The BDSM Date I Dreamed About with My Mistress

I arrived on time, exactly when she had ordered me to. Not before or after. I had spent the whole week going over her instructions as if they were a prayer, feeling a mixture of anxiety, shame, and horniness that had occupied my mind since her very first message.

She had been precise even in the most humiliating details. A chastity cage, black thong, short socks, chickpeas under the soles of my feet, a deep anal cleaning, and, on top of that, fruit and a bag containing more chickpeas as tribute. Nothing was left to chance when she decided to truly prepare me.

She called me her sumi when she was in a good mood. When she wasn't, I was simply her thing.

I had obeyed everything. I left home with my cock trapped inside the cage, hard and pressed tight against the metal, the thong wedged between my buttocks, and the chickpeas pounding the soles of my feet with every step. By the time I reached her building, the pain in my feet was constant, and the rubbing of the fabric against my ass had me frantic.

I knocked, and she opened almost at once, as if she had been waiting for me on the other side. She was wearing a dark top, tight jeans, and was barefoot on the wooden floor. Seeing her like that, so ordinary on the surface and so completely in command underneath, churned my stomach.

“Long time no see,” she said with a slow smile.

Without giving me a chance, she slipped her hand between my legs over my trousers and felt the cage. She noticed the useless erection trapped inside it and smiled wider. I lowered my gaze to her feet purely by reflex, as always.

“They still drive you crazy, don't they? Kneel.”

I knelt in the entrance and brought my mouth to her feet. I kissed the instep, the toes, the sole. She left me like that for a few seconds, enjoying the spectacle. Then she stroked my hair with a false tenderness that aroused me even more.

“Get up. Strip, except for the thong and socks. Put on the collar, wrist cuffs, and ankle cuffs that are on the table. The tribute in your mouth. And come to the other room without keeping me waiting.”

She took a cherry from the bowl of fruit, slipped it between my lips, and gave me a short kiss, barely a damp pressure. Then she pinched my cheek.

“Hurry up. I'm going to enjoy making you suffer.”

I heard her walk away while I undressed with clumsy hands. My nerves made me move even more awkwardly. I put on the collar and leather restraints, held another piece of fruit in my mouth as she had told me, and took a deep breath before going in.

The room was ready. She barely let me look around. She came over, took the fruit from my mouth, and placed it on a tray. Then she stepped on one of my feet with all her weight.

The pain shot up to my hip like a lash. The chickpeas dug into my flesh with unbearable pressure, and I let out a muffled moan. Before I could recover, she crushed my other foot just as hard.

Tears sprang to my eyes on their own.

“Good. You did obey,” she murmured, stroking my face with her fingers. “And this is nothing.”

She blindfolded me firmly. The room vanished, and I was reduced to her voice, the burning pain in my feet, and the constant pull of the cage. I felt the slap before I understood what had happened. She jerked my face to one side.

“You don't speak without permission. Not even if I ask you something.”

I nodded.

I heard her chuckle softly. Then she put my hands behind my back and tied them. She pulled the thong upward, forcing it between my buttocks, and the friction drew a gasp from me. Then she yanked it down to my knees and removed it. The cold air on my ass made me tense.

Her feet settled on top of mine. She rose onto her toes, brought her mouth close to my ear, and spoke slowly.

“Follow my voice. I'll guide you.”

I moved forward blind, taking awkward steps and obeying each of her directions. Not being able to see anything made me more hers, more focused on every order and every brush of contact. She untied my hands for a moment and placed them against polished wood. Then she lifted my blindfold.

In front of me stood a pillory.

“Head and hands,” she ordered.

I obeyed. She closed the stocks, and I was immobilized, my torso bent forward, my ass spread open to her view, unable to cover myself or touch myself. She made a slow circuit around me, examining me as if she were assessing a tool.

“Now we're ready. Let's work on that ass.”

First I felt the cold lubricant. Then a finger entered my anus slowly, opening me with patience. I tensed by reflex, and she gave me a sharp smack on the buttock.

“Relax.”

