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Finally, she returned. Wordlessly, she sat on the john and pissed. Then, she smiled down at me. I looked at her questioningly, but her only answer was to look at the toilet paper dispenser. It was empty, the roll removed.

I looked back at her with a grimace, as she smiled and removed my cock-gag. She stood, her cunt inches from my face. With a handful of my hair, she bent my head back a bit to the proper angle, then, still smiling, she spoke: "You are now my bidet-slave. Serve me!"

Humiliated, I extended my tongue to meet her cunt as it thrust at my mouth. I licked her thoroughly, picking up the few drops of piss which remained on her and cleaning her well. Satisfied, she replaced my cock-gag and walked out.

I knelt in my enforced silence, still limited to seeing and smelling what she left in the toilet. Totally degraded, I then heard her in the living room a short distance away, as she played one of our adult video tapes. She did not even deem me worthy to pleasure her cunt. I remained bound in place, in pain from both my cock cage and nipple clamps, sucking on the rubber cock strapped in my mouth and breathing and tasting her piss.

She had several orgasms while watching her tape--she did nothing to quiet her cries of pleasure, but wanted me to hear her as I suffered.

Finally, she freed me. She removed my clamps, neck chain and handcuffs, then installed wrist and ankle shackles as well as a waist belt with rings. Using light chain and padlocks, she joined all my restraints, leaving substantial freedom of movement. My posing pouch was removed, but my stockings, garter belt and heels remained. All done wordlessly, she finally spoke: "Make dinner. The menu is on the kitchen table."

I walked to the kitchen. In the heels and chains, I was somewhat awkward. As I began working on the food, the chains frequently got in the way. Eventually, I knocked a glass onto the floor, breaking it.

Mistress stormed in angrily, cat-o-nine tails in hand. Surveying the evidence, she reprimanded me, welting my ass several times with the cat, as she screamed, "Good for nothing, clumsy slave! At the rate you're going, you'll be training for years! You'll learn proper slave deportment if it costs you your balls!"

She stormed out as quickly as she entered and returned moments later with several objects with which to punish me. To begin with, she wrapped the short, one inch ball-stretcher around my scrotum, locking it in place. Attached by the same padlock was a six inch length of chain. She then hung a five pound weight from the chain, again with a padlock. Next, my shoes were changed, replaced with identical pumps, but with five inch heels, an inch higher than the others. There were some simple leather items which locked around my instep and ankle, making the shoes impossible for me to remove. Finally, she shortened the chains on my wrists and ankles by several inches, further restricting my mobility.

"You now have two demerits. Your next accident will give you more, as well as more weight on your balls and some still shorter chains."

She swung once more with the cat. I screamed at the pain, then screamed again as the heavy weight hanging from my aching balls started swinging wildly. Now, dinner would be even more difficult to prepare.

Somehow, there were no more accidents. I served dinner, kneeling as ordered, free of any further errors. Unfortunately, the food was not as perfect. "My steak is overdone, and too dry. Three more demerits!"

I shuddered. I was up to five demerits. I tried to remember what punishments she listed as examples. The law was not yet laid down, but as I recalled, five demerits might amount to thirty strokes with the cane, or as much as two and a half hours in puntative bondage.

We made it through dinner. I was allowed, re-gagged, but still wearing my heels and ball weights, to clean the kitchen.

I was summoned to the den, where Mistress was putting a movie into the VCR. She removed my ball weights and serving chains, then padlocked my ankles together and my wrist shackles behind me. "You're responding well to my scent, and I'm enjoying getting head from you more and more each day. The movie I'm going to watch is nearly two hours long. You'll spend all of it in this."

She held up the leather "Mistress Pants".

My cock pulsed painfully. My ass tightened around its plug. She removed my cock-gag and commanded me to kiss her pussy, just once, then briefly insert my tongue in her asshole. I obeyed, then she strapped my head tightly into the helmet part of the device.

I heard her walk away momentarily. I heard the clink of glass, the rustle of paper. I also heard what sounded like a test swing of a whip. Then, she put on the pants attached to my helmet and pulled my face into her cunt.

For the next two hours, perhaps more, Mistress used my mouth. I began learning how to respond to her subtle commands. By the time I was released, I was licking, sucking, kissing and stroking her, on cue, just from the movements of her hips as she thrust into my face. Much of the time, I suffered my persistent erection. Sometimes, though, I was able to separate myself from my needs. Strangely, with all the torture I was in, the helmet almost acted as a sensory deprivation device. My universe was Mistress' cunt. I breathed, tasted, felt nothing else. And from her responses, at those times I served her the most effectively.

Some time after the movie ended, she commanded me to leave my eyes closed as she removed the Mistress Pants. She then switched me quickly into a rubber discipline helmet. I was hung by my wrists in her bedroom, facing the bed, on my toes. Even in the five inch pumps, the heels did not touch the floor. My ankles were spread some three feet apart. My cock-gag was suddenly thrust back into my mouth, then my cock cage was removed, freeing my long-imprisoned erection.

A few minutes passed, then I felt Mistress doing something with my balls. Suddenly I felt pinpricks, and realized she was applying my parachute. It was a cone-shaped affair with a hole at its apex. It wrapped around my scrotum, and three short chains hung from its edges, joining just under my balls. It was lined with short needlepoints and would torture my balls when she hung the weights from its bottom.

