THE AFTERNOON THAT DEVASTATED MY LIFE.

By SEAN DUNNE.

In all my years visiting professional mistresses, rather ironically, by far the most explosive, mind shattering episode I ever experienced and from which I never fully recovered, occurred during a visit to an absolute newcomer and complete novice at the game. The following account is I believe an accurate record of the session as I still remember most details quite vividly, but there were some occasions where I believe I may have had moments of blackout or was not fully compos mentis for short periods.

The female involved hadn't long left University and had become vaguely aware of the S/M scene at some fetish rubber-wear parties she attended to model the garments. From there she started attending some BDSM functions and gained some insight into the fem/dom and male slave scene. Deciding she certainly had the disposition and that becoming a professional dominatrix was likely to be far more rewarding in monetary terms than any other career she was likely embark on, she went into business. However, she had very little capital to get started so she was obliged to rent a large room from the 'owner' of a communal squat. Fitting it up with some bare essentials, she placed an advert and her picture in the relevant contact magazines at that period, (pre-internet era) sat back and waited for some clients. I received one of the magazines very early as I had a subscription to it and I wrote off right away. The reply came back remarkably quickly, considering my letter was sent via the magazine and I was delighted to discover her workplace was not that far away from me on the Underground. And so it came to pass that I became her very first 'customer'.

Initially I couldn't believe I had the right address. A row of dilapidated houses? The whole area apparently ready for demolition? When the door opened, I saw newspapers and dust on the floor and up the stairs. I almost turned and left. It was the appearance of the dominatrix herself that changed my mind.

Long experience had taught me to take along some of my own equipment to a session, despite having to hump along quite a weight. For instance, I've had some fairly useless gags shoved in my mouth at times, often so inadequate that I could hold a conversation while wearing them. And although it's quite understandable why mistresses favor thick padded leather cuffs and straps and similar items in a session, I find them unnatural and artificial. If a session is sometimes not going very well, I'll often request to be left alone in front of a mirror for a period to let my imagination run wild and it seems far more realistic and 'authentic' in my eyes that I'm manacled and chained up the old fashioned way and effectively silenced. Hence I carry around a foolproof gag, wrist and leg manacles and some various lengths of chain with plenty of handy small padlocks and chain connectors and it was lucky in this case that I'd brought quite a bit as she appeared to have very little equipment of her own. Indeed, she seemed quite vague as how to get the session under way. When it became obvious she'd never even seen anything like the pair of old fashioned wrist and ankle manacles I produced and was uncertain even as to how to secure them, I really began to think the whole session was going to be one of the many disappointing ones I've experienced.

Still, I felt I'd be a lot more cheerful about wasted hours in the company of this particular mistress than any other I'd ever been dissatisfied with. But I did begin to wonder how I'd use up the three hours I'd booked on the basis of her photo alone. At least, thank goodness, she or someone had screwed a large very secure hook into the center of the ceiling – so I hastily devised what I thought would be an understandable and undemanding fantasy scenario with her.

To save time and frustration, I decided to bind myself up. I stripped off until I was naked and walked to the middle of the room, directly under the hook. For a moment, I couldn't think why and it was unusual for me, maybe it was her sudden intense interest in what I was up to, but I suddenly felt a bit uneasy about what I was up to and for a moment considered changing the fantasy. But then bearing in mind her appearance and obvious inexperience, I shook off any misgivings and carried on with my scenario. I bent down and snapped my steel leg manacles tight around my ankles. A very short chain connected these. Then using one of my longer lengths of chain, I bound the tops of my knees together very tightly using several turns and secured the links with a small padlock. I tightened that chain further with another one pulled around it between my pinioned legs, that chain also pulled tight and padlocked. Next, I forced my large penis shaped rubber gag into my mouth and buckled the strap tightly behind my neck. Additional straps that buckled over the head and under the chin made this, my favorite gag, immovable and incredibly effective as communication was impossible and the loudest screams were barely audible. In fact, previous mistresses told me they could hardly hear a sound even when I appeared to be screaming all out trying to attract attention. I had arranged with the mistress at this point to chain my elbows together, but sufficiently far apart that I could just get my arms up over my head, which she did quite competently. Almost too competently as she'd chained them really tight and the chain bit into my elbows when I raised them up. Finally, I had already padlocked my manacles to the ceiling hook and stretching up, almost up on my toes, managed to lock my wrists into them. A bit too tight for comfort, especially also with the chains biting now quite deep into the flesh of my elbows and knees, but it was now too late to start all over again. At least now, if nothing else much happened in this session, I was now conscious of the blissful and exciting sensation of being utterly helpless in that position and the knowledge that I couldn't possibly escape. So even if the torture was more ticklish than severe, at least the thrilling awareness that I'd placed myself in a position giving her total control and the pain of struggling in this tight bondage must produce a reasonable orgasm.

The scene I'd devised with her was that I had been kidnapped while visiting a country run by an evil totalitarian regime and they had simply refused to believe my pleas that it was a case of mistaken identity and I just had no idea what the information was they seeking from me. So now at this moment, I'd just been dragged up from the cells below and fixed in this position to await whatever torments the evil regimes top 'extractor of information' was about to inflict on me to get me to talk. This person happened to be a female so sadistic that, having had her 'pleasure' curtailed several times by the victims blurting out information before she could fully demonstrate the full range of her skills, she now had them tightly gagged to prolong their agony and not spoil her depraved enjoyment.

As the session got under way, I began to realize that I'd completely misread the character of this seeming innocent and inexperienced young miss. She may have been a novice mistress, but it soon became clear that she had no problem whatever inflicting pain on the male body. I now began to very much regret my somewhat light-hearted advice just before I gagged myself: 'Just throw all your inhibitions away and imagine how this terrible female would act.' Well she'd certainly didn't appear to have any inhibitions at all, in fact, she was instantly unerringly realistic in her role and very early on in the session, I began to realize that this lovely creature had a cruel, sadistic streak in her nature and actually appeared to get a great deal of pleasure tormenting submissive male flesh. It seemed beyond belief that this previously apparently hopeless young lady was starting to materialize into someone closely resembling the remorseless tormentor in my fantasy. I also began to realize with mounting alarm, that I, for the first time ever, having not imagined it to be especially important under the circumstances and not wanting to inhibit the poor girl, had not discussed exactly what I meant by 'torture'. I remember being a bit surprised that she hadn't asked, just nodding her head when I went through the scene I wanted and I was rather excitingly anticipating a sort of compassionate torture being practiced on me. And, of course, I also hadn't arranged simple special signals to indicate what was happening was too severe – and now it was too late. I had foolishly given her absolute control and described that in her eyes, I was just an utterly worthless, insignificant victim of no consequence, strung up for her to perform on me as she imagined a sadistic and utterly heartless female top secret police official in a totalitarian state would. As I'd also ensured my total helplessness by the bondage I'd chosen and by gagging myself so effectively that intelligible communication impossible, quite quickly, the whole scene had dangerously got out of my control.

