Take Me Out To The Old Ball Game
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A New Ball Game - Chapter One free porn video
Chapter One - Some of us are different
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We are not, never have been, your 'conventional' couple. Through our married life we have been different on so many levels and, do you know what, I don't care what other people think, I'm so happy with everything and content with how life has turned out.
I married my wife relatively late in life. I was coming up to 40 years old, almost twice her age and up to the time we wed I had either lived at home with my parents or latterly in 'on-the-job' accommodation provided as a condition of my position as a hotel manager.
However, I'm getting ahead of myself for there is much to tell that might explain the reasons behind my level of contentment and how I became the person that is content to watch his wife fuck other men, especially black men.
*******
In a sense leaving home to make my own way in the world was just an extension of my boyhood living arrangements for my parents were hoteliers and 'home' was a large rambling country hotel just to the north of London of which they were the tenants.
There was much about my c***dhood that should have confused me. For starters, my physique and features were quite unlike my parents as they were both quite diminutive; neither measured over 5 and half foot whilst I surpassed that height before I reached my teenage years. Indeed by the time I left school I was well over 6 foot tall. However, whilst my mother might have been described as 'vertically challenged', she had quite impressive breasts. I sneaked a look in the laundry basket one day and saw the label on her bra state she was '36DD'. I suspect that it was from being in her presence that my love of big-breasted women blossomed. Of father's dimensions, I had no idea!
Having said that, there was nothing to suggest that she flaunted herself in front of me to encourage such thoughts for ours was a religious household with heavy emphasis and involvement with the local church. Each Sunday we would as a family attend the morning service and there I would be subjected to sermons that often included the belief that sexual intercourse was purely a divine right of a man and woman who had been joined together in marriage with God's blessing and that pre-marital intercourse was a mortal sin that would condemn the sinner to hell.
These views were cemented further when from an early age I was sent off to be educated at a boarding school where the self-righteous teachers drummed into us their version of a strict moral code that repeated much of what my parents and the church back home had prophesied. Such dire predictions made during our day time lessons didn't stop me thinking about the possibilities of, as they put it, 'joining with a woman' and I got relief after 'lights-out' from frequent masturbation and occasionally would hear other boys in my dormitory sharing the same secretive pleasures.
The school was a co-educational school with a mixture of boarders and day pupils albeit that it was only boys who boarded. However, it gave me my first introduction to the opposite sex and along with other adolescents I took great delight in tormenting Penny, a girl with the biggest tits which to my fevered eyes looked to be the size of bowling balls. I wasn't brave enough to do so but other young boys used to love twanging her bra when we sat behind her in class. She feigned to be annoyed but her protests were ignored given she always deliberately wore very loose fitting white uniform shirts and left the top two or three buttons open so everyone could get an eyeful. If nothing else the sight of those globes rising and falling with her breathing was enough to feed my fantasies later than evening when I got to bed.
Although I was never actually 'sexually abused' (as it is now regarded) by the masters, staff or older boys, I was often tormented, even though I was bigger than other boys. The staff and prefects demanded and expected respect from the pupils and had the authority to ensure obedience. Basically we were bullied and corporal punishment was routinely administered to the boys' bare bottoms for the most trivial misdemeanours. It was difficult not to fall foul of the rules but I wasn't too concerned whenever I was found lacking for I did so love to feel the sting of the cane against my bottom and got quite visibly excited as a consequence.
I now recognise my time at school must have been a curious sexual education that pandered to the submissive side of my nature and the fondness for being humiliated. It was also a place and time that I look back upon with affection for instilling in me the need to have a disciplined and structured lifestyle.
Although nothing was said I suspected that my mother was both very much aware of my submissiveness and, I believe, approved of my solitary pleasures given the many times she made hints and suggestions that I might like 'to go to my room' whenever she and my Father entertained favoured guests and occasional visitors. It was only years later I understood why they wanted me out of the way and how hypocritical the whole religious teaching thing had been.
I thought nothing of it at the time but when I was growing up, mostly at weekends, there were lots of different uncles who used to come and stay; they were always allocated the guest room which was close to our wing of the large house. (I say 'uncles' but in truth they were never related to our family but I was told that I had to refer to them as such as a measure of respect.) It was quite a normal thing for my mother to take a tea-tray to the 'special guests' rooms' which coincided with the suggestion that I might like to go to my own room or go out and find something else to do.
