Hello.
A student in the Writing Department from University of Victoria came to observe one of my session with regular slave for her non-fiction narrative course.
I got a permission to share it with public.
Do It for the Domme.
Mistress Yoko fingers a black and purple flogger. The*tool’s leather and rubber straps*flourish the air in a practice lash, in tandem with the piano strikes of a Rachmaninoff concerto. She takes position to the left of her slave.
Scarlet rope ensnares the slave’s torso in “kikkou,” a traditional Japanese bondage style. His arms are strapped behind his back, rendering him helpless as he waits for the next bout of torture in the 90-minute session. The slave’s nipples are red from the nipple clamps that dangled steel weights just minutes before. Swollen pink rings circle his nipples from the bites of the two mistresses. The only clothing he was ordered to keep on is a pair of women’s red lace panties. One of the attached garters drapes down the front of his pale left thigh.
“Ready for the hundred?” Mistress Yoko rolls the flogger up the 73 year-old’s back and neck.
“No mistress,” he puffs, voice thin.
“If you get hundred here I’ll give you reward. Don’t you want to worship your mistress’s body, huh?” She floats closer, a bare nipple tantalizingly close to the slave’s cheek.
“Yes mistress.”
“Don’t you want to kiss it—”
“Yes mistress.”
“You be a good girl and go for the hundred both sides?” She shifts back to the side of*him.
“Both sides?”
“Yes.”
“Oh god,” the slave breathes, his eyes widening with anticipation.
*“Mistress Victoria will count it.”
The other mistress places the nipple clamps on an end table and steps forward, her black boots clicking on the hardwood. The corners of her mouth leer upward as she counts every lash Mistress Yoko inflicts on the slave.
The man winces with each hit and expels a rush of air coupled with soft moans.
Mistress Yoko steps in small circles with her left hand on her hip. One stiletto heel rises slightly off the floor each time the straps connect with skin.
Mistress Victoria counts, “Ninety.”
Mistress Yoko’s hand moves off her hip and palms out in front of her for balance, and her right arm whips harder for the last ten.
The slave screams. Bursts of noise, cut short, by every consecutive whip fall. Mistress Victoria announces, “A hundred!”
The slave’s head rolls, his shoulders slump.
“Good for you,” Mistress Yoko coos. “Very good.”
Her heels click her into the kitchen area of the condo. She pours some water into a jam jar. She takes a swallow, then another mouthful and walks over to the slave.
He’s breathing hard.
Mistress Yoko cups his chin with one hand and bends to join her mouth to his. Water dribbles down his chin onto his age-pocked skin.
“Ready for the front hundred?”
“Yes mistress.”
*Puffy red slashes spread across the slave’s chest and nipples, still tender from the clamps and weights. Mistress Yoko keeps her left hand firm on the back of his neck. Her right arm scythes into the whips.
Grunts escalate out of the slave.
Mistress Victoria barks out, “Ninety.”
Wisps of straight black hair escape Mistress Yoko’s tidy up-do. Her slender inner thighs*absorb the momentum of the whiplash and quiver slightly below her tight leather shorts. Every strike drives a cry from the slave.
Finally, “A hundred!”
One sharp cry, then the slave is silent.
A Mozart crescendo dances from a set of speakers in the corner of the room.
Four heels beat the hardwood.
“I think that’s the first time I’ve taken a hundred in the front mistress,” breathes the slave.
“Oh, it hurt.”
“It hurt?”
“Yes mistress.” “Good.”
*Mistress Yoko tugs open the sliding door, allowing a waft of February to cool the room.
She lights a long, slim cigarette.
The torture session is 30 minutes in.
Still bound in roped red, the slave sits waiting. The lace panties have been pulled to the*side, and candlewax is newly dried on his clit. For this domme session, the slave’s genitalia are referred to as female to evoke a heightened feeling of humiliation. The wax covers his genitals in a cakey white crust. Flecks of the wax speckle the piano stool between his spread legs.
In the background, the speakers sing Beethoven piano scales to the undertone of trolling boot heels.
Mistress Yoko glides over to the slave. The cigarette rests between two small fingers on her right hand. Her other hand cups the curve of her left hip.
*With silence, she pokes the tip of the cigarette into the slave’s flesh. She taps it onto his clit, his nipples. Smoke puffs and hair hisses as she dabs the ember against his testicles.
The slave cries out, “Ohh!” as if he is surprised as much as in pain.
“You like that don’t you?” Mistress Yoko coos, sliding around to the back of the slave. “Yes mistress.”
She fondles one of his breasts, shown off between two tight bands of rope.
“That was a shock. I didn’t think you’d do my penis. Or, oh my clit,” says the slave.
“Holy Dina.”
“Oh? You expected that. Huh?” Mistress Yoko says as she sways over to the coffee table. “Not on my clit, mistress.”
Mistress Victoria stands vigil with a whip in hand. Her weight is shifted to one leg, giving bend to one knee in a commanding stance accentuated by her height.
Mistress Yoko returns with a package of acupuncture needles. She lowers herself in front of the slave and removes a needle from the plastic. She pinches a flap of skin between two fingers.