I breathed as best I could. She inserted the finger again, deeper this time, and then another. Her fingers opened and closed my ass with a deliberate, wet, obscene rhythm. She withdrew them almost completely and sank them back in, caressing me inside, searching for the exact spot that made my legs tremble.

“Look at how you swallow,” she said. “You're so good at opening up when I tell you to.”

She smacked me again, then once more, harder. While she fucked my ass with her fingers, she alternated slaps that left my backside burning. Pain and pleasure mingled in a filthy, animal way. The cage tugged at my cock with every contraction, driving me insane.

She withdrew her fingers, and I was left empty, breathing hard. I heard her moving behind me and knew she was looking for something. When she returned, I felt the lubricated tip of a plug at my entrance.

“Let's break you in properly.”

She pushed slowly. My ass resisted for a second, then yielded around the toy. I felt that full, invasive, deep pressure, and I couldn't help moaning.

“Comfortable?” she asked.

“I don't kn—”

The blow cut off my sentence. A brutal smack on my left buttock, followed by another on the right.

“I didn't give you permission to speak.”

I fell silent, trembling. She caressed me just above the reddened skin, as if soothing the very thing she had just punished. That contrast undid me more than the blow itself.

Then the spiked wheel arrived. She ran it over my back, my thighs, my buttocks spread around the plug, and even over the useless bulge of the cage. It didn't cut, but it pricked enough to leave my skin electric. I panted, unable to tell whether I wanted to pull away or press myself harder against her.

“One hundred,” she reminded me near my ear. “You said you could take one hundred.”

The first stroke of the paddle arched my whole body. It landed with a dry, solid sound. The second struck diagonally across the same spot, and the heat became a fire. She didn't count quickly. She administered them with cruel patience, allowing each blow to find skin that was already sensitive, already alive. Between strokes, she stroked my back, kissed the nape of my neck, squeezed one buttock, and then returned to punish it.

By the time I had taken several dozen, my ass was burning, and the plug moved inside me with every spasm. That inner rocking, added to the pain, was pushing me to the edge even though my cock was still trapped. I was sweating, breathing through my mouth, saliva running down my chin.

Then an alarm sounded.

She stepped away. She pulled the plug out slowly and released me from the pillory. She ordered me to remove my socks. When I pulled my feet out of that torment, I almost moaned with relief. I wanted to crouch down and rub them, but she stopped me with a look.

“Don't even think about it.”

She led me to a ring in the ceiling and tied my wrists overhead. I was left on tiptoe, chest open, the cage in front, and my ass still hot from the beating. She blindfolded me again. The next blow came from a thin cane, directly across my buttocks.

I let out a hoarse cry.

She spoke with her lips close to my ear.

“This is so you'll have something to think about while I'm gone. Now comes the surprise. There will be no mercy.”

I heard her leave, leaving me alone, tied up, blind, aching, and with my whole body waiting for something worse. A few minutes passed, feeling eternal. Then I heard voices in the other room. More than one. Adult women. Low laughter. My pulse raced.

The door opened, and several people entered with her. I couldn't see, but the footsteps and the air changed immediately. My Mistress spoke naturally, as if she were introducing a piece of furniture.

“This is my sumi. Today he's here to serve every purpose. You may touch him.”

And they touched me.

Hands on my chest, stomach, and thighs. Fingers squeezing my nipples, nails lightly scratching my back, palms moving over my punished ass. One of them grabbed the cage and gave it a slight shake, enough to draw a gasp from me. Another spread my buttocks and inserted a lubricated finger into my sensitive anus. I nearly doubled over from the shock.

I had no defense. I could only breathe and endure while they fondled me as if my body were part of the entertainment. The humiliation simmered inside me, but it also lit me up. My cock throbbed trapped inside the cage, begging to get out.

“So obedient,” said an unfamiliar voice.

“And so hard,” another commented with a laugh.

I felt a body press against mine. Perfume, warmth, breath on my neck. Another hand squeezed my open ass, and a finger entered again, deeper this time. I wanted to thrust myself against that hand and disappear from shame at the same time.

My Mistress called for silence. Then she spoke to one of her guests.

“You wanted to find out what obedience feels like, didn't you? Put on these wrist cuffs.”

