Mistress Wore Furs, Her Slave Shivered
Mistress Wanda decided to give herself a Christmas present. The gift of a man’s tears, pleas and moans.
The male slave had been with her less than a month. He had felt only functional spankings: maintenance discipline and chastisement for insignificant errors.
This night he would learn of his Mistress Owner’s cruelty. The male was a virgin to calculated sadism. She would use only her riding crop. Her black leather whip was reserved for when he became inured to swats of the crop.
Each new session would be more terrible than the last. By that method, she would extract the most enjoyment. The pathetic creature would believe he had suffered the worst possible. Repeatedly he would be proven wrong.
Mistress Wanda was a cunning tormentor. She made the male strip, then don gloves and boots. They would insulate his limbs from the rope. Loss of circulation could turn his hands and arms into dead tissue. A man would without feet to walk on and hands to grasp, would be an amusing site. But would make the slave useless.
She wanted him to be able to scream. To muffle the sounds of desperation, she wrapped a scarf around his face.
The basement was unheated. Mistress Wanda wore her furs. Naked the slave shivered. For a time, she let the frigid air torment him. The scarf suppressed the sound of his chattering teeth.
Mistress Wanda opened a box. She removed clothespins. No clothes had hung from them. These were special, made for women like her. Their bite was fierce. The male flinched as each pin squeezed his flesh. And again, when his Mistress Owner repositioned them.
Nipple clamps followed. Tiny teeth cut him. His eyes were damp. Soon tears would flow.
Mistress Wanda took her crop in hand. She tapped the nipple clamps. The slave’s body arched into grotesque shapes.
She smiled. This, she thought, is what men are made for.