Tag Team Tornado

Sep 14, 2013

 A few hours of Tag Team domination between me and my kinky colleague Miss Sherry can reduce even the best trained slaves to gibbering, submissive wrecks, barely able to speak, let alone walk away once we have finished mistreating their worthless hides. Although we have slightly different styles of play, both Sherry and I have the same aim in mind: to leave our subs totally mentally fucked and very thoroughly punished for their many sins. The fate of one slave who fell into our eager hands this week should serve as a warning for all who think they could handle two such powerful and demanding women: ‘Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here.’


The wretch in question had been only too keen to sign himself up for the Miss Miranda and Sherry experience, even claiming that he would like more and more and more hours of torment at our hands. ‘Bring it on and do you worst’ was his attitude; a boast which was to cost him dear. Knowing the slave’s many weaknesses, I decided that little Sherry should take the first couple of hours of the session in order that she might begin the softening up process which I knew would lead to his eventual downfall. I therefore prepared my sub with a few bare essential, such as stripping him naked and roping an electrified metal butt plug deep into his arse before handing him over to my pretty little friend. As soon as the slave saw Miss Sherry’s beautiful body, barely hidden by some flimsy, black lingerie, his eyes lit up and his lips started drooling. I know, however, that behind her adorable, sexy façade, Sherry has the heart of a true dominatrix and that the slave was in for a few hours of torment with her that he would never forget.


There are always a host of behind-the-scenes jobs requiring my attention around Hanwell Towers and so I left Sherry to take the subbie off to my suspension room to do her worst whilst I busied myself elsewhere in the building. As a result I don’t know the exact details of precisely what my young colleague did to the slave I had entrusted to her charge. From time to time I could hear faint echoes of his moans of discomfort and his squeals of pain emanating from different room: sounds which always bring a smile of pleasure to my lips. Sherry is clearly doing a great job on tenderising the slave ready for my more experienced attention, I thought to myself. I later learned that he had been teased and denied to perfection, being kept in the strictest bondage and punished in Sherry’s own special ways every time he grew too lustful for the lovely ladybits which I must admit she does have a habit of flaunting in front of my slaves’ eyes. The combination of lust and sadistic cruelty always leaves her victims breathless and drooling, but even I was surprised by how utterly fucked-up the slave was when she handed control back to me a couple of hours later. By then he was kneeling on all fours on the dungeon floor, whimpering and dribbling and so humiliated that he was unable to even meet my stern gaze. Gentle Sherry had turned this once-proud slave into little more than an animal state. I’m sure that if she had demanded it, he would have barked, sat and rolled over upon command. There was a sweet smile of satisfaction playing across Sherry’s lips as she slipped away for a well-earned break.


There was, of course, no break coming for my tearful subbie. If he thought that life was going to get any easier once Sherry had left the room then he was sorely mistaken. Even so, I do believe that sessions should have a rhythm that allows for a steady and relentless build-up of pressure, interspersed with brief moments that allow my slaves to recover their wits enough to reflect on what they have already endured and then begin to become scared of what is to come. Accordingly I strapped my sub down on the bondage bench, attached the steady wanking beat of my milker machine to his cock and gave him a few minutes of quiet reflection. The art of these moments is to judge precisely when the sub is beginning to relax and receive pleasure – and then couple that enjoyment with renewed and ever-more punishing torment. In this case, I decided that while the milker was providing the pleasure, a new torment should be added to his as-yet untouched nipples.


For some reason my slave just could not stay quiet as instructed as I pierced needles through the skin around each nipple. Honestly, sometimes my subs are their own worst enemies because I had promised him that every squeal I heard would be the cue for yet another needle to be inserted on each side. It took needle after needle before he cottoned on to the fact that I had an endless needle supply and that he should learn by his mistakes and take the pain without complaint before I turned him into a human pincushion. From then onwards I occupied my time with a fun set of tortures in each room of my premises, culminating in the strictest bondage, sat helpless and being relentlessly wanked by my Venus machine whilst watching the most disgusting porn which I had found on his laptop computer. That was how Sherry found him when she returned for her own Round Two.


We continued swapping this hapless slave between us for a few more hours that evening. We were both gratified to see that with each handover our victim became more and more mentally wrecked and compliant to our every command. By the end of the long, long session we sat and chatted in front of him, confident that he was but a shadow of his former self, well and truly fucked-up, smeared in his own juices, humiliated to his limits and utterly addicted to our dominant attentions. It will take him some considerable while, I feel, to recover but I have confidence that in time this slave, like so many before him, will be unable to resist the lure of our charms: he’ll be back!

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