At the time I didn't see anything odd about this and certainly didn't imagine that my mother might be having sex with my 'uncles' and cuckolding my father. At that tender age I had no indication that my father might be a cuckold but looking back at the nature of the business and the fact that I was away at school and then college must have given them plenty of cover.
After school I studied Hotel Management at college and after graduation found myself a position at a seaside hotel on the South coast. Again, although nothing had been explicitly discussed, it was an assumption by my parents that my career path was all part of an unofficial grand plan that would gain me enough experience to one day be able to take over the tenancy of their hotel from them. However, the plan was derailed when shortly after beginning my new career, father died.
I returned home to comfort my mother and assist in whatever had to be done but she was insistent that she would be able to cope on her own with running the bed and breakfast business and I went back to the seaside to resume my job. However, the situation at home didn't last and she indeed found it all too stressful and reluctantly gave up the tenancy and moved out to the nearby town to begin a new life (and, in course of time, to remarry. His name was Walter.)
The strength of the family 'bonds' and my sense of duty compelled me to find another job closer to home so that I, the devoted son, could be nearer to keep an eye on her. So it was that I packed up my few belongings (which in those pre-internet days included my collection of porn magazines!) and moved to begin a new life for myself working at a London hotel, the Coburg.
London in those days was an exciting place to live with plenty of opportunities to follow and indulge oneself in whatever pursuit and interests one might have outside of the 'day-job'. My position as a junior manager at the hotel meant that the work was long and has to be admitted, arduous, and with my innate shyness which manifested itself whenever encounters with the opposite sex might be concerned I used to get my relaxation at the end of the working day by retreating to my room and pleasuring myself in the company of my magazines.
This was an era (pre-Internet) that magazines like Playboy had to airbrush photos and didn't write or display anything that was more than mildly titillating but at the time these would be sufficient to arouse this young man who wanted to masturbate over the sight of those beautiful tits and to pay tribute in the most satisfactory way.
However, it wasn't long before I discovered that there were a whole raft of A5 size publications, top shelf books, that took my interests to a new level and I graduated from the rather tame 'Spick and Span', a straight tits and airbrushed pussy magazine, to two newer publications called 'Search' and 'Relate', both of which dealt with fetish topics, particularly female Domination. When I discovered them it was like being born into a new world. I had suddenly found a place of comfort in a world which reflected my views where women should be respected and obeyed.
The magazines were full of articles, stories and pictures relating to Bondage, Sado-masochistic 'activities', humiliations of subservient males toward dominating females and, to my amusement, pictures of men dressed up in the parodies of women's underwear and lingerie. It was all very bizarre to my uninitiated eyes but, at the same time, so exciting. I used to wank myself to a point of insensibility almost every night as I imagined myself being one of the receivers of the treatment handed out by these formidable women.
More significant was that the shop where I bought my magazines had a notice board which carried adverts which promised, for a fee, 'personal services'. The ads gave a very brief hints of what was being offered, some had photographs, and in most cases had a phone number to call for appointments to be made. I was intrigued that such a thing could be obtained and my curiosity led me to make a call to one which seemed to cater for my new-found interests. So began a new chapter in my life.
*******
Working at the Coburg as an Assistant Manager gave me fine views of the adjacent Kensington Palace Gardens but it didn't afford me a royal salary sufficient to fully explore my latent subservience for I soon discovered there was a price to pay and, like most things in life, you only get what you pay for.
I had no idea what to expect when I made my first 'appointment'. My magazines had all provided me with graphic accounts of what a session might involve but none of the stories I had read spelt out the 'process' that would eventually lead to me to my new mission in life of serving and worshipping a Black Dominatrix.
I called the number from a nearby phone box (I couldn't risk being overheard had I used a phone at work!) and was instantly quizzed by a very matter-of-fact female voice as to what I was seeking. I can't remember exactly how I responded but she must have recognised from my mumbled answer that I was interested in BDSM and she gave me the address of her studio, her 'Atelier' as she called it, which, luck would have it, was in a street not far from the hotel. She gave me a specific time and told me not to be late!
At the appointed time I rang the bell of the basement apartment. I was 22 at the time and to be confronted by tall, leather clad woman, who I would guess was over 60, was quite daunting. I say leather clad but it was actually a leather corset and showed off more cleavage than a boy could hope for. She had stockings attached to the long suspender straps and was wearing black lacy panties and leather high boots. She looked at me with more than a hint of distain and invited me in.
