The Night we Broke Jessika

[F/f] [lezdom] [bastinado] [foot fetish] [bondage] [forced orgasms]

Continued from: The Forbidden Wing

Holy fuck, you guys… I’m kneeling right now in one of the richly furnished punishment rooms of the Facility, and my heart is hammering so hard I can feel it between my legs. The room is beautiful in the most terrifying way — dark wood bondage benches with thick leather padding, walls lined with neatly displayed whips, straps, crops, and restraints that gleam under the soft, moody lighting. It feels elegant and ominous at the same time, like a luxurious dungeon built just for a single purpose.

I’m wearing nothing but my childish little ruffled ankle socks and my white panties. Everything else is gone. I’m on my knees in the center of the room, head bowed, arms submissively folded behind my back, palms resting against my spine just like Mistress instructed. I’ve been in this pose for what feels like forever, my thighs trembling slightly, my arousal soaking the gusset of my delicate panties so badly that the fabric clings wetly to my folds. Every tiny shift makes me feel how slick I am.

I can’t stop thinking about the preparation Mistress put me through earlier. She had me rub that sweet pink baby lotion into my bare feet — the kind with the soft, powdery scent that smells like innocence and baby powder. I massaged it in slowly, working it between my toes, over my arches, across the balls of my feet until they were creamy, soft, and glistening.

Then she had me slip the little white ruffled nylon socks on, trapping that sweet baby-powder scent inside. Now, kneeling here waiting, I can smell it faintly through the fabric — that gentle, childish fragrance mixed with the warmth of my skin. It makes me feel so small and vulnerable, like a little girl about to be punished for something very naughty.

Then I hear it — the slow, deliberate heel clicks of Mistress Andrea coming down the hall. That sound… I’ve heard it so many times while waiting in the timeout corner to be spanked, but this time it’s different. This time I’m in the forbidden wing for the very first time, and I know the soles of my feet are to be punished. Each click of her high heels on the hardwood floor sends a fresh jolt straight to my pussy. My clit throbs hard, and I feel another warm gush of arousal seep into my panties, the fabric growing even wetter, sticking obscenely to my folds. It’s so shameful and completely involuntary. I’m dripping, and I haven’t even been touched yet.

The clicks grow louder… closer… until they stop right in front of me. I don’t dare move. My breath catches as I feel her presence, tall and commanding, standing over my kneeling, nearly naked body.

“Good girl,” Mistress purrs, her voice low and approving. “You’ve stayed in position so beautifully while you waited. I’m proud of you, Jessika. Are you ready for your punishment?”

I whimper softly into the silence, nodding my head, my cheeks burning with humiliation and excitement. “Yes, Ma’am,” I whisper, voice shaky.

“Stand up, sweetheart.”

I rise on trembling legs, my ruffled white socks whispering against the floor. Mistress holds out her hand, palm up. “Panties off. Hand them to me.”

My fingers hook into the waistband. I slide the soaked white panties down my thighs, stepping out of them carefully. The cool air hits my bare, dripping pussy and I feel a fresh trickle run down my inner thigh. I fold the damp panties and place them in her open palm.

Mistress deliberately holds them open, examining the inner gusset. Her eyebrow arches in clear disapproval. “My, my… absolutely drenched, little one. You really are excited about having your pretty soles punished, aren’t you?”

I can’t answer. My face is on fire.

Without another word, she balls up the soaked panties and gently stuffs them into my mouth, forming a little cotton ball gag. The taste of my own arousal floods my tongue — sweet, musky, humiliating. I whimper around the fabric.

Then she guides me to the punishment table — a beautiful piece of dark wood and padded black leather. She helps me lie face down, my breasts pressing against the cool leather, my cheek resting on the pad. One by one, the heavy buckling bondage belts are secured: around my thighs, my lower back, my calves and ankles, my arms and wrists. Each strap clicks into place with a finality that makes my pussy clench. I’m completely immobile, helpless, my body stretched and presented perfectly. My feet hang off the end of the table, still in the childish ruffled white nylon socks.

Mistress stands at my feet. Slowly, deliberately, she peels off the first sock, rolling it down my ankle, over my heel, and off my toes. The trapped scent of the pink baby lotion is released instantly — that sweet, powdery, innocent baby-powder fragrance filling the room, soft and childish, making my cheeks burn even hotter. Then the second sock follows, removed just as teasingly, and the same powdery baby scent blooms again, stronger now, surrounding us both. My creamy soles are finally bare — soft, lotioned, glistening slightly from the lotion, every inch pink and exquisitely sensitive.