My anxiety was mounting fast as I also realized too late that quite naturally, she would consider any desperate struggles and any amount of muffled screams as a valid, indeed necessary part of the scenario I had demanded. This wasn't turning out at all as I'd planned it and now, what I'd never imagined could possibly happen, her activities were such that I really was starting to experience the mounting dread and terror a real genuine victim would in the same circumstances.

Now I normally just play around quite moderately in sessions with professional mistresses I'm masochistic in nature, but not into really serious pain, just a wee bit to start, and then a fairly realistic threat of future certain pain and suffering is sufficient for me. Unlike some I've seen, I'm not at all extreme and I suppose I'd be considered very wimpish in many circles. I like tight bondage, humiliation, sometimes explore enforced TV as a further humiliation tool and can accept reasonably painful torture when it's appropriate for satisfying the fantasy. A passive, unsecured slave scenario never turned me on at all. Just docilely accepting caning, whipping, torture, whatever, without being fully secured in some way would never enter any fantasy of mine. I just wasn't that type of submissive. So my most usual fantasy with a new mistress was finding some rational reason, (drugged, innocent bondage horseplay, blackmail) as to how she'd subdue me. How would an non-submissive, but naive and trusting male end up being viciously, brutally bound or manacled and gagged, so she could now humiliate him at will and subject him to torture. And if she's realistic and starts to seriously torture me, that's usually enough for at least one reasonable orgasm before I give the secret signal to end the session before it becomes too painful. Of course, I have many different scenarios, often depending on the appearance or the attitude of the dominatrix - but I'd obviously never placed myself in a situation like this before. This scene though was one of my favorite masturbation fantasies and I'd chosen it this time because I assumed I was about to get a gentle, fairly unsuccessful session. For the first time ever, I cursed my particular passion for inescapable bondage. Had I have been one of those slaves who was satisfied just to bend over and take his medicine, I could have stopped this session quite early.

However it was not to be, as this novice had ominously taken her role in the fantasy I'd devised quite literally and was gradually increasing the intensity of the torture. Not only that, she was diabolically inventive with her limited resources and now, totally indifferent to my increasingly desperate attempts to register some indication I wanted an end to this scene, she relentlessly upped the pain level. She started with burning wax, then carefully and precisely, managed to inflict torment I didn't think possible with some diabolically evil nipple and body clamps that I'd seen lying around before we started, but hadn't bothered to question her use of them as I assumed she wouldn't know too much about such implements. It turned out she understood perfectly how to use them to maximum effect and even improvised further with them later when she tightly connected them all together with some strong string, ensuring they were constantly in tension and would tear into my flesh even more at the slightest movement of my body.

And though she didn't have much conventional mistress type equipment, she could certainly improvise as I found when she produced a large pair of ordinary pliers and used them throughout adding more agonizing tricks to her pliers repertoire as time went on. Exasperated by my early jerking about in my suspended state to avoid the torture and in yet another unnerving example of her cold-blooded ingenuity, she undid the thin rope that was tied to each corner of an old iron framed bed in the room, knotted them together, bound my testicles tightly with one end and then – forcing the rest of the line through my pinioned thighs, jerked me back – and then tied the other end to the foot of the bed. Now I dare not attempt to pull away too much from my tormentor as she remorselessly continued to act in the role I'd requested. I thought I was about get some small moment of relief when she relaxed back against the old set of drawers and lit up a cigarette. But after a few deep draws, she looked at the red-hot end of the cigarette and then looked at me - and I knew what was about to happen. She paused for a smoke several times in the session and each time after a few relaxing puffs, she'd slowly and sensuously approach my agonized body with an exaggeratedly sexual movement, as if to taunt me with the contrast of extreme beauty and merciless cruelty and then carefully place the burning end into the chosen area, drawing deeply on the cigarette each time to ensure it was red hot. Later, when she lit up, she suddenly looked closer at the jet of flame on her gas cartridge lighter and I knew she'd found one more terrifying instrument to work with.

In between these tortures, she'd casually saunter around behind me and then quite viciously thrash my back and backside with a sort of heavy flexible crop she had suddenly produced which I hadn't even known she possessed. Even the few periods when she rested for short moments, eyeing me speculatively as she relaxed back in the one chair, didn't for a moment relieve my torment. Adding to the pain of her torture was the constant agony of the tight bondage I'd placed myself in.

In a normal situation, even without the torture, the pain of my bondage would have long since had me signaling desperately for the mistress to untie me. Now I could only hang there helplessly, with no prospect of release, as the steel and chain cut into my poor soft flesh just adding to the torment. At intervals, she'd caress my agonized, helpless, naked body, cynically and sensuously running her fingers over the areas she'd assaulted acting as if she was really compassionate and taunt me with wicked contrived innocence telling me the torture would stop if only I'd reveal the information she required. Then still acting her phony compassionate role, she'd perform brutally cruel acts like pulling me forward, pulling against my testicle rope, by tugging on the body clamp strings, making them bite further into and lacerate my flesh even more, telling me that all this was hurting her as much as me.

At other times she'd pretend to be genuinely perplexed as to why I stayed silent as she was thrashing me, callously ignoring the fact I was gagged and mimicking and mocking my desperate efforts to communicate. But most of the time she instinctively reverted to acting the role of the pitiless, female monster I'd mistakenly requested. Despite the fact that most of my mind was inflamed with agony and despair at the torment I was experiencing, some area of my mind was still following in dread every detail of her activities with a sort of terrified anticipation. So I was also aware at these moments from her bright eyes and heavy breathing that she was almost certainly getting some sort of sexual stimulation during these embraces especially when she'd rub her latex clad pelvis and hips up and down against the hanging, raw, mutilated flesh she now knew she could torture at will.

Later, in pure agony, I was just continuously screaming for mercy like some sort of mantra although I knew only a faint suppressed noise was escaping the gag and the scream was only echoing around in my head. A few times, almost as if she sensed the word I was trying to form from the constant, faint, muted squeals escaping from my gag, she'd observe in an amused tone, "Are you trying to trying to beg for mercy again?" She'd walk around behind me, "Mercy isn't a part of the information I'm seeking-here's-my-mercy-I-don't-understand-the word-so-don't-waste-my- time!" She'd thrash my backside with her cane on each word to emphasize the futility of my efforts to alleviate my torment.

I lost track of time, in a red mist of pure agony, all I could do was pray for the nightmare to end. But she was relentless, I was now really at the mercy (or total lack of it) of a dominatrix who not only, as I could readily see from her whole demeanor, was naturally instinctively sadistic and got a great deal of sexual excitement inflicting pain, she was also totally indifferent to all the pain and torment a victim in her power would be experiencing and furthermore, had no concept of normal client/mistress arrangements.

Very early in this session, I had become completely bewildered and disorientated by the total transformation of our roles. At the start, I'd been somewhat condescending and too eager to display my huge experience almost as if to emphasize her obvious lack of expertise. I probably would have been even more patronizing to a female so green and so young, but this one's stunning appearance and natural poise and self-assurance certainly inhibited me from taking too many liberties initially. Now though, with her innate callousness blended with her extraordinary cruel nature, she was assuming with terrifying ease the role of my merciless enslaver.

