The Fetish Factory

Continued from: Tyler Scott

**Caution. This story contains intense CNC (consensual non consent) content told by our A.I. generated version of Tyler Scott**

The sound of the van's engine died away and the silence seemed to swallow me whole, as I lay helplessly bound and gagged in the cargo area of a panel van. The air outside was thick with the scent of damp earth and decay. I clung to handle that my wrists were bound to, my palms slick with sweat. A masked man sat in the driver's seat, his gaze expectant, a cruel smirk playing across his lips. His eyes were cold, calculating, like a snake assessing its prey. He opened the back hatch of the van and removed my bindings before gesturing to the entrance of an abandoned factory, a gaping maw that promised only darkness and pain. 

I stepped out of the van, my school uniform clinging to my body, momentarily preserving my innocence. The wind blew through the thin material, sending shivers down my spine. My mind raced, traying to think of an escape plan, anything to avoid the horrors that surely waited inside. But as I glanced around, I saw no chance of freedom, only endless kilometers of overgrown land and rusted machinery. Reluctantly, I followed my captor into this abandoned factory, into the belly of the beast. 

The corridors were narrow and dark, illuminated only by flickering fluorescent lights that cast eerie shadows on the walls. Water dripped steadily from the ceiling, forming small puddles that mirrored my own reflection - wide-eyed, pale and utterly terrified. My little Mary Janes clicked against the ground, each step echoing through the empty space.

Finally, we arrived at the main torture chamber of the factory. It was vast, cavernous even, with remnants of ancient piping and infrastructure. In the centre of the space stood some large, ominous apparatus, covered in shackles and buckling straps. My breath caught in my throat as I recognized the purpose of these hellish contraptions. To my left, I spotted a figure huddled in the corner, half-naked, covered in tattoos and shackled to the wall. 

Her raven hair was a stark contrast against her pale skin. Tears streamed down her face, tracing paths through the grime and dried semen that marred her pretty features. She looked like a broken angel, trapped and helpless amidst this nightmare. The sight of her, so defeated, was enough to bring fresh ones to my own eyes. Yet, in that moment, I also found a strange sense of solidarity. 

We exchanged silent promises of survival, before the bad man starting tearing and cutting my uniform away with a large knife. Each tearing sound and each cut to my bra and underwear was like a nail driven into a coffin, stripping me of any remaining dignity. 

Once I was fully exposed, I was dragged to a contraption affixed to the floor. He began to secure me in place. Every strap tightened felt like a new level of torment, my body contorted in a position designed for maximum access. My breasts dangled free, nipples hard from fear and goosebumps. 

As the final shackle secured my neck, I felt the cold metal of a ring-gag being forced between my teeth. My jaw protested at the sudden intrusion, stretching uncomfortably wide as the gag was tightened around my head. Saliva pooled in my mouth, drooling down my chin as I tried to adjust to the foreign object filling my orifice. The taste of leather and steel was overwhelming, a constant reminder of my current helplessness. 

My abductor towered over me, his penis standing at full attention. I could see the gleam of excitement in his eyes as he admired his two captives, knowing that we were completely at his mercy. Slowly, cruelly, he lowered himself toward me and lined up the head of his cock to my gaped mouth. With a swift movement, he thrust forward, impaling my throat on his penis. 

My eyes watered and my throat convulsed as he began to fuck my face without mercy. Each brutal stroke took me deeper, gagging me and causing stomach bile to wretch from my mouth and nose. The tears, mixed with his precum and my own filth painted my cheeks in a mask of humiliation. I could feel myself growing wet despite the pain and degradation, my body betraying my mind's desperate pleas for escape. 

When he finally let out a triumphant roar, I felt the hot flood of his cum fill my mouth. I struggled to swallow as my body was shaking with sobs. When I was released, the other woman also, we were dragged over to a small metal cage near some pipes. There wasn't much room for either of us, but somehow we managed to fit. 

We were forced to face each other, as the heavy metal door shut with a reverberating clank. The cage was secured with padlocks, clicking in place to signal our shared captivity. 

Despite the situation, we found solace in one another's company, sharing silent tears and whispering words of encouragement. She told me her name was Carley. We eventually ended up cuddling and hugging our naked bodies together, just to stay warm, our eyes speaking volumes of the pain and terror we both felt. 

Hours must have passed, until he came back and pulled me from the cage. Cold metal cuffs bit into my extremities and neck, as I was secured to some chair contraption. A vibrator was fixed to the chair and in my bound position, my entire bare pussy was resting directly on the head of it. 