I whimper into my panty gag as Mistress runs her fingernails lightly over my delicate bare feet — tracing the arches, circling the balls of my feet, scratching gently between my toes. The sensation is electric. My toes curl and flex helplessly, my whole body straining against the belts as she teases and torments the creamy, sensitive skin. Each light scratch sends sparks straight to my core, making me moan desperately into the soaked cotton gag stuffed in my mouth.

I’m fully naked now, strapped down tight, feet bared and waiting.

Then I hear the soft strike of a match. From the corner of my eye, I watch helplessly as Mistress lights a tall white candle on a pedestal beside the table. The flame flickers to life, casting a warm glow across my exposed, creamy soles.

I’m trembling with fear… and dripping with arousal.

***************************************

Oh my gosh, you guys… I still get butterflies just thinking about it, even now.

Mistress had the cameras rolling before I even realized it — one wide-angle shot capturing my entire naked, bound body stretched out helplessly on the punishment table, and another zoomed in close on my face so my fans could see every tear, every whimper, every desperate plea. She gently pulled the balled-up, soaked panties from my mouth, letting them drop to the side with a wet little sound. My lips felt swollen and my tongue still tasted like my own arousal — sweet, musky, and so humiliating. I gasped for air, but before I could say anything, Mistress leaned in close, her voice calm and commanding.

“I want to hear you, sweetheart. I want your fans to hear every cry and every plea. No more gag. Let them see and hear exactly how little Miss Gamer Toes sounds when her sensitive feet are being punished.”

My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat. I was completely helpless — heavy leather belts strapping me down tight to the padded black leather table, wrists and ankles locked in place, my body stretched out face-down with my bare feet hanging off the end. My creamy, lotioned soles were completely exposed, still tingling from the long foot bath and massage, the sweet pink baby lotion scent still faintly in the air around me.

Mistress stood at my feet and calmly declared, “The soles of your bare feet will first be whipped… and then I’m going to slowly drip hot candle wax all over them.”

Before I had time to process what was just said, the first lash of the thin leather whip landed across both arches at once.

Crack!

The pain was sharp but not unbearable — a bright, stinging line of fire that made me yelp loudly for the camera. “Ahh! Mistress, please!” I cried out, my voice high and dramatic, exactly the way I knew my foot fans loved. My whole body jerked against the straps, my toes curling tight as the sting bloomed across my soft soles.

Another lash, then another — quick, stinging strokes that danced across my tender feet, catching the balls of my feet, the arches, even flicking lightly between my toes. Each one made me cry out louder, my feet trying to curl away but unable to move more than an inch because of the belts. The skin was so sensitive from the lotion and soaking that every lash felt intense, but I knew it wasn’t dangerous — it was the perfect level of sting to make me squirm and perform for the video. Tears started streaming down my face (part real, part for the camera), and I sobbed dramatically, “Please, Ma’am! It stings so bad! I’ll be good — I swear I’ll be good!”

I counted every single lash in my head. Fifty in total. By the twentieth I was kicking my feet as much as the straps allowed, my voice breaking into real sobs mixed with theatrical pleas. “No more! My feet are too sensitive! I’m sorry!” The pain built into a hot, throbbing burn that made my soles feel swollen and alive, but it never crossed into real agony — it was exactly the kind of sting that turned humiliation into arousal. My pussy was dripping, the wetness running down my thighs, my clit throbbing with every crack of the whip. I hated how turned on I was, but I loved it too — performing for my fans while feeling so exposed and punished.

Mistress paused after the fiftieth lash, letting me catch my breath, my soles now bright pink and tingling all over. I was sobbing softly, tears rolling down my cheeks, but my hips were rocking slightly against the table, my body begging for more even as I whimpered.

Then she lit the tall white candle again, holding it above my feet. The first drops of hot wax fell.

