Mistress Vancouver Dominatrix, Fetish, Discipline, Domination

 

Bizarre Furniture

The story begins when writer sets the first sentence on the comprehensible surface.
This one begins by an idea set first on someone's skin. It's a story of a woman signing herself with a slender gloved hand holding a leather whip, which she, gracefully moving like a long-legged game, unhooks from the rest of her neatly hanging collection of impact instruments implementing order, obedience, authority, correction and discipline.
The prologue opens with and into the realm of unleashed sensual inhibitions, constrained desires. Once inside, spotlight pierces through dim, thick smoke of one's fear, thus illuminating rich colours and textures of heavy red velvets, black shiny leather and iron rusted into timelessness. Once inside, it's time to let go and be elegantly seduced...
Knocking on the door is the last deliberate act; everything else upon entering becomes an animated, industrious projection of her will. The temptation to be naughty will be faced with the desire to be disciplined. She might playfully let you test her patience, she might invite you to admire her fearless provocations, which you'll foolishly fall prey to, so that her NO can serve as your guilt-free pass into the erotic power play dynamics. You will be tempted, as you always are, to audibly, visually, palpably conquer and invade her tantalizing body lavishly covered in leather, luxuriously revealing pearls and diamonds of her bare skin. But you'll only meet her resistance, she'll have you kneeling aroused, dick drippy and needy.

Like the other day: you stepped in and found yourself undressed, crawling, bringing her your naked self and a ruby red liquid treasure from a French golden plateau. your face pressed to the ground, she stood firm legs lightly apart squeezing your head between her leather boots. Anytime you tried to look up to find where her thighs meet, you received a smack of a flogger on your back, few straps landing on your ass, even reached as far as your balls. Nothing was up to you anymore; your thoughts were vacuumed in a bubble of pure desire, your emotions floated between the limitless boundary of fear and freedom, your body shamelessly exposed, involuntarily manifesting sexual excitement.
Everything happened according to her plan of spacious spontaneity. She has everything she needs within her reach. She relies on her accumulated strength, strange objects of extraordinary use, bizarre furniture. She uses her sexual persona, her manipulative mind, fetish wardrobe and sensuous body to entrap you.

The 'cockstock' is her newly acquired designer piece. Originally a coat hanger from 1910's, it was redesigned to serve as fetish torture device based on an idea she had for a long time. In the alchemy process of her content vision, right circumstances, combined with artist's fine-tuning of details and finally, with a masterful touch of an engineer, the solid oak creation was born, now with adjustable planks for a firm dick squeeze providing a secure and effective movement restriction.

"She had me stand on a firm wooden platform facing the main profile of the structure. At a height of approximately my shoulders she attached my cuffed wrists to the posts of the stand. Then, at the height of my penis she released two skilfully and precisely cut out wooden bars, then slid my cock and balls through the oval opening and again readjusted the bars, tightened the knobs preventing the bars from loosening, preventing me from any movement - in another words - I didn't want to move at all, otherwise my genitals would hurt. As my cock and balls were squeezed in place, I couldn't move my hips neither left or right, nor forward or backward. I was hers and with this realization I serenely sighed and smiled contentedly."

This wasn't enough for her: the sticking out parts were further decorated with clothespins.

"His balls already felt tight and the dick was shiny and fully erect, aware of my presence. I let him enjoy my walking away from him, allowing him to watch as I unzipped and slipped out of my leather skirt. then I walked even farther, opened my armoire full of treasures and in my gloved hand I presented a silken black pouch that contained clothespins. I neatly pinched only eight of them on his balls in a perfect fan shape. Occasionally I would lightly flick his cock."

"She then hung weights on the pins, one by one, laughing. I could feel the stretching of my balls and the time that seemed to stop, when this sexy merciless woman did something surprising: took off her leather gloves, replaced them with black latex ones, squirted few drops of slippery lube in to her palm, warmed it between her fingers and rubbed it, softly, slowly, and all the way leaving no dry millimetre, into my painfully hard cock."

This story does not end here, it continues its own path, sometimes with our glimpses, sometimes without, but certainly with her signature - denial.






 

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