My expectations and welcome into the world of BDSM began in quite an unexpected manner when I was told to sit myself down at a c***d-size desk and was given a questionnaire and told I had to complete it before anything else would happen. The multipage form required me to fill out details that began with me providing name and contact number and then went into a list of tick-boxes of my 'preferences'; experience; 'Dom or Sub'; Acceptable 'Pain levels'; Safe words; fantasy scenarios; 'Sissyfication?' and all manner of requirements. By the time I reached the end it was a surprise that I hadn't been asked my Blood Group or next-of-kin details!
My Mistress who had been standing over me as I struggled to answer the questions took the completed form from me and after reading my replies told me to stand up and to strip myself naked. I quickly complied sensing that to delay would bring about some kind of retribution and with my clothes a heap on the floor she gave a curt, "follow me".
We went through to another room which was furnished with odd looking pieces of furniture and, what could only be described as, wooden frames. She told me to hold out my arms and once I did so quickly slipped leather straps over my wrists. Once they had been tightened she gave me a second set of straps which she ordered me to fasten around my ankles in a similar fashion. I was then told to go and stand with my back to a frame which was mounted on the wall and once so positioned she came and attached the fixings on the straps to brackets on the frame so that I was held with my arms and legs in a cruciform. That was when the 'treatment' really began.
The first thing my mistress did was to slip a blindfold over my face, a necessity because apparently I had ticked the 'sensory deprivation box' on the questionnaire. So restrained and without any sense of what was coming next I was startled when I felt something being flicked at my exposed and tender bits. (I later found the 'something' was a riding crop.)
With each flick she told me or rather, asked me, did I think that any woman would be interested in the pathetic little boy's willie I had dangling between my shaking legs. I couldn't answer for she had at the same time of putting on the blindfold also tied a gag over my mouth. I shook my head hoping that would suffice as an answer. It didn't, she gave my cock an even harder whack with the crop and the blindfold hid the tears that began to flow as I cried feeling the intense pain.
She continued to verbally humiliate me commenting on, as she saw it, my pathetic physique and how inadequately equipped I was to be able to properly satisfy a woman. Her insults were dispersed with the swishing of the crop and it seemed that no part of my exposed body below the neck was denied. With each swish my cock became even more erect.
The sight of my stiffening dick was taken as a sign for the next phase of my treatment to begin. She pulled off my blindfold so that I could at last see what was going on and put the crop to one side before picking up a pair of nipple clamps and an odd looking leather cone. The clamps were attached to my nipples and the cone was deftly tied around to trap my balls. To both she attached weights.
At first it seemed to be a rather timid, my nipples didn't feel too uncomfortable and certainly the device around my balls wasn't causing me too much distress. However, I should have known better for it took no time for her to continue my verbal humiliation and after each tirade she would add more weights so that the 'fixings' increasingly pulled on me as they took the strain. The combination of the pain and to hear her humiliations was delightful and the more she mistreated me the harder my cock seemed to feel.
I have large nipples and I love to have them pinched so even her heaviest weights were no problem but build-up of weight on my balls became even more painful not only because it stretched the sack but it also progressively squeezed my balls into the pointed end of the cone. There were mirrors on the opposite wall so I could see everything and I was surprised to see how much my sack had stretched as she swung the cone with my swollen balls within between my legs.
Eventually we came to the part where I was made to confess as to how dismissive and disrespectful I've been to women. She released me from the frame and with my balls stretched to their limit still encased by the leather cone she pulled me by the chains that were part of the nipple clamps and led me to a bench where she told me I would be punished for my past behaviour. Her punishment for my disrespect was to make me kneel and bend over the low bench that had a piece cut out which coincided to where my groin was. There were two straps to hold me in place.
I don't remember exactly what was said while I was being beaten but I was replying to say how right it was for her to punish me for my failings. Just as when I'd been beaten as school, the riding crop had the usual effect and almost immediately my erection returned.
I lost count of the strokes, maybe a dozen or so, before she knelt next to me with a leather paddle and began to smack my arse. Then I felt her reach under the bench and for the first time in my life I felt another hand take hold of my cock. With each smack she would give my cock a squeeze and with each squeeze I began to cum and cum and cum. It was glorious.
I thought that it would be the end of my session but as I lay there getting my breath back she reached under the bench and produced a bowl that I'd not noticed before; it was filled with my cum. She held it under my face and instructed, "... lick up your disgusting cum and then you can go."