It landed right in the center of my left arch — a sudden, burning splash of heat that made me gasp and arch my back. “Ahhh! It burns, Mistress!” The wax wasn’t excruciating — it was hot enough to sting and make me feel properly punished, but not enough to truly hurt. Drop after drop followed — slow, deliberate, landing on my arches, the balls of my feet, even dripping between my toes. The wax hardened almost instantly, creating little white pools that pulled at my skin when I flexed. Each new drop made me cry out, my voice hoarse and pleading, “Please, no more wax! My feet are too sensitive! I’m sorry!”

The combination of the whipping and the wax was overwhelming in the best way — my soles felt hot, stinging, and completely owned. I was a sobbing, trembling mess on the table, tears pouring down my face, but my pussy was soaked and throbbing, my arousal leaking onto the leather beneath me. The humiliation of being naked, bound, and having my delicate feet punished like this — while the cameras captured every moment — was so intense it made me dizzy with shame and excitement.

Mistress’s voice stayed soft and approving through it all. “Such pretty cries, sweetheart. Your fans are going to love this.”

I was crying real tears now, but I was also so turned on I could barely think straight. My creamy soles were pink, marked with little white wax droplets, still tingling and warm from the whipping and wax. I felt completely punished, completely humiliated… and completely alive.

***********************************************

After the initial whipping and the hot wax, Mistress switched to a small suede flogger. It was much gentler than the thin leather whip — the falls were soft and thuddy rather than sharp — but she used it with a steady, relentless rhythm. She told me the whipping would continue until every single hardened wax droplet was flogged off my bare feet. It wasn’t brutal or punishing this time; it felt far more sensual, almost teasing. Each stroke landed with a soft thwack-thwack-thwack, the suede kissing and warming my already sensitive soles, gradually loosening the little white wax pools until they cracked and flaked away.

I moaned and whimpered the whole time, my toes curling and spreading helplessly, my body pulling against the heavy leather straps. The sensation was intense but not unbearable — a constant, building heat that made my soles feel alive and tingling. Every time a piece of wax flew off, Mistress would praise me softly: “Good girl… almost there… look how pretty your feet are getting.” I cried real tears, but they were mixed with deep, needy moans. The humiliation of having my delicate soles flogged while the cameras captured everything made my pussy throb and drip onto the leather table beneath me.

When the last flake of wax was gone, Mistress set the flogger aside. She ran her hand slowly over my now smooth, punished bare feet — her palm warm and gentle, fingers tracing every curve of my arches and toes. Then she poured more of that sweet pink baby lotion into her hands and massaged it in again, slow circles over my soles, between my toes, making them silky and glistening. “Such a good girl,” she murmured, her voice full of pride. “You accepted your special pedicure so beautifully, sweetheart. I’m very proud of you.”

She unbuckled all the heavy leather straps one by one, helping me sit up on the edge of the table. My legs were shaky, my soles still tingling warmly. She ended the video recording with a soft click, then smiled at me.

But we weren’t done.

Mistress guided me onto the bench on my hands and knees, legs slightly parted. She pressed down gently but firmly on my lower back, encouraging me to arch it deeply. I obeyed, pushing my ass up and back, presenting my asshole and pussy completely. The position felt so exposed, so vulnerable — my bare, lotioned feet still tingling from the punishment, my face flushed with shame.

She selected a beautiful black anal plug from a nearby shelf — large enough to feel substantial, but not extreme. It was shaped like a cock, tapered, with a flared base. She held it in front of my face. “Open your mouth, sweetheart.”

I parted my lips obediently. She slid the plug into my mouth, the silicone cool and heavy on my tongue. “Hold it there,” she said softly. “Look directly into the mirror in front of you. Watch yourself holding the plug that’s about to go into your ass.”

I stared at my own reflection — eyes wide, cheeks flushed, mouth stretched around the black plug — feeling the deepest wave of humiliation wash over me. Mistress put on a black latex glove, squirted lube onto her finger, and pressed it against my tight, virgin asshole. I whimpered around the plug as she slowly pushed inside, penetrating me for the first time. The sensation was so foreign, so invasive — a slick, stretching fullness that made my eyes water. She began to fuck me rhythmically with one finger, sliding in and out, curling gently, opening me up.

I had never had my asshole penetrated before, let alone finger-banged like this. The humiliation and degradation of the act made my pussy go wild — dripping, clenching, aching with need. Several more applications of lube and Mistress added a second finger, slowly fucking my ass deeper, stretching me open while I moaned desperately around the plug in my mouth, knowing it would soon replace her fingers.