The weights came next. In stages, one or two pounds at a time, she eventually hung about eight or ten pounds from the parachute. Now, my already aching balls were truly in agony. Then, a single, hard stroke from a cane seared my ass.

I screamed through my gag, as much with shock as with the pain. Pulling hard on my bonds, my body tight as a bowstring, the weights on the parachute started swinging wildly. Mistress laughed, amused at my suffering. She replaced the clothespins on my nipples and hung some weights from them as well. I feared another stroke, tensing for it, but it did not come. Instead, her hands started caressing me, arousing me, touching me all over.

She'd rub my thighs, then give me a light pinch on the head of my cock. She'd run her fingernails through my underarms and down my sides and suddenly switch to licking a nipple, or simply giving a nudge to one of the weights hanging from my body, setting it swinging again. For several minutes, I'd feel nothing, then suddenly I'd feel her very lips on my cockhead and a quick, teasing stroke of her tongue. Then, she'd give my butt plug a push, or perhaps scratch a fingernail across my already tortured balls.

After a fair time, she tired of teasing me. Suddenly, the weight on one of my nipple clamps increased. Likewise, the other clamp's weight doubled. I tensed again, anticipating more agony for my balls. I was proved correct, as another pound or two of weight was added to the parachute. Now, all the pinpricks bit deeper, and my balls were stretched at least another inch lower. It occurred to me that in the close to five hours I had been home, she had spoken fewer than forty words to me. She then added eight more. "I'm taking a shower, stud. Don't go away!" In response, I groaned painfully through my gag, silently praying for the weights to stop swinging.

She returned thirty minutes later. I still hung in agony, strung up on my toes, all the weights still hanging from my body. She removed my gag, and I immediately begged, "Please, Mistress, have mercy!"

"But I'm enjoying you, slave! Stop wining. I'm going to give you a choice. You're scheduled to have an orgasm tonight, but you still have demerits to pay off. Your restraint for the past half-hour paid off one; you've got four to go. You can pay them off in three ways, and I'll allow you to choose. You can take two dozen with the riding crop, bound as you are, before you come. You can be denied orgasm tonight. Or, you can take only a dozen strokes now, and wear your butt plug to work tomorrow. Choose!"

Desperate, I thought quickly. I could not take all the strokes, not bound this way. And I could not survive another day without an orgasm, especially the way my balls were aching. The butt plug would be a humiliation to take to work, even worse to walk around with all day, but even with the ten strokes attached to the deal, it was the easiest way out.

"I-I'll take the ten strokes and the butt plug."

"Pig!" She slapped me, hard. "Answer properly, begging for your punishment, or I'll hang another five pounds from your nuts!"

"P-please, Mistress, give me ten strokes with the crop, and further punish me with a butt plug all day tomorrow."

She accepted my request. The riding crop was brought out, and she spoke: "You will count the strokes, saying, 'Please, Mistress, number one,' and so on, before each one. You may pace yourself, but don't take too long, or you may get a few extra."

"Yes, Mistress."

I knew I would suffer. I hoped I could pace myself to avoid extra strokes, but I also knew this was, indeed, a punishment. I was afraid.

"Please, Mistress, number one."

The stroke fell, and I screamed, as my body flexed and all the weights started in swinging again. I suffered for long seconds, praying for the weights to stop, when suddenly the crop fell again, this time on the backs of my stockinged thighs.

"Arrgh! Please, Mistress, number two."

She was merciless. I learned that I could survive more than I thought I could. I took a total of three extra strokes and finished the punishment in tears, petrified of what might have happened if I had chosen the full two dozen strokes.

Ten minutes later, I was tightly spread-eagled to the bed on my back. The plug and cock cage were gone, but my posture collar remained in place. The rubber discipline helmet remained as well, now hot and lined with sweat. She used me, as she had before, forcing me to eat her to orgasm before she even touched my cock. Eventually, she mounted me, bringing me to a short, but incredibly powerful orgasm, one which felt like my entire body was being sucked into her cunt. This time, I had no opportunity to enjoy my afterglow. As soon as I shot my load, she immediately bolted to my face.

My mind was slowly changing, adjusting to my enslavement. Now, as I sucked my come out of Mistress' pussy, it fulfilled me, completing the experience of my orgasm. While it was humiliating, it was also proper, appropriate. I remembered earlier, when I ate her from within the Mistress Pants, I served best when I put aside my desires and served as a pure slave, interested only in pleasing her. I found myself wanting to please her more and more, finding less importance in my own pleasure. My torture was correct, because it enabled me to better please my Mistress. My degradation was a natural part of training as well, aiding me to eliminate my own selfish needs and giving more importance to Mistress' desires. Thinking this way, I dove hungrily into her cunt with my tongue, seeking out my come which filled her and swallowing all she had to give me. Later, as I gave her her third or fourth orgasm, I noted my cock attempting to erect again. I found I resented its interference and plunged my tongue still deeper into Mistress' pussy, ignoring my own need even to breathe.

When she rolled off of me, satisfied, and re-locked the cage on my cock, she commented, "You've done well, slave. You've earned the use of my bed if you desire it. You will, of course, remain bound. Still, I almost suspect you're adjusting so well to slavery, you might prefer the floor. Do you?"