So ended my first experience of paying to be humiliated. I staggered back to my hotel and my room where I was able to see clearly see the evidence of my treatment; I had the marks for most of two weeks and I could see why some of her clients would have ticked 'no marks', which I presume she respected. I elected to make sure that next time I would tick that box.
Indeed, there were to be many 'next times'. It is no exaggeration to say that from that first visit I had become almost an addict. The only thing that restricted me from making more visits was my financial situation for, contrary to the high sounding title of Hotel Manager, my wages did not stretch to the extravagance of paying for a visit to her Atelier more than once a fortnight. However, I was not denied my humiliation between visits for she had set conditions to which I had to comply; in a way it was an extension of her control over me.
Having been accepted by my mistress as a client the time between my visits became a kind of managed programme with a set patterns to which I had to comply. A common theme was orgasm control and my fortnightly visits always began with a review of my diary which I had been told to keep. The diary recorded the results of the daily exercise she had set me when I was expected to kneel and worship a photo of herself that she had provided. The objective of the exercise was that I should concentrate and fantasise about what she would do to me and wank my cock once I got the inevitable erection; the catch was that I should wank it as long as possible but with the strict instruction that I was not to have an orgasm. At the point where I felt I was about to cum my instruction was to stop, bow my head to the floor and pray for my Mistresses for help me in making me obedient. I had to repeat this three times and keep a note in my diary to record how long I took for each segment. I was also instructed to report any unauthorised orgasms. This diary was reviewed when I arrived and she always found there was some reason to spank me with a paddle for whatever transgression I had reported.
A lot of the Domination was verbal about how worthless I was and no use or of interest to a real woman. My mistress used to emphasise the point by making me masturbate at the end of our session and when I had ejaculated into a bowl which she would be holding I was made to drink my 'worthless sperm' as a symbolic way of saying it was being destroyed for the benefit of all women.
I was supremely happy with my lot in life and I continued in this vein for a number of years sampling and attending different Dominatrix who had their discrete studios and dens in easy commuting distance of the Coburg hotel. All were located at ordinary looking addresses which gave no clue as to what when on behind the front doors of the house or flats which I attended.
I soon learned that different mistresses provided their own particular brand of humiliations and in the quest of finding pleasure I sampled a veritable 'smorgasbord' of treatments from White, Asian and Black tormentors who all had a common requirement that they all demanded worship.
The worship was always directed towards their bottoms and invariably during my visits I would be made to knell and pay homage to my mistress who at some point would position herself and present those beautiful rounded cheeks for me to kiss. I would be unable to do anything other than kiss or use my tongue for my hands were always restrained in some fashion or other.
It was during this bottom-worship with a Black mistress that I was initiated to a new humiliation and was introduced to golden showers and made to understand how important it was for a slave to understand the need to enjoy his Mistress's emissions.
Her name was 'Sister Contrary' and she extended my compliance beyond my wildest dreams. She dressed as a Nun - thus Sister - and her mantra was that devotees would 'worship in the hope of receiving absolution'. Sister Contrary was from the USA and as far as worship was concerned it rarely extended beyond her bottom which was plump but not a bubble butt and her absolution was given during toilet training.
(I ended up being 'owned' by her to the extent that I eventually had to pay to be released from our contract and my serfdom when I told her I wanted to marry. I wasn't sure what the consequences would have been had I refused to pay but she was so domineering that I didn't want to run the risk!)
I must admit that toilet training was not something I took to immediately and it took many months before I, a worshipper, was comfortable with it. Most people would find it disgusting but I can assure you that once one has learned to deal with his Mistress's emissions efficiently it becomes a satisfying and fulfilling experience, one that I used to look forward to and something missed after I married.
It did make me retch the in the beginning but that once I'd learnt to manipulate her stream with my tongue and keep my teeth out of the way it was no problem at all and I actually felt a sense of triumph each time she stood above me and gave me her absolution. Indeed, I felt an overwhelming gratitude toward her for it would be at this point in my worship that she eventually allowed me to touch myself and as the golden stream cascaded down onto my open mouth I would be wanking my erect cock and until my 'worthless cum' spurted over my stomach.
God knows how many times over the years I had masturbated or been pleasured by the mouths and climaxed in different ways or scenarios with these women but the fact of the matter was that despite all the sexual pleasure and release I had enjoyed, I was still a virgin; my cock had never been in a cunt.
