The Old 'Wankstain' himself, Rimmer.

Jan 7, 2014

My owned slave ‘Rimmer’ has been an astonishingly lucky creature: he was lucky enough to serve me and my dear friend Miss Sherry for a long weekend away in a luxury country home. The price of being in the delightful company of two beautiful women was that he slaved as hard as possible to clean and cook for us and satisfy our slightest whim. Oh… and he also had to be endlessly tortured and humiliated to give Sherry and I some much-needed laughs for the start of the New Year. I’ve let him write his own notes about his experiences – mainly so that I. can pull holes in his account and torment him further for any slips. A slave writes: My first evening with Miss Miranda and Sherry proved to be a mixture of intense embarrassment and humiliation combined with periods of pain and torture as both women had fun firing ideas between each other to make my life as difficult as possible. Miss Miranda suddenly decided to practise her rope-bondage skills on my naked body: ‘I’ll just start roping him up and then we can see what ideas spring to mind,’ she told Sherry. Unusually, the bondage started at my feet with cord wrapped around both my little and big toes, stretching them uncomfortably in a hogtie position towards my hands held tight behind my back. Sherry contented herself with using me as a footstool for some of the time, sitting back and enjoying a glass of wine whilst occasionally leaning forward from her comfortable seat to dig her nails into my bare nipples and ensure I was constantly in discomfort and pain. Once Mistress Miranda had placed a rubber hood over my head and the tight bands around each of my balls to deliver regular electric shocks Sherry then had the clever idea of picking on one particular part of my body for more intense and painful torture; the sort of repeated pain that builds over time to become more and more unbearable. The only thing that the two women could not agree on was which bit of me to pick. I think Mistress wanted to choose my nipples but Sherry already had a pen in her hand. I was helpless to stop her as she drew a black ink circle on my inside thigh; just to ram home the point she completed her artwork with the words: “Torture Here!” The rest of the evening is something of a blur for me as the Mistresses grew wilder and wilder in their choice of humiliation and degradation. At one point I was briefly released – but only so that I could rustle up a quick meal for both ladies to keep their strength up for the hours ahead. For my meal, I was left to eat a dead insect that Sherry’s sharp eyes had noticed on the kitchen floor. The women watched closely as I was forced to pop the bug between my lips and swallow. Then it was back into bondage for me, flat on my back on a rug in front of the fireplace with my mouth fixed open with a Jennings gag while Miss Miranda relieved her overfull bladder directly onto my face. I had barely begun to breath again when Sherry insisted I flip over onto my tummy in order that she could deep-throat my mouth with her huge strap on cock, which was then duly shoved deeper and deeper into my arse as she practised her slave-fucking technique. For much of the time I was being filmed and photographed by whichever Mistress was taking a break from the task of making me suffer. The hours flew by in gales of laughter (for them) and endless misery (for me) and suddenly it was well past two in the morning and both Mistresses announced that they were retiring to their luxurious and comfortable double beds upstairs. I was left alone to extricate myself as best I could from the last ropes and straps and stagger to a tiny attic room where a mean single bed awaited. As I collapsed and attempted to get a bare hour or two of sleep I reflected on the glorious evening my two Mistresses had granted me. The one treat was to find that Sherry had left a soiled pair of panties from herself and a second worn pair from Miss Miranda on my pillow. What a kind Mistress she can be at times! As I drifted into fitful dreams I little knew that the next day and night would hold more of the same – but worse… far, far worse. Bookmark and Share
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