"Mistress, I prefer pleasing you, in or out of your bed. While the bed is more comfortable, and closer to your glorious body, the floor is my proper place. I would only feel proper sharing your bed if it is your own wish."

"Well said, slave. Tonight, it is my wish."

With a finger, she stroked my cockhead, erect again in its cage, and picked up a drop of pre-come which oozed from it. I groaned with the pleasure of the touch. She presented the finger at my lips. I extended my tongue and licked.

She put out the lights and soon slept. I slept at her side, chained hand and foot to the bed. My cock remained caged, and my discipline helmet remained in place until morning.

12/28

I awoke with my entire head drenched in sweat within the helmet. I noted she had closed the eye flaps before mounting my face, so I saw nothing, but only tasted her juices. I brought her off quickly, and was allowed to bathe her and then shower myself.

She installed the butt plug I would wear all day. It was, again, the naturally shaped dildo, which would stroke in and out of my ass continuously whenever I moved. I was concerned with the fact that she left my regular cock cage on as well, which would more quickly punish my attempted erections.

Under my work clothes, I wore only a full-body fishnet sheath. It was a one piece job, without even a zipper or a snap at the crotch. To use the toilet, I would have to remove all my clothes above the waist, or else piss right through the sheath.

Although my work did not suffer, my cock did. I spent the better part of the day on my feet, and every step I took pumped on the dildo locked in my ass. The fishnet continuously abraded every square inch of skin I had below the neck and reminded me painfully of the welts on my ass every time I sat down. The cock cage reminded me of the priority of Mistress' pleasure over my own. The dildo reminded me of her total ownership of me.

That night, she again placed me in chains, dressed only in stockings, garter belt and the five inch heels, again locked on. I worked extensively cleaning much of the house, doing laundry, floors and servicing Mistress' body frequently. She left the dildo locked in my ass as I worked and served.

Once, I forgot to call her Mistress. Another time, I forgot to drop to my knees in her presence. And by the time I spilled her drink late in the evening, I had worked up to a massive twelve demerits. At bedtime, she again strung me up in the bedroom, facing her bed. I was nude, wearing only my collar, cock cage and the butt plug harness.

"You've earned some punishment, slave--a full twelve demerits. Aside from the punishment, I've already decided that in the four nights you have left between now and the new year, you'll only be allowed one orgasm. So your chastity belt will not count towards your punishment.

"There are three choices for you: Seventy-two strokes with the cat, a night in heavy bondage, or another day with the butt plug tomorrow and the loss of your one remaining orgasm before New Year's. Choose!"

I was totally intimidated. I could not tolerate that many strokes. I could not predict how badly a night in bondage would affect my work, and the butt plug reminded me of how valuable a commodity my orgasms now were. Then, something hit me. I was her slave. I was not choosing a pleasure. I had to choose something that would correct me, making it unpleasant enough to force me to change. The only choice that would do so without interfering with my performance would have to be the whipstrokes. I shuddered in fear, but I knew that had to be the choice.

"Mistress, please punish me with the cat. But please Mistress, I am not yet well-trained enough to properly submit to that many strokes, so could I be gagged?"

She knew I was pushing my limits and stood almost in awe of me. For a moment, I feared she'd show an instant of weakness. Then, the instant passed, and she said, "Yes, slave, I'll gag you. But for troubling me with such wining, your gag will be an additional punishment." She put the cat-o-nine tails on the bed in front of me, then left the room.

When she returned a minute later, she thrust her panties into my mouth. As I feared, they were soaked with her piss. She then pushed the double ended cock-gag in my mouth, locking it in place. Now, I could do nothing to stop my torture and would taste her piss and have a rubber cock in my mouth throughout my upcoming punishment. I also had reason to suspect she would be riding that dildo later, on my face, after my whipping.

My mind had drifted. The first stroke caught me off-guard, causing me to scream, more from surprise than from pain. She got into a regular rhythm with the strokes, soon advancing to the point where she had me groaning deeply with every stroke.

Somehow, the initial dozen or so strokes were nowhere near as bad as I expected. Indeed, she was slowly increasing the force of the blows as my ass warmed, reddened and later welted.

Soon, I did begin screaming, in genuine pain. My wife was benefitting greatly from this exercise--she was feeling out my limits, testing various parts of my ass and thighs for sensitivity. She learned quickly, keeping me well past the point of pain and punishment, but still using enough restraint of her strength so I profited fully from each blow. I grew to trust her not to injure me, yet I would sincerely fear my next whipping.

She stretched out the process, to rest her arm, to maximize her enjoyment of my suffering and to make sure I got the greatest possible benefit from each stroke. With several pauses, it took nearly half an hour to complete the whipping. Long before it ended, I was in tears. She dropped the cat on the bed again and left the room.

For close to thirty minutes, I hung in my chains, exhausted. My stretched limbs grew stiff, my chafed cock tried regularly to become erect within its cage, stimulated by the dildo still filling my ass. And her panties, filling my mouth, held in by the double dildo she had locked in place, still carried the only tastes I would be permitted to enjoy that night.

