Spinning on the Punishment Wheel
Without knowing the specifics, this is what he begged for. Mistress Savannah’s cruelty is a byword. At a fetish party, he dropped to his knees. Groveling, he offered himself to her without reservation. Unembarrassed by his need, he felt no shame as others watched.
Having a long life was unimportant. He craved unthinkable experiences. He might not endure. A fair trade. She accepted his offer.
Male’s torment begins the morning before. Mistress Savannah never uses his name. Nor even calls him slave. Her enunciation of “male” sounds like someone disgusted by stepping on a turd.
These mornings he has only water for breakfast. He starves.
He will drink a second bowl of water at bedtime. Another in the morning.
The morning without food alerts the slave. Mistress Owner plans to enjoy his anguish tomorrow. He will suffer for hours, the plaything of a pitiless sadist.
An imaginative man, he anticipates the worst. He is proud to be owned by such a creatively cruel woman. Fear equals, even exceeds pride.
He tells himself horror stories. He is the bloody victim of an implacable force. Mistress Savannah has never told him how she delights in his knack for self-torture.
She does not starve him for amusement. (But she does enjoy his hopeless hunger.) She wants his stomach empty. That way he cannot vomit as he spins on the punishment wheel.
The man-size wheel cost her a huge sum. Money repaid in pleasure.
No man can fight the dizziness. Disorientation heightens suffering.
Her current male is especially sensitive. Spinning scares him. She feels his fear. It warms her like a sunny beach.
She binds the man’s scrotal sac. The wheel repeatedly yanks the cord. There was no more wonderfully vulnerable part of men’s bodies.
Nor any body part more inherently male. Punishing manhood, disciplining despicable masculinity, drives her to deeper cruelties.
“Ow! Ow!” he screams. In response, she slaps his testes with her riding crop.
Locked to the wheel for hours, his Mistress Owner whips him. Corporal punishment is carefully ordered. Mistress Savannah begins with a riding crop. Ends with a bull whip. Belts, quirts, tawses fill the middle hours.
He remains hanging during her breaks. She has kept him tied to the wheel for as long as eighteen hours.
Finally she releases him. He drops to the floor. Bleeding, bruised, aching he crawls to her. Kissing her boots, he thanks her.
He never seems more trivial and despicable. Fully conscious of her superiority, she sees only a contemptible creature.
She kicks him, then leaves. When he is able, he will crawl to his room and tend his wounds. He is still hungry but cannot eat.
He sometimes regrets his surrender of body and heart. But knows if he lost this he would find another Mistress Savannah.