A Sadist's Story

Chapter 2

Life has such wonderful ironies.

Danny Boy

Ms. Monique is very kind, letting me touch her beautiful body. It has such a wonderful combination of vigor and grace, like a champion racehorse. Yes, I am a groom to what I think of as a Triple Crown Winner!

My soft hands smooth all over. I get to feel wherever I want as long as every pore and every muscle is properly bathed, cleansed and massaged as Ms. Monique so instructed me years ago.

So after wetting and soaping her long muscular form, I lave it with a chamois, careful to keep the temperature at 106 degrees; just where Ms. Monique insists. And I begin at her neck, down her arms, then over to her back, then to her legs, so amazingly developed. Throughout there is a thin layer of softness backed by what in some places feels like steel, in others mere firmness. I compare to my body, her chiseled contour to the formless shape of a child. But that’s what Ms. Monique promised me when she announced her decision to take my little balls…that I would be forever young.

I reach her feet, cleanse and then it’s back up to her behind. Two hillocks of firm flesh. Unlike mine, there is pure muscle beneath and I gently clean. Between is a special area where Ms. Monique demands much attention so I swish the cloth until she parts her feet just a little more. That’s my signal and I mount the table. Ms. Monique once suggested I moved about like a little monkey—her little monkey—and I blush with the recollection of her comment and being granted special proximity. I gently part her amazing cheeks and lower my head. Now that I have been properly trained, Ms. Monique lets me put my tongue there. I hear her softly laugh as I begin and I too am gleeful. It is a special treat for me.

Ms. Monique

Yes, there is no more exquisite a sensation then receiving analingus from a Caucasian boy altered by my hand and trained ad nauseam to please with his tongue.

“Deeply, Danny Boy. And thoroughly. We have time and I will sleep.”

His tongue slithers into my crack and finds my sphincter. Hours and hours of oral discipline have implanted unsurpassed skill. Danny Boy will work with tongue and lips until I give the command to stop; timing his breathing so that no untoward rush of cooling air tempers my pleasure.

And when I awake, I will turn and he will complete his task on my front, anointing my n*****s and then moving to the vaginal sheath he has come to worship. There his stretched tongue will bring orgasm after orgasm, inspiring me for this evening’s exhibition, the caning of Julie. It will be her first and after weeks of preparation, goose bumps form in thinking about my severe black hand bringing searing pain to the various erogenous zones of the petite alabaster blonde.

I work for a wealthy group of libertines, all sexually stimulated by exhibitions of overwhelming dominance, power and pain. When I interviewed for the position, it was explained that the group at first met informally in various swing clubs. Over coffee one morning, after sharing a sleepless night of debauchery, it was decided that a more permanent and befitting facility would better suit their needs. Anonymity would swell their ranks; many socially prominent profligates not wishing to be identified in public arenas would participate in the demented hi jinks.

And so a sizable building was purchased with exhibition hall, training facilities, food and beverage service areas, private ‘meeting’ rooms, dormitory rooms... and of course my capacious apartment on the top floor.

In my hiring, the deal was sealed when someone like Danny Boy was promised as a lifetime companion. And as part of the arrangement, I was never to ask where the members procured my naked nymph whose balls I plucked away like fruit. I have always assumed he was orphaned years ago in some far off land and life at the club, though chaste, would be a welcomed alternative after a childhood of cold and hunger.

But with my pets... those I whip, flog and cane at frequent membership gatherings... I am very much aware of the procurement process..., the hiring of latent masochists in need of quick and substantial cash..., and perhaps needing to fulfill desires long lingering in their psychological makeup.

‘Miss’ Julie, for instance, suffers from the economics of a declining modeling career. Having discovered the harsh cruelties of the fashion world... abundant largesse when her ‘look’ was in vogue, comparative impoverishment as the demand for her features wanes in her early twenties... the members offered her a very lucrative arrangement. Thousands of dollars for a monthly appearance at the club. A six figure bonus when her ‘tour’ ends after one year. An annual stipend thereafter for maintaining silence.

And after pocketing the substantial emoluments, her modeling career may resume. For the club desires no long-term flagellants, and my practiced hand and a highly advanced healing process insures that there will be no permanent marks, despite the severity of her ordeal.

The piercings for rings will be the only remaining evidence of her sojourn at the club; all my pets forced to wear a ring set deep into the cartilage of the nose. And for the female pets there is a ring in the perineum. Male pets suffer the indignity but not the pain of having their scrotums ringed. Otherwise, when their terms at the club end, their every day lives continue normally yet financially enriched with no markings or other evidence of the monthly cruelty. Except perhaps there are mental scars of the trauma. But for the true masochist such are best described as reveries.

Danny Boy’s tongue arouses. I awaken after a brief catnap, reach to push up his face and turnover. He giggles in childish delight as my breasts come into view and I tantalizingly spread my thighs. As stated, Danny Boy’s been fixed. Let him bask in the aura of my superior nakedness. It only adds to his subjugation.