Eventually, she moved me to the bed, spread-eagling me again. She straddled me, using her hands to tease both of us. She would caress my thighs, chest, underarms, nipples and my face, then move to her own breasts. She'd run a finger through her cunt-slit, tease me by wiping her juices under my nose, then after a brief, torturous touch to my cock-head, she would suddenly cut off my pleasure with a vicious pinch to my nipples.

Soon, with her pussy poised inches above my face, nearly touching the business end of the dildo which extended out from my mouth, I was desperate in my own arousal. I knew I would not be allowed to come, but still, I anticipated the sight of my Mistress being penetrated by the dildo-gag. Then, suddenly, she did the only thing she could have done to make things worse--she blindfolded me.

As soon as my vision was lost, she sank onto the dildo, burying it within her, my nose caressing her clitoris. Now, I could see nothing; I smelled her wonderful cunt-scent, but I could only taste the acrid remnants of her piss, as my mouth was fucked by the dildo-gag. She used me for the better part of half an hour, constantly battering my face on her downstrokes while forcing the lower end of the dildo deep into my mouth. At times, she'd pause and reverse direction, sitting so as to face my lower body. When she did so, her anus came down right on my nose. Sometimes, she'd stop at the bottom of a stroke and pull her ass-cheeks together. This would cause my nose to be completely engulfed, totally preventing me from breathing. For many long seconds, she'd remain in place, smothering me, until she felt my struggles build, trying futilely to dislodge her. Then, finally, she'd rise up, only to repeat the process one, ten or fifty strokes later.

Eventually, she came, for the last time, after more orgasms than I could count. She removed the dildo-gag, but then wrapped the posture collar around my neck. She took the piss-soaked panties from my mouth, by now almost devoid of her taste, and wiped her crotch clean. She then replaced them in my mouth.

"They will be there in the morning, or you'll get five demerits!"

That was her good-night. The lights went out, and we slept. I remained bound, my cock remained tortured by its cage, and the butt plug filled my ass until morning.

12/29

I slept intermittently. Although Mistress did not use me or tease me, the butt plug and cock cage worked together, and my arousal continued to torture my cock, waking me frequently.

The panties stayed in my mouth all night. With the posture collar locked on, my head remained in position, facing the ceiling. By morning, the tastes the panties had contained were gone.

Mistress rose and used the bathroom; only then did she come to my face for her cleaning and her wake-up orgasm. She then freed my limbs, allowed me to rise, unlocked the butt plug harness, and let me use the bathroom myself. I showered, and was allowed to dress in a tight leather corset, with attached garters to hold up my black stockings. Interestingly, I had worn the cock cage continuously since the previous morning, and was not yet allowed to change it. This morning, I would wear no underwear to cover it, and would wear some extremely tight jeans.

My balls were again swollen. The pants abraded them all day, particularly when I sat down. Again, Mistress had me eat her to orgasm just before I walked out the door, and her scent kept me aroused for hours. By the time I returned home that afternoon, the required removal of my clothes was an act of mercy.

The mercy was short-lived, however. The toy box contained the three inch ball-stretcher. It also contained the waist belt, a very short length of chain, leather wrist cuffs, and two padlocks. Her note read, "Put on the ball-stretcher first. Hang the chain from its ring with one padlock. Put on the waist belt, lock your wrists behind you, then report to me in the den. I'll hear you come in, and you'll get three strokes for every minute it takes you to get ready."

The ball-stretcher took several agonizing minutes to put on, as it required me to torture myself in its application. I was groaning in pain by the time I fastened the wrist cuffs and fell to my knees. It took ten full minutes before my lips kissed her boots.

"Ten minutes. You'll get thirty strokes! First, stand, and turn around, so I can finish your ball-bondage."

I was afraid, and my fear was growing rapidly. I was already tortured by the ball-stretcher. What more could she do?

My ass was again opened by a dildo. A good inch and a quarter by six inches, my ass was filled. I wondered what she would use to hold it in place, as she had no appropriate harness in sight. Then, I screamed at her answer.

She took the chain attached to my ball-stretcher and, pulling it back hard, pulled my balls back between my ass-cheeks and padlocked the chain to the waist belt.

The pain increased, by several orders of magnitude. Now, my balls were rigidly held into the base of my ass-crack. The connecting chain held the plug in place. When an involuntary muscle spasm tried to eject the plug, it pushed against the chain, and pulled hard on my already tortured balls. Worse, if I tried to bring my legs together, my balls would be squashed between my thighs.

Now, Mistress tied a rope around my legs, just over my knees. This had the effect of actively crushing my poor nuts. I groaned, in obvious pain. But she still was not done.

Another rope was attached to my wrist cuffs, still joined behind my back. The end was passed through an eyebolt directly over my head, then hoisted up. My wrists were pulled high behind me, causing me to bend over at the waist. This also caused my balls to be pulled back sharply between my tightly roped thighs. Now, I screamed.

She stood before me. She was dressed in a black satin night dress, of a material so thin, and cut so low, it left little to the imagination. Her boots, skyscraper heels, were thigh high and trimmed in chrome at toe and heel. Her hair was tied back severely, and she held a cane and a cat-o-nine tails.

"You have thirty strokes coming. They will be administered to you as you are now bound. The cane will be much more severe on your ass. Still, the cat-o-nine will be much more likely to lash your poor balls for many of the strokes. Choose your punishment!"

