A Weekdend with Fetish Liza

Jul 14, 2013

Another wonderfully sexy session last night in which one lucky slave got a little more closely acquainted with the beautiful Fetish Liza’s pretty black panties than he had bargained for, during a breath control session in my medical room.  He was lucky because Liza, here to stay in London with me for a few days, was inside the pants when she sat on his face. He was unlucky because she cleverly arranged her delectable rear and her thong-clad crotch to ensure that he could only breathe when we wanted him to: which – surprise, surprise – was not very often at all.

I am always amazed at how easy it is to reduce a grown subbie to a snivelling little boy crying for his Mummy by the simple expedient of taking away his air supply for a few seconds at a time. They start out so bravely, believing that all they have to do is hold their breath for a short while, but soon find that the fear and the adrenaline rush of being smothered by sexy lady-bits gets too much for their poor male brains to cope with. My slave yesterday was the perfect example. While I busied myself working on his electrified arse and his tormented cock and balls, Fetish Liza settled herself down comfortably on his face and we started to play the counting game.

The rules of the game are simplicity itself. Liza or I count out loud and the slave knows he will stay smothered until we reach a pre-determined number of our choice. The number does, of course, go up all the time and we can play the game over and over and over again until we quickly reach our gasping subbie’s limits. From then on our determination to have fun is matched by the slave’s diminishing ability to cope with his reduced oxygen supply. His panic, his excitement, the nearness of Liza’s pussy and bottom, my tormenting administrations and his growing fear all add up to a potent mix of submissive heaven and hell. He craves to be buried in her panties once again… but simultaneously begs for our game to come to an end. What a fascinating dilemma for any man to face!

Now, to be fair to my slave, he had already been faced with more than an hour of softening-up in my suspension room where both of we beautiful women had teased and tortured him into a fucked-up state of submission. Suspended in a sling with heavy electrics pumping his metal butt-plug and the electric pads on his inner thighs, he could do nothing to prevent Fetish Liza and I enjoying ourselves. He had to just hang there for a while and watch as Liza played with herself and teased the hell out of him with tantalising glimpses of her body, ably assisted by me and several of my vibrators and dildos. Perhaps I should not have added to his frustration by using the magic wand to tease his cock, nor hung quite so many heavy weights on his balls – but then I never have believed in doing things by halves.

There just remained one last stage of preparation before we moved the slave onto the medical bench. His arse was just too exposed by his position for us not to be tempted to fill it. Removing his pulsating butt-plug, I donned a suitably large strap-on and rammed it in to his arsehole with just the bare minimum of lube to ease its passage. Then, as I pumped away, my friend Liza used her exquisitely long painted nails to dig into his balls and the head of his cock. A slave’s screams are so sweet to enjoy on a warm summer’s evening.

Bookmark and Share