The chamois returns; 106 degrees with fragrant soap. He washes and naughtily steals a kiss from my left n****e. Anyone else would be severely punishment for such a liberty, but this is Danny Boy; the proximity and access to my fine nakedness just adding to his frustration. Thus the purloining of a smooch leads to its own consequences, the heightening of his unquenchable desire.

I am rinsed and once again Danny Boy scurries onto the table with the alacrity of a monkey climbing a tree. The soft hands massage, working about my chest and breasts and working downward to the abdomen, thighs and calves. Then I once again widen my thighs and Danny Boy knows to resume his oral endeavors. He will suck my c******s while his tongue deeply explores my v****a.

The tongue of the castrated male can be so attentive... so sensuously tactile. My pleasure becomes his.

I again enter a dreamlike state, knowing that Danny Boy will continue to assiduously bring orgasm after orgasm until I command otherwise.

Danny Boy

Ms. Monique is wonderfully orgasmic this afternoon. She is very moist and I carefully lap all her juices as I have been trained. I am sure she is thinking of Miss Julie and caning that most wonderful feminine form. Though I am not permitted to observe, I do overhear talk of her performances and I am in awe, as I am with everything Ms. Monique does, in learning second hand of the thoroughness of her floggings and the level of torment she imparts.

I only hope that after she finishes with Miss Julie I will be permitted to service her. Many times I am instead ‘wrapped’, Ms. Monique’s term for the peculiar sensory deprivation which she insists aids in my servility.

Ms. Monique

There is a knock on the door leading directly from the wash room to the hallway.

“Show time in one hour, Ms. Monique. Julie is prepared.”

It is Gladys. Nurse. General assistant. One time flagellant. A man-hating lesbian.

I know she would like to enter and watch; the scene of a castrated male being forced to service the superior female certain to k****e erotic passions. And of course she would also enjoy copping a glimpse—perhaps more than a glimpse—of my fine form. When I flogged her years ago, she always peered at me with such a rapt gaze.

“Suspend Julie on her toes, Gladys. Come back in half an hour for Danny Boy,” I reply through the door, visualizing the naked pet perched well up on heels and dangling from her nose ring.

I know Gladys will be disappointed in being denied entry. But she’ll have Danny Boy in her clutches while I earn my keep in the exhibition hall. That will mollify her needs, the man-hating segment anyway.

Awakened, I squeeze off one last massive climax, paroxysmal clenching Danny Boy’s head between my thighs and drawing his face inward with my hands. It is difficult to describe the extreme strength exerted in so doing. But trust me when I suggest that Danny Boy’s breathing is curtailed until I release, and such control heightens my pleasure; knowing that he is slowly suffocating while I bask in the glow of one last orgasm. There can be no greater sensation of power for a woman..., to know that some pusillanimous male can be slowly smothered while servicing the feminine pouch. And amusing epitaphs come to mind while Danny Boy meekly lies in wait, fully trained not to struggle for oxygen until I absorb my pleasure. He does not move an inch!

‘Here lies Danny Boy. Though lungs were deprived, his tongue and lips feasted to the end.’

Finally I relax my grip, chuckling with my own humor. And he gratefully inches away, draws a breath then extends his incredible tongue to lick away the remnants of our coupling. He smiles as one who barely escaped an early but befitting end.

I extend my hand and tweak his wet nose.

“Show time, Danny Boy. One last rinse, then get my uniform ready. Gladys will take you tonight. I want you wrapped.”

He dismounts with a most lugubrious look, pouting like the child he is, from a hormonal standpoint.

“I can stay here and clean,” he suggests.

I know he does not like to be wrapped, which is one of the reasons I insist upon it.

“No. I am going to have a visitor. A male visitor. And you know how your presence affects intact males, Danny Boy. And you know how envious you become.”

I have learned over the years that when I engage in ‘vanilla’ social interaction with the opposite gender, having a neutered male prancing about can put a chill on any discussions or any possibility of a relationship for that matter. So I put Danny Boy away. The facilities at the club are well equipped for long term bondage. And when I later have him retrieved he is wondrously subservient.

I am rinsed with a warm spray and toweled. Then with another crisp smack to his buttocks, I send Danny Boy prancing to the bedroom. I follow and primp a little while he lays out my uniform.

It does not take long to prepare sartorially for a stint in the exhibition hall. Working a naked pet requires exertion, which suggests cool attire. Thus my ‘uniform’ is a skin tight black leather bodice, short, black pleated skirt, knee high black leather boots. With my arms, stomach and thighs remaining uncovered, and with no undergarments, cooling air will waft where I will overheat the most.

I stand before a full-length mirror. At age 35 I am in my prime as a sadistic Dominatrix..., physical prowess remaining at its zenith, knowledge of the subordinate masochist and how to ply such for the amusement of deviant voyeurs just beginning to peak.

Danny Boy approaches cradling my crop. More symbolic than functional, still I wield it as a reminder of my position of authority. And applying some playful swats to Danny Boy’s little p***s can be diverting.

He looks at me most admiringly and then kneels to kiss my boots. I swat his buttocks knowing that his act of devotion is a ploy. He does not wish to leave me.