Under the circumstances, I could not think as clearly as I would have liked. Still, I knew the contortions I would make under the cane would be almost as painful for my balls as the occasional contact from the cat. Worse, the welts from the cane could last for days. I did remember the proper protocol.

"Please, Mistress, punish me with the cat."

She smiled. For an instant, I worried. Then, I realized, with either weapon I was going to suffer, and my balls would take their share either way.

The first stroke caused me to thrust forward in my bondage, which raised the angle of my arms severely. My balls were pulled painfully with my motion, and I resolved to try to limit my movements.

I screamed on the second stroke and on each stroke thereafter. Several strokes flicked my balls, and on those strokes, my screams were long and hard, continuing into the next stroke. By the time the whipping was finished, I was in tears.

She stood before me again. "Thank me for punishing you!"

Completely humbled, I responded, "Thank you, Mistress, for a most effective punishment.

She then said, "Kiss the whip!"

I obeyed.

"Now, open your mouth!"

I opened, and she thrust the whip's handle between my teeth. "Hold that, until I decide on your work duties tonight!" She walked away.

I hung, bent over at right angles, my arms hoisted up painfully behind me, straight up towards the ceiling. My balls, stretched, pulled and crushed between my bound thighs, still ached. I was fortunate, in that when Mistress returned some fifteen minutes later, I still held the whip between my teeth.

She took back the whip, then lowered my bound arms. When I stood straight, the change in angle again affected the pull on my balls, making me grimace. She released my thigh rope, and I stood there with my legs spread to avoid more pain. Wrists still bound, I awaited my work assignments.

"You'll be working on the floors tonight. You'll sweep the kitchen floor, then scrub it on your hands and knees, and wax it when done. Following that, you'll do the bathroom floor the same way. You'll make pork chops for dinner, and serve me as needed when I call on you. First, kneel, and give me a quick orgasm with your tongue!"

I knelt and licked her, bringing her off in two or three minutes. She then had me rise and removed my cuffs. Since I'd be working on my knees most of the night, she also removed my stockings. To assist me in feeling more natural on my knees, she had me put on a pair of opera pumps with six inch heels, and using the leather harnesses as before, locked them on my feet.

"Now, slave, get to work!"

It took me over two hours to finish the kitchen floor. The sweeping was easy, although the six-inch heels had me tottering, often stumbling and pulling painfully on my chained balls. To do the washing, I worked with a scrub brush, rags, and a single bucket. I had to change water frequently, and suffered much with my heels and ball bondage. At one point, I spilled a full bucket of water. Mistress stormed in and lashed me furiously with a quirt, and it took me an extra ten minutes to clean up the spill.

I had to work on preparing dinner at the same time as the floor was being finished, in order to be able to complete all the work. As the chops were cooking, Mistress called me in to service her, and I had to work energetically and carefully to finish her quickly, so as to avoid burning the food.

I finished the work on the floor just as dinner was ready to come out. I served, was permitted to eat, and even worked without a mishap in spite of my locked on heels. After Mistress ate, she had me kneel behind her and use my tongue on her asshole as she masturbated to a quick orgasm. I cleaned her then with my mouth, and was permitted to resume my other duties.

I waxed the kitchen floor, then headed for the bathroom to start that job. Mistress joined me first, needing to use the toilet. She commanded me to kneel with my head literally between her knees as she pissed. Under her direct domination, I started feeling the pain in my body again--my cock started to pulse in its cage, my swollen balls ached, and the dildo in my ass kept me under constant pressure. Worst of all, the chain pulling my balls back was merciless, emphasizing all my pain every time I moved.

She finished her piss and stood, her pussy now thrust into my face. "Clean me!" Again, my lips and tongue served her, removing all traces of piss from her cunt. Satisfied, she walked out wordlessly, leaving me to my chores, or so I thought. Suddenly, she turned around and walked back in, as I still knelt at the toilet. "Lift the seat!" I did so. She had me lower my face into the toilet, to within an inch of the water below. She then lowered the seat, and the upper cover as well, to rest on the back of my neck and head, the weight pushing me down further.

Suddenly, my hands were pulled back, and a padlock attached my wrists behind me. "Hold position until I permit you to move!" With that, I heard her heels walking out of the bathroom.

I knelt, my head now in the toilet, my face almost in the piss-filled water. Indeed, with the weight of the seat upon the back of my head, if I relaxed, my face would lower itself right into the water. At this range, the odor of her piss filled my lungs with every breath. It was almost like I was breathing the very essence of my Mistress.

She had even put out the light, so I could see nothing. I heard little; my whole world became the toilet. I felt only the restraints on my body, the cock cage punishing any pulse of arousal of my cock, the dildo filling my ass, and the ball-stretcher threatening to tear my balls off. I felt myself going through stages of change in my mind. First, I wanted to protest, as if I was being unjustly punished. This made me struggle, and feel the pain of my bonds. Then, I felt the degradation, alternating with the perverse arousal from my predicament. This made me alternate between shame and the pain of the cock cage and ball-stretcher. Again, the wrong mental attitude punished me.

Finally, I was immersed in the essence of my Mistress. My arousal was the distraction, justifiably punished. I reveled in the privilege of worshipping her, in being absorbed in her, in giving up all, pain and pleasure alike, to make her my total universe. Now, I knew what I was to learn, and I cried tears of joy.