My status was soon to change. I met the girl of my dreams.
*******
*******
We are not, never have been, your 'conventional' couple. Through our married life we have been different on so many levels and, do you know what, I don't care what other people think, I'm so happy with everything and content with how life has turned out.
I married my wife relatively late in life. I was coming up to 40 years old, almost twice her age and up to the time we wed I had either lived at home with my parents or latterly in 'on-the-job' accommodation provided as a condition of my position as a hotel manager.
However, I'm getting ahead of myself for there is much to tell that might explain the reasons behind my level of contentment and how I became the person that is content to watch his wife fuck other men, especially black men.
*******
In a sense leaving home to make my own way in the world was just an extension of my boyhood living arrangements for my parents were hoteliers and 'home' was a large rambling country hotel just to the north of London of which they were the tenants.
There was much about my c***dhood that should have confused me. For starters, my physique and features were quite unlike my parents as they were both quite diminutive; neither measured over 5 and half foot whilst I surpassed that height before I reached my teenage years. Indeed by the time I left school I was well over 6 foot tall. However, whilst my mother might have been described as 'vertically challenged', she had quite impressive breasts. I sneaked a look in the laundry basket one day and saw the label on her bra state she was '36DD'. I suspect that it was from being in her presence that my love of big-breasted women blossomed. Of father's dimensions, I had no idea!
Having said that, there was nothing to suggest that she flaunted herself in front of me to encourage such thoughts for ours was a religious household with heavy emphasis and involvement with the local church. Each Sunday we would as a family attend the morning service and there I would be subjected to sermons that often included the belief that sexual intercourse was purely a divine right of a man and woman who had been joined together in marriage with God's blessing and that pre-marital intercourse was a mortal sin that would condemn the sinner to hell.
These views were cemented further when from an early age I was sent off to be educated at a boarding school where the self-righteous teachers drummed into us their version of a strict moral code that repeated much of what my parents and the church back home had prophesied. Such dire predictions made during our day time lessons didn't stop me thinking about the possibilities of, as they put it, 'joining with a woman' and I got relief after 'lights-out' from frequent masturbation and occasionally would hear other boys in my dormitory sharing the same secretive pleasures.
The school was a co-educational school with a mixture of boarders and day pupils albeit that it was only boys who boarded. However, it gave me my first introduction to the opposite sex and along with other adolescents I took great delight in tormenting Penny, a girl with the biggest tits which to my fevered eyes looked to be the size of bowling balls. I wasn't brave enough to do so but other young boys used to love twanging her bra when we sat behind her in class. She feigned to be annoyed but her protests were ignored given she always deliberately wore very loose fitting white uniform shirts and left the top two or three buttons open so everyone could get an eyeful. If nothing else the sight of those globes rising and falling with her breathing was enough to feed my fantasies later than evening when I got to bed.
Although I was never actually 'sexually abused' (as it is now regarded) by the masters, staff or older boys, I was often tormented, even though I was bigger than other boys. The staff and prefects demanded and expected respect from the pupils and had the authority to ensure obedience. Basically we were bullied and corporal punishment was routinely administered to the boys' bare bottoms for the most trivial misdemeanours. It was difficult not to fall foul of the rules but I wasn't too concerned whenever I was found lacking for I did so love to feel the sting of the cane against my bottom and got quite visibly excited as a consequence.
I now recognise my time at school must have been a curious sexual education that pandered to the submissive side of my nature and the fondness for being humiliated. It was also a place and time that I look back upon with affection for instilling in me the need to have a disciplined and structured lifestyle.
Although nothing was said I suspected that my mother was both very much aware of my submissiveness and, I believe, approved of my solitary pleasures given the many times she made hints and suggestions that I might like 'to go to my room' whenever she and my Father entertained favoured guests and occasional visitors. It was only years later I understood why they wanted me out of the way and how hypocritical the whole religious teaching thing had been.
I thought nothing of it at the time but when I was growing up, mostly at weekends, there were lots of different uncles who used to come and stay; they were always allocated the guest room which was close to our wing of the large house. (I say 'uncles' but in truth they were never related to our family but I was told that I had to refer to them as such as a measure of respect.) It was quite a normal thing for my mother to take a tea-tray to the 'special guests' rooms' which coincided with the suggestion that I might like to go to my own room or go out and find something else to do.