Added to those unnerving personality traits was her incredible talent and inventiveness at inflicting torture and the fact that I was totally in her power and could no way influence her activities; I had now, frankly, become far more terrified of this creature than of anyone I'd ever met in my life.

The fantasy I'd originally devised had now become as realistic as it was possible to imagine. Waves of pain flooded over me. Just when I though she'd reached a level where I just couldn't take any more - she'd up the torture to a new level. Every time she approached me to savage my flesh yet again, I'd shriek and scream, trying within my very restricted range of movement, to indicate the agony I was experiencing. But my silent entreaties for the torture to end which must have been obvious, just seem to arouse her and encourage her indulge herself further.

How long I was into the session, how much utterly real excruciating agony I'd endured which was far more than I'd ever imagined possible to bear, when the inexplicable and magical changes started to happen, I can't remember for certain. But before I describe the change, I must finally describe the dominatrix herself.

I previously mentioned it was the sight of the mistress herself that stopped me from turning away from the place. She was tall, actually taller than me in her high heels, with long, luxuriously shining dark hair. She had a beautiful face, not the girl next-door type, but the face that often looked arrogant and disdainful, like some top fashion models. It was also the sort of beauty that gave out warning signals that she could be quite a hand-full and it would take a very brave and self-confident male to approach her. She had a sensational body, with long lovely legs to match. Her bare shoulders were quite broad making her large firm breasts appear perfectly proportionate. Her waist was very slim and the tight latex flowed on down to outline the sublime curvature of her hips and backside. When I followed her up the stairs initially, I was so entranced, I almost decided to change my original ideas about the sort of session I was seeking and try a body worshipping slave type scenario with her. But I was inexperienced as to how to proceed with that sort of scene, not being tempted that way with most mistresses and anyway, I didn't want the awkwardness of her refusing such a scenario.

She was wearing one of those incredibly sexy, figure hugging, black, shiny latex dresses, almost knee length and with thin shoulder straps, that one sees in latex fashion magazines and combined with a tightly laced black waist girdle. With her black patent leather stiletto type high-heeled shoes, black seamed nylons and elbow length black satin gloves, the whole effect was breathtaking. The action of the tight shiny black latex molding her perfect figure as she elegantly moved about was a sheer delight to observe and just that in itself was incredibly arousing early on when I was hanging on the hook waiting for the start. Some of her movements, like when, with her back to me, she'd bend down to pick up something, the memory of the incredibly alluring and seductive contours of her perfectly shaped backside and those long, shapely legs are still vivid to this day. And even had the session just comprised of me hanging there and the sight and subsequent memory of her just preparing to torture me, it would have still provided the subject matter for thousands of future masturbation fantasies.

Even those times later on in the session, as she'd lean back against an old set of drawers, coldly studying me and lighting up a cigarette, when I was in extreme anguish and knew she was about to increase the torment; some part of me even then could still appreciate the absolute perfection of that body as the latex stretched tighter outlining even more the flawless loveliness of her breasts and hips - and those perfectly shaped nylon clad legs. Even after all that had happened so far, it still just didn't seem possible that such a vision was capable of such pitiless cruelty.

But I would have been ensnared by her under any circumstances, because even if I'd been warned beforehand that no one who isn't into real pain shouldn't visit her, I'd still have had no hesitation of taking my chances and starting a session with her once I'd seen her. Had I looked at pictures all day of mistresses and models, I would still have chosen the one I was with then. Her beauty was so disturbing and disconcerting that early on in the session, despite having made it obviously clear to her that I was a submissive male who got pleasure from being humiliated and tortured by females, I made a laughable attempt to impress her with my 'manliness' by showing extreme stoicism under torture. That act didn't last very long when she really got into her stride. But still, there's no doubt about it, all during the session, some area of my mind was still just about capable of appreciating just how realistic this real live tormentor was to the sort of female I'd usually dream up in my extreme fantasies.

I also couldn't fail to appreciate early on, that as the role I'd asked her to perform was so close to her real nature, she didn't have to indulge in the usual contrived 'amateur dramatics' one normally has to settle for with most mistresses, she was just acting naturally and so she was as perfect in that role as it was possible to be. Another unusual factor in the session was that being a novice, she had yet to adapt to that false and artificial 'mistress tone of voice' that many professionals employ. Whether she was screaming in anger or speaking with soft frightening menace up close, it was the voice not of a professional mistress, but of a mercilessly cruel prison wardress going about her business albeit with one unusual difference, which was her accent. She sounded far too cultured and educated to be an average wardress. Oddly enough, that meant when she swore with words that would have seemed normal from a coarse, rough female, when the words came from her refined voice, the anger and moments of apparent fury seemed very much more disconcerting and frightening.

So I can't exactly remember the point when something seemed to switch on deep in my consciousness and the session began to move into a weird, uncharted but increasingly thrilling and electrifying area. Through a mist of tortuous pain and hopeless screams, the masochistic part of my brain was beginning to register the fact that the appearance, character and actions of this gorgeous creature was really stirring up some deep, very powerful erotic sensations. I had brought this scene to light from a fantasy area that I'd only dared contemplate in private and certainly never expected to experience and now a large proportion of that fantasy was happening for real.

Hanging in that room, secured so effectively and gradually being emasculated and neutered so expertly by this beautiful creature, who by all appearances shouldn't't conceivably be putting me through such agony and was in such staggering contrast to what I'd been anticipating; very slowly, but with increasing excitement, I was undergoing a wonderful transformation.

I was after all, a masochist with a lifelong desire to be humiliated, abused and tortured to a certain level by dominant females. And now somehow that masochistic, submissive part of my consciousness started to emerge to a level I never knew existed and wouldn't have thought possible and that area of my brain was signaling the fact that I was actually experiencing the agonies of the sort of fantasies I'd only previously dreamt about. The pain slowly and miraculously began to mutate into a sort of agonized erotic ecstasy. Oh, the dread, terror, pain and the torment were still very much present, but now all these ingredients just seem to add to the exhilarating mix of breathtaking emotion, such that I had never felt in my life before. Incredibly, my penis was also receiving the same signals from my brain and I could see it protruding out and becoming enlarged to an extent I'd never known. It was the most exhilarating and stimulating feeling I've ever experienced in my life and for that period, I felt I could have hung there in joyous agony forever.

The final overwhelming climax finally came as she was leaning against the front of my hanging body to stub her lighted cigarette end on my thrashed backside. I could smell her perfume and feel the full latex clad curvaceous body of this gorgeously seductive, pitiless sadist forcing herself against mine.. This particular time she was toying with me, whispering in my ear that she was still very 'displeased' with my lack of cooperation so far and I was about to experience real agony. But by now it didn't matter what she did to me, I was in some sort of tormented heaven. Oh God - Yes! Yes! This apprentice dominatrix had by now actually become in my warped and distorted mind the sadistic and supreme creature of overwhelming dominance with the power of life or death over me as I imagined in my original fantasy and I really was now just a worthless victim of no consequence. I was no longer aware of where I was and this was a paid for session with a professional mistress. No, I really was in some fantasyland being tortured by this stunning, unbelievably cruel female. Now it had also actually become in my confused, ravaged brain, almost reasonable and appropriate that I should be going through this torment if I was somehow displeasing her. Mutilate my worthless body if it gives you pleasure. I was even struggling against my tight bondage and pulling on the thin rope to increase my agony.

