Back From the Brink

Mar 15, 2013

When a slave returns to visit me after proving that he can be exceptionally pig-headed, using his power and influence in the outside world to assert his dominance over his subordinates he must of course be brought down a peg… or two… hundred Standing at the head of a large conglomerate ‘Peter’ is everything that he has worked for all his life. He oozes charm, sophistication and wealth. His hand made suits, manicured nails and snappy haircut show all too well that this man has reached the pinnacle of his career. As always, such achievements carry just about 0% weight when he enters my chamber; he will get his ass fucked, his head mind-raped and his body abused just like every other subbie that dares to walk to my door.

Today Peter once again offered me an insight into his business realm and let me tell you what I witnessed wasn’t pretty. Puffing his chest out with bravado, he regaled me with his foreign travels, the ‘important’ work he had achieved, his lists of successes and how basically his world revolved around him. He was like a peacock strutting his stuff and I could see exactly the effect Peter would have on women… MOST WOMEN. ‘What a piece of work’, I thought to myself, ‘this one needs stamping down… hard’. 

‘STRIP’ comes my command, in a strong, firm but no nonsense voice. ‘I’ve heard enough for one day, now you listen to me. I don’t care what you do in the outside world. In here, you’re my property, my possession and mine to do with as I please. Clothes off NOW… I’m counting how long it takes… and the penalty-clock is running.’ There is something intrinsically humiliating for a man in pulling off his clothes in front of a dominant woman, especially when he is stripping as fast as he can, with no time to maintain his dignity in a desperate need to avoid his inevitable fate. He doesn’t know yet exactly what my counting higher and higher numbers will bring… just that it is certain to be bad.

This time, I’ve counted to 16 before he stands naked in front of me, his hands somehow irresistibly drawn to the appendage dangling between his legs. ‘Did I tell you to touch that worthless cock.’ I ask? ‘No I didn’t!’ The effect is electric; his hand flying to this side, his breath shortening with fear and his cock starting to stiffen at the sound of my voice. I have already selected a good-sized, metal, electric butt plug to begin his torment, and now I send my naked victim on an errand to the medical room to fetch lube and a rope to fasten his new toy in place. I can hear him fumbling and starting to panic as I continue with my numbers game… 25… 26…27…

The count has reached 34 by the time he returns and is immediately told to face the wall, bend over and spread his arse cheeks while the plug is pushed in, to the hilt, and his electric box wires are connected. As I busy myself adjusting the level of current to ensure a firm, though not yet painful, throbbing sensation deep in his rear, I reveal what punishments Peter now has in store. ‘The numbers today are the number of thrusts of my strap-on that are going right down to the back of your throat. Take them well and there might be a reward: make a fuss and spoil my fun and I promise you’ll regret it.’

This initial phase of Peter’s reduction from business executive to lowly, humbled slave takes place in my medical room. With hands strapped by his side, his legs up in my gynaecological stirrups and multiple straps securing his body, he is going nowhere until I’ve finished my work. Time, I think, to tweak the electrics in his arse a little higher so that he really feels as though he is getting fucked by a large metal cock with every thrust of the current. And, to add to his discomfort, I always have my

electric straps to hand, perfect for adding a tingle of pain to his balls or strapping around the base of his now-erect cock. 

I take my time fitting him snugly into the well-lubricated silicone tube of my multi-milking machine and making certain that the pace is set to precisely the rhythm that will keep him on the brink of an orgasm whilst not sending him over the edge into a premature climax.  I need him sexually desperate and frustrated for a while longer yet to complete his mental destruction and to squeeze every last ounce of corporate cockiness out of his head. That process is helped a little by my feeding him every last drop of a golden shower as the machine continues its work. Peter has several hours of mechanical wanking to endure and he knows exactly how unhappy I will be if he should dare to cum without permission.

And so to the main event: satisfied that his cock arse and balls are all busily occupied, I move to his head end with one of my bigger strap-ons and start to ram it down his throat. The position I’ve strapped him in means that he has to stretch and tilt his head to one side to accommodate my cock, but I am comfortable and his discomfort is of no concern to anyone – least of all me. Time for this Oh-so-powerful executive to learn what it is like to be bottom of the food chain, choking on my toy and realising that he is good for nothing but sucking cock.  Now… how many thrusts did I promise down his throat? Oh Yes, 34 wasn’t it? Well best to ignore all his pathetic choking and gagging sounds and get properly started:

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