Description
by Robert Beresford
For ladies who all had some experience of mistreatment at the hands of men, what could be better than to work as professional dominatrixes? Only one of the group really needed the money, but the others welcomed the diversion from everyday life. Of course, there was nothing sexual about it…. at least, mostly not sexual, and yet more than one of them would be ready to admit that administering punishment to a helpless man and taking it somewhat further than he found comfortable and arousing was, indeed, a turn-on. And what made it so amusing was that these clients invariably came back for more, and more, and…
Published: 12 / 2013>br> No. words: 42100
Style: BDSM/Bondage – Content: Moderate – Classed as: Consensual – Fem Dom – F/M, Sado-Masochism (SM)
Keywords: femdom F/m dominatrix domina spanking flogging whipping crossdressing tawse whip paddle bondage
I had seen about two-dozen men – and one woman – since we opened for business. To begin with, I had been laissez-faire about my role and content to know that it was all in a good cause, rather than finding any great pleasure in the job. But after a few sessions of waving my canes and crops, I realised that I really enjoyed the titillation brought about by the complete domination of another human being; domination that they so willingly afforded me. It was great to order a man to strip, kneel, bend over, stay silent or count the strokes, and all the other instructions that had to be followed to please me. It was empowering to be in charge, rather than in my usual employment where I bent, stripped, pirouetted and smiled to please the camera and the unseen client. For me, there was no sexuality about the procedure of humbling and inflicting pain on someone, though I had observed that for the males I whipped it was obviously stimulating. I could not be bothered to try to rationalise their motivation for requiring the various punishments I handed out, and I contented myself with thoughts about the lavish amounts of money that accumulated from the unusual preoccupation with punishment that so many people displayed.
We had a chat about his requirements, all very reasonable, really, if you substituted ‘birch’ for ‘whip’. I had no trouble deciding that he would be a very suitable candidate, and one who might become a regular. I like to shock, so I took him through to the punishment room with the promise of a test caning to see if he was suitable. If I am honest though, I was keen to see him in the buff, and to make him a bit more plebeian, to bend him to my requirements rather than have him try to dictate his own penance. I ordered him to strip off and stand by the central whipping post until I returned.
Rickie was positioned as ordered when I quietly re-entered the room carrying my favourite leather handled rattan cane, and now clad in an all-enveloping burqa. Somehow, the disciplinary scenario was enhanced for men by the mystery of the heavy black-cloaked woman wielding a cane, a total contrast to the purpose of the dress that was to suppress women to the will of their men. The only woman I had caned had asked for me to dress in a trouser suit; perhaps she wished I had been a man.
I remonstrated with him for throwing his clothes on the floor. A reason for punishment is often a useful addition to the scene.
I then ordered the naked Rickie to turn towards me. I’ve seen a fair few cocks in my time, but nothing to equal the classic Indian phallic monster he possessed.
His penis stood tall and proud from a jungle of ginger coloured pubes, a pronounced curvature pointing it towards his stomach and reaching towards his belly button. His body hair was rampant, stretching from the pubic region across his lean stomach and almost reaching his neck. I could not stop myself admiring his physique, and musing about how it would feel like to have such a well hung male at my disposal for my personal entertainment.
I shook off that stupid image by theatrically shouting at him for displaying his odious reaction to the promise of a thrashing, and warned him that he would receive a severe caning for his insulting vulgarity. I had to disguise my real thoughts and remain professional.
I secured him on tiptoe to the whipping post and chained his legs together. Then I stood back, measured my distance and commenced to whack his backside with moderate force; a backside that was muscular, hairy, well rounded and amply complemented his other attributes. In truth, I think that the butt of a well hung man is more sexual than the bits at the front, and I get a genuine thrill out of roughing up a virgin and attractive backside with plenty of wheals and stripes. It looks sort of decorated then, and it shows which gender really rules the world.
He took my attentions well and in absolute silence, as ordered. I had laid on about thirty or forty strokes with my heavy rattan cane and with my favourite single thonged whip, and his buttocks were looking pretty very red and sore by then, before he called out in anguish for me to stop. Naturally, I carried on a bit to make my point, and only ceased the treatment when my arm grew tired and he started gasping in genuine pain.
Not many men can take that sort of treatment without losing their tumescence, but Rickie seemed, if anything, to have enlarged even further. Naturally, I pretended to be annoyed at his blatant sexuality under punishment, and I ordered him not to wank or have a fuck until after his birching in two weeks time. In reality, I once again felt unusually randy at the thought of how his spectacular equipment might be used for my own satisfaction. A stupid thought – he was a customer, not a lover!! Anyway, we shall see whether he comes back for more, or if I have cured him of his obsession with being severely disciplined.
