Real Stories - September/October 2007

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As she continued to torment me, I began screaming for mercy like some sort of mantra although I knew only a faint suppressed noise was escaping the gag and the scream was only echoing around in my head. A few times, almost as if she sensed the word I was trying to form from the constant, faint, muted, piteous squeals escaping from my gag, she’d observe in an amused tone, "Are those continual faint squeals I keep hearing – screams for mercy?"

She’d walk around behind me, "Mercy isn't a part of the information I'm seeking, here's my version of mercy: I-don't-understand-the-word-so-don't-waste-my- time!"

She’d thrash my backside with her thick, heavy crop on each word to emphasize the futility of my efforts to alleviate my torment.

The eroticism of my fantasy finally left me and all I could do was pray for the session to end. Many times I had fantasized what it would be like to be tortured by a beautiful female but now that my fantasy had become a reality, all I could think about was for my ordeal to be over. But she was relentless. I was now really at the mercy (or total lack of it) of a Dominatrix女支配者 — a dominant woman who was naturally instinctively sadistic and got a great deal of sexual excitement inflicting pain.