When she finally permitted me to rise, I lowered my lips to her boots, kissing them, and said, "Thank you, Mistress, for teaching me my true place!" She patted my head in appreciation, smiled, and said, "Finish cleaning the bathroom."

The work was finished in another hour. I then spent some time serving Mistress in the den, mostly kneeling, handcuffed, at her feet. She decided to watch an adult videotape, and wanted me to become part of the show.

She had me sit right on top of the TV. With my balls still painfully pulled back between my legs, I had to sit quite carefully, especially with my wrists cuffed behind my back. Then, things got decidedly worse.

My ankles were pulled out to either side. Ropes were pulled through the padlocks on my shoe harnesses and pulled tightly down to the floor. Now, it took some significant strength from my thigh muscles to avoid sitting with my weight directly on my balls. As I began protesting, out of fear, she thrust a penis-gag into my mouth, then blindfolded me.

It was pure torture. Either my thighs would ache, or my balls would cry out in agony. She added weighted nipple clamps as well, just to enhance the scene. Only then did she start the movie.

Even worse than the physical torture was the foreknowledge that she would probably not touch me for the duration of the tape, just over an hour in length. I was not there to please, but to be a mere decoration, an enhancement for her viewing. The movie itself aroused me as well--it was one we both enjoyed, and my cock pulsed against its restraining rings as I recalled the scenes.

Still, my balls had the worst of it. Denied orgasm for nearly forty-eight hours now, while teased and bound through much of it, they were swollen and sensitive. Now, stretched to their limit and further crushed under my weight, they were reaching the limits of my pain tolerance. For most of the movie, I was groaning aloud with the pain.

Somehow, I survived. When she freed me from the TV, I collapsed to the floor. She nuzzled my face with the toe of her boot, and I, still cock-gagged, rubbed my cheek against the leather as a gesture of appreciation. Still blindfolded, I was brought to my feet and she finally unlocked my ball chain. I screamed through my gag as it fell free, but even with the three inch ball-stretcher still in place, it was a major improvement. She removed the dildo from my ass, then, removing my gag, made me clean the dildo by mouth. She then attached a leash to my collar and led me, still stumbling on my six inch heels, to the bedroom.

She removed my cock cage and replaced it with something I could not identify. It had some sort of stiff leather sleeve which enclosed the lower half of my cock, leaving the head end of my erection free. It strapped around my waist, locking in place, and its criss-crossed straps left my asshole exposed. I felt something other than the leather at my pubic bone, but I couldn't quite tell yet what it was. Finally, she removed my blindfold.

She was lying on the bed before me, almost naked, wearing only her thigh-boots and her waist-cincher. Before I even had a chance to examine my new cock restraint, she said, "Come, slave. Eat me once, then you're going to fuck me."

My long-denied erection pulsed in anticipation. I practically dove at her cunt as she laid there, servicing her aggressively. She pulled madly at my hair, trying to get more of my face inside her. By the time she was sated, some fifteen or twenty minutes later, my erection had fully returned, now swelling against its partial restraint, its outer half standing proudly.

She rose and had me lie on the bed, my cuffed hands beneath me. She straddled my face, mostly to tease me, since I had just eaten her to a major orgasm anyway. She masturbated a bit, an inch over my mouth, as I watched, occasionally extending my tongue to help. Finally, she backed up, slowly, until she was directly over my cock.

She lowered herself onto me until perhaps an inch of my cock was inside her, then said, "Fuck me, darling!" I thrust up at her, impatiently, with two days worth of semen still filling my stretched balls. I noticed now, one function of my cock restraint. When I had a mere three or four inches of my cock inside her, the leather device met the outside of her cunt and prevented further penetration. I thrust more aggressively, but could achieve no more.

"C'mon lover, fuck me!"

She lowered herself more. Now, my strokes were still more aggressive, but I was alarmed to discover the second function of the leather toy locked upon me. At the base of the leather surrounding my cock, where it pressed into my pubic bone and the other surrounding flesh, it was lined with needlepoints. I would not feel them unless I thrust hard against Mistress' cunt. But now, she was smiling, knowing my predicament and demanding that I perform. She came down lower still.

I felt the points now on every upward thrust. Worse, with my balls stretched, I wasn't sure if I could even come. Also, my cock swelled hard against the leather which now partially constricted it. She started thrusting down hard upon me now, clear in the knowledge that she could get a long fuck, albeit without the depth of penetration, but she could probably continue it as long as she wanted, torturing my flesh with the pinpoints throughout. Soon, she was thrusting down with her entire weight.

I cried out in pain on every stroke. The pleasure was there, but it was frustrated, as half my cock was sheathed in the heavy leather, preventing it from penetrating. It was compressed as well, probably to my benefit. Without the compression at the base of my cock, I probably would have lost my erection under the pain. My balls were not left idle, either. Still stretched, every jolt of Mistress' body upon mine caused them to bounce, and they felt ready to explode. With two days worth of come inside them, they would have been sensitive to any touch. Sometimes, I neared an orgasm, and my balls attempted to rise in the sheath. Of course, they were prohibited from rising as nature designed them to do; all that rose was my pain level.