The sensation this time of her latex clad hips against my giant erection was just too explosive and, luckily, before I nearly castrated myself, I experienced the most mind shattering, euphoric, glorious prolonged orgasm I have ever felt. Huge amounts of spunk flowed all up her rubber dress. Oh, Heaven…it went on and on like never before, and during that period, I really was in Paradise. The moment it came to an end though, the pain came back in waves - Jesus! I hung, suspended in extreme distress and agony I never thought possible.

Thank heaven, the dominatrix, viewing my huge climax and seeing the result on her dress and also seeing me now in a state of absolute collapse came to her senses a bit and seem to realize that this must be the climax to this part of the fantasy that I'd talked about early on and seemingly somewhat reluctantly, released me from my bonds. Releasing me took an agonizingly long time as she casually took her time finding all the various keys and unlocking my shackles.

If the session I had just been through was totally removed from any experience I'd ever had, my actions after were even more bewildering and astonishing to me in retrospect. Released, all sorts of weird unnatural thoughts were spinning around in my head and with my body almost paralyzed with throbbing, searing pain, I was nowhere near any mental return to normality and was physically almost totally emasculated. Still very confused, I wasn't far off imagining I was still the victim in my fantasy world and found myself profusely thanking her for generous act of stopping her torture and releasing me. It didn't matter that I was now physically free; I was still in a state of extreme emotional agitation.

She stood looking at me, hands on her hips, still exuding an incredible aura of dominance, power and menace and I hadn't nearly recovered mentally enough to even begin lose the sheer terror and dread I still emotionally felt towards this sadistic dominatrix.

"Why aren't you on your knees before me?" She spoke quietly, but in a tone that demanded instant obedience.

Incredibly, I instantly found myself on my knees, groveling, kissing her high heel shoes and making begging noises imploring her not to hurt me any more and I really meant it. Despite being released from my bonds and now in theory at liberty, the reality was that at that moment my distraught mind totally accepted the actuality that this female had complete control over my mind and body and was free to do with me as she pleased. For the first time in my life, I really understood what it was really like to experience what must be the emotions of the most craven of slaves - the same slaves I used to view with a certain bemused disdain. If I was also dimly aware that I was humiliating myself to a really contemptible level, groveling on my knees before her in abject fear, I was beyond caring; I was just desperately hoping this sort of ritual abasement would somehow placate her.

I can only think it was combination of how I'd been brutally emasculated and tortured, just how totally cold, callous and indifferent she was to my anguish and suffering, the bizarre contradiction of her beauty and her cruelty and the sure knowledge of the sort of terrifying ordeal she could inflict on anyone she had in her power – all that awareness had just blown my mind and I no longer possessed the ability to control my actions. I had thought I was reasonably stable person, but in those hours, hanging on a hook, she had stripped away all my masculinity and pride and I now not only felt incredibly debilitated and exhausted physically, I was also close to having a nervous breakdown. For me to take any rational steps to try to end the session just didn't enter my head, I just knelt like a craven coward, desperately praying that I'd do nothing to give her the excuse to start torturing me again.

She toyed with me for a time, from her attitude and comments, it seemed she was callously amused at the sight of the cowering and obviously petrified figure I'd turned into. Ignoring my whimpering protests, she was playfully stabbing her stiletto heels into my wounds as I prostrated myself. She seemed to be considering how to proceed. She walked over, took another length of chain from my bag and then went to the bed. "Come over here on your knees!"

She was sorting out my padlocks as I shuffled over, desperately wondering how I could influence her to end this nightmare. As if dealing with an animal, she tightly wound one end of the chain around my neck, padlocked it, half dragged me to one of the bed's iron posts and chained me, still on my knees, to it.

"That'll hold you for a moment, I've got to spend a penny."

She walked swiftly to the door and went out slamming it shut. I barely had time to collect my thoughts when she came rushing back.

"I've got a job for you." She announced.

She started unlocking the chain secured to the bedpost, and then paused. "I'd better shackle your ankles, I don't want you trying to run off somewhere."

She went behind me to collect my ankle shackles from the pile of my gear still on the floor from when I was released. I had become more and more alarmed and apprehensive at the continuation of the session I had assumed was about to end, but I stayed silent, terrified that I might say something to provoke her temper.

But all my nervous fears started surfacing again as I felt her snap my ankle manacles tightly around my already sore flesh. She now released me from the bedpost and jerking me to my feet, pulling me up by the chain around my neck.

"Come along!"

She was pulling me towards the door by the chain, but I could only follow at a fast shuffle, painfully restricted by the short length of chain on my shackles and the steel chafing my inflamed ankles. She half dragged me out of the door and across to another door virtually opposite making no concession to the fact she'd restricted my movements. I entered what was obviously the toilet by the horrible stinking smell. She pulled me in further and pointed to the toilet seat. I could see it was incrusted with dried excreta, the whole bowl being filthy. She let go of my chain and sprayed the seat with an aerosol of some sorts.

"I'm not sitting on that!" She exclaimed.

She brutally forced me to my knees by the seat and wrapped my neck chain around a pipe.

"There's not a decent clean cloth around here, so you can actually be of some use. I want to lick it spotless enough for me to sit on - and don't take too long about it."

I set about the task instantly and without hesitation. My mental state at that point was that I was actually almost gratified to be able to perform a task that would meet her approval, cravingly hoping to ingratiate myself to lessen her harsh, relentless cruelty. The spray tasted of disinfectant and had loosed the harder bits. Using my teeth to move them and then my tongue to lick the area clean I made steady progress. She was standing over me, supervising my efforts and pointing out small areas I'd missed. After spitting one larger piece into the bowl, I looked up. I could see the tight latex straining against her perfectly formed thighs and my eyes rose up to her full breasts and to her beautiful face starring down at me. But there was a mocking, contemptuous smile playing about her lips and I instinctively understood that she'd used the filthy toilet seat as an exercise to further demonstrate the power she possessed to degrade and humiliate me at will and to rub in the pitiful state she'd reduced me to. Now she'd found a suitable victim, she could now indulge her own incredibly cruel, perverted personality without restraint.

But yet again, it spun around my head for about the hundredth time, despite all the agony and torment she'd put my through, it just still didn't seem possible that such a gorgeous creature was incapable of feeling just some few moments of pity and compassion.

I fought the almost irresistible impulse, now I was on my knees and had the opportunity, to turn and grasp out and bury my head in the latex of her thighs or grovel at her feet once again begging her to show just some mercy, but I only had the courage to stop licking for a moment and implore,

"Please don't hurt me anymore."

All I got in reply was a kick. "Use your tongue for cleaning the seat - not sniveling!"