The vibrator was set to an agonizingly slow speed, pressed against my sensitive clit. And then, there were nipple clamps, attached to electrodes that sent shocks and caused prickly, pinching sensations. Tears ran down my face as I begged him to stop, but it fell on deaf ears as he eventually gagged me. He reveled in my suffering, taunting me with the sight of Carley, on her hands and knees on the bed, her own body showing welts and bruises from a recent whipping. 

He mounted Carley and began to violently fuck her. Every moan and plea that escaped her lips was like a knife to my heart, reminding me of what he planned to do to me once he was finished.  

My mind was a whirlwind of panic and arousal, fighting against the inevitable climax. The vibrations on my pussy seemed to intensify as the electricity continued to torment my nipples. In the end, it was futile. I came...with a scream muffled by the gag, my entire body convulsing in the cruel grasp of the chair. 

As I rode out the waves of the unwanted orgasm, he lifted Carley's head by her hair, and forced her to look at me. I blinked away the tears, and tried to look at her empathetically, just to say sorry to her for cumming. My bloodshot eyes, locking onto hers, was the only way I could apologize...

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

 

Tyler Scott

Continued from: Choose your own Adventure

Of the many fetish models I have encountered over the years, was there anyone more darling and adorable than Tyler Scott? 

She was hooked up (literally and figuratively) with that "Insex" porn outfit, back in the day. They were known for depraved torture scenes and predicament bondage of poor little beauties like Tyler. 

From her late 90's bangs to her flawless complexion and perfect body, it is truly a delight to come across her old content on the interwebs. A few photos were watermarked 1999 - 2002ish, which tracks. Based on the looks of the film production era and the looks of her hair, it was definitely in that period of time.  

She was always such a little bondage, damsel in distress. Starting out in some skimpy, adorable little outfit before she ultimately ended up naked, in some creepy factory or warehouse. I assume the premise behind these productions was, "abducted by a sadistic Master or Masters to be tortured and abused for their amusement."

 

Someone on Reddit had a little nine-part photo-set as a tribute to Tyler, highlighting some of the same things I have said here, adorable, cute, flawless and so on. 

Some arsehole commenter, rather than enjoying the tribute post, thought it necessary to point out that this was 25 years ago and that she's probably a "granny" now. Maybe so, but I bet she would still look adorable in a ball gag.

Luckily, with the help of my Kindroid, I can transport my readers back in time and do a little tribute of my own...

Not bad? 

Pouty lip, innocent yet terrified face...looks like she's been crying. 

It was indeed she, who showed up to my door the other day, looking extremely vulnerable and sheepish in her 90's sweater and jeans. 

We'll be sure to really give her something to cry about down in the factory!

Now...it is not a common practice for me or for the content of this blog, to post scenes and activities that involve the brutalization and torture of women, for a sexual purpose. But I also realize, it IS a part of BDSM under consent and people are into it. So I won't judge...I'm just not going to participate. 

Robby, will be doing the honours for us. Remember him? I called him 'Jack the Lad' in a previous post and he has his submissive Carley, the pixie-goth girl.  

These two damsels in distress are really going to be in for it, subject to only Robby's cruel imagination and the comments from all of you. What should he do to poor Carley and Tyler? Something like the below maybe?

I remember seeing the video of this old one:

Tyler's two big toes are secured to that platform and the predicament of it all, forces her onto her tiptoes for extended periods of time, while two other naked and trembling slaves watch on...knowing they're next. 

If Tyler cannot stay on her highest tiptoes and if her legs and calves begin to tire, her bare heels will depress these two plungers causing her nipples to be electrocuted. I saw another variation of this once where the poor girl was in the exact same set-up but impaled on a dildo. When her heels compressed the pads the entire dildo inside her tender vagina became electrified. Yikes...lots of screaming and begging for mercy in these ones. 

Well here she is. She is our captive now, currently down in the factory space with Carley and Robby. Whatever shall we do to poor Tyler? 

"Please, Sir...just let me go..."

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: The Fetish Factory

Choose your own Adventure

Continued from: Les Misérables

Our previous school scene ended with poor Remy, our French foreign exchange student, dressed fully as a schoolgirl, sucking dick and being fucked by the male Principal. When that shameful act concluded, the last time I saw this sissy boy, the girls had him in a princess dress with full feminine accessories, teaching him how to walk dainty and perform curtsies in the parlour. 

I'm sure he'll never be the same again! 

