Why Choose BDSM?

Continued from: Old Fashioned

It has always been said of submissives, that they are truly the ones in control. Most whom I have known are powerful, professional, educated, alpha men and women in the vanilla world. Yet, with all the power and control they wield, they choose to kneel. Making that choice puts them in control, does it not? Look at me when I ask you a question!

I recently had Mandy over for a session. Or rather, she requested a session with me, putting the choice and control in her hands essentially. 

Remember Mandy, our cute little soccer mom and nurse? She is mini-van, mega fun, let me tell you! 

She was literally on her way home from work and figured she could squeeze in a quick session, then go home and try to hide the fact that she has a sore, welted bum while interacting with her family. *giggle. 

I asked the A.I. if it would please give me a shot of Mandy, at work, in her scrubs, to share with all of you as a beginning to her story. Hmm, okay...scrubs come in skirts now? And heels. I like it, but I'm not sure how practical this would be in an ER. 

No...no, A.I. - medical scrubs involve pants. Can you put her in proper scrubs for me, please? 

Hehe. Scrub shorts! Super cute and they look great on her! Totally a spankable look for Mandy

Third attempt? 

There we go! Third time's a charm. 

I asked Mandy at the end of her session, when she indeed was thoroughly spanked and humiliated for about an hour, why choose BDSM? What keeps her coming back to endure such shameful vulnerability and pain? 

For me, BDSM is more than just a kink or a fetish. It's a vital part of who I am, a fundamental aspect of my identity, albeit, hidden from the outside world. Through my submission, I've learned to embrace my vulnerabilities, to accept and even celebrate my flaws and weaknesses. I've discovered strength within myself that I never knew existed, a resilience born of enduring pain and humiliation for the sake of pleasure. 

In a world that often judges and condemns those who deviate from the norm, finding a safe space where I can explore my desires without fear or shame has been truly liberating. 

And of course, there's the sheer ecstasy of it all - the rush of adrenaline that comes with being tied up and helpless, the exquisite of a well-placed spank, the euphoria of finally achieving release after hours of teasing and denial. 

These sensations are unlike anything else I've ever experienced, and they keep me coming back again and again, eager for more. 

Well put, Mandy. Why don't you keep going and tell everyone about our session. 

Yes, Ma'am. Like start right from the beginning, with my check-in routine? 

Yes, please, sweetheart. Let the readers know how you are expected to arrive and wait for me.

***********

As I pulled down the long laneway and up to the mansion that housed Mistress Andrea's Facility, my heart began to race with a familiar mixture of excitement and dread. I glanced at my reflection in the rearview mirror, noting the faint circles under my eyes and the tension lines etched into my forehead - telltale signs of another long shift at the ER.

Yet, despite my exhaustion, I couldn't deny the growing ache between my thighs, a hunger that only Mistress Andrea could satisfy. 

Taking one last deep breath, I stepped out of my car and made my way to the intake entrance, secured by a heavy metal door. As soon as I entered the stark foyer of the Facility, I began my entry ritual. This routine had been drilled into me, whipped into me actually, by Mistress during my initial sessions and now it came as second nature. 

First, I removed my runners, placing them neatly in the cabinet. Then, with practiced efficiency, I stripped off my scrubs, folding them carefully and setting them aside. Next came my bra, panties and socks, the last barriers between my naked body and the coolness of the room. I shivered slightly as goosebumps rose on my skin, my nipples hardening in response to the sudden exposure. 

Once fully undressed, I gathered all my belongings - clothes, keys, phone and purse - and placed them into the cabinet below. The moment I shut the door of the cabinet, an automatic lock clattered into place. I felt a profound sense of detachment wash over me and the vulnerability of my situation began to rise. 

With trembling hands, I reached for the waiting gag, its shiny red ball reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. With a deep breath, I pushed the rubber ball past my lips and teeth, stretching my jaw wide as I buckled the strap behind my head. 

I reached for the shackle set and the connecting chains jingled to life in the quiet of the room. I bent down, my bare breasts swaying heavily with the motion, as I applied the cuffs to my ankles. The cool metal sent a shiver down my spine as I awkwardly ratcheted the next set of cuffs onto my wrists, all joined by a mutual chain to my ankles. While clicking these cuffs into place, a familiar sense of vulnerability washed over me, knowing that I was willingly surrendering my freedom during this entry ritual...which, is exactly the point of this entry ritual, to apply layer upon layer of lost control. 

Now, fully restrained and silenced, I turned to face the stand-up metal cage that awaited my final stage of admittance to the Facility. Stepping backwards into the cage, I felt the cold bars gently whisper against my shoulders. With my cuffed wrists, I grasped the door and pulled it shut, the loud click of the automatic lock sealing me inside my temporary prison. 

