As I looked down at him writhing in purposefully bargained for pain I couldn’t help thinking to myself…
‘One year ago I started the search for a slave and with his helpless body beneath me, I could say it was worth the wait thus far.‘
Was he “the” slave? The one I’ve been cautiously creating in my mind all these years?
He wasn’t the long distance bluffer, the obsessive one-kink fetishist, the emotionally unstable, needy, sad sack, nor was he a disguised fantasist, deeply ashamed of his submission or worse, a trauma-wounded lost man-baby looking for a kinky Mommy. I knew he wasn’t that because I’d already met all of those types in the past year.
He was different.
“More please Mistress,” he desperately purred softly in between heavy breaths.
I took my new silicone dragon’s tongue and lifted it over my head aiming with some precision. I took pity on his naked, welted, white canvas of a body. After the first 20 whips with this thing he earned half a paper towel to place anywhere on his body where I would “try” to avoid in the next 20 swings.
But, ya know, human error is not impossible haha.
I smiled at the fact that the newbies and the Catholic school boys were always the unpredictably fun ones to play with as prey. I know I said, ‘No more newbies‘ a while back, and I meant it. I didn’t go looking for this stray kitty-boy. He came to me, meowing, pleading, liking the silly things I like, at my doorstep, with big wanting eyes. Ugh the innocence in them was intoxicating.
I could feel myself getting drunk on them now, even though I had him blindfolded. He was trussed up like a good kitty-boy slut for me: caged in a sissy pink Holy Trainer device, key hanging around my neck, a cheap maid’s costume, a pink bralette, panties resting around his ankles, arms and wrists bound to the bed…you get the picture. He made it easy to want to corrupt. He made me want to show him just how depraved he really was. Come on down the rabbit hole silly sissy, we’re all a little mad here.
I got close to his ear, resting my body weight carefully but sinking into his side, and whispered, “You’re going to do everything I say aren’t you Starr?”
I yanked on his collar and leather lead to remind him that I held him firmly where I wanted…
He was still in his sissy headspace after the light, live, hypno-sissy session we had just explored where I coaxed his feminine out for a little jollification. For twenty whole minutes he let me play in his head, “tinker” with the elements I wanted to bring forth, smooth over some of the edges of ones I liked the most and do what I do best…
Slowly he nodded, his long locks falling away from his softened face.
“Anything, Mistress. I’ll do anything for you. I’m your good little slut,” he chimed back like an obedient submissive toy.
I don’t know if he realized that since he’d been secured to the bed, every time he was called a ‘slut’ or referred to himself as one, he turned his thighs inward until his knees touched. A ‘body blush’ I call them. Full on anime girl edition. It was really hot, and provided every opportunity for me to force them open and hold him down, biting and scratching to my satisfaction and using my knee stocking clad feet to keep him on the edge of it all.
I did it now, imbedding my long purple lacquered nails into his reddening flesh. He opened his mouth but no sound escaped, he was somewhere between a moan and a scream; mind and body at odds. The perfect predicament in my opinion.
“I want to be your canvas Mistress. I want you to use me and mark me as yours. I want to give you all of me,” he had confessed earlier as I traced lines lightly along his slender frame.
What is ‘all’ of someone? A question I pondered even with his trembling flesh under my fingernails.
In the meantime what a canvas he was becoming. Allowing me to slowly paint the lines of structure into his life, blending his desires with reality, drawing mental maps with my hypnotic words, and dipping more than a toe into the masochist playing field that he already has hints of harnessing within. Perhaps the great artists of past also felt this way, bursting at the seams with creative reflections of inner brewing that show who we are at our core.
Lets see if mind and body can paint a pretty picture.