For some considerable time, I remained trapped in my pain. Then, I remembered. What was most important was the pleasure of my Mistress. My own pleasure was unimportant. My pain would enhance Mistress' pleasure. Again, I realized that resisting my slavery was what tortured me, making me more vulnerable to my abuse. So I gave in to it. I stopped resisting, allowing all the sensations to hit me, allowing Mistress' weight to land on me as it would, allowing myself to react naturally and fully to all the pain and taking slave-pride in my suffering.

The first thing I noticed was that I began to welcome the pain, no longer fearing it, nor fearing my groans in response to it. Then I noticed Mistress' arousal building rapidly, enjoying my tortured responses. Finally, in the midst of the torture, I felt my own orgasm rapidly approaching.

A switch clicked in my head, and I realized my responsibility. "Mistress, may your slave come?" The plea was screamed in desperation. In response, Mistress herself began to come, crying out loudly. As her orgasm peaked, she screamed her answer: "Yes, slave--shoot your balls off--fill my cunt with your come, so I can feed it to you when we're done!"

We both screamed, and my own orgasm shot out, in an explosion of pleasure-pain.

She collapsed upon me. As I recovered, the pain returned. My balls chafed severely, and her weight pressed the harness into my body, its points now painfully embedded in my flesh.

She rose with her upper body, smiled down, and said, "Time to thank Mistress for letting you empty your load into her cunt. You may now suck it all out again." Seconds later, she was sitting astride my face as I swallowed our mixed juices from her pussy. As we had done for all my previous orgasms (how many had it been since she enslaved me?), I sucked her to orgasm yet again after cleaning her. She then removed my ball stretcher, locked on my jock-strap chastity belt and released my other bonds. My hands were handcuffed in front, then padlocked to my collar. My ankles were also padlocked, then I was brought to the floor, my collar chained to the foot of her bed.

I slept soundly.

12/30

I worked half a day on the 30th and would have New Year's Eve and Day off. She made me wear the jock-strap belt to work, with jeans. I also wore red crotchless pantyhose and continued wearing the same corset from the previous day, strapped on even tighter.

Before leaving, she demanded in no uncertain terms, "You will also wear some fresh welts to work. Bend over, face to the floor, and show me your bare ass!" To my horror, she withdrew the cane.

"You'll take half a dozen without breaking position. If you fail, you'll take triple tonight!" In horror of the cane, it suddenly occurred to me that, even if I reacted normally to the pain, my body would move in response. Now, without restraints, I would have to take active control over my reactions to avoid further punishment.

I screamed hard and loud from the first stroke. I shook my head, bit into my hands and cried tears. Somehow, my ass offered itself throughout the entire half dozen. As I whimpered at her feet, she said, "Now, slave, you may thank me for your welts."

Her exposed cunt stared at me. I rose to my knees and, with my pants still around my ankles, ate her to orgasm. Finished, I was allowed to restore my clothes and leave for work.

The combined effects of her scent on my face, plus the welts, kept me agitated all day. My arousal grew quickly, amplified by the knowledge that I would be denied orgasm that night. Even more powerful were the painful welts my ass would likely bear for a few days. Each time I sat down, I remembered my Mistress with awe. When my erection pulsed in its restraint, I felt truly owned. And I was beginning to like the feeling.

She met me at the door. Quickly, she unlocked my chastity belt, but only to insert a well-greased butt plug. "You may restore your pants, my slut--we're going out!"

We had a light lunch. As we ate, my butt plug, upon which I sat, constantly reminded me of my status. Mistress also made it a point to find excuses for me to walk around numerous times, amused at the subtle effects the plug had on my stride. Before we left, I felt truly humiliated.

Early in the meal, she handed me the clothespins. "Go to the restroom and put these on your tits!" Naturally, the restroom was occupied. I waited until the single stall was available. Quickly, not wanting to be discovered, I lifted my shirt, clipped on the clothespins and, with a grimace of pain, returned to my Mistress. She quickly and surreptitiously felt my nipples through my shirt to be sure I obeyed, but said nothing.

Towards the end of the meal, she herself used the restroom. I thought little about it at the time until, when the waitress brought our check, she ordered two draft beers.

The beers arrived. Mistress quickly drank down most of hers, then switched glasses, placing hers, with only an inch or so left in the glass, in front of me. Suddenly, she smiled at me, with the kind of smile she only used to precede an act of cruelty. I felt my cock pulse in its belt, and the plug in my ass did nothing to build my confidence.

She reached into her purse and took out a glass container, filled with a liquid similar in color to the beer. She handed it to me, and I was shocked to find it was quite warm.

"Pour it into your glass!"

It was a command. With my nipples in pain already, and the welts on my ass reminding me how bad things could get, I would not dare refuse.

I removed the top of the container. As Mistress smiled at me, I inhaled the unmistakably strong odor of piss. Yes, the container was filled with her piss, fresh from her recent trip to the bathroom.

Her demanding look was impatient. I emptied the container into my glass, filling it almost to the brim. The odor would build around us soon--I would not be able to stall.

Mistress picked up her glass, filled with refreshing, cold beer. With a gesture, she made me pick up mine, as well.

"A toast--to your complete enslavement!"

We touched glasses. Then, she again gave me that look of absolute demand that would tolerate no hesitation. I lifted the glass to my lips.