Up until this exact moment, Mandy was still in control, choosing to submit, choosing to follow my entry ritual and restrain and gag herself. Once that cage locked behind her, it represents the moment all of her control is gone! Well, 99% of it as she still has a safe word. 

From here, Mandy has no idea about the type of session that is coming or what I intend to do with her. Everything is on the table from dungeons to diapers, provided it falls within the boundaries of her hard and soft limits. 

This is the part for Mandy, or any submissive, where the adrenaline starts, the fear, the excitement and the roller-coaster of emotions that makes people choose BDSM. 

I love how this is referred to as her "Waiting Room". "Reflect on their situation", is also spot on!

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

Trapped and helpless, I could do nothing but wait for Mistress Andrea to arrive and occasionally glance at the red blinking light of the video camera, trained on my cage. (For my safety of course)

The minutes ticked by agonizingly slow, each second stretching into an eternity as I stood there, naked and exposed. My muscles began to ache from the forced upright position of attention, and drool trickled down my chin, dampening my chest. Yet, despite the physical discomfort, I found a perverse sense of peace in my confinement.

As much as it shamed me to admit, my pussy throbbed with slick anticipation when I finally heard the sharp click of high heels approaching, each step echoing through the sterile foyer like a gunshot. My heart raced as Mistress came into view, her stunning beauty taking my breath away. 

She was dressed in a vintage 1950s pinup style, her curves accentuated by the cinched waist and flared skirt of her dress. Her fiery red lips curved into a cruel smile as she appraised my naked, bound form, her eyes roaming over my body with a predatory gaze. 

Despite the gag filing my mouth, I let out a muffled whimper, equal parts fear and desire. Mistress Andrea sauntered closer, her hips swaying hypnotically with each step. She circled the cage slowly, her fingers trailing along the cold metal bars and she inspected me from every angle. 

Her voice was as smooth as honey when she finally spoke. "Well, well, well...look at you, young lady. All trussed up and ready for me." 

With that, she unlocked the cage door, the metallic clank reverberating through the room. Mistress extended her hand, beckoning me forward with a single crooked finger. Obediently, I shuffled from the cage in my shackles, my bare feet padding softly on the cold tile floor.

As she removed my gag and unlocked my cuff set, I stood before her, rubbing my wrists absently as I awaited her next move. She regarded me with a calculated gaze, her eyes narrowed in thought. "Tell me, Mandy," she began, her voice low and measured. "When was the last time I gave you a good, old-fashioned spanking?" 

I knelt and assumed a proper position of submission, as my stomach sank in unison. 

Memories of previous sessions flooded my mind - the humiliation of being draped over her lap like a naughty child, my feet kicking the air as her hairbrush connected with my bare bum, and the mortifying realization that despite my protests, my pussy grew wetter with each smack.

I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. "It's...It's been awhile, Ma'am," I stammered, my eyes downcast in shame. "I believe the last time you gave me a spanking was several months ago, Ma'am."

Mistress nodded slowly, a wicked grin playing at the corners of her mouth. "Indeed," she murmured, more to herself than to me. "Far too long, I'd say. Mommy will have to rectify that, won't she?" 

This is now the moment in the session where I've shown my hand. Mandy now knows how to address me for this session and she has some basic idea of what is about to happen. Can you imagine what must be going through her mind? 

***********

At 45 years old, a mother myself, I was about to be spanked like a misbehaving child, and required to call a woman younger than me, "Mommy". And yet, beneath the churning humiliation, I couldn't ignore the telltale throbbing between my legs, a betrayal of my body's true desires. 

Without warning, she seized my arm, her grip firm and maternal. I yelped in surprise as she began to smack my bare bum to move me along and into one of the specialty rooms. She led me into a bedroom decorated in sickening sweet pastels and pinks, the air heavy with the scent of baby powder and lavender. 

Laid out on the bed was an outfit that made my tummy twist with humiliation - a soft pink Lolita dress, complete with puffy sleeves and a Peter Pan collar, alongside a pair of pristine white knee socks and glossy pink Mary Janes. The piece de resistance, however, were the "little girl" styled panties, emblazoned with Disney princesses, a far cry from the lacy thongs and boyshorts I usually favoured. 

"Get dressed for Mommy, young lady," she ordered, leaving no room for argument. "And don't forget to put your hair in pigtails. Mommy will be back up in a little while to give you a long overdue spanking."

Any spanko will tell you that they want to hear that word spoken aloud, as it relates to their upcoming fate. They don't want to hear, "I'll be back up to deal with you, are you ready for your correction, you're due for discipline." No...they want to hear, "it's time for your SPANKING!" 

I think I learned this one from Miss Julie, I think she wrote about it once. 