At the time I didn't see anything odd about this and certainly didn't imagine that my mother might be having sex with my 'uncles' and cuckolding my father. At that tender age I had no indication that my father might be a cuckold but looking back at the nature of the business and the fact that I was away at school and then college must have given them plenty of cover.
After school I studied Hotel Management at college and after graduation found myself a position at a seaside hotel on the South coast. Again, although nothing had been explicitly discussed, it was an assumption by my parents that my career path was all part of an unofficial grand plan that would gain me enough experience to one day be able to take over the tenancy of their hotel from them. However, the plan was derailed when shortly after beginning my new career, father died.
I returned home to comfort my mother and assist in whatever had to be done but she was insistent that she would be able to cope on her own with running the bed and breakfast business and I went back to the seaside to resume my job. However, the situation at home didn't last and she indeed found it all too stressful and reluctantly gave up the tenancy and moved out to the nearby town to begin a new life (and, in course of time, to remarry. His name was Walter.)
The strength of the family 'bonds' and my sense of duty compelled me to find another job closer to home so that I, the devoted son, could be nearer to keep an eye on her. So it was that I packed up my few belongings (which in those pre-internet days included my collection of porn magazines!) and moved to begin a new life for myself working at a London hotel, the Coburg.
London in those days was an exciting place to live with plenty of opportunities to follow and indulge oneself in whatever pursuit and interests one might have outside of the 'day-job'. My position as a junior manager at the hotel meant that the work was long and has to be admitted, arduous, and with my innate shyness which manifested itself whenever encounters with the opposite sex might be concerned I used to get my relaxation at the end of the working day by retreating to my room and pleasuring myself in the company of my magazines.
This was an era (pre-Internet) that magazines like Playboy had to airbrush photos and didn't write or display anything that was more than mildly titillating but at the time these would be sufficient to arouse this young man who wanted to masturbate over the sight of those beautiful tits and to pay tribute in the most satisfactory way.
However, it wasn't long before I discovered that there were a whole raft of A5 size publications, top shelf books, that took my interests to a new level and I graduated from the rather tame 'Spick and Span', a straight tits and airbrushed pussy magazine, to two newer publications called 'Search' and 'Relate', both of which dealt with fetish topics, particularly female Domination. When I discovered them it was like being born into a new world. I had suddenly found a place of comfort in a world which reflected my views where women should be respected and obeyed.
The magazines were full of articles, stories and pictures relating to Bondage, Sado-masochistic 'activities', humiliations of subservient males toward dominating females and, to my amusement, pictures of men dressed up in the parodies of women's underwear and lingerie. It was all very bizarre to my uninitiated eyes but, at the same time, so exciting. I used to wank myself to a point of insensibility almost every night as I imagined myself being one of the receivers of the treatment handed out by these formidable women.
More significant was that the shop where I bought my magazines had a notice board which carried adverts which promised, for a fee, 'personal services'. The ads gave a very brief hints of what was being offered, some had photographs, and in most cases had a phone number to call for appointments to be made. I was intrigued that such a thing could be obtained and my curiosity led me to make a call to one which seemed to cater for my new-found interests. So began a new chapter in my life.
*******
Working at the Coburg as an Assistant Manager gave me fine views of the adjacent Kensington Palace Gardens but it didn't afford me a royal salary sufficient to fully explore my latent subservience for I soon discovered there was a price to pay and, like most things in life, you only get what you pay for.
I had no idea what to expect when I made my first 'appointment'. My magazines had all provided me with graphic accounts of what a session might involve but none of the stories I had read spelt out the 'process' that would eventually lead to me to my new mission in life of serving and worshipping a Black Dominatrix.
I called the number from a nearby phone box (I couldn't risk being overheard had I used a phone at work!) and was instantly quizzed by a very matter-of-fact female voice as to what I was seeking. I can't remember exactly how I responded but she must have recognised from my mumbled answer that I was interested in BDSM and she gave me the address of her studio, her 'Atelier' as she called it, which, luck would have it, was in a street not far from the hotel. She gave me a specific time and told me not to be late!
At the appointed time I rang the bell of the basement apartment. I was 22 at the time and to be confronted by tall, leather clad woman, who I would guess was over 60, was quite daunting. I say leather clad but it was actually a leather corset and showed off more cleavage than a boy could hope for. She had stockings attached to the long suspender straps and was wearing black lacy panties and leather high boots. She looked at me with more than a hint of distain and invited me in.