Having been given a task and trying to concentrate on it, at least managed to take my mind somewhat off the pain screaming out from the tortures she'd inflicted on me, but my poor tormented flesh hadn't stopped throbbing with extreme pain and I desperately needed some sort of relief and I was constantly praying throughout that she'd release me when I'd completed this task. The seat was finally clean to her satisfaction and I was dragged back into the room and to my utter dismay, chained back on my knees to the bedpost once again. I could see the sheen of her shapely black nylon clad legs close to my face as I sensed her appraising me.

"I'd better secure you properly, you're becoming quite pathetic and I don't want you to get up to mischief," she chuckled, "or start playing with yourself while I'm away freshening up."

She gave another cynical laugh as she moved out of my sight and I could hear her collecting up some of my gear. Then in helpless despair, I felt her, with callous indifference, tightly bind my already raw, sore, inflamed elbows with chain. Appalled at the thought that I would be once again be totally immobilized, I feebly tried to hinder her intentions, but she didn't even appear to notice as she brutally forced my elbows almost together behind my back and secured the tight chain with padlocks. She stood up and walked around me, viewing her handiwork and giving me a series of sharp kicks with the toes of her stilettos, obviously pleased with her newly found expertise Now very shocked and alarmed by the realization I was once again in a state of virtual incapacity and the dreadful implications involved with that situation, I instinctively started blubbering and weeping, I just could no longer hold back all my fear, terror and anxiety,

"Oh, please end the session." I sobbed, "I beg of you, please, please end it - I'm in real pain, I can't take any more. Please, please, I'm begging you, please don't hurt me anymore." My body was shaking uncontrollably and I just couldn't stop babbling in terror.

She kicked at my flailed, bleeding backside with her stilettos.

"For heaven's sake - shut the fuck up, you groveling, pathetic creature!"

She looked angrily around and then picked up my discarded gag from the floor. My own gag was then roughly forced into my now very sore mouth once more.

"You really can't think I take the slightest notice of all your bloody, pitiful blubbering," She raged as she buckled it up brutally tight. "At least now I don't have to listen to it."

She'd now become very easy to provoke and use any excuse to add to my torment, because she then found another small length of chain and proceeded to use it to chain my elbow chain to my ankle chain, pulling it viciously tight, which also had the effect of tightening my neck chain, and securing it with my chain connectors, virtually hog-tying me. She was now handling my equipment with devilish imagination as if she'd been handling it for years and the sight of my now inescapable helplessness seemed to humor her again.

"There now, trussed up like a lamb to the slaughter." She leaned down and spoke in my ear, "Now you can whimper away to your hearts content, you cry-baby - although perhaps you'd better try praying instead."

She gave me a final savage kick and walked towards the door. She gave a chilling laugh,

"Don't go anywhere before I get back and oh, don't bother calling out for help, no one's around to rescue you" She turned in the doorway and mocked,

"Of course I forgot - you can't go anywhere or call out for help can you?"

Then she became very much more menacing,

"I rather think though, I'd think about escape if I were you, even if you can't. If I find your bloody spunk has permanently stained my dress, you'll really suffer when I get back!"

She slammed the door shut.

Apart from all the other unforgettable periods in that afternoon, I'll also never begin to forget what went through my mind, chained on my knees to the iron bedpost, more cruelly restricted in movement than the most callously tethered dumb animal. As time went on, my mind, free for a time from her terrifyingly intimidating presence, slowly began to recover some sort of disturbed sanity. At least I now to a degree realized the dreadfully serious, but also hopeless predicament I had got myself into; but that awareness was beginning to terrify me even more.

My thoughts just ran wild, influenced by the extreme pain and throbbing agony I was experiencing all over kneeling there in total wretched despair. My poor soft, mutilated and burnt flesh screaming out for some soothing relief, but the heartless bitch had fixed me in an agonizingly uncomfortable and virtually immovable position and it was impossible to move enough to even slightly ease the throbbing, constant pain. All the momentary wonderfully erotic euphoria I'd momentarily experienced as a masochistic and submissive male in this situation had long since gone. I was now feeling the same agony and terror an ordinary normal male would in these circumstances, one who'd she'd just dragged in from the street.

I simply couldn't imagine how I'd survive any more torture and I was now almost having a panic attack imagining what she might do to me on my return. Just some spunk on a rubber dress was being amplified in my brainwashed mind into some serious crime I'd committed and now I was about to receive severe punishment as a consequence. Rather like an anorexic who looks in the mirror and sees a fat person, she had become, despite her incredible beauty and appearance or maybe because of it, magnified in my mind into a terrifying all powerful creature and the slightest defiance was unthinkable, no matter what sort of nightmare she had planned for me.

I kept wildly thinking I might have fallen into the clutches of a dangerously disturbed psychopath and I had to keep shutting my mind to the recurring thought that this female might have her own terrifying intentions as to my fate in this evil, filthy room. God, how I hated my cowardly self; I'd passively just let a psychopath chain me up so I couldn't escape what was in store for me. But I had to face the reality - I just knew I was too terrified of her mentally and too crippled physically to attempt to resist her; just the thought of the possible consequences of a minor act of defiance were too awful to contemplate.

As time went on though, I still couldn't stop all sorts of mad thoughts flowing in and out of my frenzied mind. Some of the more irrational parts of my feverish imagination were still working, considering the terrifying predicament I'd got myself into. I just couldn't stop tormenting myself with morbid conjecture. What did I know of this creature? An advert in a magazine, that's all. What an easy method to ensnare innocent and vulnerable victims. How overjoyed she must have been that her first potential prey was the soft, flabby obviously weak and submissive male that I turned out to be. I had always been uncomfortably aware from the start, because I'm a bit sensitive about such matters, not being in good condition myself that that very shapely body also looked a very fit and with her taller than the average woman, there was probably quite a strong female beneath all that glamour. The ease with which she'd been physically handling me, gave some indication of just how deceptively strong such a female could be.

Now I was so emasculated and crippled I could barely function at all physically. Even had I miraculously even regained some nerve and spirit, I still didn't have any confidence about putting up much of a resistance against the ruthless antagonist she'd transformed into. Would she somehow know that no one knew I was visiting this place? I had brought her letter with me and showed her, so she knew that wasn't left in my place as evidence. She could even take my keys and thrash my place, destroying any evidence of any connection with the whole mistress scene. Then she could keep me here for days being agonizing tortured and no one would have a clue where I was.

All the pain and agony I experience means nothing at all to her, I'm just an object to gratify her depraved, merciless depravity and she could easily keep me here until her appetite for torture had diminished. I visualized myself unable to resist and having passively to let myself be chained, maybe still in a position like this, or perhaps spread-eagled on the iron bed by my wrists and ankles and tightly gagged, ironically all with my own equipment, and left here overnight, unable to escape or call for help. She obviously didn't live here. She'd just lock up the room, go home to a night's sleep and return next morning to carry on with my torture until she got bored and sought new victims

But what if she didn't tire or get bored and got so much sexual pleasure torturing me she got carried away and permanently crippled me? Would she release me them? Not likely, despite her ravishing appearance and I'd already been totally fooled by her looks, I instinctively knew this female would just callously liquidate any male in her power, get rid of the body and evidence and not lose a night's sleep. She'd probably dump the body in one of those empty houses I saw on the way in and no one would connect a beautiful female with a horribly tortured body found some distance away.