Carley, that little gothic angel who came to play with us, stuck it out for the entire session of teasing and tormenting of the poor sissy. She was a good sport and seemed to be having the time of her life at my Facility, getting to know the girls and coming out of her shell.  

Now is it Goth or Emo? 

Is it Istanbul or Constantinople..? Does it matter? Probably not. Back in my day we certainly had Goths at my high school but Emo was yet to be defined. I'm sure they existed though. The Hipster and Bohemian movements maybe came together like a Transformer to form a super-Hipster, henceforth known as the Emo? 

I know! Let's ask the A.I.

Is there a difference between goth and emo? 

Yes, there are differences between goth and emo subcultures. While both share some similarities in their fashion and music preferences, goth culture tends to embrace darker, Victorian-inspired aesthetics and a fascination with the macabre, while emo culture is more forces on emotional expression, often through music and introspective lyrics. Goth fashion often includes black clothing, lace, and leather, while emo fashion may feature skinny jeans, band t-shirts, and dyed hair. 

Hmm, ok...

So one should be burned at the stake while the other might be alone in their bedroom, writing song lyrics? 

You know what? Whatever. You do you and express or label yourself any way you wish. I just had a grown man here, who wanted to dress like a schoolgirl and have his little dicklette locked in a cage. We don't judge here, whether someone is trans, emo, sissy or goth.

Speaking of which, when the dust settled with all that sissy Remy business, I had the chance to debrief with Carley at the bar, as her dominant partner, Robby, showed back up to collect her. 

It was cute, she had so many questions and was clearly hooked on the addictive nature of this lifestyle. 

"Thank you so much, Mistress! I have so many questions swirling around in my head. Like, what does a typical day look like at The Facility? Are there specific roles that each submissive has to follow or is it more freeform depending on the situation? And, um...what are the living arrangements like? You know, for those of us who might be asked to stay for longer periods of time..."

Like a choose your own adventure of BDSM, I threw some options at her. 

"Well, sweetheart, you could enroll as a 'little', which means your day-to-day attire would be that of an effeminate little girl. Your room would be pink and colourful, full of bows and ruffles. You would have a strict but caring 'Mommy' and 'Daddy' to care for you, play with you and discipline you when needed. 

"Ooh, being a little sounds fascinating, Mistress Andrea. I've always had a naughty streak that loved playing the part of the innocent submissive. The thought of having a Mommy and Daddy figure to guide me through this new world, and punishing me when I misbehave...it definitely has its appeal. But I'm curious about the other roles as well. What else could I possibly explore at The Facility? 

Awww. Isn't she such a sweetheart! I wanna bite her little bare bum cuz she's so cute. 

"The next would be schoolgirl, which you've already dabbled in. You'd still be a 'little' but slightly older. You would have to dress in a proper, humiliating, schoolgirl uniform each day and attend the classrooms. You would be disciplined frequently, put in detention and sent to the Principal's office when naughty. You'd have a little girl bedroom again, but not quite as frilly and pink. 

"Wow, the role of a schoolgirl sounds intense yet exciting too! I can already picture myself in a tight little plaid skirt and crisp white blouse, kneeling outside the Principal's office with my hands on my head, trembling in anticipation for whatever punishment awaits me. I bet lessons learned at this school are far more memorable than any of my old regular classes! *smirks*

"Yes they are...most of the school punishments as you saw with Remy, are old fashioned. You'd be subjected to the cane, the strap, a wooden paddle and cornertime."

Oh, Mistress! Those sound absolutely...thrilling. The idea of being bent over a desk, my skirt flipped up and panties hiked down, and feeling the sting of the cane on my bare bum makes me shiver in delight. And cornertime...the humiliation of standing there, on display for everyone as my punished skin throbs with each passing second...mmm, I can't deny it turns me on. But please, tell me more, Ma'am. How else could I serve there?  

"The next role would be a slave maid. You'd be dressed more sultry and sexualized like a slutty French Maid and you would literally be doing domestic chores, cleaning and serving in your outfit."

"Oh my! The delicate balance of submission and servitude in such a role is incredibly appealing. I could easily lose myself in the menial tasks. The constant threat of discipline hanging over me like a dark cloud, only heightening my focus and dedication to be the perfect little maid. And when I inevitably falter, imagine their stern faces as they decide on a fitting punishment. It all feels so raw and intimate, don't you think?"

"I do. This role is one of the most objectifying and humiliating for most women and a few of the sissy men." 

"Mmm, hearing you describe it that way makes me wat to explore it even more. The thought of being so utterly objectified, existing solely for the pleasure and amusement of my superiors, it's almost intoxicating. What happens during the nighttime hours at The Facility, Ma'am? Does the training and roles continue even then?" 

