The trick you’re about to meet is a good example of what I mean. He can barely afford my femdom services. He depletes his wife’s housekeeping money once a month in order to pay for abuse at my hands.
This trick never had much spunk, even at the beginning of his training. Five minutes into our first encounter I found myself suggesting he hire a good surgeon to implant a backbone for him. But it’s no use. He was born to lick boots, wear chains, get whipped and suck ass.
Even though such treatment gives him pleasure, I know it also cause him pain and that makes me happy. I must confess a general dislike for married men who come to me seeking gratification. Most men don’t deserve the attention of even one woman.
He finds a number of B&D techniques stimulating, but responds most intensely to the whip. He enjoys being flogged in quite specific ways, depending upon his mood. Sometimes he’ll ask me to lash him to a wooden whipping post I keep in the garden. That’s when he craves a severe chastisement.
The client I’m about to see never even wishes to jack himself off while I watch. All he desires is discipline in the form of corporal punishment. Sometimes he wants it severe, sometimes mild. Sometimes he sees himself as a vile criminal deserving of a public flogging. At other times he likes to pretend he’s just a naughty little boy who’s due for a good licking.
She gives me orders verbally, abuses me, beats me and exhibits her contempt for me in every possible way. I serve her, attempt to please her with my mouth, and squirm beneath her heel. It’s a good working relationship as you Americans say.
Cara has a fabulous leather jacket, riveted with pointed steel studs, the smell of which is intoxicating to me. Her whip carries the same rich, sensuous scent of leather. Cara loves leather. Many of her corsets and bras are also fashioned of the pungent fabric. The mingled aromas of leather, woman sweat and costly perfume will be forever linked with Cara in my mind.
A single session with Cara will hold me for several months. I’ll jack off to the memory of how she disciplined me, with my face buried in some leather garment, to reproduce her special smell. Inevitably though, the trilling memories will fade and I’ll have to return to experience Cara in the flesh again.
Cara claims her mother, a German, was an SS interrogator. According to my mistress, her mama never tortured a prisoner to death. But the way she left a few of them, she might as well have finished them off. I want to believe Cara’s story is true, bu somehow it just seems too romantic to be.