“Oh yeah, look at that hey? A whole needle went through your balls.”
The slave moans.
“Mistress Victoria, now you try.”
The two dommes are bent in front of the slave, eye-level with his clit and the red*women’s lingerie Mistress Yoko commanded he wear to the session.
Mistress Victoria pokes the needle in and out of his flesh, deciding on a spot. “Here?” She teases, “or here? Or maybe here. How about here.”
The slave cries out as the needle pierces his skin.
*“Look at that, huh?” Mistress Yoko says.
“Beautiful,” Mistress Victoria says.
“Needles in your testicles and you like that don’t you?”
“Yes mistress.”
Both of the dommes stand and walk away from the slave.
“Have you offered golden shower to your clients before?” Mistress Yoko asks the other*domme. She takes a sip of water from the jar. “Yes.”
“And what time you have to go?”
“Eleven.”
Mistress Yoko moves over to the slave. “Mistress Victoria has to go at eleven, so if you*do well I will let you drink her nectar and then my nectar—” “Oh my god,” the slave whines.
“—and I expect you to drink both.”
*I stand beside the slave. He has just endured 90 minutes of torture, and I have a newfound*respect for pain endurance. He’s holding the red lace panties in his right hand. It isn’t until now that I notice his jewelry. A gold Q-ray on his right wrist, and two gold and diamond studs adorning his left earlobe. He has pale blue eyes.
I ask him his profession. He is a retired investment counsellor. He’s experienced ten years of “full play” with pro dominatrix, this last year with Yoko because his past mistress got hard into crack. I ask him what he will do next today. He tells me, “Oh, back to a normal day looking after the dogs.”
Just then, Yoko calls out from the bathroom, “How’s your dog?”*
The slave explains the dog has diabetes. “And I’ll probably have something to eat, and masturbate.” He smiles. He was unable to climax due to the torture of an extra mistress, and a writer documenting every drip, poke, and pinch. Yoko givess him permission to get off when he gets home, and reminds him to take a picture and send it to her, along with the reflection email. “I get them to send me email for the session, so next session I can do more what he enjoy.”
She grants permission for the slave to dress. When he exits the condo, it is with a cane in each hand to support his arthritic knees. Yoko asks if he will be okay making it down the stairs and he says, “Oh, I’ll be fine.”
A white Pot of Gold box sits on the coffee table. The gift lingers between a candle, a pair of scissors, and the nipple clamps. Propped beside the chocolates is a white envelope, with “My Mistress Yoko” handwritten on the front.*
A student in the Writing Department from University of Victoria came to observe one of my session with regular slave for her non-fiction narrative course.
I got a permission to share it with public.
Do It for the Domme.
Mistress Yoko fingers a black and purple flogger. The*tool’s leather and rubber straps*flourish the air in a practice lash, in tandem with the piano strikes of a Rachmaninoff concerto. She takes position to the left of her slave.
Scarlet rope ensnares the slave’s torso in “kikkou,” a traditional Japanese bondage style. His arms are strapped behind his back, rendering him helpless as he waits for the next bout of torture in the 90-minute session. The slave’s nipples are red from the nipple clamps that dangled steel weights just minutes before. Swollen pink rings circle his nipples from the bites of the two mistresses. The only clothing he was ordered to keep on is a pair of women’s red lace panties. One of the attached garters drapes down the front of his pale left thigh.
“Ready for the hundred?” Mistress Yoko rolls the flogger up the 73 year-old’s back and neck.
“No mistress,” he puffs, voice thin.
“If you get hundred here I’ll give you reward. Don’t you want to worship your mistress’s body, huh?” She floats closer, a bare nipple tantalizingly close to the slave’s cheek.
“Yes mistress.”
“Don’t you want to kiss it—”
“Yes mistress.”
“You be a good girl and go for the hundred both sides?” She shifts back to the side of*him.
“Both sides?”
“Yes.”
“Oh god,” the slave breathes, his eyes widening with anticipation.
*“Mistress Victoria will count it.”
The other mistress places the nipple clamps on an end table and steps forward, her black boots clicking on the hardwood. The corners of her mouth leer upward as she counts every lash Mistress Yoko inflicts on the slave.
The man winces with each hit and expels a rush of air coupled with soft moans.
Mistress Yoko steps in small circles with her left hand on her hip. One stiletto heel rises slightly off the floor each time the straps connect with skin.
Mistress Victoria counts, “Ninety.”
Mistress Yoko’s hand moves off her hip and palms out in front of her for balance, and her right arm whips harder for the last ten.
The slave screams. Bursts of noise, cut short, by every consecutive whip fall. Mistress Victoria announces, “A hundred!”
The slave’s head rolls, his shoulders slump.
“Good for you,” Mistress Yoko coos. “Very good.”
Her heels click her into the kitchen area of the condo. She pours some water into a jam jar. She takes a swallow, then another mouthful and walks over to the slave.
He’s breathing hard.
Mistress Yoko cups his chin with one hand and bends to join her mouth to his. Water dribbles down his chin onto his age-pocked skin.