And yet for all those frenzied thoughts, I still knew for certain that when she came back, whatever further brutality her diabolical imagination had conceived to inflict upon me, even if she momentarily unchained me, I'd still be powerless mentally and too brutalized physically to do other than dumbly and passively endure the suffering. I shuddered at the constant reminder from the pain of my brutally tight bonds that I was so totally helpless and the hopelessness of trying to beg for mercy from a creature that was utterly merciless. That this creature wasn't a hard faced, heavily built bitch, which might make the situation more understandable; but was a seductively beautiful young female, somehow the constant reminder of that paradox made the whole situation even more unnaturally grotesque and mind bending from early on.

I suddenly thought of old prints I'd seen of torture being about to be inflicted in the middle Ages. I wondered at how passive the victims looked and imagined I'd be struggling like crazy. Oh, mercy, now I know different. And all those pictures of bound up tortured and murdered victims I've seen in magazines and on the television. Just like me, did they lay there bound up and hoping against hope that they weren't going to die, but too paralyzed by fright to put up any resistance. Did they too scream with forlorn despair and dread every time their tormentor approached. They're almost always female. God, the boots on the other foot now, I'm the weak, passive, helpless victim now and I now understood exactly the terror they must have experienced.

I could visualize pictures of my chained up, tortured body found dumped in a derelict house and appearing on those programs that deal with that area of crime. She would never be caught, because no one would ever associate the perfect creature cleaning herself up right now with the shocking sight of my remains.

God, I must stop thinking like this, I feel mentally unstable already; I'll have a complete breakdown if I'm not careful. Is there someone else in this house that might help me? Of course, it's too late now anyway, since the bitch re-gagged me. Did she anticipate I might get the nerve up to scream out for help? She was one step ahead of me all the time. Had I been unchained and free to move for this long, I might have got the nerve up to grab my clothes, or even not even bother with them, and run with mad fear down the stairs and out onto the pavement seeking rescue and freedom. Now there was no escape, she instinctively knew just how to extinguish any forlorn hope of release from this harrowing ordeal. Nonetheless, I still kept screaming out silent pleas for help. In my agitated, almost hysterical state, I somehow hoped someone passing by might sense my distress. Please, Please, somebody save me, I'm alone, helpless and in the power of a sadistic monster and I can't protect myself. Someone help me please! "

All my morbid thoughts came to an abrupt halt as the door suddenly opened. I cowered as near to the floor as I could in terror, not daring to look up at her, but I was by now virtually paralyzed with numbness and pain in that position anyway. I heard her stilettos clattering on the bare boards as she came up close to me.

"To avoid danger of suffocation, keep this bag away from babies and children."

I vaguely understood that she was reading out something, but I was beyond caring.

"I've decided to be merciful after all and put you out of your misery."

Her voice didn't sound merciful and before I could begin to perceive what she was up to, I felt her swiftly pulling a plastic bag over my head and then use a length of her thin rope to seal the base of it round my neck. For a moment, I just couldn't comprehend or even believe what she'd done, but as the sound of my breathing resonated around the bag, I started struggling desperately in a hopeless attempt to somehow get it off. The bag was transparent and, fighting the chain around my neck, I twisted to look up at her, hoping that seeing my extreme distress, she might have second thoughts about her actions. But all I could see was excitement on her face as she was on her knees opposite me, silently studying my reactions.

I was almost going insane with hopeless terror, desperately trying to ration the small amount of air left, but panic took over and the bag sealed itself on my face shutting off all air. Then I really struggled, ignoring the agonizing pain of the chain biting deeper into the already torn flesh of my elbows and ankles and nearly choking myself on the chain around my neck. God it was horrific, the pain in my lungs as they screamed for air, the terrifying conviction I was about to die a horrible death as my head felt it was about to explode.

Then suddenly, I found myself gasping in great nose-fulls of air. Oh, the relief. I opened my eyes and realized she'd untied the rope and pulled the bag off. I squatted there in total anguish and almost deranged with fear.

"You didn't really think I'd was going spoil my fun this early did you? I was just interested to see how someone struggling in his death throes acted. A bit disappointing really, I thought I'd see more of a struggle, perhaps I've chained you too securely."

She sat back on her heels and observed me,

"It would have been better without the gag, I could have watched your mouth trying to scream and gasp for air at the same time."

She examined the bag,

"It says here, it only works with babies and children."

She feigned perplexity.

"So it should be quite safe for an adult male - even though he's blubbering like a baby and chained to a bed."

She leaned over towards my face again and waved the bag in front of me,

"Shall we try again?"

The very thought made me scream and scream as I tried to show from my very restricted position that I was pleading and pleading for just one small merciful act. It seemed to be the reaction she was expecting as she leaned back, studying my efforts to communicate my torment. She watched my hopeless jerking on the chains and my eyes bulging with my attempts to actually scream out loud my pleas for mercy as if she was dispassionately observing some sort of experiment, her wide, luminous eyes, bright with malicious, cold-hearted amusement.

But at least she did get back to her feet and walk away.

"Okay then, we'll try something else for now. I'll just keep this bag in reserve."

I heard her opening a drawer. She came back and waved a large black dildo in front of me. It was shaped like a huge penis with large black balls on the end and even had the veins on it.

"Now I've discovered you're such a whining sissy, I suddenly realized you must have been missing your favorite toy."

I had gone beyond reacting to anything at this point and was nearly over the edge. Her activities with the bag have now virtually confirmed my worse fears about her likely agenda and the fate that awaited me. She went behind and must have knelt or squatted down, because after releasing me from both the short hobble chain and the one around my neck, she placed her hand on the back of my neck and pushed my face down on the floor with some force, making my backside stick up.

"You had such a lovely soft, white bum before it got all red and bloody. I thought when we started it looked more like a girls, like the rest of your soft body. And such a pretty face as well - a little bit effeminate are we?"

My backsides spasmed as I felt the head of the dildo enter my back passage.

"I thought this would please you, I'll bet this isn't the first prick to go up here is it? Is it!" She eased back the force she was placing on my neck.

I dimly realized some sort of reply was needed so I shook my head. I gave a silent despairing shriek as she viciously forced it further in.

"That's not the reply I wanted. I said you've had dicks up here before - are you calling me a liar?"

Quickly I nodded my head in agreement as much as I could.

"I knew it, so this must be pleasuring you as much as it is me."

She relentlessly forced the obscenity up my backside until from the pain; it felt as if she was splitting it in two. I had been hurting so much all over that I'd thought that I just couldn't be able to feel any further pain, but she'd found another area to brutalize and I was forlornly screaming again with agony.

"Too bad you're gagged, I'd love to make you squeal like a pig as I forced this up. Unfortunately here, someone outside might hear you. We're all alone in this house though, I'll bet you're pleased to hear that."

She laughed, "One day, when I get a dungeon, I'll be able to hear you pathetic slaves screaming for mercy all the time."

Desperately trying to relax my backside as I soon discovered that trying to resist the dildo's entry made the pain worse, I just had to endure until the loathsome object was worked fully in to her satisfaction.