After a while, she pulled the plug from my mouth, strings of saliva connecting it to my lips. “Thank you for holding it so nicely, sweetheart,” she said mockingly. I tried to protest, my voice shaky and hoarse: “Mistress… I’ve never had anything up my ass before…” But my arousal was too high — my pussy was literally dripping down my thighs — and I couldn’t bring myself to use my safeword.

Mistress worked the lubed plug slowly into my ass, twisting gently, pressing it deeper and deeper until it seated home with a soft pop. My hole clenched around the base, the fullness overwhelming and intensely humiliating.

Then I heard it — a heavy-duty vibrator buzzed to life, the low, powerful hum filling the room. My anus instinctively clenched hard around the plug in shock at the new sound. Mistress slapped my ass firmly. “Keep your back arched and your head up, sweetheart. Look directly into the mirror in front of you.”

I obeyed, staring at my own flushed, tear-streaked face in the mirror — completely naked, plugged, trembling, and dripping with arousal — I was already right on the edge from everything — the long preparation, the whipping on my bare soles, the hot wax dripping and hardening, the humiliation of being strapped down naked with my creamy feet on full display for the cameras. My pussy was throbbing, dripping, clenching around nothing, and my mind was spinning from the mix of pain, shame, and that deep, aching need.

The second Mistress pressed the large Hitachi wand against my pussy, the powerful vibrations slammed into my clit. At the exact same moment, the thick penis-shaped plug stuffed deep in my ass made everything feel so much fuller, so much more intense. I exploded instantly.

I screamed into the room — a loud, broken, desperate cry that echoed off the walls. My whole body convulsed, my punished pink toes curling so hard they cramped, my back trying to arch even deeper. The orgasm was violent and heavy, crashing through me in huge, rolling waves. My pussy clenched and squirted against the wand, soaking the leather beneath me, while my asshole spasmed and squeezed the plug so tightly it felt like it was trying to pull it deeper. I couldn’t stop cumming — it just kept rolling through me, making my thighs shake and my eyes roll back.

Mistress kept the wand pressed firmly against me through the whole thing, letting me ride it out. When the peak finally started to fade, she gave me maybe a minute to breathe, my chest heaving, tears of overwhelming pleasure running down my face. Then she slapped my ass sharply — crack! — making me jolt.

“Head up, sweetheart. Eyes on the mirror. I want you to watch yourself.”

I forced my head up, staring at my own reflection — naked, face flushed and tear-streaked, mouth open in a silent gasp. Mistress turned the Hitachi back on and mashed it hard against my swollen clit.

I came again almost immediately — even harder this time. My arms and knees shook violently trying to hold my form, the orgasm ripping through me like lightning. I screamed louder, my pussy gushing against the wand, my asshole pulsing around the thick plug. The pleasure was so intense it almost hurt, my whole body convulsing, toes curling tight, tears pouring down my cheeks as I watched myself fall apart in the mirror.

Mistress didn’t stop. She flipped me onto my back, laying me flat on the bench. The heavy buckling belts went on again — around my thighs, waist, calves, ankles, arms and wrists — spreading my legs wide and locking them open. The base of the black ass plug peeked out obscenely between my cheeks, shiny with lube and my own wetness. I was completely helpless, pussy and plugged ass on full display.

Then she forced three more orgasms out of me.

The first one hit fast — the wand pressed right against my over-sensitive clit, buzzing mercilessly. I screamed and thrashed against the straps, cumming so hard my vision blurred. The second one followed right after, even stronger, my body arching as much as the belts allowed, my voice hoarse as I begged, “Please… I can’t… it’s too much!”

By the fourth and fifth orgasms, I was a broken, sobbing mess. Mistress kept stealing them from me, one after another, the wand never letting up. I was crying real tears now, my voice cracking as I pleaded, “No more, Mistress! Please, I can’t cum anymore! It hurts… I’m too sensitive!” But my body kept betraying me — each orgasm ripping through me harder than the last, my pussy squirting, my asshole clenching rhythmically around the plug, my toes curling so tight they ached.

I was sexually broken — completely used, overstimulated, and utterly spent.

And I loved it.

I fuckin' loved every humiliating, overwhelming second of it!

This has been Jessika, signing off for now. 

Continued in: I'm Literally Ruined

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