“Ready for the front hundred?”
“Yes mistress.”
*Puffy red slashes spread across the slave’s chest and nipples, still tender from the clamps and weights. Mistress Yoko keeps her left hand firm on the back of his neck. Her right arm scythes into the whips.
Grunts escalate out of the slave.
Mistress Victoria barks out, “Ninety.”
Wisps of straight black hair escape Mistress Yoko’s tidy up-do. Her slender inner thighs*absorb the momentum of the whiplash and quiver slightly below her tight leather shorts. Every strike drives a cry from the slave.
Finally, “A hundred!”
One sharp cry, then the slave is silent.
A Mozart crescendo dances from a set of speakers in the corner of the room.
Four heels beat the hardwood.
“I think that’s the first time I’ve taken a hundred in the front mistress,” breathes the slave.
“Oh, it hurt.”
“It hurt?”
“Yes mistress.” “Good.”
*Mistress Yoko tugs open the sliding door, allowing a waft of February to cool the room.
She lights a long, slim cigarette.
The torture session is 30 minutes in.
Still bound in roped red, the slave sits waiting. The lace panties have been pulled to the*side, and candlewax is newly dried on his clit. For this domme session, the slave’s genitalia are referred to as female to evoke a heightened feeling of humiliation. The wax covers his genitals in a cakey white crust. Flecks of the wax speckle the piano stool between his spread legs.
In the background, the speakers sing Beethoven piano scales to the undertone of trolling boot heels.
Mistress Yoko glides over to the slave. The cigarette rests between two small fingers on her right hand. Her other hand cups the curve of her left hip.
*With silence, she pokes the tip of the cigarette into the slave’s flesh. She taps it onto his clit, his nipples. Smoke puffs and hair hisses as she dabs the ember against his testicles.
The slave cries out, “Ohh!” as if he is surprised as much as in pain.
“You like that don’t you?” Mistress Yoko coos, sliding around to the back of the slave. “Yes mistress.”
She fondles one of his breasts, shown off between two tight bands of rope.
“That was a shock. I didn’t think you’d do my penis. Or, oh my clit,” says the slave.
“Holy Dina.”
“Oh? You expected that. Huh?” Mistress Yoko says as she sways over to the coffee table. “Not on my clit, mistress.”
Mistress Victoria stands vigil with a whip in hand. Her weight is shifted to one leg, giving bend to one knee in a commanding stance accentuated by her height.
Mistress Yoko returns with a package of acupuncture needles. She lowers herself in front of the slave and removes a needle from the plastic. She pinches a flap of skin between two fingers.
“Oh yeah, look at that hey? A whole needle went through your balls.”
The slave moans.
“Mistress Victoria, now you try.”
The two dommes are bent in front of the slave, eye-level with his clit and the red*women’s lingerie Mistress Yoko commanded he wear to the session.
Mistress Victoria pokes the needle in and out of his flesh, deciding on a spot. “Here?” She teases, “or here? Or maybe here. How about here.”
The slave cries out as the needle pierces his skin.
*“Look at that, huh?” Mistress Yoko says.
“Beautiful,” Mistress Victoria says.
“Needles in your testicles and you like that don’t you?”
“Yes mistress.”
Both of the dommes stand and walk away from the slave.
“Have you offered golden shower to your clients before?” Mistress Yoko asks the other*domme. She takes a sip of water from the jar. “Yes.”
“And what time you have to go?”
“Eleven.”
Mistress Yoko moves over to the slave. “Mistress Victoria has to go at eleven, so if you*do well I will let you drink her nectar and then my nectar—” “Oh my god,” the slave whines.
“—and I expect you to drink both.”
*I stand beside the slave. He has just endured 90 minutes of torture, and I have a newfound*respect for pain endurance. He’s holding the red lace panties in his right hand. It isn’t until now that I notice his jewelry. A gold Q-ray on his right wrist, and two gold and diamond studs adorning his left earlobe. He has pale blue eyes.
I ask him his profession. He is a retired investment counsellor. He’s experienced ten years of “full play” with pro dominatrix, this last year with Yoko because his past mistress got hard into crack. I ask him what he will do next today. He tells me, “Oh, back to a normal day looking after the dogs.”
Just then, Yoko calls out from the bathroom, “How’s your dog?”*
The slave explains the dog has diabetes. “And I’ll probably have something to eat, and masturbate.” He smiles. He was unable to climax due to the torture of an extra mistress, and a writer documenting every drip, poke, and pinch. Yoko givess him permission to get off when he gets home, and reminds him to take a picture and send it to her, along with the reflection email. “I get them to send me email for the session, so next session I can do more what he enjoy.”
She grants permission for the slave to dress. When he exits the condo, it is with a cane in each hand to support his arthritic knees. Yoko asks if he will be okay making it down the stairs and he says, “Oh, I’ll be fine.”
A white Pot of Gold box sits on the coffee table. The gift lingers between a candle, a pair of scissors, and the nipple clamps. Propped beside the chocolates is a white envelope, with “My Mistress Yoko” handwritten on the front.*
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