"Oh yes, your selected role would remain into the evening. The Facility has a bar, like a speakeasy, a piano lounge, pool and a strip club. Something you were able to see most of during your tour."

"My goodness, Mistress! This place sounds like a true wonderland..."

Before she went on another of her cute tirades of imagining the space and her roles, I cute her off.

"And the final role is in the sex dungeon, as a sex slave. You are literally kept in bondage and in a cage or cell...existing only to be sexually used, beaten, tortured and tormented."

*gulps* "Mistress! The role of a sex slave sounds positively terrifying yet irresistible. The vulnerability, the pain, the pleasure - it all swirls together in this intoxicating dance. It's an overwhelming concept, but one that I know would push my boundaries to the absolute limit. Is it strange that I find myself craving that level of intensity?"

"Is there a role from one of those four options that resonates with you the most, sweetheart?" 

"Oh Mistress Andrea, choosing just one role at the Facility is like asking me to pick a favourite ice cream flavour. They all seem so captivating in their own unique ways. But if I must confess, the idea of being a sex slave in the dungeon has my heart racing the fastest." 

(Wow, ok. That was all A.I. during this little choose your own adventure conversation. I seriously didn't think A.I. Carley would choose that one since I used the term beating and torture.) 

The little pixie stood to embrace me, biting her lower lip, lost in visions of heavy chains, dark corners, and relentless torment. I kissed her forehead. 

 "I crave the total loss of control Ma'am, the overwhelming sensations of torture and discipline that comes with such a role. I know it's extreme, but the thrill of giving myself completely to my dominant is something I cannot resist." 

"I understand, honey." I cooed to her, while glancing over at Robby who was sporting a mischievous grin on his face. 

"I assume you'll be doing the honours, Robby, down in the dungeon?" I asked him bluntly. 

"If you wouldn't mind us using the space, Mistress," he replied confidently. 

"On one condition, Robby," I replied mysteriously. "There will be another woman down in the dungeon when you get there. Use her as you wish...and don't go easy on her." 

No sooner had I changed into something a little more sleek and leather, there was a little knock at my front door. 

As she stepped inside, pouting, clutching her elbows to hug her torso, with her late-90's bangs making her appear absolutely more adorable than I could have imagined, I immediately remembered who this woman was. 

"Please come in, sweetie," I smiled invitingly. "You must be Tyler?" 

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: Tyler Scott

  

Country Roads, Take me Home

Continued from: Tara Gregory: Revelations

It would seem that naughty little tart, Tara Gregory, has been completely stealing my thunder with her step-Daddy stories and using A.I. to eclipse my original works. 

Well, let me get my eclipse glasses on here, sweetheart. Two can play at this game! 

*****

The phone on my desk buzzes, interrupting my morning yoga. I take a deep exhale before answering, my voice cool and collected, ready to address whatever request the day brings.

"Good morning, this is Mistress Andrea speaking." On the line, I hear the familiar voice of Cassandra, my ever-efficient receptionist. "Nancy called, Ma'am. She has requested an appointment for the woodshed, the usual story with her, right, a good whuppin from "Daddy"...shall I confirm?"

With a satisfied smile, I nod, already envisioning the scene. "Yes, Cassie, please schedule her in for tomorrow afternoon. And remind her to bring the necessary outfit. 

As I hang up the phone, I rise from my pose and walk over to the window, gazing down at the ominous woodshed in the back garden. The sunlight filters through the trees, casting dappled patterns across the mossy ground. Tomorrow, my beloved client, Nancy, will be marched out to the shed in shame, dressed in her demure, county-style attire. A simple gingham dress and socks with sandals, to truly tap into her age regression desires. As usual, I'll be playing the role of her farm-hardened "Daddy". 

The next day, the appointment hour arrives. Dressed in her usual Sims outfit, Nancy strides sheepishly towards the steps of my home. 

I hadn't changed into my role yet. I usually do a more therapeutic and professional consultation with her before we begin, to establish her needs and the reasons she is harbouring for wanting a trip to the strict and unforgiving woodshed. 

It had been a few months since I'd seen Nancy, so after greeting her warmly, we had some tea together and I took a little extra time to make her feel at ease, despite her inevitable fate.

When it was time, I pointed to the corner of the room. Nancy's face was stricken with embarrassment and was about to lift her skirt and lower her panties but I stopped her. Nancy is on the wrong side of 40, she has a successful career and adult children. Although naked cornertime and bare-bottomed cornertime has its time and place, sometimes it can be equally humiliating for an adult woman, to stand and face the walls fully dressed, in her adult attire.