There was a nervous murmur, the sound of leather, the scrape of a chain. They placed her close to me, tied to the same point or another very nearby, because a few seconds later I felt her arm and then her side brushing against me. She was tense. Her breathing was quick and restrained.

That contact unsettled me. I wasn't alone in the game. Someone else, an adult woman who had come there out of curiosity or desire, was entering that world hand in hand with my Mistress.

“Good,” she said. “Let's go to the living room. My sumi will give a foot massage. The newcomer will watch and learn.”

They released me from the ring. My Mistress guided me to a sofa and, before I sat down, removed my blindfold. The light blinded me for a second. When my vision focused, I saw three women with her. All adults, self-assured, looking at me without shame. One was barefoot in front of me, reclining with a faint smile. The other, the novice, was already wearing the wrist cuffs and watching with a mixture of nerves and lust. My Mistress stood beside me, mistress of the scene.

She knelt, opened the cage, and freed my cock. It sprang out hard, swollen, and sensitive enough to hurt. It had barely had time to expand before she struck it with the cane.

“This is not to be touched. This is not to be used yet.”

My cock remained stiff and received another stroke, straight across the shaft. The pain made me gasp, and at last it softened a little. She smiled, satisfied.

“Now that's better. Get to work.”

I sat at the feet of the guest on the sofa and began with my hands. The ankles, the arch, the heel, the sole. I knew how to do it well and wanted to prove it. Little by little I increased the pressure, noticing her toes relax and her breathing grow heavier.

My Mistress took hold of my chin.

“With your mouth.”

I stuck out my tongue and slowly licked the sole, from heel to toes. Then I sucked each toe one by one, wet and devoted, tasting the clean flavor of her skin and feeling the other women's eyes on me. The guest sighed. I continued with kisses, little bites, and long sucks at the arch of her foot. Her legs parted slightly on the sofa.

“That's it,” my Mistress said behind me. “That's what he's for.”

When she pulled me away, she kissed me deeply on the mouth, mixing the taste of another woman with her own on my tongue. It was a long, possessive, wet kiss, the kind that doesn't reward you—it marks you. I felt my cock harden again.

“You did well,” she said. “Now she'll do it, and if she displeases us, you punish her.”

The novice knelt in front of my Mistress's feet and the other woman's. It was obvious she didn't know what she was doing. Her hands were clumsy, her kisses uncertain, her tongue timid. Each time either of them frowned, I received the order in a look.

I gave her the first strokes across the soles of her feet. Then across her buttocks. Then back to her feet. At first I measured the force, but my Mistress didn't seem satisfied, and I had to hit harder. The girl writhed, stifled moans, and pressed her lips together. Even so, she kept trying to do better.

By the fourth or fifth cycle, I began to feel sorry for her. Perhaps it showed too clearly.

My Mistress clicked her tongue.

“Look at him. My sumi is going soft. He gets distracted, takes pity, forgets to obey.”

I froze.

“We can't allow that,” she continued, looking at the novice. “Now you punish him.”

They took me to a padded bench. They laid me face down with my hips at the edge. They spread and raised my legs, holding each ankle. They immobilized my wrists and secured my chest with a strap. I was left open and offered up, my ass, legs, feet, and cock completely exposed.

They blindfolded me again. My heart hammered against my chest.

I felt my Mistress's hand stroking my back.

“Behave. Don't make me look bad.”

She stepped away. I heard whispers, a brief discussion, and the silence afterward. My ass throbbed in anticipation. Then she spoke clearly, to all of them.

“I choose one hundred.”

The novice's first blow was hesitant. It landed on one buttock and burned, but without real conviction. The second sounded better. My Mistress must have corrected her, because from the third onward she began to strike with greater purpose. The other guest struck the soles of my feet with a narrow paddle, alternating sharp blows that made me uselessly draw my legs up against the restraints.

I moaned, breathed, and clenched my teeth. Each punished area amplified the other.

Suddenly a third hand grabbed my cock. I no longer had the cage, and it was half-hard from pure reflex, sensitive after so long being denied. The hand moved slowly up and down, barely slick caresses that contrasted with the punishment. She milked me without letting me come, keeping me on the edge while they continued hitting me.

