Mistress Punishes Slave Man Even When He is Innocent
After you beat a man, beat him again. Whip him until his throat is too weak to scream. Welts and bruises are signs of well-trained males.
“Don’t think that I have not noticed your idleness.”
He was not lazy. That was irrelevant. Within her realm Mistress Crudelia was the arbitrator of truth. She created and trapped men in her reality.
Her whip cut his underwear.
‘Slaves work with speed and diligence. Tardiness is unforgivable. Malingering a crime.
She pointed to a man’s head on the floor.
“He displeased me.”
Nothing she had done was more frightening, disturbing than leaving a dead man’s head on the floor. It looked surprisingly fresh. *
Trembling, nauseated, he whimpered.
“I should make you kiss it. He could be your new boyfriend.”
Mistress Crudelia whipped him without pause for ten minutes. He bled. Groaned.
Physical pain blocked thought. Amoral, cruel her only purpose: to make sure his continual misery.
“Please Mistress …”
She kicked his groin. He twisted into a ball.
“Please what? Have mercy? Don’t be stupid. You are a man. Born to serve and suffer. I am a woman. Born to hurt and command my inferiors. You are trash. Be silent lest I throw you in the dumpster.”
Mistress Crudelia kicked his lower spine. He uncoiled.
“On your hands and knees.”
Grabbing his chain, she dragged him to the bathroom. Shoved him to the floor.
Mistress stood over her wretched slave, urinated over his body.
“Lick my piss from the floor. Clean the entire bathroom floor with your tongue.”
Mistress Crudelia stood and watched. Flicked her whip occasionally, saying, he missed a spot.
The dirty wet linoleum was nasty. Finally the floor was clean. Exhausted, only fear prevented his collapse.
“Now, lick the toilet clean.”
He started at the base. Weak, weary he could not think. Mindlessly his tongue caressed the cold ceramic surface.
He licked the seat. She lifted the lid. Grabbed his hear. Shoved him into the water. Held him down with her boot.
A strong woman, she refused to let his mouth surface. He inhaled water. She let him rise. Choked he reeled, fell, bashing his head. Dimly he heard her joy in his clumsiness.
Soon he was in his cage in the basement. Mistress did not bother feeding him.
He passed out and dreamed. He dreamed of Mistress Crudelia’s cruelties. Even in sleep there was no escape.
The property of a pitiless woman for whom his pain was a joke that never grew old. She enjoyed his suffering. If he died, another would take his place. No one cared if he lived or died. An insignificant creature no one would mourn.
( * Because it was remarkable lifelike fake. Men are a superstitious, cowardly lot.)