down and slowly rebuilding him to what I wanted. Honestly, it was just one long mind fuck and I am not sure how it will turn out. It could be fantastic or it could be disastrous. One thing I know for certain is it will have some effect.
He’s going to be verbally humiliated, spat on, choked, undergo extended and repeated hypnosis, gaslit, isolated, blindfolded, beaten, shocked and more. For all intents purpose it’ll be 120 hours of mental, emotional and physical torture.
And if that’s not what consent is for then I don’t know what is…