Mistress Owner Discards Men Like Trash
Bondage reminds a man that he is helpless. Serving as woman’s stool reminds him that he is her property.
He had approached Femdom as play. He wanted fulfillment of his fetishes. Satisfaction of secret appetites.
She saw his naiveté. His hunger. A sudden flush of endorphins convinced her he would be delicious prey.
Looking in her eyes he saw a Goddess. To her he would never be more than one of a series of victims reaching from her past and into her future.
She would satisfy his hunger for pain. Then exceed his desire. Only when his suffering was devoid of pleasure could she achieve her own joy.
Gagged and muzzled, his shrieks came out as faint grunts.
She let him leave. He returned. Addicted to her cruelty. Ragged spots on his body testified to her ruthless exploitation of his body.
She rarely fed him. Once he drank her urine. His enjoyment of her piss disgusted her. She threw him out starved, parched, barely able to walk.
He still returned. She had an inexhaustible imagination and seemingly unlimited supply of devices to teach him new pains.
He came back. She said he bored her. He must go. Never pester her again.
He knelt and begged. She kicked him off the porch. That gave him one final cruelty to cherish.
His heart was no longer fresh. Now he was just another masochist, a boring pain junkie.
She always finds new tenderhearted naïfs. Desperate to know the depths of womanly cruelty.
She vaguely wondered what became of her castoffs. Did they perish of frustration? Find a Mistress?
Did anyone care?