"D'you know there's now two big black bollocks sticking out of your arse?"

She was enjoying herself, "That's perfect now, sucking on a dick one end and a big dick up your arse the other - aren't I good to you? You must be in pansy-boy heaven."

She then roughly forced my body to lie flat out on the floor, on my chest. The change in position brought more futile screams from me as the dildo now felt like a red-hot log had been forced up my rear passage.

I rested my gagged face against the floor for a moment, elbows pinioned behind my back; ankles chained and heard a car drive past. I was in the depths of despair and experiencing almost suicidal hopelessness. Ordinary, normal life with help and rescue were just yards away, but they would just drive and walk past never knowing the hell a fellow human being was being put through in a room a mere stone's throw away. As far as the chances of rescue or escape were concerned, I might just as well be in the deepest dungeon in the most desolate area of the world.

"Crawl over here to my feet!"

I raised my head. She had perched herself on the sideboard, swinging her shapely, black-nylon legs and holding her devilish crop. It was now unthinkable not to instantly obey any command from her and I made the effort to start crawling. Had I been able to move freely, the crawl would have still been slow and very painful. But still chained and very restricted with movement, I found I simply couldn't obey her. The chain by now had cut so much into the flesh of my elbows and ankles mere movement was torture. My pain in my poor mutilated and burnt chest was being further intensified by my attempt to drag myself along that filthy floor. What with the dildo and the ache from all my other wounds, I was nearly fainting with agony and I just flapped around on the floor making no forward progress.

I heard an exasperated expletive from her and she walked over and started whipping the soles of my feet with her crop.

"I'm not waiting all fucking day, you're crawling slower than a snail!"

I'd thought my body was so racked with pain that she couldn't add to it, but I'd never realized the soles of my feet were so sensitive as this new pain shot up my legs and body, exploding with renewed agony in my brain. I made desperate renewed efforts to crawl faster, but despite all this additional torture this merciless creature was inflicting upon me, I was just physically unable to obey her. I just collapsed on the floor, virtually semi-conscious with extreme pain, my body just convulsing with each vicious stroke of her crop.

It must have become obvious even to her that I simply wasn't able to move, because she stopped thrashing me and I felt her grasp hold of my elbow chain and effortlessly pull me up on my feet with surprising ease. She walked away to the center of the room, picking up some chain on the way and reaching up, started to connect it to the hook.

She looked over to me,

"If you can't crawl, at least you can hobble around: make your way over here to me!" she commanded, pointing to the chain in her hand.

In utter anguish and despair I instantly obeyed. Gagged, my elbows pinioned behind my back, hobbled by my ankles secured by a short chain, my poor tortured body screaming in agony, with a devilishly huge foreign object forced up my backside and now with the soles of my feet screaming out with pain, my progress was slow and harrowing. My distraught mind understood I was hobbling towards certain further torture, but despite my mind screaming out I couldn't take any more pain, it was virtually burnt into my consciousness now to instantly react to and dumbly obey her every command.

The few times I dared look up at her waiting for me, I could see from her expression of disdainfully, amused contempt that she was quite entertained by the spectacle of the helplessly bound, mutilated creature, shuffling in extreme pain towards her.

I finally reached the hanging chain and as I'd expected, she connected it to the chain on my pinioned elbows and further down, also connected it to my ankle chain. She stood back and examined her handiwork as I swayed on the chain almost blacking out with pain.

I was convinced now that all I could look forward to, were hours of further excruciating torture and I'd already been given a preview of the probable fate she had planned for me. I just prayed she finished me off swiftly and didn't keep toying with me when she finally resorted to the plastic bag.

She stood for some time, contemplating my tormented figure I only dared raise my head and take swift petrified glances at her and if it was possible to add to my extreme distress at that stage, the sight of her standing instinctively posed as if she was modeling her outfit and looking as seductively beautiful and fresh as she was at the start of our session - must have added to it. For a split second, the insane contrast between her and the half demented, mercilessly tortured, quivering travesty of a man she'd reduced me to in that same period flared up in my frenetically agitated mind, then died as the throbbing pain and hopelessness of my position overwhelmed me again.

After what seemed ages, she suddenly made up her mind and walked towards me. At that moment, had someone offered me a quick, painless death to escape whatever further agony about to be inflicted upon me, I'd have willingly accepted it. The pain was such now that I couldn't even react with my normal petrified anticipation and screams as she forced her body against mine and with the other hand reaching up to grasp the chain, with the other hand, unbelievably, she started playing with my flaccid penis.

My brain initially couldn't take in this new development in my torment, simply assuming it was the mocking prelude to some further diabolical torture. My penis though, after a time, did start responding and actually getting a sort of erection; and after a period, despite the appalling physical and mental state I was in, suspended on that chain, some part of my fevered brain did start to react to that primitive sensation.

It must again have been the spell her presence and beauty had always hung over me in the background of all that had occurred in that room and despite all the extreme agony she'd inflicted upon me and all the pain racking about in my brain, just the sensation of her exquisite and seductive body pressed up against me and sensuously massaging my penis, still possessed the ability to almost supplant it all with a moment of ecstasy as I had a tiny orgasm, jerking around in my bondage as a residue of spunk jerked out.

"I'm sorry, I had to hurry you along. It's well past the period you paid for and you never seemed to get another hard on no matter what I did."

She started unbuckling my gag and even in my paranoid state, by the very sudden change in her voice and actions, I sensed some sort of totally unexpected transition in the session. Oh my God, please, please - could it be that I really wasn't going to be tortured to death after all?

But even as she began releasing me, cursing irritably as she tried different keys to open the padlocks and actually talking to me as a human being once again, I was still wound up as tight as a drum, still fearful that this was just another cruel trap and she'd suddenly revert to her sadistic activities just when I thought I was free.

Even when I was totally free and the dildo had been very painfully removed and it was becoming increasingly obvious that my nightmare must really be over, I was now such a mental wreck that it simply wasn't possible to lose the awe and terror I felt towards my tormentor in such a short period and I was still flinching with anxiety and nerves every time she came close as I started to dress myself with real difficulty in my raw, inflamed, aching and exhausted condition.

She on the other hand was aroused and animated. I was hearing what a turn on it had been, 'Better than any sex she'd ever had.' How she'd prolonged our session because we were both enjoying it so much! I must have got up the nerve to mutter it had been a 'bit over the top', because she became silent for a moment. I could tell she'd suddenly become a bit vexed as she pointed out, quite correctly from her point of view I suppose, that she'd only performed exactly as I'd requested and anyway, "You must have been loving it, I've never seen such a hard on and so much spunk either." I couldn't have rationalized that bizarre anomaly had I have been mentally sound but right then all I could think of was little else other than to get out of that room and instantly fearful at her change of tone and desperate not to antagonize her or give her cause to get irritated, I quickly abandoned that issue.

The thought I might give her some excuse to suddenly change her mind and enslave me again was just too dreadful to contemplate. I instantly started babbling about how wonderful both she and the session had been and she seemed appeased and mollified.