I had tasted her piss before, several times, when she demanded cleanings from me after her relieving herself. This, however, was a new, major challenge. Now, it was not just a taste, but a full twelve-ounce glass. Now, it was not licked from her body, within a sexual context, but consumed as part of an otherwise normal activity (Normal, that is, if you discount my chastity-belt, butt plug, female undergarments and the clothespins still painfully clamped on my nipples). Worst of all, it was in the full exposure to the public, where even a casual passerby might detect the odor, or note the slight difference in the color of my glass.

As Mistress continued to gaze into my eyes, waiting for my response to her toast, I took a sip. The taste was shocking. Not horrible, as one might expect, but of a character that was undismissable, unignorable in the current setting. Mistress drank down her glass, watching my movements as I drank down mine. Her eyes never left mine, watching me humiliate myself.

I finished the glass. About two-thirds of the way through, I made as if I would pause, but Mistress, with a gesture, indicated I should drink it down in one shot. I obeyed, not without some difficulty. The wave of utter mortification I experienced with that single act I have yet to equal.

She commanded me to summon the waitress myself, pay her and compliment her on the meal. She also required me to pay extra tribute to the quality of the beer. It seemed innocuous at the time; I complied. We then waited longer, until she returned one last time to bus the table. As she picked up the glasses, there was the slightest look on her face that indicated her awareness that something was amiss. With that observation, we left. I was not permitted to rinse my mouth.

I had presumed we were going home. Unfortunately, Mistress had other plans. At her command, we drove to the town park and pulled up at the Tennis Courts.

We had played tennis occasionally. Early on, I would beat her with some regularity. As time passed, however, her game had improved, to the point where I had to work hard to win at all, and she won entire matches with me frequently.

Needless to say, she had secretly packed our outfits and racquets. Leaving the car, my butt plug and chastity belt reminded me that this would be a handicap match. She instructed me to remove the clothespins from my nipples and be on the court quickly.

"You had better play well, slave! Every set you lose by will cost you an hour in bondage!"

I changed nervously, not wanting to be discovered with the clothes I wore. I was on the court in minutes, and even before play started, I realized my butt plug would be my worst enemy.

During warmups, each bend I took from the waist moved the plug sideways in my ass. Each jump withdrew it somewhat, while each landing on my feet thrust it hard into my ass. My speed and mobility were handicapped, my coordination was off, my concentration was distracted and my play suffered accordingly. Needless to say, I lost 4-1.

Again, in the locker room, I was nervous about discovery. A shower was out of the question, and I had to restore all my female undergarments. Just as I pulled up my pants, another man walked in, petrifying me. Fortunately, my secrets remained secure.

Back in the car, Mistress was gloating in her victory. "You disappointed me today. I expected better play from you!" She smiled, knowingly. I cringed, not sure of what to expect.

Arriving home, we parked in the garage, and I was made to remove my outer male clothes before I was permitted to enter the house. She fitted me with handcuffs and a collar and leash, then led me in.

In the living room, I knelt before her. "You've got three hours in bondage coming. Each hour will be in a different position, and you'll have breaks between them to serve my needs. You won't eat until your punishment is finished. Since you won't be coming tonight, your chastity belt and plug will remain in place throughout. For now, you can get out some equipment for your first ordeal..."

She fitted me with wrist shackles. I was made to put on my five-inch heels, and the shoe-locks were employed to fasten them on. My wrists were fastened to a pulley over my head and hoisted up until my heels barely remained on the floor. To this point, I had no problems. Unfortunately, things got substantially worse. She tied another rope to the ring on my right foot. Behind me, she ran the rope up my back, then passed it through the rings of my wrist shackles. With a sadistic laugh, she hoisted up sharply on the rope.

My foot was pulled up high behind me, well past my waist. It caused my back to arch severely, until my leg and back almost formed a circle. My left foot still was at floor level, but with the arching of my back, only my toe touched the floor. As I groaned in pain, Mistress smiled before me, caressing my ass, and said, "One hour, slave!"

I was quickly in agony. The weight of my body was my enemy, more so than ever. If I pulled upward to relieve the strain on my right leg, my back and wrists took the brunt. When I relaxed, trying to support my weight on my now lonely left toes, my right leg felt like it was being torn off.

The agony reached a plateau quickly and stayed there. I was near tears as, twenty minutes into the ordeal, Mistress clipped two clothespins onto my nipples.

Now, every strain was emphasized further, as all the flesh covering my severely arched chest was pulled tightly already. With the addition of the clamps, all that pain was reawakened.

"You look so pretty suffering there, slave!", she said, on one of her periodic trips to caress and tease my body. "Perhaps I'll flog you in this position some day..." The thought struck me with so much fear, I visibly shuddered. I moaned in agony, unable to beg for mercy.

My pain suddenly increased again, by an order of magnitude, as, at the forty minute mark, she raised my pulley rope another inch or two. Every bone in my body strained, as my left toes barely touched the floor. I cried openly, my eyes pleading with my Mistress, who, in turn, sat, watched me suffer, and idly masturbated.

I survived it. She lowered my leg rope first, slowly, even massaging the muscles a bit afterward. My wrist rope was lowered next, and I sank gratefully to the floor.

She allowed me to rest a few minutes, waiting for me to recover, until I finally knelt before her. At her bidding, I fetched drinks for us both.