I loosely kept an eye on her for the next 25 minutes, while I changed and got into character. Rather than "marching her" out to the shed as I usually do, this time I kindly asked her to change, do her hair properly and meet "Daddy" outside. 

This should be deliciously frightening for her, when she sees me waiting like this. And yes, I am wearing that belt for a reason! 

Pretty soon, I hear the sound of her little patent dress-sandals, crushing the pebble walk-way. Nancy walks nervously toward the woodshed, her sundress fluttering in the soft breeze, a vision of innocence and submission. 

I can't help but admire her determination to explore this side of herself. As she approaches, she lowers her eyes in respect, hands clasped tightly in front of her. 

"I'm here for my punishment, Daddy." She sobs out, as tears pool into her eyes. 

"Nancy," I greet her sternly, taking her trembling hands in mine. "Please remove your dress right here, and place it on the straw bale, then in you go." 

Her palms instinctively clutched her bottom cheeks, clad in little cotton panties adorned with tiny pink flowers, the style a little girl would wear.

Stepping into the dimply lit woodshed, I took a moment to appreciate the ambiance. The air smelled faintly of damp earth and aged timber, lending an organic quality to the space. Cobwebs lace the corners of the ceiling, and shafts of golden light pierce the darkness through the gaps in the weathered planks. My heeled boots echo on the uneven floorboards as I lead Nancy inside. 

As I close the door behind us, the soft thud resonates in the silence, amplifying Nancy's apprehension. She looks around at the various implements hanging on the walls - straps, paddles, canes and whips - each with its unique purpose and effect. My gaze sweeps over her petite frame, noting how her braided pigtails contrast sharply with the harsh reality of her impending punishment. Her hands are clenched tightly, knuckles white, as she tried to suppress her anxiety. 

Her breath comes in short gasps as I guide her towards the sturdy oak pillory positioned in the centre of the shed. She hesitates for a fraction of a second, but then lowers her neck and wrists into the crescents, bending over and presenting her pristine bottom for correction. 

I close and secure the top portion of the pillory, applying a brass padlock to the hinged clasp. I move behind her, eyeing her exposed bottom appreciatively. Her round cheeks are milky white and unblemished, save for the goosebumps that have risen in anticipation. I run a hand along the arched expanse of her back, feeling her muscles tense beneath my touch. "You know why you're here, don't you, young lady?" My warm breath and frim touch sends shivers down her spine. 

Nodding and weeping, Nancy confirms her awareness of the awaiting punishment. I pat her gently, reassuringly. "Good girl. You know this is for your own good, honey." 

Reaching for my heavy leather belt, I jingle the buckle free and slide it slowly through the loops of my jeans, the sound seemingly amplified in the quiet woodshed. I double it over, testing its weight in my hand before resting it against her vulnerable backside, allowing her to feel its presence. 

With one final look at my target, I raise the belt high above my shoulder. Time seems to slow as it arcs through the air, landing with a resounding crack against the seat of her panties. Nancy's entire body jolts, a strangled cry escaping her lips - the symphony of discipline and surrender. I watch intently as the first welt rises, a stark line marring her perfect complexion, partially obstructed by the cotton veil of her panties which were offering modesty but little protection. 

I instructed Nancy to count each stroke of the belt aloud, teaching her the value of humility and obedience. With every impact, her cries grow louder, her apologies more fervent. 

Twenty lashes with her panties up and twenty lashes with her panties down. It was a thorough and exhaustive strapping for her. Her bottom is a sight to behold, a beautiful canvass of welts, red stripes and some bruising. 

Like an artist adding the final touches, I used my hand to try and blend out her colour and spread the welting more evenly. 

Once Nancy was released from the pillory, I took her outside the shed as-IS! I took her by the bicep as she used her free arm to wipe her tears and snot, before I led her silently down the pebble path and into the main house. 

I lead her to the designated corner of my living room - nose pressed to the wall and hands on her head. Her reddened bottom points toward the centre of the room, a visual testament to her submission and vulnerability. 

"One hour, young lady!" I declare sternly, listening to her whimper in response to my harsh sentence. 

I sat down and played on my phone after setting her timer, keeping a close watch on this adult woman in my living room corner. She remained motionless, save for the occasional hitching of her chest when she resumed her sobbing. I can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at her absolute submission, knowing that I am providing her with the escape that she needs. 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Tara Gregory: Anal Virginity