The fear that she might have further inflicted cruel torment upon my helpless body wasn't just a paranoid delusion either, as in my disturbed state actually only comprehending parts of her enthusiastic chatter, I began to realize that it was only the fact that another client was due quite soon that obliged her to end the session when she did. I think I owe that submissive male my sanity.

Still frantically nervous, my tension only started subsiding somewhat when she was ushering me down the stairs. I couldn't even look at all my equipment and I left it with her muttering something about picking it up later.

When I reached the pavement and the door closed being me and I knew for certain that she really had released me and I was now free, I staggered some steps along the road and hung on to a lamppost for support. Tears of pure relief flowed down my cheeks at the knowledge that my nightmare was over. I desperately needed to pee and I shuffled to a convenient alleyway and noticed there was blood in my urine, but I couldn't give a damn at that stage.

I remember little about the journey home. All my body was screaming out, but the main difficulty getting home was from just walking, as the pain in the soles of my feet made movement agonizing. One look at my condition in the mirror when I got home, confirmed the shocking state I'd been reduced to. It also explained why I'd been stared at most of the time during my journey as my exposed neck was red raw and still bleeding in places and the marks of the tight straps of my gag were clearly etched across my face. I wasn't at all bothered; the reactions of the general public were the least of my problems at that time.

I really should have been in hospital, but that was out of the question, as they would have obviously called the police. So I ran a bath, took some painkillers, and tried to sooth my wounds in tepid water. But my efforts had a fairly marginal effect. I'd been too brutalized both mentally and physically to find any real relief in the short term.

I had no rest all that night. It was impossible find any relaxing position that wasn't painful, even my softest chairs, cushions, pillows and mattress, felt rock hard against my wounded flesh. But even had I got physically comfortable, the mental turmoil I was going through would have ensured I'd have got no peace or rest. By morning, I still had not even begun to calm down, I was still extremely agitated, anxious and my nerves were constantly on edge.

Work was out of the question and I knew I had to somehow make the effort to get out to visit my doctor. I was lucky in that respect as he was of Middle East origin. Pretty hopeless as a doctor, but I'd found him very useful in the past as he'd write medical certificates at the drop of a hat. He was shocked of course at my condition, but seemed to accept my nonsense tale that I'd owed a criminal gang thousands in gambling debts and this torture was a warning message when I told them I couldn't repay right away. Telling me I should at least go to the police and hospital casualty, he nevertheless instantly wrote a medical certificate for a month and prescriptions for strong painkillers, sleeping pills, ointments and dressings. He even asked if I wanted a visit from a district nurse! I could imagine what her reaction would have been.

It takes little imagination to understand what I went through that month as my flesh wounds slowly healed. The strong painkillers and sleeping pills were a godsend as the pain took a long time to subside. And for a long period, I was mentally in denial. Every time my thoughts began to drift towards remembering the experience I'd had in that room, my brain would instantly reject them and shut down the subject. Of course, that couldn't last and once the floodgates were open, I simply couldn't stop my mind going over again and again, what had happened to me. The constant recollection of those hours naturally produced an incredible variety of complex, contradictory, bizarre and sometimes, almost deranged emotions. I could just about function physically by the time I went back to work, careful to cover up all the wounds and lacerations, still not nearly healed and still very visible.

But I was still very much in mental turmoil and not really capable of concentrating on any task for long before my mind would start returning obsessively to thoughts of that afternoon. I soon realized I wasn't capable at that time of working normally, and I left the company with mutual consent.

It was about three months later that I finally decided I simply had to visit that female again. My reasons? Far too complex to describe, and as I suspected at the time, that many of the reasons I used to justify a visit were false, I now know my mind simply recoiled from considering perhaps the real reasons. For instance, the rational part of my brain simply knew for certain that, with the marks and wounds of my first visit still barely healed, (and some are still visible now, years later) I couldn't possibly endure her version of torture again, physically or mentally and would make that clear to her at the start. At the same time, I kept having to suppress an almost irresistible desire for her, when I entered the room, to immediately place me in bondage and do as she pleased with me once again. Male slaves really are 'over the cuckoo nest' at times.

So I was incredibly nervous just dialing the number, but my mood changed instantly to one of unease and alarm as I got a disengaged signal. Hurriedly dressing, I dashed to the Underground and took a train to her workplace. When I finally reached it I was totally devastated. In many ways, it was the worst, certainly the most disappointing moment of my life.

The whole road had been demolished and cleared of housing. I stood there, just staring, all sorts of thoughts going through my mind, for over an hour. Eventually, I started rationalizing that perhaps all wasn't lost. She was bound to find some new, better; place to perform and I'd find her again.

She never did. Years later, I've still never really come to terms with the fact that she disappeared from the scene. And of course, I've lost count of the times I've pondered the mystery; worked out all sorts of different scenarios of what might have happened. But there are endless reasons as to why she would have suddenly left the pro/dom scene and I know now, - I'll never find out the real reason.

Those devious magazine people kept her advert in for months after. Her photo was just too good for them to miss out on the money gained from fruitless inquiries. In fact that one photo was still being used in many S/M areas years later as an example of the perfect fantasy dominatrix. Naturally, I also kept replying, hoping that she'd started up again somewhere new. I even kept looking through all the newspapers, half expecting to read of a sensational trial, with her up for grievous bodily harm or worse. I also, a bit tongue in cheek, looked to see if any chained up, tortured bodies were found dumped somewhere. Neither were ever reported.

Needless to say, all my subsequent visits to dozens of different professional mistresses over the years have been, well - pretty tame and disappointing. How could I really expect anything different?

At the first mistress I went to after, assuming that I was now capable of enduring some serious torture, I amazed myself by panicking at the very start and signaling for her to stop! Feeling a bit foolish, I did explain that the previous mistress had gone over the top and I hadn't yet recovered. Indeed, the evidence was still there quite clearly all over my body. She was professionally outraged at what had happened to me, (of course, I didn't relate the full story) and said I should have taken some sort of action afterwards. I didn't tell her that the only action I felt like taking now was to find her and once again, completely surrender to that beautiful sadist.

I soon realized though, that even had I found her and we'd had another session, there was no possible way I could have relived again, all the incredible and varied emotions I went through that afternoon. I'd have loved just to be able to see her again and find out her subsequent thoughts on how she treated me. What would her reaction have been, opening the door and seeing me standing there? She must still think of me occasionally; they say women never forget their 'first' and she surely was never able to indulge herself so uninhibitedly at any time since.

A sobering thought is that even had I unlimited wealth and could comb the world employing the most beautiful women to torture me, I still couldn't guarantee I'd experience any like the huge orgasm I'd had early on that afternoon. And no matter how much I was willing to pay, I certainly could never relive the dread and terror I felt in the second half of the session, when at times, I really thought I would be tortured to death. And when I start playing with myself in bed at night, nearly always it's that second period that my thoughts turn to and it still never fails to produce some arousing and exhilarating eruptions.

So considering all my sexual encounters in the S/M scene since that fatal visit have ranged from disappointing to unsatisfactory to dreadful; all in all, would I have been better off had I never seen that particular advert? I'll let whoever reads my narrative of that afternoon to make up his mind. I know what I feel, but I'm not telling.