My expectations and welcome into the world of BDSM began in quite an unexpected manner when I was told to sit myself down at a c***d-size desk and was given a questionnaire and told I had to complete it before anything else would happen. The multipage form required me to fill out details that began with me providing name and contact number and then went into a list of tick-boxes of my 'preferences'; experience; 'Dom or Sub'; Acceptable 'Pain levels'; Safe words; fantasy scenarios; 'Sissyfication?' and all manner of requirements. By the time I reached the end it was a surprise that I hadn't been asked my Blood Group or next-of-kin details!
My Mistress who had been standing over me as I struggled to answer the questions took the completed form from me and after reading my replies told me to stand up and to strip myself naked. I quickly complied sensing that to delay would bring about some kind of retribution and with my clothes a heap on the floor she gave a curt, "follow me".
We went through to another room which was furnished with odd looking pieces of furniture and, what could only be described as, wooden frames. She told me to hold out my arms and once I did so quickly slipped leather straps over my wrists. Once they had been tightened she gave me a second set of straps which she ordered me to fasten around my ankles in a similar fashion. I was then told to go and stand with my back to a frame which was mounted on the wall and once so positioned she came and attached the fixings on the straps to brackets on the frame so that I was held with my arms and legs in a cruciform. That was when the 'treatment' really began.
The first thing my mistress did was to slip a blindfold over my face, a necessity because apparently I had ticked the 'sensory deprivation box' on the questionnaire. So restrained and without any sense of what was coming next I was startled when I felt something being flicked at my exposed and tender bits. (I later found the 'something' was a riding crop.)
With each flick she told me or rather, asked me, did I think that any woman would be interested in the pathetic little boy's willie I had dangling between my shaking legs. I couldn't answer for she had at the same time of putting on the blindfold also tied a gag over my mouth. I shook my head hoping that would suffice as an answer. It didn't, she gave my cock an even harder whack with the crop and the blindfold hid the tears that began to flow as I cried feeling the intense pain.
She continued to verbally humiliate me commenting on, as she saw it, my pathetic physique and how inadequately equipped I was to be able to properly satisfy a woman. Her insults were dispersed with the swishing of the crop and it seemed that no part of my exposed body below the neck was denied. With each swish my cock became even more erect.
The sight of my stiffening dick was taken as a sign for the next phase of my treatment to begin. She pulled off my blindfold so that I could at last see what was going on and put the crop to one side before picking up a pair of nipple clamps and an odd looking leather cone. The clamps were attached to my nipples and the cone was deftly tied around to trap my balls. To both she attached weights.
At first it seemed to be a rather timid, my nipples didn't feel too uncomfortable and certainly the device around my balls wasn't causing me too much distress. However, I should have known better for it took no time for her to continue my verbal humiliation and after each tirade she would add more weights so that the 'fixings' increasingly pulled on me as they took the strain. The combination of the pain and to hear her humiliations was delightful and the more she mistreated me the harder my cock seemed to feel.
I have large nipples and I love to have them pinched so even her heaviest weights were no problem but build-up of weight on my balls became even more painful not only because it stretched the sack but it also progressively squeezed my balls into the pointed end of the cone. There were mirrors on the opposite wall so I could see everything and I was surprised to see how much my sack had stretched as she swung the cone with my swollen balls within between my legs.
Eventually we came to the part where I was made to confess as to how dismissive and disrespectful I've been to women. She released me from the frame and with my balls stretched to their limit still encased by the leather cone she pulled me by the chains that were part of the nipple clamps and led me to a bench where she told me I would be punished for my past behaviour. Her punishment for my disrespect was to make me kneel and bend over the low bench that had a piece cut out which coincided to where my groin was. There were two straps to hold me in place.
I don't remember exactly what was said while I was being beaten but I was replying to say how right it was for her to punish me for my failings. Just as when I'd been beaten as school, the riding crop had the usual effect and almost immediately my erection returned.
I lost count of the strokes, maybe a dozen or so, before she knelt next to me with a leather paddle and began to smack my arse. Then I felt her reach under the bench and for the first time in my life I felt another hand take hold of my cock. With each smack she would give my cock a squeeze and with each squeeze I began to cum and cum and cum. It was glorious.
I thought that it would be the end of my session but as I lay there getting my breath back she reached under the bench and produced a bowl that I'd not noticed before; it was filled with my cum. She held it under my face and instructed, "... lick up your disgusting cum and then you can go."