“Look how he responds,” said a voice nearby. “The more he suffers, the harder he gets.”

The hand replaced the caresses with something more deliberate. Firm fingers wrapped around the shaft, a thumb brushing the glans, slow, calculated movements. My cock finally became fully hard. It hurt from being so engorged.

Another smack on my ass. Another on my feet. And amid that back-and-forth between pain and arousal, my Mistress placed her foot against my lips.

“Open your mouth.”

I obeyed at once. I licked her sole, sucked her toes, breathing in her scent while the others continued with me. The mental image of being tied up and beaten, sucking my Mistress's foot while another woman jerked me off and another punished me, dragged me deeper than I could admit without breaking.

Then I felt something new on my feet. It wasn't a blow. It was lips.

The novice, obeying an order I hadn't heard, had begun kissing and licking the reddened soles of my feet. Her tongue moved across the sensitive arch just after the strokes, and the combination made me moan around my Mistress's toes. She withdrew her foot from my mouth just to hear me better.

“That's what I like. A complete slut, and happy.”

The third woman abandoned her hand and replaced the touch with her mouth. The first contact of her lips with my glans made my whole body jerk against the straps. She sucked me slowly, taking advantage of the accumulated sensitivity, letting the tip of her tongue draw wet circles before swallowing more of me. I felt my mind empty.

The others didn't stop. They continued alternating strokes and caresses. My Mistress put her foot in my mouth again. The novice licked my feet with increasing devotion, less timid now, as if punishing and serving me at the same time had aroused her. And the other woman sucked my cock with confident technique, squeezing the base with her hand while raising and lowering her head.

I was lost. The bench creaked beneath my struggles. My ass burned, my feet throbbed, my anus was still sensitive and open from the plug, and my cock was trapped in a sensation that was too intense, too complete.

The woman sucking me stopped only long enough to spit on the glans and continue with her mouth wetter. She took me deeper, squeezed with her throat, then slowly came back up, sucking hard. I almost came right there. My Mistress noticed from the way I tensed.

“Don't you dare come without permission.”

I tried to hold back. I really did. But I was too full, too aroused, too submissive. The mouth on my cock, the tongue on my feet, my Mistress's foot on my lips, my raw ass, and the humiliation of being used among several women undid me inside.

She grabbed me by the hair.

“Now you may. Come.”

I exploded instantly.

I came with almost painful violence, my whole body shaking against the straps. Thick jets filled the mouth of the woman, who didn't stop sucking until she had drawn every last drop from me. I moaned without dignity or control, my ass clenching on its own and my legs trembling in the air. It was a brutal, long orgasm, wrung from me by blows, tongues, and obedience.

Afterward, all I could do was pant.

They slowed down. The mouth pulled away from my sensitive cock. The straps still held me, but there was no more punishment. Only hands. Caresses along my back, my hair, my thighs. Someone cleaned me with a warm towel. Another hand gently massaged my burning buttocks. My Mistress kissed my shoulder with a tenderness that nearly moved me.

“Good boy,” she whispered.

They released me slowly and carried me together to a bed. I fell onto my back, exhausted, still blindfolded. I felt bodies settling around me. Lips on my neck, soft fingers on my chest, my Mistress's hand moving over my face as if checking that I was still whole. There were no more orders. Only that warmth afterward.

That was when an alarm sounded.

Sharp. Familiar. Repetitive.

I opened my eyes suddenly in my own bed, alone, my heart racing and my cock rock-hard beneath the sheets. It took me a few seconds to understand where I was. My phone was vibrating on the nightstand. I had an hour and a half before my real date with her.

I lay there staring at the ceiling, still feeling the shadow of the dream in my body: my burning feet, the plug, the pillory, the strokes, the humiliation, her voice giving me permission to come.

Then I pushed back the sheets and saw that I had already come in my sleep.

I smiled like an idiot, aroused and nervous at the same time. If all that had come from my own head, I didn't even want to imagine what my Mistress would really have prepared.

I got up to shower. As the hot water ran down my back, a single thought squeezed my cock between my fingers again.

I hoped reality would live up to the dream.