Mistress Vancouver Dominatrix, Fetish, Discipline, Domination

November 2012


It’s November and one might say it would be a month of quiet nothingness – not a pre-Christmas time yet, nor post-summer nostalgia anymore. In spite of days being limited to 10 hours of daylight one gets a lot done. A kinky mind does. It thrives in darkness, at darker hours.

Creating special effects with just a simple dim, red light, curtain-shut room provides dramatic sheltering from soothing rain and evokes immediate immersion into erotic games.

I want to investigate the frequency and location of my slave’s clandestine masturbation. He doesn’t know yet what I have in my mind, waiting for me on his knees with arms behind his back in the center of the room. The only thing that may reveal a bit about my mission is the way I’m dressed: skin tight leather pants, crisp-white long-sleeve shirt and a black tie perfectly envelop my breasts, contoured by black suspenders.

My object of interrogation will be appropriately punished, but first of all I need to get this information out of him. I plan to use whatever sexy, tormenting, teasing, sadistic methods regardless of his physical or mental exhaustion, if necessary, even going beyond and pushing the limits.

As I walk in, I see him naked, humble, embarrassed, already showing signs of arousal. I can’t resist touching his exclamation mark. It’s hard, yet unaware of my next move. It’s no surprise for him to be touched with a gloved hand, yet he shivers. I press his head lower to kiss my boots, then I collar him, restrain his wrists and ankles, lock them up and connect them with a heavy chain leading all the way up to his neck, thus he’s unable to make a step. Allowing him a good view of me, circling around him I place my first strike: “When was the last time you masturbated?” “A week ago, Mistress, last Monday…”
The second strike is a real one – I slap his boner with my riding crop and correct him: “you will address me today as Inspector! Is that clear?”
... “Yes Mistress, I mean, Inspector.”
... “Hmm, last Monday…” - doubting, “…so you only touch your little dicklet once a week, eh?”
... “Yes Inspector.”
Coming closer I grab his collar and stare him right into the eye. My mouth speaks “I will torture you until you confess!”, but he only see the red of my lips, transfixed by their sensuality. It makes me bring him back to the reality of my voice by firmly grasping his balls with my other, free hand. I repeat myself so he can finally nod in agreement.

Once a week, it just doesn’t make any sense to me. With such a hard erection it must be difficult to ignore the rising, sweet pain of arousal caused by erotic, outer or inner stimulus. His balls feel full. I give them a good squeeze and a tug.

... “So how often? Once again I ask you the same thing. you can test my limits by resisting, but you’ll meet my firm determination!” this time I squeeze a little harder and I pull his balls downwards, so he cannot stand straight but bend his knees to find himself kneeling in a pitiful doggy position. I straighten myself up only to smack his ass. I smack again and again, for I don’t hear anything that would answer my question.
... “Ok, this will untie your tongue!” and I squat beside him, now pull his balls backwards and bind a 3 mm cotton rope around them.

I hear a sound resembling cat’s meowing and realize my slave’s discomfort, so I pull on the loose end of the rope to finally get the answer: “Please, Inspector, forgive me I lied.”
I pinch his nipples to prompt him and ensure the outcome: “Mmm… maybe three or four times a week.”
I cannot believe my ears: “This means every second day! you masturbate every second day?! Sounds like you have nothing else to do!”
I walk around to see his face, holding onto his hair I lift his head. I loosen my tie, unbutton the shirt. He sighs.
... “Is this what you fantasise about when you do that?” I point at and show him my bra.
... “Yes Mistress! Sorry, Inspector.”
... “Do you fantasise about me turning you into a sex object, using you for my pleasure?”
... “Yes, Inspector, I wish I could pleasure you orally, I fantasise about pleasuring you.”
... “And now slave, what else do you do while you masturbate?”
... “Nothing, Inspector. I just quietly daydream slowly stroking my cock.”
... “You better answer truthfully” and he watches me walk away, throwing off my shirt.

I take out a pair of clothes pins from my kinky armoire and without a wink I tear the clamps off his nipples only to replace them. These pins have a strong grip, so they won’t slide off easily. Now I sit down comfortably in my armchair right in front of him. He appears to be enjoying the view, his hard-on tells me so. But he also appears to forget about my last question.
Thus I create pressure to know the truth. With the heel of my boot I play first with his penis then I dig it into his nipple so skilfully that the pin falls off and he screams out in pain.
... “If you don’t want this to happen to your other nipple,” I announce strictly, “you better answer! What else do you do?”
... “Yes, Inspector, my Mistress,” and here, in his confession it’s hard to say whether he is ecstatic or embarrassed “I watch porn!”
His answer, despite being honest, meets my disapproval and I dig my shiny black 6 inch heel into his other nipple.
Him, still on his knees with balls on the floor, me, devoid of any pity for him I let him watch me take off my pants. Standing in front of him wearing just boots, bra and panties I order him touch himself.

And of course I have more, promising, challenging questions for him. And of course he admits everything. And his reward? It is fair and in contrast with, as a preventative measure against his past actions: wearing a chastity belt...


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