So ended my first experience of paying to be humiliated. I staggered back to my hotel and my room where I was able to see clearly see the evidence of my treatment; I had the marks for most of two weeks and I could see why some of her clients would have ticked 'no marks', which I presume she respected. I elected to make sure that next time I would tick that box.
Indeed, there were to be many 'next times'. It is no exaggeration to say that from that first visit I had become almost an addict. The only thing that restricted me from making more visits was my financial situation for, contrary to the high sounding title of Hotel Manager, my wages did not stretch to the extravagance of paying for a visit to her Atelier more than once a fortnight. However, I was not denied my humiliation between visits for she had set conditions to which I had to comply; in a way it was an extension of her control over me.
Having been accepted by my mistress as a client the time between my visits became a kind of managed programme with a set patterns to which I had to comply. A common theme was orgasm control and my fortnightly visits always began with a review of my diary which I had been told to keep. The diary recorded the results of the daily exercise she had set me when I was expected to kneel and worship a photo of herself that she had provided. The objective of the exercise was that I should concentrate and fantasise about what she would do to me and wank my cock once I got the inevitable erection; the catch was that I should wank it as long as possible but with the strict instruction that I was not to have an orgasm. At the point where I felt I was about to cum my instruction was to stop, bow my head to the floor and pray for my Mistresses for help me in making me obedient. I had to repeat this three times and keep a note in my diary to record how long I took for each segment. I was also instructed to report any unauthorised orgasms. This diary was reviewed when I arrived and she always found there was some reason to spank me with a paddle for whatever transgression I had reported.
A lot of the Domination was verbal about how worthless I was and no use or of interest to a real woman. My mistress used to emphasise the point by making me masturbate at the end of our session and when I had ejaculated into a bowl which she would be holding I was made to drink my 'worthless sperm' as a symbolic way of saying it was being destroyed for the benefit of all women.
I was supremely happy with my lot in life and I continued in this vein for a number of years sampling and attending different Dominatrix who had their discrete studios and dens in easy commuting distance of the Coburg hotel. All were located at ordinary looking addresses which gave no clue as to what when on behind the front doors of the house or flats which I attended.
I soon learned that different mistresses provided their own particular brand of humiliations and in the quest of finding pleasure I sampled a veritable 'smorgasbord' of treatments from White, Asian and Black tormentors who all had a common requirement that they all demanded worship.
The worship was always directed towards their bottoms and invariably during my visits I would be made to knell and pay homage to my mistress who at some point would position herself and present those beautiful rounded cheeks for me to kiss. I would be unable to do anything other than kiss or use my tongue for my hands were always restrained in some fashion or other.
It was during this bottom-worship with a Black mistress that I was initiated to a new humiliation and was introduced to golden showers and made to understand how important it was for a slave to understand the need to enjoy his Mistress's emissions.
Her name was 'Sister Contrary' and she extended my compliance beyond my wildest dreams. She dressed as a Nun - thus Sister - and her mantra was that devotees would 'worship in the hope of receiving absolution'. Sister Contrary was from the USA and as far as worship was concerned it rarely extended beyond her bottom which was plump but not a bubble butt and her absolution was given during toilet training.
(I ended up being 'owned' by her to the extent that I eventually had to pay to be released from our contract and my serfdom when I told her I wanted to marry. I wasn't sure what the consequences would have been had I refused to pay but she was so domineering that I didn't want to run the risk!)
I must admit that toilet training was not something I took to immediately and it took many months before I, a worshipper, was comfortable with it. Most people would find it disgusting but I can assure you that once one has learned to deal with his Mistress's emissions efficiently it becomes a satisfying and fulfilling experience, one that I used to look forward to and something missed after I married.
It did make me retch the in the beginning but that once I'd learnt to manipulate her stream with my tongue and keep my teeth out of the way it was no problem at all and I actually felt a sense of triumph each time she stood above me and gave me her absolution. Indeed, I felt an overwhelming gratitude toward her for it would be at this point in my worship that she eventually allowed me to touch myself and as the golden stream cascaded down onto my open mouth I would be wanking my erect cock and until my 'worthless cum' spurted over my stomach.
God knows how many times over the years I had masturbated or been pleasured by the mouths and climaxed in different ways or scenarios with these women but the fact of the matter was that despite all the sexual pleasure and release I had enjoyed, I was still a virgin; my cock had never been in a cunt.
My status was soon to change. I met the girl of my dreams.
*******
Lizbeth
- 08.01.2022
- 28
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