********** 

The words sent a chill through my body, my stomach twisting into knots of dread and anticipation, as I began to don the ridiculous outfit. My face burned with embarrassment as I took in my reflection, the frilly dress, the knee socks and childish accessories a stark contrast to my mature features. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching a soft stuffed bunny to my chest, I felt ridiculous, adrift in a sea of shame and humiliation while being betrayed by arousal. 

I hugged the bunny tighter, seeking comfort its soft fur, as the sound of heel clicks, coming up the stairs, jolted me from my reverie. 

Mandy

Continued in: Betrayed

  

 

Pent-Up

Continued from: Why the Long Face?

When we left off with this cute couple, Vanessa was exerting her dominance over her sissy husband, allowing him a small moment of scent-association training after her return from work. The dampness of her hosed-feet, came to rest on Derek's mouth and nose, as she massaged and manipulated his caged cock through his panties.

His arousal and frustration level was nearly unbearable. 

Three days without her guiding hand had left him coiled tighter than a spring, emotions and desires building to a critical point. Vanessa recognized the signs - it was time for a therapeutic intervention. A gentle, soothing phrase escaped her lips as she beckoned Derek to head upstairs and position himself in the corner: "Off you go, my little one. let's take care of everything pent-up, shall we?" 

With a mixture of humility and hope, Derek clicked up the stairs in his Mary Janes, his movements tentative, like a child seeking comfort. He had come to learn within his unique dynamic, that being "pent-up" meant tears would flow from his eyes first, before the chastity tears would flow from his cage. 

As Vanessa ascended the stairs, the commanding click of her heels echoed through the quiet hallway, a solitary sound that seemed to amplify her dominance. Her gaze drifted upwards, fixing on the figure in the corner of their bedroom, awaiting his fate. 

Derek, clad in a patterned and delicate outfit of a little girl, stood with his hands on his head, elbows out. The air was heavy with contrition, as if the very atmosphere itself was infused with shame and humility. 

With practiced rituality, Derek had accessed the dreaded "spanking cart" from their walk-in closet. A simple yet elegant two-tier cart on wheels, containing straps, paddles, hairbrushes, a Lexan cane and plenty of tissues. He knew that before positioning himself in the corner, this needed to be displayed and presented for his wife's selection.

Vanessa positioned herself on the plush loveseat, exposing her hosed thighs in invitation. Once summoned from the corner, Derek turned in response, before mincing towards his wife.

Vanessa's slender fingers extended, helping him out of his dress and bra and sliding his panties down and off. With a pat of her lap, his body conformed to the familiar contours of her strict lap, in this time-honoured position. Her hand found its way to the small of his back with a little pressure, to pin him in place, as her sturdy palm began to soundly spank his bare bum cheeks. 

After a long warm-up over her knees, Derek was positioned on an end-table to be paddled. Vanessa sat comfortably nearby, allowing his anticipation to build and tears to rise to the surface. 

With a deep breath, Vanessa launched into the rhythmic motion, paddling his bare bum in a slow, measured cadence. At first, the impact was reasonable, but as the blows continued to fall, the sounds of pain and pent-up emotion began to mingle, culminating in deep sobbing from Derek. He was crying openly now, like a little girl. 

With Derek's emotional catharsis complete, Vanessa's focus shifted to the next stage of his therapy. From the beside drawer, she retrieved her trusty strap-on harness, the supple leather creaking as she buckled it securely around her hips. 

Next she selected a suitable condom, the crinkle of its wrapper piercing the silence as she tore it open with her teeth. With deliberate slowness, she rolled the latex sheath over Derek's chastity cage, creating a reservoir to capture any cum that might be coerced from his prostate. The unspoken promise hung in the air, Vanessa would milk him dry, relieving his pent-up desires while reinforcing her control over him. 

With a subtle adjustment, Vanessa aligned her body with Derek's vulnerable form, the tip of her strap-on poised at the entrance to his "sissy pussy". The initial penetration was followed by a series of shallow, teasing thrusts, each calculated to tantalize his prostate. 

As Vanessa's thrusts gained momentum, she began to slap his already brutalized ass cheeks, to coax him into vocalizing his feelings. "Tell me darling," she urged, her voice husky with encouragement, "do you enjoy being fucked like a girl?" 

A strangled affirmative escaped Derek's lips, his admission hanging in the room like a confession. "Y-yes, Ma'am...I I-like it..." The words dripped with shame and humiliation, a potent cocktail that fueled Vanessa's passion. 

"I love it when your cage slaps against my clit!" She purred out.

Her strokes grew more insistent, driving poor Derek further into the heart of his degradation, as she crafted another memorable chapter in their ongoing tale of this female-led-relationship. All that was pent-up, had been released. 

Welcome home, Vanessa! 

Derek...you better just stay on all fours, while she gets that condom off your cage and feeds you the contents. And don't forget to thank her for it. 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Mad Men